Chapter Two: Late Arrival
Scottish autumn. A crisply warm evening, she thought to herself as she waited at the Hogsmede train station, not as bad as I was led to believe though. She paused, Is crisply a word?
Zivra Callistas shrugged and fanned herself with a chocolate frog wrapper. No where near as bad as Durmstrang. Her shiver at the thought had nothing to do with the weather.
"Professor," the voice came from behind her and Zivra turned, expecting- well certainly not what she found.
"Mr. Hagrid?" she asked uncertainly.
The man made a sound that might have been a dying weasel. "Got a class."
"Oh." she said, not really knowing what she meant. "Then you are…?"
"Argus Filch, caretaker."
"Pleasure," she might actually have meant it. She might have. She did extend her hand which Filch hesitantly shook. She smiled and followed him out to a carriage, where she paused, dumbstruck.
Filch loaded her trunks into the back of the carriage and waited a moment, then coughed.
She spun, surprised. "I'm sorry but where on earth did you find Thestrals?"
Filch looked at her a long moment, then at the carriage which he had always assumed was drawn by magical means. He shrugged. "That's something you'll have to ask headmaster Dumbledore."
With one last look at the horses, Zivra climbed into the carriage, wondering what other surprises Hogwarts had in store.
At the High Table, Snape thought that he might commit a wilful act of murder for the first time in nearly sixteen years. And it was, of course, her fault.
Professor Forasen. Desdemona. Dessie. He snarled internally. What a perfectly brainless name for a perfectly brainless woman. His keen ear caught the next piece of twattle she was attempting to unload on Vector.
"I don't see why we don't release the remaining Death Eaters from Azkaban. They've all served time, and the- You-Know-Who obviously doesn't want them or he'd have had them freed when those others were last year. Certainly they can do something to help us fight You-Know-Who."
"Well," Vector was hesitant, "I can't refute the logic behind your statement, but I don't think-"
That woman cut her off. "Of course it's logical that's why it would work. Logic is the path to-"
"Death and dismemberment in this case."
It wasn't until both the professors turned to him that Snape even realised he had spoken the thought aloud.
"You deign to disagree?"
Snape rolled his eyes. Nothing was worse than a professor with delusions of academia. "If you let the remaining Death Eaters out of Azkaban, they're going to murder and torture anyone they can find on their way to serve the Dark Lord. There will be no 'helping' us. And no help for us either at that point."
"You don't know that for certain."
"Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater you silly child."
"Silly child?" Desdemona looked down at herself, "I am a full grown woman, and I am certain you have taken note of it. I've seen you do so."
Professor Vector attempted to divert the conversation, but Snape cut her off.
"Your… attributes," the word was drawn out of him, "or lack thereof," he took great pleasure in that one, "are none of my business."
She seemed hurt by his comment and Snape, for some very very odd reason,felt his pleasure melting away. But he soon realised the utter perfection of idiocy that was Desdemona Forasen and regained his equanimity, if not the pleasure the verbal barb had held.
"Good evening ladies," Snape growled before leaving the Hall.
Good going Severus. He growled to himself. Once a Death Eater… what does that make you? Snape prowled down the hallways, lost in his inner turmoil. Out of character, he was oblivious to the students scurrying around corners to avoid him on their way to dinner.
You're no better than those locked in Azkaban. And you know it. Once a Death Eater, Severus, and you're always a Death Eater…
Despite wishing to the contrary. He amended.
They were met in the entrance by Filch's cat, Mrs. Norris. Zivra, rather innocently she thought, inquired as to the location of Mr. Norris. She watched in horror as the eyes of the man standing next to her filed with tears.
"I'm sorry," she stammered out, "I didn't realise…"
"No one's ever asked me-" this sentence was punctuated by a loud nose blow into his sleeve, "No one's ever cared-" another blow.
"Argus Filch what on earth is the matter?" this voice came from a rather stern looking witch in the first bloom of the elderly.
"Nothing professor," Filch lied, "I'll just be taking the professor's bags up to her quarters." After giving Zivra a once over, Mrs. Norris followed.
Professor McGonagall took the opportunity to quickly assess the new History of Magic professor. She was young, younger than you Minerva is not necessarily young, she corrected herself. Late twenties, early thirties she would guess. Tall, but not overly so. Pretty enough, although she wouldn't be winning any prizes for it. Dark red hair in a braid, sensible. Brown robes obviously worn, but serviceable, she mentally chided herself. All in all, she seemed a steady type. Here to teach, no more. McGonagall couldn't help but like that.
"You're journey went well I suppose? Good. Would you like to join us for dinner in the Great Hall?"
Zivra had the impression that this wasn't really a question but she was tired, and the trip had- in fact- not gone well; contrary to whatever the professor might believe. "Not really."
McGonagall looked a bit taken aback by this, but hid it quickly. "I'll have a house elf show you to your chambers then," and she was gone.
"Nice chatting with you too Professor," Zivra muttered under her breath as a house elf appeared. She recognised McGonagall from her interview, but she didn't remember her being so… abrupt.
