Wishes
By: Airelle Vilka
Chapter 2 Friday's Illusions Class
The Illusions professor unrolled the worn piece of parchment that served as her class list and ran her black eyes over the words. The fifth-year Gryffindors sitting beyond her desk fidgeted in their seats, whispering softly to one another.
Airelle Vilka shifted the paper so that the winter sun would not cast a glare on it, and coughed before beginning to speak. She had been an Auror… but how would she measure up to being a teacher? Making a mental note to take some pointers from Snape (even though from what she'd heard, he wasn't exactly known to be the apex of an excellent, impartial professor), Airelle glanced out over her class.
"You are here because you have chosen to study Illusions during your free Friday period," she began in the most authoritative tone she could achieve, and true to her desire, everyone fell silent. "Since it is a highly dangerous subject, Illusions is an elective. Now… there is one thing I must insist upon in my class, and that is to never misuse the spells I shall teach you. Doing so may lead to as far as expulsion, since a well-placed Illusion can harm or even kill a faint-minded person."
She paused. Half the class looked ill, the other extremely interested. A good start.
"But, you Gryffindors should have no lack of courage, hmm?" she asked, walking closer to the front row, parchment still in her hand. Her eyes bore into those of a round-faced boy who was shaking from head to toe.
"What is your name?" she asked, perhaps a little too sharply for her own taste. The boy trembled even more, and mouthed, "Neville."
"Neville," she repeated, eyes traveling down her list. "Hmm… Longbottom, I presume?"
"Y—yes," he said. Airelle perused his face, and realized something in the deathly silence.
"Mister Longbottom," she uttered, shaking her head, "who talked you into this?"
A few students snorted in the back; a look from Airelle silenced them very quickly.
"Go on," she said, more courteously, "tell me. I promise I won't hex either you or them."
Neville looked very relieved at this proclamation (as if he believed she'd actually hex a student), but did not say a word. Airelle crossed her arms.
"It is too risky to go any further before I find out whether you are fit to be in this class or not," she said. "Mind you, not taking Illusions does not mean you are a coward. Now, tell me."
Neville looked very scared, but whispered, "Dee—Dea—Dean…"
Airelle glanced up towards the back row, where a tall black boy suddenly grew horribly uncomfortable. "Dean…Dean Thomas, is it?" said Airelle loudly, and the remainder of the class did not say a word.
The boy, seeing it was no use hiding, nodded slowly. There was a long pause.
Then, Airelle smiled at him, and everyone looked surprised.
"Excellent work, five points to Gryffindor," laughed Airelle. "Students, this exemplifies true spirit. Now, Longbottom here, I can see, was not too keen to take my subject, but his friend Thomas insisted."
Everyone looked as shocked as if she'd told them to swallow bubotuber pus. Airelle continued nonchalantly, "You see, I would have known as soon as you walked into my classroom whether you were fit to study Illusions. And you all are, even you, Longbottom. So, thank your friend for his…" (she grinned) "…thoughtfulness, because otherwise you'd have missed out on a really great class."
Thomas and the boy next to him beamed as Airelle returned to sit on her desk. She had scared them enough with the harsh charade. It seemed like being herself worked better.
"I warn you, I am not your regular teacher," she said as the class buzzed excitedly. "I do not give a lot of homework--" (a soft "Oh, no" was heard from a girl in the front, among the clapping of the rest) "--but when I do, I expect it to be in top shape. Understood?"
"Yes," everyone chorused.
"Good," smiled Airelle. "Now… I think it is best, before we begin, to take that long awaited roll call…"
She spent the next few minutes calling names out. Her eyes traveled further down, until she came to a name she recognized above the rest…
"Potter," she said, and looked up at the boy in the second row. Abruptly, her mind was thrown back into the past, the night of Graduation -- James Potter, Lily Evans, smiling, laughing. Dreaming. They were now, dead, of course, and this boy-- The Boy Who Lived… was the only one left.
"You remind me of your father," she said absentmindedly, not realizing that she'd uttered those words aloud. A second passed, and Airelle found the whole class staring at her oddly. No teacher had mentioned Harry's father publicly before…
Harry's green eyes were mesmerized. "You knew him?"
Airelle breathed out through her nose, the cold morning December air whirling through the window. She walked to it and clamped it shut. "Yes," she said, more to herself than to anyone else. "I used to be a student here, myself."
Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas's best friend, leaned forward. "Really, Professor?"
Airelle did not wish to talk about her past, especially in her first class. So, she decided to twist the subject a tiny bit. "Well, now that I am your professor, I suppose it shall help you to know more about me," she said, sitting on her desk again and twirling her wand in her hand. "Yes, Finnigan, I was a student here, and graduated with honors." She paused.
A hand shot up into the air. "Miss Granger?" Airelle called, happy to match the face with the name on her list. Who said her memory was bad?
"Please, Professor," she said, "but I've heard-- I heard…" Abruptly, she fell silent, and Airelle looked at her questioningly. Of course, she knew what Hermione Granger was talking about—her Auror days. Hmm… but how did that girl know?
"You heard I was a retired Auror," said Airelle, smiling as the rest of the class listened. "Well, Miss Granger, it's true. I have fought Volde--"
Two girls in the back, Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, gasped, and Airelle cut herself off. "--…You-Know-Who's forces for two decades."
Some students glanced at each other, perhaps because they could not believe Airelle was as old as her thirties. The professor continued, in a blasé fashion.
"And now, I am indeed retired. But that is enough about me…" Airelle was not feeling too good about this conversation herself, and smiled again at the students. "Now… I think it is time for the first lesson to begin." With that, she crossed again towards the window, followed by bewildered stares. Opening it, Airelle stretched and motioned for her class to rise. When they did, she pointed her wand at them and said, "Claudo." Streams of bright light encircled the room, and when they receded, everyone was wrapped in thick robes of red and gold (except Airelle, who wore blue) that protected from the cold. Airelle said, "You will need nothing but your wands." She muttered several words under her breath, and, standing next to the windowsill, commanded, "Please follow me."
And she jumped out the window.
Parvati covered her mouth with her hands, and other students rushed up front to see what was happening. Among the pushing and shoving, Ron Weasley said quietly to Harry Potter, "Is she a loony? We'll catch our death if we jump…"
"Not so, Mister Weasley," came a voice from beyond the window, and Professor Vilka's face showed in the frame. The students peered outside and gasped.
A gigantic, gleaming silver slide extended from the base of the window to the ground twenty stories below, twisting and turning among the swirls of wind. Airelle Vilka stood right at the top, on a small round platform, arms crossed and long blue robes swaying. Some of her white hair had fallen out of her headband's grip and beat back and forth on her face.
"It is only this windy up here," she yelled to them. "Once we get down, it shall only be a mild breeze."
Neville looked absolutely horrified, but most of the others stared, eyes wide in pure awe, at the slide as it rocked dangerously. Airelle, unperturbed by this, beckoned for them to come through.
"Go on, we do not have all day," she said, making another 'come-here' gesture, as if she were asking them to eat their dinner rather than go on a precariously shaking slide. Neville shrank backwards, but Dean Thomas pushed his way front.
"Blimey," he said, "are we going on that thing?"
"That's right… good choice of words, Thomas," said Airelle, and Dean blushed. "You may be the first… and do not worry, if anything goes awry…" She paused, eyes glinting. "I am fairly certain I shall catch you."
"FAIRLY certain?…" mumbled poor Neville Longbottom, who now looked as pale as the December sun. Airelle Vilka smiled. "All right then, Thomas, off you go!"
Dean stepped out the window (which Airelle had expanded) and onto the teetering platform. He sat, and it all happened very fast. Professor Vilka gave him a shove, and he disappeared in a flash of red and gold. Far below, they heard a gleeful shout of "Wooooo-hoooooo!!" and a small thump. Airelle turned to the window again like a friendly nurse with a large needle and said, "Neeext…"
So it ensued, and one after another, students whirled off down the silver slide. Now, the only ones left were Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Harry Potter, and…
"Mister Longbottom," said Airelle mildly, staring down at the boy through the windowpane, "may I ask what you are writing so feverishly?"
"My will," replied Neville without looking up. There was a roar of laughter from the three other Gryffindors, and Ron heaved Neville up.
"No, wait, Weasley," said Airelle, feeling a tad sorry for the boy. "He shall go last, with me."
Ron obliged and went down the slide by himself, followed by Hermione, then Harry, who gave Airelle a strange look.
