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The fireplace in Cecilia's room flickered. Greenish and slightly transparent, Cecilia looked over to it, wondering why, at seven in the morning, Snape would want to speak to her so urgently. Perhaps it was Septimus: Cecilia felt her stomach tighten in anticipation as she made her way from her bed, it having been slept in overnight for once, accompanied by her blanket, cold as the early morning was.
She shivered as the indistinct head of the person making contact flickered with the flame, a real fire being unable to be lit while a floo connection was being maintained was one of the drawbacks of more ancient chimneys.
"Severus?" The features were becoming more distinct and Cecilia felt her stomach clench and her hopes sink into it as she made out the features of her brother-in-law. Tiredness and weariness were what Cecilia noted that Caelius's face betrayed and she wondered why she was being honoured by being visited when he must have had so much to do at the Ministry.
"Good morning, Cecilia." Caelius's words were careful, though not overly restrained and Cecilia noticed what seemed to be a genuine smile as he spoke. "I trust you are well?"
"Cold," Cecilia admitted, trying to yawn as civilly as possible, "but well. You, Caelius?"
"Yes, yes," he nodded. "I have just come from a Ministry meeting. I shan't be long, Cecilia, for I have urgent businss which needs my attention. I will come straight to the point.
"Severus Snape gave me your answer to the question of Remus's potion. That, once solved, you wish to return to Dalton Drive?"
Yes. Cecilia nodded at the question. "Yes," she echoed. "Though not necessarily to Dalton Drive. To be near Septimus. To be with Remus."
"Indeed." Caelius's lips shaped the word; there was no expression behind it. "You shall have that."
"I can return to be with my family?" Cecilia repeated. Caelius, clearly worn from whichever ministry work he had been completing was not giving her a lot of confidence in his answers and this was confirmed when he snapped back a "Yes!"
"And it is a promise you can keep, Caelius?" she insisted. Cecilia needed to be clear on the detail. She gave detail, and it was necessary in her science-work; in all science, whether biological or chemical. Detail in the method as she journeyed to her unknown destination using whichever tools she could. As such, she knew, she had a good deal to bargain with.
"Yes." Caelius's tone had softened a little; he was now talking to her as if she were a child which meant that he had conceded a point. Besides, he didn't look particularly well, which wasn't surprising really, with what he had to deal with. "In so far as I can; notwithstanding being able to see into the future. Ask Ragnhild Andersson about that."
And was that a hint of humour? Cecilia felt her defenses ease and she watched as a hitherto unknown expression crossed her brother-in-law's features, one which took her by surprise in the greenish glow. Perhaps that's not a bad idea, Cecilia also felt an afterthought add in her mind.
"Do you really feel you can solve the potion, Cecilia, for Remus? I mean, you have been at Durmstrang for a good deal of time, and have sent a vast amount of information to Severus Snape. This has helped our cause, against conjurism, and I feel when you are in contact with our specialist about the Art of the Wize their work has already been well advanced."
Lily, Cecilia mused. She knew that Lily Potter had been delving into its history. So. Lily would be in touch. So like Caelius to talk about, "our specialist" and not name her. It was a wonder he wasn't talking about Remus as being, "his brother". Cecilia's mind was invaded by another name as it mulled over that of Lily Potter. Whatever their differences, whatever Henrietta had done to her and how she had treated her, Cecilia could not feel anything other than pity for the ambitious witch, that she had died working for the job she loved. In fact, it was almost a privilege, fighting for what you believed in. In fact, wasn't that worthy of admiration? Wasn't that what she – Cecilia – was doing?
"Certainly I can talk to Lily. But I can only tell her what I have already shared with Severus. Plus anything else I glean from here. You have the wizard at Hedgewards who wrote the book and you've translated it.
"And it's being published today; Felixssohn has managed to get it past the Ministry under a technicality of being conjecture. I have already put forward a countermeasure regarding public safety and security, but it will take a good week for it to be heard by the Ministry and also by the non-wizard government. Were I to make it an emergency measure it would only heighten interest and draw attention – sensationalise the work even more."
"And I am sure you are able to manage things just fine, Caelius," replied Cecilia, generously, looking over to her bed where the two useless potions that Snape had sent her were lying, wrapped carefully in cloth and laid to rest. "As for Remus, I am working as hard and as fast as I am able; I too don't wish to draw attention to myself and it is fortuitous that Severus has been in touch, that I am able to discuss my findings with his expertise. And that I can see Septimus..." her voice trailed off as Cecilia's words were replaced with pictures of her beautiful son in her head.
"Then this is the best we can do, and it is indeed the best," Caelius added, and Cecilia felt her face harden, doubt freezing in her features. "We all do love Remus, and we too are all fighting for him."
"Yes, Caelius. Thank you. And I do hope you manage to rest. We need you too," she added.
The fire dimmed and, as the morning sun edged its weak rays through the window of her room and reminded of her lessons that needed to be taught that Saturday morning.
Had that really happened? Had the great politician, that Machiavelli of this magical world really confided in her as it seemed to Cecilia he had? Perhaps this too was part of a big plan, one to bend her to one cause or do his will in another. She looked over at her bed again and her thoughts drifted to Severus, and the genuineness of her dialogue with him. If Severus Snape was able to make her feel that at peace then whether Caelius had manoeuvred her into a corner was irrelevant. Her work was still the same and, one way or another, whether Caelius came good on his word or broke it Cecilia would be with Septimus and near Remus and her brother-in-law would not be able to do much about it.
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"You have confirmed with Cecilia that she will be returning home?"
His third meeting in the space of twenty four hours, and nearly forty hours without a wink of sleep and Caelius knew it must be his last if he were to get through the Ministry work and cabinet briefings later that afternoon.
"Indeed. She was most cordial about it. It is good, I think, in such uncertain times that we can rely on Cecilia now."
"You say there is no progress with Remus's condition as of this morning?"
In his dark grey robes, stained a little with dirt and wear of the last two days, Caelius sank down into the chair at which Snape was gesturning.
"None as yet, nothing definite. However he has not changed in his condition. Whether this is a good thing or not, I cannot yet determine. That Cecilia will work with you, Severus, that is a blessing. How are the children at this present moment? How are the non-wizards?"
"All of the students here are occupied, both wizard and non- on the tasks set for the Halloween Games. They have been left to their own ingenious problem-solving devices and are even now, such is the hour before even their breakfast, practising spells, devising plans and huddling together to work out their strategies, or so I have been reliably informed by their heads of house. Perhaps teaching has missed a trick, Caelius, in that it all should be discovery-learning." Snape curled his lip a little in response to his own sardonic humour but it took a good deal of effort on Caelius Lupin's part to even break into an acknowledging smile.
