Chapter 9: Leo Eytinge
"Are you sure you're all right, Sypha?" Lisa Pringle asked as she showed Argus Filch her permission slip. The old man glanced at it, sneered, and pet his cat – one of about five he owned these days, all of which seemed entirely capable of running Hogwarts security completely on their own.
"I'm fine," she said as she passed by the caretaker. "I feel all right, nothing major to worry about. And besides that, you're all basically flanking me like bodyguards." In truth she felt a little woozy still, but it was easily shaken-off.
The small crowd of friends surrounding her – Albus, James, Rose, Lisa, Alexander, and Louie – suddenly began to space themselves out more. The miracle of Albus and Rose being allowed into Hogsmeade really was not very unique – Albus had contacted his uncle George, and had gotten a written invitation to visit the shop. Thus, the two were allowed out of school grounds provided that they were not alone. Of courfse, the written permission said nothing about Honeydukes, The Three Broomsticks, or anywhere else, but who was going to tell?
"If I knew that the best way to unite all the houses was to get sick, I'd have caught something more serious," she remarked. "Maybe Dragon Pox, or something."
"Or cancer!" Alexander Dioti offered in his usual tone. "Believe me, that works wonders for sympathy."
"And it's not every day that somebody gets killed by the Spell of Love and Happiness," Lisa added.
"I wasn't killed."
"Yet."
"Alex, please," Sypha said. "Lately your jokes all make it sound like you're going to commit murder before Christmas."
"Well, you know I'm not," he answered. "And if I were, I've lost my best opportunity already. Besides, what can I do? You've got me surrounded by Potters."
"And a Weasley, and a Lane," Sypha corrected. They always seemed to forget Rose's last name.
"I don't count Hufflepuffs."
"Alex!" she protested.
"Really, look at this!" he kept his voice low, but Alexander Dioti's meaning was quite clear. "You're a Slytherin, Sypha – we are, the four of us here. It's like you're 'collecting' people from the other houses to compensate for something."
"No it's not," Sypha said, "James and Rose are Al's family, and Louie is a really nice guy. There's nothing to worry about."
He still looked rather grumpy, though, and Sypha was about to say something more when Albus suddenly shouted,
"Look! It's Weasley's! Let's see if Uncle George is in!"
The Hogsmeade branch of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, while not as large as the Diagon Alley headquarters, was more than adequate for Hogwarts student needs. It was well-stocked with old favorites such as Extendable Ears, Ton-Tongue Taffy, Reusable Hangmen, Skiving Snackboxes, Weasley's Wildfire Whiz-Bangs, Pygmy Puffs, Peruvian Instant Darkness, WonderWitch Products, Trick Wands, the surprisingly still popular U-No-Poo, as well as many newer items including Color-Changing Quills, Exploding Parchment, Shrinking Robes, Hornblowing Hats of Hilarity, Bombs with Feet, Clawed Frisbees (similar to the popular "Fanged Frisbee"), Ronald's Favorite Spider Potion, Percy's Creeping Tentacles, Charlie Weasley-Approved Dragon Repellant, and the frightfully named Concordant Killer.
The rather spacious shop was absolutely bustling with energetic students and filled with exploding inventory (almost literally), and so was slightly difficult for a small crowd of seven to make their way through in a straight line. Also, James kept getting sidetracked with products he wanted to use back at Hogwarts. After a little bit of pushing and prodding, Albus managed to navigate the group to the back of the store, near a large orange door marked "EMPLOYEES ONLY" in purple lettering. Al knocked on it and then went inside, anyway.
"I should really follow him," James said, comparing two Skiving Snackboxes, "But what do you think? Does the Fever Fudge look better in this box, or in that one?"
"I don't support lying to get out of class," Rose said. "But try that one. Richer color, so it's probably more potent."
"Thanks, Rose, you're a gem!" James answered, and at that time Albus burst out from the door, looking as though it were Christmas. Sypha, who had been paying attention to James and Rose, jumped.
"Uncle George's coming out! Come on!" he told the older girl, "You've got to see him!"
"Albus, I know you're excited," Sypha said to him, "But I–" She stopped and blinked, seeing the kind of person who stepped out of the Employees Only door.
