Methos shook Albus' hand warmly. It had been decades since they last met; he was finally
returning to Hogwarts. As usual, he would teach history - or magic, this time, a welcome
change from ordinary history. He had become aware of the wizarding world as it developed
into civilisation: his first contact with true wizards had been before the general agreement of
secrecy came about. Most Immortals had no idea wizards existed; the few who knew about
them understood that the two worlds were better off separated. Some few Immortals and
wizards kept in contact; a select few who kept the worlds separate and dealt with dangers
offered to their world by the other. When Lord Voldemort rose, word was put about that
something big and bad was on the way. Young Immortals largely ignored the danger, but
older Immortals had usually seen enough mystical happenings and lived long enough to know
that when it was said danger was coming, and people were dying - mortals or not - you went
to ground. Immortals were legends; Silas, Kronos and Caspian were mysterious figures to the
wizarding community; dangerous, cold-blooded mass murderers, to be sure, able to kill many
able wizards, oh and most definitely alive, but not much talked about.
"Adam! Good to see you, must have been forty years now?" Dumbledore greeted him.
"Forty?" Hermione muttered incredulously to Harry and Ron. They were looking for a book
in the Arithmancy classroom, and conveniently couldn't help overhearing. "I know wizards
live longer than most people, but whoever Adam is, he doesn't look any older than twenty-
five. And wizards don't age that slowly." Ron shrugged.
"Maybe he knew Dumbledore when he was a kid, and he's older than he looks, and he ages
slower than most."
"That's a lot of maybes." Hermione countered. Harry interrupted.
"True, but what else can you think of? Listen to 'em." Adam had returned the greeting, and
Dumbledore had suggested they move to his office.
"Damn." Harry muttered. "I wanted to find out what he's like."
"Well, he seemed nice to Dumbledore..." Hermione offered.
"Snape's nice to Dumbledore." Ron said flatly. "But..." He looked like he'd had an idea he
might be a little scared to carry out. "There is that charm Fred gave me."
"What charm?" Harry asked.
"Oh, no, Ron, you've got to be joking." Hermione looked aghast, as Harry remembered the
charm Ron was talking about. She continued, "We'd be expelled for listening at the
headmaster's office. And it'd be like saying we don't trust Dumbledore." Harry thought
about it.
"She's got a point, Ron. But maybe we could try."
"No!" Hermione protested.
"We have the Map. Not like anyone's going to be able to surprise us." Ron pointed out.
"No, but what if Dumbledore has wards set?"
"Then we don't hear anything. Simple." Hermione didn't look happy, but she finally agreed.
They cast the proper spell on the charm, and listened carefully, to be greeted with something
like static on Muggle radios.
"Oh, great. All that for nothing." Harry sighed.
"I suppose he would have strong wards set. Either that, or Hogwarts itself is doing it. Maybe
because of all of the concentrated magic here, or maybe there are wards and things stopping
listening charms from working in the castle." Hermione added.
"Yeah." Ron sounded glum. "Let's see if we can't find out who he is, then. Someone must
know who the new teachers are."
*~*~*~*
"Well, old friend, how's life treated you?" Methos asked.
"Not well, not well. I have been blessed with a lack of the ailments of old age, but the events
of the magical world plague me more. I suppose you know what's happening?"
"Most don't - even through their wizarding communiques - but I haven't lived this long not
knowing how to get good information." He spoke seriously. "Voldemort has risen. Fudge is
acting like a fool and living in denial. You, if I guess right, are rallying together some of the
better and, more importantly, solid and brave wizards, and preparing your defence."
Dumbledore inclined his head. "You guess correctly. I was also hoping to enlist your aid,
asking you to replace Professor Binns." He said directly. Methos replied in a similarly blunt
and honest manner.
"I'll think about it. It's going to take a while for me to get back in the practice of using spells,
and teaching magical history here, before I get in over my head any more. But I'd like to be
kept abreast of things..." Methos thought on it for a minute. The more he did, the less he
liked the idea of not being in this. The danger was obvious and he did not like it.
He decidedly disliked the idea of going into danger - it might be brutal, but when it came
down to the basics, he chose survival. But what was the alternative? He answered his own
question. Be out of the loop completely, without the information I'll need to survive in the
wizarding world right now. He sighed. In times not long gone, he would have simply gone to
ground for awhile. A long while, preferably, until everything had completely blown over. But
Albus was a good friend. And Voldemort ...Voldemort reminded him of what he'd been,
thousands of years ago. If Methos hadn't stopped himself, they would probably have ruled the
world with terror, committing countless crimes against humanity and keeping people in
oppression for centuries, or even millennia.
He realised he didn't want that to happen - well, he had never wanted it to. But for a long
time, he hadn't cared. Now he did. It was unsettling. He looked up, eyes distant, remembering
times of evil and death, and then met Dumbledore's eyes.
"Count me in. Who'm I working with?" Dumbledore smiled, but only for a second, and partly
in sympathy - he had a fair idea of what Methos had been thinking about.
"The old gang we had, if you knew. Mundungus Fletcher. Alastor Moody. Remus Lupin.
Some of the Weasleys. Most teachers here." Methos nodded as he went through some of the
names. "I remember. And of Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew?" His tone revealed he knew
something about them.
"What do you think?"
"I would hope that you know Sirius Black is on our side. And Master Pettigrew ...is not."
"I do. And the same has been explained to our colleagues. But I would be interested to know
how you found out." Methos was quiet for a moment.
"I'm five thousand years old, Albus. I've lived so long, and studied human nature so long I
don't question what instinct tells me - which was that Remus, James and Sirius would be
brave, strong, smart, valuable wizards against evil. And that Pettigrew could not keep up -
always in someone else's shadow, someone stronger. Something told me he would be the
weak link. Perhaps it had something to do with the animals they could shift to, excluding
Remus. A stag, a large dog... and a rat. Your animal shape reflects you, I'm sure. Minerva's is
a cat, no? That is definitely appropriate." Dumbledore nodded agreement.
"Logical. Sirius, unfortunately, is still playing fugitive with the law, no way to prove he is
innocent anytime soon. But we are keeping in contact, and Remus and him are working
together. I think that should do for now, you will be summoned to the next meeting we have -
which will be quite soon - and we'll explain our aims and obstacles then." He smiled. "Let me
just warn you about some students before you go unpack. We have only four Weasleys
currently - a fifth-year, Ron, fourth-year, Ginny, and twin seventh-years, Fred and George.
