The Headmaster sat in his place at the high table, his faculty arrayed about him except for one chair left empty between himself and Professor Sprout. An everyday feast was laid out for them, a taste of home to nurture the growing minds and bodies of the students. A lull in the chatter drew everyone's eyes to the Ravenclaw table, where Miss Deirdre Ward was being introduced at last by Professor Flitwick. Dumbledore smiled and felt a sense of gratified pride as he saw several Ravenclaws approach the orphaned witch; for already she was being made welcome.
The quality of the excellent food went unnoticed, as his mind turned back to darker thoughts. He spent the better part of the hour before dinner gnawing on the contents of disturbing request for expertise received from the Ministry, detailing the grisly details of a vile attack on the Meadows family. Dorcas Meadows, a formidable Muggleborn witch who was several years into a decorated career in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement escaped her family's fate, having been away on Ministry business.
Something about the story was not quite right. Meadow's mother was missing, and there wasn't a note left behind. The remains of two others were identified, although there had been some doubt of how many were dead, each body pulled to pieces. The motive was the easy part and he had no illusions as to who was behind it.
Kept from the papers, the details of the attack were what made Dumbledore uneasy. The experts were certain that this was not the result of a known curse. One of the aurors conjectured that it was a werewolf who was responsible, or a pack of them but that was impossible, as the full moon was a week ago. There was not enough structural destruction for it to have been a troll or giant, but everyone could agree that whatever did this had to have possessed an incredible amount of strength. There were no puncture marks to suggest vampires and Skipper, the investigator of the scene, noted that the massacre most likely occurred in broad daylight, given there was the wreckage of a perfectly good rash of bacon left to burn on the stove. The smoke from that neglected pan was what had attracted a neighbor's attention in the first place. There were no traces of a magical signature, no evidence of a wizard's involvement.
The contrast of that horror with the ignorance and safety within these walls turned Albus' appetite. How to fight an enemy that he could not track? Movement nearby arrested the downward spiral of his own dark thoughts, a welcome interruption.
Dumbledore looked up and nodded welcome to Professor Nott. "Whittington." He'd reserved the seat to his left for the Defense teacher on Pomona's insistence that they needed to discuss her niece's performance. "Tell me, how did Miss Ward do today?"
Whit helped himself to chicken and veg that was nearest, and after a moment he answered, "Well. She clearly has some training in Defense. Unfortunately she also is still rather unwell and I was forced to end the practical early."
Dumbledore studied the man's face, reading reluctance therein. "She must be included in the Defense course, Whittington. I realise that this is asking a lot, but…" He trailed off, the request dying on his lips as he marked Whit's uncharacteristically intense response.
Worry lines formed on Whit's brow, and his voice was firm, "I can't have her in classes with the rest. At least, not as she is. She isn't ready for it." He punctuated this with a bite of chicken, but the way he avoided Dumbledore's eyes suggested uncertainty.
Leaning forward, Dumbledore lowered his voice so it would not carry down to Professor Sprout's curious ears. "Surely she can just push through it? Her little bag was stacked with many volumes on the subject so I've no doubt she has the needed enthusiasm."
Whit's curly head bent close to Dumbledore's ear and in a more hushed tone, he answered, "It isn't her motivation that is wanting, Albus. She has survived horrors bad enough to make her forget her own name, and we saw the extent of the magical and physical injury she bore. We don't know what happened to her, but we have a good enough idea. Ten hells, Albus! I feel wretched over this."
"What happened?"
Hanging his head briefly with eyes closed, the Defense teacher composed his whispered response. "I should have realised that something was not right when she started to attack rather than defending as instructed."
"Did you not correct her?"
Shaking his head ruefully, Nott admitted, "I wanted to see what she would do, and she was very skilled and only used the classic hexes, but then she summoned a wicked flock of canaries that I had to dispel. I was able to disarm her and I think it a good thing that I did."
"Why?"
