11: Growing up

Back at school, Viola immediately employed a school owl to deliver a letter to Reg, detailing how the conversation with her mother had proceeded and what results it had entailed. She hesitated for a moment before sending the owl off. Would Reg even be interested in her petty problems? He had been so understanding… -and still, Viola felt slightly embarrassed for her immature flight from her problems. What did he see in her? In those moments in the bathroom they had seemed so close, intimate… But after that, he had been… -well, a perfect gentleman.

.~*~.

In the following half of a year, owl missives sent forth and back between Viola and Reg became a monthly affair. As it was unusual for Viola to receive any mail at all, some of the girls in her class started whispering behind her back about a secret lover. Her shunning of a very good marriage proposal had attracted attention already.

Viola did not care. She treasured the exchange. They wrote mostly about trivial matters: Reg's workdays, Viola's thoughts about her future career. Viola drank in his well reasoned worldview, basked in his short descriptions of trips to places all over Europe to sell the dragon products and of the remarkable characters he met on the way. It was her window to the world.

And that she needed. What she did not tell Reg about were the repercussions the events on New Year's Eve had for her. Unversed as she was in proper behaviour amongst the higher society, Viola had blindly followed her sister's lead, and now she found herself in a very inconvenient situation. Due to her pureblood status, she had mostly kept to that clique at school. There were major differences between countries' dispositions concerning the acceptance of muggleborns in the wizarding society, and since Beauxbatons welcomed students from all of Central and Western Europe (the British Isles excluded), there was a great drift between those students that set great store by the traditions and thus shunned muggle influence and those that readily welcomed change and hailed the modern lifestyle. They wore strange garments beneath their school robes (some muggleborn girls even wore trousers that showed every curve of their bodies!), had different interests and were generally much more outspoken, even to the point of disrespect from a pureblood's point of view. Viola had never felt very comfortable around them.

However, now, she felt just as uncomfortable in the company of the people she had belonged to before. It had started immediately after her return to school in January. The whispering, the stares, and the giggling. The snorting. The remarks. People spoke about the nutty, muggle-like dress she had worn, and they spoke about her arrogance. How could she, considering her family's precarious social and financial standing, refuse such a completely respectable proposal? It was regarded as an outrage, and she in turn as a misfit.

Viola spent most of her time alone those days, playing her violin.

Reg had the first night shift together with Charlie and four others out in the field. In contrast to that before, during which the six patrollers had to call for aid from the eight that tended the handicapped dragons because of a fight over a female fire-breather between two males, their shift was uneventful.

They landed safely on the muddy path that wound between the wooden huts. 'I could use some practice to finish off the day. What about you?' one of the men proposed to Reg.

'Sounds good. What about you, Charlie. Care for a tri-ell?'

The redhead declined. 'I'll go and hit the pillows.' In fact, he had found someone to share his pillows with.

A bird settled suddenly on Reg's shoulder. 'Oh, by the way,' the man said offhandedly while he untied a letter from its leg and skimmed it. 'Have you had any news from home lately?'

One of the other men looked over Reg's shoulders to catch a glimpse of the parchment. It was a well known secret that their boss had gotten himself a little female pen friend, and it was a joking matter amongst the dragon keepers.

'Just yesterday, actually,' Charlie replied to Reg's question. They walked toward the shelter in front of Reg's office where they kept the brooms. 'It seems as if my siblings magically attract trouble. And it's always connected to You-Know-Who. Last year's events sent my brother to the hospital wing; this time, my sister barely escaped death,' he uttered softly.

Reg lifted his eyes from the letter. 'Oh? What's happened?'

'Well, it's not really a story to tell in between…'

'Then join us for a nightcap,' Reg insisted and put the parchment into an inner pocket of his robe.

Charlie issued a weary sigh and capitulated. 'Fine.'

Five minutes later, the three of them were all seated in Reg's rather comfortable armchairs and nuzzling a drop of good old Ogden's in big round glasses, and Charlie told them about the cursed diary that had hoodwinked his sister and Harry Potter and had apparently somehow held a piece of a memory or… -he did not know what. 'Sounds all very bizarre, I know,' he said in answer to the third man's sceptical look, 'but that's how my mother described it, and she had it from Dumbledore, after all.'

Reg sat with his arms crossed and peered darkly into the blackness outside.