Identical, but one can pick out a few differences. Now, the girl is relatively quiet, but
Madame Pomfrey suspects she may turn out to be a healer. The twins are genius
mischief-makers, I'm quite sure they intend to build a business to rival Zonko's, and they will
probably manage it."
"But do they buy everything they do? At least that can limit them."
"No, genius I said, and genius I meant. The Weasleys are, well, rather poor currently and
while they occasionally use some Zonko products, most they make themselves, and very
well, too."
"Damn." Well, classes will be interesting, at least.
"And then there is Ron and his two friends, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter, all
Gryffindors."
"Let me guess, the boy's head is bigger than a balloon." Methos referred to Harry.
"Not in the least. He grew up with a moderately nasty Muggle family that apparently swore to
stamp wizardry out of him, and had no idea magic existed until Hagrid showed up to take
him to Hogwarts. He hates the fame."
"Good." Methos said briskly. "I hope he's turning out like his father, then?"
"Yes, quite. Can't quite keep away from Voldemort, either. One major encounter for each
year at Hogwarts so far." Dumbledore sighed. "But he is good. Smart, strong and brave, so
much like his father. And -" He smiled -"Playing Seeker in Quidditch remarkably well.
They've a talented team, but he's the reason they've been winning the cup each year."
"And, let me guess, he has a knack for ferreting things out."
"Naturally. Ron, who I meant to tell you about, I think may turn out to be a weather-mage -
the first for a few centuries, I think. He's talented at chess, but much overshadowed by his
brothers. Hermione is Muggle-born - not that it matters, of course, simply that it may be the
cause of rude remarks if you hear them - and very smart. Reminds me of Minerva as a
student - extremely conscientious hard worker. It is fortunate she made friends with the boys,
they taught her rulebreaking was not exactly wrong. Finally, Draco Malfoy, a boy in the
fifth-year as well, a Slytherin. He hates Potter, Weasley and Granger, and is hated back, can
be a real nasty piece of work sometimes. But there is his father ..." Methos nodded.
"Lucius Malfoy."
"I think the son isn't quite as evil as he sometimes acts; I think most of his attitudes are from
his father. If you'll just take that into mind, I'll move to staff. We have Flitwick on Charms,
Minerva on Transfiguration, a new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, Telske Swife,
Pince as librarian, Hooch as Quidditch Coach, Poppy is nurse, Sybil Trelawney takes
Divination -" "Keep her away from me." Methos warned. "Professor Vector teaches
Arithmancy, Hagrid is our Gamekeeper - and teaches Care of Magical Creatures with
Professor Grubbly-Plank. Filch is caretaker and...ah, Potions Master is Severus Snape."
Dumbledore kept his face controlled, watching Methos' expression slowly darken.
"He was a slimy brat of a kid, has he changed?"
"Somewhat. He is nasty, and he plays favourites. But he was a spy for us well before
Voldemort's downfall. He's not a bad person."
"I'll believe that much, at least. Ghosts?"
"Nicholas, the Grey Lady, the Friar and the Bloody Baron. Peeves the poltergeist is still
around, of course."
"Ah, the Bloody Baron won't be too happy to see me, nor I him, seeing as I turned him into
that ghost, and Peeves won't be jumping for joy either, but Nicholas and the rest are good."
"Well, you'll have your old rooms - I'll see you at dinner, then?"
"Dinner." They nodded to each other and Methos left.
He made his way through the castle slowly. It was a comfortable place; old, but strong in its
age and experience, filled with spells and lives and memories over time. More than any other
place on earth, Hogwarts felt like returning home. It felt secure and alive; insofar as he ever
felt secure. He was happy to be there, relieved in a way that this place had not suffered from
Voldemort or any other major catalyst. He entered his room and found trunks brought up, bed
made and room immaculate, fire burning, a beautiful old wooden desk - enchanted against
spillage and such things, he was sure - in a corner, with a bookcase, bedside and wardrobe to
match it for age and elegance. Thank God for house elves. He didn't know how he got along
without them after leaving the wizarding world many years previous.
Unpacking quickly - most possessions had been picked up in Diagon Alley, for why would
history scholar Adam Pierson own wizard robes, a wand, or various other curios wizards
owned? The shopping trip had taken a bit of dodging, he admitted to himself, smiling
ruefully as he remembered his visit to Ollivanders'.
Methos opened the door to Ollivanders', stepping inside quietly. After a moment, exactly as
last time, a fifty years older John Ollivander slid along on his ladder.
His eyes bulged.
But only for a moment.
Ollivander eyes, Methos was sure, never bulged at customers. He felt quite proud at having
achieved it, and simultaneously felt consternation that Ollivander had recognised him. Well,
apparently the rumours were true. Come once, and you would be told of all your relatives'
wands, and come twice you would be remembered...and then told about your friends, and
your relatives. Methos had hoped the man was using some kind of spell. Apparently,
however, it was simply phenomenal mnemonic skill. Ollivander carefully climbed down
from the ladder and offered a hand. After a serious shake, he said gravely, looking into
Methos' eyes,
"You age remarkably well." Methos replied equally gravely, "Thank you."
"I would be obliged to know how well you age." The man asked. "But if you wish it kept to
one; to one it will be kept." Methos had to smile. An excellent businessman.
"You know of the legendary Immortals."
"Of course."
"Lot more of them than you'd think. Stupid ones, young ones." He paused. "Not all are
centuries old and extremely powerful." That was enough. Implications of a society of
Immortals, Immortals sometimes strong sometimes weak, even as wizards and witches.
Almost saying he himself was one.
"I have but one question." Ollivander was sharp. "Does Dumbledore know?" Suitably vague.
"Of course." He met the man's eyes firmly and sincerely. Ollivander studied him for a
moment, then nodded quickly and produced several wands.
"Try these. Old wood; items from old magical beasts. Not brittle, broken. Aged and
enduring." He made the distinction clear. Both men remembered well that last time,
Ollivander had had to dig up the oldest wand in the shop. The one that was not only ancient
by wand standards but had accidentally been soaked in Aging Potion and kept as an amusing
curio.
It took many tries, but eventually - after Adam had gradually and reluctantly yielded the
details of many past wands - they found an ancient oakwood wand, containing one unicorn
hair, thought to be an antique. He headed for Gringotts, anticipating more trouble. Goblins
were long-lived; most goblins working at Gringotts worked there for their lifetimes. They
were far less inquisitive than humans, thankfully, which Methos liked about them, but he
would earn himself many hushed whispers and probably the most surprised goblins the world
had seen in millennia. Goblins did not surprise easily. He walked into Gringotts and received
the expected reception. One goblin glanced up, then stopped work, conveying no other sign it
was surprised. Then another looked up and appraised Methos carefully. It muttered
something, and every goblin in the entire hall had stopped work and turned to Methos;
somewhat in the way everyone turns to stare at the man who does something very strange at
the dinner table. At the other end of the hall, a boy whispered to his father,
"What happened?" His father replied, just a touch awed and a little concerned,
"Someone surprised the goblins."