"She has sent what was needed," continued Snape, aware that Caelius's visit was not in the capacity of either minister for magic nor head of the reciprocators. "It has cut down a lot of my own trial and error. We have an agreed hypothesis, its validity checked with my colleague in France. It is lucky that Draco Malfoy has deemed it vital we collaborate – it makes things a good deal easier for us as long as we produce results."
"What results does Strasbourg require? For yourself, Severus?"
"Merely that we are indeed collaborating. As samples of our correspondence are being taken directly to Draco Malfoy himself, rather than to any particular specialist then I suspect that it is just the fact that we collaborate is the important point rather than the nature of our dialogue."
"I wouldn't be too certain, Severus. I attempted to ascertain the whereabouts of the elf, a mysteriour, who translated the original "Art of the Wize" from Norwegian for us. We have conclusive evidence that he was also behind the break in and robbery of certain artefacts from my office last month. When we went to the mysteriour office to arrest him Gregor informed Mick Mullen that he had gone to see his family in the Alps and wouldn't be back until the Autumn. We traced him to Strasbourg. But the trail has gone cold." He leaned back in his chair, nursing his temples with his fingertips. Severus Snape flicked his wand to apparate a glass of water for Caelius, and the minister nodded, his eyes still closed.
"Are you taking your medication, Caelius? You do need to rest with the wolfsbane, you remember that?"
"Yes indeed," Caelius replied, taking the water and trying not to snap at Severus. He had indeed been missing his bitter-tasting tablets and should indeed have made sure he had had some. A glass jar appeared next to the water that Caelius had been given and he looked at them, and then back to Severus Snape.
"Thank you, old friend. I always have a good deal for which I grateful to you."
Severus Snape took a few steps towards Caelius, before stopping, trying not to hurry the discussion. Both needed to catch up with a few things, but the progress and depth to which Caelius was able to speak was hampered by his werewolf-symptomed-induced lethargy.
"Shall we speak when you feel more yourself, Caelius? We do have a good deal still to discuss?"
"Thank you, Snape, for your kindness. I have other Ministry work to which I must attend. Shall we be brief?"
"Indeed. You asked about Sam You wished to know whether he has continued with his further tuition which he will need to apply for his internship in January to the European Parliament?"
"I did."
"He has attended all sessions that Minerva has arranged, as has Fraser Blewitt. Both candidates are equally suited and will be equally qualified to apply for the internship. It is a pity that there are is only one British place available."
"Both candidates must prove themselves," nodded Caelius, "and I am sure they will impress their talents and abilities upon a dozen european panellists. Now, you in turn, asked me about Floo security. My answer is yes, it is as secure as I can possibly feel confident. Regulus Black has arranged it."
Snape paused, himself reaching for a glass, which he had made silently appear next to the one he had offered Caelius, and took a sip. In that case, he mused to himself, the network was watertight – there was nothing Regulus Black didn't know about the network and, with regards to building untraceable connections there was no-one second to Sirius's brother.
"We are indeed safe," nodded Snape, and was about to continue when Caelius leaned forward out of his chair and gripped him around the wrist, staring at him, his eyes bloodshot from continued self-denial of rest and sleep, of constant worry and unresolvable problems.
"And it must be, for all our sakes!" His words were gasped and, while he – Severus Snape – continued calmly and professionally, he couldn't help but think how it was that he had never seen Caelius like this, so far removed that he was from his usual smooth, unflappable self.
"She must," he echoed, as his voice trailed quieter. "I was wrong, Severus, to send her away. I should have treated her with more kindness. We provoked others to pick at her faults too."
"Henrietta?"
"Cecilia expressed sorrow for her passing. I mentioned that Lily would be in touch regarding the historical contexts." He fixed his expression on Snape again. "Lily must do her bit, regardless of her reluctance and preoccupation with...whatever it is that James thinks is the matter; he has not confided to me. Cecilia must have all the knowledge and understanding that we possess at her disposal, and she is as safe as she can possibly be out at Durmstrang. We have spent immeasurable time and resources to make it so, and only Cecilia alone can break through the opposition's attack."
And she knows it, thought Snape to himself. She has just about reasoned it alone: she has stopped fighting her position now she knows it is one of strength rather than weakness. Aloud, he continued, "when I spoke to her she knew what she was doing, Caelius, and was happy to do so. You said so yourself that was an easy conversation to have." Caelius looked confused at Snape for a moment, before nodding, as if a lagging memory had just fropped itself into its waiting neural space.
"I am concerned, Severus," Caelius went on, "about the publication of the book. It will disturb a lot of people. It couldn't have come at a worse time, what with the deaths in the Alps and the German Black mountains. People want evidence onto which they can hang their ideas and they have lost faith in what we tell them. While I remember..."
He leaned forward and handed Snape a thick bundle of parchment. "For you. It appeared in my office yesterday. Cecilia," he added. "A delay of about three weeks."
"Thank you," Caelius replyed, eyeing the work critically. "Despite her fastidiousness I fear most of it is irrelevant now, considering our remarkable progress in just over two days."
"There is trouble again in the east, Severus," Caelius continued slowly. "We know little about it, but I suspect that it is derived from Albus Dumbledore. It is containable – I hope – but Felixssohn's little book doesn't help. Our numbers in the reciprocators are strained as it is, and that would be alright if the little capacity I built into the wizards and witches covering the country did not account for said colleagues having their own paid work to do, and families to look after. They cannot sustain such intensity and get the job done effectively. I must think of another way. It is believed they are communicating using a hitherto unforeseen loophole in the pensieve system that we are yet to overcome. We suspect a terrorist attack," he added, almost as an afterthought, but Severus Snape had never seen his colleague in such a state. He did indeed need his rest.
"The reciproctors will prepare, as they always do," Snape added, sympathetically. "I had speculated myself and too have made plans for the students. Nearly all of the non-wizards will depart after the Halloween Games. Hedgewards will provide its unique protection should the school come under attack for the young witches and wizards who remain." He watched the expression in Caelius's face change as he shifted in his seat.
"Auld Magic," he whispered, nodding to himself. "It all comes back to that. And now, yes, I will indeed rest. You must contact me Severus, should any issue of urgency arise."
Pensieves being used to control thoughts, Snape thought, though pound to a penny its them controlling the conjurists - thoughts transmitted subconsiously as messages passed. Good news that TWITs were becoming more popular and the floo network was in decline. When the time came, it would make a mass uprising easy.
"I will contact you, Caelius. You must rest," he added, shifting his weight between his feet. "For you are also vital. You must keep your health."
"One last thing, you asked about the pensieves here." Caelius got unsteadily to his feeyt, raching out or the medication that Snape had prepared for him. "That the non-wizads who are able are going home, that the students may communicate with one another – yes – I see no reason why they may not gain access to the network again, however they must be aware that their connections will be monitored as a matter of course by the ministry for reasons of security."
"I shall make it known," Snape replied. "Now, before you rest old friend, any word on Tabitha?"
