Part First: The Hart Assurgent: Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

Breakfast at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was a luscious affair.

The school's house-elves seemed to outdo themselves with every dawn. Great pots and platters of substantial fare would melt upwards from the kitchens: Irish porridge, dripping maple sugar and thick yellowy cream; bright berries with clotted cream, brown and white toast, yellow curds of scrambled eggs fragrant with pepper and salt, platters of kippers and flaky whitefish, bowls of dewy fresh fruit, sizzling plates of bacon, sausage, ham and tomatoes; cold, bright pitchers of pumpkin and orange juice, silver pots of steaming hot tea, coffee, and chocolate. Some of the professors would often joke that the turnover in the teaching staff at Hogwarts was so low not only because of Albus Dumbledore.

Gryffindor House's Harry Potter and his two best friends, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, had, by virtue of Hogwarts breakfasts, become early risers.

"Did the thunder wake you lot up last night?" Hermione asked them both, setting down her goblet of pumpkin juice.

"A lot of times. I think it rained all night, mostly." Harry was red-eyed and yawning, still tired after an unrestful night's sleep.

"The lightning was flashing right over the lake. Did you see it? The sky was purple." Ron Weasley sounded more excited by the prospect of nearby lightning storms than not.

They were up very early that Sunday morning, working on plates of kippers and eggs, when they turned toward the sound of the doors of the dining hall opening midway through the meal. A figure muffled in a dripping black cloak slipped through them. The newcomer threw back her hood, revealing a short cap of wet, pale hair, which she combed back with both hands. Harry watched with more interest – in his experience, people with extremely blonde hair were usually named Malfoy, and people named Malfoy were usually up to no good. He had never seen this particular woman before, though – she was not Draco Malfoy's mother, Narcissa, whom he had first seen some weeks ago at the Quidditch World Cup; despite the similarity of fair colouring, the newcomer seemed a few years too young to have a son of fourteen or so.

The woman set down her black valise against the wall and shed her wet cloak, revealing a damp black dress underneath. Her rained-upon clothes and general dishevelment did nothing to conceal the fact that she looked extremely athletic, in the manner of a gymnast or ballet dancer, and had a very pretty face.

"Who's that?" Harry asked the others, nodding toward the blonde woman.

Ron and Hermione left off their talk about the previous night's storm to glance in the newcomer's direction. Ron was riveted instantly.

" 'Nother veela. Has to be."

"Honestly!" Hermione scolded. "You see veela everywhere now. Just because a woman is blonde doesn't necessarily mean that she's a veela." Hermione was remembering the Bulgarian mascots at the Quidditch World Cup – who had greatly impressed both Ron and Harry. The three friends watched the unfamiliar woman make her way up the far right aisle toward the back of the hall, where the teachers were having their breakfasts.

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Emily was embarrassed to be late. She had wanted to arrive early enough to be nicely dressed and composed when she met the other professors. She thought it would make a good impression (especially for an Arcadian) to be very punctual, but missing the train had thrown her schedule into hopeless disarray. She had flagged the Knight Bus down and gotten as far as Hogsmeade by the time the sun was up, but finally she had checked most of her luggage at the station and run the remaining distance in the rain with one small bag, intending to return for the rest of her things the next day. Which meant, of course, that she had to wash the mud off her filthy feet in the chill waters of the lake before putting her boots back on. Plus, her underthings and stockings had gotten somewhat torn in the callbox, so much so that she had finally taken them all off in the bus restroom and stuffed them into her luggage. She was now absolutely frozen through.

Blast the prohibition against Apparating on school grounds. Blast the fact that she had to travel with wardrobes for three radically different social circles. Blast the fact that she was an impossible clotheshorse who overpacked for everything. Blast the fact that she hadn't been able to find a Holding Trunk in any of the shops in Diagon Alley and had to use her Muggle luggage.