'Actually,' Charlie spoke after some moments of silence, 'there is something I wanted to discuss with you anyway. My mother also wrote that dad has won money in a prize drawing and they want me to come along on a trip to Egypt to visit Bill.' Over the course of their working together, Charlie had, of course, told his colleagues about his older brother who worked as a curse-breaker for Gringotts. 'Please don't give me any shifts in the last week of July and the first three weeks in August.'

Viola's mind brimmed with her thoughts. What would she need for her summer at the moated castle? Light robes, underwear, toothbrush, hairbrush… would she need her own cauldron, stirring rods and ingredients? Mince , she had not thought to ask! After all, she was not going on holidays but having a potions placement. She had come home from school only yesterday, and in two hours, Reg would fetch her. A month-long placement with Reg's father! Despite her mother's misgivings concerning the man's personal reputation, even she had eventually conceded that he was renowned to be a superb master of his profession whose name would certainly look good on her daughter's Curriculum Vitae.

A dressrobe. She should pack one. After all, tomorrow was midsummer's night, and according to Reg, that event was an important date on the Broderskab's calendar. She hoped she would be allowed to attend. Last time, Reg had seemed intent to keep her away from the other dragon keepers. Yet she had only been fifteen then. Now she was almost seventeen. Admittedly, to Reg and the other men she must still seem half a child. Sometimes she caught glimpses of that in his letters. Merlin, she wished she knew better how to read between his lines!

At noon, her suitcase stood in the hall, next to Reg. He smiled benignly at her enquiry. 'I don't think that will be necessary. Åge has enough cauldrons.' He winked.

The encounter with Reg was quick. He Apparated her to the entrance of the castle, where he called a house elf to give her further guidance. 'I need to head off. My shift starts this very moment.' Before Viola could say anything, he was gone.

.~*~.

Due to the preparations for the celebration, Viola's first day after sleeping in the castle was free of potions and potions masters. She had seen Åge at dinner the previous evening, together with his wife Babette ('Betty') and their four years old daughter Ella. It had been a very nice, cheerful evening. They were very decent, open-hearted people. The next morning, however, she had to breakfast alone, because everyone else was busy. She spent the day exploring the castle. In the afternoon, she happened upon Betty and joined her for tea.

The two females talked about this and that, about when Betty had married Åge (six years ago) and if they wanted more children (Betty would like a son, but Åge was disinclined). 'He says he's too old, that he's never wanted a big family and now it was too late anyway.'

'Well, he has a son already,' Viola pointed out. 'Reg and Åge seem close.'

Betty screwed up her face.

Viola hesitated. 'Is something wrong?'

The other woman inhaled sharply. Then she seemed to come to her senses. 'No, no. It's just that I don't see how a stranger could take the place of an own son. Of seeing how your own flesh and blood grows up, you see?' she argued sweetly. Something about her struck Viola as off, though. As if she had more against Reg than she was already letting on to.

Deciding to pretend that she had noticed nothing, Viola continued their talk. 'When are the celebrations going to start?'

'At about eight.'

.~*~.

This year, the celebrations did not take place in the inner courtyard but on the west bank between the castle and the ditch. This way, a multitude of fires could be lit and a multitude of joints could be roasted, and the children could take a bath in between. The feast was even merrier than in previous years; a feast that emphasised the Broderskab's self-conception as a big family.

Viola walked through the crowd, watching a group of children playing tag with a smile on her lips. A goblet was pushed into her hand. 'Hello, fair maiden,' one dragon keeper in a group of men called out to her.

She smiled at him shyly and made to go on.

He held her back. 'What are you doing here? I've never seen you before.' His companions followed their exchange attentively.

'I…' A hand settled on her shoulder, and Viola jerked around, only to find herself face to face with Åge.

'There you are,' he said benignly, eyeing her company before his gaze settled on her. 'I was wondering if you cared to play for us. A bit of merry music to dance to?'

Unprepared? Viola did not feel comfortable at the thought. Yet, at the look of Åge's expectant face, she relented. 'I'll fetch my violin,' she replied timidly and hurried back toward the castle.

Close to one of the bigger fires, there soon assembled a group of dancers and swung their limbs to Viola's cheery folk music. The first minutes, she could feel the heat rising to her face. She was not used to being at the centre of attention. All on her own. But soon she eased into the role.