"None," nodded Caelius, withdrawing his wand.
"As it should be," replied Snape, half to himself, as Caelius stepped wearily to the fireplace under the past headmaster and headmistress pictures.
"You really should try to get yourselves organised," chided Aberforth from his frame as Snape began to step towards the door to his office. "I left the two of you an easy job, or so I thought."
"So we all thought Professor," replied Snape to the former head of the reciprocators and Hedgewards' No. 1 headmaster to have the best beard (as voted for by the previous years' NEWT student leavers). "So we all thought."
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"What do you say, Sirius?"
"I have to agree with you. Relucantly, I will add." Sirius's bed was no longer in the living room at Grimmauld Place. The werewolf survivor was now able to walk a little and get around with help downstairs, which meant he could do his bit for incoming and outgoing reciprocators as they went about their gruelling shifts. It would probably have been better for either head of the movement to have discussed the announcement that they had jointly signed and sent to headquarters that evening than the missive, in dark brown ink on parchment. In his opinion, James Potter thought the message too controversial to rely on the judgment of its recipients given the past history of said subject of the message.
"Reluctantly? The woman is mad! Caelius sent her to Durmstrang for her own good – and or ours! What's he playing at bringing her back to us now? "
"I would imagine he has little choice."
Twelve hours on his feet walking the city streets and suburbs of Manchester, on call to attend any affray reported to the aurors, or offer assistance. His head ached. Any thought of devising strategies to assist in easing their burdens James had dismissed – he had neither the time nor the impetus.
"And I say it is a big mistake. She has caused so many problems by being here in the first place."
"Lily..." James was about to discuss the matter further when his wife got to her feet.
"That's just my opinion," she huffed, annoyed, then added, I've got to go," much to the surprise of her husband and James widened his eyes as he was about to ask her to remind him of her destination as he had surely forgotten.
"I said I'd help Harry ready for next week," came Lily's reply to her husband's unanswered question, "and, to be honest I just don't feel like sitting round here hearing how brilliant Cecilia Lupin is when her husband is lying...when Henrietta is..." She looked down, her face crumpling. James got to his feet and pulled her close, burying what he could of the beginnings of her sobs.
"It's OK...go to Harry...give him my love too. Tell him we are really looking forward to Saturday, and going with him to Hedgewards."
Lily sniffed into her sleeve before looking between them both, a little defensively. Now was not the right time to tell her Severus's plan to have her liaise with Cecilia regarding Lily's research into Auld Magic.
James sat back down next to Sirius, the papers detailing that week's shifts blotted with crossings out and amendments in red and blue ink, his brow wrinkling with tension.
"She knows nothing of what Caelius wants?" Sirius leaned in towards his friend.
"What Severus wants," James corrected. "He wouldn't have suggested it if he didn't think it was vital. He has enough to do with the non-wizard students leaving."
"Do you think that it is a sensible course?" Sirius shifted uncomfortably in his chair, a discomfort that felt as if there was an un-scratchable itch working its way down his spine, and had been annoying him for several days.
"On the whole. He couldn't very well risk causing them harm if he thought they were getting ill from being at Hedgewards. They have done a few weeks at least, so Caelius's objective of non-wizards experiencing the school has been met at least in part. At least that's better than them having never been."
"Better?" Bathsheba Braddle, just back from her own intense twelve hour watch, having clearly overheard them talk as she apparated by the stairs sighed as she sank into a chair opposite both James and Sirius. She nodded at Sirius before nursing her head as she yawned the yawn of a witch under strain. "Better James? What if there starts being fatalities amongst the students? What would the Prophet make of that, never mind the non-wizard media? Not to mention the conjurists; I'm sure they'd have a field day!"
"Fatalities?"
"If Severus's suspicions are true," said 'Sheba, noding her head. "Neville was telling me about the work that he had been doing with the plants at Hedgewards." Bathsheba Braddle was Neville Longbottom's godmother and she smiled as the realisation that she may know something they didn't played on both James and Sirius's features.
"He was telling me that Severus had told him that there are many accounts of non-wizards living with wizards, or in close proximity talk about short life spans with the ability to do magic. It would seem that it is some sort of auto-immune defence system which leaves the body open to illnesses."
"Wow! Neville did tell you a lot!"
"Well, no, not really," Bathsheba looked a little sheepish as she leaned forward. "He showed me a document that Severus had shown him – Lily had written it: didn't you know that, James?"
"Probably when she was researching Auld Magic," James conceded. "I've enough to do here organising us reciprocators, let alone my Auror work. She used to tell me lots of things – we've just got so busy I can't even remember a time when we were at home together, let alone able to have a proper conversation. Did the work say anything else?" Bathsheba drew herself to the edge of the chair she was sitting on now, and looked at James intently, her spiral, telephone-cord curls bobbing as she spoke.
"It isn't the magic that kills directly, it's eventually. Which makes sense," Bathsheba added, her own opinion coming into play. "And it's why non-wizards held witches and wizards in suspicion, lived apart from them, drove out and persecuted those in their communities whom they believed to be witches, I suppose."
"It does make sense," agreed James as Sirius laid back against the settee, trying to relieve an ache that was beginning to creep across his shoulders. "You all right, Sirius?" to which his friend nodded untruthfully.
"Neville said that Severus had told him that because wizards in our country we are spread out and magic isn't as concentrated, non-wizards have medical advances – "
"- and we have forgotten the effects of magic on non-wizards," finished the original quoter, his deep voice reverberating around the reciprocator headquarters living room, "despite the noble cause that is integration," he added. "I came with this." In Sirius's direction Snape waved a small amber vial in the air. "Wolfsbane," he explained. "I wanted to get this to you as soon as possible. "How do you feel?"
"Achy," nodded Sirius, "and rather tired."
"Yes, Caelius felt like that this morning. "I've just overseen breakast and the students sre preparing for the games."
"And what does Caelius feel about the non-wizards going?"
"Accepting." He threw the second potion to Sirius who caught it and prised off the stopper with his thumb. Gripping it, he slugged back the liquid only to gag violently. "If educational inclusion is to work. But we would be acting unethically if we suspect a situation may be causing some of the pupils in our care to suffer. They cannot remain even if in doing do it may prove a hypothesis."
"What the – hahk-hkk – is this?!"
"Wolfsbane," Snape repeated simply. "It won't take long till you feel less unwell."
"It's good to see you, Severus." Bathsheba, fatigue making her lean back into the chair now as she rested. "How are the rest of the students? And yourself?"
"Well," he nodded. "I wouldn't be here now only the Heads of House are overseeing the students plans for the Halloween Games. Now, do you feel any better yourself, Sirius?"
"I do," Sirius nodded. "I thank you, Severus," he added, before frowning. "You're in contact with Cecilia now – how is she? I mean, will she be able to get hold of something which will help Remus? Or help you help him? I can't bear the thought of my being alright, or as alright as I can be while he's stuck in hospital still, with no end in sight."
