First Impressions

Disclaimer: (In the spirit of Crimson Starlight)

Shana: *still waving hand in front of Kim's face* Hellooooooo? *Snaps fingers*

Kim: *jerks, snapping out of it* Wha...?

Shana: Snape Shock.

Kim: *frowning* What?

Shana: You were in "Snape Shock."

Kim: You made that up.

Shana: *grinning* Damn straight.

Snape: Do I want to know what the two of you are discussing?

Kim: *smirk* Why, you, of course.

Snape: *glares*

Shana: Better knock it off. You're still in trouble mister.

Kim: *evil smirk* Can I punish him?

Shana: *points* See that? He has a new wand. Do you really want to try?

Kim: *nodding enthusiastically*

Shana: Oh, dear. That might have been an error on my part.

Snape: *shudders, Disapparates*

Kim: *sulks* Shanastay owns only the plot and her original characters. All else belongs to the genius of JK Rowling.

Chapter 11: First Impressions

Shaluinn was rudely awakened by a shrill, piercing, pulsing, screech echoing through her rooms. The American immediately recognized that the sound had been triggered by someone attempting to enter her rooms. Most likely it was McGonagall, as the Headmistress was the only person (other than Dobby) she had met so far.

Throwing off the heavy comforter, the redhead scrambled to the bathroom, grabbing one of the large bath towels and wrapping it around her nude form. She swiftly cast a rudimentary version of her customary glamour and rushed into the main salon, almost blinded by the bright sunlight streaming through the windows. Throwing up a hand to shield her eyes, the other clutching the towel so it wouldn't fall, she went toward the entrance, just barely missing tripping over her bags.

Belatedly remembering to silence the alarm, the American waved a hand at the wall and stuck just her head through.

Minerva jumped back, barely containing a shriek as the new UD professor's head and neck appeared through the wall, the unexpected sight more than a little unnerving.

Confused, Shaluinn took in the elder witch's defensive posture, wand at the ready, her left hand fluttering near her throat. "Mist-Minerva?" the redhead asked.

"Sweet Merlin! You startled me!" McGonagall cried, breathing heavily from the fright she'd just received.

"Sorry about that," the redhead looked sheepish. "What's up?"

Visibly calming, the Transfigurations mistress tilted her head back, looking around at the ceiling. As the elder witch opened her mouth to answer, Callaway cut her off.

"Sorry again," she apologized. "I keep forgetting I'm not in America anymore, and the slang is different here." The younger woman grimaced. "What I meant was, what can I do for you, Headmistress?"

Minerva returned Shaluinn's gaze, one eyebrow raised sardonically over her glasses. "I was coming to see if you would accompany me to breakfast. The rest of the staff is anxious to meet the newest addition, especially since you didn't join us at dinner last night."

"Oh, shit. I didn't even think..."

McGonagall waved a dismissive hand. "Don't worry yourself. I made your apologies, explaining you had come a long way and needed to recover from your trip."

Callaway smiled wryly. "Thank you. If you don't mind waiting a couple minutes, as I'm a bit underdressed at the moment..." At Minerva's narrowed, questioning gaze she added, "I'm only wearing a towel," and blushed, the deep red showing through the glamour as a slight pink tinge.

The Headmistress made a shooing motion, scoffing. "Go on, dear. I'll be right here." The elder witch turned as the younger woman's head vanished, pointing her wand at a hard, wooden chair, transfiguring it into something a bit more comfortable to sit in.

Relieved, Shaluinn murmured a thank you as she pulled back. She paused, inhaling several deep breaths and dropping the hastily constructed glamour. Her head spun a bit from the concentration necessary to poke just her head through the portal. A good night's sleep had left her rested and relatively pain-free. Only the dull, constant ache of her condition registered in the back of her mind. Not the barest whisper of the decidedly erotic dream she'd had during the night crossed her mind. The world now steady, she padded over to her bags.

Rifling through one, she pulled out several items and carried them back into the bedroom with her. Lining the items up in a row, carefully spaced apart, she retrieved her right-hand wand and waved it, returning the trio of boxes to their normal size. Carefully dropping to her knees, she flipped the lids off, grabbing a bra and panties from one box, a long-sleeve, v-neck, black bodysuit from the second, and a pair of black, stretchy, hip-hugger jeans from the third. Returning to the first box, she snagged a pair of thick, black, combat-boot socks.

