a/n: Calandra — I like that name. Anyway, "the Professor", the character that you'll meet in this chapter, is sort of a "submarine character" in that she comes up from time to time throughout the series when I need some random character to tell Siandra something important to the plot. The place where the Professor lives is an actual place (part of a collage on the American east coast). Of course, I made it much grubbier and the Professor's secret room doesn't actually exist…although there was a strange small door underneath my shelf that I never quite figured what it led to… This chapter really should be called, "Siandra has a little too much fun with Muggle things" (although I seem to have had an annoying habit of not capitalizing "Muggle") because that's what happens, mostly. Quite fun to write, as I remember.
Anyway, I probably should end my rant now seeing as this is an extra long chapter here.
T H E P R O F E S S O R
C
hess!" she squealed. "I just learned how to play that game! Let's play it! Chess! Chess! Chess! Chess!"
"Er…are you sure you don't want to play Memory?"
"Yes!" she squawked. "I want to play chess!"
"Well, okay, I guess…" Siandra settled, pulling out the chessboard and pieces and bringing them over to the beanbag. While carefully setting them up, Penelope continued washing the window. Once they were perfectly set up, Siandra sighed and then drew her self up to as high as she could look while still sitting.
"Can we play now?" asked Calandra.
"Not yet. I have some important business to clear up." She gave the chessboard the evil eye. "Now listen up, all of you." She seemed to be speaking to the chess pieces. "I want you to not move at all during this game. Let the players move you, and pick up the pieces that are taken. You understand?" The pieces nodded and then went back to being rigidly stiff.
"Eeeew!" yelled Calandra. She had just leaned back onto the window. "It's all sticky!"
Penelope was still busily wiping the windows clean. Siandra rushed over to Penelope and looked at the bottom of the spray bottle. It read "HAIRSPRAY". Then she quickly rushed back to the cleaning cupboard. The other bottle read "Windows-R-Us".
After replacing the bottles in Penelope's hands, she turned back to the chess game.
Calandra moved her pawn first. She was playing white. Luckily, Penelope banged the window cleaner can at the exact same time Calandra moved so she didn't see the piece squirm ever so slightly. Not that it was something a Muggle would notice anyway. It was probably too small of a detail. Siandra moved her pawn out too. The first real slip came when Calandra moved a rogue knight into the center of the board.
"HO HO!" the knight yelled, "I SMELL A PLOT BREWING!"
Siandra groaned. She had forgotten to tell the pieces not to speak.
"Did you just hear my knight yell really loudly at your rook?" Calandra asked.
"No!" Siandra replied quickly.
"Neither did I," Calandra agreed.
"Oh, why thank you!" exclaimed the black rook, "You've just told us of your plotting!"
"Shut up!" Siandra hissed at the board before the white night could respond, "Don't any of you say a word! This is a muggle we're playing with!"
"What did you just say to my piece?" asked Calandra suspiciously.
"Nothing!" pressed Siandra, "I said nothing."
"Good. I thought you said nothing."
The pieces continued on normally throughout the duration of the game. It ended with a heroic capture of the white king (Siandra was very good at chess) by the black bishop. After Calandra congratulated her, Siandra hurriedly picked up the board, dumped the pieces in the box, and smashed the lid on.
"Ouch!" was the muffled response from inside the box.
"Where did you buy this game?" demanded Calandra.
"Dervish and Banges." Siandra answered automatically.
"Where is Dervish and Banges?" asked Calandra suspiciously.
Think really big, thought Siandra, think so big that she could never find out that it doesn't actually exit in the muggle world. Think —
"China."
"Made in China, yes, but where is the Dervish and Banges store?"
Think so big and so exotic that they have never even heard of chess and won't know what she means. Think of a place where she will never go. Think of a place like —
"Antarctica."
"Ahh…" she said, "I see."
A while later, there was a knock at the door.
Siandra opened the door to reveal a woman of average height with short auburn hair and a business suit on.
"Hi, you must be Siandra," she said. "I'm Mrs. Reyney. I'm here for Calandra and Penelope."
"Just one moment," Siandra replied, running back inside.
"Penelope, Calandra, your mother is here!" she yelled. The two small girls came running, Penelope almost knocked over the easy chair in her haste, and ran up to Mrs. Reyney.