"She has new hope to drive her on her purpose. Isolation has helped her enormously. And shielded her from events in this country. Cecilia is able to solely focus on her work, and yes, that includes everything she can concievably do in helping her husband."
"What purpose is that, Sirius?" Bathsheba, wrapt in the conversation that was unfolding in front of her sought clarification.
"That of recovering her family life: Septimus and Remus being at the very heart of this. I am sure Caelius would not object to me telling you this, nor Cecilia herself."
"And Caelius has agreed to this?"
"Indeed. It was his suggestion. And she needs all the help she can get. I was hoping to speak to Lily, James, if she is here?"
"No, she's not, Severus. And I don't think now is the right time to talk to her. She has provided you with enough. But she is still distraught over the death of Henrietta. We all are, of course. But she has lost her best friend. It was bad enough just knowing about Cecilia working for us again, but it has brought up the past. And, of course, Sam's imminent try-out for European internship...she's nervous for him...and its where Hen was."
"Well, she needs to put that behind her James," said Sirius, unexpectedly. "Harry's taken over the work – can he help, Severus? Then Lily has no cause to get herself worked up about Cecilia and she can get used to the idea that she's working to help us all. Harry will have no emotional investment. Lily's in a unique position, a crucial position and hating Cecilia won't bring Hen back."
"Halloween Games?" Bathsheba, aware that James was about to argue in defence of his wife, leaned towards Severus Snape.
"The students are competing with one another, in Quidditch mainly, and problem solving and teamwork." The voice came from Mick Mullen, he too had been out on shift that evening and was leaning by the frame of the kitchen door. You 'right, James?"
"Ye. Reckon so."
"And Harry's having his party, of course. Next Saturday, isn't it?"
"Ye." James looked at Bathsheba, questioningly. "You're invited too: all the reciprorcators are. We'll wizard the HQ as usual of course, on a rota, but Merlin knows we've worked hard enough. A break will do us good – I know I am looking forward to watching the orienteeting. And then the quidditch final's on straight afterwards."
"Saturday you say?" Mick Mullen strode over to them, smiling as he caught several of their glances, his outdoor robes damp from the evening's rain. "The 30th? Doesn't the Halloween quidditch match take place on, well, Halloween?"
"Didn't you know about the Halloween Games?" asked Bathsheba of the auror, usually the most well-informed of the reciprocators doubtfully.
"Of course. But, you'd thing you'd stick to tradition," he qualified, looking mock-accusingly at Snape.
"The order of the games has altered that," replyed Snape, not rising to the impish jocularity of the elder Mullen twin. "The non-wizards will return on the Sunday. In addition Saturday is a better day for families to attend."
"Are all the non-wizards leaving?" Bathsheba looked up intently at Snape. "I've been trying to follow this up with the non-wizard newspapers but I really can't find anything that's been reported. I was expecting there to be at least some negative comments."
"Yes, you'd think so," agreed Snape. "However, to be frank most non-wizard parents have witten in to offer support. Just two non-wizard students went when they first became ill and one of those seeks to return."
"That's going to be a good thing, when Mrs Lestrange gets her way then? Quibball can't be played just with wizards." Mick, sipping deeply from his cup grinned as he was greeted with looks of quizzical incomprehension from Bathsheba, James and Sirius.
"C'mon, Severus, let us in on the plan," insisted the latter, when Mr Mullen the elder fell silent. Snape glared at him for a moment before looking back at the other three reciprocators, their exhaustion replaced with a spark of intrigue.
"In January, we are trialling a new sport. Madam Lestrange is introducing Quibball."
"Quibble?"
"Quibball," corrected Snape, giving Mick Mullen another stare of disapproval. "And we are not at liberty to discuss it. Madam Lestrange, in her capacity of Minister for Sports, has her anunciation speech prepared for just before Saturday's quidditch game. She will not be happy that we even know its name," he added, rebutting the anticipated begging for information, mainly from James and Sirius, which is the reason that he knew Mick had mentioned it.
"So I take it that you will all be at Hedgewards on Saturday?"
"Indeed. We wouldn't quibble about that, would we, James?"
"No, would hate to let the side down," he replied, deliberately missing the point. Sirius rolled his eyes at his friend's unwillingness to play along. "Will you be staying for supper, Severus?" James got to his feet and made his way towards the kitchen. "Molly Weasley has cooked a small supper for us Overnighters. I am sure there will be more than enough to go around."
"Sadly, I must decline," Snape replied, following James's path to the kitchen. "I must return to Hedgewards. Would you be kind enough, James, to contact me when Lily has returned? It's vital that I liaise a contact with her and Cecilia." There was a slight pause, before James nodded.
"I do not know how long she will be tonight, but I am certain it will be no later than tomorrow. I expect she will be grateful to discuss Sam's progress at the same time."
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Thursday. The day had been hard going. Cecilia's mind on her work, coupled with lack of sleep and students silently demanding the perfection of the lesson she was supposed to be teaching was not a good combination. Remove one of those factors and Cecilia was sure her lesson would have been successful. Teaching the process of evolutionary biology and mixing up the dominant and recessive genes as she did so was just one of the mistaks she had made.
It had been her first lesson with the fourth that week. The school was divided, not by age or by any means ability, but by position in the tower, which depended upon chance entry. Upper tower alternated teachers with lower, and were opposing quidditch teams. Not that a great deal of the sport was encouraged and, when it was played the emphasis was on mental and physical fitness rather than the cameraderie and sportsmanship that Hedgewards' quidditch was played. The students here were good at quidditch – rather, they were extremely skilled at it, which made them pretty average when it came to one another, but pretty formidable opponents when playing other teams, even the professionals.
Her upper fourth lesson had consisted of too many tiny mistakes, ones which couldn't easily be glossed over given the keenly brilliant minds that sat before. And Cecilia knew exactly the reason why. Like a new-found crush that had bonded itself to her mind the two potion vials which lived in her suitcase were taking up a good deal of her mind and it kept wandering, rather than focus on the task in hand and, as she sat with her work around her she vowed she would be entitrely focused on her work when she was teaching for, while she had recovered well, Cecilia knew she owed it to her profession never to get that exhausted again.
For it was sleep which was the only factor she had under her control. A lot of work, thought-provoking, potentially future-changing work. But she had to be here to do it successfully, with the facets that this school offered to do it, not least the cold, isolating existence. And she must be ready to receive, process and assimilate information by whichever means it came, whether from other teachers here; Lily Potter, or whoever from the reciprocators who would actually be in touch; students who actually asked tangentically insightful questions which often made her think about her research – even when she was committing her own thoughts in mind-numbing, deliberately detailed prose. And Severus Snape, who was working as hard as she was, and managing Hedgewards at the same time.
