The students filled the classroom. And shortly after, so did the hushed whispers.
"I hear that the guy burns down buildings wherever he goes, and the muggles can't do anything about it!"
"My dad told me he's absolutely starkers…"
"Yeah? That sounds about right. I heard that he killed an entire species of vampires… because they kidnapped some kid."
The anticipatory grin on my face soured. I'd expected a bit more of an air of intrigue and mystery around the American Wizard, the one that was decidedly not of their secret magical culture. Hell, I'd been hoping for it. I'd built a picture in my mind of myself, storming through the door to my office, stern expression on my face, duster flaring out behind me as I briskly entered and assessed the class.
Now…
I shouldered the door open, staff clacking away at the stone floor. I fixed the entire class with my gaze. "Very interesting, class. You know what I've heard?"
All around, faces froze in the mild sort of horror that comes with being found out by the subject of your gossip. One dumbstruck kid near the back shook his head, mouthing "No."
"I heard that he has an excellent. Sense. Of hearing." After another quick glare around the room, they all looked suitably cowed. "Now that we've settled, it looks like we can begin." Turning around, I reached for the chalk, and quickly wrote out PROFESSOR HARRY DRESDEN on the board. Turning back to the class, I assumed a slightly less stern tone. "You may call me Professor Dresden, Professor Harry, or just plain Professor, in class. Outside of class, I don't care if you call me Professor Snuffleupagus, as long as you don't bother me while I'm working, eating, or sleeping, outside of pressing matters and emergencies. Now, does anyone have any idea as to what I will be teaching you?"
One student in the very front row shot their hand up, looking for all the world like their life depended on getting called on.
"Sure," I gestured for the bushy-haired girl to go ahead. No one else had raised their hands.
"Well," she began in a clear voice, "Outside of simple Defense techniques, like the Shield Charm, or counter-hexes and jinxes, it's likely that you'll be teaching us more specialized things that we can use to defend ourselves against more common Beasts and Beings, like the Boggart Banishing Spell." I saw her taking in a breath, this one far deeper than the last, and I only rushed a little to cut her off before I found her lecturing the class instead of me.
With a quick smile, I eyed the class. "That was a fantastic answer, Ms…?"
She smiled, almost victoriously. "Granger. Hermione Granger, Professor Dresden."
"Yes," I continued, my voice a little louder than usual. "A fantastic answer. That's why it hurts to say that you're dead wrong Ms. Granger." Her smile shattered, leaving an embarrassed red on her face as a few of the less charitable students began to laugh. One platinum blonde haired boy, who was a little louder than the rest, and seemed to egg his classmates on some, I singled out. "You," I said with the swift jab of a finger. "Five points from whatever House you're in." His laughing smirk fell. "As I was saying, it was a fantastic answer. However, as I understand it, your last teacher did a fair job of catching you up for the two years of instruction you missed. So, I'm going to follow that up with some of the most important things you can know about the world, and magic in general."
I began writing on the board once more. NAMES.
"Does anyone know the magical significance of Names?"
Granger the Quick struck again, hand first in the air. Her eyes were fierce, and she seemed to either want to get this question right to prove that she was still smart, or to melt a hole in the front of my head with her eyes. I genuinely could not decide which.
She didn't wait for me to call on her. "Names are only useful in the general sense, such as in helping you know what you're dealing with," she said almost dismissively.
"They are that," I allowed, "But they're not only that. They are far more important than you make them out to be. A Name is a connection. A trained practitioner can use that connection to hurt, kill, or bind whatever he has the Name of. Thankfully for humans, Names are fairly malleable, and change with us, so if someone has your name at one point, they may not at another, unless they know you well, or continue getting an updated idea of what your Name is."
"Then why do we introduce ourselves?" she asked, sounding disbelieving. Her hand went up almost as an afterthought.
"Raise your hand please, Ms. Granger," I admonished lightly. "And thankfully, that sort of connection can only be manifested by a Wizard who knows every pause, syllable, and breath of your name. So when middle names are left out of the picture, it keeps us safe. But always be wary of giving out your full Name. It's something you'd be safest never to trust anybody with. If you ever do decide that someone is trustworthy enough to hear it, be certain that you're alone before you tell them. Regardless, we should move on. I'll be happy to take additional questions after class."
Under NAMES, I wrote CIRCLES.
