Author's note

Thank you for dropping by. I hope you enjoy the story. Your reviews are welcomed and cherished, always ;)

CHAPTER 25

THE NOTHING THING

"A butterbeer for me and a warm lemonade for her please."

"What?," Ella protests. "Why are you ordering for me? I don't want lemon…"

"Because that's the only thing you are going to drink now."

"I'm not your child!"

"No, but you are my friend and…"

"So a butterbeer and what?," the owner of the Hog's Head pub interrupts grumpily.

"Warm lemonade, sir, thank you," Tristan insists.

The old man instantly gets on his way. Ella sighs and drops her head between her shoulders. The heat in her breaths almost burns her skin. Her stomach is simmering, ready to spill out everything in it given the slightest stimulation.

Tristan quietly places a Silence Charm around them as soon as the drinks are served. Ella asks without looking at him:

"How did you know I was drinking vodka? It might have been water."

"Do you seriously not know how I knew?"

He studies her while taking a classy sip from his glass. She sighs again and starts playing with her fingers and nails.

"So what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Silence endures while Tristan rotates his glass and Ella keeps scratching her nails against her fingers.

"I see," Tristan muses, "I'm here to listen when you are ready to talk about that nothing, and I'm here too in case you never want to."

Ella consumes her lemonade bottom up and carelessly slams the empty cup on the dusty bar top:

"You were about to tell me some good news."

"Well, yes, but…"

"What is it?"

"Nothing important."

"I like to hear about unimportant things too."

He chuckles. She glances at him and delivers a half smile.

"Well," he shrugs, "my team have just finished the project we have been working on the past few years."

"What project?"

"Criteria for assessing minority rights' assurance in justice systems. Now they are ready to be proposed to the International Union of Magic."

"Big deal!," she exclaims. "Why have you never told me about it?"

"I did. It's you who forgot about it."

"Congratulations then," she slightly turns to prop the side of her head on her fist. And against her will, she yawns.

"It's time you get some sleep, I suppose."

"No. I don't want to go back in there."

Tristan frowns. After a minute of contemplation, he suggests:

"How does it sound to you to spend tonight at Harvard for a change? And getting around a bit tomorrow. Hopefully it will refresh you."

"Are you joking?," Ella snorts. "How am I supposed to conjure a permit to enter the States in the middle of the night like this?"

"Jeez," he waves her off. "You can apply for it at the border. Shouldn't take long once they see that you have been basically everywhere else in the world."

"Far from everywhere else. Don't exaggerate."

"Fine. Well?"

Ella pauses for a moment before checking her bag to see what documents she is having with her.

"I do have enough papers here, I suppose," she mutters.

"I would be surprised if you didn't. Let's go."

They arrive at Tristan's quarter at precisely midnight. He hasn't changed much since the last time she visited his student apartment in Finland. Everything is clean and organised and brings forth the atmosphere of a monastery.

"Want a cup of tea?," he asks while hanging up his cloak.

"No. Plain water will do."

Tristan leaves living room for a short while and comes back with a big jar of water. He comfortably throws himself in an armchair, facing her on the couch:

"I have asked my house elf to prepare the guest room for you."

"Thank you, but I don't think I will sleep."

He raises an eyebrow:

"What do you plan to do then?"

"Can I read that set of criteria you are going to propose to the International Union?"

"Sure thing," he grins. "But I can also entertain you by presenting it to you orally."

"Sounds good," she nods.

The next one hour wakes up a lot of memories. She is once more sitting as an attentive member of audience, milling thoughts in her mind while a presenter moves back and forth on the stage, giving a long talk on a topic she cares about. She remembers the first time she attended a presentation by Tristan at their university. She has forgot the content, but recalls very well his thick accent and the occasional French words that entered his speech by accident. Matti was on her side, and at the end of it, he whispered:

"His eyes look even sadder when he's up there. We've got to cheer him up more often."

"Or just let him be happily sad as who he is," she shrugs.

"You make no sense."

"That's my own logic."

Time flies. Matti and she did manage to cheer him up more often. He became significantly more cheerful when her parents offered him a shelter during the holidays when he found it hard to go home.

"Questions? Comments? Feedback?," the present Tristan holds out his hands.

"For now, no. But I might send you some later when they come up."