Someone grabbed a wooden bucket and turned it around to use its bottom as drum and played along with her. Every once in a while, one of the bystanders recognised a song and sang along with shaky lyrics and in the lull of a drunken voice. She felt part of the Broderskab.

By the time that Viola's arm was too cramped to continue, she was flushed and in dire need of a refreshing drink and a bit of rest. She carefully wiped the violin and her bow clean with a fine piece of cloth and subsequently ventured to return the instrument to her room in the castle.

As she walked through the empty corridors of the old building, a ray of light falling through the crack of the library door caught her eye. She approached it curiously and peered inside. The source of the light was the fireplace, in front of which sat someone holding a short, wide glass with a thick bottom that contained an amber liquid. The top of the person's head that peeked over the backrest of the armchair was covered in brown, wavy hair that looked very much like Reg's.

Quietly, she pushed the door open and walked far enough into the room to discern the other person's identity. Her guess had been right. Reg slowly turned to her. 'Miss Søgaard,' he acknowledged her presence in a calm tone.

'Why aren't you outside with the others?' Viola asked him.

Reg shrugged listlessly, the light of the flames dancing over his features. 'Just taking a break. From a certain point in time onwards, people get a little too drunk to be suffered in a state of soberness.'

Viola smiled amusedly and pointed to his drink. 'And so you aim for a state of equal drunkenness before you join them again?'

A soundless smirk crossed Reg's face. 'I fear I'm not made for getting drunk. I like alcohol too little and control over my actions too much to enter that state.' His eyes moved over her. 'You look exhausted. Did you play until now?'

She nodded.

He motioned to a second armchair next to his. 'Join me. Juice?'

'Yes, please. I'm thirsty,' Viola replied and dropped gracelessly into the seat. A careless Accio (for the glass) and a more careful hovering charm (letting the juice carafe float into Reg's hand) later, she eagerly took the drink and gulped it down with as much dignity as her dry throat would allow. She held the glass out for a refill, smiling at Reg nonchalantly.

'So,' the man commenced a proper conversation, 'how have you fared this school year? It was your second last, was it not? The one with the first important exams?'

'Yes,' Viola confirmed. 'The exams were quite alright. I think my results will be acceptable.' The girl fell silent.

Reg waited. When she made no move to add anything, he dug deeper. 'And otherwise? Most people your age have more in mind than exam results…,' he insinuated.

Viola shrugged uneasily. 'Why? What did you do when you were sixteen?' she evaded the question.

Reg pursed his lips and cocked his head. 'Things I came to regret not long after.' He drew up a brow and looked at her appraisingly. 'D'you have a confession to make? To divulge any dark secrets?' Of course, his voice held a hint of mockery, yet not enough to make the question completely rhetorical.

'None. You know everything already,' assured Viola therefore.

Yet Reg's perception was sharper than she would have liked and his eyes bore into her inquisitively. 'What dark secrets of yours do I know already?' he asked.

She sighed and wrung her hands. There was no way around it. 'The New Year's Ball and all that.'

Reg's voice dropped. 'And all that?'

Viola had always enjoyed the time spent with him, but tonight Reg was irritating her, making her feel uncomfortable. She did not want to discuss her petty little girl problems with him. It made her painfully aware of her young age in contrast to his. 'You know, my inappropriate attire, all of that. People had quite something to say to that back at school,' she answered quickly, knowing evasion wouldn't be possible.

Reg eyed her with an expression in his eyes that said he knew there was more to the story, but he refrained from prying any further. 'Do you have closer friends at school, a clique you spend your time with?' he asked instead, the question still precariously close, too close to the original topic for Viola, although she was not sure if he was aware of it. Perhaps he thought he was steering their talk into safer waters? Perhaps.

Again, Viola knew no better answer than an indecisive shrug. She did not meet his eyes. 'I've never been really close to anyone, no. Up until January I got along fine with everybody, but I never really fit into a close circle of friends. I guess I was too prude for the muggleborns and not well informed enough about the high society gossip for the purebloods,' she assessed her position, her fingers sliding along the smooth surface of her glass. 'But lately I've befriended a girl that's a year below me,' she added, trying to not seem too pathetic. 'She comes from Hungary and doesn't really fit in, either.' Easy-going Reg must think her stupid not to be able to make friends.