"Circles can save your life," I warned them. "They can keep anything inhuman, or, at least, anything without free will, in or out, depending on the side they're on when the circle goes up." I pulled out a piece of chalk, and inscribed a 3-foot diameter circle on the ground. "Do I have a volunteer?"
Hermione's hand shot up, her eyes narrowing slightly in skepticism. I sighed, and beckoned her up. "Now," I continued, smile widening. "Is there anyone who wants to shoot at her?"
At her start, the class jumped. I saw a few kids near the back, the ones with the green trim on their robes, trying to decide who should go up, and who should get the prime view. Finally, I settled on the boy from whom I had taken points earlier. I got the feeling that there was some sort of beef between the two of them… especially with how the boys Ms. Granger had been sitting with glared at him and his apparent cronies. And I figured it was best that they both knew there was an easy way to block spells, with some preparation.
"You in the back, What's your Name?" He looked like the sort to try and impress people with his family name… and those sorts of people liked to make an impression with their full Names, whenever they could.
"I'm Draco Malfoy." I smiled. Sure, he seemed like a snobbish rich kid, but he was still just a kid. There was still room for him to change and grow.
"Well, it appears you've been listening, not giving me your full name. Come on up, Mr. Malfoy, and bring any foci you'd like." Giving the bushy-haired girl at my side a smug, almost sinister grin, he pulled out a black wand and stalked to the front of the class.
"Into the circle, Ms. Granger," I directed the girl, whose eyes refused to leave the smirk etched across the boy's face. Once there, she shifted nervously inside of it. "Now, Ms. Granger, I am going to power up the circle. It may feel strange, being cut off from the ambient energy in the world, but I can assure you that you are perfectly safe. Do not cross the border of the circle, and don't let any of your robes do so either." Turning to the other student, I smiled. "Please step to the side of the room, Mr. Malfoy, so that the class can see and is in little danger of being caught in the spells." He nodded, moving so he faced the girl from the right-front corner of the room.
Bending down, I brushed the circle, and with a mutter, it formed around Ms. Granger with an audible SNAP. It was a messy circle that made so much noise, just being powered up, but the point was to show them how it should work. None of these kids know much about circles, and if I wanted them to learn how to power them up, I had to show them how they'd be able to accomplish it.
Taking a few big steps back into the mass of tables where the students sat, attentively facing the front, I smiled. "Ms. Granger, please remember not to cross the circle, as that will break it." She gave a weak nod, just slightly pale-faced. "Mr. Malfoy?"
He turned to me, eagerly.
"Fire at will."
He did so, a grin that I did not like on his face.
Two… Griffmore? No, no, Gryffindor, that's it, two Gryffindor boys near the front, right beside where Ms. Granger had been sitting, in fact, stood up with anger and fear written across their features. The redheaded boy shot me a look of scorn, while his shorter friend was drawing his wand, brandishing the focus at Mr. Malfoy.
Even as, harmlessly, the dark red spellfire splashed across the circle, the invisible wall of force flashing near-white for a second.
The smile slipped from the pale boy's face, and Ms. Granger sighed in relief. I could see the anger sparking in the boy's face, though, so before he could do what I figured he would, I stepped in between them, trusting the whole 'Professor' thing to keep him from trying to shoot through or around me.
"Well," I said with false cheer, clapping my hands together, "I believe that will serve well enough as an example for what circles can do practically. If my two assistants could return to their seats?"
The Slithering boy did so immediately, a stormy look over his face, as he shot the boy who had been going for his wand, (and was just now sitting down again) a nasty look. The girl encircled, though, raised her hand from within the circle. "Um… how do I break out of here? Is there some sort of repercussion for breaking a circle, or…?" I smiled, and strode right up to her, raising a hand to swipe through the power blocking her off from the rest of the world, before thinking better of it.
"Actually, now that I think about it, we have room for another learning experience. Ms. Granger, if you would, please attempt to cast a spell- any spell, really, it doesn't matter which- from in there."
She nodded slowly, drawing her own wand and giving it a few quick jabs and waves. For just a moment, there was a small fizzle at its end, a brief sparking of blue-purple light, before… nothing.
Panicked, she quickly waved her wand through the motions again. This time, there was nothing to show any energy had been moved at all. No light, sound, or heat. Which was… odd, to say the least.