"She fell to pieces, Albus. Blind panic, lost herself in it. If Pomona hadn't been there, I'd probably have needed to stun her."
Taken aback, Dumbledore leaned away, turning his gaze to the Ravenclaw table. "Is there anything that can be done? I still believe she needs to be in your classes."
Nott shook his head no, following Dumbledore's gaze with a pensive expression. At length, he said, "Miss Ward wants to take Defense as badly as you wish her to. She was quite upset at the idea of having failed her entrance exam. It wasn't a failure per se, but my decision stands."
"She won't get better without dealing with these problems, and I think you are perhaps best equipped to assist her of everyone here. Could she be contained somehow? Eased in? Frankly, I have hopes for her memories to start returning with exposure to your coursework, but we wouldn't want to push that."
Whit frowned, looking back to Dumbledore with eyebrows raised slightly in disbelief. "I suppose that I was the trained Professional in the situation, but stars, Albus! She isn't an ordinary student, she has spellshock. There is no way that it would be safe for her or the other students."
Dumbledore sighed, shaking his head. "A lot more of our students are going to suffer if we can't prepare them, Whittington. You will be seeing more of this, no doubt sooner than we would expect."
Whit waved his hand, "You don't understand. What we have here is essentially the same trauma seen by the undercover fighters who survived the Grindelwald conflict without any of the context to better help her understand." He shook his head. "Are you certain that we need to put her through this? Can't we just watch over her? I thought Poppy was going to eat my liver for even daring to test her, worried that she will relapse no doubt."
Frowning, the Headmaster shook his head. "No, Whit. She has the aptitude and she needs to be able to defend herself, we can't watch over her all of the time, even with Mr Snape's assistance. No, training her is the path of wisdom."
"I will have to tutor her myself. Pomona's already suggested it. If Miss Ward has not shown improvement by the end of December, I don't think that she will be able to join the regular class." He straightened and turned away, looking across the sea of students, indicating that for him, this part of the debate was over.
Nodding slowly with provisional approval, Dumbledore said, "Thank you, Professor Nott. I may be able to spare some time for her, and perhaps Filius could help as well?" He turned his head to search out Flitwick, seated down the table, next to Professor Sprout.
Warming at the offer of help, Nott flashed a rueful smile. "That would be much appreciated. I've taken on elective training with Mr Snape at Professor Svartrunir's request, so I find that my hands will be unexpectedly full."
"Ah. Well, perhaps you might combine some of the sessions?" Dumbledore looked on with amusement as a silvery-grey owl swooped in, coming to land neatly on the chair behind Whit.
Considering the suggestion, Whit said, "No, not at first. They will each need individual attention and while I know they are friendly, I don't think it would be a good idea just yet." He pulled a piece of meat free from his roast chicken and turned, handing it to the owl. With a polite hoot, the bird extended a leg for Whit to retrieve the message. Once unburdened, it launched into the air as Whit examined the envelope with dismay. "Ocê, I don't believe this. Uncle Nott doesn't write. Maybe someone died."
Folding his hands in his lap, Dumbledore waited as Whit dropped the missive as though it might be poisoned or trapped onto his empty plate. After a long two minutes of muttering and wandwork, one of which caused the envelope to start to exude a foul yellow smoke briefly, Nott finally used a severing charm to slice open the paper, leaving the wax seal intact.
"Tea. He wants to meet for tea." Whit frowned in contemplation. "Urðr's foulest exhalation! Tomorrow."
Dumbledore turned to help himself to a bit of pastry-wrapped meat, commenting, "I don't think I can spare you, Professor Nott. Terribly sorry to be such a tyrant." He grimaced in delight before taking a bite.
"Of course you aren't." The handsome wizard, tapped the paper to his lips, eyes unfocused and staring as he spoke.
"Not a tyrant? I must not be trying hard enough to inconvenience you. I will have to do better. Kettleburn's always looking for help mucking out the mooncalf fields? That might serve to fill in the gaps. Can't allow you free time to go gallivanting all over Hogsmeade with that lute of yours."