It was such thoughts which were driving Cecilia to put down her parchments and quills and get to her bed, to rest her mind and start afrresh the next day. She could put her mistakes behind her and start again, and also, she told herself sharply, that getting angry with herself that other people were in worse situations than herself and that actually Cecilia Lupin was in quite a strong position and she had better not forget it would not help matters one bit.
As Cecilia made her way across her room to her bathroom, emerging ten minutes later feeling much better, her mind considering whether she would be able to speak to Snape tomorrow about her idea for physical science connections to her work, and to Remus's potion, namely energy levels in the cells, which is where she had begun back with Harry's potion in the other olace, her eye was caught by a flash of green in the hearth place.
Pyjama'd and dressing-gowned, she knelt before it, waiting to see who it was who wanted her, the hour not being late and Snape in particular knowing that her habit was to work late. She watched in the dimness of the candle flame as the flash passed through the hearthplace again and Cecilia knelt closer and hissed in a whispered shout, "who's there?"
Another streak, and Cecilia's heart began to beat a little faster. Maybe Snape had brought Septimus up to his office to speak to her. She leant closer still and whispered a "hello". As she did so, a face appeared, outlined in the green glow and she tried to pick out the features.
"Hello?" she said again, trying to guess at the appearance. "Severus? Lily?" Cecilia added as the face came more into focus as one might an old television set, wobbling a little as the viewer adjusted the tuning.
"Cecilia?" At her name, Cecilia stared harder at the image, though it was difficult to see who was there.
"Yes?" A woman's voice was the one to which she now replied and Cecilia could feel her heart quicken, as well as sink. Was this the moment she had been bracing herself for, which is why she couldn't teach well today? The encounter which had been on her mind since Caelius, and then Severus had mentioned it.
"Cecilia?" It repeated. Cecilia relaxed a little with relief. It wasn't Lily Potter.
But...if it wasn't her then, who was it, locating her on probably the most secure Floo connections in the world.
"It's Cecilia," she replied more definitely. And then the image clicked into view, as if the caller had fixed on the correct frequency of light and Cecilia felt her heart begin to melt.
"Petunia! But why...? How...?"
"It's good to see you, Cecilia. You look well."
"Fat you mean, Pet," Cecilia corrected her friend on the meaning of the euphemism. "I keep snacking on the wrong things. As usual," she added. "But never mind me, how...? Why...? It's been so long since I've seen you!"
"Well, Regulus was the one who established your connection," Petunia went on, her friendly face smiling back at Cecilia. "There has to be some perks, even if we abstain from magic most of the time. Are you keeping well?"
"Considering," admitted Cecilia. "I have been worse. It's been good to be able to be of use, and not felt..."
"...disposable," finished Petunia, not being able to avoid her empathetic nature. Cecilia nodded.
"But, how is everyone? Darren? Dudley? You and Regulus?"
"We're all well. Regulus has just turned down a managerial position. Too many hours. We are in the lucky position that we can. You know we try to be involved as little as possible with the wizard world. He's trained Dudley...Dudley's qualified with British Floo now. But he's not took up a job with them – he went into the portable pensieve business in the summer; making a lot of money."
"Oh I am pleased," enthused Cecilia, meaning it. It was always a boon to hear good people getting on, especially this branch of the Black family, who had not so much shunned magic, but chosen not to embrace it.
"How are the others? The reciprocators?" She broached the subject with caution; as Lily's sister and obviously having blood ties with that respect; with Regulus being Sirius's brother, they weren't entirely without connection to the past which Cecilia preferred not to think about.
"Under pressure. The country has become more aware of conjurism, and as such magic and non-magic have become more heightened over these past few months."
"Just as the conjurists want, of course," added Cecilia. "Even I could have told Caelius that ignoring them, or trying to oppose them would result in what the conjurists want most – recognition. Come to think of it, I think I did tell him."
"I am sure you did, Cecilia. But as you know, even if it were himself coming back in time to tell Caelius Lupin that deliberate student integration and forced collaboration would backfire, politically at least, he wouldn't have believed himself."
Cecilia could see her friend smiling – she did too. How like Petunia Dursley that she could make her see a view of things in such a way that made total sense? That would make her feel less vulnerable to, at the very least, her own self-doubt, and in such a way that would appear that Cecilia would have come to the conclusion on her own, given time? Such was the power of the empathy-giving witch.
"How about everyone else? Tonks?" she continued, further into potentially dangerous territory.
"She is well., but again seems to be under a lot of pressure. Freya is still with them, and in a good place, too. Tonks says she has begun studying; she wants to make something of herself. What she wants to do Freya has yet to decide. But a positive move, I think you'll agree?"
"Yes," nodded Cecilia, another worry ticked off her list.
"A pity; was getting used to her visiting," Petunia added, her eyes closing momentarily in the flame.
"She's not seeing Dudley any more?"
"No; they have parted company. But I know Tonks is keeping a very close watch on her. She has matured and grown up this last year and a half. I know she particularly wants to see you, Cecilia."
"Then it shouldn't be long; Caelius has promised that I will return as soon as my work here is done. Then I can be with Septimus; with Remus. Start to make a good life again."
"Then that is good news," replied Petunia, nodding in the green, heatless flame. "That you can put that awfulness a few years ago behind you is a good thing."
There was a pause. The pause filling itself up wordlessly between them. The pause that told her friend what she really didn't want anyone else to know.
"It is easier that Henrietta is not around, Cecilia. You cannot blame yourself for feeling like that. You did not cause her death. Do not feel guilty." Cecilia turned away, the tears in her eyes, brought forth not by her self-assumed feelings of guilt, but for her situation still, away from her family, that she had parted in such a way from the reciprocators, from Remus...
"You can't blame yourself for all of that! No-one here asked you to do anything more than what you could; you can't help it if people here aren't what you expect, and treated you badly, because they did, Cecilia, you cannot think them blameless for this..."
Cecilia sank her head into her lap, the stress caused from the trauma of these events rising up in her mind again, unable to be stilled, unable to be conquered.
Then, as a light caught her eye in the fireplace, Cecilia noticed Petunia had her hand towards her. A floo-nudge. She put her hand forward too. Briefly, like a ghost of a feeling, she felt her friend's hand close around hers.
Her mind filled with happiness at her friend's gesture – the times when the children were tiny and Petunia would suggest a walk around a park or woods. Nothing magical, just a normal break in the fresh air. A cup of tea. A picnic. That was what she was like, Lily's sister. Everything as she wished, whether magical or not. No code or precedent to follow; she was as much as Cecilia was different to the wizards. But the difference was, Cecilia had often told herself, was Petunia's brilliant presence of spirit that was able to take it all in her stride, ignore it, cope with it. Oh, how she longed to have that ability, to get past all of this...all of them.