When a Wizard casts a spell, they pull in ambient energy from their environment. However, it can't be just any energy. It needs to come from life, from nature, from the emotion and will of not just the wizard, but of everything around them. Magic acts on these other energies, shaping them to a Wizard's will, because the spirit, while no more powerful than these other energies, acts on a different level, one where it can touch others, but not be directly touched. Any living creature gives off traces of their spirit, and with a world as big and wide as ours, it's easy for a Wizard to pull in and shape energies to supplement their own stores in spellcasting. Even outside of that, power generated by the Earth itself also has huge amounts of Magic in them, as they are part of the planet's living and breathing. That's where stories of wizards calling and harnessing lightning, or pulling power from a volcano to sling at others comes from. It's harder, because it isn't purely magical energy, but it's all the more potent because of that.
Wizards themselves have a deep well of magic. It's actually rather potent. A sufficiently powerful wizard, unleashing everything that they have at once, even without outside forces? That kind of power can do incredible things. For one, it can pierce a circle made by even one of the minor Queens of the Faerie Courts, and still present a threat to said Queen once it broke through... presumably, at least, based on how Aurora reacted to the threat of my own Death Curse. There, of course, is the issue… If a wizard released all of their life energy at once, they'd have nothing left with which to live. Opening those flood gates too wide was an easy way to die.
Every spell, every working, curse, or otherwise directing of energies that falls under the umbrella of the Art, takes a little bit of your Will, and that life energy, to function. Every time I cast a spell, I open those gates just a little, and allow a trickle to flow, and once that trickle is in motion, the comparative torrent of outer energy that I'm guiding follows it. The more outside energy I'm commanding, the more of my own energy I need to commit to blazing a trail for it. Because of this, items like a staff and a blasting rod are helpful, as they already have a trail within them blazed pretty fully for magic to follow, especially so for items more like a blasting rod, which is used for a single purpose. So I get more bang for my buck when I cast magic that the focus is designed to help with.
But with this Hermione girl, it seemed… inherently different. There should have been some expression coming from her focus, even as unspecialized as the wand was, being an all-purpose tool for spell-slinging, in their culture. Some of her own energy should have been leaking through to try and cast the spell…
But none was.
Dropping out of my introspection, I realized just how terrified the girl was. She looked like she'd just found out a limb had been amputated while she was in a coma, unshed tears threatening to fall, wand-hand shaking, and a lost, shuddering look to her whole body. I cursed, thinking of how I'd feel if I was apparently incapable of magic so suddenly, and waved my hand through the circle, feeling it snap, as if my hand had caught on and tugged against a weak curtain, pulling it from a wall.
"Please try again, Ms. Granger," I said quietly. She needed assurance that her magic would still answer her. Fearing, or worse, expecting, that you won't be able to do magic is the surest way to kill a spell before it's begun. Quietly, she waved her wand again, muttering an incantation, and a small bird shuddered into existence, cocking its head and tweeting before flying up to the girl and settling on her shoulders.
"Return to your seat, please, Ms. Granger."
She nodded distractedly, a few last tears still dribbling down her face, as her shaking slowly abated, her breathing began to settle. She sat back down with her two friends, who both glared daggers at me.
"As you can now see," I said gravely, "being trapped in a circle is still dangerous for wizards, even if they are rather easy to break. If you can cross the border, you should be safe. If not, you will be almost incapable of working any magic whatsoever. The larger the circle, the more energy is trapped in there with you, but you will eventually run out of that power. If you're planning on controlling and directing large amounts of energy, a great way to do so is to gather the necessary energies, trap yourself and them in a circle, and release them before directing them and breaking the circle. Another way, and the one that I personally favor, is to use the circle first, laying the pathway for the energy, and then breaking the circle and allowing the energy to flow through the path you've created as you gather it, leaving you only to gather the energies and nudge them along. Now-"
A hand was raised, more nervously than Hermione's. A boy in the red and gold trim of Gryffindor, slightly chubby and looking like he wanted anything but to be noticed, was asking a question. That alone was a bit intriguing.
"Yes, Mr…?"
"Longbottom, sir, Neville Longbottom," He said quickly. "I was just wondering… what sorts of spells take long enough that it's… worth making a circle for?"
