Mentors, or

Summer Blossoms Scent the Air

Chapter 14

The first days of classes were a whirl. It was a bit humiliating being in Charms and Transfigurations with the little kids, but now that she had a wand that really responded to her fingers, she had a feeling spells were going to come naturally. Professor Moonshine was pleased with her Potions knowledge and, after administering a test, advanced her into Fourth Year. History of Magic was the one great disappointment. How could you take the best subject and make it so boring? How did Professor Binns expect the students to learn when they weren't engaged? And then Defense Against the Dark Arts was intimidating. In the first place, it was taught by Professor McGonagall, who was intimidating in and of herself. As a Gryffindor, she was legendary; as a Scotswoman, she was strong and stern; as a Headmistress, she was authoritarian; and just as herself she was sharp and powerful and…intimidating. But added to that was the subject. Defense Against the Dark Arts. Most of these children had experience in that. They'd been through a fearsome war. Their pale, intent faces on the first day of class showed their associations with the subject. Even the Muggle-borns knew about it, though not as much as Lucia, who, with her mother and Miss Precipa, had read all the newspaper articles, listened to all the secret radio broadcasts She heard the stories later from Miss Precipa, who seemed to know people in every part of it. She knew more than the Muggle-borns, had experienced less than the Wizard-borns, was in a strange in-between place where no one else was.

She had, however, read and practically memorized not only the First Year book but also the Second Year book. And then there was Astronomy to look forward to, late at night with Professor Sinistra, and then she had the special Magical Plants and Creatures lessons. She did not know how they'd found out about her wand making, but she'd found herself lined up for private lessons with Professors Sprout and Hagrid for the understanding of wood and magical creature core materials.

On the first day, after the first onslaught of classes, she sat at the Slytherin table, already starting on homework. There were a few others in the Great Hall at work as well, and across the way at the Hufflepuff table she caught suspicious eyes peering at her over the tops of books. She tried to ignore them, applying herself to her Charms essay, which was supposed to be about the famous uses of Wingardium Leviosa but which she was expanding to include an analysis of the linguistic structure of the spell itself. She didn't see any point in doing normal First Year homework when all she really needed was to learn how to do the spells themselves.

Taking her wand out of her bookbag, she unwrapped the black velvet from around it. She'd never seen anyone keeping their wands wrapped up, but with the way it stimulated her nervous system when she touched it, she didn't want to stick her hand into her bag and accidentally brush it. When she picked it up, it became part of her again. Fixing her eyes on the quill pen, she gave the slightest swish and a tiny flick and whispered, "Wingardium Leviosa." The quill pen rose up in the air, steadily following the tip of the piece of holly in her hand. It whirled around in circles when she made circular motions and skimmed along the surface of the table just as it would if she were holding it. She was grinning quietly to herself when she set it back on the table. She'd known it was going to come naturally.

"You do that very well," a light voice came beside her. "You're new at it, though, aren't you?"

Lucia smiled at Luna. "Yes, I am."

"Can I sit with you?"

"Of course, if you're allowed." The other Slytherins at the table were giving them shocked looks.

"I don't think there's ever been a rule against it. It just rarely happens."

"It's about time it did. Luna, were there any Slytherins in Dumbledore's Army?"
"Oh, yes, there were two. Alice Tolipan and Luca Caruso. They had to hide it from the other Slytherins, though. They were very afraid of what Draco would do to them if he found out." She gave Lucia a questioning glance from her wide eyes. "Do you mind me talking about Draco?"

"Not at all. I don't even know him."

"He wasn't a nice boy, but he was very troubled. That's what Moaning Myrtle says."

"Moaning Myrtle?"

"She's a ghost. She says Draco was her friend. I suppose he didn't mind talking to a dead girl."

"I think I'd like to meet her." She'd already been introduced to the Bloody Baron. What ghost could be worse than that?

"I can introduce you sometime. I'm sorry you're not in Ravenclaw."

