A/N: Wow! Thank you all for the enthusiastic response. I have so many ideas bouncing through my head at the moment - I've been trying to get them all out as they come to me. I think I'll be able to work fairly quickly up to a point and then you will have to bear with me as I slow down again and delve into a bit of research before taking things to the next level.
I get a great amount of satisfaction in crafting my work... hopefully it will serve me in the end! For now, enjoy!
Sea salt, pine, flowers, and sand.
The fresh smells of home washed over her, and Dia felt a rush of relief upon apparating to the steps of the villa.
The overcast morning had been replaced by clear blue sky and a light breeze. Dia had scarcely materialized completely before she was already in motion, her robes snapping about her ankles as she moved over the white flagstones with sure, quick steps.
A soft gesture opened the bright royal blue door before her and Dia was brought up short as Stelios stepped onto the threshold, holding a large letter aloft.
"Master Kallas, this demands your immediate attention," he said solemnly.
By the seriousness of his countenance, Dia knew that the Elf had somehow been appraised of the grim news. Stelios was well-connected and well-respected across Wizarding and Elvish families alike. She knew he had been to Athens in the morning - likely one of his contacts in the Ministry had seen fit to inform him of the unfolding events.
Dia accepted the letter silently, quickly taking in the blood red seal that was as familiar to her as the earlier gold and green. Scanning it quickly she frowned. This altered plans considerably.
"Please do a cursory of examination of the storeroom and have Eleni to send word to Ana. We will need her to send double orders of whichever ingredients are low. I will be down shortly to begin mise en place." Stelios gave a short bow and disapparated silently.
As she entered the main foyer and began moving off towards her private chambers, Dia quickly banished her outer robes while summoning a bit of parchment and a quick-quotes quill. Eleni and Hermione were nowhere to be found. According to their brief conversation from the morning, she suspected she would find the both of them outdoors on the terrace.
Sighing, she arrived to her private sitting room and quickly banished her shoes, pulling her innermost ivory robes over her head and closing the door with a flick. Left in just her light underthings, Dia flopped onto the sleek chaise lounge, casting a delicate hand over her eyes and beginning to dictate to the quill.
"One order of 10 mililiter phials in clear, one in blue. Four orders of 50 mililiter phials in clear, two in blue. Two large packages of standard ingredient mixture - please ensure the burlap is reinforced. One standard-size pewter cauldron. Check for cracks. One quartz pestle with a rounded handle."
The scratching paused as she mentally scanned through her stores.
She ticked off the obvious needs on her fingers. Standard phials and basic ingredients… check.
Stelios would add the critical ingredients shortly.
Sighing, Dia waved a hand to close the gauzy curtains and cut the glare from the sea. What about knives?
Sitting up slightly, she looked over the parchment and narrowed her eyes.
"Please also put in a rush order for a Kasumi Damascus boning knife and a Shun Fuji Santoku," she finished, flicking the quill away. There wasn't time to request custom blades. She knew that Ana would have the order filled and sent before dinner this evening. Bless that girl…
Dia rested a moment longer, dark legs providing contrast against the smooth ivory upholstery.
Both letters were deeply unnerving, however she knew she was incredibly privileged to be receiving advanced warning of the ISOS violations before the general public. The press outlets would likely disseminate the news by nightfall.
Rubbing her temples for a moment, Dia rose and made a circuit of the room, attempting to reign in the scattered thoughts running through her mind. Several points vied for her attention. The first was how to inform Hermione.
The letter from the Transfiguration Society had been rather cryptic, but one of the violations had occurred in Sydney, Australia. To her knowledge, Hermione's parents lived on the opposite side of the country, but Dia understood from experience that worst-case scenarios were worth prudent and careful consideration.
Hermione was bound to her and thus, her wellbeing was paramount in Dia's eyes.