"So?" His son persisted.
"I doubt my grandfather's grandfather's was alive when the last human managed to shock a
goblin." Impressed, the boy fell silent, and an important-looking goblin descended some steps
toward Methos, waving an arm that sent the rest back to work.
"You return, Mr. Pierson?" He had always used the same name at Gringotts.
"I do."
"In much the same state as last time." It was a password of a sort; this head goblin knew
something of him and his kind, but he always caused a stir among other goblins. With a
peculiar smile, he replied,
"Yet not the same here." He tapped his temple, and gestured that they should go. "Death has
not a home in me." It had a double meaning; death itself had not caught him, and Death, his
persona thousands of years ago, was still banished. The goblin nodded and led him to his
vault. It was well concealed; one of Gringotts' best. It held his diaries; eleven thousand years
of memories and experiences written in the most obscure languages he understood at the
time. And, of course, a fortune in money. The irony was the diaries were worth far more than
the galleons; if ever he died he had arranged for some of the oldest (i.e. most
incomprehensible) to be released as antiques, sold to collections, money to benefit those he
enjoyed the company of most. But to him, they were a wealth of information and history. His
past.
But not for now. He deposited some diaries, accumulated from his last visit to Gringotts,
collected money and thanked the goblin, informing him he was in town for about ten years -
the usual - and asking about any break-ins.
"There have been attempts." He answered gravely. "One success, by one of the minions of he
who must not be named. But the vault in question had been emptied earlier. Security is
upgraded now. We have employed a team of specialist magic-workers that solely produce
curses, spells and charms for the high-security vaults. I hope you are not reconsidering."
"No. Gringotts is not perfection; but there is none better. And of course...no one knows of my
diaries and artifacts, and galleons can be found anywhere. How could they steal them?" That
was the oldest and greatest defence. No one could steal something that did not exist, so he
did not let it exist to them. The goblin nodded, satisfied. He escorted Methos to the door, and
Methos had then headed for Hogwarts.
---
Methos headed out for dinner - the bell had just sounded. He took a place at the teachers'
table, between Vigor and Dumbledore. Vigor had aged, but not changed much. When he sat
down, he had only betrayed slight startlement, and welcomed him back warmly but formally.
A few other teachers greeted him: Snape only looked at him ominously (back off sweety-pie,
I've dealt with worse than you), and Trelawney looked apprehensive. Fair enough. He had
had a tally against Dumbledore for catching Snape out in his plots, and made Trelawney look
foolish with her divination obsession more than once. He doubted either had changed much,
although Snape must have gained some kind of a heart, to have left the dark side. He settled
in to watch the sorting, as Minerva led the new first-years into the Hall.
Harry, Ron and Hermione were all watching the teachers' table for the new Defence Against
the Dark Arts teacher, and Professor Pierson.
"Well, he knows your Arithmancy teacher, Hermione." Ron pointed out, as they saw him sit
next to the Professor, and greet him.
"And Snape and Trelawney, apparently," Hermione added. "Look! Snape's glaring at him
like he does to you and Lupin and Sirius, Harry."
"Only he looks a little scared, too." Harry commented. "Or, not quite scared, but wary. I
wonder how they know each other?"
"Maybe Pierson was a few years above him, or something, and had something over him."
"Hope so. He's got this big phony pleased look to see Snape and Trelawney. Trelawney just
looks worried, though."
"Good." Hermione sounded satisfied. "Maybe if she's scared of him, she'll start being less
airy-fairy."
"Hope so." Ron sounded a little dubious. "If that's possible."
"Mmmm. We can find out some more when Dumbledore introduces them." Hermione
conceded. Then everyone quieted the doors opened, and Professor McGonagall led the new
first-years into the Hall.
The sorting went quickly, and as the delicious dishes appeared on their tables, they hardly
said a word as they ate. As every plate was scraped clean, the headmaster got up to speak.
"Now that all have eaten," he smiled, "I simply wish to remind you of a few restrictions, and
introduce our new teachers, so do feel free to fall asleep until I present your teachers. The
Forbidden Forest is, naturally, out of bounds to all students. Master Filch, the caretaker of our
school, reminds you that any kind of vandalism to the school is punishable, and will be
punished, by him. Now if I may introduce our newest teachers. With regret, I must announce
that Professor Binns crossed over during the holidays." There was silence in the hall as each
student tried not to whoop with delight. A twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes said he noticed as
he continued, "So you will now be taught by Professor Pierson -" he gestured and Methos
stood. "who is not known as a scholar to the wizarding world, but I assure you has a knack
for teaching and is an expert on magical and Muggle history."
"I wonder why he threw that in..." Hermione mused.
"I suppose he knows Professor Binns wasn't really very good." Run suggested.
"And even if he's no fun, so long as he can teach us it'll be better. Plus Dumbledore
wouldn't have been too happy to have a teacher who wasn't actually teaching anyone
anything." Harry added.
"Yes. It will be good to have a better teacher." Dumbledore continued after the chatter about
the new teacher had died down.
"Also, our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher will be Professor Swife," a young
woman stood up. She was quite pretty, Hispanic, wearing a long, satiny pale yellow dress
somewhat like a kimono. "Her expertise is with curses, but she will also be covering magical
combat and magical creatures with you." Professor Swife sat again, and Dumbledore
dismissed them. Harry, Ron and Hermione walked out slowly, talking about the new
teachers.
"Professor Swife looks okay."
"Yeah, but you can't really tell from looking at them."
"Mmm, but Snape always looks nasty."
"Yeah, suppose. I want to find out more about this Pierson guy. He reminds me of someone."
"Wonder if ...hey, I bet he knew Sirius and Lupin! If he knows Snape, and Trelawney, then
he probably knows them too. And since Snape doesn't like him, Pierson might've been
friends with Sirius and Lupin. Maybe you could write to Sirius to tell him."
"Yeah, I will. But after we've had a lesson or two. If he's no good, then I won't bother."
"Yeah." They reached the portrait door.
"leones cantant."* Hermione said, and the door swung open.