Retrieving her knives and carrying everything into the bathroom, she set all but the socks and knives on the counter, donning those while she used the facilities. She quickly put everything else on, unable to hold back a sigh of relief as she adjusted her bra, the garment instantly easing the tension in her back, her shoulders now bearing the load.

She double-checked her appearance in the mirror, turning a critical eye to any exposed expanses of skin, as she habitually murmured the incantation for her customary glamour. The new, dark purple mark at the juncture of her neck and shoulder went unnoticed amidst the other bruises.

Satisfied, she stepped out to the main room, and alternately balanced on each foot, putting her boots on. Striding through the room she snagged her long, leather coat as she passed her bags. Donning the coat, she waved a hand as she walked through the wall into her office.

Minerva stood from her seat as the UD Professor reappeared, fully clothed this time. "Shall we?" she asked, inclining her head toward the door.

"Yes, let's," Shaluinn answered, as she buttoned up her coat, following the elder witch out. Matching pace with McGonagall, the American flipped her damp braid to the front. She undid the plait and let her long red hair fall free to finish drying, the length settling into soft waves. She listened carefully as Minerva caught her up on recent happenings, as well as pointing out things that would help the younger witch find her way around the unfamiliar castle.

"...Watch the staircases. They like to change quite often..."

Shaluinn smiled at that, believing it after her convoluted escorted trip to the Headmistress' office upon her arrival.

The American wasn't surprised by the news that it was Snape who had brought Albus to his end, Minerva's voice hitching as she passed that along. As soon as Shaluinn had seen the portrait, she'd known what had transpired. The White Tomb was a nice touch. She'd have to pay her respects later.

The students had been sent home, now three days ago. She had just missed the maelstrom of activity. The redhead was a bit surprised when Minerva mentioned that she had yet to decide if she would advise the governors to keep the school closed this coming term.

Shaluinn frowned, her gaze on the elder witch as she spoke, "From what Albus, and now you have told me, it seems like the students would be about as safe here as at home. A hard lesson about war has been driven home, that there is no truly safe haven."

The redhead raised a hand to forestall the argument she saw coming. "Hear me out. I have some experience serving in the Muggle military. We learned the hard way that anyone can be a combatant. There are no truly innocent bystanders. The enemy used children as shields and as suicide bombers, among other things."

McGonagall had a deer-caught-in-headlights look on her face, so Shaluinn decided to cut short her little dissertation, the details not all that important. "I'll sum it up, paraphrasing one of my favorite British authors. 'The people of this country learned long ago, those without swords can still die upon them.'"

"Who said that?"

"Tolkein. J.R.R. Tolkein," the redhead answered.

Minerva seemed thoughtful. "That name sounds familiar. Was he a wizard, dear?"

"You know, I honestly don't know. From all the biographies I've read about him, I always assumed he was a Muggle. But then again, you could be right," Shaluinn admitted. By now the two women had arrived at the Great Hall. Standing outside the tall oak doors, Shaluinn paused for a moment, gathering her wits and courage.

Minerva caught the momentary look of apprehension that crossed the American's face before the redhead hid it well, head held high, back straight. This one would have been a Gryffindor, I'm sure of it. But I wonder... "Shaluinn?"

The woman turned suddenly cold, shuttered eyes toward the Headmistress. "Yes, Madam?"

Oh, dear heavens! Recovering quickly, the elder witch covered her surprise by clearing her throat. "I was wondering if you might indulge me sometime in the near future by trying on the Sorting Hat."

Callaway blinked in confusion, her expression otherwise unaltered. "The what?"

"The Sorting Hat. It's the way students are assigned to their respective Houses. If Hogwarts reopens come September, you will see it in action during the Sorting Ceremony for the first years. I am merely curious to see what House the hat would put you in." As she uttered that final explanation Minerva pushed the hall door open, preceding the American.

"Certainly, Madam," Callaway assented, inclining her head before following McGonagall inside.

The American had no idea just how much she resembled Hogwarts last DADA professor as she strode after the Headmistress. She was clad from head to toe in solid black, minus the billowing teaching robes Snape had favored, garnering his "great black bat" description. The woman held herself stiffly straight; hands clasped behind her back, head high, expression carefully neutral and closed. The bottom of her coat flared slightly as she walked, exposing the length of her legs, made to look longer by the added height of her boots. Her long red hair flowed freely behind her, like a stream of molten fire. Her emerald eyes darted about, taking in everything around her.

