A/N: Some new revelations, some new challenges...
Friday, Nov. 26, 1999
The dreamy murmur of voices felt strangely reassuring, and if it weren't for the smell of antiseptics, herbs, and assorted ointments, Minerva could have almost convinced herself that she was simply asleep.
"Minerva? I'm going to step outside in a moment and I shall allow you to dress in private. Please meet me in my office when you are ready and we shall discuss your results."
The quiet voice felt as though it were coming from a very distant place, and Minerva hummed in reply, content to remain suspended in her blissful half-conscious state for just a moment longer. Duties and paperwork flitted around the edges of her mind like stray birds, but for a sweet moment there was nothing but swirling lightness.
Echoing footsteps faded and Minerva knew she had to rise lest she fall asleep in earnest.
Pressing herself up to sitting took more energy than she expected and Minerva remained on the edge of the hospital bed for a long moment, grimacing as the aches and pains began to slide into place with familiar dull blossoms.
Too tired to attend to her robes, Minerva flicked her wand and exhaled softly as the familiar layers settled into place, adding just a bit more weight to her already aching shoulders in a manner that felt nearly as exhausting as Poppy's blasted tests. Another flick attended to her boots, and a moment later she was standing, straightening her shoulders and burying the onslaught of uncomfortable sensations as she prepared to leave the examination room.
Stepping out of the private suite, Minerva swept through the hospital wing quickly, noting two black-robed figures asleep on separate beds. Her eyes narrowed as she passed, absorbing their House colors.
Knotgrass and Bryant…
The first appeared to be a Quidditch accident. The Ravenclaws had been drilling team maneuvers with every available opportunity, though seeing as this was the third injury in the past week, Minerva made a mental note to speak with Filius. It seemed Captain Kearney was either growing too bold or too careless.
The second was likely something she would read about in the daily reports, though the distinctive Skele-Gro bottle suggested another broom-related accident. Undoubtedly, she could expect an irate note from Rolanda.
Her boots clicked purposefully and Minerva rounded the corner and stepped into her colleague's office with a familiar sense of impending weariness.
Poppy was seated behind her desk, a look of simmering anger painting her features that might've been comical if not for the grave nature of their meeting. The witch waited until Minerva was seated, fairly radiating displeasure before flicking the door shut with a harsh bang. A telltale rush of magic indicated a host of privacy charms springing into place.
"Well? When were you going to notify me? Two pain potions a day is hardly a small matter of consequence, Minerva!"
The sharp tone of voice grated upon her ears and Minerva folded her robes carefully, smoothing her features into an impassive expression as she considered how to respond to her colleague's impending tirade.
"A few more weeks or months off my life shall not make much difference," she replied tiredly. "The final outcome remains inevitable."
"Considering you've resumed your work with the Order of the Phoenix, I should think you would take better care of what time you do have!"
Minerva's eyes flashed but she did not refute the statement. If anything, Poppy's expression seemed to harden further.
"You are in no condition to be traipsing about Great Britain, Minerva McGonagall. It's bad enough that you're continuing to teach the upper levels… now you're adding an entire slew of demands that will only hasten matters further!"
Minerva sighed and folded her hands in her lap before regarding her friend with open features.
"How bad?"
The thunderous expression on Poppy's face dissolved slightly before being replaced with carefully affected professionalism and Minerva steeled herself in response.
"The curse is acting much faster than I anticipated… I imagine you only have a few more months of full motor control and then…" the witch trailed off, a pinched look settling into the familiar features that forced Minerva to look away. She didn't want pity.
"Perhaps the Healers at -"
"The Healers can do nothing," Minerva snapped, rising quickly to stride toward the windows. It was the same argument they'd been having for the last year and a half. A few more months? You shall have to begin implementing new plans immediately.
"Minerva… surely you have investigated other alternatives," Poppy whispered.
A great swell of fatigue and sadness rose in her chest and for a brief moment, Minerva wanted nothing more than to simply return to her office and send off the resignation letter that remained tucked into sealed envelope in the lower left hand drawer of her desk.
She could retire quickly and quietly… disappear into the north and live out her remaining days in peace. No one would begrudge her that… she, if anyone, deserved a graceful exit.
If it weren't for the future…
"There are no other alternatives," Minerva intoned hollowly, feeling her features settle into a resigned expression. Her eyes gazed at the softly falling snow unseeingly.
"The curse shall spread… attacking my magical core and my nervous system until eventually, as we both know, I shall die."
