A/n: A short but important chapter.
In the time since Mandy and Neville had led them to the room of requirement Kurt and Hermione had spent a significant portion of their time trying to figure out and perfect the logistics of the self-defence group.
The first thing on their list was trying to figure out when and how they could meet without drawing too much attention to themselves and without strictly falling into the school's definition of a club. Kurt had decided that they should have their meetings almost randomly, at infrequent and unmodulated intervals. This way their disappearance wouldn't be as jarring when it was noticed.
Next on their list was figuring out a way to communicate with the members of the group without non-members suspecting or discovering that they were up to something. Hermione's solution to this was leprechaun gold that was fashioned to resemble a galleon, she enchanted these coins with the protean charm which allowed the serial number around outer rim to change into the time and date of their next meeting; she had been inspired by the Dark Mark but thought too much of branding her peers.
The last thing on their list was the best way to structure their lessons for maximum retention, this was solved by their tutoring club collectively. As they started helping people they tried a number of methods and lesson configurations before they came to a conclusion: they found that the most convenient and effective lesson plan included; telling your student what would be covered, going over a number of broad topics, giving them time to explore and interact with the content on their own, and then consolidating the work.
Kurt was sitting in the once more abandoned transfiguration classroom and opposite him was Pansy Parkinson, furiously scribbling in her note book as Kurt as he answered her questions. Kurt and she were not exactly friends but they had grown beyond being adversaries into comfortable peers; they were covering dark creatures as a supplement for both their Dark Arts and Defence Against the Dark Arts curriculums.
"Werewolves are almost entirely impervious to magic when in their wolf forms," Kurt explained, "only a very specific set of spells are effective against them but also only in the hands of a skilled spell caster."
"One of those spells is the petrification curse," Pansy nodded to herself as the cogs in her head turned, "Why is that spell so effective? It seems to transcend the limits of even the darkest magic, why is that?"
"Because of the nature of the spell," Kurt smirked, impressed by the calibre of her questions, "the petrification curse is very primitive, it is magic that lacks the sophistication modern magic but is as a result a lot purer. The petrification curse was created in an attempt to imitate nature-"
"Like the fiend fire?" her face lit up.
"Exactly like the fiend fire, that spell was earliest form of fire manipulation," Kurt flourished his hands and a bright flame danced between them, "from a time before magic was concentrated by wands, almost completely harmless without a wand." Kurt took Pansy's hand in his and made the flames dance over the surface without even singeing a single one of the fine hairs on the back of her hand, "but still possessing the potential to be dangerous."
"And the same principle applies to the petrification curse," she nodded, "it's primitive nature in conjunction with its concentration as a result of the use of a wand makes it an omnipotent spell."
"Pretty much."
"Last on the list are Dementors," Pansy rolled her eyes.
Kurt quirked a curious brow, "Not a fan?"
"Not particularly," Pansy sneered, "nothing against the creature but whenever their mentioned on school grounds people always make it about your attention grabbing boyfriend." She slumped her head, "it's always 'you remember when Potter fainted?' or 'Potter defeated a hundred dementors' and it gets old."
"He's not my boyfriend," Kurt shook his head, "he's dating Lisa Turpin and I'm single."
"Yeah whatever."
"Speaking of Lisa Turpin," Kurt's lips curled his lips into a sinister smile, "did you hear about how she gave him a handjob in the library?"
"In the library?" Pansy's jaw hung open, "not even Daphne is that brave, sure she'll beej someone in the common room when she thinks nobody is around."
"That girl is low key my hero," Kurt smirked, "I wish I had the moxxy to blow every senior Slytherin boy."
"Not every boy," Pansy reminded him, "there's still one hold out, but it's admirable feat none the less. She only dedicated herself to this mission maybe six weeks ago and just the other week she'd only done the seventh years."
"She gained momentum near the end," Kurt agreed.
"You think she's not afraid of getting a reputation?"
"A reputation for playing these fools for her own enjoyment?" Kurt quirked a brow, "I hope she does, they should give her an award for owning what she wants. Someday I'll tell Hermione's children about her."
Pansy quirked a sinister brow, "Not your own children?"
"The only place I have children is in my nightmares," Kurt scoffed, "Even then there's only one of them."