Silence descended over the professors gathered in the Great Hall as they caught their first glimpse of the newest addition to the teaching staff. Two of the women present leaned into each other, whispering quietly while throwing openly suspicious, yet furtive glances at the American. They broke off as Callaway's gaze fell on them, her expression neither hostile, nor welcoming. It was simply... cold, making her otherwise plain features somewhat sinister, the redhead inadvertently cutting quite the imposing figure.

Since the students had been sent home, the four long tables that customarily dominated the hall had been replaced by a single table, large enough to hold the staff left. Only seven individuals were seated along its length. Minerva stepped up to the head of the table, motioning for Callaway to stand beside her.

"Since I already have your attention, I would like to introduce you to Shaluinn Callaway. She will be teaching a new elective class, Unwanded Defense." She waited while the redhead made a small bow before motioning to an open seat further down the table. "Perhaps we can go around and each of you introduce yourself," McGonagall suggested, as Shaluinn made her way over to the open spot next to the two grey-haired witches who had been conversing quietly since the redhead entered.

As soon as both Shaluinn and Minerva were seated, food immediately appeared on large platters arranged down the center of the table. As everyone began to serve themselves, the witch to the Callaway's immediate left turned bright yellow, hawk-like eyes on the newcomer. The redhead tried not to appear at a loss over the, unusual for her, breakfast selection. Grey, short-cut hair stuck out from the other witch's head at every angle, causing Shaluinn to wonder if it did that naturally, was charmed into place, or if Muggle gel was utilized to create the effect. While at USAFA, the redhead had sported a similar style and had enjoyed the rather punky look.

"I'm Rolanda Hooch, Quidditch coach and referee, and flying instructor here at Hogwarts." Her gaze still very intent, the witch seemed about to say something else, but instead turned to the woman on her left.

Shaluinn couldn't exactly gauge heights as everyone at the table was seated, but she guesstimated that Professor Hooch was likely a good head taller than her, the witch's build strong and muscular, like Shaluinn's, but not as curvaceous. "Professor Hooch," Callaway greeted in reply.

"Madam Hooch," the hawk-eyed woman corrected.

"My apologies, Madam Hooch," Shaluinn acknowledged, inclining her head.

"I'm Professor Pomona Sprout," chirped the definitely shorter, much rounder witch with grey, flyaway hair, topped by a patched hat seated to Hooch's left. "I teach Herbology and am Head of Hufflepuff House. Welcome to Hogwarts." She finished with a strained smile, clearly trying to ignore Hooch, who was openly frowning, still studying the American.

Even from down the table, it was clear to Shaluinn that the woman spent a great deal of time in her greenhouses, the deeply embedded dirt under her fingernails visible from a distance. "Professor Sprout," Callaway acknowledged with another dip of her head.

As introductions were being made, the redhead settled on some scrambled eggs and toast, and a bowl of what looked something like oatmeal. British food was definitely different from American food. The woman was careful to take small bites, in case someone decided to ask her a question.

Across the table from the pair of grey-haired witches sat a thin, rather vulture-like woman. Realizing it was her turn, she spoke with a shrill voice, her irritation more than evident. "I'm Madam Irma Pince, Hogwarts librarian. I will not tolerate any shenanigans in my library!" the woman admonished sternly, eyes flashing before turning back to her breakfast.

Oh good grief! "Madam Pince, I feel obligated to inform you that you may be receiving visits from Miss Hermione Granger and Misters Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. They are to have unfettered access to the Restricted Section," Shaluinn concluded, the corners of her mouth twitching as she restrained the smirk that wanted to emerge.

Pince went into an immediate fit, muttering and then hurling accusations at the newest professor. All eyes were on the two women as the librarian pointed one long, bony finger at the American. "You have no right..."

"Irma!" McGonagall admonished from the other end of the table. "As a professor, Miss Callaway is well within her rights to grant students access to the Restricted Section. Although informing you over breakfast might not have been the best of times." Minerva threw a warning look at the redhead. What is this girl playing at?

The whole exchange had everyone's attention. Professor Sprout lost her air of forced cheerfulness as the American seemed to be openly baiting the librarian. The move was entirely too much like Snape for anyone's comfort. The redhead was not winning herself any friends with her behavior.