"But Renata-?"
"You know as well as I that Renata can offer nothing except for quiet dignity as my life draws to a close," Minerva replied wearily. She held up a hand to forestall Poppy's protests as she turned, keeping her eyes just shy of her colleague's crestfallen expression.
"How much time before my body succumbs to the curse's effects to an unmanageable degree?"
Poppy's eyes fluttered briefly and she sighed. A furrow graced her brow and the witch plucked a clipboard from her desk and perused its dense script carefully.
"Have you experienced any trouble breathing?"
"No."
"Involuntary muscle contractions? Increased salivation or lacrimation?"
"No."
"Any trouble urinating or defecating?"
Minerva glared.
Poppy sighed and shook her head. With a weary hand she removed her gold spectacles and fixed Minerva with a searching look.
"I can only make an educated guess," she said quietly. "And I can give you a specific potion for the intercostal neuralgia, but that will only target the pain and mask it temporarily. It will also make the curse's effects more difficult to track. Your magical core will continue to drain as it works to repair the damage to your body, but it too will begin to fail you as the curse continues to spread… causing internal damage at a rate far faster than your magic can attempt its natural process of self-repair."
Minerva listened quietly, absorbing the grim news with a deep breath.
"How long?" she repeated.
"So long as you avoid straining your body or your magic… perhaps two years if matters continue to progress at this pace."
Two years. That was both longer than she hoped and still unfathomably short.
"How much of that time will I remain in control of my…" she cleared her throat, "facilities?"
Poppy shifted slightly, her brow furrowing as she glanced over her parchments.
"A year. Perhaps a little longer," she replied softly. "However you must begin adjusting your daily patterns and habits, Minerva. You no longer have the magical strength to sustain your body and to see to your varied activities as usual."
Minerva chose to ignore the well-meaning advice. "And beyond?" she asked quietly.
"I cannot say for certain without knowing the curse that hit you," Poppy began, shifting her spectacles ineffectually as she sighed. "If you had received the full blast, you would likely have died in a matter of weeks, if not hours. Either fortunately or unfortunately, a partial refraction is much more difficult to predict."
Minerva waited, electing to remain silent even though none her friend's words revealed new information. The Healers at St. Mungo had been able to offer little beyond approximations and educated guesswork and she had consequently declined their treatment.
"We know that the curse was intended to compromise your nervous system, Minerva. The damage to your intercostal nerves, however painful, appears mostly incidental. The first stage of the curse's actual development is manifesting through your headaches and reduced vision due to constricted pupils. Without knowing more about the dynamics of the curse, I can only assume that it will begin by affecting your fine motor functions first..."
Minerva's lips pressed together as she tamped the wave of emotion that threatened to overturn her composure. Poppy continued to speak, walking through the litany of expected symptoms even as Minerva began tuning out the witch's voice. She was assured that Poppy wasn't going to reveal anything that she didn't already understand for herself. Her own research already indicated that the curse promised a long, painful demise that would slowly strip away her dignity as both her body and magic failed.
"- loss of control will progress through parasympathetic functions, eventually leading to-"
"Death… likely through respiratory failure," Minerva finished, taking a deep breath. She had reached the same conclusion months previous.
The feeling of air rushing into her lungs suddenly seemed full and precious.
How strange to imagine that it would be her diaphragm that would eventually fail her… the muscle rendered useless by the curse sitting within the walls of her body like an insidious shadow.
Even at rest Minerva could feel the quiet pulse of her magic being siphoned away - working to replenish her damaged systems from within, trapped in a futile cycle that would eventually grow too great for her body to handle. A curse indeed.
A bitter smile briefly twisted itself at her lips and Minerva slowly returned to the chair in front of Poppy's desk, sitting stiffly as she schooled her features into an impenetrable expression.
The prognosis, since she had first received it nearly a year and a half prior, remained unchanged.
"I shall consult with Filius," Minerva said quietly. "I trust that the both of you shall notify me immediately should you feel my abilities as Headmistress are impeded by my affliction."
Poppy regarded her with a solemn expression, her grey eyes betraying her internal conflict. Even if the Order hadn't been called back into service, they would still be having this conversation. Minerva could strive to reduce the smaller gratuitous displays of magic, but the end would come either way… it was simply inevitable.
"I am prescribing you a potion called Nervus Impediunto which should provide limited relief for the neuralgia in your chest," Poppy sighed, scribbling upon a parchment with a familiar bright green letterhead.
