Author's note
Thank you for dropping by. I hope you enjoy. Your reviews are welcome and cherished, always ;)
CHAPTER 10
THE MATTER OF BLOOD
Dear Professor,
Please excuse Mr Draco Malfoy of Slytherin from class today as he had an accident and is now under care in the infirmary.
P. Pomfrey
As the house elf who brought the note to Ella pops away, the class of third year Gryffindors and Slytherins arrive at her door. She asks the kid nearest to her:
"What happened to Mr Malfoy?"
"He was attacked by the hippogriff, ma'am," the kid answers.
That is immediately followed by a wave of exclamations and mutters and thinking-out-loud, which, when put together, basically means that said hippogriff was the subject of study in Care of Magical Creatures class just before Muggle Studies class, and it attacked the Malfoy boy for reasons that the present Gryffindors and Slytherins don't agree upon. They also don't agree upon the severity of Malfoy's current condition, which worries Ella to no end.
As soon as her last class of the day is over, she rushes to the infirmary. Her heart jumps when she sees the backs of Snape's cloak and a blond man's robes towering over one of the beds. Poppy is standing on the other side of that bed; they are talking and Poppy doesn't seem relaxed at all.
"If the headmaster permits, Severus," the man says in a smooth, classy voice, "I would like to take him to St Mungo for a more thorough examination. I'm not sure as to when he will be fit to attend school again. How very unfortunate for him to have such a traumatic experience in class, right under the watch of a teacher..."
"I believe I do have the authority to give that permission." Snape replies, "If you can come to my office to sign the form, after that he may leave with you."
A moment of silence falls between them before the smooth, classy voice is heard again:
"You can see he is still in pain, Professor Snape. Can't we excuse all the unnecessary delays..."
"I apologize for the inconvenience, Lucius," Snape interrupts, "but I can't issue the permission unless a parent signs the form and it must be done in my office."
The man sighs with overt disdain:
"Fine, then."
He and Snape turn on their heels and register Ella's presence at the infirmary door. Snape's eyes narrow in surprise for a split second before he greets:
"Professor Virtanen."
"Professor Snape," Ella replies.
The other man's eyes narrow too when he studies her in a... well, not so polite manner. She holds out her right hand:
"Good afternoon, sir. I am Ella Virtanen, professor of Muggle Studies."
The situation goes incredibly awkward when the man forms a slight, also classy, frown upon Ella, his eyes move in slow motion from her face to her hand and then all the way back. Ella is confused. He doesn't seem to mind this particular "unnecessary delay".
"So you are the new sq... 'wizard-born muggle', so to say, professor?"
"Yes, sir," Ella answers, her hand still stuck in midair, having no idea what it is supposed to do.
"Pleasure, Professor," he says with another sigh of disdain. "Now if you don't mind, Professor Snape and I have an urgent business to attend to."
Without another word and without the basic pleasantry of waiting for Ella's reply, he walks past her as if she were a random decorative object standing on his way. Snape follows him with a secret glare behind his back.
Ella quickly shakes it off her mind and heads towards the bed. Malfoy is sitting, leaning against the headboard with a mortified expression on his face.
"How are you, Mr Malfoy?"
"I thought Madam Pomfrey sent you a note, professor?"
"Mr Malfoy!" Poppy warns.
"She did," Ella says softly, trying to ease the tension. "That's why I come to see if you are okay."
The boy seems taken aback for a moment before starting to complain:
"I'm not 'okay', ma'am. That beast wanted to kill me! I don't know if I can ever move my arm again!"
With that he rubs up and down his right arm in frustration. There are no visible blood ot wounds, but his face is still as white as a sheet. That's imaginable - the poor kid was attacked by a hippogriff, of all things.
Ella sits down on the chair next to his bed and asks in a comforting voice:
"Your friends told me different versions of the story - but what exactly happened? How did it hurt you?"
"It sliced my arm open!"
"With its talons?"
The boy grudgingly nods.
"It won't be that bad," Ella looks him in the eyes. "I was wounded by a hippogriff's talons too. I was younger than you. It hurt and bled a lot but once treated, it healed quickly. Hippogriffs' blood does not carry any curse, so usually there won't be complications. I believe your arm will be the same again in no time."
"That's what I told him too," Poppy puts in. "You see, Mr Malfoy, your arm will be fine again soon. In fact, as I said, I think it is fine now. The pain you feel is just echo and it's not supposed to last much longer. I could have given you a dose of pain relief but since your father wants to take you to further examination, we can't have that now. But it will go away soon, I assure you."
"The wound has been healed, I assume?," Ella asks, eyeing his arm.
"Yes, but it still hurts," he murmurs. Then he eyes Ella curiously. "You were attacked by a hippogriff too?"
"Yes," Ella nods. "My father worked with them. I read about them in a book and once when I followed him to work, I deemed it interesting to try and greet one of them by myself. I did what the book said, but accidentally blinked while bowing to it. It sliced my arms open too - both arms."