Shaluinn met Minerva's confused gaze and dipped her eyes, acknowledging the admonishment. She then looked across the table and up at the enormous man sitting there. He had to be at least twice as tall as the average man and five times as wide. A curling black beard and long, wild, tangled hair hid his face, eyes like black beetles staring down at her. His hands were so huge they made the utensils he held appear nothing more than doll accessories. He could snap me in half without a second thought.

An impromptu staring contest started as the American looked calmly and evenly up at the giant, the large man clearly taking in the measure of the redhead. She made sure to open her gaze to him, silently telling him her intentions were honorable, despite the baiting of a moment before. She had no idea why, but she felt it imperative that this individual have a good impression of her, that somehow his opinion would mean a great deal.

Silence reigned for several more beats before Callaway broke it, speaking matter-of-factly, with a touch of awe in her voice. "You're half-giant. I've never met one before. It's an honor."

And with that, the man across from her burst into reverberating chuckles, a grin spreading across his face. The tension that had been hovering in the air was effectively broken. "Aye, lass. That I am. Rubeus Hagrid, but everyone calls me Hagrid, Gamekeeper and Keeper of the Keys here at Hogwarts, as well as Professor of Care of Magical Creatures," he announced with pride.

Shaluinn decided that now was the time to let her carefully crafted mask slip a bit. "Care of Magical Creatures you say?" Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, eyes widening with excitement. "Have you any dragons?" The redhead had no way of knowing she had unintentionally lit upon Hagrid's favorite subject. Dumbledore had spoken highly of this man, but had not gone into great depth.

The half-giant's whole face lit up with the question. "They're illegal to keep round here, but we did have four brought in two years ago for the Triwizard Tournament..." He trailed off as a throat clearing was heard from the head of the table. "Sorry, Headmistress."

"Hagrid, I'd like to continue this conversation at a later time. If that's alright?" Shaluinn asked.

"Of course! I live in the cottage down by the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Come down for a cuppa sometime," he offered before turning his attention back to his meal.

A cuppa? For the first time since entering the Great Hall, Shaluinn smiled. "I'd like that. Thank you, Hagrid." With any luck, she'd thrown pretty much everyone off balance by now. For Dumbledore's plotting to work, she had to establish herself as a loner from the start. It wouldn't do to have people constantly visiting her, especially since she had no idea when Snape would try to make contact with her. The only thing she was sure of was that it would be in person.

The woman to Hagrid's left spoke up. "I'm Madam Poppy Pomfrey. I'm the mediwitch here." She appeared middle-aged and was wearing what looked like a white habit taken from The Flying Nun.

Shaluinn's gaze swept past McGonagall to the man--no, men--who sat to the redhead's right. She had almost missed the diminutive older man, seated on a large cushion to raise him up to the table. He considerately stood on his chair, so she could get a good look at him, as he introduced himself. He had a shock of white hair and a somewhat squeaky voice.

"Filius Flitwick, madam. Professor of Charms and Head of Ravenclaw House." The little man performed quite the elegant bow, one arm across his waist, the other held at an angle from his body, and his right heel extended in front of him. It was quite cute, actually. "Welcome to Hogwarts." He then sat back down, offering the stage, so to speak, to the not quite as short, portly man to Shaluinn's immediate right.

"Professor Horace Slughorn, Potions, and Head of Slytherin House, at your service. You wouldn't happen to be the daughter of Jolena Anhel, would you?" He smiled widely, his prominent eyes seeming to bug out for a moment. He was definitely shorter than Shaluinn, his shiny, bald head likely to be a glare hazard. He sported a large belly and an enormous, silvery, walrus-like moustache was the only hair on his head. He wore a waistcoat dotted with many shiny gold buttons.

The first word that came to mind as she gazed coldly down at him was "sycophant." How the hell would this guy know my mother? More importantly, how the hell did he find out...? Oh. Death announcements. They include "survived bys." Still... "I am, sir," she answered truthfully, tone flat and emotionless.

"Oh, excellent! Excellent!" He hastily wiped his hands on his napkin and extended the right one. "I'm sure we can expect great things from you, my dear, great things indeed! Your mother was an incredible, powerful witch."

Shaluinn looked down at the proffered hand with a sneer that would have made Snape proud, refusing to take it. Gratified, she watched Slughorn's bravado falter in the face of her obvious disdain. "Yes, she was," the redhead acknowledged, turning back to her now cold breakfast.