"Individual doses shall alleviate symptoms for up to forty-eight hours, however it will come with a host of side effects. You may experience nausea and generalized weakness alongside the pain relief, which should be manageable… however afterwards, your body will go through a period of extreme exhaustion. You are not to exceed more than four potions every two weeks… and that is already pressing acceptable limits."
"I need to function, Poppy," Minerva replied in a low growl. Anything to ensure she could see to her duties without distraction. Her body was already growing immune to even the most powerful of pain potions.
"And I have a duty to ensure you don't destroy your body in the meantime," Poppy snapped, signing her name with a rough flourish.
"Does it matter?"
At that, Poppy came up short and and pinned her with a stony glare before jabbing an accusing finger in her direction.
"It does if you wish to prolong your ability to function, Minerva. Nervus Impediunto was never meant for sustained usage. The effects may do more harm than good in your state and I have no idea how it will interact with the active effects of the curse!"
Minerva's mind suddenly flashed with Diamantina's face and for a brief ridiculous moment she considered sending a fervent request to her former apprentice. If anyone could find a way to modify a potion, no matter how obscure, it would be Diamantina.
However as soon as the thread of hope flared, Minerva swiftly tamped it down. If anyone needed to remain oblivious to her condition, it was also Diamantina.
"I shall monitor your condition closely as soon as you receive the potion," Poppy said firmly, holding out the prescription and not quite meeting her eyes, "If there is any sort of negative reaction with the curse we shall have to reevaluate your treatment. And while I would feel much better knowing that you intend to seek a second opinion with Renata… we both know that shan't happen."
"Very well," Minerva replied stiffly, ignoring the small dig as she accepted the proffered parchment and slipped it into her pocket.
Across the desk, she saw Poppy sigh heavily and fix her with another pitying expression that abruptly rankled. Drawing her robes in around her body, Minerva rose in a smooth motion and fixed her friend with a cold look.
"I need not remind you of Healer-patient confidentiality, Poppy, however I will say that your discretion in matters concerning my health is not only appreciated, but vital," she said softly, "While I appreciate your continued concern, it would not do to dissolve the confidence of the Order at this tenuous stage of its redevelopment. They need a leader, Poppy… and I intend to fulfill that role for them for as long as I am able."
Grey eyes widened and Poppy had the grace to look somewhat abashed as she rose and folded her hands across clean white robes. Thin lips were pressed into a worried line.
"I understand," she replied softly. "And I'll do what I can to make things easier for you."
Minerva smiled tiredly and inclined her head gently.
"Thank you, Poppy. That is all I ask."
"Lady Granger, good even and twenty."
The slightly wizened voice startled Hermione from her notes and she looked up, flashing a smile as Stelios' stooped figure drew closer to the candlelight upon her makeshift desk. She had been camped out in the library for close to five hours.
"Master Stelios," she replied quietly. "How fare you this good e'en?"
Carefully brushed silver hair glinted in the soft glow as the Elf peered over her careful stacks of books with interest, his small spectacles refracting a spray of gold upon the heavy leather bound ledger that contained her Potions thesis.
"E'er the gracious apprentice dwells, mind bewitch'd by Athena's spoils. Verily, her trials shall pass with distinction, methinks."
"Thou speak'st kind words, good sir," Hermione replied, smiling softly as she set aside her parchment and quill. "May the gods grant them true. Howe'er I daren't count my dragons. T'would not do to make a liar of you yet."
"Nay, do not think I flatter, child. I cannot look greenly an' well I know the will o' th' Fates… thy diligence is soon to be rewarded. How rare the eagle's keen eye keep company with the lion's noble spirit. Forsooth, what honor the graceful griffin bestows that she bears her mighty stead 'pon thy Master's name," Stelios inclined his head gently, gracing her with a rare smile as Hermione's cheeks flushed.
Before she could stammer out some sort of thank-you, the Elf folded his hands behind his back, his features returning to their typical expression of thoughtful contemplation as he moved to perch upon a shorter stack of books to her left. Unlike Eleni's bubbling personality that could often be difficult to predict, Stelios was unflappably serene in a manner slightly more reserved than Master Kallas.
He had been nothing but kind, patient, and gentle since her arrival, and while Hermione had connected to Eleni much faster, she always valued the elder Elf's counsel… and found herself looking forward to spending time with him in the coming days as he continued to assist in her understanding of Mastery culture.