"Thank you," Lucia said softly, "but I'm not. At least not mostly. I don't see why Slytherin shouldn't be given a chance."

Luna smiled her sweet, dreamy smile. "That's a good thought."

"Why did you come back this year? Weren't you one of the ones who could have graduated?"

"Oh, yes, but I missed half of last year after Harry rescued me from Malfoy Manor. Hardly anyone had any real education all year anyway. I thought it would be good for me."

"What do you mean, he rescued you from Malfoy Manor?"

"Oh, didn't you know? They kidnapped me. Oh, here comes Professor Sinistra with your mentor. I'll talk to you later, Lucia."

She drifted away while Lucia stared after her. Then she stood up quickly as Professor Sinistra approached. She had spoken to her Head of House for the first time that morning, in the Slytherin common room, and liked her even better for her low, even voice and the kindness there as she welcomed her to Hogwarts. Professor Sinistra did not seem like the typical Slytherin, nothing at all what you would expect a Slytherin teacher to be like. It made Lucia wonder if the common view of the "typical" Slytherin hadn't been twisted by recent events until it was impossible to view Slytherins as anything but power-hungry, arrogant, angry Pure-Bloods. And if maybe there weren't a lot of ordinary, decent Slytherins out there who were afraid to raise their heads and be ordinary, decent Slytherins. What if the most famous Slytherin of all, Tom Riddle, had done that on purpose? Divide Hogwarts, pit one House against the others, make it a place where he could distort ambitions and foster his followers while eliminating common decency?

"Miss Bonnefoy, are you alright?"

Lucia started. "Oh, sorry, Professor. Just thinking."

"I'm sorry to interrupt your thoughts, but I'd like to introduce you to your mentor. This is Chador Uil, from Ravenclaw, Sixth Year."

"Hallo," said Chador, looking slightly embarrassed. He was a tall boy, tall and almost transparently thin, with a long, thin face, a somewhat untidy mass of almost curly black hair falling into pale grey eyes, and a thin mouth slipping sideways into a shy smile. His cheekbones stood out and the lines went round and deep around the corners of his mouth when he smiled.

"Hello," Lucia said quietly. She'd slightly hoped Luna was to be her mentor, but of course Luna was a Seventh Year. At least she'd still got someone from Ravenclaw. A lot of the youngest Slytherins seemed to have been paired with Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors. Which was good of course. No one like a Hufflepuff to teach you patience and perseverance, they said, and hopefully Gryffindor-Slytherin pairings would help eliminate the House rivalry—make that antipathy. But she was still glad for a Ravenclaw.

Suddenly she went red. She'd been thinking again without listening to what Professor Sinistra was saying. Something about wands. She caught a glint of sympathetic humour in Chador's eyes.

"I'll leave you two to get acquainted, then," Sinistra said and walked away with a smile and a swirl of olive robes.

"Nothing more awkward than 'getting acquainted,'" Chador murmured, folding himself up onto the bench. His speech was faintly accented. "But I thought I was the only one who did that."

"Did what?"

"Started thinking and forgot to talk."

Lucia laughed. "No, I think Luna does it too."

The lines went deep around his mouth. "Yes, I think she does."

"What was Professor Sinistra saying, when I…was thinking?"

"Only that I've been assigned to you because I'm good with a wand, and you haven't had any wand training. My best subjects are Charms, Transfigurations, Potions, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Worst are Divination, Herbology, and Care of Magical Creatures. Perfectly adequate in all the rest."

"I think Charms and Transfigurations are going to be alright, but Defense Against the Dark Arts already has me a bit scared."

"No reason to be scared of it now." He said it slightly flatly, and her response was impulsive.

"Were you here? Last spring?"

"Yes." He answered with so little expression she felt she'd blundered.

"Where are you—are you from Yugoslavia?"

Dark eyebrows went up as expression returned. "Croatia. I was born there. How do you know?"