She holds out her arms and smiles:
"But as you can see, they have been working perfectly well ever since. I believe your arm will be okay too. Hippogriffs are strong and proud and a little bad-tempered, but their blood is clean and generally doesn't cause infection."
"But it might not work the same way for me. Your blood is different from mine."
Both Ella's and Poppy's eyes open wide. Ella is still dumbstruck when he adds:
"I'm a wizard. You are not a witch."
Poppy's eyes darken. Ella lets out a soft laugh:
"It's not technically blood, Mr Malfoy. 'Blood' is only a metaphor. What makes you have magic and me not is the magic core. Your magic core is active, mine is muted. It has to do with genetic mutation, not blood. And please correct me if I'm wrong, Poppy, but it has almost no business to do with healing wounds from hippogriffs."
"Professor Virtanen is right, Mr Malfoy," Poppy says. "Muggle and wizarding medicine are interchangable. We are all humans who submit to the same laws and principles in healing."
The infirmary door slides open and walk in the two men who left a while ago. The smooth, classy voice approaches the bed:
"We may go now, Draco. Can you walk, or shall I order an emergency transfer?"
"There's no need, Father," the boy flushes. "I can walk."
With that he awkwardly drops his feet to the floor. His father grabs his arm to stand him up.
"May we use your floo connection to St Mungo, Madam Promfrey?"
"Yes, sir, if you deem it necessary," Poppy answers grudgingly.
The blond man smirks and guides his son towards the fireplace at the other end of the infirmary:
"Thank you Madam Pomfrey. And thank you, Professor Snape."
"I hope you will get better soon, Draco," says Snape.
In a blink, Malfoy and his father disappear into the fireplace. Poppy seems to be greatly annoyed:
"It's bloody high time someone tell him being a member of the school board doesn't mean he owns this school and can treat everyone here like his house elves. Look, Ella came to visit his son and he couldn't so much as say goodbye! What kind manner is he teaching his son that way?"
Snape sighs, and before Ella can even realize, the words slip out of her mouth:
"He is probably not comfortable with the fact that I am a squib."
Naturally, that sends all of them into dead silence. Ella curses herself furiously.
"Professor Virtanen," Snape looks her in the eyes, his voice more serious than she has ever heard, "may I ask if Mr Draco Malfoy has ever displayed inappropriate attitude in your class with regards to... one's magical status?"
Ella is taken by surprise. She didn't expect to bring this up under this circumstance, and definitely didn't expect this reaction either, shape or form.
"He has his opinions, which I encourage him, as well as all students, to express," she replies. "He is curious and sometimes confused too, of course, given his age. As for attitude, I believe all thirteen year olds possess enough attitudes to display in class daily. There have been times when I needed to correct him but nothing has gone out of the way."
Snape bears his eyes into hers as if to tear her speech apart to examine between the lines. When she gives a frown in response, he backs out:
"If Mr Malfoy or any Slytherin student chooses to display such attitude inappropriately, please inform me, Professor Virtanen, only if it is a small incident. That kind of attitude is unacceptable at Hogwarts and I need to make sure all Slytherins understand and remember that."
"I will, if something goes out of the way," Ella says dryly.
o0o
"Well, that a parent happens to be an ignorant bigoted excuse for a wizard doesn't make you a bad teacher or less worthy member of society..."
"I know the theory, Tristan," Ella signs at the mirror floating in front of her.
"Thought it's good to recite and repeat sometimes though," the man in the mirror chuckles.
Ella reaches for the quilt at the other end of the sofa and wraps herself up. In the mirror, Tristan leans back in his armchair:
"It's cold there?"
"Just a little chilling. I'm Finnish anyway."
"That does help with the cold, I suppose," he grins. "I'm still adapting to the idea that you are now safely tucked away in a castle protected with ancient magic and served by house elves instead of wandering and getting lost God knows where."
Ella lazily rotates her tea cup without responding.
"How's life otherwise?"
"It's pretty okay. In fact I enjoy the most part."
"What is it like working with Albus Dumbledore?"
Ella sinks deep in thought. It shouldn't turn out to be an interesting question, but it does nevertheless.
"Now that you bring it up - I don't think I see Dumbledore working much."
Tristan raises an eyebrow.
"Things seem to be so well established that they basically run by themselves. I have seen Dumbledore listening to reports from the staffs - and he approved them most of the time. He gave a short and fairly technical speech at the school opening ceremony. Otherwise he is not very visible - I have not seen him making any bigger decisions than the time he invited me for the position. But anyway, I have not been here for that long after all."
"Interesting. Indeed," Tristan nods to himself.
"He leaves many problems not tackled though, and that annoys me to no end."
"Such as?"
"Such as verbal abuse upon students. Publicly, constantly, for a long time, I don't think no one notices, but indeed no one does anything. And, well, do you know why I didn't want to go into details when that Snape guy asked me about his students' attitude?"
"Why?"
"There are two other wizard-born muggles in the staff. One professor and a caretaker."
"Caretaker? Why would Hogwarts need a caretaker?"
