Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Elrin Danse is my own creation.

Yes, it is Personal

Deep in the comfort of her dreamless oblivion, she came to consciousness slowly, blissfully. For a few seconds she could have been anywhere and anybody. Basking in her own warmth, Elrin stretched her whole body into the wide bed. Then opened her eyes and the world flew in and to her surprise it was a rich and elegant room, not the dark and slightly forbidding one she felt it was when she had arrived last night.

Last night. Don't even go there.

The fire was still burning with the same heat as it had the evening before. Had someone put more logs on while she was asleep? Wonderfuly toasty. She would have imagined it to be cold, even with the decorated tapestries with their mythical beasts and dark forests covering the stone walled room.

Last night.


The Professor - she couldn't bring herself to speak his name, even to herself – had brought her here. He had swept through the dim corridors, light aloft in his hand, while she struggled to keep up: so glad she was behind him, as a desperate feeling of wanting to cry pressed on the edge of her emotions. She had wanted to look around, but he was too fast for her. She remembered snatches of enormous spaces with huge statues, gothic archways and clusters of pillars. A whole host of stairways with a frenzy of gilded portraits climbing up them scrambling for her attention. It seemed as if there had been a war in this giant place between all the sacred and all the secular architecture of the world. Neither had won, but they had come to some kind of mad compromise and squeezed in beside one another.  This castle, apart from its immensity, was something out of a dream.

He continued to charge through a maze of wide corridors and the more she felt like some kind of child following a demon.

Ok, ok, she kept repeating. Keep going I know I'm really tired and I'm desperate to go to bed. For a fraction of a second she wished the dark figure in front of her would turn round and scoop her up and carry her, but shut the idea off rapidly, horrified. For all she knew, he could hear her thoughts. Oh heavens preserve me from that. He stopped at a turning, waiting for her, obviously irritated, but was clearly doing his duty. She was sweating a little as she caught up, inwardly cursing him: her boots loud on the flagstones.

No clean pair of knickers for tomorrow. Or a toothbrush, or a deodorant. Oh hell, she just wanted to lie down and sleep this off and this bad tempered monster had better not say something to provoke her.

The bad tempered monster rushed on ahead again, robes stretching out behind, casting giant shadows on the walls as they passed, down steps and up more of them. Then unexpectedly, he halted in front of a large framed picture – showing a still photograph from of The Wizard of Oz.

Well, how appropriate, she sneered to herself

However, it wasn't exactly still. Walking arm in arm down the brick pathway was Scarecrow, Tin Man, Cowardly Lion and Dorothy, all of whom stopped immediately to stare at them both. They had been laughing together and had stopped: Dorothy bright faced and pink.

Hello, she felt like saying, but knew she wouldn't. The Lion looked sympathetic, so she gave him a half-smile. The best she could manage.

 "Dr.Faustus" said the figure beside her and the frame swung open. No-nonsense popular-culture password here, obviously.

 No 'toffee apple', no 'sugar mice', but Christopher Marlowe. Lovely. Just what she needed. The phrase 'going to hell in a handbasket came to mind'

"Don't forget your password," he said as he stooped through the opening.

Inside, a large fire warmed the room; it's light dancing on the large bed in the centre which drew and held her eyes. The generous bedding had a furry covering over the top of it: glossy, warm and inviting, spilling over the sides of the bed. That, and the great fat pillows, called to her submissive body. 

He pointed to a small door at the far end of the room, obviously not wanting to move further in himself, and took a stance by the exit.

"The bathroom is there. I believe that you will find everything you need."   He gave the impression of needing to remove himself from this room as fast as possible.

Did he know what she needed? She doubted it.

Maybe in response to the look on her face, he resentfully explained to the room.

"Madam Hooch has put in a few items that you may need."

Another name that burst in on her brain. She would not examine it. There were more important things for her to consider: that bed looked so delicious: the warmth in the room releasing her tension.

She had turned back to thank him when she realised she needed to know something before he went.

"Could you tell me where the light switches are?"

"Switches?"

"Light  - Switches" she affirmed, containing her impatience to go to sleep. He looked puzzled.

"If you take that light, I have none myself."

He looked around him as if wondering how to deal with this unbelievably stupid woman. His hand gripped the torch.

"Make one," he hissed, looming over her, his black eyes even darker than before.

"Er, thanks, you've been such a help" she replied, openly sarcastic now, facing him with as much dignity as her tiredness would allow.

He sighed deeply. "You - cannot - make - one." The bald statement did not disguise his disgust. 