"Go on, Potter," said Airelle hastily, holding Neville by the sleeve as if he would run away. "Do not worry for your friend." But something told her it was not concern for Neville that swam beneath those intelligent eyes. It was curiosity… about his father…
Harry broke his gaze from Professor Vilka, and went down the slide. Now, she was left alone with the trembling Neville, who was clutching her sleeve and close to tears. Airelle did not expect this from a Gryffindor; furthermore, she did not know how to deal with tears. So, she bent her waist down in front of the boy so they'd be at eye level.
"Longbottom," she said, "Neville… you have courage inside yourself. I may be a Ravenclaw, but I can sense a true Gryffindor when I see him or her. Now… come with me, and be afraid if you want to. It is healthy to be afraid, but you must learn not to be so all the time. I was afraid too…" She paused. "I have faced the worst things you could imagine, things that would make your skin crawl." At this, she remembered something about the boy. The Longbottoms… his parents… had been great Aurors, but now, they were as good as dead, tortured by Death Eaters and held in St. Mungo's. They did not even recognize Neville, she knew, and a pang of guilt and renewed hate for Voldemort surged through her heart. Airelle drew a breath before continuing.
"I have seen some horrible things, Neville, and I have also witnessed deeds of great bravery. But few things come as close as what I see before me."
The boy looked confused. Airelle pressed on.
"It takes a lot of guts to see your parents, Neville," she said, and sudden understanding flashed through his eyes. "I have visited them once… they had been fellow Aurors… I had never gone again, because I could not stomach it. But you returned, I know. And that is one brave child, in my opinion."
Neville was silent, staring at her through glassy eyes. "So," she continued softly, "show me some more brave things you can do."
With that, Airelle released him. They stood there for a long time, before Neville moved.
"All right," he said, and followed her out on the platform. They stood, looking down, and Airelle was warmed inside. She felt like a true teacher.
"Off we go!" she yelled, and they jumped onto the slide.
"Whoooooooaaaa!!" Airelle could hear Neville yell over the wind that whooshed by them in gales. Everything was a blur, except the sparkling white ground, covered with snow, which they were careening toward. Airelle laughed happily as the feeling took her like a broom. This was the air-- not the freedom of flying, but awesome nonetheless.
The slide threw them off into the air, and they landed gently like leaves onto the snow – part of the spell. The rest of the students were brushing off the white powder from their robes, and laughing about the slide.
"Wow! That was amazing!" yelled Seamus Finnigan, high-fiving his friend Dean. "Beats using the doors, for sure!"
Airelle smiled at Neville, and looked at the rest of her class, who were by now all hurling snowballs at each other. "All right, all right! Enough!" she said, and the students stopped. "Now, who can tell me what that was? …Granger?"
"It was a very powerful Shiftus Charm," said Hermione. Airelle shook her head.
"Good try… you're very close… but no."
Hermione's jaw dropped, and several students either laughed or muttered, "Well, if Herm doesn't know… what chance do we have?"
"Actually, Miss Granger is right, somewhat," said Airelle, and Hermione smiled weakly. "It was a variation of a Shiftus Charm… except it was not a charm at all. That was an Illusion."
Hermione was the only person in the class who gasped. The rest looked confused. Airelle smiled, almost wickedly, before continuing. "It is a good thing I did not tell Miss Granger beforehand… because then most of you would have died."
Everyone grew pale. Airelle crossed her arms. "Now, can anyone except Miss Granger tell me why you would have died or been severely injured if you knew it was an Illusion?"
No one raised a hand. Hermione looked at Airelle, and the latter smiled. "All right… I understand that since this class started in the middle of the year, you obviously do not know that much about the powers of an Illusion… Miss Granger?"
Hermione's voice said over the students, "Because the slide was not real."
Neville looked ready to faint again, and the others looked either extremely puzzled or frightened.
"Excellent, five points to Gryffindor," said Airelle blandly. "You have just ridden on… nothing. A makeshift slide made of air. That is the power of an Illusion. It worked only because you believed the slide was there. But as soon as you knew that it was really nonexistent-- well-- look."
They all turned towards the slide. And as soon as their eyes fell on the silver, it dissolved and disappeared in a shower of sparkles. Airelle smiled at the terrified faces of the Gryffindors.
"But, Professor…" murmured Dean Thomas, "you knew that the slide wasn't real… so why didn't it disappear from under you?"