He was a mess of scars, marred by the remnants of old injuries covering nearly every inch of exposed flesh. He only had one ear, and one of his eyes was milky-white and dead, a particularly long and deep scar crossing over it, reaching down to twist the corner of his nearly-toothless mouth in a deformed rictus. His hair hung in thin strands, only a few still vaguely red among the gray. George Weasley leaned heavily on a cane, and the hand clutching it was missing two of its fingers. He hobbled up to the students, gasping and wheezing as he did so. The old, mangled man coughed loudly, his free hand moving quickly to cover his mouth, and looked at them with his one good eye.
"George Weasley?" Sypha asked timidly, hoping that she did not sound as perturbed as she felt.
The mutilated man's one eye settled upon her, and the working corner of his mouth turned upward in a twisted grin. "Perhaps," the man croaked, "let me check." He twirled around with sudden flourish, dropping his cane on the floor. The scars immediately melted away, his bad eye regained its color, his fingers grew back, and his hair restored itself into a thick mop of reddish-orange. George Weasley became a very handsome man, approaching middle-age but still quite young, although his right ear was still missing.
"Why yes, I am indeed myself," George declared, grinning like a champion. "George Weasley, at your service. You know, I tried to get people to call me 'Mad-Ear Weasley,' but I guess it never took. What do you think about the Moody Disguise Kit? Works, eh? Think any of your friends'll get a kick out of it?"
"I think so!" James was in awe. "Uncle George! How much for it?"
"Wow," was all that Sypha said. George looked a little bit like Ronald Weasley, except that he was slightly taller, thinner, older, there were a few facial differences, and he was missing an ear. This was the legendary George Weasley, hero of the Second Wizarding War, and co-founder of the greatest joke and novelty chain in the wizarding world. Sypha would have already been in awe, if not for the fact that he was talking at a mile a minute.
"So, Al, who are these friends you wanted to introduce me to? All I see here are a bunch of Slytherins," he said. "Oh! That's right, you're a Slytherin! Well, you'll never take me alive!"
"Uncle George!" Albus protested. "Be serious! I want you to meet Sypha Veranades, and Lisa Pringle, and Louie Lane, and… and…"
"Alexander Dioti," Alex muttered. "A pleasure."
"Right, right, good to meet all of you – Snake-tongued little sneaks or not, a friend of Al's is – Pringle, was it? You know, My dad's still got scars from your somehow-associated relative."
"Great-Grandfather always took pride in his work," Lisa said, beaming.
"And you – Lane, why is Hufflepuff always the one with the good Quidditch players? I've lost money thanks to you!"
"Um, thanks?" Louie answered, sounding very unsure of himself. He seemed to be trying to hide behind Sypha, which would only have worked if he were not so much larger than she was.
"And you… you're short," said George, "Keep up the good work."
"I will?" Sypha now joined Louie in being utterly confused. However, the situation was still fun.
"Well, since I've got you all here, I may as well give you the grand tour, eh?' George said, looking at the group. "Friends of Albus and all that, come on!"
"He's a nutter," Alexander whispered to Lisa while they were looking at new varieties of Wildfire Whiz-Bangs. "A complete nutter."
"I think he's sweet," she responded. "Having such a nice sense of humor, and, well, did you hear about what happened to his ear?"
"No, not really," he said.
"I heard he lost it fighting the Dark Lord himself, or one of his henchmen, or something like that. Lost his brother in the War, too. They were twins, too."
He did not have a rejoinder to that one, and so remained quiet for a little while.
"Now, these may look just like your average Fizzing Whizbee," George informed them, holding up a small candy, "But I guarantee that if you give this to your friends, nobody'll sit next to them at lunchtime for a week!"
While Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was certainly the highlight of the day, seeing Louie go completely overboard in Quality Quidditch supplies was also worth the effort, as was Lisa's attempt to make Sypha "look like a witch, not a hag" in Gladrags, and Honeydukes was, of course, as enjoyable as always. Finally, as the afternoon was turning into evening, Sypha relented to going to The Three Broomsticks to talk with Professor Eytinge. The entire group approached the inn, and had no sooner moved inside than the professor popped up, nearly coming out of nowhere.