"Mummy!" they called and landed with a clump at her sleek, red, alligator skin high heels.
"Thank you for taking over on such short notice, well…" she glanced at the small girls clinging fastidiously to her as if a sudden tornado was going to creep up and try to separate them, "I've got to go. Have a fun summer holiday!"
She must really have a lot on her mind, Siandra thought as she slowly closed the door. Summer? There's snow on the apple tree!
* * *
"Now remind me again what I have to do," Siandra said rather confusedly. Her mother was trying to teach her how to use the phone by having her call her father at the restaurant without much luck.
"The number's zero, dearie. And remember that's the operator because I don't know the number, really."
"How do I get there?"
"You put your finger in the hole there, and then you spin the dial until you get to the little white number that says zero. Then you take out your finger. It's quite simple, really."
Siandra carefully inserted her index finger into the slot and then pulled it out again as quickly as if the phone had stung her.
"But — which finger?" she asked.
"It doesn't matter!" said her mother, exasperated.
She dialed.
"HELLO MRS. OPERATOR?" she yelled seemingly to a phantom in the room.
"Talk into the phone, dearie," aided her mother, "and there's really no need to yell."
"Is this Mrs. Operator?" Siandra whispered. She was becoming thoroughly confused by this whole affair.
"Speak loud-er but please do not yell. You near-ly made me drop my phone in-to my col-slaw," the operator replied, over-pronouncing every syllable, "Do not think my name is op-er-a-tor. It is my title!" She sounded very proud of the fact.
"Er," Siandra replied in a normal voice, "I need to speak to a Mr. Lorington. I think he's working at Pakuna's Indian Something-or-other. Can you get him?"
"Of course," the operator replied, "Home phone or Pakuna's?"
"I'll have Pakuna's, please," replied Siandra.
There was the sound of pages being shuffled. Then —
"The num-ber is nine seven zero, eight one zero five. Good Day."
Siandra dialed once again.
"Hello, Pakuna's Indian Cuisine, how may I help you?"
"I'd like to speak to Mr. Kingsley Lorington. He's a waiter."
There was the sound of steam hissing, pots clanging, and fellow cooks yelling at each other about something to do with snapping turtles.
"You mean Jivan. I get him."
"Er…Jivan? I said Kingsley Lorington. You must've, ah, misheard me."
But it was already too late. The man answering the phone had left it on the table and hurried off to get the Jivan man, whomever he was.
"Kingsley here."
"Oh, good, it is you, Dad. Mom just taught me how to use the tell-puh-pone!"
"Telephone, honey," her mother corrected.
"Well, anyway, I am glad it's you because the man answering the phone told me that he was going to go get Jivan…"
"Jivan? Argh! Pakuna's thinks it will be a more ethnic experience eating here if we all take on foreign-sounding names no matter what our nationality. Pakuna isn't even Indian, it's Miwok…well, I guess that is sort of like a different kind of Indian, but anyway, "my" name is Jivan Himesh Kasim. Thank goodness I'm only here for three more weeks to fulfill the ministry requirement. It's getting tiring having customers ask me to repeat my name again because I am so blatantly English. It's a good thing you called, because there's something that I've been meaning to tell you."
"Which is…"
"Radelle would like to see you."
"Radelle?"
"I believe that maybe you know her as 'the professor'?"
"Oh, er, yah, her.," Siandra replied. She had always thought that 'the professor' was a man, not a woman.
"Is that all right?"
"Mmm…okay!"
"I'll arrange it."
* * *
Siandra's mother drove her to the professor's house.
"She leaves the door unlocked, just go in." her mother told her.
The apartment building didn't look in all that great of shape. It looked cool from the outside, yes, with turrets and towers the traditional castle-ish look. On the inside it was a lot different and in desperate need of a caretaker. Tiles were missing on the stairs, the curtains looked rather grubby, and she was sure that something hairy scurried across her boot on the way up. Finally she reached room number three fifty two. This was where the professor was allegedly housing. It looked pretty small. There was a rusty brass plaque on the door labeled Prof. R. P. Irving in old style italics. She pushed the door open. It creaked. She passed through the door into a room that looked as though it hadn't been used for decades. There was an old closet in the corner. Thinking it might be another room, Siandra pushed the door open.