"A good question, Mr. Longbottom. Any Evocation you attempt to do will be far too quick, or at least should be too quick, to make a circle feasible. But any Thaumaturgy, or any advanced or experimental spells you're working on learning, should use a circle. The first because it makes it easier to control the finer parts of energy in them, and the latter two because any outside influences could destabilize the energies you're working with, and cause… well, a very big explosion is one possibility, assuming you're working with more volatile magic."
I heard a rather large gulp from Neville, even as Hermione began raising a shaky hand, as her two friends tried to comfort her. I think I even heard the redhead tell her that it wasn't worth it.
"Professor?" Her voice was almost normal. There was just a hint of hidden fear and terror, buried in logic and forced focus, as she tried to ignore it, and I immediately felt like the scum of the earth. I should have warned her, or displayed the circle myself, or… something.
I nodded to her, and patiently waited the few seconds it took to collect herself, and her thoughts.
"Why… why is it, exactly, that we can't cast magic inside of a circle? I thought that the magic we used came from inside of us."
"Interesting question, Ms. Granger," I said as kindly as I could. "One that will require that I do a bit more research to sufficiently answer." By which, of course, I meant that I would ask Bob. "Rest assured, though, I will tell you once I've got a good idea." Turning back to the larger class, I clapped my hands together. "Now then! We will begin practicing with the creation of magical circles. I have chalk up here, and some bits of wood. Take one each, put a circle around the wood, and try to light it on fire! Make the circle as round as possible, be sure it completely surrounds the wood, and for the love of all that is holy, don't forget to activate the circle."
Before too long, classes fell into place. I was mostly teaching the children how to be paranoid, how to stop magic someone else threw at them, how to toss some back, and how to know when to run.
Many of the Gryffindors, as I eventually learned that they were called, (at the annoyed hands of an angry Scottish wizard... or Witch, I supposed, as she insisted she be called,) especially those Third Year and up, had a lot of trouble with that last one. But these kids couldn't take full-blown wizards in a fight, and they certainly couldn't take a scourge of Black Court Vampires, or a White Court Vampire trying to charm the pants off of them, and subsequently, charm the life-force out of them. They needed to learn their limits.
Most of the other staff members were… Well, more than a bit troublesome. Professors McGonagall, Sprout, and Babbling thought that I was unnecessarily frightening the children, and as such, believed me to be a poor excuse for a teacher. I maintained that it was far better they be terrified and safe now than terrified and dead later.
Of course, they'd still likely be terrified later, but the main problem would be averted.
Professor Snape lead the charge in my defense... though it was much less a charge, and more a carefully waged campaign of Guerilla Warfare in the form of snide comments that came out of nowhere. I think that even he surprised himself in coming to my aid, though he did seem right at home bickering with the other professors. Professors Vector and Flitwick, too, thought my teaching styles to be fine, though the part-goblin (and wasn't it downright freaky how happy someone of that kind of descent was?) had his reservations about just how detailed I got in describing monsters and trying to shake the cock-sure confidence that most Gryffindors seemed to unconsciously hold that they should always get involved as their first course of action. I found out that the three of them were former Slytherins and Ravenclaws, (evidently not spelled as Slitherins, as I soon learned at the edge of my new friend's rather sharp tongue,) as opposed to the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor backgrounds of my detractors.
Professor Trelawney was too busy predicting doom and misfortune at every possible turn to really do much beyond read my palm and proclaim to me that I'd be dead by my thirty-eighth birthday.
I mean, she wasn't wrong. Depending on how technical you wanted to get, she was right twice, now that I was nearing my fortieth. Didn't mean she wasn't still a quack.
That 'Moody' character was even more offputting than constantly being threatened in such a despairing, 'you poor dear' sort of way by a woman who seemed more willing to see what she wanted to than what really was. He seemed to be keeping a special eye on me, quite literally, when it came to his special eye. It was hard to get a read on the somewhat elderly, peg-legged man, except that to my wizard's senses, he set off alarm bells, in that the magic around him was far from squeaky clean. To be fair, the same could be said of Snape, but it felt far more subdued, within him. Muted, locked away, even. It wasn't hard to see in Snape someone who similarly struggled with the burden of bad choices and worse outcomes trying to drag them down. And sure, maybe he could be a prick about it, but after it all, he wasn't evil.
Not like Moody though. The dark, greasy feel of Dark Magic clung about him actively, though from my few inquiries, I'd gathered that he was much like this 'Ministry's' version of a Warden. It was possible that he decided treading on the very edge of the law to put away or put down those outright breaking it was acceptable, as I'd done once or twice in the past.