"Oh wow," Kurt watched her shrug as if she had something to say but was forcing herself to keep it to herself; Kurt nodded sympathetically as he watched her wrestle between what she'd been taught and what she was learning for herself, an internal struggle that Kurt wouldn't wish on his worst enemy. Pansy shook the moment and flashed Kurt a small but genuine smile, "so, other than their properties, what can they ask us about dementors?"
"They'll expect you to know a thing or two you about the patronus charm," Kurt smiled, "this is a question that will probably be in the essay section rather than in short questions, so this is additional information for if you want a distinction." Kurt flipped through his journal to the page on dementors, "tell them the nature of the charm; that it creates a light guardian made of pure happiness that the dementors feed off instead of feeding on the wizard."
"That's all?"
"There's always more," Kurt giggled, "You should offer a more obscure piece of information; like telling the examiner that the light guardian takes on the form of an animal that is a representation of the caster, a well-known fact, but by adding that while they may be rare some wizards' patronuses take the form of magical creatures and this is considered to be the mark of a truly powerful wizard."
Pansy nodded to herself, "that's interesting."
"And it creates the illusion that you are engaged with the subject matter," Kurt smirked, "increasing the likelihood of the marker being lenient."
"I think that's enough for today," Pansy packed her books and started to get up, "I'll see you later."
"Sure," Kurt smiled sweetly, "let me know if you have any more questions."
She nodded and turned to the door but stopped just short of opening it, she turned back but didn't move closer, "My mum…" Kurt took a deep breath as she faltered over her words, not sure what it was she would say, "Never mind."
Kurt got to his feet and stepped around the desk that had separated them a moment ago, "you can say it."
"It was stupid," Pansy shook her head, "forget I said anything."
"It's not in my nature to forget so unless you want me all night thinking about what you could have possibly had to say that you felt you couldn't share freely with me, please say what it is you were going to say."
"My mum once told me that there weren't always dementors," Pansy blushed, "that unlike most creatures that have always lived alongside wizardkind and came to be as they are over time, dementors were created by wizards." She took a deep breath, "Could I put that in my essay?"
"That is very interesting but because it hasn't been substantiated by a verified source you would have to sight it as speculation," Kurt smiled shyly, "it would be a very good insert though."
She nodded and left without saying another word.
~0~
The Glen, Scotland.
17th November 988.
07:34 PM.
Rowena was working the room, thanking people for making the travel to her birthday soirée as was polite; she shook the hands of distinguished gentlemen, Kissing Ladies of society on the cheek, making promises to see people again once the season had begun once more. The ladies doted on her, they all wanted her to meet their sons; this one's son was a duke, that one's son was next in line for the English throne; it seemed that every son was more distinguished than the last and yet they were all still surprisingly single.
Rowena caught sight of a face she actually wanted to see but lost it in the crowd just as quickly as it had appeared. She continued to work the room, speaking with her father's guests and making promises she knew nobody expected her to keep. Rowena had been skirting on the edge of dance floor, avoiding being pulled into the farce. A strong hand laid on her shoulder, she turned to face Haim Black; the man's severe face contorted into a smile that was barely visible behind his full dishwater beard and Rowena knew what was coming next.
"Good Evening my lady," he gave a small bow and the eyes all around them turned to them.
"Haim," she curtsied back, with a polite giggle, "Why are you being so formal? I wasn't sure whether I should call you call you Count Black, Lord-Secretary or Captain General."
"Haim is always the safest choice," the voice was not booming and commanding as you would expect of man of his esteem, it was more on the humble side and soothing. He held out a well manicure hand that might have made someone who had not witnessed his prowess at war doubt the validity of his valour, "May I have the honour of the first dance?"
Rowena placed her hand in his, "I can't think of anyone more deserving than one of my oldest and dearest friends."
The orchestra changed the music to a smooth waltz, the dance floor cleared as they moved to the centre. Rowena had low expectations for her friend's abilities but was pleasantly surprised when the man's body loosened and glided on the smooth melody of the string instruments as they flooded the room, he went with their current as smoothly as if were part of him.
"I'm impressed," she smiled pleasantly.
"It's quite surprising," he nodded, his words juxtaposing his body with their staccato nature, "I understand that."
"I don't mean-"
"I'm a very stern man," Haim elaborated, "I come across as impassive and set in my ways, to see me dance this way is probably jarring."
"The surprise is a pleasant one," she assured him.
