Dumbledore finally gave the signal for dismissal at the end of his announcements. Airmed quietly got to her feet and looked around, following the crowd of red-and-gold out of the hall and into the inner workings of this megalith.
She recognized the frizzy brown hair of one of the people that she had been introduced to during the feast: Hermione Granger. She and that obnoxiously red-haired young man were gathering the first years together, with the obvious intent of leading them to the dormitories. Well, what better way to find your way in a foreign place than to follow the crowd?
Airmed walked as quietly as she could, her chain mail making a fair amount of noise as she walked up at twenty flights of stairs, each flight consisting of thirty-five steps, before coming to the entrance to the tenth floor. She listened to the crowds around her as she followed the Gryffindor first-years through a series of hallways to a tower entrance; it was guarded by a portrait of an extraordinarily fat woman garbed, once again, in that hideous colour of pink.
Hermione stopped in front of the portrait and addressed the people gathered around her. "This is the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. Remember this portrait, because there are many portraits in this castle and not all of them are willing to help out lost students. You must also remember the password, for it will be changed every three weeks. Without it, you cannot gain admission into the common room or the dormitories." Turning back to the portrait, she spoke once more. "Mimbulus mimbletonia."
The portrait hinged open to reveal a passageway. Airmed simply cocked an eyebrow as the first-years looked around in awe at the opulent red-and-gold decorations around them, the plush chairs and couches situated near a roaring fire, and the antique portraits around them; their occupants were talking amidst themselves at the new additions to Gryffindor House. Airmed noticed that there were three large tables, also surrounded by comfortable chairs, which were most likely used for school assignments or social interaction. This was a comfortable, if not an ostentatious, meeting room.
"Welcome to the Gryffindor Common Room. Now, the boy's dorms are at the top of the left staircase, and the girl's dorms are at the top of the right staircase. Professor McGonagall will be in shortly to make a speech to you all, so please find a place to sit and relax for a moment." The two prefects sat near the fireplace as the first years spread out. Euan looked across the common room and smiled at Airmed as she walked towards the wall nearest to the girl's staircase.
Taking a sigh of relief, Airmed reached for her left shoulder and unhooked the leather band that kept her glaive and bow in place before leaning against the wall. Sighing once more, she smiled as Euan and four of the ten other first years sat on a couch and waited patiently for Professor McGonagall to come and talk to them.
They did not have to wait long. Only a matter of minutes after the portrait had closed on them, it opened once more to reveal McGonagall and a gaggle of older students chattering behind her. She waited until they had gone upstairs before addressing the first years.
"Welcome to Hogwarts, and welcome to Gryffindor House! I am Professor McGonagall, your Head of House. I am also the Deputy Headmistress, as well as your Transfiguration Professor.
"Gryffindor House has a long and proud history of courage and bravery, but that does not entitle you to go off and seek danger. This school is based on a system of House Points: do good work for your House, and you will earn points; misbehave or break the rules, and you will lose points. The House with the greatest number of points by the end of the year will earn the House Cup, an honor that Gryffindor House has held for the last four years.
"Meals are served at 7:30 in the morning, noon, and at 5:30 in the evening. Do not be late, or you will go hungry. I expect all of you to behave in a manner befitting of the house of Godric Gryffindor. If you have any questions, my office hours are Monday, Wednesday, and Friday from 6:30 to 8:30 in the evening. If you ever find yourself in need, find anyone of your housemates; if not, find one of the Prefects, the Head Boy or Girl, or myself. With that, have a good night, and I will see you tomorrow at breakfast." Everyone gathered began to move away to the promise of warm beds. "Sir Wolfshead, a moment?" People stared at the transfer student, and began to whisper amongst themselves as she walked towards the portrait entrance and the Deputy Headmistress, her weapons in hand.
They walked for a moment until Professor McGonagall found an empty classroom. The teacher locked the door behind her before turning back, a teary smile on her face. Airmed's face matched as she walked the short distance to hug her. She was tall enough to rest her chin on the older professor's shoulder, but McGonagall had more strength in her embrace.