"Now turn we to your comfort… hast thou finish'd the book I presented thee?"
Hermione shifted as she recalled the large tome Stelios had given her on Wednesday. A good amount of the book had been devoted to Wizarding customs and culture from the late seventeenth century and had been mind-numbingly dull, if truth be told. The differing expectations of gender had been infuriating enough through most of it, and then she had uncovered several chapters devoted to proper dress which had almost made her slam it shut in frustration.
"I' faith did I consider it," she replied slowly. She thought she saw the bright blue eyes flash with amusement for a moment before Stelios' ears lifted in interest. A small hand rose to adjust his spectacles absently.
"What sayest thou?"
Hermione drew in a deep breath, somehow understanding that despite her actual opinion, she was being challenged to give the book a favorable review.
"A respected house of scholarship to be sure," she began, mind rapidly trying to think of something positive. "Full often hath I question'd the winter 'pon our world, perceiving it did I, paled by frost and Muggle scorn. My thoughts did turn where'er Persephone doth tread - and I see now the remembrances of sweet spring… commended was I to fain embrace of our gilded history and Hecate's guidance. The past buys not the advancements to our station."
Stelios nodded thoughtfully and Hermione waited, unsure of whether her words had been a touch too honest (as was becoming the typical feedback from all her new teachers).
"Howsoe'er strange, if you fall in the fickle hands of nature, trust that Spring ascends with each solstice as surely as Apollo rises with his chariot each new morn. I trust thee to fare the weather well."
A small hand rose and made a brushing motion as though to clear the air between them and Hermione relaxed, knowing that their language exercise was momentarily concluded.
"Very good, Miss Hermione. A truly dreadful book, is it not?" Stelios asked with wry smile.
Hermione fell backwards against the couch, realizing belatedly that their practice conversation had already reinforced the lessons in posture and behavior that Ana had begun teaching. She had been sitting with crossed ankles and a rather straight spine. She sighed indelicately, pressing the heels of her hands against her aching eyes for a long moment.
"How much of what I read should I expect at the Quorum?" Hermione asked, trying - and failing, to keep a tinge of despair out of her voice.
"The language is the greatest constant," Stelios' raspy voice and Greek accent was strangely reassuring, "However undoubtedly you have recognized the clear gender expectations that shall underscore a good amount of the proceedings. It was important for me to elucidate the history behind much of what you will experience."
"Ana has shared some as well," she replied tiredly. "Witches are largely ornaments and wizards are all gentlemen."
"Then I trust Mistress Ana has informed you that the Kefalas line is notorious for upsetting the balance of power," Stelios responded, fixing her with a knowing look, "A bit of opposition has done the Societies well, I believe."
Hermione gave the Elf a skeptical look as she sat forward again, wiping a hand across her face.
"Am I going to have to wear a corset?"
Stelios surprised her by chortling in amusement before shaking his head swiftly.
"By Hippolyta's Line, I should certainly think not," he said, still smiling softly, "Though undoubtedly a number of your company will choose to don such ridiculous wear. However it is not common, my dear. Did Master Kallas not explain her order at Anastos'?"
"She might've," Hermione mumbled, slightly embarrassed to realize that she didn't really remember. Last Wednesday seemed like a lifetime ago and meeting Yiayia and Ana had swept aside the mundane nature of the fitting itself. To be honest, she had no idea what her master had ordered for the both of them.
"I will tell Mistress Ana to explain more of Society dress in your next lesson," Stelios said kindly, "However, I expect the Master simply ordered a number of dress robes for Quorum meetings themselves. You shall both return to Athens on Tuesday for a second fitting and you shall understand more then."
Hermione nodded, feeling a small wave of discomfort at the Elf's gallant tone. While she knew that Stelios was a Free Elf, his adherence to the traditional manner of addressing witches and wizards sometimes made her feel awkward.
"And then of course, I believe she provided two options for the ball -"
"Ball?" Hermione interrupted sharply. Blue eyes narrowed slightly.
"I shall also make a point to encourage the Master to share the official itinerary with you," Stelios intoned by way of explanation. Hermione's mouth opened and closed before a sudden wave of panic flooded through her.
"Itinerary? Wha - Stelios… there's going to be a ball? Like, with dancing? As in… I have to look nicer than usual and dance on top of it?"
The Elf's ears drew back and Hermione had the distinct impression that Stelios was regretting the rather large slip he had made. He adjusted his spectacles with a careful hand.