"Ah, good, Miss Veranades! Good to see you!" he clasped his hands together, as exuberant as he always appeared. "I have been here since lunch, but no matter – I do think that Madame Rosemerta does not age, it would seem."
"Good evening, Professor," Sypha said, nodding to him. "Have you met my friends? Lisa, Albus, Louie, Alexander, James, and Ro–"
"Yes, yes," he waved dismissively. "I remember all of my students. May I have a few words with you, Miss Veranades?"
"Well, yes," she said, "Do you mind if–"
"Actually, yes," he interrupted again. "I would indeed mind – I assure you, nothing secretive, but the presence of others would be distracting." There was something emphatic about his tone, maintaining Eytinge's cheerful demeanor while making it quite clear that he wanted to talk to her alone.
Sypha looked to the others, and found less support than she had hoped. Really, there was no reason to feel apprehensive at the prospect of speaking with the professor alone, and perhaps it really was simple nerves after being hit by his Patronus, but when James led the others by suggesting that they would just have a butterbeer and wait somewhere to the side, she did not feel encouraged. Professor Eytinge led her away almost immediately to one of the smaller side dining rooms. It was not private, Sypha noted, but was away from anybody she personally knew.
"So, Professor… you knew my aunt?" she asked as they approached a booth, trying to break the ice.
"Yes, yes, I did!" Eytinge said, waiting for Sypha to sit. She did, and he slid into the booth across from her. "Years ago, when we were both at Durmstrang. Very studious, your Violet – she would nearly drive us mad by forcing us to study when we preferred anything else. But I assume she has not changed much."
"No, not really, I guess," Sypha said, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, but she never mentioned you, Professor."
"That is all right," he waved his hand again. "Nothing to worry over – would you like some tea, Miss Veranades?"
She nodded, beginning to feel less uncomfortable. "And you knew my parents, too?"
"Yes! Yes, I did!"
She nodded once as the pot of tea arrived, adding, "My aunt never really talked about them much. I always got the picture that she and my mother grew apart somewhat, and maybe she never really knew my dad."
"Ah, your father," Eytinge folded his hands over the table. "You never knew him very well? Richard was an excellent man – strong, sure of himself, always certain; certain of what he wanted, of what he was going to do. I have never met a more charismatic man."
She poured her tea, continuing to listen to him.
"I guarantee you have never met a man like Richard," he reminisced. "Nor will you, not in any way imaginable. Miss Veranades – may I call you Sypha? We are not at the school."
"Yes, Professor," Sypha answered – although, school friend of her parents' or not, she probably would not feel comfortable using his first name until the summer. "It's okay."
"Ah, Sypha," Eytinge nodded again. "Your father, he was strong, very strong." His hand moved, and for a minute Sypha was worried that Professor Eytinge was going to take her hand. Instead, he took the pot of tea, filling his own cup. Eytinge looked up again, gazing directly into her eyes as he spoke.
"You have his eyes, you know. At least a little bit – they had a kind of fire that could make others follow him, believe in anything he did. Do you know what I mean? This charisma, this power, this…" and he faltered, and shook his head. "My dear Sypha, I do not mean to insult you. You lack that determination, that charisma, but this is not a bad thing – you are who you are."
"It's okay," she muttered quickly, and took a sip of her tea. Sypha had expected Professor Eytinge to talk about what her father looked like, how he behaved, and maybe share a school story or two. She hadn't expected him to nearly compose poetry for the man, and in truth it was beginning to unnerve her just slightly.
"When he determined to do something, he would accomplish it," Eytinge continued. "If your father truly desired something, he would fight the heavens for it." His gaze shifted to his tea, and then back to her. "Am I boring you?"
She shook her head. This conversation was indeed very strange, but it was anything but boring.
"Well then," he steepled his fingers on the table. "Your parents and I were very close friends in Durmstrang – the three of us were completely inseparable. We even adopted a teacher – or perhaps he simply took us under his wing – as our special mentor. We – three of us – enjoyed ourselves, causing trouble and planting chaos. I assume your friends are the same?"
Sypha and her friends did not exactly paint the castle green, she thought – but understood what he meant. "Why didn't you keep in touch?" she asked. For a brief moment the professor looked uncomfortable, but then regained his composure.
