Of course I had to take the damn assignment.
Breaking my life down took less time than I wanted to admit. I had few friends outside of the force- the demands of the job made it hard to keep in touch with anyone- and everyone on the force understood my responsibilities and made half-hearted promises to stay in touch over the next few years. There was just me and my familiar at home-a german shepherd who didn't know how to keep out of trouble. I didn't have much extra fluff decorating my house to pack up. Aside from my clothes and my library, I only had a couple dozen mementos from my favorite or least favorite missions- things that I wouldn't leave behind for anything.
With everything I owned shrunk down or transfigured so that it fit into a small duffle bag and Milo trotting along at my heels, I felt more than a little hollow as I stepped into the New York division of the MACUSA, constructed right under Via Wyrda in the heart of Central Park. With space so limited on Manhattan, there was nowhere to go but down if we wanted to remain hidden from the Muggles.
When I stepped through the boundary line, I could spot a few other people already at the reception counter and more arriving through the fireplaces located at the north end or Apparating in right behind me.
The lobby itself was a medium sized room with a domed roof that, through a glass covered oculus, let light hit the black and white marble floor. Charmed windows let in artificial sunlight and, if you were at the right angle, gave views of Central Park at its best.
In front of me was a long counter that stretched across much of the room, leaving enough space on either side for two sets of elevator doors, both closed and shining ever so slightly in the yellowish light. On the counter were several small baskets, inviting me to step forward.
I walked up to the unstaffed reception desk and grabbed a purpose card from the rightmost basket on the counter and a pen from the other, stepping out of the way so that the others could get their own cards.
Visitor Name: Lorelei Bingley, Milo (familiar)
Purpose of Visit: Catching Portkey 79115112 to British Ministry of Magic
To be Noted: Papers to be signed by British Ministry officials with transfer of residence from New York City, New York, United States of America to London, Greater London, England, United Kingdom.
Placing the pen back down, I waited for just a few seconds. The writing on the purpose card faded to nothing and, before my eyes, new words appeared on the card.
Thank you, Lorelei Bingley and Milo (familiar), for visiting the New York Branch of the Magical Congress of the United States of America. Your request has been processed. Please proceed to Level Five: Department of Magical Transportation using this purpose card in the elevator. Portkey 79115112 will be leaving from the Portkey Office at 08:45 (EST) to arrive in Portkey Office, Level Six: Department of Magical Transportation, British Ministry of Magic. Note that all international travels via portkeys required wand verification in order to commence. Thank you and have a nice day.
An elevator off to my left dinged as it opened. Milo and I made my way to it and slipped my purpose card into a slot next to the doors. Once the paper had fallen through completely, the doors closed and we began a swift descent downwards. Once we reached Level Five: Department of Magical Transportation, Milo and I stepped into the organized chaos of an international portkey office.
I would miss the American way of doing things, even with things as simple as international travel. Our portkeys were all created from Muggle snow globes that succinctly depicted their location. Already sitting on the main desk, I could see, was a larger snow globe that bore a tiny Big Ben and a London Eye over the river Thames within its white-flecked liquid. The office itself was warmly decorated with comfortable furniture and, while it was still modern and efficient, it wasn't offensively utilitarian. There was a single wide aisle going down the length of the room leading to the main desk. At this desk was the primary attendant, whose job it was to perform the wand verification and ensure that the portkey was activated properly. A door just behind the desk led, to my knowledge, into a hallway that led to the private offices of the other members of the portkey office and store rooms for both used and unused portkeys. A set of cubbies lined the back wall, with each space occupied by the snow globes that would be in service today.
"Good morning," I greeted the attendant who looked as if she needed another cup of coffee. "Lorelei Bingley and Milo, taking Portkey 79115112 to the British Ministry of Magic."
The attendant opened a drawer in her desk which opened much further than the desk's dimensions should have allowed and pulled out a file under the portkey number. She rifled through its pages for a few seconds.
"Got it," she responded victoriously, pulling out a single sheet. She glanced through it before looking up at me. "Lorelei Bingley. May I have your wand?"