"Miss Hermione… forgive me, I did not mean to cause consternation," he replied slowly, "It was my error in assuming you would have knowledge of general Wizarding customs. A majority of social gatherings often include dancing, and at most formal events, conferences, meetings, et cetera, one can expect a ball. "
Hermione pinched her brow, feeling her cheeks flush in embarrassment as she discovered yet another facet of Wizarding culture that she hadn't yet learned. Though, with the interruption of the War back in Great Britain, she supposed that the scattering of events she had attended had not prepared her to understand that balls and dancing were apparently commonplace… and not an old-fashioned remnant of a bygone era.
A number of Shakespearean curses floated through her mind.
"Hermione? Is everything alright?"
The musical voice cut through her thoughts and Hermione had to shut her eyes against the spiral of embarrassment that arose at realizing her discomfort had roused her Master. Fortunately, Stelios came to her rescue before she could answer.
"Master Kallas, good evening. Miss Hermione and I were simply discussing the itinerary of the Quorum," Stelios said pleasantly, standing and giving the witch a small bow in greeting, "It seems the matter of the ball was rather unclear."
Tired, frustrated, and suddenly feeling more overwhelmed than she desired, Hermione glared through her fierce blush and decided to focus her eyes upon the stack of Muggle medical journals to her right rather than the soft ivory figure in her periphery. Her eyes smarted and she swallowed the lump of emotion in the back of her throat. Merlin's saggy ballsack, get it together! Don't you dare cry over the thought of a stupid ball!
She heard silken robes swish quietly.
"I see. If you would allow us a moment in private, Stelios?"
"Certainly," Hermione felt the Elf turn toward her, "I commend my duty to your ladyship."
"Good e'en, Master Stelios," Hermione replied, her voice tight, "Please you, I'll meet with you 'pon the morrow."
"By your leave, good Mistress."
A small pop! and Stelios was gone. Hermione took a shaky breath and adjusted, moving to the right as Master Kallas alighted upon the sofa next to her, bringing a reassuring breath of tea tree and eucalyptus. Despite her embarrassment, the witch's presence was steadying.
"All of your teachers tell me you have been conducting yourself rather diligently, my Apprentice," Master Kallas murmured, settling into a rather formal position.
"Thank you, m'lady," Hermione replied automatically, wrinkling her nose as she realized her mind was continuing with her language lessons despite Stelios' departure. She took a deep breath and straightened, finally turning to look at the witch beside her who was observing her with a warm gaze.
"Regretfully, I did not realize there would be a ball at the Quorum," Hermione explained softly, "The news was not as welcome as Stelios had hoped."
"The itinerary arrived this morning," the witch opened her hand expectantly and Hermione knew that the parchment in question was likely being Summoned, "Forgive me for not speaking with you sooner. I wished to give you the day for your studies."
"I fear it is you who must be willing to forgive me," Hermione replied sadly, absently realizing that her speech patterns were still a bit off, "I do not have much experience with dancing and I am now learning how important a skill it is to the Wizarding world at large. It seems I have made an error."
Master Kallas hummed softly and turned to pluck an envelope from the air as it sped towards them. Dark fingers seemed even darker in the soft radiance from dying candles and Hermione realized that the hour must have been growing later than she realized.
Still, she shifted closer out of curiosity as Master Kallas handed her an artfully embellished parchment - noting the official Transfiguration Society seal at the top of the page and a smaller gold stamp at the bottom indicating that the schedule had been approved by the ICW. She frowned, realizing that the Quorum's itinerary would likely be rather public if the ICW had seen fit to stamp the letter.
The thought made her rather uneasy.
Hermione skimmed the letter quickly, pleased to note that the majority of events indicated she would be able to remain at Master Kallas' side. That simple fact was slightly reassuring, though she found herself biting her lip as she eventually found the listing for the Open Society Ball on the second evening. Strange they would put the ball in the middle of the conference and not the end…
The thought jogged another memory.
"Will there be a meeting of just the Senior Mastery?" Hermione asked, thinking of Ana's words from the night previous. She felt a flicker through their bond and gathered that her master hadn't been expecting the question.
"Yes, however it is usually omitted from the official itinerary out of respect to the affected masters," the witch replied, her musical accent stronger than usual.
Hermione found herself absorbing the tired expression and slight darkness beneath the seafoam eyes with a softening heart. She wasn't the only one who had been working hard in the last week.
