Much to Professor - or as she preferred to be called, Mademoiselle - Delacour's dismay, an owl had flown in through the open doorway in the middle of French class. Having a large owl flying around and being extremely disruptive did not inspire confidence during a first day's teaching. In the end it had decided to deliver its missive to Artemis and allow itself to be evicted from the room.
Professor Charles Weasley, it said in very choppy writing, requested the Professor Artemis Riddle join him for lunch in the Care of Magical Creatures office, during which they would put together some lesson plans for that afternoon. It was very short notice, it understood, but that unfortunately couldn't be helped.
Artemis had to go because, rather than take double Transfiguration, she had to go teach little kids not to put their hands - or their heads, she supposed, as some were doubtless beyond the point of comprehendible stupidity - in monster's mouths.
It was with this happy outlook that she let herself into the office. It was only accessible from outside, which meant she'd have to trek quite a ways around the castle to get to it, no matter what the weather. It shouldn't bother her too much, unless it really started to snow: unfortunately for her, elves were cold-blooded.
Inside it was one room that obviously served as kitchen, living room,
and study. Tucked in one corner was a small staircase that presumably led
to Professor Weasley's bedroom. The professor himself was busy making tea
in the small kitchenette.
He reminded her immediately of the red-haired boy and girl, except
that he was short and stocky, and radiated a pleased good humour. He looked
up when she let the door close behind her, and her sharp ears heard his
intake of breath.
"Tea?" he offered, sounding a bit strangled. "The house-elves send over wonderful lunches and juice, but I can't seem to get a decent cup of tea from them." At least he sounded normal now.
"If you could just get me a cup of hot water? she asked. "I have a special
brew of my own."
"Certainly." With magical aid from his wand the water was soon boiled.
She summoned a little grey pouch from her room and added a teaspoon of
the silvery powder it contained to the water. She stuffed the pouch in
her bag before stirring the drink so the dust dissolved.
When they sat the simple tin plates filled with food. Unlike the lavish spread in the Great Hall, this was simpler fare. There were two steak sandwiches each, with salads and carrot sticks on the side. During the first few minutes of eating they introduced themselves less formally.
"I'm a dragon specialist, actually," admitted Charlie. "I don't have
a lot to do with other beasts."
"Wonderful. They're about the only species I've learned about formally.
Others I had to learn about by working with them." So it went for a few
minutes as they compared their knowledge of various species.
The third years, which they taught first, would do equine beasts first. Their second class, fifth years, could do Dark creatures. Privately, Artemis considered that area the DADA teacher's job, but as the woman would have nothing to do with the creatures, it was left up to them.
The students arrived soon after they were finished lunch, clustering outside the five foot stone wall that encircled the Care of Magical Creatures enclosure. They were, to Artemis's extreme displeasure, a mixture of Slytherins and Gryffindors. Of all the Houses, those two seemed to get along the worst. She'd only been here a day – this time – and already she knew that. Mostly she knew it because it made it difficult for her to see Ares and Ray.
While it was admirable of the administrators to try and put all the groups together for various classes, they really shouldn't have put those two Houses together so often. The rivalry was at least a thousand years old, after all. And yet the two Houses were with each other more than with the other two Houses combined. Stupid, that's what it was.
Even worse, sometimes the younger students would try to be like the great Harry Potter or the wonderful Draco Malfoy. Which meant they started fights, or so Charlie had told her. In the middle of Charlie's explanation of their curriculum, she spotted two quietly going at it.
The same spell which had stuck Apollo to the ceiling the day before lifted them each ten feet off the ground. "Keep going, Charlie," she said quietly, "I'm gonna have a quiet talk with these two." She left Charlie to continue and try to recapture his audience's attention as she strode away, the two miscreants floating helplessly behind. She hoped the others would listen to him, but she suspected she'd been too dramatic once again.
She stopped at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and let the two float
down so their feet were only a foot off the ground.
"Names and houses."