That rationalization didn't comfort me much, and it certainly didn't keep me from watching the man.
Finally, the Groundskeeper and Magical Creatures professor seemed jovial enough, though became a bit guarded, maybe when he saw that I was growing somewhat friendly with Snape, maybe on the orders of the 'great man' who more or less stayed up in his headmaster's tower, and deigned only to come down and see us mortals at dinner. It was just as well that the part-giant man was friendly regardless. He was built like a troll, without the mean and ugly in him, but from what I could tell, he was also a good deal smarter and more loyal than the traditionally wildfae. Smart (or, at the very least, not stupid) and loyal to the point of near fanaticism could be far more dangerous, sometimes.
I didn't much care for teaching the kids spells, or even the theory, of how I slung my own magic about anymore.
It was strange, without context. Anyone who knew me well could tell you that I was an absolute geek for magic. It was such a big part of who I was. I loved it. Experimenting, testing, puzzling out a spell for a given situation, the subtle or brash manipulation of the forces of the world, the energy of life... it was incredible.
I was the equivalent of a computer nerd, when it came to magic. I loved talking about my craft to anyone who'd indulge me... the problem was, few enough people believed me, let alone indulged me in that, and just about all of my friends had long since learned that if I started talking about magic, they'd be hard-pressed to either stop me, or stay awake through the whole thing.
Much like a computer nerd explaining his own craft, the finer points of magic were lost on the plebeians I called friends.
But I had found, much to my dismay, that our styles of magic were wildly disparate, almost impossible to unify, really. After close examination of how our different sorts of Magic worked through the subtle use of Bob sitting under my best veil a few feet to my side, away from both students and where they'd be casting, my wizard's senses. The Sight was still a terrifying prospect, when I thought of the energy that sang through the air even outside, as far from the castle as I saw fit to occasionally schedule classes on the green in front of it.
That, though, was only for when I feared being contained in a small space with over fifteen kids at a time, and any explosions they managed to conjure up. As it turned out, though, to my delight and disappointment, their version of magic resulted in far fewer accidental 'Booms.' Their magic still focused largely on intent; if they didn't know what their spell was supposed to do, or didn't believe that it would work, it would fizzle out into nothing but colored sparks, or some mild mishap. This was because their magic had far less wild, self-conflicted energy coursing through it.
"What do you mean, Bob?" I asked, bewildered.
"Exactly what it sounds like," he said firmly, "their magic isn't mortal."
"So what? Are you telling me that every one of these kids is a changeling?"
"No, no," Bob muttered. "They are perfectly mortal. They tell lies, they don't drink blood, and they only have sex with you if you go for it, Harry- no need for the claw hammer!" He grumped at me, interrupting my reaching towards one of my most idle, but common threats of smashing Bob's sanctum, his defense from the scouring rays of sunlight sweeping away the loose collection of power, intelligence, and a sex drive that was Bob.
"It would be so easy, so easy to offer grades for services," he said under his breath. "'Oh, Professor Dresden, isn't there anything I can do to get my grades up?" He said in an obnoxious falsetto.
"Bob," I said, voice straining with the effort of containing irritation, "the magic. From what I saw, no power left their bodies... does that mean they're performing rituals every time they 'cast a spell?'" There were problems with such a theory, of course, but it was one of the few options that made any sort of sense.
"Not a chance, Harry. Even if there was some sort of forgotten god or something with the power to supply all of these wizards with their 'magic,' and in exchange for such short rituals and no sacrifices, I've never heard of a god humble or giving enough to do that at the constant beck and call of thousands of mortals. There's a couple of reasons most rituals have specific time requirements, Harry. While gods like exchanging a bit of power that will come back in no time at all for some recognition and a free meal or something, they never want the mortals to think that they're the ones in charge. As soon as that happens, the sacrifices stop, and the rituals come whenever, and so often that the god needs to do some serious smiting to get back to the sweet set-up he had before."
It made sense. From what I'd learned, most gods and powers of that caliber hoarded most of their energy zealously, spending it only when they could gain without any real threat of loss... or when it ensured that they got the message of 'don't screw with me' across. If the steady, consistent returns on their investments stopped, they'd either stop giving their power to the rituals, or more likely, descend from Olympus, or Asgard, or wherever, and crack some mortal heads until the status quo was restored.