"Think about what I know Severus has done for you," Petunia continued as Cecilia half-smiled at her. "Think about the power you felt these last few days, knowing that you will get what you want, and you will get it in a way you know how. You have lessened Remus's odds of survival, being you – and you need to know deep down, Cecilia that you are the only on who can. You are treading a path none of them can take, because of your history of the other place. Hold onto this, Cecilia. The past had to happen to help you get here. None of the reciprocators has been through the crises you have, in the other place. They can't think like you." Cecilia smiled, and they loosed hands. How was it that Petunia knew exactly the right things to say?
"Seveus said, he did say, that no-one hates me as I think they do. James said that too, Severus said."
"But there's still something wrong, isn't there? Something you aren't telling yourself? What it it, Cecilia? You don't have to answer me; before you do, think carefully. Because if you don't find out now, your depression could last all your life, and affect those who you love the most. And I can tell it's not your work, or teaching."
"I am so glad you are my friend Petunia. I just wish I could do something as awesome for you as you do for me."
"Every day, Cecilia. You do that every day. By reminding me that despite my sister's insistence that I embrace magic that non-magic choices are just as bit as good. Remember, I wouldn't have sent Darren to Hedgewards had there not been non-wizards this year? I needed him to be aware that magic isn't the be-all and end-all."
And there it was. The reason that Petunia had an affinity with Cecilia. Had a friendship with her. The Aurors, the Reciprocators. Even the conjurists demanded perfection. Tabitha Penwright was only just accepted and that was through her true brilliance in one magical area. In a world where magic and non-magic co-existed, up until then, with little or no conflict heirarchy, perhaps more accurately described as snobbery, still existed, in the same way that unfashionable clothes, or not owning your own home were seen as areas where the "have-nots" were, at best, sympathised with, and at worst chagrined for their lot. Different to the othe place? Sometimes she wondered if it weren't in some ways worse.
"Will you be able to connect again? Another night? It's so good to be in touch, Petunia."
"Of course, my dear. Tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow. It's handy when you're married to the world's best floo engineer."
That evening, when the fire had eventually dimmed, and a late autumn wind tore past the window bringing with it angry winds and thumping rain Cecilia rested a little easier, the fire of hope having been stoked, the next day, not having even begun, easier to traverse. Cecilia knew she mustn't be greedy with her wishes and, instead of wishing that she was now with Septimus, and that Remus was well, knowing that she had some measure of her own contentment that she could trade for these. She would even have given the bottles beneath her bed, although they may yet prove of some practical use here, had been made by Snape for a purpose which didn't even exist, and served merely as psychological instruments now.
All these things being relative, nevertheless. Cecilia went to bed that night in the freezing Durmstrang, an unique exile with a unique set of tasks in front of her to complete, happier than she had done in a very long time.
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"So, let's go through this again." Darren Dursley, aloft by a couple of feet on Septimus's Lightningshot, handed out the small rolls of manuscript. Eleven thirty and by rights, of course, should have been in Gryffindor tower. "At the start, whenever he Headmaster chooses to tell us where we'll begin, I'll fly over the castle to get a view of where we are with Rocky." He gestured his head towards Julian, who grinned down at Septimus.
"You and Dorielle, Rufus, will collect whatever note we send down – she knows "Fly" and "Rocky", but she's not so good with "Darren" so we'll keep it simple."
"Right-o," nodded Rufus, upside down as he was over the branch of the tree just outside the school's buildings but within the edgestones. "Then she'll go down to you, Septimus?" Rufus grinned, his dark black hair, which could generously be described as "tousled" (and ungenerously as "dragged-through-hedge-backwards", bobbing in the now chilly easterly wind.
"Just check the note of the location of the first clue is safe in her leg-ribbon," Darren added, his fastidiousness born from his competitive streak. "We don't want all our hard work to go to waste."
"Then Rufus'll run and come over to me, in the underground passages," finished Septimus.
It was a good start. It depended on what happened after that, and of course, they couldn't plan for anything other than the opening part of the Lower Hunt. The game was like a treasure hunt, with real treasure, so the Headmaster had explained. But Septimus knew from experience that it might be metaphorical treasure, like something with sentimental value rather than gold or emeralds, for example.
It was Friday, their second night out here. Darren had suggested coming out the night before and they'd had a talk about what they might need to do. In advance, the teams that were involved in the Lower Hunt had been given a rough area in which the first part would be found – from then on it was the team's interpretation of the clues that would make a difference.
The night before Darren had thought about how they could best use their skills and what they would need. All three of them had, however, been in hot water when they'd got back to Julian, still weak in the hospital wing, for not taking him with them and so that night, based around Madam Pomfrey's "set your watch by the schedule" schedule, Julian had been smuggled out by Septimus and Darren, narrowly avoiding being caught by Profssor Crowfoot, the Hufflepuff Head of House as they headed down the wide corridor that led towards the teaching rooms.
Septimus could have done without it all, last night and tonight. He had been feeling run down and tired yesterday, and today even worse. A night's sleep was what he needed; perhaps it was exhaustion, or a bug of some kind. He'd felt like before, a couple of weeks after starting. Nerves, Professor Snape had said, after giving him a potion to make him feel better. It seemed worse now he was out of doors. But there was no way he was going to admit a little bit of nausea and dizzyness when it had taken every ounce of Julian's strength to get out of the hospital wing.
Out through the coutyard they'd crept, the Professor's footsteps dying away as they had crouched behind a bush and it was only when Rufus Lestrange had loudly said how that particular species of laurel seemed to be vibrating to a low frequency compared to the hawthorn over to the other side that they had realised they had found the fourth of their group and almost murdered him for being so loud.
Loud, and random at the most inappropriate moments, that was Rufus all over. But they were used to his randomnes, especially that which concerned owl training.
As they made their way back to where Rufus had chosen to tell them this completely irrelevant fact the conversation had turned to the relevant qualities of different brooms. It was without question that the Lightningshot was the best broom of all time – sleek, aerodynamic, highst quality wood and the lightest of metalwork in the shape of lightning bolts – the boys discussed the other brooms that they knew students had in school. Flamesongs, whose origins in Wales were somewhat interesting as they were literally a cottage industry down in a little village in Pembrokeshire. Fast, nippy, the flamesongs could be made to sing, "Hen Flad Wy Nhadau" when flown at a certain speed and height and when others were flown adjacent the brooms would harmonise.
"Cool, but only if you're Welsh and like hearing your national anthem as you fly," Darren dismissed. "Now, "Bread of Heaven", that's more like it." Septimus and Julian both shook their heads in the darkness and chuckled a little. "Well, which would you choose?", Darren asked, a little crestallen. "If you couldn't choose the Lightningshot fo Saturday?"
"A cleansweep," said Septimus, swallowing away a wave of not-quite-right. "Reliable. Dependable."