"Perfect," he bows jokingly and comes back to his armchair. "I'm surprised though that you were not taking notes. Who are you and what did you do to Ella Virtanen?"

"I made her work as a teacher," Ella chuckles. "She had to learn to take mental notes when listening to presentations because if she did it physically, the kids would feel as if they had not been listened to or be panicked wondering what their teacher was writing down about their work and whatnot."

"Interesting," Tristan grins. "Now you are an advanced note taker."

"I will need a copy of the material though, for later reference."

"I will give you one tomorrow."

Ella takes a large sip of water and absentmindedly plays with the quilt she is wrapped in:

"I think I will get this school year over with and come back to ethnography work."

"Uh huh?," Tristan raises and eyebrow.

"Was some interesting experiences, but I'm tired," she shrugs.

"Does sound like what you would do. But did this decision come from the nothing thing?," he bends forward and rests his elbows on his knees.

"What the hell is 'the nothing thing'?"

"You know what I mean."

Ella lets out a deep sigh and lies down, leaning her head on the couch's armrest. She studies the ceiling. Why is it so excessively high?

"A student committed an Unforgivable and was expelled. Will be tried, of course."

Tristan remains still as if he had heard nothing. She eyes him expectantly.

"If you are wondering why I'm not stricken, you might have forgot that I did one of my internships at a juvenile court in Manchester."

She moves her gaze back to the ceiling:

"And one of the professors was arrested today."

Just like that, she lets pieces of the last two days flow out. In the end, she rests an arm on her forehead:

"I don't even know why I'm feeling so down. To be fair, little of all that is my own business."

"That is because you always care deeply about everyone around you and granted it has been an extraordinarily eventful two days. Totally logical that it stroke you."

"Care deeply?," she chuckles bitterly. "I abused the power of the Alpha Charm just a short while after I came aware of it. So much for someone who cares…"

"Well, I must insist that most human beings would be inclined to doing so. It's just our nature, unfortunately."

"You are just saying so to comfort me, aren't you?"

"Fine, more reasoning here if you wish. You are not a hermit. Hermits lead an extreme lifestyle focusing on purifying their minds. It's unrealistic for you to expect the same purity from yourself. I believe that's why the hermit who granted you the charm chose not to inform you too much about it. Professor Dumbledore on the other hand…"

Those are the last words she hears before sliding into sleep.

The next morning, Tristan shows her around the campus. She gets excited after meeting a few people whose works she has read but whom she has not met in person or corresponded to. Some of them also knew her in the same manner.

They decide to visit Salem before she gets back to Hogwarts. For some reason, the monument of the Salem Witch Trial's victims sends her into silence when she stands before it, gazing at each and every feature of the statues.

"Appalling how far pure ignorance can take people," she sighs.

"Never again. I hope," Tristan replies quietly.

"Me too."

"I think I will visit your colleague Remus where he is being kept."

Ella abruptly turns to look at him:

"He'll have his own lawyer. Besides, he won't see you if he hears that you are my friend."

"You can't say for sure what he will or will not do," he shrugs. "But I will visit as a minorities' rights activist."

They are back at the gate of Hogwarts at nightfall. Tristan gives her a goodbye hug:

"Take care. Write that letter of resignation and enjoy the rest of your time here."

For some reason, that sounds a little uneasy to her, but she ignores it.

"Let me know how Remus is after you visit him."

"I will."

She leisurely makes way to her quarter. The evening wind erodes her thoughts bit by bit, until her minds come comfortably clear.

"Professor Virtanen?"

It's an unfamiliar voice. She looks around and finds the new colleague she has no desire to spend private time with.

"Professor Black," she greets with a lack of enthusiasm.

"Sirius," he corrects. "How are you? You seem to have been away today."

"I have. May I ask how Remus is?"

"Certainly not so good, but as fine as he can be in such a situation, I trust. I heard you are from Finland?"

"Yes..."

The man spends the rest of the walk to the castle asking her questions about herself, which she is less than eager to answer but has to, out of politeness. It's great relief when they part on the first floor.

The evening goes by in peace. Before going to bed, she stands at her office desk, in her nightgown, staring at the quill standing still in the ink pot.

Taking a deep inhale, she sits down and carefully scribes:

LETTER OF RESIGNATION