She knew that Master Kallas had been rising earlier than usual and visiting Konstantinos' gym on her own time as well as making a number of trips to Athens on account of her preliminary research for Guatemala.
"But the ICW will be notified, nonetheless?" Hermione asked after a moment, wondering how secure the Quorum would be. That would be like having the Ministry of Magic host an Order meeting.
"Seeing as the Quorum shall be held on Atlantis, there is little that will remain outside of their view," Master Kallas answered, "The security measures across the island are… intense."
Hermione frowned, again disturbed to think that the ICW could be running interference upon private Society events. You should do more research to see who is appointed to the ICW's Security Council…
She buried the thought as the parchment was plucked from her hands and returned to its envelope with graceful hands. A flourish banished it away and she bit her lip as Master Kallas angled herself toward Hermione and grasped her hands gently.
"Now… as for the ball, I have no doubt you will comport yourself with all the grace and elegance of which I know you are possessed," dark curls fell across her master's cheeks and the voice grew soft, "However, should it please you, either Ana or I can see to a few dancing lessons before next weekend."
"You," Hermione replied immediately, finding herself leaning forward as she inhaled the witch's heady reassuring scent. Full lips dipped into a gentle smile.
"Hermione… you needn't worry," Master Kallas said softly. "I have every faith in you."
Hermione sat back, shaking her head slightly as she remembered the Yule Ball at Hogwarts and at least two victory parties after the War where it has become more than evident that dancing was not a skill that came to her naturally.
Before she knew it she was standing, inhaling sharply as she stepped over her master's silken robes and the pile of books that Stelios had been sitting on a moment earlier. Despite the witch's kind words, Hermione knew that Master Kallas had never seen her dance.
"No… I do need to worry, Master. I'm not graceful… I have no rhythm. I will dishonor the both of us for certain! I'm like a... a drunk bowtruckle!"
A hand on her wrist brought her up short and Hermione turned back toward the soft glow of candlelight, a tear finally making its way down her cheek as she opened her mouth to protest.
A firm body was suddenly pressed up against her own and she froze as soft lips fluttered against her skin, her own body flooding with warmth as the shorter witch pressed onto her toes and carefully kissed away the trail of tears limning both her cheeks. The tender action was completely unexpected.
Gentle hands grasped her arms and Hermione felt herself lean forward, catching the light breath of perfume mingling with the witch's sweet scent. Seafoam eyes flashed up to hers and her lips parted of their own accord.
"Dia…"
Her voice emerged as a breathy plea and Hermione clamped her lips shut as Master Kallas pulled back, an amused smile playing around her lips as her hands traced a delicious line down Hermione's arms.
"Now that is something that I would like to see, my darling. Do you think bowtruckles can even become inebriated?"
Hermione barely saved herself from rolling her eyes as Master Kallas chuckled.
A small hand lifted one of her own to rest upon the witch's shoulder as the other was grasped firmly. She shivered as Master Kallas drew closer, sliding a hand across her low back. It seemed that a dancing lesson was inevitable whether she wanted one or not.
"Sh-shouldn't I be the one leading?" Hermione asked softly, "I mean… I'm taller, aren't I?"
An elegant eyebrow lifted in amusement and Master Kallas simply held her for a moment as she gazed upward into Hermione's eyes.
"Traditionally, Society rules dictate that the senior witch or wizard is to lead a dance, regardless of gender. As such, you can expect to be led for the majority of invitations you may receive at the Quorum. If you are approached by a fellow active Apprentice and you do not know their classification, then gender usually provides the standard," dark lashes fluttered for a moment before the seafoam gaze steadied itself, "Unless you should be approached by a fellow female Apprentice of equal or lesser classification in which case, whomever is extending the invitation will likely lead."
Hermione's brows knitted together as she nodded, eyes flicking down as Master Kallas wet her lips. The witch tilted her head.
"Did you find it curious that the ball is to be held in the middle of the convocation?"
Master Kallas was observing her quietly and Hermione nodded again, thoughts drawn back to her earlier question. It seemed strange to place what was essentially a party in the middle of a rather serious weekend.
"The ball is… an invitation itself, Hermione. It is the opportunity in which the Society gives itself over to the passionate nature of its members. Do you catch my meaning?"
"Do you mean… everyone is there to… to find someone?" Hermione asked, blushing at the intimation and cursing inwardly as her reaction reflected her own naïveté.
Fortunately, Master Kallas continued without acknowledging her discomfort.