Yet, he sat here, in a semi-lit room, while outside there was a party which he hosted…

The man beside her gazed into the flames while he slowly sipped his drink. 'Don't isolate yourself too much,' he advised her pensively. 'Even if you don't see any similarities between you and the others, it is always better to have a foot in the door, as the saying is. There might come the day when their acquaintance proves useful. It also happens that people you believed to know for years suddenly show a totally different side, that you just weren't aware of your mutual interests or you overrated or misinterpreted their behaviour towards you.'

Viola pushed her shoes off her feet, indignation rearing up in her, and pulled her legs up onto the armchair. 'I'm not isolating myself,' she said defensively.

Reg held his hands up in a placatory gesture. 'I did not mean to insinuate that. All I am saying is that it's often a natural reaction when you're feeling out of place. An unintended mechanism. You feel disrespected. People don't seem to acknowledge your value. That hurts you, and you subconsciously react to it. You may think that you behave normally, but in truth you hold back a bit, are weary of hidden meanings behind what others say, and simply don't act as openly and communicative as your peers are used to. That in turn marks you as strange again, and so they will continue treating you differently… -it can be a vicious circle.'

Viola said nothing in return. Reg's words left her uneasy, and a part of her wished they would circumvent these topics, for she felt… – shoddy – for not being more popular, if that made sense. Yet, another part of her was also grateful for his advice and the hint that he knew her situation (which meant she was not alone in this and there were people getting along just fine without being popular), and that part of her pondered his advice carefully.

They sat in silence for a long while, the crackling of the fire and their thoughts their only entertainment. 'Were you popular at school?' Viola asked eventually into the stillness.

Reg sniffed as outer sign that he had heard her, shifted on his seat, and pushed his bottom lip forward as if he had to consider his answer first. 'I had no major problems with my schoolmates, but there were certainly people more popular than me. I kind of… drifted along. I guess I tried to fit in a little too much. I soaked in the ideas and beliefs of my peers and loved being part of a greater plan, in the end. In some way, I took the other extreme, the opposite way in contrast to the one I just warned you about. My brother always said I was weak for not developing my own opinion, but I guess all young wizards and witches need their time to find their own way and are easily influenced during that period. He was no different there; he just had other friends.'

That was the second time that Reg hinted that he had gotten off the path in his youth in some way. However, Viola seized on the other huge fact he had revealed. 'You have a brother?'

The brown-haired man nodded without looking at her. 'Haven't seen him in decades. We've never really gotten along. I guess our tempers were too different.'

Viola was confused. 'But no matter your differences, he's still your brother! Don't you miss him?' she wanted to know.

Reg put his glass aside. 'Him as a person not particularly. My family and childhood home certainly. But it's futile talking about it. The way back is bared, in multiple manners.' His long, slender hand seized Viola's, and his eyes held hers. 'In fact, I have to ask you not to relate to anyone what I've just told you. No one but Åge knows about my original family, and it needs to remain so.'

The girl looked with confusion and concern at him, because she could not fathom any reason for such secrecy, but she nodded nevertheless. 'Of course. I'm not going to tell.'

Reg smiled in a pleased manner and squeezed her hand softly before he got up.

Later that night, when Viola was safely in her bed, the evening's conversation replayed in her mind. She felt a spark of indignation at Reg's advice (An outsider could always talk easily! What did he know about her classmates and how they treated her?), even though deep down inside she felt it had held some wisdom.

She also wondered what Reg had done as a schoolboy that he was regretting, now. Most of all, however, the girl puzzled over the riddle of what had driven him away from his own family and even stopped him from talking about it. She could think of nothing that would justify such an absolute break. Had this something to do with the mistakes Reg had talked about? Had he done something inexcusable that his parents could not forgive? But he seemed such a well-mannered, educated, and hardworking man! Whatever he had done, it could not be that bad, could it?

Eventually, another thought occurred to her: if Reg was so intent on keeping details about his original family hushed up, it was remarkable that he had told Viola about it, was it not?

Her little placement went well. Mr. Mørkscov, or Åge, as he still insisted she call him – quite usual in Denmark –, took her to markets to teach her how to discern which ingredients were of good quality, he let her watch him brew very complex potions, and also gave her some insight into the merchandising.