"G'night Hermione." Ron said.
"Goodnight." Harry added. "We're going to unpack."
"Goodnight, then." She replied, and they left for their rooms. Harry and Ron unpacked
quickly, and were asleep the moment their heads hit the pillow.
~*~*~*Silvi*~*~*~
Telske Swife. Always in strife. The rhyme from her childhood echoed in her head
unexpectedly as she wondered once more exactly how she'd ended up here. She had grown
up in outback Australia, and received her letter, as Australians did, at thirteen. She graduated
the seven years later, at twenty, and landed the job here at Hogwarts at a mere twenty-four.
At school, she had had a very strong education with Defence Against the Dark Arts, Care of
Magical Creatures, Potions, and Charms - not so good with anything else. An interesting note
in her resume said she was proficient in the use of magic without a wand. Wicca-like spells
as well as the usual spells, she had had a faulty wand for most of her school life and resolved
to learn how to work without it. Dogged determination - and an obstinacy her Potions teacher
had told her would stand her in good stead if she only learned when not to be stubborn -
helped her succeed. After she got herself a better wand, she refused to quit. She'd created a
good habit, time to keep it up. She was good at martial arts, simply because they were a
useful way to keep fit, though most wizards scorned them. Lastly, she checked off in her
mind, she flew well. She enjoyed Quidditch, especially, but she doubted she'd have the
chance to play here. Those were her strengths. Weaknesses...Mmpf. Tended to ignore people,
or be harsh, when she wasn't being too quiet to talk. Those were her extremes - she'd either
be quite quiet and reserved, never raising her voice, or when there was an emergency - or she
was just plain pissed off - she'd be very harsh. Better try and sand the edges, 'Ske, if you're
gonna teach here. And her transfiguration was pitiful. General knowledge of magic was
barely average - that included history. She was reasonably adept in astronomy, arithmancy,
divination, and other such things, but they weren't the best.
"So I ended up teaching DADA, my best subject. Why should I be surprised? At the school
near the centre of the fight against Voldemort, no less. The way they've been going through
DADA teachers, I should be worried about being here. And, it's an important post. This
subject is the most important of all, right now, especially here, and if the rumours about the
other teachers are true, I have my work cut out for me." She shook her head, smiling a little.
"Talking to yourself," she lectured herself in the mirror, "Is the first sign of going stark,
raving, mad. You, my dear, are well past those early stages." With that, she put herself to bed,
banishing any further worries until morning.
*~*~*~*Postridie*~*~*~*
Ten hours later, both Methos and Telske - along with some students - rolled out of bed onto
the cold floor with a groan. Methos yanked off his bedcovers and stood up unsteadily,
rubbing sleep from his eyes. He made it in and out of the shower, and got dressed, without
really waking up. A few thousand years of doing it made it instinct. Time for the morning
kata, he thought, stretching. Unfortunately, he had to wake up for that.
Telske jumped up. She'd charmed a little box to act as an alarm clock - with a particular
alarm that always made her jump up in a panic, waking up completely before she even knew
what it was. It wasn't a fire alarm or anything, just something that made her edgy and on
alert. She dressed - donning comfortable pants and a shirt in defiance of the traditional robes
- and showered quickly, unknowingly mirroring Methos' actions as she began to stretch for
the simple martial arts moves she practised every morning. They met in the hallway as they
headed down for breakfast.
"Hello." Methos greeted her. Only pretty girl in the place besides the students, and he wasn't
even going to go there. Definitely had to get to know her.
"Hey. Are you the new history teacher?" Dollar for the amount of times people've asked me
that.
"Yeah, you're doing Defence?"
"Uh-uh and already wondering how I got here." She grinned.
"You aren't alone. I'm thinking, they drugged me." No, really, he added mentally.
"Still, with Voldemort." Methos stopped in mock shock and threw up his hands.
"Thank the Gods! Someone else who can say the name without swallowing their tongue!"
Telske smiled.
"Completely, everyone seems to have a heart attack. Me, I think the whole "You-know-who"
just makes him sound scarier. Which we don't need."
"Exactly." Methos agreed. "Are you Australian?"
"You got me! I've been living here for a couple of years, but apparently I've still got a bit of
an accent. I went to the Australian Academy of Magic. Did you go here?"
"Yeah, I was here for awhile." He wasn't lying. He'd taught here many times, but his
education with magic had been picked up from place to place over the years. Not that it had
any holes. Millennia of picking up bits and pieces usually meant you forgot more than
anyone else would ever learn. He liked that saying. More than anyone else, it's mine, he
thought.
"So you went somewhere else, too?" Sharp one.
"Yeah, spent some time at Beauxbatons." He pretended to shudder. "French snobs, I tell
you." She laughed.
"Yeah, we had some jokes about them. The old lightbulb one, do you know it?"
"Don't think so..." He had no doubt he'd heard it a thousand times.
"How many Beauxbatons students does it take to screw in a lightbulb? One. She stands there
and waits for the world to revolve around her." Methos laughed. What do you know,
someone did come up with new ones every century or so.
"I knew a girl who went there, Persephone. She thought she was so good, and she was going
on about having the name of a Goddess' daughter. Know what the name means?" He asked.
"No..."
"Bringer of Doom. She wasn't too impressed with that." Telske burst out laughing. "What a
name! I have to remember that one." They reached the Great Hall, and sat with the other
teachers. Only McGonagall, Snape and Sinistra were there. Telske noticed Snape first - he
was glaring at her with the sort of generalised hatred he had for all Defence Against the Dark
Arts teachers.
"What's his problem?" Methos had noticed Snape's look. Telske looked at Snape for a
moment. Inspiration struck.
"I hear," she said in a loud stage whisper, "that he's got some relationship issues with his
boyfriend. He's just having a hard time at the moment, I suppose." Snape's eyes widened in
outrage, and his sallow cheeks went red. Hmm, maybe I hit a nerve. Sinistra's face was too
blank for her not to have heard. Telske smiled, and Methos managed to hold in his laughter
with a monumental effort.
"Very, very good." He muttered in her ear admiringly. It was, too. Impressive. Although, he
suspected she had his eternal loathing by now. Who cared. He looked like the sort that wasn't
worth the trouble of keeping on your good side.
