"Jamie Atkinham." Hector repeated perfunctorily to himself. They had cleared the space in one of the storerooms to accommodate him. It was a practical room, one single bed in the corner flanked by a rickety old table and a longer mahogany table where books of Charms stacked up over one another. He had not known that Tricia would pack in all his old textbooks. He would have preferred to hang the rules and taught by his own methods.
In front of him, he held up a few bound sheets of paper, the application form of the 'Professor' he would be replacing for half a term. The young scantily-clad lady in the room with the Headmaster had slipped it through the crook of his arm as he left the Headmaster's Office in a particularly cold and hostile meeting leaving Professor Patshire extremely sour. He remembered taking one long look at her bottom as she swayed out into the corridor but had not taken the effort to remember her name. She was not particularly attractive, only pretty in the way a lecherous man would judge a woman. Hector's attention reverted quickly back to the application form. The girl smiling back at him from a still photograph intrigued him more. She was a Pureblood, or so the application form said, a Ravenclaw, an exemplary Prefect with almost perfect scores in Charms. He was different from her on all fronts except that he too was a Pureblood and his ability in Charms was nowhere short of hers. He studied the face closely, it was a youthful face, shoulder-length hair brought into a messy bundle behind. She wore an almost coy, witty look. Hector imagined that if it was a moving photograph, she probably would have raised her eyebrows at him then stalked off to the right frame.
Unexplainably mildly annoyed, he thrust aside the sheets and stared at the ceiling, cluttered with cobwebs and thousand-years-old dust. Why on earth would the butt-swaying woman think he would be interested in whose place he was taking? He would only be here for half-a-term. He did not even want to meet her. As soon as she returned, he hoped to be back home lounging in Michael's obnoxious swivel chair.
There was a knock on the door as Gretel sauntered in with a stack of new papers.
"What now?" Hector groaned, feeling the weight of the papers on his table. He wanted to burn it, burn it all.
Gretel merely smiled. "Your new timetable and a few student statistics you might be interested in."
"Bullshit." Hector replied rudely. "I'm not interested in any student statistics. I'm only going to be here for a few weeks."
"Or maybe not." Gretel smiled and decisively slid onto the edge of Hector's table, dangerously close to where he was. He could not help noticing that her shirt was pulled down a little, revealing more cleavage despite the cloak that hung loosely around her shoulder. He didn't think anybody could wear the cloak and still look like such a skank.
Playfully taking the bait, he leaned over, purposely avoided the fluttering lashes and asked softly, "I have yet to have the honour of your name, my lady."
Gretel chuckled. "Oh, what a gentleman. You really should not be polite, Hector. I'm inclined to think we've known each other long enough to avoid all these courtesies."
The reply stumped Hector a bit, though he did not show it. Instead he retreated into his chair and turned around, displaying a complete lack of concern for the lady on the verge of throwing herself into his lap. He could not remember her, try as he might. In his younger days he had been much of a flirt and now he could barely recall the scores of girls he dated.
Gretel, realizing that he was gradually losing interest, cleared her throat to give him the hint. "You couldn't have forgotten me, could you Hector? I'm Gretel! Borovic!"
The name 'Borovic' first made him prick his ears before he remembered Gretel, a Slytherin girl. Her record of relationships was not clean either, in fact almost as polluted as his own. So she had not changed.
"I do remember." He lied smoothly but professionally.
"I knew you would." Gretel smiled, boldly enough reaching over to wrap the black cloak she had been instructed to bring over around his broad shoulders and then smoothing the creases down.
Leaning over she whispered in his ear, "Welcome to Hogwarts."
Jamie's mood was darkened by her sister's confession yet despite that, she had to put on her happy smiling front. She had to be happy. It was one of the brightest days of the Atkinham family. Get a grip, Jamie, she muttered silently to herself as she pinched her cheek to smoothen her smile. Be happy. As if on cue, she felt a strong hand on her shoulder turn her around. The face she met with was strong and hard, a face that had weathered many storms and yet one that she was so familiar with.
"Dad." She laughed. David Atkinham held his daughter at arm's length, surveying the young lady she had grown up into. The duo were soon joined by Brenda Atkinham. Jamie stared at the two affectionately, despite Brenda's head of bright blonde hair. It was clear neither Jamie nor Alicia, with dark brown hair, were born of Brenda, yet she had been the only motherly figure they had ever had. Beside David, Brenda looked immensely gentle, with a round rotund figure and bright blushing cheeks.
"Have you seen your sister?" Brenda asked in her high-pitched voice. She sounded constantly excited. "Oh isn't she the most beautiful creature ever?"
"Gorgeous." Jamie smiled.