When Viola asked about the Broderskab, he explained to her that soon after taking up his craft, he had realised how inconvenient it was to be so reliant on his suppliers, especially when it came to such rare ingredients like those derived from dragons and other rare magical beings. In Reg he had found someone he could entrust with the management of a high quality dragon reservation. In the decades since (about one and a half), they had acquired the second reservation in Sweden and had built up the hippogriff breed. There were also some smaller projects, for example two large fields of nettles on one side of the castle that brimmed with glumbumbles - small, furry insects – in the summer. Their secretion was used for treatments of hysteria – no matter if it was magically induced, caused by consumption of alihotsy leaves or the result of a mental illness.

It was all so very exciting. The possibilities that the Broderskab offered. Reg was a fair brewer, Åge had told Viola. Someone he would – at least insofar as there was no time pressure and an adequate recipe at hand – trust with the most difficult potions. He helped Åge when his workload surpassed his capabilities. Yet, mainly, Reg was a dragon keeper. He looked after the health and well-being of the creatures, made sure they had the best conditions to mate and breed, collected the ingredients (dragon dung, the scales that they shed in regular intervals, small amounts of blood from the harmless, handicapped specimen, and all kinds of dragon parts from those who had died), and nurtured the little ones whose mothers had abandoned them. He also had to organise the shifts, keep his men motivated and in good spirits, and handle all the financial aspects of the reservation. There rested a lot of responsibility on Reg's shoulders, but he seemed to take it in stride and enjoy the diversity of his tasks.

It was a matter Viola thought about a lot in the following school year – the many opportunities and challenges becoming a member of the Broderskab could present her with. As Reg had noticed correctly, this was her last year at Beauxbatons, and it was time to decide what career branch she intended to climb, now that she had settled her mind on wanting to climb.

Her mind being in chaos, and fearful that she might overlook an important option, Viola eventually settled on writing up a list of professions that fitted her talents. Potions? –Definitely! At Charms and Herbology she excelled equally. Her performance in Ancient Runes, Defence Magic and Wizarding History was adequate as well. Only her 'Hippogriffe' (that equalled the Acceptable-grade of the British school system) in Transfigurations and her 'Pixie' (Poor) in Astronomy were limiting her options. And of course, following in Reg's steps was not an option. Viola had never taken classes in the Study of Magical Creatures. Her mother had advised her against it, calling it useless knowledge for a lady. However, she did not mind. Dragons were fascinating beings, but she did not think she would enjoy being a dragon keeper. The job was too rough, too physically demanding. And perhaps… too repetitive.

Viola was intrigued by the idea of creating something new. The way Åge was ever expanding on his business ventures thrilled her, but she did not think she was made for that herself. All that responsibility. However, having part of it on another level…

She had listed several dozen jobs and painstakingly written down all the advantages and disadvantages of about a quarter of it before she stopped. The young woman realised that there was one thing she sought in an employee that hardly anyone would be able to offer her. Except for the one that was constantly on her mind anyway. Viola wanted to earn her own money, work creatively and independently, but she was also a little afraid of suddenly standing utterly alone. Relying completely on herself. What she longed for was a guiding hand. That was probably why she had liked the concept of the Broderskab being Reg's 'surrogate family'. A father and many brothers that support him, would support her … -And all that knowledge that was hidden in Åge and in the countless old tomes that rested on endless shelves in his library! Would it not be wonderful to work with this wise, open man? To learn from him?

.~*~.

Viola had come home for Christmas on the twenty-first. In the afternoon of the twenty-second, she had her official 'job interview'. She sat opposite Åge in one of the big, ruby-red leather chairs of his office, and watched him anxiously file through her application papers.