"Fredrick Muir, Gryffindor," said a waxy looking boy with pale hair. He looked oddly like Draco, though his eyes were blue. Odd that he should look so like the other boy's hero, while his opponent in turn looked a good deal like Harry. The other boy, who named himself Patrick Varlet of Slytherin House, had dark brown hair and green-hazel eyes. Funny how the world was like that.
"Very well. I'm just warning you this time. Five points will be taken
from each of your houses for fighting and being disruptive. In the future
– and be sure to warn your friends of this – it will be ten points for
each offence I can think of – and there will be several – as well as a
dunking in the lake. Do I make myself clear?" They nodded, and she allowed
them to run back to class.
The class continued smoothly until the bell. Any child who thought
to start a fight would suddenly see Artemis watching them. Her warning
had traveled quickly and quietly through the grapevine, it seemed. All
thoughts of fighting were quickly quashed.
Though the students whispered of magic that let her know their thoughts,
the technique had nothing to do with magic. She just sat back and let Charlie
talk and watched the whole class at once. Many of her teachers at Wildmoor
used it, and having been exposed to it for years, Artemis knew exactly
how to do it, if not how to combat it.
In the fifteen minute break between classes, Charlie asked suddenly,
"You play quidditch?"
Artemis considered. She played quidditch Wildmoor style, which basically
meant no holds bared. She hadn't ridden a broomstick in years, not since
she'd last lived among humans. Wait, that wasn't right. She'd ridden one
three years ago, when her cousin had taught her human quidditch. "Sorta.
Why?"
"We're starting up a teacher's league this year. Teams are done based
on what we teach, and ours is a bit short."
"I'd love to try."
"Great. We practice right after dinner tomorrow." He went on to explain the teams. There were three of them, once made of administrative staff and a few other staff who didn't actually teach. The next was made of those who taught the main courses, the ones students were required to take every year until after their OWLs. The final one, which Charlie captained, had all the electives teachers.
It wasn't long before the sixth years arrived. The girls, Artemis noticed, had all done themselves up as best they could. She'd been the object of jealousy before, but she hated the way girls looked at her, their eyes practically glowing. They looked at her, and she knew what they saw.
A beautiful young girl who should have been a student but who had – to their minds – manipulated her way up the ladder. She was too good to wear regular wizard robes, and instead worse some sort of black suit with knee high boots instead of shoes. Professor Weasley could wear dragon leathers – he worked with dragons. But this Professor Riddle was something else, something they didn't like.
One of them seemed different, though. The girl from breakfast didn't
seem to care one was or the other about how Artemis looked. She looked
instead with something like curiosity – and fear.
"Who's the red-head?" she asked Charlie quietly. He followed her gaze,
though from his answer he already knew who she meant.
"My sister, Ginny. But…" he trailed off. He seemed to be puzzling something out. Finally he came to a decision. "You have to talk to her. I'll start the class. Just trust me," he said, seeing her look. "It's really, really important." He called Ginny over. "Ginny, I need you to talk to Artemis. I don't understand, but she has to." This obviously meant something to Ginny, something she didn't like.
"Fine," she muttered. Artemis, who had only one clue as to what was
going on, led the way to the office. There was something about Riddle,
something Ginny didn't like.
Inside they each sat in one of Charlie's large armchairs. Artemis looked
at Ginny, and saw fear, revulsion and hatred, but also a sort of softness,
and then she knew.
"How did you meet Tom?" she asked.
"What?" Ginny yelped.
"Please, don't worry," Artemis said hurridly. It had, perhaps, not been the best way to broach the subject. "Let me explain. I… I know him, or did. And people look funny when they think about him. And they look at me funny when they hear my name."
"You knew him. How old are you?" this in a level voice, although it
had a bite of challenge to it.
"Almost nineteen. Please, no questions. But, let me just say, hat I
knew him as he was, and as he is."
"And? Are you human enough to fear him, to hate him as everyone who's
sane does?"
