Ashe hardly paid attention to the resurgence of formal introductions going on around her. Which, honestly, she might not have anyway — this sort of thing had always struck her as silly and very tedious, she had no idea why outsiders felt the need to observe this sort of inanity. She'd already had more than she could stand for the day. Even if she'd wanted to participate, she probably wouldn't do it very well.

But she was firmly distracted from following along with the expected niceties. And it wasn't because a man claiming to be Salazar Slytherin had abruptly appeared out of nowhere, no. If she were being honest, she still found how seriously outsiders took the whole Founders myth a bit ridiculous, but that wasn't the point. No, she was distracted by the Miskatonic delegation. And not, as one might expect, because one of the pair was obviously a minor deity of some kind — the way the ambient magic in the room bent in toward her, echoed with every movement, similar to the aura of a powerful priestess, but more profound, that couldn't be anything else. (Ashe had never encountered such a being before, simply read of them — what outsiders called avatars, gods walking the earth in flesh and blood — but she had no doubt what this Angel Black truly was.) One would think the bloody god would have the bulk of her attention, but no.

She'd definitely met the other one before. Just last night, in fact. And she'd lied to her.

For some reason, Ashe found that far more irritating than was entirely reasonable.

Sarah Selwyn, she was calling herself now. In their ridiculous introductions (Ash wasn't paying proper attention, but she still caught some of what they were saying) they were completely open with the admission that that hadn't been her name at birth — though, of course, she was a metamorph, they only rarely held on to their original identity for very long — but they were telling more or less the same story "Sally" had told her last night. Well, she didn't come out and say the famous Ravenclaw had been her mother, she hadn't admitted it before either, but she was openly calling the man who was supposedly Salazar Slytherin "Uncle", his introductions to the staff and their other guests (because he was playing the proper host, he'd taken over) included referring to her as his niece. When asked exactly how they were related — which multiple Hogwarts staff members did, looking very suspicious — they'd simply said he and Ravenclaw had been very close, and moved on. So the implication was bloody obvious, even if they didn't come out and admit it. That wasn't the lie, no, that was the same as last night.

'Sally' had told Ashe she was with the ICW delegation. She certainly hadn't mentioned that she taught at fucking Miskatonic!

A fucking Miskatonite had been playing with the wards, and she'd lied to Ashe's face about it.

It was all Ashe could do to stay in her chair, to not jump up and call the intimidatingly powerful woman out in front of everyone. Instead she silently ground her teeth, and just glared at her.

After some minutes, the introductions were over, and everyone returned to their seats. The Miskatonites were squirreled away toward the end, Charity edged away from them immediately. Though Black didn't linger, simply poured a glass of wine and then wandered off, leaving her chair empty — probably going off to irritate and/or terrify whoever struck her fancy. (Ashe wasn't particularly surprised, if Black was what she thought she was she probably didn't need to eat.) Selwyn sat alone, the space immediately around her vacated, nobody wanting to get too close to the Miskatonite.

Ashe didn't even pause to consider what she was doing. She picked up her plate and stormed over, dropping it back onto the table with a clatter. "You lied to me."

Scooping herself a helping of something — Ashe didn't recognise whatever it was, probably a dish provided for the Durmstrangers — "Sarah" paused for a moment, one doubtful eyebrow cocked. "Did I?"

Ashe sank down to a seat, her glare fixed on the much older woman. "You told me you were with the I.C.W. delegation."

The woman's lips twitched with a half-hidden smirk. "If you think back on it, you'll find I did no such thing." She broke eye contact, turned back to serving herself — casually, as though she hadn't a care in the world, didn't even notice the suspicious stares and whispers all around her. "I said I was here checking out the wards ahead of the arrival of the delegation from the I.C.W. — I never actually claimed to be part of that delegation."

"You certainly implied it!"

"I can hardly control what you interpret my words to mean after I have said them."

"That's a crock of shite, and you know it."

Sarah glanced at her, with a hint of exasperation. "Honestly, Ashe, can you really blame me?" She turned away again, said to Charity, "Professor Burbage, if you would pass the gravy there?" Charity, of course, just stared back at her, eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and suspicious doubt. After a brief moment, Sarah tapped the table, the tureen lifted from the surface and floated over to her on its own. Sarah turned to Ashe again, with an expression that very clearly said, See what I mean?