David's eyes roamed the crowd before settling on a group of people not far from where he stood. The eldest of the lot, a man with white wizened hair caught his eye and stepped forward, addressing at once, all three present. His entourage followed him. The white haired man shook David's hand, clasping them between his palms. The glance they gave each other was polite, Jamie could only guess that he was another of David's business partners.
"David!" The white haired man exulted. "You look positively glowing."
"I didn't know it showed on my face." David laughed curtly. "I'm glad you found the time to come, Jonas."
Now that the white-haired man had a name, it seemed only polite that Jamie introduced herself. The white-haired man seemed delighted to see her. "Ah, so this is the daughter David always talks about."
Jonas turned behind, beckoning forward a member of his entourage who had previously remained shrouded in the shadows. He was a young man, no more than a few years older than Jamie herself, tall and stately. There was a little resemblance to Jonas, in the sharp chin and neatly combed hair.
"My son." Jonas uttered proudly. "Nicholas."
Jamie gave a little curtsy, under the watchful satisfied eyes of her father. Unknown to her or Nicholas, Jonas and David had locked eyes behind the two of them. David's glance was perfunctory but Jonas's eyes held a glint of mischief. Brenda clapped her hands in naïve delight.
"Oh, it always pleases me when two young people meet." She turned to Jamie. "I never see you with any men…"
Jamie cast a warning glance at Brenda, trying to keep the smile on her face while doing so. Brenda was completely oblivious. "We have been trying so hard to find her an acquaintance for so long and…"
Jamie's firm grip on Brenda's hand stopped her. Nicholas laughed and replied, "I would find that immensely hard to believe."
Jamie was first hit with incredulity, then gentle surprise. It was always polite to make such a remark but from Nicholas, it sounded dead serious. She looked up and met Nicholas's eye. Half of her wanted to turn away in embarrassment, but the other half knew that turning away would make her appear the shy blushing maiden she did not want to be. She met his stare head-on and gave him a half-questioning smile before being interrupted by the small orchestra breaking out into song.
"I expect its time for the dance!" Brenda said excitedly, grabbing David's arm. "Come, honey."
Reluctantly, David allowed Brenda to lead him away and Jonas soon found himself diverted by another conversation. Jamie turned on her heels to leave but was stopped by Nicholas.
"Why so fast?"
Jamie smiled thinly. "Good sir, if you would just care to release me."
Nicholas glanced down at his grip on her arm and let go, almost in shame. Unperturbed, Jamie bobbed a curtsy and turned away.
"But one dance?" Nicholas called to her retreating shadow. Jamie stopped. Nicholas pressed his hands to the side of his coat, he had never been so bold before with a girl. He was, needless to say, nervous. Jamie could hear the uncertainty in his voice, like a young schoolboy's fear that his offer of a flower would be rejected. Making a great effort to control her laughter, she walked back to Nicholas and held out her hand. Smiling with relief, Nicholas took her hand and led her to the spacing cleared in the middle of the crowd.
Nicholas encircled her small waist with his arm and took her hand. The dance, however, seemed mostly led by Jamie rather than Nicholas. She was confident in her pacing, leading Nicholas and even at one point in time, pulling him closer, complaining that she was stepping into the path of others. Other than that, the dance was mostly silent. Jamie did not feel compelled to talk with such a quiet partner till he spoke first.
"I hear you are a Professor at Hogwarts." Because of the noise around them, Nicholas had to lean over her shoulder to whisper in her ear for anything to be heard.
"Yes, in Charms."
"Oh." On second thought, he added. "My sister is a Professor there too. I daresay she is only about your age or maybe slightly older."
Jamie raised her eyebrow. She knew almost instantly who he spoke of, considering that there were only so many young Professors of her age, but feigned ignorance anyway.
"Gretel Borovic."
"Oh yes! Transfiguration?"
"So you know her?"
"A little." Jamie reconsidered this statement. She probably did not know Gretel at all. What amused her was that this gentle and shy man was born of one of the most powerful Slytherin pureblood families. "Is she here today?"
"No. I came uninvited. My father compelled me to attend."
"Whatever for?" Jamie laughed.
Nicholas shrugged. "I can never rationalize my father's actions."
There was a brief silence as if something in his last line had hit him and sealed his lips. So close to him, Jamie could feel his heavy breathing and felt that if the conversation did not start again, she might suffocate. "Your father looks like a firm man."
"He is a Slytherin."
Jamie had to control herself from jerking. He is a Slytherin. There was almost malice in that statement, as if Nicholas detested the fact that he was Slytherin. Before she could ask further, the music had stopped and the dance had come to an end.