"Chador. It's Serbo-Croatian for shadow. My mum travels a lot for work, and she brings home dictionaries from the countries she goes to. I like to read them."

"You like to read foreign-language dictionaries?"

Lucia shrugged. "I like languages."

"And you're not in Ravenclaw?"

She shrugged again, not feeling like explaining. "Your last name's not Croatian, though, is it?"

"Dutch. My dad's Dutch and French, my mum's Croatian. Means owl. Great name for a kid, don't you think? 'Shadow Owl.'"

Lucia grinned. "I think it suits you. But when did you come to England?"

"When I was eight. My parents could sense there was a war coming on and left Yugoslavia before it started. Out of one war and into another," he murmured. "Anyway, they wanted me to go to Hogwarts and not to Durmstrang as I'd have to if we'd stayed. Now you have to tell me if something I've heard is true."

Lucia repressed a sigh. Here was the inevitable question. Are you really Lucius Malfoy's daughter?

"Is it true that your mum is Perdita Bonhomme?"

Lucia gaped at him. "You've heard of my mum? All anyone around here cares about is who my father is."

Chador gave a half-grin. "I figured you'd probably had enough of that. But really, it is your mum, isn't it? The Croatian population in England's not that big, so even Muggles and Wizards stick together, and everyone knows how she went to Croatia just at the end of the war to find someone everyone said had to be dead. We know his cousin."

"That's wonderful," Lucia said with a laugh. "I never expected to meet someone related to one of her cases here."

"And is it really true? That she's descended from—"

"Sherlock Holmes?" Lucia nodded.

Chador's grey eyes lit up with eagerness. "I can't believe it! No one believes he actually existed! Fiction, you know."

"Yes, well, that's what I thought about Alice."

"Who?"

"You'd have to ask Luna."

"Oh. But that means that he's your great—"

"—great-grandfather."

"How could that happen? There's no story about him having children."

"Well, no, there wouldn't be. He'd never have spoken to Dr. Watson again if he'd written about it. But my mother has all the birth certificates. It took her ages to track them down. You see, she was adopted as a little girl by Hugh Bonhomme, my grandfather, and she never knew who she was. It was wanting to know that got her into the people-finding business. She was the first person she found. She leaned that her father was forty-seven when she was born and was dying of lung cancer—smoking. And since her mother ran off, he gave her up for adoption. His name was Holmes, which is a common enough name—and means holly, if you care. Jean-Luc Holmes. He was born in France in 1917, the son of a quick marriage between a French girl and a British solder who died at Passendale. She found out about the soldier. His name was Damien Adler-Holmes."

Wait—never! Adler?"

"Yes. He was born in 1893."

"Eighteen-ninety-three," Chador repeated, thinking. "After Reichenbach Falls—before his return to life."

"You do know your Holmes. Damien's father never knew until years later, when he was sent a telegram informing him of the death of the son he never knew he had. We don't know much about his response, but from an extant letter he wrote, it seems to have affected him deeply."

"You talk like a book."

She went pink. "My mother's writing a book about them. They were all quite extraordinary men, she says. Her father taught physics to Stephen Hawking when he was at Oxford. His father was given the Distinguished Service order for his bravery at Passendale, though of course it only came after his death. She's still trying to locate the medal itself. Do you know what I'm talking about? All this Muggle stuff…"

"I'm a quarter Muggle myself. My dad's mum was a Muggle. Nothing near as interesting as any of your family, though."

She raised her eyebrows. "'Interesting,' yes."

"Sorry—I didn't mean—"

"Don't worry. They are interesting. If by that you mean very, very strange." She gave him a grin. "Oh, I say, I'm going to be late for Defense Against the Dark Arts!"

"Better run. You don't want to be late for Professor McGonagall."

She quickly collected her things. "Say, are you any good at flying?"

"Er—yes. I'm the Ravenclaw Seeker this year."

"Good. I'm going to need help. I couldn't get the wretched broom up off the ground earlier."