"Not everyone, but many," she agreed. "Classifications shall be set to one side as will allegiances to one's own Master or Apprentice. For the majority of the Quorum we shall be considered one 'unit,' so to speak… there are a number of visual cues that shall indicate our active status, however at the ball, we shall attend as individuals. Each witch and wizard is allowed and sometimes expected to avail themselves to the possibilities, as it were. It is placed in the middle to allow for a bit of pleasure to infuse the convocation… and to potentially alter the course of the final day, depending on the metaphorical players."
Hermione tilted her head as she absorbed that bit of information, mind immediately swimming with new questions. The ball was strategically important, that much was clear. Was she somehow expected to go along with those aforementioned possibilities? What did that even mean, anyway? And… what about Master Kallas? Are both of us expected to… become players?
"What do you mean, people are expected to avail themselves?" Hermione asked carefully, electing to focus on the subtle pattern of the other witch's robes as she voiced the more general question on her mind.
Master Kallas' sure gaze faltered for a moment and fell to somewhere beyond her shoulder. Hermione stiffened and then relaxed as the gentle fingers holding small of her back suddenly moved in absent circles; She wasn't entirely sure that the witch was even aware of her subtle ministrations.
"Societies occasionally function in similar manner as the convoluted world of politics. Not all arrangements and alliances are garnered through words and writing. Sometimes actions and behavior speak louder."
The hint of innuendo seemed clear.
"You mean if I want to get ahead in Society, I need to sleep with the right people?" Hermione asked sharply.
Seafoam eyes snapped back to hers immediately and Master Kallas shook her head firmly.
"No. You certainly do not and nor should you consider matters to be so black and white, my darling."
Master Kallas sighed and dropped her gaze again.
"While there are witches and wizards who go about their business in such a manner, it is not my way, nor would I argue, is it the way of the Society's majority," Hermione willed herself to listen carefully, brushing a thin curl away from the shoulder she was holding and receiving a gentle smile in return, "The ball, however, is an opportunity to subtly garner the attention of colleagues in a more informal manner… which can sometimes involve intimacy of a sort, though it doesn't necessarily lead to sex every time."
Hermione frowned, still not understanding the difference.
"Take you and I at this very moment, darling," Master Kallas murmured, lifting her chin to indicate their close proximity, "We are having a perfectly normal conversation though we are inhabiting a rather sensual space, are we not?"
"Yes…"
"Perhaps this is all we shall do. Perhaps we shall take a walk outside where you shall tell me of your thesis and how it applies to my own research. Perhaps you wish to sit at the periphery of the room and ask whether or not I shall be accepting an additional apprentice in the next year or so. Or perhaps we shall dance, engage in small talk, amuse each other for a dance or two, and resolve to stay in contact."
"So it's a networking opportunity…"
"First and foremost, yes," Master Kallas said, her eyes fluttering as a brief blossom frustration passed through their bond, "However it is imbued with as much or as little sensuality as we wish. And within that… there is still the voice of Society overall. Perhaps we are two Masters dancing together because we wish our Apprentices to become acquainted with one another as they watch us from afar. Perhaps I, as your Master, dance with someone whom I believe would be beneficial for you to know… and subsequently ask them to find you at a later point in the evening."
Hermione's eyes narrowed.
"Or perhaps I dance with the Apprentice of your rival as a show of my good faith and manners… while also delivering a glancing blow to your rival's reputation?"
Seafoam eyes glowed in amusement, appearing a shade of dark turquoise in the low light.
"Perhaps, indeed," Master Kallas purred softly, "And perhaps that action results in your formal acknowledgement the following day, thus bringing both of us a bit more respect from Society."
Hermione sighed, eyes sliding into the distance for a moment as she thought. So the ball would likely prove her greatest opportunity do a bit of investigation and to make important advancements… Hmmm.
She had thought the meeting of fellow Apprentices would be most illuminating, but now it seemed that she had been wrong. Everyone would be in attendance at the ball… which offered a wider audience upon which to practice her new skills of investigation and subterfuge. It seems you have a bit of Slytherin in you after all…
"How open is the ball itself?" Hermione asked carefully, mind suddenly swimming with new possibilities.
Stelios and Ana had indicated that glamours and masks would be worn for a good amount of the Quorum's proceedings given the nature of its "open call." Several hundred people would be in attendance and masks were a nod to the security risk that everyone would be taking by attending. However "openness" was also another term to refer to the masks themselves… and even a quick glance over the itinerary had indicated that not all of the proceedings would need to be so clandestine.
