9: Airborne

Reg had not been right after all. At least not completely. His assumption that Viola's mother was not going to let her go out in the same robe twice had proven correct, but instead of modelling the robe into looking different, Mrs. Søgaard lent her youngest daughter one of her own garments. Unsure if Reg actually lived there, Viola sent him a short missive to the castle. Since her mother had the new employment, she was able to pay her daughter a small sum of pocket money, so that she could afford a post owl.

Dear Reg, the letter read,

Thank you once more for the lovely evening! I like talking to you. Your view on the world is so different from the one I grew up with. It's as if you were thinking more than other people. Although I have been familiar with everything we've discussed, I had the feeling of walking blindly through the world while you were describing to me what surrounded me. I wish I had the gift of sight as well.

Yet I'm writing this note to tell you that you've been mistaken. Well, not completely – you were right that my mother will not let me wear the green robe to the ball, but she won't die it. I'll be wearing one of hers. I also tried convincing her that now that I've already been seen in society, there's no need for me to go to the event at all, but she wouldn't listen. It seems you were right: she uses every opportunity to show me off, to raise my worth on the brides market. I don't like this. Am I selfish if I say I don't want to marry the highest bidder?

Forgive me, I digress. Do you accept defeat? May I see the dragons? I have only a few weeks left before the new school term starts…

Yours, Viola.

Viola did not like the letter. It did not sound right in her mind when she read it. Her style lacked finesse; her tone was that of an overexcited child, but try as she might she failed at writing a better one.

It took two days for Reg's answer to arrive.

Dear Miss Søgaard,

I hope the ball was enjoyable despite your mother's agenda?

Concerning our little attempt at predicting your mother's course of action, I would say that the score is even. We have both neither guessed completely right nor completely wrong. Shall we agree to both have won?

This weekend I'm busy, but perhaps next weekend would suit you? Provided that your mother acquiesces. Should she be reluctant to let you go alone, it would be possible for her to accompany you as well. We have a small guest house for visitors. I fear we will lack a piano, but at least I will have the opportunity to settle my depth. I am sure we will have ample time to exchange our world views on this occasion.

Please let me know your answer.

R.

Oh, Viola did. She answered as soon as she had talked to her mother. Intent on 'exchanging worldviews' without a third party involved, she recited Reg's invitation to her mother conveniently not mentioning that it had been issued to her as well. Unfortunately, however, the woman was as suspicious as Reg had foreseen, so that she had to relent and even had a hard time convincing her mother all the same.

It turned out that Viola's mother did not recognise the fascination of seeing a class five dangerous magical creature (only dementors were considered more dangerous) up close. Only when Viola argued that she had never been abroad in all her life (except for her time at school) and that for once she had the chance to return to Beauxbatons with something to tell her schoolmates, did the woman acquiesce.

.~*~.

Reg used the string that made their doorbell chime at half past nine o'clock on Saturday morning sharp, setting Viola's mother at unease, for they had not yet cleared the breakfast table despite having suggested that time themselves. Viola was ushered out to welcome their guest (and soon to be host) while her mother sent the dishes soaring through the air towards the sink, where the wash cloth, brush, and tap started cleaning it, and further levitation charms placed jam, butter and so forth back where they belonged.

Viola wrenched the door open and halted then abruptly to gaze at their escort. She beamed at him and breathed a soft 'Hej!'

They stood there, looking at each other for a long moment, until an amused smirk slowly crept over Reg's features. 'May I come in?' he asked, motioning forward.

Her face fell. 'Oh yes, of course,' she hurried to answer while stepping even further back, 'Undskyld, I'm just so excited! Mor's in the kitchen. I'm sure she'll come any moment.' Just when Viola had said that and Reg had stepped over the threshold, her mother indeed entered the small entrance hall and greeted their guest as well. They exchanged a few polite words.