The young witch had delved into her new life on Naxos with such single-minded abandon, Dia knew that the War had taken an immense toll on her. She knew their studies brought Hermione great satisfaction and challenge, but still she had been reluctant to ply her with the cultural knowledge and oral traditions of both Mastery societies until the witch found greater balance in her own personal life.
It had been concerning how little Hermione referenced or even appeared to think of her life back in Great Britain.
Dia knew the witch exchanged letters with her parents with some regularity, but the flood of owls that had come to the island in her first few months had most often left without answer. At present, Dia doubted that her apprentice had written anyone from home in months.
Her pacing brought her to the sliding glass doors that overlooked the cliffs. Peering through the curtains, Dia watched the turquoise waves cast themselves upon the rocks below.
It had been her intention to give Hermione her entire first classifications as time to heal. Dia sniffed wryly. She knew better than anyone that time waited for no one. It seemed that she would have to press her apprentice into the next phase of her learning ahead of schedule.
Dia spun on her heel and moved toward her personal bath. A casual gesture divested her of her wand and its holster which settled themselves upon the wood table near the door. Lifting her arms, she moved her fingers in a complicated series of gestures which removed artfully plced hairpins and sent her dark curls spilling over both shoulders.
Stepping in front of the sink Dia banished the rest of her clothes and turned on the faucet, leaning forward to splash cool water over her face.
The coming months would shift her plans entirely.
It would only be proper for Hermione to accompany her to the Quorum, which meant that she would have a great deal of preparations to make before the younger witch would be ready for her formal debut. Dia bit back a sigh and summoned a handful of salt scrub, warming it between both hands before applying it to her cheeks.
It was far too soon - Hermione had yet to learn the complex traditions, rituals, etiquette, and affected speech of both disciplines. Fortunately her debut into the Potions world could wait. But of the two, Transfiguration was by far the more complex. And how much she has to learn...
Another splash of cool water. Dia stepped back and dried her skin with a soft towel. Frustration with the circumstances would not help. She summoned a phial of olive oil and palmed a few drops before spreading it across her face evenly.
Dia preferred to attend to her lab practice in her most natural state. No dress robes, makeup, or other artificial barriers that could threaten her brewing or distract her from her work.
Stepping back Dia greeted her fresh reflection for a moment, still thinking.
Of course… the witch held promise.
A great deal of promise if she were being entirely honest.
Minerva had not exaggerated that the witch was incredibly talented. Dia had never seen a more open, absorbent, nor willing mind. Hermione's self-discipline was staggering as was her capacity to integrate and apply complex knowledge quickly.
Dia had watched in disbelief as her apprentice had devoured five primary texts in the first two days alone; the witch had been able to quote entire passages verbatim in addition to being able to expound upon their foundational principles. It wasn't quite an eidetic memory, but Dia knew that Hermione possessed a rather rare set of skills that allowed her to work and study as she did.
The same skills were also well-honed tools that allowed her to escape from whatever personal demons still plagued her following the War.
Dia had not been oblivious to Hermione's persistent nightmares. Through their bond she had discerned that Hermione had suffered greatly, perhaps even more deeply than she herself realized. All throughout their initial studies, Dia had kept a watchful eye, however it was not yet her place to take a hand in helping the young witch.
And now?
Dia paused to cast a harsh eye over the clean planes of her body's reflection.
Free from clothing, her dark skin appeared silky in the natural light of the bath. As she turned slightly, muscles rippled beneath the surface - well-defined across her abdomen and across her back.
At fifty-two, Dia had taken incredible steps to ensure her body remained healthy and primed for action. A light touch of wrinkles at her eyes and around her mouth revealed the subtle hand of time, but even to her own highly critical gaze, she still looked to be in her early thirties.
Dia knew from observation that Hermione admired her lean musculature, and if Eleni's commentary was any indication, the young witch sought to craft her own body into a highly tuned instrument.