And blast that dark-haired stranger. He was hardly what she needed that night, that night of all nights. She could hardly tell the Hogwarts headmaster that she missed the train because she had stayed up unconscionably late with that tall, dark, uptight fellow who proved to be hotter than a smith's crucible under the myriad exasperating buttons of his coat. Taking a new lover had been the last thing on her mind; yet now, when she should have been concentrating on her new position, she had to of course come across the first person she had actually found interesting in years.

And because of him, damn his glorious brooding black eyes, she was going to have to meet the Hogwarts Headmaster without knickers on.

Blast and damnation. Flaming Christian hell.

It was really a shame she would never see him again.

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"Professor Snape is awfully late," Hermione observed. Breakfast was now half over, and Snape had just then made his way to the High Table and taken his usual seat at its far end. He reached for the steaming teapot, poured himself a cup, and held the cup in between both hands, as if soaking up its warmth.

"His hair is soaking wet," Ron said. "Must have gotten stuck out in the rain."

"That's odd," Harry muttered. "He usually seems like he's been here forever."

"I thought he lived here year-round," Hermione said.

"Probably. Who'd want to live with him?" Ron asked. "If he has a family, they would probably all be scared of him."

The blonde woman arrived at the front of the hall. Dumbledore spotted her immediately and waved her forward to an empty seat at the right-hand end of the professors' table, between Madame Pince, the librarian, and Professor Sprout, the Herbology Professor and head of Hufflepuff House. Then he passed a plate of small wheat cakes dusted with fresh flower petals down toward her.

After she had had time to have some breakfast, Dumbledore tapped his glass for everyone's attention, and addressed the assemblage of students.

"If I may have everyone's attention, please, for an announcement.

"This year, we have decided to add a second session of our Defence Against the Dark Arts class to our curriculum.

"I am aware of the fact that we are some weeks into our new term. While our first session, emphasizing the magical means of defending oneself against the Dark Arts, continues to be capably taught by Professor Alastor Moody... " Dumbledore nodded toward Moody, who stared impassively back. "Our elective session shall emphasise means of defending oneself against the Dark Arts without the use of one's wand. These methods shall include various methods of combat and concealment, and the enchanting of talismans of protection. Any Hogwarts student in his fourth year or older may sign up for this new class.

"Now, may I introduce our second Defence Against the Dark Arts professor – Miss Emily Beauregard Swain, lately of London, Cambridge, and the Arcadian Kingdoms.

"Professor Swain."

The students greeted their unexpected new teacher with polite applause. The fair woman stood, smiling, and waved greetings to the room.

"Various methods of combat?" Ron said in an excited whisper. "What does that mean? Fighting monsters?"

"What do they mean by concealment?" Hermione asked. "I'm going to sign up. How to protect oneself without using a wand – that sounds really fascinating."

"Professor Snape must really be on about not getting a Defence Against the Dark Arts position, now that they've added another session of it," Harry said, in an undertone.

"Looks like it," Ron replied. Indeed, Snape scowled into his cup of tea as the new professor was introduced, refusing to so much as look at her or acknowledge her.

Harry turned to Hermione. "Where are the Arcadian Kingdoms? I've never heard of them before."

"The Arcadian Kingdoms... I've only read about them. Hardly anyone has ever been there who isn't a member of one of the tribes."

"The tribes?"

"Of Faeries," Hermione replied. "The Fair Folk. According to Non-Wizard Magical Traditions Across, and on Parallel Planes of Existence Relatively Close to, the Globe, that's who lives in the Arcadian Kingdoms."

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After breakfast, when the students had left the dining hall, the professors retired to the armchairs in front of a great fire in the teachers' lounge, for spot more of tea and conversation.

With an excellent meal and hot tea warming her through, her hair and clothes finally dry, Emily relaxed and began to enjoy herself.

Academic conversation was always interesting to her, and Headmaster Dumbledore did not seem displeased by her late arrival. Indeed, he related some very funny anecdotes about times when he had been delayed by travel – including a time when, during his early attempts at long-distance Apparition, a faulty attempt had landed him in Rome, and his clothes and all of his luggage somewhere near Caesar's Palace in Las Vegas, Nevada.