Who on earth do they take her for?

"You mean – that "Lumos" thing?" she said, angry now. She had read all the books. She knew her stuff.

Tilting his head in mock appreciation and acknowledgement, he stepped out into the corridor.

Oh hell

"I – can't make one," she said quietly, her anger gone, not even sure if he had heard her. She attempted to halt the growing fear that he would just go and leave her to the shadows from the fire: let alone the dark room beyond. The furniture held deep shadows and there was no way she would tell him of her childhood fears of the dark under her bed. There was no way to explain her immature irrationality. It would be the last thing that someone like him would understand. Her partner, her ex-partner she should say, was completely mystified by it. And he was a pussycat compared to the Professor.

He paused for a second or two, and she thought that maybe he was going to go anyway.

Then his black hair gleamed in the light as he ducked back through the doorway and extinguished his own light, leaving them to the warmth of the fire. It made her uneasy, his presence close in the dim light, but she stood completely still, waiting. His breath could be heard, quiet and deep in front of her and then the smooth rustle of his clothes as he moved his arm, and muttered something she couldn't make out. He then lazily mumbled: "Incendium" and a light exploded in front of her, attached to a candle which he was handing her, illuminating them both. It held much a greater light than any candle she had ever seen.  Most of the major shadows retreated.

He must have been carrying it in his robes.

"You can relight it from the fire."

Thanks. A real gentleman. Such poise. Such gallantry. At least she had a light. Now all she wanted to do was dive into that bed.

However, she was glad he had given her the light and she remembered her manners.

"Thank you"

He ducked out of the door again, paused, but looked away as he spoke. He must have remembered his as well.

"Goodnight Miss – "

"Elrin"

What was she thinking of?

He was obviously gritting his teeth. "I did not mean your given name"

It was never my given name. Give me a break.

"Please, goodnight. Professor." She couldn't take any more and she closed the door, firmly.

Dusty light poured through the window at a high angle, revealing her night's lodgings: the nearly black, intrically carved Victorian furniture. There was the bed, a heavy tallboy and an accompanying dressing table, together with a couple of fine looking comfy chairs by the fire. She was pleased to see many bookcases surrounding the room with random stacks of heavy books – old and faded like those in that – that strange study she had been in. There had never been any in her home: no books, no art, and no colour.  Her parents had no time for them, and her ex-partner disapproved so much that she kept her favourite books in a drawer. Now she could enjoy this guilty pleasure. She noticed a feather in an inkwell on the low desk by the window.

How quaint. What a giggle.

She felt considerably better. In fact, better than she had done for a very long time. An intangible, inexcusable feeling of delight crept into her heart: almost as if she were on holiday. She fancied a bath and leapt out naked, grabbing a sheet. She didn't know if the door was locked or not, 'password or no password', but she wasn't taking any chances. She could imagine the po-faced Professor stooping through the door.

Somewhere else she didn't want to go.

She hoped the bathwater was hot. In an ancient place like this, she would be lucky.  To her surprise, the water fairly steamed out of the taps, and soon she was dipping into the blessed warm bath. A sumptuous towel was within easy reach, and she noticed a pile of clothes arranged underneath it. With a wet hand she lifted it, and found a note. Please help yourself. If there is anything you need, I am on the second door on your left. And it was signed Madam Xiomara Hooch. The paper was handmade by the looks of it, as it absorbed drops of water quickly and was written with a heavy type of pen, because it smudged easily. She wiped the ink off her hand.

On the side of a huge bath were a whole range of bottles. Sniffing a couple, she chose a few, peering at the labels. Indeed there appeared to be everything she needed and so enjoyed herself, experimenting with some herbal lotions and lay there, soaking up the indulgence. It was if she had travelled a long way.

What did that bird say?  She couldn't remember his exact words. Something about destiny.

She thought of the people she knew at work, her friends and at home in the family bosom. They would think it funny, her here, wallowing in this weird hotel. She didn't really want to think about that now.  She didn't want to think about what she would face when she returned home: returned to the endless talks about who was cheating on whom and who was to blame for their problems. There were obsessive discussions about their struggle to survive the trap that they all scurried about in – about getting through the shared gloom of choiceless existence – just getting through the days. She found that she was holding a large sponge underwater as if it were someone's head. With a mighty heave, she threw the sponge at the wall, which bounced off the mirror, the water and foam streaking down.

It didn't speak and she laughed loudly, splashing the water in delight.

Of course it didn't. Silly girl.