"Rowena," his tone was absolute, "I have something rather serious to discuss with you, may I speak freely?"
"Of course," Her breath caught in her throat as she wondered what Haim would want to speak to her about so desperately.
"Muffliato," the man whispered the words and they were enveloped in a cocoon of silence. His blue eyes pierced into her, "Rowena, you know of my nature."
Rowena's eyes grew wide, she had always suspected and she had joked of the man's nature but to hear him confess it to her was something else completely. Rowena tried to formulate the diplomatic response but her mind was reeling, "I've had my suspicions, yes."
"Well," Haim let out a tired sigh, "You're not the only one."
Worry filled Rowena's eyes as the man's face fell very subtly, "what's wrong?"
"Victor Parkinson," Haim kept moving as smoothly and his tone remained impassive but there was sadness in his eyes, "The Under-Secretary for Education, he's after my job and he's threatened me."
"What did he say?" Rowena tried to supress her anger but she was sure it shone through in her tone.
"He said I was going to have to suck my next job out of someone else's cock," Haim's words faltered, "because the minister would save his own skin when it came down to it."
"You and George?"
Haim shook his head, "but people would forget about my years of experience in light of such an accusation, and George wouldn't stick his neck out for me."
"My darling," Rowena felt guilty about how she'd made light of her friend's difficult life, making light of his nature without understanding what it meant in his life, "I'm working with Victor, I created his job, and if you would like I could speak with him."
"Word is circulating and if not him then another hungry vulture will come for the thing that matters most in my life," he recomposed himself, "my job is my everything."
"What is there to be done?"
"If I had a wife," Haim's face fell in a way she had never seen it do before, "If you would be my wife."
"Haim," she shook her head very subtly, "you know-"
"I know," the man nodded, "I've tried to court you countless times, but I would be a kind and encouraging husband." His eyes pleaded with her, "My family is very wealthy and powerful, you would want for nothing and I would spend the rest of my life trying to make you happy."
"My love," she smiled sadly, "I have no doubt that you would be a husband like no other but I cannot resign myself to a life polite companionship, I long for passion."
"I understand," he nodded, "I expected this answer but I had to ask one last time."
"We'll petition the minister to change the law," Rowena shook her head, "ensure protection of people's employment regardless of their nature."
"My nature isn't the problem," Haim shook his head, "the problem is the prejudices that exist that make rumours like this one dangerous to the merits of my work; I have worked tirelessly to ensure that my nature and my work were separate so that the quality of my work would never be questioned."
"Haim," she reached out to him but he cleared his throat and the noise of the party returned.
He bowed and smiled once more, his beard obscuring it, "nothing could ruin what we have, you might be my only friend. Thank you for the dance."
Rowena turned and moved toward the powder room, her steps decisive and radiating an air that forbade people from approaching her, she closed the door behind her and took a deep breath. She had denied one of her dearest friends for a man who hadn't so much as hinted at an interest in her, she had potentially destroyed his world for a man she had dreamed to completion because she barely knew him; she needed a drink. Rowena made sure her make-up was still flawless before exiting the powder room, she made quick work of getting a glass of champagne.
"You look lovely this evening," the voice was soft as a whisper but carried a strong power in it.
"Salazar," she turned and smiled at the man as fiddled with his spectacles, fixing them on the bridge of his crooked nose, "You came."
"How could I stay away?" he teased, "Helga tells the legend of your soirées." He held up a silencing finger, "I brought a gift."
"If it's your friend then I'll pass," Rowena rolled her eyes, she lowered her voice and imitated the man's flamboyant gestures, "I'm Godric Gryffindor, hold the applause. My hometown was renamed in my honour for my classified work in the defeat of Anais Haddad-Schmidt, which I'm now going to tell you all about as middle finger to the establishment."
"He's right behind you."
She turned and there the man was with a plump woman on his arm and plate of pastries between them, "Godric." Rowena smiled politely, "thank you for coming."
There was an awkward silence before the woman on Godric's arm chuckled, "She does you so well Godric, that's what he said to me verbatim." She popped a pastry into her mouth and moaned in pleasure, "these are amazing, Helga of Kiev."
"Charmed to make your acquaintance," Rowena kissed the woman on the cheek, "Are you two?"
"No," Godric shook his head, "Helga is here because she's between husbands."
"The Sultan died," she shrugged, "but Godric was coming to this party, so I decided to join him."