'Is that your luggage?' Reg asked eventually, pointing at two moderately sized leather bags. Upon the nod of Mrs. Søgaard, he seized them. The ladies quickly grabbed their travelling cloaks, although due to the strong August sun they chose to not wear them. 'If you would each take hold of one of my arms – the portkey around my neck only waits for me to say the right word.' An indefinable feeling in her stomach, Viola took one of Reg's arms. Only reluctantly, or so it seemed to her daughter, Mrs. Søgaard took the other.

They materialised in the middle of a trodden out path. The first that caught Viola's eyes were a number of simple wooden houses. Yet beyond them, a beautiful scenery played out before her: the warm summer sun's golden light swept over the mountainside that rose with mighty, sharp peaks toward the sky. Deeply green woods enveloped the base of the giant formations. As someone who had spent most of her life in a country whose highest elation measured little more than 170 metres, Viola was momentarily stunned by the raw power of nature that overtowered her. Granted, Beauxbatons was located near the Montagne Moyenne, but the girl had only ever seen those mountains from afar (a portkey was used to take her and her fellow Danish pupils directly to the school at the beginning of the school year, so that she had never gone farther than Mytèrle). Now, she was surrounded by even higher peaks. Where those tiny moving creatures that she could barely make out in the distance but seemed to be climbing the rocks chamois?

Her mother's call wrenched her away from her amazed observations. She turned her attention away from the mountains to notice that she was still clinging to Reg's arm, whereas her mother had already stepped away from him and regained possession of her bag. With a slight blush, Viola let go of their host as well and looked up at him expectantly.

He smiled at her warmly and motioned for them to follow him as he started to walk. 'At the moment, I fear, our accommodations are very simple, but I hope you find them acceptable for the short duration of your stay.' Reg opened the door to one of the huts. It seemed slightly magically enlarged inside, and nothing told of its wooden walls. In fact, it was a lovely little house comprising everything one needed for living. In the entrance area, they put their street shoes in the shoe rack and hung their travelling cloaks on the hallstand. Through a door, they reached a large room that was painted white and contained both a small hearth and a kitchen cupboard as well as a sitting area. Several pot plants, a painting of a porlock looking distrustfully up from its early lunch of grass, and forest green curtains framing the windows gave the place a rather lived-in feeling. Viola wondered how it was kept in this state without regular occupants, but the answer appeared immediately.

A house-elf popped into the room bearing a tray of tea and biscuits that it put down on the table of the sitting area before turning around and noticing that it was not alone. 'Oh,' it said startled, 'forgive me, Master, I did not-'

Reg shook his head minutely, and the elf fell silent. 'You have prepared the ladies' bedrooms?' he enquired.

The elf nodded. In contrast to the old elf that had served Viola's family and had disappeared with her father, this one did not seem to fear its master's wrath for not having fulfilled its duties properly. It merely listened to Reg attentively, eager for further orders.

Reg turned to Mrs. Søgaard and her daughter. 'This is Zig. She is one of three house elves that maintain the settlement. Should you need anything, call upon her. Unfortunately, I have to leave you now, because my shift is not over yet. Zig will show you the rest of the house. Make yourselves comfortable and take a walk, if you like. I plan to have lunch at about one o'clock, and I would love to welcome you at my table.'

Viola's mother inclined her head in acceptance of the invitation. The girl itself could not help but wonder. No one in her family spoke like that – 'I would love to have you at my table'… It sounded so artificial, so stiff, like something Agnetha's parents in law would say when inviting another highly ranked pureblood family. She really wondered where he had these refined manners from. Åge, his father, as Viola now knew, had seemed polite, but not in such a fashion. Now that she thought about it, Viola's face was drawn into a frown. Had Reg not told her that he had met someone who had introduced him to Åge? Somehow, that piece of information had slipped her notice in the past weeks. How could he be he son of a man who he claimed to have gotten to know only in adulthood? She mentally wrote that question down for later as she saw Reg leave them.

Zig showed them the bathroom on the ground floor (when her mother enquired about the source of water in the face of a complete lack of taps, the elf asked perturbed if their wands did not spit water) and directed the two visitors each to one of the three bedrooms on the upper floor. Mrs. Søgaard announced that she was going to remain in her room until lunch.