I handed it over for the wand weighing, watching as she placed it on the brass scales with practiced ease. After a few moments of teetering back and forth, the wand became perfectly balanced on the scales and a small slip of paper poked out of the instrument's base. She snatched it up, reading it aloud. "Thirteen and a quarter inches, rowan, re'em tail hair. It has been in use for twenty-one years, correct?"
"Very good. Are you aware of the appropriate procedures to take regarding your familiar?" she asked, nodding down at Milo. I answered that I did and she gave a relieved sort of smile. "Good. Your portkey leaves in thirteen minutes. Feel free to take a seat in the meantime."
As I moved to take a seat, several people separated themselves from the crowd sitting around the office, all bustling towards the woman as she announced the departure of the portkey going to Shanghai. The snow that had been drifting lazily around the Yuyuan Gardens began to swirl almost dangerously, forming a tiny and glittering tornado amongst the Ming and Qing dynasty pavilions to announce the nearing activation of the portkey.
After ten minutes- during which the groups heading to Rome and then San Francisco disappeared- I was called back to the desk for my portkey. Milo and I were the only ones taking this portkey, making things easier for my familiar. It was trickier for familiars to take portkeys, especially larger ones like Milo, but we'd traveled enough that I'd invested in a sort of travel harness that would keep him firmly bound to me during the trip.
"The portkey will activate in precisely... Thirty seconds. If you would take hold of the snow globe. Please take care to not drop it..." I gripped the snow globe carefully, my other hand tightening around Milo's harness. "Yes, good. Please maintain a firm grip on the portkey for the duration of the entire trip. Early release could result in nausea to severe injury and, though unlikely, death. Once landed, please clear the destination zone as quickly as possible to prevent traffic build up. Thank you for traveling via the MACUSA Portkey Office. Have a great day."
I felt a tugging sensation just behind my navel and gripped onto both my belongings and the snow globe that I had three fingers wrapped around just a little tighter. Though I expected it, my stomach turned as I felt myself twisted and pulled along by the portkey. Bending my knees carefully, I landed on my feet, leaning forward to balance myself with a cough. Milo, beside me, gave a soft whine of discomfort, shaking himself free from my grip.
"Oh, don't be a baby," I said with a teasing smirk as an automated voice welcomed us to the British Ministry of Magic.
I didn't like the British Ministry at all. Everything was unnecessarily large or refined. It was as if no one realized that this was a government building and, as such, the first concern should be the government. Even within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, where I was to first report to, everything was designed to impress or awe instead of enable the workers to do their jobs.
Everything here was backwards. The laws were created by pureblood supremacists and enforced by their sycophants. There was a faint illusion of equality but it was hardly paper-thick. Non-human magical beings were openly oppressed and no one seemed to take notice.
There were a handful of exceptions, and people who seemed to know how to take their duties seriously. Luckily, the Head of the DMLE, Madam Amelia Bones, seemed to have a good head on her shoulders. Her lackeys, though, held less promise. Word very quickly spread how an American Hit Wizard was hanging around the offices and men and women who were supposed to be professionals abandoned their posts to gawk and faun at me. When it was announced that the Headmaster of Hogwarts- the man who'd requested me for the mission- would be coming to pick me up and bring me to the school before the end of my first day in Great Britain, I was beyond pleased. For better or worse, though, Dumbledore wouldn't be coming to get me until the evening, leaving me with the better part of the afternoon to explore the Ministry.
"Kinglsey, right?" I asked, leaning over a cubicle wall to face my latest questioning victim. I was determined to talk to one person in as many divisions as possible and the Aurors, as the branch most like the Hit Wizards, seemed most familiar.
The dark skinned Auror looked up at me, quite easily hiding his slight start at my sudden appearance.
"Yes? Can I help you?" he asked in a rich baritone. I grinned at him.
"Hope so. Name's Lore Bingley. I'm here on personal request of Dumbledore and as a show of good faith from the MACUSA. Do you understand what I'm saying?" I asked sweetly. The man's lip quirked ever so slightly into a grimace. It was subtle, but he definitely understood what I was saying: I was a nosy American and he would have to deal with me until my curiosity was satisfied. Poor bloke.