'Three Ds and four Ls?' the man summed up her EMOi-results. 'Not bad. And in absolutely the right subjects, as well.' The Examens Magiques Ordinaires were the Beauxbatons equivalent to the Hogwarts OWLs. In them, D, L, and H were the pass grades. D stood for 'Dragon' (almost scarily brilliant) and was the highest grade available. It was very hard to obtain, but Viola loved knowledge and due to limited distractions through her limited number of friends, she had plenty of time to soak it all in. She was, however, not the classical bookworm. She loved the feeling of being in a room full of old tomes, yes. But she did not devour them a dozen the day. Her great strength was that she kept everything in mind that she heard about. She listened to the teacher in class, listened to the elder students whispering about their recent assignments in the halls and homework rooms, soaked in every piece of information that was given to her from grown-ups. Had she been a bookworm, she would certainly have had a D in Wizarding History, as well. Unfortunately, the teacher had a very unorthodox, if not to say chaotic, teaching style. She picked out single events and discussed them over several lessons, but of course the test spanned whole periods, so that the students were forced to attain most of the knowledge on their own. That usually led Viola to a very busy weekend before the test, during which she forced herself to pour over the library books from dawn till dusk and draw up summaries of everything that had happened in said period. With these summaries in mind, she at least managed to obtain an L, the second pass grade, standing for 'Licorne' (of shiny intelligence, showing a pure, elegant mind).

Åge raised his eyebrows in wonder, the corners of his mouth imitating the movement. 'What I don't understand,' he said, shaking his head, 'is why someone with almost scary brilliance in Charms does not achieve more than an H in Transfiguration…' H stood for Hippogriffe (untamed, but strong knowledge), the last pass grade. Åge looked up at Viola, apparently expecting a plausible explanation.

She smiled nonchalantly, but with a hint of insecurity in the way she pulled up her shoulders. 'I don't know. I never really understood what turning mice into goblets or feathers into owls was good for. Perhaps if the transfigurations that were taught had been more practical – say, turning a used, old-fashioned robe into a new one or transfiguring a cushion into a comfy armchair – I would have been more motivated, but what we had to do in class never made sense to me…'

Åge weighed his head. 'I see your point. Are you continuing to EMSu-level?' The EMSu, Examens Magiques Supérieurs, were the pendant to the NEWTs.

Viola shook her head. 'No. I would not want to, and neither would the teacher accept me with this grade. I have only continued Runes Anciens, Sortilèges - that means Charms - , Magique défensif, Botanique, Potions magiques, and histoire des sorciers.'

Åge nodded with pursed lips. 'That seems an adequate choice. You have never taken classes dealing with magical creatures?' he enquired.

The girl shook her head, unsettled by the question.

'That is a little unfortunate. You see, as a good potions master, you need to have profound knowledge of the origin and ideal acquisition of your ingredients. As I have pointed out to you in the summer already, not all of them are of the same quality. Take the glumbumbles, for example. Their secretion is less effective if you kill them and extract it afterwards. I suppose the fear of the insect in the moment of death diminishes the tranquilising effect of its secretion. It's better to let them exude it on their own, when they feel safe. There is also a major difference between the blood of a unicorn foal and that of a fully grown unicorn stallion. Sometimes, it even makes a difference in which area a magical being has lived.'

Viola leaned forward with wide, eager eyes. 'I'm sure I can learn that in self-study. I'm quick in the uptake when things intrigue me!' she assured him, desperate to prove to him that she was qualified to be his apprentice. There was no alternative for her, she wanted this!

The potions master smiled at her benignly. 'I'm sure you are.' He put her application on a nearby table and lifted up his teacup instead. 'Now, tell me why you want to be apprenticed to me, Viola.'

The girl, holding onto the cup with the painted red flowers and the golden ornaments in her hand, started explaining about her fascination for the creational process of brewing and enhancing potions and of her admiration for the Dragen Broderskab.

'You do realise that once you've become part of our organisation, many other options will be barred to you?' Åge pointed out to his applicant. 'You will indeed find loyal companions in us, but to outsiders, your association with us might shed bad light on you. I'm sure you are familiar with our dubious reputation.'

'One that I don't understand,' Viola retorted with a frown on her face. 'Everyone speaks of you as if you were the darkest of all wizards, but I don't see any darkness in you!'

The older man chuckled. 'I guess some of this image stems from my forefathers who were certainly knee deep in the dark arts.' He shifted in his seat to find a more comfortable position. 'Yet I will not lie to you – I am knowledgeable in that field as well. In my opinion, it is folly to shun knowledge just because some people have and still do put it to bad use. On the contrary, one has to be learned in these matters to know the threat. The dark arts are dangerous and seductive, but when studied with caution, they are not per se damnable.'