"Lead on," she tersely instructed the house elf who quickly rushed down a hallway and up a set of stairs. Unfortunately, the stairway began to move- as Hogwarts' stairs do- before Zivra could set foot on it. And even more unfortunately, it moved straight up. A direction a bit difficult to catch up to.
"Don't worry Miss!" the house elf frantically called out, his head stuck out from the banister, "Banga will come back to fetch the Professor soon as stairs stop!" His ears had gotten caught on the railings, Zivra noticed in a detached way.
The stairs, on the other hand, apparently had an agenda of their own that did not involve one History of Magic Professor getting any sleep that night. Their journey continued up into the seemingly endless eaves.
"Banga sorry Professor!" the house elf called down, his voice barely audible over the noise of the other staircases making their own journeys, albeit those of the more normal lateral variety. "If Professor would like, entrance to her rooms be in the West Tower, behind …. tap… dra!" the elf's voice had trailed off into the distance.
"The what?" Zivra called upwards.
"Tapestry…"
"Bloody hell," Zivra muttered to herself as the house elf disappeared from sight. "Isn't this just peachy?" She quickly glanced around to insure a student hadn't heard her swearing. Be a sad thing to get fired the first day, especially for so minor an infraction.
"And what, pray tell, are you doing lingering about the halls?"
The voice was cold; made one think of nasty slimy things in dark alleys. Zivra shivered as she turned to the owner.
"Awaiting an epiphany. Et tu, Brutus? What, pray tell, are you doing lurking about the halls?"
The man looked taken aback that she had spoken to him thus and Zivra smiled inwardly. Score one against the King of Gothic.
"I happen to be a professor here, a position to which, I dare say, you do not aspire."
Zivra crossed her arms, "Let me guess? You teach Dark Arts?"
Severus Snape curled a lip. "I teach the refined art of potions. And here at Hogwarts, we teach Defence Against the Dark Arts."
"A pleasure to meet you professor," Zivra extended her hand, which Snape pointedly didn't take. "I aspire to fill the position of History of Magic professor," she smirked, "although some have their doubts as to my quality it seems."
For the first time in a long while, Snape was struck speechless. This person had presumed to verbally tease him. And if that wasn't bad enough, for the life of him, he couldn't think of a single thing to say in reply.
Zivra took a moment to register this man. He looked- well, to put it nicely, he looked like about eighty percent of the students who went to Durmstrang- as though his only goal in life was to master the Dark Arts.
"You don't happen to know where the West Tower is do you?" she said, as a bit of an icebreaker.
Snape was taken aback when she spoke, but quickly grimaced as he realised he would have to escort this woman to her rooms. "This way," he practically snarled at her. As he led the way, he couldn't help but mentally chide himself, This is what you get for letting her goad you into leaving dinner early.
Zivra quickened her pace to follow the man. What he lacked in… well, seemingly everything, he certainly made up for in speed. It wasn't long before her breathing had become a bit laboured in her efforts to keep up with him. It was to both of their immense shocks when she touched him.
To say she touched him might be misleading, perhaps better would be to say that when he stopped in the middle of the hallway, she collided with him in such a way as to cause her land flatly on her bottom. He, of course, was unaffected.
"If I remember correctly, your rooms are behind a tapestry of that seer, the one no one ever believed…"
"Cassandra. And she was a prophet, not a seer," she replied offhandedly. At his startled looks she chuckled, "It's not that uncommon of a knowledge and I am a History of Magic professor."
"We'll see," came his cryptic response as he began scanning the tapestries and paintings, trying to remember where on the hallway it was.
"Professor?" When he spared her a glance she continued, "How is it you know where my rooms are located?"
She probably hadn't meant it to, but the words were laced with innuendo that Snape did not appreciate. Especially after the dinner he had just spent. "There are only one set of rooms in the west tower suitable for permanent residence. You were given residence, weren't you?" she seemed offended at his insinuation that she would not be staying long. It felt surprisingly good to insult her. Snape made a mental note to do so more often.
He located the tapestry and gave it the password that would in an emergency open any tapestry, portrait, or door on Hogwarts ground. Of course, he insured that she did not hear it as that particular password was only given to the headmaster, deputy headmaster, and the heads of houses.
"If you say 'a new start', the tapestry will accept a password of your own choosing, I suggest you do so now as I will not always be present to open your door for you."
Although his tone implied he thought her of less than able intelligence, she simply smiled at him. "A new start," she chimed and watched as Cassandra lifted her head. She didn't look happy, but then again, to predict the fall of Troy and have no one believe you must be the downer of a millennia.
"And what is your key sister?" the prophet questioned.
Watching the professor in her peripheral vision, she took great pleasure in her choice. "Alihotsy." Now see if he thinks I'm too incompetent to teach.
The professor, with a curl to his lip, turned to stalk away.
"Your name sir!" she called after him. A bit put out that he didn't question her password.
"Severus Snape," he didn't even turn, and so missed the stunned look that crossed her face.
"Oh dear," she breathed softly. "Isn't that interesting?"
A/N: Alihotsy: a magical flora, the ingestion of the leaves causes hysteria; just my guess, but probably a pretty hefty potion ingredient as well (Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them)