Whit turned his lively green eyes back to meet Dumbledore's amused glance. "No, Albus. I meant that you weren't sorry." He flashed an unrepentant smile of his own before turning to apply himself to his food.
Dumbledore found himself laughing at the ridiculous joke, a forced laugh that conceded the point. Inwardly, his mind turned to a graveyard miles away. Sorry was such an inadequate word.
Deirdre was grateful for Professor Flitwick's kind attention as he had collected her after she finished her last leg of testing that evening. He had a schedule already populated out with her classes for the week, which he pressed into her hand only moments before he steered her into the Great Hall.
Using his wand, Flitwick animated a scarf that he borrowed off of a younger student, causing it to wrap about his legs and lift him up several feet in the air so that he could better get the attention of the students. It was early so there were gaps on the benches still. "Ravenclaws, we have a new addition to our numbers, Miss Deirdre Ward, a transfer student who was sorted just this morning. Please help her in every way you can, she is very far from home." Deirdre felt shy under the weight of so many interested gazes. She blushed as a number of students who were quick started thumping the table, cheering her addition to their numbers.
"Welcome, my dear. Now, I'll see you tomorrow." Flitwick sank back down to the ground and collected the scarf, handing it over to skinny lad with a perfunctory, "Thank you, Bartemius."
Bartemius accepted it and turned to Deirdre. "You're the one who got Lily Evans in the face with the pie. I've heard of you. That was brilliant! I'm just sorry I didn't see it."
Bristling, Deirdre arched an eyebrow at the plucky boy, "And you are?" Besides all ears and elbows, that she could see for herself. Didn't they feed the children here? Severus was so thin too.
"I'm Barty. Barty Crouch. Fourth year." He stuck out a hand which Deirdre took. It was clammy and damp.
The awkward hero worship in the kid's expression rankled her for some reason, so her response was terse, "Pleasure."
A change in the boy's expression from awe to dismay tugged her attention away. A shadow fell over her shoulder and she turned to see two girls pause beside her, clearly sizing her up. They smiled pleasantly and Deirdre could feel herself being measured, judged by these two. "Thank you, Barmy. We'll take over from here."
"Um, oh. Right, thank you Miss Fawley. Miss Zhi." He nodded to Deirdre with an expression of apology before scooting off. She found herself flanked on one side by the stately golden-haired Fawley and the other by Zhi who was staring at Dee's hair.
"I'm Phoebe Fawley, and this is Miriam Zhi. We're sixth years too, you see." Not waiting for Dee to formulate some response, she went on, "You're overcome I am sure, at being placed among the best and brightest like us. I am told that I am awe-inspiring." She smiled with self-satisfaction.
Deirdre took a stab at responding in a friendly way, "Well I am new here, it is all overwhelming. Do you have any of these classes?" She pulled out her schedule and found Miriam plucking it out of her fingers before she could finish.
The witch's almond shaped eyes crinkled in merriment. "Cor, you took Arithmancy? That she-man is a joke. Nice enough, but no one could take Rolle seriously no matter how much homework she gives out."
Frowning, Deirdre opened her mouth, but was stopped by Phoebe's response, "But no Care of Magical Creatures? Dear Deirdre, do reconsider. Why, you might be able to get some workable beauty tips. All of that hair, are you certain there isn't a kneazle in there?"
Deirdre could only blink as Zhi pressed the parchment back into her hands, "Oh, Phoe. She's got Potions, maybe she can cook something up in there." She giggled lightly, the sentiment not reaching her eyes. "I don't do classes like that, myself. I don't like getting dirty."
"So lazy, Miri! Well, I'm starving so we'll see you later. Welcome to Hogwarts, Deirdre Ward." The two girls linked arms and walked off to find a seat farther down the table, bursting into fits of giggles, not bothering to get out of earshot.