The room that was Viola's for the next two days (she already wished she could stay for at least two weeks) was more spacious than the one she had at home. Its furnishing was simple (nothing in comparison to the moated castle), but the big window gave her an overwhelming view of the mountainside behind the hut. Almost magically drawn to taking a stroll in this countryside, Viola did not waste any time with unpacking.

After half an hour's walk in the mild mountain air, Viola had surrounded the few houses and spotted a wooden hut that bore the sign 'nursery'. Attracted by curiosity, she walked around it and peered through one of the windows. Inside, a man stood with his back to her in front of a large workbench on which a row of nests harboured huge eggs. After a few minutes, a second figure came into view and looked up at her. A quill in his hand, Reg motioned for her to come in. Viola smiled and hurried back to the door.

Reigning in her enthusiasm, she opened the door silently, so as to not disturb the men at their work. 'Come in,' the invitation was repeated verbally. The second man turned to the door and smiled at her in apparent surprise. He seemed a bit younger than Reg. Hardly glancing up from the parchment on which he took notes, Reg introduced him as 'Charlie'.

Viola's eyes explored the hut before settling on the hand that was held out to her. She shook it with a smile, surprised at the firmness of the grasp, and resumed her inspection of her surroundings.

'This is where we take care of the eggs that are abandoned by their "mothers". Unfortunately, that happens very frequently. Despite our efforts to provide them with a natural habitat and not disturb them, they sense that they're caged, that their freedom has boundaries. The Norwegian Ridgebacks are especially sensitive,' Reg explained in the face of her curiosity.

'And what are you doing there?' the girl asked when she stepped up to him and looked over his shoulder (well, past it) at the parchment.

'We observe the eggs' development carefully, writing down hourly what temperature they have – due to the thick magical shell, not every egg properly absorbs the warmth provided by our warming charms – and controlling daily their weight and the state of their shell.' He waved his wand over an egg with violet sprinkles, and a red number floated through the air above it, apparently indicating the temperature inside it. Looked like a burning fever to Viola, but then again – these were dragon eggs.

She spent the remaining hour of Reg's shift in the nursery. After he had explained the basics of his occupation to her, the older man fell silent, emerged in his task. His co-worker, however, gladly told her about each egg – its race, its parents, the adventurous way in which they had removed it from the deserted nest of its very territorial mother. The stories were exciting and Charlie had a very humorous way of telling them, so that the time flew by.

About noon, two other dragon keepers took over from them, and Viola accompanied Reg to his office.

Seated in a comfortable armchair, she watched Reg leisurely preparing tea, cutting up bread, slicing fruits and vegetables, making butter and cheese float over to the table, and directing everything to assemble to tasty sandwiches with a few flourishes of his wand.

'You do know your household spells,' she commented with a grin and blew over the steaming cup of coffee that had drifted over to her.

'Being a single wizard has its challenges,' admitted her host.

'And why are you…' Viola halted mid-sentence, not sure if her question was not too nosy.

Reg gave her one of his characteristic amused knowing smiles. He leaned back and sighed quietly. 'There are many reasons. My life has not been the orderly type for a long time. Even my present lifestyle – working in shifts, living far away from any larger wizard dwellings – is something few witches find appealing. Additionally, I have to admit that I… have not met many women that I could picture spending a lifetime with.' He shrugged and sipped his coffee.

Hesitating for a moment, but taking heart at the thought that he had never rebuked her so far, Viola dug deeper. 'What kind of woman are you looking for?'

Reg chuckled in a dark, warm tone, his eyes capturing hers. Placing an arm leisurely on the backrest of his armchair, he goaded her. 'Take a guess. I think you should know me a little by now.'

Viola ogled at him, totally caught off guard. That man had a talent for saying things she did not expect.