Headmaster Albus Dumbledore was quite as I pictured him from the colorful depictions I'd received from various Ministry employees. Many spoke of their golden pseudo-leader with perfect reverence and, for the most part, it seemed genuine. Somehow, the old man who'd won against Grindelwald and orchestrated most of the victory against Voldemort had weaseled his way into the hearts of the masses. Only the disgruntled supremacists, whom he'd soundly defeated in the previous war, seemed less than pleased with the benevolent headmaster.
"You're just in time, as well," Dumbledore was telling me as he lead me to the Ministry's Atrium. "Prior to each school year, the staff get together to go over anything that was concerning with regards to the students and exchange ideas of how to improve upon what we've already done and implement new ideas."
"And let me guess: the meeting is today, right?" I asked, silently dreading that I wouldn't have any time to prepare. That wouldn't make my job impossible, but it made a great deal harder if I had little to no time to acquaint myself with the grounds or the staff before presenting my plans. If Harry Potter was supposed to be under my protection for the next seven years, I wanted to do things correctly from year one.
"It is in two weeks' time. I think that should give you enough time to get settled at the school and acquaint yourself with the professors and the grounds," he said pleasantly.
"Wonderful," I said with all earnesty. The sooner I was on the ground, the sooner I could start adapting the changes necessary.
My first impression of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was that it was a very large, very imposing, and very beautiful place. After arriving at the school via side-along apparation, since I could not apparate into the grounds by myself thanks to the wards protecting the school, I was briefly led around the castle and its immediate exterior by the headmaster. Dumbledore never seemed at a loss for random facts about each tree or stone that went into the making of Hogwarts' grounds nor did he seem to run out of lemon drops, a Muggle candy he had graciously shared with me as I was given the tour.
"Here is where the Keeper of the Keys and Grounds lives but I do believe that he's gone to Diagon Alley to prepare for the new year," Dumbledore commented, bringing my attention to a cozy hut surrounded by delicate wildflowers and grasses. "The forest beyond there is known best as the Forbidden Forest for a variety of reasons. Mainly, though, it is so that the students don't stumble in and disrespect the centaurs living within."
"That's probably for the best," I chuckled. "I actually had a centaur as an instructor for a class on Astronomy and I'm sure that, if he was any less afraid that the blood would stain the grass, he would have run us all through with the next classroom's fencing foils."
"You had an instructor that was a centaur? Did his herd not object?" The old man sounded truly intrigued and, seeing no harm in the truth, I bobbed my head in a short nod.
"Heavily. He was nearly cast out when he initially took the position. As it was, he stopped teaching three years after my class. Last I heard from him, his herd was attempting to domesticate the Re'em herd in Yellowstone."
"Fascinating," Dumbledore noted, nodding his head before glancing up at the sky. "Goodness, it's getting late. Dinner should be starting soon. If you'd come with me, I can show you to the Great Hall and introduce you to the other teachers and, perhaps most importantly, appreciate the house elves' culinary expertise."
"Sounds like a plan," I agreed, nodding in the general direction of the castle. The entire way back, I allowed my thoughts to wander back to what I'd been told of the various professors. From what I'd heard of the dour and short-tempered spy-turned-Potions Master to the part-goblin former dueling champion, it would be an interesting bunch to be certain.
Instead of taking me into the Great Hall, Dumbledore took me to an adjacent room. Smiling, he explained that the hall was rather empty when devoid of students so, during the summer season, the teachers still at the school would take their meals together in a smaller, more comfortable setting.
In the antechamber of the Great Hall, the centerpiece of the room was a large stone hearth that provided both warmth and light for the entire room. A highly polished table stretched down the length of the room, around which sat sixteen chairs. Many of the seats were already claimed by the oddest assortment of witches and wizards I'd seen in years- the staff of Hogwarts.
"Ah, Albus, there you are," a warm voice greeted. I turned to see a witch heading towards us, a smile on her face. She was rather short with messy grey hair that, as I studied closer, had a number of stray twigs and leaves as residents. "We didn't want to start without you. And you must be Miss Bingley," she said, the smile never wavering from her features. I nodded, trying to figure out where the line between business and pleasure fell on this mission.