She had been surprised by how quickly Hermione had taken to her physical training regimen. Dia imagined that the woman's initial rounded posture and weak muscles stemmed from too many hours holed up in the Library at Hogwarts, though from her own experience with Scottish weather, she couldn't necessarily blame her.
Naxos seemed to have a relaxing effect on her apprentice however, and Dia had been pleased to see Hermione take to the island's natural offerings with relish. For the most part, she had left Hermione to her newfound pleasures - happy to see her enjoying the sea and the mountains with almost childlike innocence.
The witch's physical transformation had been drastic but subtle and Dia had not realized just how far her apprentice had grown.
Inhaling deeply, Dia's vision faded out as she recalled Hermione's surprising entry into the kitchen earlier that morning. Her mind replayed flashes of long tanned legs, wild curls, and that deep-V in silky garnet.
It was not often that Dia was caught off-guard, but it seemed that Hermione could be more calculating than she let on.
Her apprentice was not one to spend time on her appearance, she knew. The young witch valued her intellect far above her beauty, however at their first meeting Dia had immediately absorbed the mane of curls, willowy frame... as well as the elegant cheekbones, sweeping brows, and caramel eyes. Tools we shall learn to wield later, young one, had been one of her first thoughts.
It seemed that over time however, Dia's own self-assurance and easy sensuality had opened a set of questions for the young witch. The thrum of attraction through their shared bond had been an unexpected yet welcome discovery. Dia had felt the weight of those caramel eyes following her as she lectured, dipping down to appreciate a lower neckline or high-cut skirt.
And yet... Dia was at a loss.
Hermione seemed remarkably naïve for a witch of her age, likely due to her prominent role in the war and her conservative Muggle upbringing. Those elements alone were enough to give Dia pause, but she had drawn up short at realizing how rapidly she had allowed her unbreakable composure to slip at Hermione's sweet overtures.
Dia's thoughts again turned to the elegant and daring swimsuit. Well, perhaps sweet is incorrect... she amended.
Shaking her head, Dia sighed. It was an unspoken rule of hers that she refused to engage in any sort of relationship or liaison with an apprentice until they were well into their third-classification. The risks were simply too high.
There was something pure about this witch that made her pause. In typical Gryffindor fashion, Hermione was an open book. Her sly and silky methods from the morning had been a delightful surprise, but Dia knew that when it came to large matters, the woman wore her heart on her sleeve. The young witch's interest and desire were earnest and Dia knew that she was an honorable woman...
But rules were rules and they existed for a reason.
Dia had been about to rely her dilemma to Eleni over coffee when the subject of her ruminations had nearly blasted down her defenses with that damned bathing suit.
Blasted indeed... you are too old to be rendered speechless by a pair of long legs and pretty eyes, Diamantina.
Dia glared at her own reflection, which was looking at her with flushed cheeks, before blowing a stray curl away from her face. The thought of her morning jarred her from her musings and she cast a quick tempus. Enough time had been spent on useless wonderings. There are far more important matters at hand, witch.
With one last glare, Dia stalked toward her bedroom.
Quelling her deeper thoughts for the moment, Dia lifted a hand and opened her walk-in closet, stepping through to peruse the rows of carefully hung clothing items. She again lifted her arms overhead, this time sighing in appreciation as soft silk whispered over her. No undergarments today. An arduous brewing session lay ahead and she wanted to be comfortable.
A beckoning motion summoned a heavier second set of robes that settled upon her and wrapped around the first. Dia stepped into a pair of well-worn, comfortable heeled boots and they whisked themselves together as she moved back toward her personal suite.
A hand extended returned her wand and its holster and a carefully spun gesture quickly tamed her curls into a clean Dutch braid. Spying her parchment lying on the chaise lounge from earlier, Dia charmed it to find Stelios. As the door opened admitting her back into the rest of the villa, Dia squared her shoulders and steadied her breath.
Hermione.
Setting off at a brisk pace toward the outer terrace, Dia went in search of her apprentice.
There was work to be done.