"As for the numbers..." Bob continued, in full lecture mode, "When too many people call on a god at once to perform a ritual, that gets a bit scary for them. No matter how comparatively small the energy is for a god, something like twenty rituals at once wouldn't tax a god too much, but it would leave them just vulnerable enough for another god to think they're an attractive target to take some territory or prestige from, which just cascades and grows into a big, annoying mess, regardless of whether or not the god doing the rituals manages to lose nothing from the fights that may be drawn."
"So rituals aren't possible... or are at least very unlikely," I allowed, thinking of some darker things that one might give a god that would be instant power in their pocket, like bits one's life force, like giving away what the White Court took, essentially trading away your vitality, a few hours, days, or even years at a time... for what? For the ability to cast spells in the first place? If that were the case, why on Earth would only these people have access to magic? Why wouldn't any mortal be able to make some sort of pact and get such power?
I rubbed at my brow. It didn't make sense. These kids only had to learn the proper words, and how to move a glorified stick through the air- they didn't even make their own foci! They-
My head shot out of the hand rubbing at it, and I shot out of the chair supporting me. "Bob, they don't make their own foci."
"So? That means they're stupid, not that there's some reason they can work magic differently."
"No, no," I muttered, beginning to pace in front of the table on which Bob sat. "Making foci is more than just building a tool for them. It's an art. It's- I'm not explaining this right." I shook my head, running a hand through my hair. "They have specific people. Wandmakers. I've heard of one fairly nearby, this 'Ollivander.' His family has been making wands for generations. It's- it's a science. An art. Not something that just anybody can do. And I haven't seen a single person outside of that guy Dumbledore do any magic without one. Maybe the wands are crucial to how their magic works?"
I turned to Bob, eager for his input. This was the type of thing I loved. A magical question that was interesting, one with no deadline to it, no pressure to figure it out but the pressure I put on myself, and no lives riding on me doing the right thing. And Bob was an excellent person to bounce theories off of.
"Hm," he hummed for a moment. "It's a start. Maybe you should get yourself a wand, and we can run a few tests?"
"Maybe," I grinned. And I loved being able to say this next part, for once. "I've got some gold burning a hole in my pocket."
Of course, shortly after I said that, I remembered that I had a set of papers I had to grade from Years One through Four on the theory behind Circles, and why blood is often involved in their activation. And after that came the paper on the different sorts of vampires for the Fifth Years, including the now extinct Red Court. Red Court vampires were a great example of the general sort of monster one might encounter. Fast, strong, predatory, and when they control themselves, intelligent. I especially wanted to frighten the older kids into being careful around the supernatural. Thankfully, I had given the older kids a pass on written work this week, instead letting them study and practice for their exam- stopping my little 'ball of sun spell.' I didn't expect any of them to do it, but they didn't know that. I wanted to push these kids, mostly so they'd know their own strengths, and that there were vastly more powerful wizards out there... but, a guilty little part of me also wanted to understand their magic.
The only textbook I had assigned was 'Elementary Magic,' by Ebenezar McCoy. To my knowledge, my grandfather was the only wizard who had managed to put out a decent book on the basics of controlling and channeling your magic, rather than some vague, philosophical text talking about magic as some abstract, unknowable force. It covered the basics, and hopefully would help these kids to better understand what I was talking about. I had yet to find a student capable of doing my sort of magic.
It was possible, of course, that the issue was more with their teacher than them. I had learned most of the foundations of magic from my old mentor and guardian, Justin DuMorne, and before then, I had only taught people who already knew something about magic. For Molly, she had already done some psychomancy, and regardless of that being considered one of the big grey-to-black scale magics, with no completely squeaky clean applications, it was still magic performed how I was used to it being done. From there, teaching her more about thaumaturgy, potions, and veils wasn't too difficult, as she already knew something about how the energy was channeled. At Camp Kaboom, where I taught some baby Wardens about evocation during the war with the Red Court, they were already well-taught enough to be considered full-blown wizards and Wardens, maybe due to the somewhat lax war time restrictions on the positions, but hey, what can you do?) and as such knew how to put together a working.
I'd never taught someone completely unfamiliar with magic before. And while most of these kids would bristle at me saddling them with that description, that's what they were to me; completely new to the world of magic.