"Yes. Please call me Lore. Most of my colleagues do," I replied as casually as I could. The woman beamed at the offer.
"I'm Pomona Sprout, the Herbology professor here," she introduced happily.
"Pomona is also the Head of House for Hufflepuff," Dumbledore added before explaining the house system. It was all a little unnecessary- I'd done my research before coming to the school- but I appreciated the notion.
"I had the pleasure of talking to some of the more recent graduates who've moved on to work at the Ministry. They speak very highly of the school and its professors, but I've noted a bit of a disconnect between the houses. Has the alienation of Slytherin House been exaggerated or should I be wary of a potential conflict?"
The professors rounded together to explain how their school functioned, I became a little more familiar with each teacher. My goal was to be able to name each professor and what class or classes they taught. By the time I had it figured out that Hogwarts ran on a seven core class system, I was nearly at my goal.
"There are a few members of our staff that we are still missing," Minerva, the Deputy Headmistress and Transfiguration professor, added as I began to gain my bearings. "Rolanda Hooch, for example, teaches first years how to fly on a broomstick and referees the inter-house Quidditch matches but, other than that, spends little time at the school. She usually comes a few days before term begins to ensure that the brooms are all in order but doesn't spend much of her free time in the castle. This year's Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher as well, Quirinus Quirrell, isn't here yet. He should be arriving sometime next week but he's travelling from Albania."
"This year's Defense teacher?" I echoed, curious. That issue had cropped up in my seemingly innocent questioning of Ministry employees. There hadn't been a recurring professor in the subject for as long as many could remember.
"The students believe that the Defense Against the Dark Arts position is cursed. We haven't had a stable professor in the subject for decades."
"Thirty-six years, if I'm not mistaken," Dumbledore chimed in helpfully.
"For a curse or jinx to remain so strong for so long must be very direct in its nature, otherwise the magical drain on the caster after all these years and the doubtless distance between the castle grounds and caster would have made it more trouble than it's worth."
"What are you suggesting?" Minerva asked, evidently not seeing the point in beating around the bush.
"I had to study curse-breaking in order to apply to be a Hit Wizard. Simply speaking, the wider or more complicated the parameters of a curse, the more power it requires to sustain itself. If I were to attempt to curse, for example, anyone casting the levitation charm, that would require a massive amount of power in order to be truly effective. At the same time, the magnitude of change I want carried out by the curse alters the amount of power needed to make it work. It would be much simpler for me to make it so that anyone who uses the levitation charm finds that they yawn a bit more often than it would be to cause them to eternally lose their left sock. Conversely, it would be a lot simpler for me to cause only a specific target- a wizard name John that uses the levitation charm on a feather. I'd use less power cursing poor John to lose his sock than I would cursing anyone performing levitation to yawn."
Glancing about to make sure I hadn't lost anyone, I was pleased to see that everyone seemed to be keeping up.
"With the curse on the DADA position, I'm led to think that it must be very specific in its parameters. It can't possibly be on every professor that teaches defense, nor can it be applicable upon other Hogwarts professors since most of you have been teaching here for decades. The curse would have to be tethered to the individual being affected, as well. Perhaps the curse is on the very title of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, at which point it begins its work at the moment of hire. In that case, the curse could be totally circumvented by simply changing the name of the subject or altering the wording a bit."
"You'd change the name of a centuries old course on a perhaps?" Dumbledore asked with a gleam in his eyes, as if the idea delighted him.
"It does seem a bit easier than tracking down a new defense professor every year, doesn't it?" I responded with a shrug. "My other suggestion would be to dilute the curse's intended targets. Perhaps if there was a joint professorship in the subject, it wouldn't be so potent."
"Fascinating. I regret that we don't have it in the budget to hold a class on the subject. Most curse-breakers need to find specialists or apprenticeships to learn their trade in Great Britain."
"That's a shame... I've noticed that Hogwarts functions on a seven core curriculum with five electives available to third years and up and and additional two available to sixth and seventh years. What sort of precautions have you set aside to manage the flow of student interest as they progress within the system?"