* Translation for all Latin words in this piece:
cantant: (they) sing
leones: lions (leo = lion)
postridie: the next day
Telske: TEL-ski
Quote from Lord of Chaos by Robert Jordan:
"The lions sing and the hills take flight,
The moon by day and the sun by night
Blind woman, old man, jackdaw fool
Let the Lord of Chaos rule."
returning to Hogwarts. As usual, he would teach history - or magic, this time, a welcome
change from ordinary history. He had become aware of the wizarding world as it developed
into civilisation: his first contact with true wizards had been before the general agreement of
secrecy came about. Most Immortals had no idea wizards existed; the few who knew about
them understood that the two worlds were better off separated. Some few Immortals and
wizards kept in contact; a select few who kept the worlds separate and dealt with dangers
offered to their world by the other. When Lord Voldemort rose, word was put about that
something big and bad was on the way. Young Immortals largely ignored the danger, but
older Immortals had usually seen enough mystical happenings and lived long enough to know
that when it was said danger was coming, and people were dying - mortals or not - you went
to ground. Immortals were legends; Silas, Kronos and Caspian were mysterious figures to the
wizarding community; dangerous, cold-blooded mass murderers, to be sure, able to kill many
able wizards, oh and most definitely alive, but not much talked about.
"Adam! Good to see you, must have been forty years now?" Dumbledore greeted him.
"Forty?" Hermione muttered incredulously to Harry and Ron. They were looking for a book
in the Arithmancy classroom, and conveniently couldn't help overhearing. "I know wizards
live longer than most people, but whoever Adam is, he doesn't look any older than twenty-
five. And wizards don't age that slowly." Ron shrugged.
"Maybe he knew Dumbledore when he was a kid, and he's older than he looks, and he ages
slower than most."
"That's a lot of maybes." Hermione countered. Harry interrupted.
"True, but what else can you think of? Listen to 'em." Adam had returned the greeting, and
Dumbledore had suggested they move to his office.
"Damn." Harry muttered. "I wanted to find out what he's like."
"Well, he seemed nice to Dumbledore..." Hermione offered.
"Snape's nice to Dumbledore." Ron said flatly. "But..." He looked like he'd had an idea he
might be a little scared to carry out. "There is that charm Fred gave me."
"What charm?" Harry asked.
"Oh, no, Ron, you've got to be joking." Hermione looked aghast, as Harry remembered the
charm Ron was talking about. She continued, "We'd be expelled for listening at the
headmaster's office. And it'd be like saying we don't trust Dumbledore." Harry thought
about it.
"She's got a point, Ron. But maybe we could try."
"No!" Hermione protested.
"We have the Map. Not like anyone's going to be able to surprise us." Ron pointed out.
"No, but what if Dumbledore has wards set?"
"Then we don't hear anything. Simple." Hermione didn't look happy, but she finally agreed.
They cast the proper spell on the charm, and listened carefully, to be greeted with something
like static on Muggle radios.
"Oh, great. All that for nothing." Harry sighed.
"I suppose he would have strong wards set. Either that, or Hogwarts itself is doing it. Maybe
because of all of the concentrated magic here, or maybe there are wards and things stopping
listening charms from working in the castle." Hermione added.
"Yeah." Ron sounded glum. "Let's see if we can't find out who he is, then. Someone must
know who the new teachers are."
*~*~*~*
"Well, old friend, how's life treated you?" Methos asked.
"Not well, not well. I have been blessed with a lack of the ailments of old age, but the events
of the magical world plague me more. I suppose you know what's happening?"
"Most don't - even through their wizarding communiques - but I haven't lived this long not
knowing how to get good information." He spoke seriously. "Voldemort has risen. Fudge is
acting like a fool and living in denial. You, if I guess right, are rallying together some of the
better and, more importantly, solid and brave wizards, and preparing your defence."
Dumbledore inclined his head. "You guess correctly. I was also hoping to enlist your aid,
asking you to replace Professor Binns." He said directly. Methos replied in a similarly blunt
and honest manner.
"I'll think about it. It's going to take a while for me to get back in the practice of using spells,
and teaching magical history here, before I get in over my head any more. But I'd like to be
kept abreast of things..." Methos thought on it for a minute. The more he did, the less he
liked the idea of not being in this. The danger was obvious and he did not like it.
He decidedly disliked the idea of going into danger - it might be brutal, but when it came
down to the basics, he chose survival. But what was the alternative? He answered his own
question. Be out of the loop completely, without the information I'll need to survive in the
wizarding world right now. He sighed. In times not long gone, he would have simply gone to
ground for awhile. A long while, preferably, until everything had completely blown over. But
Albus was a good friend. And Voldemort ...Voldemort reminded him of what he'd been,
thousands of years ago. If Methos hadn't stopped himself, they would probably have ruled the
world with terror, committing countless crimes against humanity and keeping people in
oppression for centuries, or even millennia.
He realised he didn't want that to happen - well, he had never wanted it to. But for a long
time, he hadn't cared. Now he did. It was unsettling. He looked up, eyes distant, remembering
times of evil and death, and then met Dumbledore's eyes.
"Count me in. Who'm I working with?" Dumbledore smiled, but only for a second, and partly
in sympathy - he had a fair idea of what Methos had been thinking about.
"The old gang we had, if you knew. Mundungus Fletcher. Alastor Moody. Remus Lupin.
Some of the Weasleys. Most teachers here." Methos nodded as he went through some of the
names. "I remember. And of Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew?" His tone revealed he knew
something about them.
"What do you think?"
"I would hope that you know Sirius Black is on our side. And Master Pettigrew ...is not."
"I do. And the same has been explained to our colleagues. But I would be interested to know
how you found out." Methos was quiet for a moment.
"I'm five thousand years old, Albus. I've lived so long, and studied human nature so long I
don't question what instinct tells me - which was that Remus, James and Sirius would be
brave, strong, smart, valuable wizards against evil. And that Pettigrew could not keep up -
always in someone else's shadow, someone stronger. Something told me he would be the
weak link. Perhaps it had something to do with the animals they could shift to, excluding
Remus. A stag, a large dog... and a rat. Your animal shape reflects you, I'm sure. Minerva's is
a cat, no? That is definitely appropriate." Dumbledore nodded agreement.
"Logical. Sirius, unfortunately, is still playing fugitive with the law, no way to prove he is
innocent anytime soon. But we are keeping in contact, and Remus and him are working
together. I think that should do for now, you will be summoned to the next meeting we have -
which will be quite soon - and we'll explain our aims and obstacles then." He smiled. "Let me
just warn you about some students before you go unpack. We have only four Weasleys
currently - a fifth-year, Ron, fourth-year, Ginny, and twin seventh-years, Fred and George.
