August 31st, 1995
It's a dreary Thursday morning in Hogsmeade when Trixie arrives for her interview. She'd chosen to apparate, rather than floo, so she materializes on the empty stretch of road on the outskirts of the small village. She stands there, for just a moment, wondering if she should turn back. If she misses the interview, events will progress as they should.
The moment passes.
Trixie walks quickly and with purpose. Now that her last chance to back out is gone, she finds herself surprisingly calm.
She pulls hard against the door to the Three Broomsticks, fighting against an unusually strong wind as well as the actual weight of the door. There's a moment when it refuses to give – caught between two equally opposing forces – but then the wind relents and the hinges squeal as the door swings open fully.
"Ms. Locke – it's good to see you."
"Professor Dumbledore," the words pass her lips before she can decide whether or not there's a better way to address her former headmaster. She pushes on, "It's good to see you too – I hope you had a pleasant summer?"
"I did," he says amicably. "It's important to find happiness where one may, in times like these."
"Of course," Trixie agrees, masterfully restraining a wince. Cedric Diggory's death is largely the reason why she's here. "We can only hope to be prepared, when Voldemort finally decides to strike."
Two white eyebrows rise over half-moon spectacles. "I take it you don't believe I'm – how did Ms. Skeeter put it? – a 'senile old fool?'"
"Obviously not, sir." Trixie grins at him weakly. The smear campaign is much worse than she'd expected it to be. She probably shouldn't be surprised; a lot of things are worse in real life than they were in the books. "I may not have seen it with my own eyes, but with a student dead, I'm inclined to err on the side of caution." She shrugs a little, before adding, "Call me superstitious, but there was no body the first time around, so it's not impossible that he survived."
"Indeed." Dumbledore looks down at her in interest for a moment before dismissing whatever thought he was about share. "But let's leave such talk for later. We have an interview to get through."
"Right." She follows the older wizard back to his table. Once they're both seated, Madam Rosmerta appears briefly to offer tea. Trixie accepts and, once she's taken her first sip, Dumbledore steeples his fingers and asks his first question.
"Why did you apply, Ms. Locke? I know it's not due to a lack of other opportunities."
She sets her tea down and briefly glances up into the other man's eyes. As an occlumens, she has no need to worry about him plucking secrets from her head. Not that she thinks he would. "I suppose the reason I'm here is to prepare the students," she says. "I kept seeing the ad in the prophet – the one for the defense position – and well..." She thinks of Diggory, of the life she's already failed to save. "After what happened, it's hard to deny the importance of learning how to counter dark magic – especially for our youth. It's not as though dark creatures or wizards will leave you alone simply because you haven't reached your majority. It seemed like I should step forward, if no one else would.
"I know I'm not terribly qualified," she adds with a nervous shrug. "But I did well on my exams and I was an auror, up until recently."
"Ah yes, I thought I'd heard something about that." Dumbledore absently strokes his long white beard. "Why not continue with that? As an auror you were doing as much, if not more to protect our youth."
"I suppose so," Trixie concedes. "But I've always wanted to teach." It's the truth, even if that goal hadn't always included magic. "When no one else applied, I couldn't help but wonder – daydream, really – what it would be like to take the position myself. I've always planned on applying, though not necessarily for Defense, so I thought this was my chance to get my foot in the door."
Dumbledore tilts his head in interest. "Oh?"
"I actually wanted to apply for either Potions or History of Magic," she admits. "I received my NEWTs in both subjects and quite liked tutoring in them while I was still in school." She tucks a loose strand of hair behind one ear. "I was going to either wait for Severus Snape to switch to Defense – as he mentioned wanting to do so when I was a seventh year – or I was going to apply for History of Magic after my first successful publication. Whichever came first."
"You write?"
"Yes. While I've never had a talent for fiction, I have something of a knack for historical non-fiction. I thought that publishing a book on Voldemort's rise to power would be an excellent thing to have under my belt when the time came to apply."
"Yet, here you are, applying for another position – one many believe to be cursed."
Trixie nods, trying not to let the threat of the curse unnerve her. "Yes, but I know it's possible to survive the curse relatively unscathed. It's only in the past four years that events have turned somewhat dire. I'm hoping that, so long as I plan to leave the post after a single year, the worst of the curse will pass me by."
The aging headmaster inclines his head in acknowledgement. "It has been known to work in the past. Though I will warn you to be on your guard, when June rolls around."
"Of course," she agrees. "I'd be foolish not to."
"Well, I can see you're quite serious about this. Let's move onto the particulars of the job."
.
.
.
Trixie spends most of September 1st moving into her newly assigned quarters. Her clothes and shoes are neatly tucked away and her toiletries are lined up around her magnificently large bath. She keeps all her other odds and ends in their boxes, not yet sure where she wants them to go.