"My darling niece…" McGonagall sniffled a touch as she pushed Airmed back and ran her middle-aged hands over her niece's scarred face. "It has been far too long."
Airmed allowed herself to be pushed away as she drank in the look of joy on her favorite aunt's face. It had been too long since her last visit, for so much had happened since then. On the Isle since the beginning of the war, everyone was required to serve in the army for a mandatory minimum of fifteen years before being allowed to pursue another career. Minerva McGonagall, born Morgana Lionsbeard and raised on the Isle, was renowned among the veterans as an expert in transfiguration, but she was also a remarkable duelist. After her fifteen years of service, she trained to become a teacher, moving to Scotland and getting employed at Hogwarts, even changing her papers to fit her new story and swearing oaths to never tell of Manx life unless given permission by a serving knight. When Airmed and her brothers and sisters were born, Aunt Morgana would come every year to celebrate their natalities.
"It was only this spring, Aunt Morgana." Airmed let the hands wander along her scars, along the cheekbones echoed in her father's line, Morgana's brother. "Thank you for the wonderful present. They will surely serve me well, and I treasure them."
"And that display in the Great Hall? Well done!" They both sat on the tops of desks, looking at each other. "People will be talking about that one for many years to come." There was silence between them for only a moment. "How are Drustan and Marcus?"
Airmed's face turned dark at the mention of those two names. "Marcus is well. His wife is recovering from her miscarriage, and they talk about having another child later this year. Drustan… Drustan is dead." Minerva simply closed her eyes at the news. "Killed three weeks ago by a Cwn Annwn's bite to his throat. " She hung her head, not allowing her voice to break. "I set him on his way to Tir na nOg and Manannan's embrace two days later, along with the five others that died with him. The fifteen dark ones, as well as the Cwn Annwn that they took down with them, were left for the crows and the Morrigan."
Neither of them did anything for a while, both of them remembering fallen loved ones. There had been too many, but there was always the hope that they would win this war. McGonagall was the one to break the silence. "Be aware, Airmed, that outside of private meetings such as this, I am Deputy Headmistress of this school and Head of your House. Until tonight, I have never seen your face, and I called you in here to hand you this," she pulled out a map of Hogwarts, "and to explain to you the rules of Hogwarts. And because I do not know you in such a personal manner, you will receive no special treatment from me if you break the rules. Understand?"
"Crystal clear, Aunt Morgana… I mean, Professor McGonagall." They exchanged one more embrace before leaving the classroom to head back to their respective rooms. Airmed found the portrait of the Fat Lady and spoke that (very strange) password. Walking through the portrait hole and past the whispering little people, she headed up the stairs and into the fifth-year girl's dormitory.
"Kill it! Kill it!" As Airmed opened the heavy door, the sight before her eyes was ridiculous at most. Three girls, all in semi-states of getting ready for bed, were screaming and squealing at something on the fourth empty bed, presumably her own. The frizzy-haired prefect had her wand out when Airmed saw what was frightening them so.
"Don't kill it!" She held out a hand to stop the eminent spell. Walking slowly, she came to her bed and held out her hand, letting the midnight black smooth-scaled snake wind itself along her arm, coming to curl around her shoulder with its head next to her ear.
Lavender, Parvati, and Hermione watched on in a state of horror as the snake spoke in a strange language into the transfer student's ear. What was even more horrifying was that she responded to the snake in the same language. When they were finished, the snake slithered away to hide under the bed. The only thought going through their heads was: was this new girl a Dark Lady in the making? She was a Parselmouth, for how else could you explain what they had just witnessed?