When she had dried herself, she looked at the clothes in horror, except for the underwear, which were fine and actually fitted, sexy even.  However, underneath those was a further set of clothes, which she decided to try on. When she went to a full-length mirror in the other room, she was thrilled. She loved dressing up.  A very strongly fitted bodice, which accentuated her figure, went with a sinuously long skirt diplomatically hiding what her family called her thunder thighs. The clothes were both made out of some unusual material with a dark iridescence, which reminded her oddly of beetles, beetle wings and flashes in the dark. The robe she put on top was heavier and a dark crimson, and she swirled about like a young girl, revealing it to have a blood red lining. She decided she would keep her boots on: like when someone was going to die.

"With my boots on!" She laughed. "Not bad, but hair needs to go up."

She searched the pockets of her own skirt, thrown on the chair from last night, and drew her heavy hair up and clipped it high at the back, parts of it falling down.

Good. Don't want to look too put together. Want a little wildness I think.

"You look – amazing," drawled a deep male voice from the mirror. Stunned, she stepped back, blinking.

"Thhhank you." She wanted to ask if he was programmed to say that, but felt that, well, she did look ok. Then, flushing, she recalled her previous state of undress and her tantrum.

"So - how come the mirror in the bathroom didn't say anything to me?"

"Oh, she's was just being diplomatic." "Oh, and by the way, there is someone at the window." Indeed there was a scratching at the high-latticed window. A large bird was desperately scrabbling to get in, shedding a feather or two on the way.

"I would open it, if I were you, my dear." Said the mirror patiently.

Finding herself in the position of Alice in Wonderland, she complied.

She had never been close up to an owl before, and not one that big, but it behaved in a very courteous manner; its wicked-looking talons placing a scroll neatly into her hands and then taking off immediately back out the open window. She opened the scroll.

Dear Elrin,

I would like to have a short talk with you before lunch, which is in the Great Hall at one o'clock..  It is still holiday time, so there are only a few of us gathered. I am sure that you are ready for a bite to eat, and if you are ready, Madam Hooch will come and escort you.

Albus

A knock on the door was likely to be her.

She took a deep breath.

"Come in."

And looked into the most startling eyes she had ever seen.

A matter of fact, no-nonsense type, Madam Hooch chatted amiably while they retraced the steps of last night, and it seemed not such a great distance after all. She must have been dead on her feet. Again she attempted to look around, but since Xiomara (she insisted on being called) kept her talking, she felt that she could not, without being rude, really look around, and had to be content with glimpses. However, she kept the overall impression that she had had the day before, although the fresh daylight meant that it was fractionally less dark and dramatic.

Asking Xiomara about Quiddich (she was getting good at this) led to an excited monologue about the international teams chances that year and also one of the local matches playing that afternoon. Elrin was even asked if she played.

Yes, I shoot around the sky on a broomstick. 

Her mother would believe it.

Taking a sidelong glance, Elrin wondered if she was gay, taking in her spiky hair, gymnslip gown and her confident strides in long, spiky boots. She wasn't sure why she thought it; it just slid into her mind. Her eyes had slits like some predator caught in headlights – yellow and slightly mad, but they did not alarm her. Liking her style and her easy schoolmistress manner, Elrin was comfortable in her presence. She could have done without the Quiddich talk, but was glad that there was something they could talk about, and not what was going on. It was awkward getting used to wearing slightly cumbersome clothes, and stumbled a few times on the stairs, but she supposed that heavy encompassing materials were needed to combat the draughts that swept through the huge spaces of the building.

As they rounded one of the corridors, they found Albus was waiting in one of the open cloisters.

"Thank you Xiomara. Is the match still on?"

"It certainly is Headmaster, and you know your team is doomed."

"Very likely" he grinned appreciatively, and turned to herself. "And you have met Elrin."

"Yes, it has been a pleasure. I will see you at lunch no doubt" she said and smiled politely, nodded and returned the way they had come.

"Get your galleons out Albus," she shouted as she marched away.

The Headmaster led her round the cloisters slowly, companionably. They circled the bright cold day that shone outside, blue-sky overhead, a thin, thin crust of snow on the surrounding roofs and the grass in the centre below. She wondered when he would speak, and when he did not, she decided to take the bull by the horns.

"Where am I?"

"Where do you think you are?" he spoke quietly.

"This is not a dream but it approximates one." "This", she said, hitting the stonework with her hand, "is too solid to be a nightmare"

"Ahh" he said, stroking his long beard with his fine old man's hands, elegant and blue veined. "What is dream and what is reality?"

"You're playing the philosopher with me".