Åge watched his young applicant for any signs of fright. All the girl showed, however, was irresolution about what to make of his words. That was good. So her opinions were not set in moral stone tablets. 'In any case,' he therefore continued, 'I am not going to demand that you occupy yourself with the dark lore. In fact, the Broderskab has a close eye on its members to ensure that none of them succumb to the lure of it.

'Nevertheless, the reputation is there,' he emphasised once more, 'and therefore, even though the Broderskab itself has much to offer, it effectually binds you to it, because many other institutions will not employ you once you've worked for us. It might, if I may be so bold, also have a negative influence on your marriage prospects.'

The pretty brunette that was seated opposite him smiled ruefully. 'There is not much to be spoilt there,' she commented. 'Apart from that,' she said with more confidence, 'making a good match is not my major objective in life.'

Åge eyed her appraisingly. 'That often is not a decision to be made by the young lady in question alone. Have you discussed this with your parents?'

'Yes,' Viola replied determinedly, choosing not to point out that her father's whereabouts were unknown. 'I have spoken about my ideas of my future with my mother and she has agreed that I should make my own decisions. I know she will not be pleased by my choice, but she will accept it.'

Her interviewer nodded assuaged. 'Well then, I see no reason why we shouldn't give it a try.'

The girl's face brightened up. 'Really?'

Åge inclined his head. 'I have not had an apprentice since Reg, but I have a good feeling about you.' He smiled encouragingly.

A frown crept upon his future apprentice's face. 'But you don't want to adopt me as well, do you?' she asked concernedly.

Her future employer laughed out. 'No.' He chuckled. 'That won't be necessary. How do you know about that?'

'From Reg,' Viola answered meekly.

'Ah, yes,' the man recalled, 'you mentioned that you were acquainted. You must know him pretty well,' he commented. 'Reg is usually quite monosyllabic when it comes to speaking about family matters. He likes to keep things to himself.'

'Yes,' the girl confirmed simply.

Åge clapped his hands and jumped up to move to his desk. 'I suggest that I hand you a copy of the contract, now, which you can peruse together with your family over the Christmas holidays. Are you free on the…,' he leafed through his calendar, 'the twenty-ninth?'

'Yes, of course,' Viola agreed immediately.

'Fine. Then we'll meet again that day and – should you agree with the terms – sign the contract.'

'Gladly,' Viola beamed, relief flooding her entire body, and jumped up to accept the scroll of parchment that held her glorious future.

.~*~.

The graduation ball. Viola stood nervously in front of the mirror, tugging at her dress robes to adjust them. They were a pale violet and a conciliatory present of her sister's to make up for the disaster on New Year's Eve about one and a half years ago. They were magnificent with fine stitching in dark violet and sleeves that clung to her upper arms, but beneath further stitching grew wide and puffy before they ended in tight, embroidered cuffs. They were not queenly dress robes, but that only showed that Agnetha had recognised her mistake and had paid more thought to what Viola wanted. Furthermore, with the belt just below Viola's chest and the subsequent wide skirt, the dress also hid that there was no veela clad in it but a girl made of flesh and blood. It was adding to Viola's insecurity that weighing nothing seemed to be extremely en vogue at Beauxbatons. Despite their sturdy headmistress (Madame Maxime had been appointed last year), the school emphasised on featherweight grace. Everywhere there were tall, lean girls, walking about with flowing motions. Viola in turn was an ordinary girl. 'The boys in my country would not get their eyes off you,' Adelaida, or short 'Laida', as Viola had started to call her, her Hungarian friend, would assure her when Viola expressed her misgivings. At Beauxbatons, she was sure, no boy spent a thought on her.

Still, someone had invited her to the ball. A quiet young man that Viola only knew from sight, but that didn't matter. She was glad that she had a date. In the Easter holidays, her mother had paid some dancing lessons for Viola, so that she was perfectly prepared for the occasion. Or she would be, if Laida finished dressing her hair.

'I'm almost done!' the younger girl proclaimed while she attached the last strand of hair in shiny loops to the top of Viola's head with the hairpins she lent the brunette for the evening. They were adorned with magical flowers that blossomed up when their wearer enjoyed herself. 'Et voilà!' she finally jumped up, clapping her hands in excitement, and looked expectantly at the reflection of Viola's face in the mirror to see her reaction.