"You and Charity were never introduced, she has no idea how you know her name. The wards told her, Charity," she explained, leaning around Sarah a bit, "that's how she got it. She was here when the Founders set them, they like her. She's not pulling it out of your head or anything."

Charity only seemed somewhat mollified, but at least she wasn't quite so terrified anymore. "Right. Of course. Er, my apologies, Magistra, I didn't..."

"It's quite alright, Professor, I understand completely. Our institution does have a certain reputation in Britain." And Sarah herself was obviously an absurdly powerful mind mage, that didn't help. She turned back to Ashe, that doubtful eyebrow ticking up again. "If I'd come out and told you I was from Miskatonic last night, how would you have reacted?"

"Well..." She didn't know, actually. It wasn't like she'd ever dealt with that sort of situation before. "I suppose I would have wanted to warn Dumbledore...but I also wouldn't have wanted to leave you alone, to get up to who knows what. I don't know what I would have done."

"That discussion certainly wouldn't have gone the same direction it did, though."

"Well, no." And that would have been unfortunate, she guessed — the implications of what she'd learned about the wards last night were fascinating.

"I did dance around the truth a little, I admit, but I only did what I thought was necessary to keep our conversation civil. Besides, I never actually did lie — everything I told you last night was the truth, from a certain point of view."

Despite herself, Ashe couldn't quite hold in a scoff. "From a certain point of view — who do you think you are, a bloody Jedi?"

Sarah smiled. "Many of the truths we cling to depend on our point of view."

"Oh, shut up." Apparently, the multi-centenarian metamorph had seen Star Wars. She probably shouldn't be surprised, Miskatonic had a reputation for not particularly caring for the Statute.

For a dragging moment, neither of them said anything, picking at their food — well, Ashe was picking at her food, Sarah continued to seem unbothered by the attention she was getting. And she was still getting attention, the glares and the whispers hadn't actually stopped, though they had trickled away a bit, the anxious excitement in the room refocusing away from the Miskatonites in particular. (Or, perhaps, away from Sarah and more toward Black, who had flounced over to the Gryffindor table, grinning and giggling, presumably making an impressive nuisance of herself.) Eventually, Sarah said, "I hope you haven't reconsidered assisting me with my little project."

"What? No." Granted, the idea of spending so much time around some madman from Miskatonic was a little...unsettling — the University's reputation was exaggerated, but not completely fictional, there were some pretty seriously unpleasant people over there (Black served as a good example). She was rather more leery of helping with the wards than she'd been before, but why had little to do with Miskatonic. "It's going to be harder for me to trust you, but yeah, I still want to help."

"I suppose that's understandable."

"It's not because you're from the University, Sarah, you lied to me."

Sarah turned away from her food for a second, one eyebrow tilted in obvious surprise. "Oh. You're a Mistwalker, I forgot."

Somehow, Ashe managed to not roll her eyes — it wasn't about that, really. Yes, she had been raised into a mindset where... No, it wasn't lying, it was breaking one's word that was among the gravest of sins a person could possibly commit. Giving an oath one never intended to keep was a kind of lie, yes, but ordinary, small lies weren't a big deal. They were still bad, obviously, but it wasn't the sort of thing she'd hold against someone just on principle...

Except, she sort of was, wasn't she? She was offended, yes, but... Okay, maybe her upbringing did have something to do with why she was taking this so personally. She hadn't really considered that.

"You know, telling the truth from a certain point of view to mislead people is a very fae sort of thing to do."

Ashe groaned. "For fuck's sake, we don't actually have fae blood," she said — in Welsh. She hadn't meant to, it'd just come out like that, she was so fucking tired of the ridiculous stories outsiders told each other about them...

"Of course not, humans and elves are sexually incompatible," Sarah said — also in Welsh. Slightly odd Welsh, rather archaic, maybe...which would make sense, she'd been in America for centuries. "Without the assistance of blood alchemy, at the least, which does seem unlikely, for historical reasons. But many of the...peculiar elements of Mistwalker culture are due to more extensive contact with the local fae. I've even heard theories that they taught your ancestors their ritual magic in the first place."

Well, yes, she'd heard the same theories, but that wasn't the point.

...Son of a bitch. What had they been talking about again? This was what happened when she tried to operate on two hours of sleep...