Airmed sat on the side of her bed and rubbed her tired eyes, noting that all three of the year mates were scared out of their wits. Sighing, she knew that an explanation was in order if any of the three were going to be able to sleep this night. "Don't be afraid. Gwydion's nothing to fear. He doesn't bite, despite being highly poisonous. He is charmed to transmit voices through his mouth. That is how we relay messages to one another in the Academy and on the Isle. It is similar to your owls. "
As she talked, she began to unbuckle her greaves from her shins. They were Aunt Morgana's gift to her for her last natality. They were made of dragon hide, charmed with runes for resistance against weapons and spells. As were the norm with greaves, they buckled at the back of her lower leg over her breeches, so that they did not interfere with her movements but they still protected her from stray low blows. Thus far, they had served her well. She undid her belt and loosened the strings of the pouch at her left hip.
"Then what were you speaking to it?" Lavender's eyes were narrowed as the three of them sat on their beds.
"Manx. It's my native tongue. Everyone speaks it on the Isle, as well as Gaelic and English." She chuckled a bit as she unpacked her pouch. "I'm no…" she paused to find the correct word. "No Parselmouth! No, I'm not a dark one." Her brows furrowed for a moment. "Well, time to get out of this, then." She picked up a miniature trunk with her two fingers from inside of the pouch. With a brief wink, the trunk in her hand grew to its normal size.
Without a single word or an acknowledgement of the amazed looks on her roommates' faces, she placed the wooden trunk at her foot of her bed and pressed her thumb on the steel lock. That seemed to be the opening mechanism, as the lid popped open with a quiet 'click'.
She turned to the girls as they now watched her with curiosity. She placed her belt and weapons aside on the bed and, lifting her chainmail coif back on her head, shucked off her tabard; as soon as she took it off, it reverted back to its original blue-black colouring. At that moment, she turned to the girls with a nervous look in her eye. "Can one of you help me with my hauberk? The knots in the back are a little difficult to reach."
Parvati, after some silent discussion between the three friends, was the one to volunteer. Airmed turned around and pointed to the nape of her neck. "There's three knots there, where the coif meets the hauberk. I'm never able to reach them without help." The ties were of tightly woven fabric and the knots were tied quite securely, so it was difficult to get them undone.
While Parvati was doing that, Airmed's left hand deftly undid the knots on her right arm at her wrist, below and above her elbow, and near her shoulder joint, and vice versa on the other arm, to loosen her sleeves. The coif soon hit the floor with a resounding 'thunk'. All that remained was the hauberk itself. It was made, quite simply, for the wearer to slip into and out of. Parvati grabbed the neck of the chainmail and Airmed pulled herself out like an eel.
"My thanks…" She paused; how could she properly thank her without a name?
"Parvati Patil." The Indian girl walked back to her bed, rubbing her cold hands against her pajama bottoms. When she sat down, she commenced with braiding her long black hair.
"Parvati. And you are?" She looked over at the middle bed.
"Lavender Brown." Her brown-blonde hair was loose and smooth around her porcelain face, away from her blue-green eyes as she bit her lip.
"And you are Hermione Granger, correct?" She stumbled over the pronunciation of the prefect's name, calling her 'Ermione.
"Yes." She paused and watched as Airmed knelt to the floor and carefully put her chainmail away in her trunk. "Why do you wear armor, and what did Professor McGonagall want to see you about?"
Airmed chuckled as she doffed her quilted breeches and the dark blue gambeson that she wore underneath her hauberk. "Not that it's your business, but this armor is the battle uniform of the Academy; consider it like a formal robe. We wear this to any auspicious event that is commanded of us to attend. Professor McGonagall asked to see me because she wanted to make sure that I understood the rules of this school, as well as to give me this." She picked up the map and showed it to them for a moment.
As she turned her back to the girls in order to slip into a pair of sleeping breeches and shirt, she heard all three of the girls gasp. "What? What is it?"
"What are those?" She felt a finger run along the tops of her shoulder blades, and she knew instantly to what they were referring to.
"Magical marks, symbols of my family. They are important to me." She gently pushed away the wandering hands by pulling down her sleeping shirt. "Don't pay them any mind." Her voice sounded hollow as she packed her belongings away in her trunk, locked it once more, and curled under the blankets, making sure to stick her dagger under her pillow.