Later, Dumbledore took Emily's elbow and began to propel her gently around, making introductions to the other professors, who stood clustered in small groups around the firelit room.

"Professor McGonagall, it's a pleasure. Your book on Transfiguration is a classic.

"Professor Flitwick – I'm so glad to finally meet you. My father remembers his Head of House very fondly.

"Professor Sinistra, I'm a great fan of your work on left-handed spell casting. Do let's have tea and talk about inverse cursing.

"And Professor Snape, I've just read your paper on bezoars. I'd love to have a chat with you about – "

With Dumbledore making the introduction, Snape could no longer ignore the second Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. He grudgingly turned to finally look at her.

Their eyes met.

He turned dark red, and she marble-white.

They both looked away.

But, at the same moment, they both saw Dumbledore watching them curiously, and recovered their composure.

Emily Swain held out her hand.

So did Severus Snape.

"Professor."

"Professor."

"I'm... a great admirer of your work," she said, with an almost entirely straight face.

Evidently Professor Snape could keep a straight face much better than she could. He shook her hand impassively.

"Thank you." Snape retreated a step and crossed his arms. "I think I may have glanced over some of yours somewhere. Your opinions on swordplay and duelling are interesting, if a bit... naïve. Do you really believe that conflict resolution through fencing is a constructive way to vent competitive energy in young people?"

Well. Hello to you too.

"Yes... in my experience, Professor, duelling, in a very controlled environment, had a positive effect on young competitors, much in the same way as sporting matches did. Like the Quidditch matches played at Hogwarts," she said.

"But Quidditch is not purported to be a form of conflict resolution."

"Neither is competitive fencing in Muggle schools. Yet, sporting matches often become so, do they not?"

He was silent, watching her. Her return gaze was reserved, but showed no hint of moral embarrassment.

The scent of him, however, was maddening. To her kind, the scent and proximity of someone one found intensely desirable had a mildly intoxicating effect – and the fact that she could still smell him all over her own skin was not helping matters at all.

"Professor Swain? Are you quite all right?" Madam Pomfrey had pressed a hand to her elbow. "I can give you a dose of my Pepper-Up Potion if you've taken a chill out there – "

"No, I'm simply... " She pressed a hand to her temple. "I'm just exhausted. Really, it feels as though I've been awake for days. I'd like to settle in before my classes begin tomorrow."

The Headmaster smiled understandingly at her. "Of course, Professor. With the coming events anticipated for this year, we teachers will need to be at our best. Once you have had time to sleep and unpack, do come see me in my office, for I have much to tell you about this coming year."

Dumbledore leaned closer to her, eyes sparkling. "And I would also very much like to know how my old friends Buckminster and Elaine are faring, and catch up on the latest gossip from Court."

He winked at her. She grinned at him.

"Of course, sir. I shall visit you tonight after supper, if that is convenient for you."

"Yes, it is, Professor. I will await your arrival." Dumbledore turned to Madam Pince. "May I trouble you to point our new professor toward her quarters? Thank you. Oh, and your key, of course."

Dumbledore produced an ornate metal key from somewhere within one of his voluminous sleeves. She hesitated a moment before accepting it, then asked, in a very low, polite voice: "Sir, the key is... ?"

"Copper, of course," the headmaster said pleasantly. "As is the lock. You'll find that all the other metal fixtures in your quarters and your classroom are made of copper or bronze as well. I do find the warmth of their colour to be quite beautiful, don't you?"

"Absolutely, sir." She accepted it with a smile of thanks.

"I have also arranged with the house-elves for only the usual gold and china services to be used at the teacher's table at meals as well – you need not worry about any surprises there."

Dumbledore had thought of everything. What a truly considerate man. She thanked him warmly.

As Professor Swain left with Madam Pince, Professor Snape returned to conversation with Professor Flitwick. His eyes followed his new colleague as she made her exit, although anyone looking at his face would have thought him completely indifferent on the subject of Defence Against the Dark Arts professors, late of London, Cambridgeshire, and the Arcadian Kingdoms.