Identical, but one can pick out a few differences. Now, the girl is relatively quiet, but
Madame Pomfrey suspects she may turn out to be a healer. The twins are genius
mischief-makers, I'm quite sure they intend to build a business to rival Zonko's, and they will
probably manage it."
"But do they buy everything they do? At least that can limit them."
"No, genius I said, and genius I meant. The Weasleys are, well, rather poor currently and
while they occasionally use some Zonko products, most they make themselves, and very
well, too."
"Damn." Well, classes will be interesting, at least.
"And then there is Ron and his two friends, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter, all
Gryffindors."
"Let me guess, the boy's head is bigger than a balloon." Methos referred to Harry.
"Not in the least. He grew up with a moderately nasty Muggle family that apparently swore to
stamp wizardry out of him, and had no idea magic existed until Hagrid showed up to take
him to Hogwarts. He hates the fame."
"Good." Methos said briskly. "I hope he's turning out like his father, then?"
"Yes, quite. Can't quite keep away from Voldemort, either. One major encounter for each
year at Hogwarts so far." Dumbledore sighed. "But he is good. Smart, strong and brave, so
much like his father. And -" He smiled -"Playing Seeker in Quidditch remarkably well.
They've a talented team, but he's the reason they've been winning the cup each year."
"And, let me guess, he has a knack for ferreting things out."
"Naturally. Ron, who I meant to tell you about, I think may turn out to be a weather-mage -
the first for a few centuries, I think. He's talented at chess, but much overshadowed by his
brothers. Hermione is Muggle-born - not that it matters, of course, simply that it may be the
cause of rude remarks if you hear them - and very smart. Reminds me of Minerva as a
student - extremely conscientious hard worker. It is fortunate she made friends with the boys,
they taught her rulebreaking was not exactly wrong. Finally, Draco Malfoy, a boy in the
fifth-year as well, a Slytherin. He hates Potter, Weasley and Granger, and is hated back, can
be a real nasty piece of work sometimes. But there is his father ..." Methos nodded.
"Lucius Malfoy."
"I think the son isn't quite as evil as he sometimes acts; I think most of his attitudes are from
his father. If you'll just take that into mind, I'll move to staff. We have Flitwick on Charms,
Minerva on Transfiguration, a new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, Telske Swife,
Pince as librarian, Hooch as Quidditch Coach, Poppy is nurse, Sybil Trelawney takes
Divination -" "Keep her away from me." Methos warned. "Professor Vector teaches
Arithmancy, Hagrid is our Gamekeeper - and teaches Care of Magical Creatures with
Professor Grubbly-Plank. Filch is caretaker and...ah, Potions Master is Severus Snape."
Dumbledore kept his face controlled, watching Methos' expression slowly darken.
"He was a slimy brat of a kid, has he changed?"
"Somewhat. He is nasty, and he plays favourites. But he was a spy for us well before
Voldemort's downfall. He's not a bad person."
"I'll believe that much, at least. Ghosts?"
"Nicholas, the Grey Lady, the Friar and the Bloody Baron. Peeves the poltergeist is still
around, of course."
"Ah, the Bloody Baron won't be too happy to see me, nor I him, seeing as I turned him into
that ghost, and Peeves won't be jumping for joy either, but Nicholas and the rest are good."
"Well, you'll have your old rooms - I'll see you at dinner, then?"
"Dinner." They nodded to each other and Methos left.
He made his way through the castle slowly. It was a comfortable place; old, but strong in its
age and experience, filled with spells and lives and memories over time. More than any other
place on earth, Hogwarts felt like returning home. It felt secure and alive; insofar as he ever
felt secure. He was happy to be there, relieved in a way that this place had not suffered from
Voldemort or any other major catalyst. He entered his room and found trunks brought up, bed
made and room immaculate, fire burning, a beautiful old wooden desk - enchanted against
spillage and such things, he was sure - in a corner, with a bookcase, bedside and wardrobe to
match it for age and elegance. Thank God for house elves. He didn't know how he got along
without them after leaving the wizarding world many years previous.
Unpacking quickly - most possessions had been picked up in Diagon Alley, for why would
history scholar Adam Pierson own wizard robes, a wand, or various other curios wizards
owned? The shopping trip had taken a bit of dodging, he admitted to himself, smiling
ruefully as he remembered his visit to Ollivanders'.
Methos opened the door to Ollivanders', stepping inside quietly. After a moment, exactly as
last time, a fifty years older John Ollivander slid along on his ladder.
His eyes bulged.
But only for a moment.
Ollivander eyes, Methos was sure, never bulged at customers. He felt quite proud at having
achieved it, and simultaneously felt consternation that Ollivander had recognised him. Well,
apparently the rumours were true. Come once, and you would be told of all your relatives'
wands, and come twice you would be remembered...and then told about your friends, and
your relatives. Methos had hoped the man was using some kind of spell. Apparently,
however, it was simply phenomenal mnemonic skill. Ollivander carefully climbed down
from the ladder and offered a hand. After a serious shake, he said gravely, looking into
Methos' eyes,
"You age remarkably well." Methos replied equally gravely, "Thank you."
"I would be obliged to know how well you age." The man asked. "But if you wish it kept to
one; to one it will be kept." Methos had to smile. An excellent businessman.
"You know of the legendary Immortals."
"Of course."
"Lot more of them than you'd think. Stupid ones, young ones." He paused. "Not all are
centuries old and extremely powerful." That was enough. Implications of a society of
Immortals, Immortals sometimes strong sometimes weak, even as wizards and witches.
Almost saying he himself was one.
"I have but one question." Ollivander was sharp. "Does Dumbledore know?" Suitably vague.
"Of course." He met the man's eyes firmly and sincerely. Ollivander studied him for a
moment, then nodded quickly and produced several wands.
"Try these. Old wood; items from old magical beasts. Not brittle, broken. Aged and
enduring." He made the distinction clear. Both men remembered well that last time,
Ollivander had had to dig up the oldest wand in the shop. The one that was not only ancient
by wand standards but had accidentally been soaked in Aging Potion and kept as an amusing
curio.
It took many tries, but eventually - after Adam had gradually and reluctantly yielded the
details of many past wands - they found an ancient oakwood wand, containing one unicorn
hair, thought to be an antique. He headed for Gringotts, anticipating more trouble. Goblins
were long-lived; most goblins working at Gringotts worked there for their lifetimes. They
were far less inquisitive than humans, thankfully, which Methos liked about them, but he
would earn himself many hushed whispers and probably the most surprised goblins the world
had seen in millennia. Goblins did not surprise easily. He walked into Gringotts and received
the expected reception. One goblin glanced up, then stopped work, conveying no other sign it
was surprised. Then another looked up and appraised Methos carefully. It muttered
something, and every goblin in the entire hall had stopped work and turned to Methos;
somewhat in the way everyone turns to stare at the man who does something very strange at
the dinner table. At the other end of the hall, a boy whispered to his father,
"What happened?" His father replied, just a touch awed and a little concerned,
"Someone surprised the goblins."
