Lasting Impressions

Chapter 9

Lasting Impressions

The icy wind, not yet warmed by the morning sun, raced away from the approaching light that peeked over the horizon. Five pillars of stone swayed inches above the ground while the wind whistled between the narrow crawlspaces that divided them. A lone man walked in a circuit around the massive display before levitating to the top of the first stone. The tail of his overcoat flapped loudly at his back as he looked to the remaining rectangular pillars then to the sun rising in the distance.

Between the gusts of wind, the sounds of footsteps crunching across the cold, dormant grass could be heard. Despite the chill in the air, the source of the sound wore sandals adorned with gold and precious stones. Her ebony skin was visible between the straps as each step alternately caused her feet to venture beyond the hem of her dress.

She stopped afore the lead pillar and looked up to acknowledge the elder wizard. "Good morning, Maestro."

"Mornin', Shacklebolt," the maestro replied, all the while keeping his eyes on the horizon. "So, I take it that you're going to be Delany's replacement, after all?"

"Obviously," she replied aloofly.

"The only thing that's obvious to me is that you're late."

"Despite evidence to the contrary, I know better than to interrupt you when you're having your bit o' fun," she responded in an unapologetic tone.

For the first time, he looked down at her and sneered. "I don't remember you being so... critical."

"Gee, I wonder where I picked up that little quirk." She returned his sneer with a smile. "Is it as peaceful up there as it looks?"

"It is." He eyed her a while longer then finally allowed a grin to carve its way into his wrinkled face. "Care to join me?"

"If it's all the same to you, I'll stay on the ground."

"Suit yourself, girl."

He stomped hard against the granite surface as he walked it. The sound of each step permeated the rock and reverberated all the way to the bottom.

She kept pace beside him into the wind. "So, how are the recruits faring?"

"They're the sorriest bunch of scabs I've ever seen." He stopped at the edge of the stone and hopped over the gap to land flatfooted onto the next pillar.

"Really? And here I thought my class was the absolute worst."

"It was at the time. Every year, I get older and the scabs get scabbier." He proceeded to again stomp his way across the entire length of the column before leaping onto the next.

She balanced on her tiptoes, having lost sight of him at the far end. "That just means we'll have to be that much better at training them, then, won't we?"

He snorted. "Our job is not to train them, Auror Shacklebolt."

"Really?" she asked, befuddled. She caught up to him at the edge of the fourth monolith before continuing. "Then I'm afraid that I have been laboring under a falsehood. Would you care to enlighten me, Maestro?"

"It's simple. Our job is to make them ring that bell." He then pointed behind her.

She looked to see a golden bell magically suspended at the edge of the henge. She chuckled softly to herself before replying, "I see. I assume that we hope the ones that pass are good enough to one day be worthy to call themselves Aurors?"

The maestro shrugged. "If you say so." He then leapt onto the last stone and started to jump up and down vigorously with his full weight as if to drive it into the ground.

She waited with ambivalence. When the old wizard stopped to catch his breath, she interjected, "Are you quite done?"

In reply, he backflipped off the ledge and landed nimbly beside her. "I guess I'll be off, then."

Shacklebolt watched him walk off then referred back to the floating pillars. "Er... are they supposed to be left like that?" she asked before he was out of earshot.

He paused in mid-stride, turned to look at the stones then glanced her way to say, "No, I suppose not." He returned by her side and orated into the open field, "You scabs have been lying around long enough. Remove your training stones."

Each of the five megaliths hovered painfully aside to reveal a trainee underneath. They were flat on their backs, pressed against the earth in defiance of the great weight which threatened to crush them, without the benefit of a wand. The ground shook when the stones plopped to ground in unison.

Relieved of their burden, the trainees slowly sat up. The maestro circled the lot of them, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. A smirk of satisfaction was visible on his face.

"That, lady and gentlemen, was the levitation spell. Now, if someone asks if you can raise two tons of rock without the use of a wand, you can comfortably answer 'yes'." He held up his wand and ordered them to their feet before adding, "The point of this exercise was to remind you that the magic you wield comes from within you, not a piece of wood. At the very least, you should come out of this with an appreciation for those magical creatures that do not rely on wands."

At this point, the trainees were lined up and at their feet, save for the one who had hefted the fifth stone. He remained bent, resting with his hands on his knees, even as the maestro stood over him.

Sneering, the maestro looked down at the young man with the dirty-blond hair. "Still breathing, are you, Scab Moody?"