"People… people sometimes fall out of touch when they leave school and grow older," he answered. "It is as simple as that. I did not know your aunt well enough to continue talking to her."
Privately, Sypha wondered why Leo Eytinge wouldn't want to see how the daughter of his best friends was doing. His odd avoidance of mentioning their fate was nothing new to her, and she did not think it even remotely strange. Aunt Violet had told Sypha that her parents had died young, had briefly explained how, and then never brought it up again.
Many people had died in the few years immediately following the Second Wizarding War as fleeing Death Eaters were rounded up and arrested, and the loss of Sypha's parents were among the casualties, even while living in Germany. In fact, Aunt Violet had taken her niece and moved to America to escape all the violence and chaos.
"What was very amusing," Professor Eytinge changed the subject, apparently reverting to his schoolboy friendships. "Was that none of us were Russian, or Bulgarian, or Hungarian, or wherever. Your mother and I are German, your father was British, and Professor Graham Jones was American. Your father came to Germany after graduation, however, and I was glad to see him in my own country. How is your tea?"
"It's… it's all right," she said, looking into the cup. "Why did you come to Hogwarts?"
"Your Headmaster and I are friends," Eytinge answered, "I met him shortly after graduation, in fact. I wish to teach, and Durmstrang did not have what I desired. But it is such a happy coincidence!"
She still felt uncomfortable at this immense amount of familiarity with a professor. Professor Longbottom was very personable, but he still maintained the student-teacher division in his behavior. Professor Weasley was kindhearted, and it meant a lot to Sypha that she stayed in the hospital wing after the Patronus incident, but even then there was something odd about Eytinge's manner. There were subtle things that Sypha did not consciously notice, but still made her feel nervous. He might give an occasional, nearly imperceptible wince while recollecting, or would gloss over something else that seemed important. She began to sink deep in thought, her vague and blurry image of her parents seeming odd when compared to the professor's nearly-dreamy story.
"How was your time at Salem?" he asked, catching Sypha off-guard. "You studied there before you moved. How was it?"
She shrugged. "It was kind of so-so. I made a few friends, and I guess I got a good education, but I wasn't popular, or anything."
"Why is that?" the pot of tea was nearly empty, and the professor flagged down a server for a refill. "You seem to be doing very well here."
"Kind of," she shrugged again. "I have some really good friends here, and I love them, but I don't think I'm really all that popular or unpopular. It's kind of nice not being noticed by everybody all the time."
"Everybody noticed you in Salem?"
She sighed. "I'm sorry," Sypha said. "I'm really not the best witch in the world, and that kind of… I know Professor Longbottom talked to me about my records. I mean, I'm sorry, I'm not being clear."
"Your magic has a tendency to," the professor gestured once or twice with his hand. "To… go haywire, is that the term for it?"
"Yes." Sypha nodded.
"How so?" he asked, leaning back in his seat. "Tell me how, if you can describe it. Certainly you do not mean to tell me that you are a poor student, Sypha – supposedly you study and work hard, if what I have heard is correct."
"That's not it," she answered. "It's… it's kind of hard to explain, really. Things just sort of go wrong, like I don't always have control over my own magic."
"Have things gone 'wrong' here in Hogwarts?" Eytinge asked. "You seem to be perfectly fine."
Sypha shook her head. "I know, and it's really been one of the longest stretches I can remember where everything went well. I don't know how to really explain it."
"See if you can," the professor folded his hands together over his stomach, and crossed one leg over the other. "If you can tell me what you mean, that is."
"Well," she started, trying to figure out how to put it into words. "My spells don't always go wrong, it feels sort of – feels kind of cyclical. For a while, I'll be fine, but I'll start to feel… um, let me think – feel like there's pressure building? Kind of?"
"Is it at all like your headaches? The ones in Professor Weasley's class?" he asked.
Sypha shook her head. "No, no," she said, "I guess kind of, but no. When the professor was demonstrating her Patronus, I actually felt sick. This is different. I feel kind of agitated, maybe a little headachy – but it's kind of like when you're flying very high up, and you descend quickly. You know that pressure behind your ears?"
"Unfortunately," Eytinge agreed.