Dee had thought today one of the most wonderful of the few that she could remember, but in one short encounter all of that inflated joy popped like a balloon licked by Zhi's sharp tongue. Humiliation was shoved aside by the building ire inside of her. How dare they?
A witch down the table had watched the entire exchange and rose, wiping her mouth on a napkin. She rolled her eyes at the pair as they passed her, and she clomped over to Dee. "Why don't you come sit with me, Ward." A hand on her shoulder helped to yank her mind away from the firestorm inside that threatened to make her do something she would regret.
"I'm sorry, but who are you?" Belatedly she noticed the prefect pin on the girl's starched white collar. She wore grey trousers, a wool vest, and the house tie that hung loose below her unbuttoned neck. She had her mousy brown hair cut in a short bob, bringing out some waves that caused it to stick out oddly. Her nose was large on her face, which wasn't exactly pretty. No, she had too strong brows and a small mouth. She was attractive in her way, even regal, but not pretty.
"Right, I'm Ogden. Ruth Ogden, I'm also a sixth year. Hungry, Ward?"
Dee found herself nodding, words dead in her mouth.
The prefect gripped her arm and towed her back down the tables. "Wouldn't do to let the food get cold, would it?" She barked at a serious looking dark complected wizard, "Move over, Shafiq. You take up enough space for three."
Deirdre was, without ceremony, deposited on the bench in what must have been the prefect's space. She looked around at all of the faces and found that only a few turned her way in interest. The displaced wizard barely seemed to notice her as he had a book open in front of him and he was indifferently shoveling food into his mouth as his mind feasted on better fare. She squinted, getting a better view in the low light of the hall, but she was interrupted by Ogden elbowing in next to her on the bench.
"That's Vasim Shafiq. Don't mind him. He's obsessed." She added, "Be nice to Ward, she's new."
A narrowing of his eyes and a grunt was all the indication that he gave to acknowledge the jibe. A girl across from them giggled and interjected, "What is it this time, Sha-freaky? More love potion case studies? I wouldn't mind hearing more about those."
"Sod off, Sherwood." He made a shooing motion with his hand, and it sent a puff of wind the witch's way.
The witch, Sherwood, giggled again. Deirdre watched her and was surprised when she said, "Hi, I'm Agatha Sherwood." She stood and stuck out a hand towards Deirdre across the table. "Welcome. It must be pretty overwhelming to come right in the middle of term."
Deirdre took the proffered hand, and out of the corner of her eye she could see Ogden digging back into her own food. "Well, um. It is. I mean, I just recovered enough to join classes." She sat back down onto the bench with a thud. Whatever fire had been there minutes ago was smothered by the overriding exhaustion that set in now. The fatigue held open the door for melancholy which brought with it a sense of loss, both of purpose and direction. What was she doing here?
A plate appeared in front of her and she looked about her, after a moment pulling a tray of sandwiches toward her to select one. Agatha waved her wand, lifting the tray closer. "Be careful there. Shafiq doesn't like it when people touch the food."
It was fortunate that Dee had managed to choose a sandwich already because she dropped it on her own plate in startelement when the wizard next to her slammed his book closed. "It is a matter of respect, Aggie. You know this, if I have said it once I have said it a thousand times," he took a deep breath and didn't look surprised as the students nearby all chanted,
"This food is a sacred gift. Do not get your dirty fingers between me and life's blessings."
Not knowing what to say, Deirdre picked up her sandwich and bit into it. It was dry and she looked immediately for her goblet, forcing down her first bite before tapping the goblet for a modified silent Aguamenti. The water was extremely cold, perfect for making her level of alertness rise.
Agatha was smiling cheekily at Shafiq who was doing his best to ignore her. A faint flush on his cheeks declared that he was failing. This was enough to satisfy her, as she allowed her attention to drift back to Deirdre. "You look tired."
Finding herself warming up to the girl, Deirdre responded. "Well, it has been a rather long day. Feels like I had breakfast with Auntie Pomona in another lifetime."