"I fear for him, and hate what has happened. More than you could ever
know." Artemis stood and began to walk slowly around the room. Out of the
corner of her eye she saw Ginny twist in her chair to keep an eye on her.
"I'm not like you, Ginny, nor like Harry or Charlie or any of you. I do
what I can, and what I must, but even I have my limitations."
"You have spoken much, but said little, as my granddad would say."
"I'm afraid so. I have said enough, though. How did you meet Tom?" And Ginny told her. All about the enchanted diary and the Chamber of Secrets, about Harry rescuing her and killing the basilisk. Artemis listened, and remembered a boy very like Draco.
When they rejoined the class, Artemis understood the suspicion. While
she had done nothing to clear it, she had somehow gained a little of Ginny's
trust. But Tom had done the same thing.
"You want to start the dementors lecture?" Charlie asked.
"Sure." She'd wanted to do dragons, but Dumbledore had forbidden it for all but the seventh years. Demons had seemed like a good second choice, but she wasn't up to that right now. Being allergic to demons, and all. That was another thing elves weren't, she thought, irritated. Allergic to anything. Neither of the boys had problems like that. Studying dementors first would mean Ray would have time to make that foul concoction of his that eliminated her allergies for twenty-two hours. A pity there was no real cure for allergies.
"Dementors, like many Dark creatures, were created by wizards," she told the class, sitting on the enclosure wall while she talked. They all sat in the grass obediently and started taking notes. "While many believe Salazar Slytherin to be their creator, it was actually a Dark wizard from Germany or Austria who lived about 500 AD. Until Slytherin's day, they stayed in relative obscurity, preying on small, isolated villages in Eastern Europe. Slytherin, who was not a Dark wizard as many believe, brought them from the wilderness to guard the wizard prison he had, as an influential military leader, just created. It is now known as Azkaban." She thought she saw a few of the students shudder at the name of the prison. Having no soul, she couldn't feel the effects of dementors herself, but Ray's descriptions of their powers were vivid enough to scare anyone, even someone with nothing to fear.
One of the students had put their hand up. She nodded to indicate she was listening. "How could Slytherin not be a Dark wizard? He started all that pure-blood stuff, didn't he? He put in the Chamber of Secrets."
"It would probably be better to ask your History of Magic teacher that sort of question, but I'll do my best to explain. In Slytherin's day, you see, the general perception was that there was noble blood and there was common blood. Wizards had it, and so did muggles. Nobility would disown their children, or lock them up, rather than let them marry a commoner. Most wizarding families thought the same way about muggles. It wasn't evil then, it just was. Slytherin, for his part, was actually a progressive in that time. He didn't care whether magical folk married with muggles. He was actually a bit afraid they'd become inbred if they didn't. He wasn't," she allowed, "quite as open minded as any of the other founders, but he was better about it than many."
The boy had his hand up again. "So why did he not want muggle-borns in Hogwarts?"
"He had two reasons, according to his writings. The first was that a large amount of money and support for Hogwarts came from those pure-blooded families who were very opposed to muggles, and he didn't want to lose that. The second was that muggles didn't take well to finding out their spouses and children were magical. If Hogwarts never contacted them, and their parents never told them, they need never know, he reasoned. And they also never need worry about being burned as a witch before they knew how to protect themselves. Now, I don't know how accurate his writings are, because they are biased, but that is what he has said on the subject. On our own subject, that of dementors, for next class I'd like a thousand word minimum essay on the nature of dementors from the Hufflepuffs." Several Gryffindors grinned at this. "The rest of you, I want a two thousand word essay. You may write it on the nature of either fear or souls, not both, and how they relate to dementors. And next time, Gryffindors, you will shut up your classmated if you don't want extra work." She looked meaningfully at a brown-haired boy in the back who was talking quietly to his friend. Several Gryffindors, seeing them, sent glares that promised retribution. The boy shut up, and Artemis let them go to get a head start on their essays, though she doubted many would use it.