"Wasn't it your father's cleansweep that you said you'd told your Uncle Kay that you'd rather walk than bring it here with you?"
"Well, yeah," Septimus felt himself flushing up. It was OK for him to put down the quality of that broom, but what did Julian know about them? It was a question he found himself asking.
"A firebolt – they seem good, but a bit old," Julian went on. "I like the look of those South Korean ones..."
"They're just gimmicks," retorted Darren in a hushed voice. The school bell was sounding midnight and they wanted to get back into the school without being seen. "South Korean. Flimsy. Break soon as you sit on them and fly through a fresh breeze."
"But how...?" Septimus was about to interrogate Julian about his knowledge of broomsticks when Darren nudged him in the ribs.
"Get down!"
They all crouched. The footsteps that Darren had clocked were getting ever closer. Septimus felt himself gasp at the air as he did so, close near to Darren and Rufus's ankles.
"Told you!" A voice above them whispered away into the wind, then added, "they were out here yesterday, Ariella." A pause. Then, "I wish you'd asked me sooner too, then we wouldn't have had to traipse round the school dodging teachers for the last hour, would we?"
Septimus got to his feet, as did Julian and Darren, the latter staring at Ro Williams, his features impatient and curious – where was Ariella with whom Ro, and presumably Gertrude, small, plump, with large, round glasses, were speaking.
Just then, said young witch appeared at the other end of the courtyard, stowing away her wand.
"You wanted us?" Darren asked. "I hope it's not anything to do with the Lower Hunt. We're not going to tell you a thing!"
"What's to tell?" bit back Ro. "We all get the same first clue. It's just what you do to solve the rest of them. You can't plan it out in advance because you don't know what's coming next, that's the point."
As Septimus suspected that Darren was about to argue back, and at an ever increased volume, he put his hand on his friend's shoulder.
"Look," he hissed between all of them. "We need to keep this down. What is it that Ariella wants, Ro? Conjurist resistance?"
"In a manner of speaking." Ariella leaned in between the group and pulled them all closer. "Yes, we were out thinking about what we need to do for the Lower Hunt," she admitted. "But we wanted to make sure you were still in, with the resistance," she added.
That's what I just said, thought Septimus to himself. Aloud, he said, "I had to rub off my circled Cs – Huggy Baird saw and told me that he wasn't about to teach anyone who didn't know the difference between parchment and skin. I didn't want to point out that parchment was skin."
"Never mind that," Ariella inerrupted. "It's all going to happen. On Saturday."
"Yes," replied Julian slowly on purpose. "Because we are in the Halloween Games, playing the Lower Hunt."
"No!" Ariella gave him a withering look. "Not the Games. The conjurism! Everyone thinks I'm one too, because of Fraser. What I mean is, those other students who are in with him think it's OK to talk when I'm around, or when I haven't left quite quickly enough."
"OK, well, we said we would be resistance," replied Darren, "so we will. I take it you've got a plan?"
"When he sees me he drives me away, tells the others that I'm trying to stop him. But they don't believe him, of course. Mum and Dad are coming to the Games together. Mum's been helping Fraser with his European Internship exams, too.
Mad, thought Septimus. Totally mad! Something dividing a family so fundamentally and yet all of them were still close like a family should be.
"What's the plan?" asked Julian. "Of course we'll help."
"Hang on, will we?" asked Darren. "How do we know they aren't trying to divert us, to win?" In the full moonlight Ariella gave another scornful look.
"I don't care about the Lower Hunt. I do care about wizards who are persecuting other wizards. We don't have a plan. We don't know what's going to happen. Will you be ready to resist them, when they carry out their plan? It could be that they'll do something to you. The non-wizards, I mean."
Septimus took a sideward step, looking at Julian, and saw him nodding.
"I said I would, didn't I? We all did?"
"Yes," agreed Darren.
"Ye," nodded Septimus. Rufus said nothing; rather he was bending to listen to the branches of the laurel tree, humming different musical keys and holding them for a second before shaking his head and trying another.
"OK. We're agreed. Resistance will be resisting on Saturday." And with that Ariella gave Julian another look before hurrying off quickly, Ro and Gertrude close behind her.
"So...what have we agreed to?"
"Helping the fight against conjurism," said Septimus, hoping they were going get back inside soon, longing for his bed and a rest.
"OK," said Darren, stepping out towards the door that they had managed to get open just over am hour before. "Just as long as it doesn't interfere with us winning."
OK, thought Septimus as he and Darren, leaving Rufus behind humming at the bushes, hurried Julian towards the hospital wing hoping that they had got the timings right for Madam Pomfrey. Let's just get him back and we can get to bed too.
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It was Friday, about the best day of the working week for a teacher. Several hours before her slighly under the weather son partook in the plan to win at the Lower Hunt, a section of the Halloween games at Hedgewards his mother was getting increasingly relieved as the minute hand on her classroom clock dragged itself ever closer to four o'clock.
And now, the weekend. No science teaching. No chemical syntheses. No genetics. No lamina flow or fluid dynamics. Instead she could allow her mind to be filled with the information she had dammed back for nearly two days so that she was in the position to function as a teacher and get something done.
It had helped that Petunia had been in touch the previous night. Cecilia had pondered on the words she had spoken, urging her to admit to herself what the matter really was.
What it was, Cecilia reasoned, was her not being with Septimus, although Petunia didn't think so and had said not. As she packed away her books and closed the classroom door – no doors save bedrooms were locked at Durmstrang for no students would be in the classroom except during lessons.
She hurried down the flight of stairs that led to the teacher's bedrooms, waving off a call from a student regarding a lesson over the weekend, throwning herself onto her bed. Cecilia closed her eyes, her mind searching for something on which to fix which would allow her thoughts to flow and her mind to work.
Where to start? Her mind drifted to Harry's potions, the Harry who did not exist here and for whose purpose Snape had made the potions, base and top notes, of the correct frequency which would strip him of his powers. In the other place. And in the other place Voldemort would be dead though Avada Kedavra that Harry would cast at the same time as ingesting the top note potion.
Cecilia, still horizontal, her eyes fixed on the high stone ceiling of the room around which her breath was beginning to condense into thin plumes, such was the ever-growing coldness within. Her hand met the box in which these precious, useless potions lay. She reached for them, bound as they were with twine as intensely as Cecilia and the past were bound.
Looking at them in the half-light Cecilia glimpsed their reflection, translucent in the oil-lamp which hung by the fireplace.
Energy, light, magic.
The words came to mind as she lay there. There was energy, accessible to all who were genetically inclined to be able to process it, and to some extent, non-wizards who hung around magical places for a certain amount of time. Light was involved. Magic was produced.
But, to what extent? She had, the previous night, put together some ideas, and had looked at the DNA samples which Nick Smith, still at Calder Hall, had processed at Snape's request. Several dozen samples. None of which fitted any other pattern than the straightforward "W" gene in wizards, versus those from non-magical people, absent.