While Ashe tried to remember what the hell she'd wanted to say before they'd gotten off track, Sarah just kept eating in calm silence — which was sort of irritating, the woman hadn't been able to shut the hell up last night (this morning, she was so tired), and now she was being quiet, of course. She didn't manage to think of anything by the time someone swept down into a seat across from them. (To accommodate all the guests, there were chairs set up on the opposite side of the staff table, though less than half were occupied.) "Are people always like this about Americans? Seems a bit of a ridiculous overreaction to me, unless I'm missing something."

Michael, of course it was Michael. Ashe wasn't particularly surprised that the first person to get over their learned fear of Miskatonic was Michael. And she didn't mean because he didn't know better, Michael just didn't seem to give a shite. "You leave Síomha having a heart attack somewhere?"

"Oh, she'll be fine," Michael said, brushing it off. "She's used to me making a nuisance of myself at people who could easily murder me."

Surely not people who could do it quite so easily as Sarah, but...

Sarah just seemed amused, the omnipresent (though quiescent) presence of the impossibly powerful mind mage on the air around them feeling slightly...tingly. "I suspect it's not murder she's most concerned about — feel free to inform Dame Síomha I have no intention of stealing your memories, and will never have any need of becoming a body-snatcher." Well, being a metamorph and all, she wouldn't...

"Okay, two questions — well, three, I guess. Since when the hell is Síomha a bloody knight?!"

At the flabbergasted look on the politician's face, Ashe couldn't quite hold in a burst of giggles. A crooked smile on her own face, Sarah said, "She will be, once she's officially admitted into the Order of Merlin. That is the proper address these days, yes?" she asked, turning a raised eyebrow to Ashe. "I'll admit, I haven't been in the country for some centuries now, I could be behind the times."

"No, it is." Her voice sounded slightly breathless and shaky, she hadn't yet gotten her laughter under control — Michael was glaring at her a little, but she couldn't help it, okay, that was just funny. She cleared her throat before trying to speak again. "Granted, the convention among mages is to use the surname, the inverse of the standard style you'd be more familiar with, but Gaels prefer the use of personal names with titles, so yes, Dame Síomha would be correct."

"Right, okay." Michael stared blankly into the distance for a moment, apparently not quite sure how to process this information. "Then, what do you mean by stealing memories and body-snatching?"

Sarah shrugged. "Those are terms for particular forms of mind magic subsumation." At the uncomprehending look on Michael's face, she asked, "Did your friends in Saoirse not tell you anything about the Dark Arts?"

"Beyond a blanket warning that magic could be very, very dangerous when used by people with malicious intent and a certain lack of morals? No, not really."

So then, over the next hour or so, Michael was treated to an extended lecture on very illegal magic, mostly certain forms of subsumation, blood magic, and high ritual...just, right out in the open, at the Hogwarts staff table. Sarah didn't claim to have any personal experience in any of the things she was talking about — save for basic subsumation in the form of absorbing simple spells and skimming off the top of wards (which was permissible), and some broad applications of blood magic (legal under ICW law, which by treaty were in force for the duration of the Tournament) — but it was still just...

Ashe sighed, rubbing at her cheek with one hand. This was going to be a long year...

Reminder, Ashe comes from a British subculture referred to as the Mistwalker Clans (or "misters" for short). It's a long story but, basically, they're descended from old British priesthoods, technically even pre-Roman. (Most of those traditions have been lost over the centuries, though most other Brits still have an impression of them being a bit backward and superstitious.) They tend to live in these libertarian communes, which other people also tend to find very strange, and have developed some of their own jargon — as a basic example, when Ashe broadly refers to things "outsiders" do, she's talking about people who didn't grow up in one of these weird communes.

The Lovegoods are another Mistwalker Clan (though the Lovegoods we know weren't raised as misters, Xeno and Cassie's mother is an Ollivander, wasn't comfortable staying on the commune); the Boneses used to be misters, but have since assimilated into the nobility enough they're considered outsiders now; the same is sort of true of the Greengrasses, though not even close to the same degree — they have a "proper" manor like the rest of the nobility, but it's surrounded by a mister commune, and while the Greengrasses educate their kids in the way the nobility do things they also have one foot in the mister culture. (This is part of why Daphne is so meticulously proper, she's overcompensating a little bit, in an effort to get the other noble kids to take her seriously.) Nobody else is likely to come up, they don't tend to move in the same circles as our main characters.

Tiny chapter is tiny. Meant to post this days ago, but we've both been distracted, will post the next one maybe tomorrow. It's the first of six that all happen on Halloween, because Lyra fucks up everything and we're completely insane.

—Lysandra