They had decided to only put the top portion of Viola's thick masses of hair up. The rest enveloped her like a fine, silky curtain that had in the last years reached past her elbows. The young woman smiled at her friend. 'Thank you, Laila. I could never have done that myself.'

The Hungarian girl embraced her from behind. 'I wish I could come with you,' she sighed. The graduation ball was an exclusive event. Only seventh years and their families were invited. With about sixty graduates, those were enough people.

The ball took place on the last night of the school year. It did not matter that the EMSu results would not arrive for another month; there was no back to school even if a student had failed every single exam. It started with greeting the students' families and continued with a feast. It was not until ten o'clock in the evening that the musicians started to play and the first couples led the dance. To Viola's amusement, her mother was a highly demanded dancing partner. She, in turn, only danced twice. Once with her 'date' and once with a brother of a classmate who tried very hard to start a conversation with her while they swept over the dance floor. His name was Marc, and he was the eldest son of a fabricant of magical cleaning solutions who presently familiarised himself with his father's business.

After their dance, they sat together for another while and talked about small matters. Marc was surprised to hear that Viola had already secured herself a place as apprentice. It was not unusual that women worked for a time before they settled down and founded a family, but to actually pursue higher education through an apprenticeship (there were no wizarding universities) instead of just helping out in a shop or office was uncommon for a girl. However, Marc did not seem disturbed by the thought. On the contrary, he commended her bravery. Viola was glad to find someone in support of her views.

'I tried to learn to play the guitar,' Marc said after she had told him about her love of music, 'but I fear my fingers are too clumsy. Either that, or I'm simply too impatient,' he added with a smile that she returned. He leaned forward and gently took one of Viola's hands between both of his. He locked eyes with her. 'You're a beautiful girl.'

She smiled at him shyly, a small blush creeping into her cheeks.

'May I kiss you?'

Viola's bright grey eyes grew wide. She looked about, but since Marc had led them into a quiet corner of the garden, there was no one paying attention to them. When she turned back, his lips pressed against hers. Startled, she lifted an arm to push him away, but then she halted when her curiosity caught up with her. Reluctantly, she let him take the initiative.

Marc held her by the arms while he clung to her lips as if his had been hit by a permanent sticking charm. After he seemed to have gained the confidence that she would not run away immediately, he started moving his mouth awkwardly against hers, his hot breath flowing over her face. It held the bitter smell of someone who had drunk wine. When something wet (presumably his tongue) licked over her lips and at the same time one of his hands very un-gentlemanly cupped one of her plum breasts, Viola backed away.

He looked at her in bafflement.

'I'm sorry,' she uttered while taking a few steps back to the tables. 'It's time I go back to my mum.' Of course, the excuse was lame, but the young man was too startled for a witty reply.

'Oh, o-of course,' he stammered.

With that, Viola hurried away.

Notes concerning chapter 11:

An overview of Beauxbatons' Grades:

D: Dragon (almost scarily brilliant)

L: Licorne (of shiny intelligence, showing a pure, elegant mind) [Licorne: French for unicorn]

H: Hippogriffe (untamed, but strong knowledge)

P: Pixie (could be called clever, but is mainly very annoying in its lack of studiousness and obedience)

F: Fwooper (driving the teacher mad) [Fwooper is an African bird whose song drives insane, or so the HP Lexicon tells us]

G: Goule (huh?)

Viola's grades in the EMOi (French for excitement):

Ancient Runes (Runes Anciens): L
Astronomie: P
Charms (Sortilèges): D
Defence magic (Magique défensif): L
Herbology (Botanique): D
Muggle Studies: L
Potions (Potions magiques): D
Transfiguration (Métamorphose): H
Wizarding History (histoire des sorciers): L

She did not take classes in Arithmancy, Divination, and Study of Magical Creatures.

Thanks for the unusually large number of reviews! I'd almost given up on the story, but now I'm working on it again and enjoying it. :)

Several people asked when we're going to see more of Harry: as you can see in this chapter, I'm moving through the years faster, now, while trying to show in sufficient detail how Viola moves from shy girl to somewhat more independent young woman (is this chapter perhaps too rushed?). It'll take three more chapters - with a possible glimpse of Harry at the Quidditch World Cup in between. In chapter 15, we're back in post-Voldemort Britain, then.

Have a great weekend!