Master Kallas inclined her head thoughtfully.
"That preference remains with the individual. Considering we shall be on Atlantis and security is excellent, I anticipate most will elect to go openly un-masked or with minor decorative glamours in place. Everyone will be less recognizable in their formal wear which shall help matters further, and it is understood that openness with one's appearance also correlates to… a certain willingness to engage with others."
Again with the innuendo… Hermione still didn't quite understand what to expect. Perhaps Ana can explain further…
"What will you do?" she asked curiously.
The question brought her master up short and Hermione was surprised to see a dark blush grace the witch's cheeks.
"I had not yet considered the matter," Master Kallas murmured quietly, their bond rolling with a peculiar feeling that Hermione couldn't quite identify.
Her eyes raked across the porcelain features, suddenly realizing that in little over a week she could be watching the same features glow from someone else's attentions. Something flip-flopped in her stomach and Hermione found herself abruptly focusing on a shelf of library, counting books as she deliberately distracted herself in the way that Ana had taught her the night previous.
"And you, darling?"
The quiet question was surprising in its intimation and Hermione's own cheeks flushed as the tables were turned. She counted another shelf before thinking of an answer.
"What would you have me do?" she asked softly, turning to the witch with what she hoped was a shy gaze. Dark lashes fluttered and the hand at her back grew still.
"Whatever pleases you, my Apprentice."
Hermione inclined her head gracefully, content to remain silent on the matter for the moment. She filed her master's response away for later. Likely she would wait and proceed with whatever degree of openness proved most advantageous. Inwardly, she opened Master Kallas would approve.
"Well… all of this was to say that dancing is but one aspect of the ball, my darling," Master Kallas said briskly, giving her a fond smile. A devilish thought occurred.
Hermione slid her hand from her master's shoulder to stroke the back of the long neck suggestively, "Which is to say that if all else fails I have full license to depend upon my feminine wiles?"
She was briefly surprised at how quickly the witch responded, arching into the touch as her lips parted; Hermione smirked, feeling a rush of power even as Master Kallas' blinked and straightened suddenly, another blush staining high cheekbones.
"You do."
The reply was more curt than she expected and Hermione frowned in concern. Turquoise eyes flashed before lowering and something twisted in their bond again, flaring briefly before quickly being smoothed over. Her mind flooded with a sudden realization. How did you miss that?
"But… you will be jealous if I do?" Hermione asked incredulously, noting the small crease of frustration between dark brows before Master Kallas returned her gaze with a faint smile.
"No, my darling. I shall respect your actions just as you shall respect mine," she replied serenely, squeezing the hand that she still held gently. The strange warmth that had stirred in her chest was abruptly quashed and Hermione shoved it to one side, realizing that it was not something she could consider at the moment.
"Of course," she replied smoothly, returning the smile with a peaceful one of her own.
Her eyes passed over the witch's face again, attempting to discern whether or not their shared words were true, but Hermione knew that Master Kallas was likely partially Occluding. Their bond was as placid as the Lake on a calm summer's day and she buried the swirling feelings that threatened to disrupt it.
Something had just been agreed between the two of them and Hermione wasn't sure that she liked it… or even completely understood it.
She would have to unravel her thoughts in private.
"Now, my darling. As wonderful as it is to hold you in my arms, I believe I promised you a lesson?" Master Kallas asked coquettishly, lifting an expectant eyebrow.
"Nothing was promised," Hermione retorted, batting her lashes dramatically, "However a lesson would be greatly appreciated nonetheless."
A pleased hum greeted her ears and Hermione smiled, refusing to falter even as another, deeper part of her mind questioned the suddenly flirtatious tone that they were taking with each other. Beneath her smile, confusion roiled.
What is happening between us?
There were a number of matters that bore further scrutiny but Hermione steadfastly refused to give in to her perplexity as Master Kallas patiently explained the different dances she could expect to experience at the ball. Hermione shifted into dutiful apprentice mode and pressed her fatigue and questions to the corners of her mind as she listened.
The candles flickered as they began to move in tandem and soon Hermione was reassured that while dancing would perhaps not become her thing in a matter of days, she wasn't quite as terrible as she remembered.
And beneath her serene smile and self-conscious chuckling, Hermione realized that perhaps she was learning faster than even she realized.
Quickly and carefully, the thought was buried.