"Auntie Pomona? Is that Professor Sprout?"
Deirdre nodded, not wanting to speak around the bite of sandwich she had just taken.
"I like her as a teacher. She is very patient with me. I ask a lot of questions, you see. Then what happened next?"
"I was sorted at the faculty meeting earlier, and then I had to take placement tests."
"No wonder you look fagged. How many did you test for? Did you get your results already?"
Preparing to answer, Deirdre pulled out her schedule, hesitating a moment as she hadn't had that much of a chance to look at it yet. A glaring hole existed where Defense Against the Dark Arts should have been, although she'd no idea of which study halls it should have occupied. She stared at the paper, hoping beyond hope that it was there, hidden. A hand pulled the paper out of her numb fingers and laid it down on the table where several leaned in to read it.
Ogden was the first to speak. "Arithmancy and Ancient Runes together with Potions, Transfiguration AND Charms? You are in the right house." She ribbed Dee with a grin. "I'm in three of those with you. You're alright. No History of Magic, though?"
Deirdre shrugged. "Not sure exactly why, but I feel like I learned that subject better in my free time."
"Ooh. Too bad. That's the best class for catching up with all of the gossip." Agatha pushed the parchment back towards Deirdre who plucked it away from some dribbles of gravy. She leaned in and added, "My favorite would be Defense Against the Dark Arts. If I had known Professor Nott was going to teach it this year I wouldn't have dropped it."
It was Vasim's turn to tease. "You are terrible, Aggie. He's at least fifty years old."
"He's far from elderly, unlike yourself Vasim. You already act like an old gaffer." She lowered her voice to a stage-whisper as she leaned over the table to Dee. " I think his parents slipped him an aging potion when he was a toddler."
"Some of us could use more maturity, Sherwood." With that, he flipped his book back open and turned pointedly away.
The girl turned her dark eyes to regard the teacher's table with an impish grin, one which faded immediately. "Oh Merlin, he must have heard me. Professor Nott is coming this way!" She fussed with her robes, smoothing them out and plucking away a few stray hairs. She giggled, "Oh, I wonder what I'd have to do to get detention." Biting her lip she turned away.
Ogden growled, "Merlin's bones, you are an embarrassment, Sherwood."
Deirdre covered her mouth in amusement and was somewhat surprised to find herself enjoying the company already. A sense of belonging began to wiggle its way in, loosening the grip of the sense of loss that she'd lived with since past the time she could remember.
Shafiq leaned over and started to chide her, "You need to eat. Your mind won't expand if your stomach is empty too often, and you could use it."
A thrill of irritation rose in her gullet and she took a hard look at the wizard. Was he implying that she was too thin? Who does he think he is? "Look Dad…"
The wizard cut off her response, "Just eat." He shook his head before returning his attention to the book in front of him, but he did explain. "Lines on your fingernails. Don't get all shirty about it. You've not been getting regular meals." As if he knew that she was still staring at him he waved a vague hand. "It is mere fact, Ward. Now leave me be. I'm reading."
Deirdre bit into the sandwich she picked out and chewed with angry emphasis. Perhaps a childish part of her hoped that the sound would irritate Shafiq. Would serve him right! She wasn't the one that started it. Still it wouldn't be wise to pick fights on her first day, or even the first fifteen minutes of arriving.
Professor Nott was standing right behind her and startled her out of her meditations as he spoke, forcing her to turn in her seat to look up at him. "Come find me in fifteen minutes. We need to talk."
A/N: I hope that you enjoyed this Chapter. No Severus/Deirdre in this one, terribly sorry.
Thanks to Coromandel who is furiously making her way through revising for her German grammar, poor thing. I am very grateful she had the time to work on this with me today.
Thanks also go out to readers like you! Reviews, subs and favs are all very much appreciated.
As always, Harry Potter and his Universe are the property of JK Rowling who is Queen of Everything. Not me.