"Excellent question," replied Airelle. These students were better than she'd expected. "Why did it not disappear? First, I was the caster of the Illusion, and it is harder for it to vanish when I am around. Secondly… if it disbanded every time I cast one, then what is the point of an Illusion? The key to this is being in perfect control of your mind. You can know that it is not real, but if you force yourself to think otherwise, then it will function for as long as you have dominion over it. So-- yes, Miss Brown?"
"Professor, does that mean that we can create whatever we want?"
"Almost exactly. Although… there are a few exceptions as to what you can create, and there are certain durations for special kinds of Illusions," said Airelle, "but we shall go into that later. This is why Illusions is so dangerous, and used in the Dark Arts frequently. For example, if you create a dragon or troll, and your opponent does not recognize it as an Illusion, he or she may be severely hurt by the said Illusion and die. Example – dragon, though not real, becomes real in the person's mind and fries the person. Normally, this would be part of Defense Against the Dark Arts, but… this power can also be used for great things. I myself, as an Auror, employed it often." She looked around before continuing. "I shall teach you to distinguish Illusions from Charms and curses, which is why I'll be working closely alongside Professors Flitwick and Lupin… and—I shall teach you how to use Illusions responsibly. But I warn you once again," (and her voice grew deathly grim) "if you misuse an Illusion in any way, I shall see to it personally that you are punished heavily. Great power takes great responsibility, as you all know. Now… I believe it is time for lunch. So, please cast off your robes and go eat, then pick up your books."
"But…" protested Neville numbly, "we… cannot."
The others nodded. They had tried to take off the robes, but the red and gold raiments stuck on them as if on glue. Airelle saw this and began to laugh.
"Have you Gryffindors learned anything in your first class?" she grinned. "The robes are made to wrap you tight against the cold. Now… if I told you they were merely Illusions…"
Immediately, the class looked at their robes and they disappeared, making Airelle laugh more. "See what I mean? I'll teach you to control your Illusions so that those robes won't vanish as soon as you realize they're not real. Now… please, before you all catch colds… inside to lunch. Good day."
Friday had been a success. Airelle beamed at herself in the mirror of her bedroom. Several books and papers were strewn across her bed, and moonlight streamed through the window, landing on the dark blue covers like a searchlight. She stretched, running her hands over her nightgown, and loosened her hair from the ponytail, but not the headband. As she did so, Snape suddenly came into her mind for some odd reason, and with it came the Slytherin House, including Draco Malfoy. She had performed the same slide activity with the Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and Slytherins earlier in the day as well, and all reacted as planned. However, there was the disconcerting feeling she had about Draco Malfoy…
So much like his father, thought Airelle. Same arrogant glare, piercing eyes, and haughty demeanor. Lucius Malfoy laughed inside her head, it seemed. Blasted git. He was partially responsible for Snape's becoming a Death Eater, Airelle knew, and she despised him for it. Well, if Snape could be 'less-than-nice' to Potter, why couldn't she do the same to Malfoy's son? It was only fair, after all…
Airelle shook her head. What was she thinking? She did not wish to bring harm to a student. But deep inside, a childlike feeling inside her whined in hope that Malfoy would do something to, as Americans said, 'piss her off.' Then, and only then, she could expose Draco for the supercilious brat he was…
She shook her head again. Why were these thoughts coming to her, anyway? Was it because of Snape, in some way? She had not seen him since dinner…
A faint whisper was heard behind her door.
"Speak of the devil," murmured Airelle softly, walking closer and pulling back the latch. A fist-sized, glowing ball was hovering in front of her. She took it in her left hand, placed her right palm on the top, and said, "I am the one for whom this message is intended."
The ball sizzled and immediately liquefied into a piece of parchment. Airelle turned it over, and the message read:
PHH
Another cryptogram that she recognized instantly. P for Potions, meaning the dungeons' Potions classroom, and HH for Half an Hour. Airelle closed the door and the parchment disintegrated in her hands. She suddenly wished for an owl again. Her little Excalibur from student days had been so wonderful…
Throwing on her warm robe over the thin nightgown, and not even bothering to pull her hair back again, Airelle Vilka took her wand and headed out towards the dungeons, planning mentally to make a pit stop in the kitchen. Well, she did have half an hour, after all… why waste it?
To be continued…