"So?" His son persisted.
"I doubt my grandfather's grandfather's was alive when the last human managed to shock a
goblin." Impressed, the boy fell silent, and an important-looking goblin descended some steps
toward Methos, waving an arm that sent the rest back to work.
"You return, Mr. Pierson?" He had always used the same name at Gringotts.
"I do."
"In much the same state as last time." It was a password of a sort; this head goblin knew
something of him and his kind, but he always caused a stir among other goblins. With a
peculiar smile, he replied,
"Yet not the same here." He tapped his temple, and gestured that they should go. "Death has
not a home in me." It had a double meaning; death itself had not caught him, and Death, his
persona thousands of years ago, was still banished. The goblin nodded and led him to his
vault. It was well concealed; one of Gringotts' best. It held his diaries; eleven thousand years
of memories and experiences written in the most obscure languages he understood at the
time. And, of course, a fortune in money. The irony was the diaries were worth far more than
the galleons; if ever he died he had arranged for some of the oldest (i.e. most
incomprehensible) to be released as antiques, sold to collections, money to benefit those he
enjoyed the company of most. But to him, they were a wealth of information and history. His
past.
But not for now. He deposited some diaries, accumulated from his last visit to Gringotts,
collected money and thanked the goblin, informing him he was in town for about ten years -
the usual - and asking about any break-ins.
"There have been attempts." He answered gravely. "One success, by one of the minions of he
who must not be named. But the vault in question had been emptied earlier. Security is
upgraded now. We have employed a team of specialist magic-workers that solely produce
curses, spells and charms for the high-security vaults. I hope you are not reconsidering."
"No. Gringotts is not perfection; but there is none better. And of course...no one knows of my
diaries and artifacts, and galleons can be found anywhere. How could they steal them?" That
was the oldest and greatest defence. No one could steal something that did not exist, so he
did not let it exist to them. The goblin nodded, satisfied. He escorted Methos to the door, and
Methos had then headed for Hogwarts.
---
Methos headed out for dinner - the bell had just sounded. He took a place at the teachers'
table, between Vigor and Dumbledore. Vigor had aged, but not changed much. When he sat
down, he had only betrayed slight startlement, and welcomed him back warmly but formally.
A few other teachers greeted him: Snape only looked at him ominously (back off sweety-pie,
I've dealt with worse than you), and Trelawney looked apprehensive. Fair enough. He had
had a tally against Dumbledore for catching Snape out in his plots, and made Trelawney look
foolish with her divination obsession more than once. He doubted either had changed much,
although Snape must have gained some kind of a heart, to have left the dark side. He settled
in to watch the sorting, as Minerva led the new first-years into the Hall.
Harry, Ron and Hermione were all watching the teachers' table for the new Defence Against
the Dark Arts teacher, and Professor Pierson.
"Well, he knows your Arithmancy teacher, Hermione." Ron pointed out, as they saw him sit
next to the Professor, and greet him.
"And Snape and Trelawney, apparently," Hermione added. "Look! Snape's glaring at him
like he does to you and Lupin and Sirius, Harry."
"Only he looks a little scared, too." Harry commented. "Or, not quite scared, but wary. I
wonder how they know each other?"
"Maybe Pierson was a few years above him, or something, and had something over him."
"Hope so. He's got this big phony pleased look to see Snape and Trelawney. Trelawney just
looks worried, though."
"Good." Hermione sounded satisfied. "Maybe if she's scared of him, she'll start being less
airy-fairy."
"Hope so." Ron sounded a little dubious. "If that's possible."
"Mmmm. We can find out some more when Dumbledore introduces them." Hermione
conceded. Then everyone quieted the doors opened, and Professor McGonagall led the new
first-years into the Hall.
The sorting went quickly, and as the delicious dishes appeared on their tables, they hardly
said a word as they ate. As every plate was scraped clean, the headmaster got up to speak.
"Now that all have eaten," he smiled, "I simply wish to remind you of a few restrictions, and
introduce our new teachers, so do feel free to fall asleep until I present your teachers. The
Forbidden Forest is, naturally, out of bounds to all students. Master Filch, the caretaker of our
school, reminds you that any kind of vandalism to the school is punishable, and will be
punished, by him. Now if I may introduce our newest teachers. With regret, I must announce
that Professor Binns crossed over during the holidays." There was silence in the hall as each
student tried not to whoop with delight. A twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes said he noticed as
he continued, "So you will now be taught by Professor Pierson -" he gestured and Methos
stood. "who is not known as a scholar to the wizarding world, but I assure you has a knack
for teaching and is an expert on magical and Muggle history."
"I wonder why he threw that in..." Hermione mused.
"I suppose he knows Professor Binns wasn't really very good." Run suggested.
"And even if he's no fun, so long as he can teach us it'll be better. Plus Dumbledore
wouldn't have been too happy to have a teacher who wasn't actually teaching anyone
anything." Harry added.
"Yes. It will be good to have a better teacher." Dumbledore continued after the chatter about
the new teacher had died down.
"Also, our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher will be Professor Swife," a young
woman stood up. She was quite pretty, Hispanic, wearing a long, satiny pale yellow dress
somewhat like a kimono. "Her expertise is with curses, but she will also be covering magical
combat and magical creatures with you." Professor Swife sat again, and Dumbledore
dismissed them. Harry, Ron and Hermione walked out slowly, talking about the new
teachers.
"Professor Swife looks okay."
"Yeah, but you can't really tell from looking at them."
"Mmm, but Snape always looks nasty."
"Yeah, suppose. I want to find out more about this Pierson guy. He reminds me of someone."
"Wonder if ...hey, I bet he knew Sirius and Lupin! If he knows Snape, and Trelawney, then
he probably knows them too. And since Snape doesn't like him, Pierson might've been
friends with Sirius and Lupin. Maybe you could write to Sirius to tell him."
"Yeah, I will. But after we've had a lesson or two. If he's no good, then I won't bother."
"Yeah." They reached the portrait door.
"leones cantant."* Hermione said, and the door swung open.
"G'night Hermione." Ron said.