It was a rather sad-looking closet. There was a faded ruffled skirt on a dry-cleaner hanger that said "We Love Our Customers" on it in fading print with a dull red heart representing "love". There was a rusting wire hanger with a brilliant red skirt that displayed rust from the hanger it hung on. A wrap-around Hawaiian-Style skirt was draped on a bar. Three towels, bleached crisp, were draped over an oddly positioned shoe rack, which included a pair of perfectly white tennis shoes, some dirt-encrusted sandals, and some tattered black slippers. Also in the closet was a thin black velvet robe with silver runes down the sides and a golden necktie studded with moonstones. To anyone else it could be a very fancy attire for a party, or a bathrobe, but it signaled to Siandra that the professor must have very good style sense. It was the only thing in the closet that actually looked in use. This room, Siandra thought, must be a disguise for the muggles. There were dust coated, ragged-looking cardboard boxes on the top shelf. Siandra closed the door and moved on. There were two desks with not much on them. One had a paisley cloth spread out on it and the other had a map spread like a place mat on it. A neatly-made bed stood in the corner and above it, on a shelf, some personal items such as a dusty brush were set out on a purple bandana collecting dust like a magnet. Above that was a pile of sheet music and music books and a weathered jean hat. A dragon hide covered book was glowing beside it, the only thing that felt alive in the whole room. It stood beside an ancient book of numbers and below that squatted a grimy kelly green purse with a pack of mints sticking out of it. There was a little green door by the bed. Siandra pushed it open and immediately her senses told her that this room did not fit the proportions of the apartment, the professor must've added it herself. Almost crushed by boxes, textbooks, and a rather odd-looking tank of fireflies with a mooing cow design around the edge, sat the professor.
"Ah, yes," she said smoothly without turning around, "Your father told me to expect you." The swivel chair she was sitting in turned around by itself so the professor was facing her. She wore oval glasses just like Siandra, except with twinkling stars around the edges and had her brunette hair drawn up in a bun at the top of her head with a few curls hanging down at the edges.
"You, er, wanted to see me?" Siandra asked hesitantly.
The professor took out her wand, muttered some words under her breath, and, with a shower of aqua sparks, there was a POOF and one of the empty boxes turned into a chair with painted cats running up and down the edges.
"Sit," she said, lowering her glasses and pointing to the mewing chair with her wand, "Yes, I always wanted to meet you, and give you some packages to take. Anyway, I suppose that you know my niece, Eugenia Dawn?"
"I don't think so. She probably goes to Beuxbatons or some other school. I go to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, you know."
"Hmmm…so does she," the professor seemed to be thinking, "Maybe you know her older sister Gnora Jane, she goes to Hogwarts too, but she's in fifth year. Or her younger brother Hammond? He's only seven though, so he's only at PWS. Anyway, Eugenia Dawn has glossy brown hair and deep blue eyes and she's rather pretty and likes hot chocolate and butterbeer and, well I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but we think she might have a crush on — "
"Oh!" said Siandra suddenly, "You can't mean, not…Gina?"
"That'd be the one. I don't suppose that Rosmerta is a very common name. Gina, then. Hmmm…"
"You wanted to tell me something?" asked Siandra.
"Just meeting Kinny and Ana's daughter. I'll give you the presents when you leave. How's Kinny?"
"He's taking on the job of 'muggle investigator'. He's doing some reports on the lives of muggles so that we can 'better understand them'. Right now he's at Pakuna's Indian Cruise-eez. They call him Jivan Himesh Kasim there to be more ethnic."
"Oh dear. And Ana?"
"Ministry work too. She's in the AVDB. The Administration of Valuable and Dangerous Books."
"Ah, so she still loves books, that's good. She always loved them. I remember a pretty funny incident with a door handle, a parakeet, a ladle and, well, never mind. So Gina then, you sure? And I thought her parents gave her a nice name."
"Yes, so did my parents." Siandra replied rather glumly.
"Who is teaching you this year?"
"Hmmm…lets see," she ticked them off on her fingers, "For History of Magic I have Professor Binns — "
"Always was a bore. I remember falling asleep during one of his lectures. Ana had to jab me with her quill seven times after the bell rang before I regained consciousness. And I think my mother had him too…anyway, continue."