"I'm sorry for your loss," Rowena smiled.
"Nevermind that," she waved her hand dismissively, "give her the gift."
Salazar produced a navy jewellery box, she read the note, "As beautiful as you are, love Salazar." She opened the box and inside was a diadem with a large sapphire in the centre and pearls accenting it, "It's lovely, thank you Salazar."
"Let me help you," he stepped closer to her and unclipped her feathered hair grip, she could feel his breath on her forehead as he fixed the diadem in her hair. He stayed close to her and bent down, "You look lovely."
Kurt sat up in his bed with a start, Bomballerina lifted her head but he shook his and she went back to sleep. After putting on his spectacles and checking the time, Kurt slipped on his slippers and his robe, grabbing his wand as he moved toward the door. Kurt moved quickly and silently with his wand casting a small ball of light as his mind swam, paying little attention to where he was going until he was pulled back to reality by his collision with a larger body.
Kurt looked up to see Gregory Goyle, the boy extended a hand to help him up, "Hi Kurt, what are you doing out of bed this late?"
"I'm a prefect," Kurt pursed his lips, "I'm exempt from curfew, what are you doing out of bed?"
"I had to take a swazz," the boy shrugged.
"Back to bed with you," Kurt spoke dismissively, walking around the stationary boy.
"Late night randez-vous?"
"Excuse me?" Kurt turned on his heels, "do you think I would go to a randez-vous looking like this?"
"You look nice," Gregory shrugged once more, crossing his large arms confidently.
"I know," Kurt smiled condescendingly, "but I can look a lot better." The boy held his position, "if you must know, I've been struck with sudden genius for my History of Magic extra credit report."
Gregory quirked a brow, "the library is closed."
"I'm not going to the library," Kurt's smiled broadened, "I need to talk to a painting." The boy was unmoved, "feel free to follow me if you don't believe me."
"Midnight stroll," the boy grinned broadly, "this is totally a date."
"It's two AM," Kurt corrected as the boy followed him out the common room, "and this is in no way a date."
"It is so a date," the boy declared jovially.
Kurt glared at him, "don't make me regret bringing you."
They walked in a comfortable silence for a moment until Gregory broke it, "why won't you date me?"
"Excuse me?" Kurt stopped in his tracks, surprised by the question.
Gregory gestured for them to keep walking, "You know I like you, everyone does, but you won't give me a chance; why?" the silence returned but it was palpably awkward now, "I'm not ugly, some might say I'm cute. These biceps are amazing."
Kurt giggled, "you really want to have this conversation?"
"I make you laugh," the boy pulled a funny face and pointed a finger at him until he couldn't help laughing, "See?" the boy punched the air triumphantly before turning serious, "is it the letters? Are they too much?"
"The letters are a lot," Kurt nodded.
"I was trying to be romantic," he blushed, "Nott said it was a good idea."
"It would be," Kurt shrugged as they climbed the grand staircase, "if I loved on the other side of town and not in the next room."
"So you won't date me because I'm coming on too strong?"
"I've never really thought of it," Kurt shrugged, "it's said that we're an average of the people around us, I think there's a core self there too." Kurt smiled politely, "with you, there's nothing where you should be. You're only who Draco wants you to be?"
"That's…" Gregory ran his fingers through his curls, "I can't say it's untrue."
"I'm sorry," Kurt shrugged.
"One last question," Gregory furrowed his brow, "why does Draco's grandmother ask after you?"
Kurt smiled awkwardly, "It's complicated." They reached the top of the stairs and Kurt stared hungrily up at the sleeping painting that stood in front of the Gryffindor common room, "Helga."
"You know her name?" Gregory gaped as she woke up.
"You woke me," Helga sighed dejectedly, "Love, you know I can't let you in-" her gaze caught on Gregory, "Who is the muscle? He's cute."
"See!" Gregory beamed.
"Please don't encourage him," Kurt shook his head, "Gregory Goyle, Helga of Kiev."
"Pleased to make your acquaintance," she quirked a seductive brow.
"Let's focus," Kurt snapped, "I woke you to ask you a question."
"Make it quick," she snapped back, "I want to go back to sleep, radiance like mine doesn't just happen."
"Who is Anais Haddad-Schmidt?" Kurt beamed up at her.
"I never thought someone would ask me that question," She gave a knowing smile, "It's quite the story."
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