"That is precisely the point, Tristan. There are house elves for the housekeeping job. There are professors patrolling after curfew. Both of them do their tasks with magic. Yet we have this caretaker who polishes school cups and medals manually and patrols the corridors to check on wizard and witch students. Honestly, if anything, his only hope is to catch the first years at the beginning of the school year like this time, before they figure out what they can do with their wands. Once they have learnt how to handle their wands properly, do you think a muggle stands any chance?"
"No," Tristan replies absentmindedly.
"It's quite irritating to watch, I assure you. It looks as if he were there and were assigned those tasks for the sole purpose of showing him and others how meaningless his existence is. Well, that's just how I myself see it. But it is true that the kids pay him little to no respect, and he has been there and it has been that way for generations. No one seems to care the least. Yet Snape was making an issue out of a parent's failure to greet me properly? How very interesting it is. Why should I be treated differently? It's hypocritical. I detest it."
In the mirror, Tristan takes a large sip of water.
"How about the other professor?"
"She teaches an optional subject, and the most unpopular one for that matter. She rarely shows up in public except for at the meals. No one seems to care about her or her subject either, except for the few kids who are amazed at the art of fortune telling."
"Fortune telling?," Tristan's eyes open wide. "They teach fortune telling at Hogwarts?"
"It's supposed to be Divination," Ella sighs. "But yes, it is turned into a course of fortune telling here."
"I don't understand. What will the kids learn from fortune telling? It's not a skill. You are born a Seer or not a Seer, period."
"That brings us back to the first question - yes, you asked what it is like working with Dumbledore."
Tristan starts to rotate his glass of water too:
"This is terribly interesting, Ella, if we think about Dumbledore's activist career. Do you see what I mean?"
"I guess I do. But no, I don't think he is hypocritical. Or anyone here for that matter. The situation is hypocritical, but people are not. They just fail to see the point, I suppose. I believe Dumbledore is sincere about his cause. He just... I would say he seems to fall into the category that we call 'oversized leaders'".
"You mean Dumbledore might be thinking too big to be able to observe and handle a secondary school very effectively?"
"I do think so," Ella nods. "But of course I am no one to judge Dumbledore's leadership."
"I am under the impression that we have been judging people's leadership professionally for ages?," Tristan twinkle his eyes.
"Yes, but this is different," Ella sighs.
"Because he is your own boss?"
"Probably."
"You know what, if you can gather information about the time he led the war, you can actually figure out something about his leadership style, his mindset, why he made the choices he made, and..."
"I have neither the time nor the right mood for that, sir," Ella cuts him short.
Tristan bursts into laughter:
"Yes, ma'am. Sorry for being die-hard. Anyway I suggest that you pretend to be Sleeping Beauty for a full eight hours; you will regain your right mood in the morning."
"Sleeping Beauty?," Ella laughs out loud too. "Are you kidding me, Mr Flandin?"
"I did say 'pretend' didn't I?"
Ella rubs her eyes while the laughter endures before it fades into a yawn.
"It's okay to put yourself before society sometimes, Ella," Tristan's voice suddenly turns serious. "I mean it's okay to accept the special treatment offered to you first, before working to make it equally available for all. That works too, and that doesn't mean you support inequality. You can - in fact, you should - fight for yourself too, with no less effort than you would for anyone else."
Ella curls into a ball under her quilt and watches the fireplace flames of both sides blur the face of the wavy-haired handsome Parisian gentleman.
"And I want you to know that you can call me any time for anything."
"You delivered that line already ten years ago."
"Yes, and by 'anything' I do mean anything, not only when you want to sue someone or when someone wants to sue you for that matter."
"I have just messed up your evening with my little self esteem issue, haven't I?," Ella chuckles.
"Yes, by 'anything' I mean your little self esteem issues too," Tristan smiles.
"When is your next trip to Europe?"
The smile disappears from his face in an instance.
"No work trip is scheduled yet. So if nothing changes, then Christmas."
He sighs. Ella asks quietly:
"Still the thing with your family?"
"The same thing as always. I can't understand my parents. What's wrong with naming my brother the Heir? He is perfectly fit and willing to take that on and I am perfectly happy to step down. We have been telling my parents that same thing for ages. Yet they still insist the opposite."
"Perhaps they find it difficult to understand you too. Like what's wrong with you being named the Heir for the sake of tradition."
Tristan rubs his forehead and messes up his hair in the process.
"That kid is a pureblood too, I assume?"
"Yes."
"You know," he sighs, "more often than not the pureblood rubbish is forced on children regardless of their will."
"I know. I don't blame him - or any kids for that matter. Well, not the adults either, I would say. Rubbish gets passed down consciously and unconsciously. Breaking out of the flow is not a trivial matter. You are a walking testimony for that, apparently."
"It's true."
"Well, I'm turning in. It's terribly late here."
"Go ahead. Good night."
"Good night."
The mirror clears out and safely lands on the mantle. Ella leaves for bed - perhaps sleeping is the answer for now, beauty or not.