"And Hooch and Pimea, Comora — "
"Oh, I feel so sorry for you. We were enemies when I was at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry in my day. Erk!"
"But she's nice!" protested Siandra.
"Maybe she's changed for the better, I doubt it. Anyway, continue."
"Leftner, Jigger, Ritznan and Moira."
"Sounds like pretty good teachers. So, this is for Ana…"
She pulled a dark blue book with shimmering golden stars in a rather medieval looking pattern out of a burlap sack. It was bound in iron chains.
"Er, what's with the chains? How dangerous is this ancient book you are entrusting to me?" asked Siandra suspiciously.
"You'll be all right if you don't sing lullabies to it, don't take it in the shower, and never let any tabby cat get near it."
"Okay…"
"And this is for you…"
She drew a different book from the cloth bag. It looked old. Eighteenth century, about. It was the style of the book of numbers in the next room.
"Ancient Amulets and Designs, wow, thanks!" praised Siandra.
"And you'd better be going now. I have some work that needs to be done. I have to authenticate this person's mixture."
She held up a crystal vial with some powdered red stuff in it.
"He claims to having the Philosopher's Stone. The tosh people get out just for an article in the Prophet these days. I'll bet it's just chalk! The number of fake alchemists these days. Almost as many as the olden days way before me! And that was when the common people didn't know about faking it and these fraud alchemists zoomed across the continent scamming people. Raul is no better. I know that his innocent looking powder is going to flunk that chemistry test right away. It's going to…"
The professor seemed to have forgotten about her so she lightly stepped off of the chair, which immediately became the grimy box again, and closed the door behind her softly.
Siandra's mother was very pleased with the bound book.
"Thanks so much, I've really been wanting that!"
You've been really wanting this chained tapestry book? Where did you first see it anyway, thought Siandra.
Over the winter holidays, Siandra had been assigned a few essays to do as homework. For History of Magic, a boring essay on Leprechaun Involvement in Foreign Affairs of the Eighteen Hundreds was due. There was some Transfiguration thing, she'd have to ask Lily about it. Now she didn't think that Transfiguration was a favorite subject. True, the first class was a success on her part, she had the prettiest clock of all and she helped fellow Gryffindors to do the same. But Transfiguration was reaching an all-time low: she had pretty much lost the concentration and the frame of mind to change the objects, even though she could work out the calculations easily enough.
"If you're not going to do your homework, then at least go figure out the TV. It's under the yellow cloth in the sitting room. That'll get your brain working again."
Siandra decided to take her mother's advice and walked up to the box.
"Hmmm…" she muttered to herself, "What's in here?"
She tried fiddling with some of the little knobs at the bottom. The Daily News Crew jumped into focus.
"Leprechauns!" Siandra yelled, "Don't worry, I'll get you out!"
Her mother came running down the hallway.
"What in the name of Merlin are you doing to that television? You are going to break it!" her mother scolded. Siandra was now pulling violently at the antenna at the top as if it was some kind of lid to a box.
"I've got to get the poor leprechauns out of here!" Siandra explained while still tugging at it.
"No!" her mother shouted, "Don't! Those aren't leprechauns, they're just pictures!"
"They aren't?" Siandra asked turning away from the silver wire.
"No. It's just pictures of muggles babbling away about their stock prices in toilet paper or whatever has gone down by a quarter of a penny. Silly, really."
"Oh," Siandra replied simply.
Christmas Eve finally announced itself in the form of carolers. Most of them were nice family groups, or older children trying to make money by the 'power of music'. Mrs. Lorington baked up a batch of cookies for them in the shape of silvery crescent moons with real craters. Anyway, this was the case until a batch of older boys showed up and sang very loudly and extremely out of tune versions of "Christmas is Coming". Some neighbors came out and asked them politely to please stop and when they refused, stamped back inside their houses and boarded shut their windows. Mr. Lorington was very angry about this. He grabbed his wand and went out waving it at the boys. He very angrily told them to stop the cacophony this minute or they would be horny toads the next. There was a significant decrease in the amount of carolers that strolled by. Most of them seemed to be singing blithely, then gaze at the Lorington house and run away in terror. After Siandra and her parents finished off the rest of the moon cookies themselves, they turned the heater on and tucked themselves into bed. It was all in all, a happy Christmas Eve.