"Kind of like that," she shook her head again. "And then my magic eventually goes out of control somehow, and I feel better after. Aunt Violet said it has something to do with nerves
and tension, or maybe I'm subconsciously holding back, or something. Do you know what I'm talking about?" She didn't really know why she was giving Professor Eytinge a much more detailed description of this than Professor Longbottom had received. Perhaps it was the informal setting.
"Yes, yes, I do," he sounded dismissive, at least on the surface. Eytinge looked away from her, his eyes glancing to his empty teacup. "It happens at times – nerves, although usually it resolved itself or is minor. You have not experienced it in this school?"
"No, not at all," she shook her head again. "I guess that's a good thing, professor. It was kind of embarrassing at Salem, like that one time I transfigured the teacher's quill into a Flobberworm – I was trying the Cheering charm, would you believe it?"
He nodded once. "But you are all right here. What was the most severe incident?"
She paused for a moment, as if trying to remember something. "One time I blew up a classroom, but nobody got hurt," Sypha answered. "The chairs and desks were ruined, but it didn't harm anybody."
"I see," he responded, and leaned forward again. "Tell me, why did you leave Salem?"
"I don't know," she shrugged. "It's… I remember the administration being very upset about those accidents, but I don't think I did anything more severe than usual. I guess it was cumulative?"
"That…" he paused, as if choosing his words. "That sounds right. They had years of this kind of difficulty – but you are sure there was nothing significant, no breaking point?"
She thought again for a moment, and then shook her head. "No… I'm sorry, no, not that I can remember. I don't think they really asked me to leave, but Aunt Violet met with them and then suggested that we move. I didn't have any trouble getting into Hogwarts, so I guess everything was all right."
"But you do not think you will have this problem here?" he asked again, seemingly moving the subject backward. This struck Sypha as odd, and she began to feel nervous again about the conversation.
"No, I haven't," she answered. "I guess developing a Patronus allergy is more than enough for me."
"Will you tell me if you do?"
"Yes," Sypha answered, and inwardly thought that she probably would not. "It's okay, Professor. I'll let you know if anything goes wrong."
"And if not myself, speak to another professor," he advised. "Or even Madame Pomfrey. I think we would like you to do well here."
"Thank you, sir," she said.
"I am glad to have taken this time to talk with you," Eytinge said, "to get to know you, Sypha. I should contact Violet again, I think – did I tell you that your eyes are a little like your father's? You look very much like his mother, in fact."
"I do?" she noticed that the conversation had reverted again to her parents. "Really?"
"Yes, indeed," he nodded, smiling warmly. "But I think she may have been taller."
"I see." Of course, the descriptor he gave applied to nearly everyone.
"You have good friends," Eytinge told her. "Spend your time with them – I think that perhaps their support helps calm you, helps your magical performance, Sypha."
"Thank you, sir," Sypha answered. "I'm glad to have them."
"Good," he nodded, and glanced to the empty teapot. "I think you would like to get back to them now, would you not?"
"Yes, I would, sir," she responded, and smiled. "Thanks for the talk, Professor. I'd really like to do it again sometime." To be honest, she wasn't sure if she did, but that may just have been nerves.
"Good, good – do have a good evening," he rose from his seat, and offered Sypha a hand. She accepted it, stood, and muttered a quick "likewise" before moving back toward the main room of the inn.
Sypha Veranades reached her friends again just as James Potter was about to discreetly set off a Dungbomb under the table.
"What are you doing?" she sounded startled, but James almost jumped out of his chair.
"Oh, nothing!" he hastily tried to hide the Dungbomb. "Nothing at all!"
Sypha noticed that the hand with which James held the bomb was suspiciously close to Alexander Dioti's bag. She glared at James, but didn't voice her suspicion.
"I swear, all you Slytherins are too paranoid," James muttered, still trying to hide the stinkbomb. "Like a bunch of snakes, really. So, how was your time with the teacher?"
She shrugged. "Oh, nothing special, really. Turns out he knew my parents in school, and wants to get in touch with my aunt."
"I wish I had professors like that," James muttered. "The only teachers my parents know are Hagrid, Longbottom, Flitwick, Slughorn, Merrythought, Trelawney, Firenze, Sinsitra, Vector, Binns, and the staff."