There was Remus's, obviously. She had located his easily, for she must have recalled its pattern so often in the old place, when she thought he had abandoned her, that she knew the position of its pigments by heart. Even now, from the sample that had been analyed post-vampire bite the trace was the same, down to the "W" banding, which all wizards and witches had. Which all magical beings and magical objects had, she had learned, being here in this world.
Another trace, Cecilia recalled, as she lay on her bed, last night's thoughts running though her mind. Must have been Sirius's, or perhaps Caelius's, for the familiar double-banding at the end betrayed the sample-donor's lycanthropy.
Nothing different in Remus's however; nothing, yet, that would confirm genetically that he had succumbed to vampirism. This was positive. His body, in a sort-of shut-down, offline, standby position was protecting him from the infection. The sample had been taken on Monday of that week and analysed quickly – how good of Nick to do that, she thought – so at least as of Monday Remus was still Remus.
But for how long? She had to agree with Snape that there had to be a biological stalemate at some stage; the stand-off couldn't last forever.
So, what would she do now, if magic was available to her, as a wizard, guessing what she had guessed about some sort of adverse cellular activity?
Silver was the key again. As was wolfsbane. For some reason, chemically they were able to stave off the development of lycanthropy and, as a tempering agent wolfsbane was able stabilise cells so they could be treated.
Silver? As a topological agent, it was antimicrobial. On a macro level, everyone knew about silver bullets and vampires. But, of course, she didn't want to end Remus's life with a massive dose of silver, more a slow introduction of the precious metal that would be enough to kill the vector that had infected and prevent it from changing the chromosomes of the cells permanently.
Snape had considered her theory and could not attack it critically enough that it wouldn't stand up. So it was the premise that they had agreed to begin with and which Cecilia had agreed for Snape to his contact with regards to physical magic, Professor Bonuit, and discuss this further with him, thus also ticking the collaboration between magical institutions box, so to speak.
And then...
Putting down the samples of Harry's potion on the bed, then scrambling to a kneeling position beside it Cecilia rummaged inside the drawer so as to find the notes she had scribbled down next to those Snape had sent, she scanned over the words, and then twice more.
Could she believe it? Was it possible?
It seemed almost impossible to believe, but the answer seemed clear. Snape had missed the key to energy and preservation.
Energy...yes of course. Energy was what was needed – what she and the Snape back then had discovered. But Severus Snape here had not discussed it, its relationship, directly proportional as it was to how many genes you had that was magical. Pure blooded wizards could work spells the most efficiently...
Nothing. No mention of energy levels in this world – it had never, so Cecilia believed – and she racked her brains to think of where any mention of energy levels had been in any book.
One book. Only one book had mentioned it. The hypothesis of magical energy was fundamental to this book alone. "The Boy who Never Was." Her book, which Cecilia had written, spurred on by Aberforth Dumbledore and which had been her therapy, of sorts, soon after she had arrived in this world. She would have to contact Snape and -
"Huuuh!"
Cecilia sighed exasperatedly, aloud, as a hammering pounded on her bedroom door. If it was a student, Cecilia cursed, who had interrupted her thoughts they would be gone with a flea in their ear.
She got to the door, ready to launch into a telling-off but before she could get there Ragnhild burst through, her pale face agitated and distressed.
"Sissee...but no! You are not ready! Quickly, get on you formal robes!"
"Ragnhild - " Cecilia began. "Whatever do you - "
"You have something formal? Come on now, dress! Otherwise Professor Broeck will notice you have not attended in the correct attire!"
"Professor Broeck?" repeated Cecilia as Ragnhild went to her wardrobe, leafing through her outfits and frowning, as if scanning through pages of a book so badly written it had made Ragnild wrinkle her nose.
"The Headmaster. He rarely comes, but he has sent an announcement!" Ragnhild suddenly stopped skim-reading her wardrobe contents and shot a look at Cecilia. "Oh but of couse. You hav yet to meet him! And yet - " she looked back at Cecilia's clothes, pulling out a black pair of trousers, plain blouse and - "
"No robe?" As Cecilia shook her head, Ragnhild grabbed at one of Cecilia's cardigans and configured it into a robe not dissimilar to an Emaness.
"No time to explain. Get dressed. We have to be in the Grand Hall, well, now! Hurry!" she demanded.
As both witches hurried along the teacher's room corridor, down to the main entrance and then right towards the Hall Ragnhild's voice lowered. The school was assembled, as were the teachers, at the top end of the table. Ragnhild hurried with Cecilia and they stood in front of two of the vacant chairs at the front. Cecilia tried to stop herself looking around at the other teachers nearly all she had never seen before despite having worked at the school – under duress – for nearly two years.
In front of them, in the centre of the room, a stocky wizard stood, at a lectern, surrounded by light, as if to illuminate himself to the darkened room.
"Welcome. Welcome all."
"Wolfgang Broeck," hissed Ragnhild. "He doesn't teach here. He hardly ever comes to Durmstrang. But Headmaster he is."
I wonder what he is going to say, thought Cecilia, as well as adding, do you know, Ragnhild?
"We are fortunate at this time, to bid farewell to this school's collaborators who have, in recent days and weeks left this school in order to share good practise, skills and knowledge with other magical institutions. Professor Felixssohn, to Hedgewards. Professor Bugge to Beauxbatons." As he looked around so as to address the whole of the room the luminescence, as a firefly, or glow worm, worked its way around him and continued to envelop him in light.
Cecilia looked around her. Most annoying. She had hoped to be working on her hypothesis, not have to sit through a boring dinner to which she had been forced to attend.
"It is with my warmest, most sincere appreciation and commendation that I introduce to you all our collaborating professor. He has come from that noblest of institutions Beauxbatons and will be teaching you philosphical magic." Professor Broeck gestured towards the opposite end of the table where the luminescent light was transferred to another teacher.
Never mind, thought Cecilia, as Ragnhild strained her head to the left, so as to better see the person about which the Headmaster was speaking. I'll just have to carry on here and try to get some ideas down.
"I have the pleasure of formally welcoming - "
That, or try to sneak off. It would be a bad move to draw attention to herself in front of her colleagues, the students and the Headmaster she had never met before by excusing herself officially.
" - Lindvald Halen." A round of applause, if it could be described as that in the echoing, cavernous hall in which they were to dine, arose and persisted for a few minutes.
"Professor Halen has worked at Beauxbatons for several years. His work involves physical forces and their interaction with magic."
This dinner, for this new teacher would surely not take too long. Then she could lock herself away for the weekend and continue to make progress into her work.
And so, as the second round of applause ebbed, and the slight, dark-haired, pale-faced Lindvald Halen smiled and nodded before being seated again, Cecilia began to plot her plan of action.
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