"My dear Elrin, I assure you I am not playing". The warmth steamed out of his mouth in the cold, but did not seem affected. She was beginning to feel her face stiffen in the wintry air. "I would gladly talk philosophy with you, but I do not believe that this is the time for it".

"Look - I know this place and I know the people and I know you, but I have never been here before so how do you think that is?"

"Please go on".

She took a deep breath. "You're all characters in a series of books. Written by a woman living on the bread-line."

This is insane, and I'm standing here discussing this with an old man in decorated robes and a heavy hat.

"Really? How very interesting. And do they sell?"

"They have sold all over the globe: they are a great success. The writer is famous."

"Good. Good". He paced the floor studying it, and spoke as if she had been talking of the weather and how nice it was.

Anger rose in her. This was too much.

"So why are you dressed like them, look like them and inhabit - this – this castle?" she shouted, aware of her voice echoing crazily round the peaceful cloisters.

 "Why are you imitating her creation?"

He stopped and turned to her, his eyes steady behind his spectacles.

"I believe that it is the other way around".

"I don't understand. What do you mean?"

"Where do you think she got her inspiration from?" She opened her mouth to argue but stared at him.

"You're not an actor?"

"I am most certainly not acting, my child. I did a little in my youth though…. But that was, oh, many, many years ago."

"Why am I here then, can you tell me that?"

"Humm", he said, "I cannot say. Only you can answer that".

"How can I possibly answer that? I know nothing – nothing at all".

"Not yet maybe, but in time".

"How much time?"

"I am afraid I cannot tell". 


"You cannot Apparate into here (she couldn't say the name) but I did."

"Well", he said, looking at her closely. "You did not Apparate exactly.  Lets just say it was Deep Magick, and leave it there for the moment shall we?"

Deep magick. Right.

The sun was strong in her eyes but she felt numbed now, inside as well as out.

"Elrin" he paused. "I do have a favour to ask you".

Why not? I am insane. What have I to lose?

She looked at him, waiting.

"I would very much like it if you would accept a position here. I need your skills."

She remembered his words. Meet the new teacher.

But - I am not qualified. I have never taught."

"Well, this would be more like a research post rather than strictly a teaching position. And this is an honourary post. I have the power to appoint: and your qualification is in Phoenix. Since no one else (apart from Fawkes and his kind of course), can speak it, no one can evaluate you, you can evaluate yourself. Do you have a job already?

"N-no not exactly, I am between jobs", she replied, slightly embarrassed.

"Then, please accept an appropriate salary, which is good mind you, plus bed and board of course"

"The money to go into Gringotts I suppose?" He seemed to miss the irony in her voice.

"That is correct, I will open an account for you".

Not much good in Selfridges, was it?

"What do you want me to research?"

"Phoenix".

"I really don't know if I have the abilities you need."

What would her father say? You can't do that. Ridiculous. Be realistic.

"I will take the chance," he said, smiling with his bright eyes conspiratorially "if you will".

"Alright - I'll try".

"Good. I am pleased, Madam ---"

"Danse". "Elrin Danse"

"Madam Danse. How does that sound?"

"Very impressive" she replied and they laughed together as they returned inside.

Lunch in the Grand Hall took her breath away, or at least it would have done if she had not been so nervous. The magnificent high beams of the roof yielded to the illusion that it was open to the clear sky above and they sat at the teacher's high table in the massive hall, the tables empty of students. To be truthful, she was dreading meeting her escort of the night before, but he appeared to be missing. Consequently, she kept sly eyes on the door in case he appeared, and her appetite gained as she realized that he was not going to be there and relaxed. She was introduced to Filius Flitwick, Minerva McGonagall, Poppy Pomfrey, Amelia Sprout and Xiomara was there as well. A smattering of uneasy students sat with them, together with one prefect. She did not recognise any of the students, and wondered where the famous trio were. After a delightful meal and an interesting talk with Filius about Muggle architecture and charmed stain glass windows, they were interrupted by the Headmaster standing and speaking to the remaining group. The students had gone early, glad to get away and into the sunshine outside.

"Could I have everyone in the staff room in about half an hour please? Thank you."

After sitting down, he leaned across and whispered. "Elrin, I would like you to attend, and please call me Albus."

She nodded, scared and excited, wishing she had not overdone the nut roast.

She had made a mistake. How could anyone expect her to do this? She might let him down. What did he know about what she could or could not do?

And she couldn't do much, that much was clear to absolutely everyone who knew her. The joy of the morning was beginning to evaporate.