That accomplished, she washes up in her new bath. She spends perhaps a little too long luxuriating, considering she steps out just as a house elf pops in to remind her to be down in time for the feast. Dismissing the elf politely, she uses her remaining time to change quickly into a deep plum colored dress with a black over-robe. She would have worn her new green gown, but she figures it's best not to show loyalties to her former house, in times like these.
The other teachers, once she makes it to the Great Hall to join them, are understandably surprised to see her. "Why, I thought for sure the Ministry would assign one of theirs," says Pomona Sprout. "After all that fuss with the new decree…"
"Yes, well, I was a rather last-minute hire," Trixie says. "I'm sure they had no idea someone would apply so late in the game."
"Well, I for one am glad to have you back, Ms. Locke. You were a pleasure to teach and I'm sure you'll be a pleasure to learn from as well."
Trixie is unusually touched by the kind words. "Thank you, Professor Sprout."
"Please, call me Pomona – I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot of one another this upcoming year."
"Then you can call me Beatrix."
The two witches smile and exchange well-wishes for the upcoming year, before Sprout is distracted by Charity Burbage and Trixie is called over by the deputy headmistress.
"Beatrix Locke," she says. "I can't say I expected this. Weren't you well on your way to becoming an auror last time I saw you?"
"I was. I did, rather," the younger witch admits. "But I turned in my notice just a few weeks ago." McGonagall opens her mouth to no doubt ask why so she goes on, "I've always wanted to teach – and I heard the position was going to be assigned by the Ministry, if no one applied. It seemed that if there were ever a time to put my name forward, it was now."
Minerva McGonagall tilts her head in a distinctly catlike manner. "I never would have guessed," she says honestly. "But you were a talented student, so if you're even half as talented at teaching you'll do quite well." She hesitates, then asks, "Have you made any plans towards circumventing the curse?"
"I have a few things in mind," Trixie says cryptically, having zero intention of letting the other witch in on her plans. She has to keep a lot private, considering there is no logical way for her to have the knowledge she has. It's a little lonely, keeping such important truths to herself, but none of the alternatives are acceptable. She'd either be lauded as some sort of seer or locked away in St. Mungos to rot.
A chime catches everyone's attention.
"That'll be the train." She hadn't seen Dumbledore enter the hall, but suddenly he's there – resplendent in deep purple robes with twinkling stars and a matching pointy hat. Behind him, having just entered from the room behind the head table, is Severus Snape.
He looks slightly more murderous than usual, glaring daggers at Dumbledore's star-strewn back.
"Minerva, as usual I'll leave the first years in your capable hands. Professor Grubbly-Plank should be loading them into the boats now."
"Of course, Albus." McGonagall takes off for the doors at the end of hall.
She's only just out of earshot when Dumbledore turns to smile benevolently at the rest of them. "As some of you may have noticed, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher will be Beatrix Locke – a relatively recent graduate of ours. I trust that you will all do your best to make her feel welcome and answer any questions she may have about her new position." There's a smattering of nods and quiet affirmations. "Wonderful! Now, let us take our seats. The students won't be long."
True to his word, the first students arrive mere minutes later. They saunter in with friends and housemates, barely paying any mind to the head table, let alone their new teacher. It's something of a relief.
Trixie enjoys her anonymity immensely.
…It's too bad it only lasts through dinner.
"-your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher – Beatrix Locke!"
What was once a few curious stares here and there, turns into the full attention of the entire student body. She smiles broadly to hide her nerves, making sure to turn that smile on all the students, rather than letting it linger in any one place. Dumbledore continues speaking, but at least half of the students keep their eyes fixed on her.
It's only once the feast is over and the students dismissed that she feels her shoulders ease downwards. She chats superficially with a few of the other teachers, but ultimately excuses herself early, citing her need to unpack and settle in fully.
When she gets back to her room, she flops down on her bed and has to pinch herself to be sure she's really awake. Leading up to the Third Task in the Triwizard Tournament, Trixie had left plenty of anonymous letters and warnings. None of them had been heeded.
When news of Cedric Diggory's death reached her, she nearly gave up then and there. It was fate, she told herself, not something she could fight. Still, she found herself asking her fellow aurors why they didn't apply for the newly opened Defense position at Hogwarts. Some laughed her off, others mentioned the curse, but it wasn't until her department head had overheard one of these conversations that she considered herself for the position.
The older witch had said, quite plainly, "If you feel so strongly about it, you should put your own name forward."
"Madam Bones?"
"You're an excellent auror, Locke, but if you feel that strongly about the education of our youth, you should pursue it." Bones had smiled then. "Who knows, maybe under your tutelage we'll have more worthy prospects than what we've been stuck with these past few years."
Trixie had thanked the other witch for the implied compliment, and then replayed the conversation in her head over and over the rest of that day. Finally, realizing there was nothing stopping her from doing just that, she put in her two weeks notice and started crafting a rough set of lesson plans.
And now, here she is. Back at Hogwarts and in charge of one of the most important core subjects. Her only consolation is that she knew she would have to try to fail in order to be a worse teacher than Umbridge.
…It is admittedly a small consolation.