To do magic, you had to put a part of you into everything you did. Human Will had to power every last working. It's what made our magic so very different from most beings. But these kids didn't. Their magic was diverse, and potent, but it didn't have anything put into it. It had no personal touches. Carlos Ramirez, Warden Commander and one of the best combat wizards I'd ever seen in action, had a sort of spell that seemed to vaporize anything he hit with it. He used it to shield himself and to destroy his enemies, bolts of green entropy magic taken to an incredible level. These kids, in contrast, all learned the same things, and were taught the same spells. As far as I could tell, while some had trouble with certain subjects, it was almost never an issue of being less competent with one type of magic, and more so with another. It was more a matter of interest in dedication: they favored a subject, and then excelled in it.
Had I tried to teach Molly the same way that I had been taught, I would have failed. She simply didn't have the raw power to work magic the same way that I was taught to. And while power is certainly not a problem for her now, she was still more adept at more delicate workings.
There was no personality to any of their magic, and it troubled me some.
Finally having completed working on the papers, I grabbed some of the 'Floo Powder' that the Headmaster allotted me, and made my way to 'Diagon Alley.'
Diagon Alley wasn't exactly what I had been expecting.
You see, back home in Chicago, there were maybe five or six places in the entire city that catered to supernatural needs. Of those, there were three that actually peddled items or services of worth in the more spooky circles; Bock Ordered Books being one, Mortimer Lindquist the Ectomancer being the second, and little old me coming up as number three. Out of the three of us, only one of us sold physical things, as I refused to take the time to make foci for other people when so much of my time was already eaten up by renewing, creating, and replacing my own, while Mort's skill set prevented him from even considering such a thing as possible. So when I heard about the one-stop shopping center for potion ingredients, magical tomes, pre-made foci, and more family-focused things like ice-cream and pets, I imagined maybe three small shops huddled together that struggled to provide for so large and isolated a wizarding community.
Considering that, I was not expecting to be greeted by an eclectic and eccentric string of shops on a long street, branching into smaller 'alleys,' if the town-square-esque center could be called such a thing to begin with, as things became more and more specialized. Some shops towered above others, some leaned out over the streets, so much so that I was amazed at how everyone ignored the potential looming death above them.
I'd come somewhat forewarned as well. Professor Snape had given me a few pieces of advice on where to acquire the freshest and least contaminated potion ingredients, and I had those filed away for later, being a certain shop in the line of shops on 'Knockturn Alley.' He also warned me to keep a firm eye on all of my possessions in that area of this… city? Town? Magic mall?
Regardless, my focus was Ollivanders, closely followed by looking for a basic magical theory book, if I could find one, in 'Flourish and Blotts.'
First, though, I would need to go to Gringotts.
Being the only British bank in the wizarding world, it was naturally where Dumbledore had placed my paycheck for the first couple of weeks. I'd need some of that wizarding currency to pay for what I was looking for.
Strolling up to the bank was an interesting affair. First off, I got plenty of strange looks from wizards that were eyeing up my outfit. Each and every man, woman and child on the Alley wore robes of wildly varying colors, and seemed to think that jeans, a simple Star Wars shirt, and a leather duster was an odd fashion choice.
Like I was the weird one.
The second major issue was when I saw the two beings flanking the door to enter the massive marble bank.
They were goblins.
My last meeting with goblins had been a thoroughly terrifying experience… It was nearly a death sentence for me and… for me.
Servants of the Erlking, the goblins are, much like him, a force of nature. When they wanted something dead they were silent and quick. What they were killing hardly ever knew what was happening until they were already dead. They oftentimes rode with the Erlking when he called the Wildhunt, as they were, simply put, hunters without equal.
These goblins were unmistakably related. Although, it was easy to see that they were also… different. Where the goblins that lived in the Nevernever with the Erlking ranged in size and shape so thoroughly that the only uniting feature between them all was their asymmetry, there was another common thread between these goblins in their small stature.
Still. I had a feeling that the blades at their hips were as sharp as they came, and that their skill with them was completely unrivaled among common men and women. In fact, after seeing how quick goblins were to draw blades and kill even prey such as vampires with ease, their proximity to a distracted, seemingly ignorant and dismissive populace had me worried. Magic or no, if a goblin was close enough to pull a blade and put it to their throat with no warning, the wizards would be dead before they even levelled a death curse, and even two goblins, in the middle of a crowd, could cause untold amounts of death and destruction, especially when considering a crossfire beginning with wizards not hardened by battle trying to throw spells and hitting their fellow victims.