Moody returned the sneer with a smirk but knew better than to look the maestro in the eye. "Yes, Maestro."

"You look a little... tired."

Moody forced himself to stand erect but kept his eyes forward. "Never better, Maestro."

"A shame. I was counting on getting a ring out of you today." He turned to Shacklebolt. "They're all yours. When you're done, have them replace the training stones on the henge."

She acknowledged the request and waited until he Disapparated before addressing her new charges. "My name is Queenie Shacklebolt. Now that introductions are out of the way, you'll notice right off that my teaching style will vary greatly from that of the maestro. And from what I've seen, he's been too soft on you. Defending yourself in a controlled setting is one thing, but how many of you have had to contend with full-strength curses?" She paused briefly to study each of their faces. When she saw no takers, she continued, "Well, then, let's see what I have to work with. Collect your wands and queue up."

She waited, tapping the tip of her wand against her thigh as the trainees retrieved their own wands which waited for them next to the golden bell. The way they mulled about made it obvious that they were still exhausted from their previous session with the maestro. This, however, did little to ease Shacklebolt's impatience.

"Suck it up, scabs. You can rest when you're dead."

With renewed vigor, they lined up single file to face her. Shacklebolt drew her wand and engaged the trainee at the head of the line, a young female with red hair. "The object of this exercise is to block the curse in any manner you deem fit." Shacklebolt waited until the trainee took her stance, making note of how the wand shook in the young witch's trembling hand. With a flick of her wrist, a fluorescent, blue spark shot out of her wand and hit the trainee in the chest, causing her to fall on her back, gasping for breath. The trainee behind reached down to help her up, but Shacklebolt promptly waved him away. "Those tears aren't going to do you any good against a Dark wizard, chile. As you can see, at full-bore, even a plain and simple Expelliarmus can be quite unnerving. Minus two points."

The next trainee fared no better than the first; Shacklebolt downed him with an even faster Disarming spell.

She sighed in disappointment. "Minus two points. Who's next?"

The trainee that followed managed to get his wand up to block, but the force of the spell sent it flying across the field. She summoned the fallen wand to her hand and tossed it back at the trainee's feet.

"It does you no good on the ground, scab. Minus two points. Next in line."

When Moody took his place at the head of the queue, Shacklebolt stopped to regard the younger wizard. The way he stood, the confidence with which he held his wand, his defense left no apparent openings. Nevertheless, she had no deficit of criticism. "You'll all come to find that I despise stragglers...those who hang back in line for the obvious advantage of going last." She continued to eye him as she took her guard. "Drop your wand."

Moody's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"How am I supposed to defend myself?"

"That's your problem."

He knew it was coming the moment his wand would hit the ground. As soon as he loosed his grasp, Moody closed his eyes and began to chant inwardly, trying desperately to summon the Protego charm. He felt the powerful energy of Shacklebolt's hex surround and envelope him. The charm dispersed most of the attacking spell's energy, but it wasn't enough. When he opened his eyes again, he was flat on his back. The other trainees stood around him, each sporting an amused expression at his expense.

"Not bad. But your empty-hand technique needs a lot of work. Don't assume that you'll always have access to your wand. Minus five points." She watched Moody take his place at the sideline before calling up the last trainee. When he took his guard, she ordered him to drop his wand to which he grudgingly obeyed.

"Avada Kedavra."

A green light enveloped the unsuspecting wizard and blew him off his feet. The others looked on in horror at his still, fallen form. Moody made a run for him, but Shacklebolt ordered him to stay back as she raised her wand.

"Rennervate!"

The green aura was replaced by a soft, white light that seemed to diffuse into the cadet's body. He gasped loudly as the air filled his lungs. He bolted upright, screaming when he realized what had just happened and frantically started tearing into his clothes to scratch the skin underneath.

She approached him calmly. "You'll only make it worse if you scratch at it."

His head snapped in her direction; he reached instinctively for his wand. "What did you do to me?"

"Next time don't dawdle when I order you to queue up. Minus twenty points."

Ignoring his discomfort, he sprung hastily to his feet. "Twenty points? What's this cock-and-bull? First you deprive me of my wand, and then you hit me with an unblockable curse!"

"And you failed," she answered softly. "What of it?"

"It's the Killing Curse! It wasn't a fair test!"

"Fair?" She snorted in amusement. "You're still alive, aren't you?"

"First you people try to crush me, and then you try to kill me?"

He gripped his wand and stood threateningly before her. Shacklebolt took no action but did not back down either. Her only visible response was to raise one of her eyebrows.