"Goodnight." Harry added. "We're going to unpack."
"Goodnight, then." She replied, and they left for their rooms. Harry and Ron unpacked
quickly, and were asleep the moment their heads hit the pillow.
~*~*~*Silvi*~*~*~
Telske Swife. Always in strife. The rhyme from her childhood echoed in her head
unexpectedly as she wondered once more exactly how she'd ended up here. She had grown
up in outback Australia, and received her letter, as Australians did, at thirteen. She graduated
the seven years later, at twenty, and landed the job here at Hogwarts at a mere twenty-four.
At school, she had had a very strong education with Defence Against the Dark Arts, Care of
Magical Creatures, Potions, and Charms - not so good with anything else. An interesting note
in her resume said she was proficient in the use of magic without a wand. Wicca-like spells
as well as the usual spells, she had had a faulty wand for most of her school life and resolved
to learn how to work without it. Dogged determination - and an obstinacy her Potions teacher
had told her would stand her in good stead if she only learned when not to be stubborn -
helped her succeed. After she got herself a better wand, she refused to quit. She'd created a
good habit, time to keep it up. She was good at martial arts, simply because they were a
useful way to keep fit, though most wizards scorned them. Lastly, she checked off in her
mind, she flew well. She enjoyed Quidditch, especially, but she doubted she'd have the
chance to play here. Those were her strengths. Weaknesses...Mmpf. Tended to ignore people,
or be harsh, when she wasn't being too quiet to talk. Those were her extremes - she'd either
be quite quiet and reserved, never raising her voice, or when there was an emergency - or she
was just plain pissed off - she'd be very harsh. Better try and sand the edges, 'Ske, if you're
gonna teach here. And her transfiguration was pitiful. General knowledge of magic was
barely average - that included history. She was reasonably adept in astronomy, arithmancy,
divination, and other such things, but they weren't the best.
"So I ended up teaching DADA, my best subject. Why should I be surprised? At the school
near the centre of the fight against Voldemort, no less. The way they've been going through
DADA teachers, I should be worried about being here. And, it's an important post. This
subject is the most important of all, right now, especially here, and if the rumours about the
other teachers are true, I have my work cut out for me." She shook her head, smiling a little.
"Talking to yourself," she lectured herself in the mirror, "Is the first sign of going stark,
raving, mad. You, my dear, are well past those early stages." With that, she put herself to bed,
banishing any further worries until morning.
*~*~*~*Postridie*~*~*~*
Ten hours later, both Methos and Telske - along with some students - rolled out of bed onto
the cold floor with a groan. Methos yanked off his bedcovers and stood up unsteadily,
rubbing sleep from his eyes. He made it in and out of the shower, and got dressed, without
really waking up. A few thousand years of doing it made it instinct. Time for the morning
kata, he thought, stretching. Unfortunately, he had to wake up for that.
Telske jumped up. She'd charmed a little box to act as an alarm clock - with a particular
alarm that always made her jump up in a panic, waking up completely before she even knew
what it was. It wasn't a fire alarm or anything, just something that made her edgy and on
alert. She dressed - donning comfortable pants and a shirt in defiance of the traditional robes
- and showered quickly, unknowingly mirroring Methos' actions as she began to stretch for
the simple martial arts moves she practised every morning. They met in the hallway as they
headed down for breakfast.
"Hello." Methos greeted her. Only pretty girl in the place besides the students, and he wasn't
even going to go there. Definitely had to get to know her.
"Hey. Are you the new history teacher?" Dollar for the amount of times people've asked me
that.
"Yeah, you're doing Defence?"
"Uh-uh and already wondering how I got here." She grinned.
"You aren't alone. I'm thinking, they drugged me." No, really, he added mentally.
"Still, with Voldemort." Methos stopped in mock shock and threw up his hands.
"Thank the Gods! Someone else who can say the name without swallowing their tongue!"
Telske smiled.
"Completely, everyone seems to have a heart attack. Me, I think the whole "You-know-who"
just makes him sound scarier. Which we don't need."
"Exactly." Methos agreed. "Are you Australian?"
"You got me! I've been living here for a couple of years, but apparently I've still got a bit of
an accent. I went to the Australian Academy of Magic. Did you go here?"
"Yeah, I was here for awhile." He wasn't lying. He'd taught here many times, but his
education with magic had been picked up from place to place over the years. Not that it had
any holes. Millennia of picking up bits and pieces usually meant you forgot more than
anyone else would ever learn. He liked that saying. More than anyone else, it's mine, he
thought.
"So you went somewhere else, too?" Sharp one.
"Yeah, spent some time at Beauxbatons." He pretended to shudder. "French snobs, I tell
you." She laughed.
"Yeah, we had some jokes about them. The old lightbulb one, do you know it?"
"Don't think so..." He had no doubt he'd heard it a thousand times.
"How many Beauxbatons students does it take to screw in a lightbulb? One. She stands there
and waits for the world to revolve around her." Methos laughed. What do you know,
someone did come up with new ones every century or so.
"I knew a girl who went there, Persephone. She thought she was so good, and she was going
on about having the name of a Goddess' daughter. Know what the name means?" He asked.
"No..."
"Bringer of Doom. She wasn't too impressed with that." Telske burst out laughing. "What a
name! I have to remember that one." They reached the Great Hall, and sat with the other
teachers. Only McGonagall, Snape and Sinistra were there. Telske noticed Snape first - he
was glaring at her with the sort of generalised hatred he had for all Defence Against the Dark
Arts teachers.
"What's his problem?" Methos had noticed Snape's look. Telske looked at Snape for a
moment. Inspiration struck.
"I hear," she said in a loud stage whisper, "that he's got some relationship issues with his
boyfriend. He's just having a hard time at the moment, I suppose." Snape's eyes widened in
outrage, and his sallow cheeks went red. Hmm, maybe I hit a nerve. Sinistra's face was too
blank for her not to have heard. Telske smiled, and Methos managed to hold in his laughter
with a monumental effort.
"Very, very good." He muttered in her ear admiringly. It was, too. Impressive. Although, he
suspected she had his eternal loathing by now. Who cared. He looked like the sort that wasn't
worth the trouble of keeping on your good side.
* Translation for all Latin words in this piece:
cantant: (they) sing
leones: lions (leo = lion)
postridie: the next day
Telske: TEL-ski
Quote from Lord of Chaos by Robert Jordan:
"The lions sing and the hills take flight,
The moon by day and the sun by night
Blind woman, old man, jackdaw fool
Let the Lord of Chaos rule."