It was terrifying, and the people around me hardly seemed to notice.
I warily approached the doors, halting before the goblins, giving the goblins a berth of five feet. I shook out my shield bracelet as I approached, and held my will prepared to put a shield between me and razor sharp death.
"Hello," I unceremoniously began, after the two goblins looked at me with a strange mix of curiosity and scorn, and the man that had been walking behind me began muttering about 'inconsiderate, unfashionable Yanks.' How he identified me as American, I'll never know.
The two goblins looked at each other, muttering something too low for me to understand, though I got the feeling that they weren't speaking english.
The one on the right turned back to me, and in a voice deeper and more guttural than I expected from the thin goblin that only came up to my mid-stomach, wearing armor that somehow straddled the line between being ceremonial and battle-scarred, spat "What do you want, wizard?"
My eyebrows raised just a bit at the level of venom his voice held, but I kept on, undeterred. "I was told that those who work here also live here. Is this bank your home?"
"Enter or leave wizard," the one on the left growled. "We don't have time for tourists."
"Really?" I asked, an amused quirk to my lips.
"Really!"
"Sorry about that. It looked to me like you were just standing around. If you're really that busy, I can wait for when you go off high alert, and sit down."
At that it became clear that Lefty's hand was wringing at his sword's grip, while Righty was clenching his teeth. Bad habits can be so hard to break, but these days I was beginning to believe that my habit of being a smart alek to things that want me dead is more nature than habit.
"What. Do you want?" Righty gritted out.
"I wanted to ask for permission to cross your threshold."
By that point, the people that had stood behind me began to filter around, though I was sure to keep a firm eye on both the goblins, even as some wizards did their best to obscure my vision with their robes. Sometimes being built like a professional basketball player had its perks. But as a result of that, I noticed Righty draw in a small breath of surprise, and Lefty's eyes widen.
"So?" I prodded, filing away that bit of information for later. "May I?"
Lefty was, by that time, trying desperately to avoid my gaze, while Righty tried to meet it. I was certain to look at his nose instead. The goblins that I knew were fae, and as such didn't have souls to initiate a soulgaze. These goblins were undoubtedly different. I'd heard brief ramblings from the ghost professor, Binns, during staff meetings, about how Gringotts has never changed hands between races, and was city, bank, and fortress all at once. I'd heard from a few more alive staff members that they wished the bank was wizard owned. I had assumed they meant it was owned and operated by nonmagical people, or 'squibs' or whatever, but if they meant goblins, it meant that these goblins had lived here, in the material world, for generations, if not centuries or millenia. There was no telling what might have changed among them as a result of any sort of interference, magical or otherwise.
Righty nodded briefly. "Enter, druid, with the permission of Grimbor Grasp-Gem. Make no trouble, and you will not be cut down where you stand."
I nodded, keeping a cool exterior, while sweating internally. Being watched by goblins for the slightest toe out of line was not my idea for a good time, let alone a relaxing shopping trip to satisfy my curiosity.
I'd play it by ear though, and, with some luck, I wouldn't be gutted like a fish and have my entrails paraded around.
AN:
Great Galloping Gazelles, Batman, look at those Dastardly Delays!
I have no excuse for the massive delay on putting this chapter out. I got distracted all over the dang place by school, life, several video games, my own idiocy and tendency to procrastinate, and more.
I am currently doing Camp NaNoWriMo, though, which should help me to work quickly. This chapter is going up unedited. I will likely go back and heavily edit it later, but it is currently 2:50 in the morning, I'm tired, and I have a game of Dungeons and Dragons to DM tomorrow (Yup, I'm even more of a nerd than you thought, probably!) so I'm going to toss this at the wall, ignore it, and see what sticks MUCH later.
However, my NaNo-ing may not mean rapid updates this month. I may actually decide to edit before posting on further chapters.
Anyways, Good Luck, and Happy FanFic-ing!
Monkey Typewriter
AN 2: Fixed the first half or so of the chapter so that there are actual spaces between paragraphs. That was driving me crazy. Real edits will take a while, as I'm NaNo-ing more of this story for the month.