Moody had since drawn in closer unnoticed by both of them. His wand was out, but he kept it lowered. "Norman, calm down. You know perfectly well that you have to mean them."

Norman ignored him at first but after a few seconds seemed to relax. He finally glanced over to Moody and put his wand away before storming off. "I don't need this shite!"

They watched Norman storm off the field. Once he stepped beyond the henge, he Disapparated out of sight. The golden bell began to toll.

...oOo...

The events of that morning weighed on Moody heavily. He sat in the changeroom, staring into his open locker. Lost in thought, he barely took notice when one of his teammates walked up and opened the locker next to his.

"So, what do you think of the new instructor, Moody?"

"She has a sexy accent, Jeff," he replied casually.

Jeff snorted as he retrieved his favorite derby and placed it atop his head, slightly askew. "I meant in a professional capacity."

Moody shrugged. "I haven't formed an opinion yet, honestly."

Jeff took out a change of shoes and sat on the bench next to Moody's. "C'mon, mate, you have to admit that she made a hell of a first impression."

Before Moody could answer, two more cadets, one male and one female, entered the changeroom. The male spoke, "Hey, gents. Tough break about Norman, eh?"

Jeff waved him off. "Bah, Norman was a wanker anyway. Don't tell me you're going to miss him, Reuben."

Reuben ignored the comment and sat down at the bench in front of his locker. "I only meant that since there're only four of us left, there'll be a lot more abuse to go around now."

"So what? You afraid you won't be able to hack it, mate?"

"What I'm 'afraid' of is her overcompensating to prove that she can play as rough as the boys."

For the first time, the red-headed female cadet spoke. "And what's that supposed to mean, Reuben?"

Reuben smiled mischievously and said, "It means that, like all you other females, she probably has something to prove, Angie."

Angie slammed the door of her locker after grabbing her purse. "If it was the maestro we were talking about, you wouldn't have given it a second thought. But since she's a woman, she obviously has hormonal issues, right?"

Reuben's smile broadened. "Yep, that pretty much covers it."

She frowned. "Hmph. Figures, you being a halfsie and all."

"In his own limited way, Reuben may have a point, Angie." Jeff said, and before Angie could respond, he added, "There are some years where nobody makes it through the program. The instructors intentionally try to break you."

Angie winked in reply and said, "Sounds like you've half given up, Jeff. Maybe you should go ring that bell now and save yourself the trouble."

"That'll certainly make the maestro very happy. I can imagine the old warhorse shooting his goo every time he hears a tinkle."

"You blokes are missing the point," Moody interjected. "Didn't you see how bent Norman got? He completely lost his composure."

"Getting hit with a Killing curse will do that to you," Reuben said.

"Maybe, but would you want somebody like that watching your back in a scrape? She certainly had him pegged."

Reuben merely shrugged and finished tying the knot on his tie. "Just hope that she doesn't start pushin' your buttons, Moody. You might be next."

With that Reuben closed his locker and left the room. He was soon followed by Angie.

"We're giving Norman a proper sendoff at the pub, if you gents want to tag along," Angie said on her way out.

Jeff waited until he and Moody were alone again before saying, "Things are starting to get serious, eh?"

Moody hesitated and nodded. "Yeah."

"Have you been practicing your Patronus Charm?"

Moody looked at him warily in reply. "A bit."

He smiled at Moody's reticence but pressed him anyway. "So, what is it?"

"I... still haven't quite got the hang of it yet, but I'm pretty sure it's an animal with four legs."

"For your sake, I hope you pull it together soon, mate. Rumor has it that with all the trouble the Dementors have been giving the Ministry, they might make conjuring a Patronus a requirement on our exit test."

"Rubbish. A Patronus isn't the only way to take down a Dementor."

"Maybe not. But if you're gonna try to get by without one, you'd better at least come up with an edge."

"Okay, Mummy."

"Hey, I'm just looking out for you."

"Yeah, I know."

"I think I will head down to the pub for a pint. Are you coming?"

"Naw, I have a date with Dru."

"That's nice." Jeff closed his locker and got up to leave. "Give her a pat and squeeze on the bum from me, will you?"

Moody curled his lip at his failure to formulate a timely rejoinder but decided to let it go. When he was finally alone, he reached into his locker and retrieved his copy of Godric's manuscript. He thumbed the edge of the binding thoughtfully and then put it away in his coat pocket. He left the room and, with a flick of his wand, closed the door to his locker.