'F-fine,' Viola stammered eventually and took a deep breath to collect her thoughts. 'Well… You seem the unconventional type to me. Even though you know much about society, you rarely move in it, from what I've been able to gather. During the ball last week, people were either expressing their surprise of having seen me with you in the concert or even asked who you were because they'd never seen you before, despite your parentage. You like the fine arts, music that is, but you work in a rather rough business.' She frowned, realisation tugging at her mind. 'You combine seemingly contradictory traits in you, as if you didn't want to tie yourself down to one thing. I guess you want a woman that can handle that; someone who doesn't cling to you and also doesn't demand of you to choose a specific lifestyle and stick to it for the rest of your life. Since most women like security and predictability – most of all those born into pureblood society – someone like that would be hard to find.'

Reg swayed his head appreciatively. 'Perhaps there is some truth in that.'

When after a few moments Viola realised that he was not going to comment further, she asked another question, the one she had reserved for such an occasion. 'Speaking of your parentage,' she started, 'there is something I was wondering about. In December, you said that you'd been approached by someone who suggested working for Åge and that's how the two of you met.' Reg nodded. 'But the other day it sounded as if Åge were your father…?'

Reg nodded again, but with a smile on his lips. 'He has adopted me.'

'Oh,' Viola exclaimed in understanding. 'Did he apprentice you?' The apprenticeship, less common amongst wizards than it was in some muggle countries, was a special bond between an older and a younger wizard. Such a relationship sometimes grew so close that a honorary adoption was performed that was both an outer sign for the tightness of the bond as well as a means to ensure that the apprentice would follow in his master's footsteps. It was a form of securing a successor often chosen by childless wizards. In contrast to child adoption, the adoption of an apprentice did not 'uproot' him. He remained the child and heir of his natural parents and gained a third 'parent'.

'Yes, in a manner of speaking,' Reg answered. 'Not immediately, but we came to realise we had a mutual interest for certain challenging aspects of magic that we started exploring together. He has taught me much, and we have become close friends – and business partners,' explained her host. He pulled out his pocket watch, something Viola fondly started to associate with him. 'I think we should take this to your house. We have a lunch engagement with your mother, after all.'

.~*~.

Lunch was another affair of polite chatting. Somehow, in the presence of her mother, Viola felt unable to come up with a decent topic to discuss with Reg. When they were alone, the man was almost like a friend, a confidant to her, but in the company her mother, she was drawn between this feeling of confidentiality and the feeling of being the child in the presence of two adults.

The afternoon was the highlight of their visit. Reg offered to take Viola with him on a broom ride into the dragon area. Naturally, her mother was appalled. It took about a quarter of an hour of combined pleading and even a little whining (from Viola) and reassurances that nothing could happen because the brooms used by the dragon keepers were faster and nimbler than dragons (from Reg) to change her attitude from a strict 'Nej!' to a very grudging 'I'll hold you responsible if anything happens to my daughter!'

It had been worth it. Not only because of the breathtaking view of the countryside that passed beneath them, not only because of the cool breeze that flowed through Viola's hair and garments and brushed against her skin, and not only because of the occasional sight of a dragon in the distance. No, because of the warm, strong, lean body against which she rested. If the fluttering streaks of her hair that were pulled free by the wind annoyed him, Reg did not mention it. He generally did not say very much, only drew her attention to something with a point of his hand every once in a while (he was a superb flyer, even single-handed), but the girl did not mind. Snuggling up to him (purely for safety, of course!), and feeling the soft pressure of that hand on her belly holding her tight when it was not pointing anything out sufficed. Viola could not remember ever being so close to a man before. She was glad to be sitting with her face turned away from him, so that he did not see her initial blush at his proximity and the intimacy of his touch. Even so, she was not sure that he did not draw his own conclusions out of the tenseness in her body that only slowly melted away to the comfort with which the female in his arms would always associate that afternoon when she thought back to it.

Notes concerning chapter 9:

Undskyld = (I'm) sorry, pardon (me)

My personal rolemodels for Viola: Anna Popplewell and Jana Pallaske.

Any comment is worth ten points.