The storm never ceased during the night. Rolling thunder, white bursts of lightning, and the late summer rains were a comforting reminder of home. This was another test, was the thought coming through Airmed's mind as sleep took her into his dark embrace.
* * * * *HPatKoM* * * * *
"What's going on?" Harry and Ron looked at their dorm-mates as they chatted about the young knight sleeping among the girls. Harry, in particular, was confused as to the significance of the event that had taken place over dinner. When he was younger and without getting caught, he had borrowed books from the school library about knights. If Uncle Vernon had seen those books around the house, he would have been beaten for being a troublemaker. So he knew what knights and chivalry generally were in the Muggle world. But what was the Isle of Man? Why did they still have knights? Were they even more backwards than the magical world here in Britain?
Neville, in truth, was the one to explain. Placing his nightclothes aside, he sat on his bed and looked into the flames of the massive brazier in the middle of the room. "My gran used to tell me stories, about the Knights of Mann. They're legendary!" His eyes grew glazed over as he remembered the old words.
"The Isle of Man is a mysterious place now, but before two hundred years ago, they traded with us, with Scotland, with Wales, and with Ireland. Ancestrally, they protected us from foreign invaders and from magical melees. It was home to some of the most powerful sorcerers ever. Gran told me that they started training at an early age, and they never stop. They grow old, yes, but it was rumored that they can lived for up to something like three hundred years before dying.
"The knights themselves are true warriors. Trained in the medieval fashion, they learn chivalry, logic, laws, jousting, archery, and training with multiple weapons. Both boys and girls are accepted, although there are usually more boys. Anyone could become a knight, but it is a choice that requires great thought and commitment; others could join the standing army, become scholars and teachers, stay farmers, or take on a trade if they chose not to follow the path of the knight. All of these paths bore honor and standing in the Manx society.
"Regardless of what path they chose, they were creators and growers. Muggle and wizard lived side-by-side in almost unity. They learned, they played, and they worked with each other. A king and a queen ruled over them; there were always two, to keep the balance. The monarchs themselves were tied to the magic of the land, and had to pass it on to their heirs before dying in order to keep the chain unbroken.
"However, two hundred years ago, Britain closed its doors to Mann. Trade was stopped; we abandoned them. In retaliation, the Isle is now unplottable and under heavy-duty Fidelius Charms. I never found out why they were forsaken by us, only that my gran cries about that day when she thinks that I'm not looking. No one can find it and no one can visit it anymore, save with the express permission of the king and when accompanied by a knight. They grew insular, and continued as they always had."
The fire cracked for a while, the only sound in the room. No one spoke, for they were thinking about what Neville had spoken. Seamus turned to him, a clear question on his face. "How do you know so much about this?"
"Because my father's line is from the Isle of Man." Neville looked at them all. "There are cases where Manxmen leave the Isle and come here, but the reasons remain a secret. They are forbidden from sharing any secrets about Mann, unless given permission by a knight. My grandfather's-grandfather's-grandfather was a Manxman, before he emigrated here and started the Longbottom line."
"What were you talking to her about, mate? At the beginning of the feast?" Dean sprawled out on his bed, letting the grandness of the meal and the warmth of the dorm room allow him feel languid.
Neville nodded to him. "It's a tradition to share a cup with a guest. It's a sign of hospitality. She expressed interest in who some of us were, and I obliged her curiosity." Harry got the feeling that Neville wasn't telling the whole truth, but he let it slide for the moment.
"What did she call herself again? Air-med?" Ron's pronunciation was provincial: he called her 'air-mid'.
"Her name's Gaelic, dumbass." Believe or not, that was Seamus. Heads turned and looked at him with shock or confusion. "It's pronounced 'are-med'. It's the name of one of the old pagan gods. She was a healer. My ma used to tell me stories when I was younger."
That was the end of that discussion as he whipped the curtains around his bed closed. Everyone headed off into their beds, sleeping against the rumbling thunderstorms. All of them were thinking about this mysterious knight now in their school. What could it mean?