Remembering the tray still in her room, she debated saying fuck it to breakfast and going back. Unless I want Minerva on my ass, I need to make some pretense of eating. Nibbling on the corner of a piece of toast, her thoughts were interrupted by Madam Hooch.

Her voice cold, the witch seemed to be daring the redhead to back down. "Perhaps you could tell us about yourself, now."

It's a reasonable question, but the way she said it tells me she's trying to bait me. Well, two can play this game. Deciding swiftly on the best course of action, she focused on the half-giant across from her, speaking as if they were the only two in the room, a hint of warmth entering her voice.

"Well, you already know my name and have surely surmised I'm an American from my accent. As Professor Slughorn felt necessary to point out, I am the daughter of Jolena Anhel, an American Unspeakable." She definitely had a rapt audience.

Hagrid smiled encouragingly at her as she continued. "My mother was killed several weeks ago by one of Voldemort's Death Eaters." Shaluinn held back a smirk as everyone at the table, including Hagrid, shuddered at the mention of that name.

She decided to give them a general overview of her life that, hopefully, would garner few questions. "I was born July 5, 1958, adopted and raised by my adopted Muggle grandparents. I attended the Pacific Branch of the American Institute of Magic and Mysteries from 1969 to 1976. I subsequently turned my back on the magical world, entering the United States Air Force Academy on June 28, 1976, part of the first class to include women. I left the Academy in March of 1979.

"I bounced around a bit, serving in the Muggle Air Force until May of 1981. I left the Air Force and moved to Japan with a friend to study martial arts, which is what I'll be teaching here at Hogwarts. I achieved fifth-degree black belts in five different disciplines, as well as winning an international swordsmanship competition. I left Japan in December of 1992, returning to my birthplace in Southern California and my adopted mother.

"I completed studies for a Muggle Bachelor's Degree in Criminal Justice, as well as taking up competitive archery. In May of 1995, I moved to Washington State in the Pacific Northwest to be near my real mother, Jolena Anhel. I spent time getting to know her, finally, until about three weeks ago, when she was murdered. Up until six months ago, I had spent my entire adult life living as a Muggle. Six months ago Professor Dumbledore approached me about teaching Unwanded Defense here and began reacquainting me with the magical world."

Madam Pomfrey took the lull in Shaluinn's speech to ask what normally would have been an obvious question. "So you're 38, soon to be 39?"

"Technically, actually temporally, I'm 45, soon to be 46."

A chorus of cries rose up along the table, varying from comments about the impossibility of the American's statement, to speculation on how that could possibly be.

"QUIET!" the redhead cried out, effectively silencing the debates. "My adopted parents refused to allow me to attend the Institute, and as my mother, Jolena, had been through the same fiasco years prior, she obtained permission for the use of a Time-Turner. For seven years I attended both Muggle and magical classes. That is how I can be seven years older than my birth date indicates."

Callaway cast her gaze about, taking in the patently stunned expressions around her. "Any other questions?" Stated rhetorically, she didn't wait for an answer. "No? Then I believe I shall return to settling in." The redhead gracefully stood from the table.

Hands again clasped behind her back in that unknowing impersonation of Snape, she stalked past the head of the table, pausing for just a moment. "Minerva, I shall see you this afternoon then." She pivoted to face the group and inclined her head. "Good-day, all." Turning sharply, the American strode directly out of the hall, her footfalls echoing slightly in the resounding silence.

TBC...

A/N: A few of you may recognize the Lord of the Rings quote as actually being from the movie. Both versions are spoken by Eowyn to Aragorn. In the movie The Two Towers, it takes place as the group is readying to leave for Helm's Deep and is as follows: "The women of this country learned long ago, those without swords can still die upon them. I do not fear either pain or death."

The original, or book version, takes place in The Return of the King, in the chapter titled, The Passing of the Grey Company, and is as follows: "All your words are but to say: you are a woman, and your part is in the house. But when the men have died in battle and honour, you have leave to be burned in the house, for the men will need it no more. But I am of the House of Eorl and not a serving-woman. I can ride and wield blade, and I do not fear either pain or death."

Yes, I know the LotR movie trilogy hadn't been released by 1997, but it is a valid point and good paraphrasing of the original book lines. So sue me. It's called artistic license for a reason. A HUGE thank you to everyone who has stuck with me up to this point. I hope I haven't mangled the canon characters too badly.