As she started to panic, the Headmaster touched her hand ever so lightly, respectfully and warmly.

She would try. What else could she do?

After they were settled into what she presumed was the staff room with its heavy wooden panelling and various battered chairs beside a comforting fire, tea was handed around. It had already been laid out on a table, and she was glad that a house elf was not going to appear again. She was sober and calm and wanted to remain that way.  The room had that old scruffy, desperately used school look, and piles of books and – scrolls of papers – were crammed onto almost every surface and corner. There was an old wardrobe in the corner and she wondered if there was a Boggart in it and shivered slightly.  Albus clapped his hands, and just as he did so, a dark figure came through the door; robes and hair swirling round him as he closed it. He took no notice of anyone in the room and began to lean against the panelling by the coat hooks, arms folded in a bored position. Everyone else ignored him. She tried not to look in his direction. She tried not to fiddle with her robes and examined a very interesting mark on the stone floor in front of her. She tried to think of a stuffed vulture and handbag, but Albus had a hand gently on her shoulder while he spoke to everyone.

"I will not keep you too long, but I have an announcement to make. Elrin, whom you have already met - including you Severus" he said to the dark figure, who nodded unwillingly in acknowledgement but did not otherwise move," has accepted a research post here." He beamed like a stage magician.   She heard the clapping from a distance, and it seemed a little excessive because they did not know her and she stood, flushed at their enthusiasm. She smoothed down her bodice as she got up, hoping that she looked presentable and held the edge of her crimson robe nervously as it folded around her.

"Well done", said Flitwick, animatedly, "well done".

Quite, what had she done?

Should she make a speech? Oh heavens, no.

"Thank you, thank you very much."

Pathetic. Was that her speaking?

"Sit down here please", said Albus formally. "Now, Minerva would you do the honours?"

She stared as the prim Minerva scooped up an object from behind her. 

She wasn't expecting this. Wasn't that just for students?

In her hand was the Sorting Hat. There was a respectful silence as the professor came closer to her, her green velvet robes falling over her as she placed the hat on Elrin's head.

She could cope with this. At least it wasn't going to appear or disappear or fly. Mind you it could talk, and talk it did.

"Ahhhhhhhhh. This is unexpected", said the sensual voice. "Well, we will see what we will see"

A very cryptic remark

"Now, where shall we put you?"

Frankly, she didn't mind. The whole thing was a farce. She felt the slight grip on her head, as if it would not let her go until he had declared her allegiance. She was not one for group loyalties and never joined. It made no difference.

"Slytherin" it shouted gleefully to the waiting group.

And the place was in an uproar. Or perhaps it was her that was in an uproar. Of all the things she could have dreamt, it was never to be classed as a Slytherin. Surely she was Griffindor automatically, or Hufflepuff or even Ravenclaw, athough she knew she wasn't clever. But never, never, never Slytherin.

The second she understood, she jerked upright, pulled the hat off and flung it down, unaware of the people around her, only staring shock-faced into the black eyes of the figure by the door. He too had moved swiftly upright, no longer lounging, his posture stiff and furious and his face as bloodless as hers.

There must be some mistake

She watched, adrenalin beating through her body, as the angry figure slowly and dangerously moved towards her. In her heightened state of awareness, she noticed how his robe slithered behind him on the floor with his hand gripped in front as if holding himself in check. He came cautiously, like a reptile towards a dangerous prey. She kept her eyes fixed on his, not daring to move, seeing nothing but those black glittering pools. No thought existed in her head, and there was a thousand years in between the movement and his arrival in her space. Silence. Nobody moved, no one said anything.

His voice contained all the history of his tradition, all the meaning of his existence and out of it came a contemptuous power that she had never dreamt of encountering, let alone the reality of it: it was silky and slow and very low: a prelude to striking and killing.

"Do you believe that you are worthy of such an honour?"

"Do you imagine that you are truly capable of even thinking of entering  - Slytherin." Menace soaked into every word.

"I have no wish for such an honour." She it spelt out, matching his tone as evenly as she could, surprised at being able to speak.

She was damned if she was going to be bullied by him.

The fact that she was subtly shaking was neither here nor there, but what was as disturbing, was a terrible desire creeping over her. In the tension of the moment she could not stop the flow rising from deep within her and flooding her body with an ache so profound that she craved to kneel before him. Her bodice felt extremely tight and the lower half of her body was on meltdown.

"This" he hissed, his lips forming the words as he came close enough to feel his breath on her face "is an outrage."

Then she felt the world rock and for the last split second, saw him swiftly catch her as she fell.