Part First: The Hart Assurgent: Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

Madam Pince showed Emily down the lower gallery of a vast hall, through doorways, and along labyrinthine stone corridors lined with oil paintings, up and occasionally down staircases that veered off in all directions like the Escher drawings she had seen in Muggle bookstores. Weak grey daylight slanted in through windows still plashing with rain. Hogwarts castle was vast and magnificent, but chilly, and on such a dull day, rather gloomy to her, used as she was to the sunshine and balmy climes of home. She was glad of the occasional stone brazier of flaming coals standing in the halls.

"Your rooms are in the second to the top floor of Ravenclaw Tower. My rooms are in the second floor, just above the staff library in the ground floor. Professor Flitwick has the floor above mine and just beneath yours, but he's a heavy sleeper and nothing disturbs him. He's an old dear, Filius is. Professor Sinistra lives in the top of the tower just above you. She likes the topmost floor so she can keep her telescopes on the roof. She just loves it up there, though I think I wouldn't like climbing all those stairs."

"Stairs are all right. I won't mind them so much, Madam Pince."

"Yes, I suppose our fencing teacher wouldn't balk at a bit of exercise. And do call me Irma," Madam Pince said with a comfortable smile. "My guess is you've only been in a Wizarding school as a student before?"

"Yes, that's it."

Madam Pince's laugh was as comfortable as her smile. "Severus Snape was the same way about calling us by our first names when he started teaching here. You'll soon get used to it."

Down one corridor, through another gallery. "You won't need to worry about affiliations with any of the Houses – we've already got Heads of House for all of them. Dumbledore will explain to you about giving and taking away points for the Inter-House competition, though I doubt if it'll get the same sort of effort from students this year, what with the Tournament and all. Ah, here we are."

Madam Pince stopped in front of a large oil painting set on a vast, curved stone wall – no doubt the base of a round tower. The canvas depicted a middle-aged wizard with a roguish expression on his face, dressed in sixteenth-century garb and sitting in a carved chair, with a goblet in one hand and a book in the other.

Emily had leaned close to the painting, trying to read some of the lettering in the book he was holding – when the subject of the painting winked at her. "Greetings, my lady. I've not seen thee traversing these halls before. If thou comest any closer, do give old Alberic a kiss."

She gasped and sprang back, blinking.

"Mind your manners, Alberic," Madam Pince said tartly. She turned back to Emily. "That one's a flirt, he is."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Madam – Irma," she said. "It used to give me a turn when paintings spoke to me even when I was in school."

"Give us the password, then, ladies," Alberic said.

"Dementis venustas," said Madam Pince. Alberic's frame swung open, revealing a doorway.

"Dementis venustas – 'beautiful madness,'" Emily said, as they headed through the doorway and into the tower.

"It's totally appropriate for what goes on in this tower," Madam Pince replied.

Madam Pince showed Emily around the small staff library and exquisitely appointed study rooms in the first floor of Ravenclaw Tower. The walls were lined floor to ceiling with books – Emily was enraptured with this embarrassment of riches. Coming from Arcadia, a country without modern printing capabilities, and where books were most often still lettered, illustrated, and bound by hand, such a roomful of finished bound books on varying subjects was like a roomful of gold. The library and study alcoves were furnished with carved ebony tables, fat armchairs and sofas of dark blue leather, and oil lamps with globes of deep robin's-egg-blue glass. Madam Pince merely smiled approvingly when Emily lingered in the library, exclaiming over its every detail – no doubt she, the school librarian, could understand the younger woman's honest delight with having access to lots of books.

"Come along now, let's show you to your rooms." She led Emily out of the library to the spiral staircase of carved stone just outside the Ravenclaw library entrance and opposite the back of Alberic's canvas. Irma Pince was puffing a bit by the time they reached Emily's rooms on the fourth floor of the tower, but Emily was so excited that she all but bounded up the stairs a flight at a time. She unlocked her door – a charming thing of ebony wood, with a Gothic arched doorframe and a tiny, inset window depicting an eagle in grey and blue stained glass – with the copper key Dumbledore had given her.

It was the prettiest apartment imaginable, even more comfortable than her old London flat. There were three rooms in all; the door opened on a large sitting room, with bedroom and bath through a door on her left. There was a massive stone hearth to the north end of the living room, and a second open hearth set in the wall between bedroom and bathroom, so that she might warm both with a single blaze.

The walls were of grey stone, with a carved, arched ceiling. Vast diamond-paned windows lined the west-facing walls of both her living room and bedroom, with window seat benches cushioned in blue velvet just below them. The southwest windows looked out upon the tumultuous, storm-grey lake; to the northwest lay the emerald-green Hogwarts Quidditch pitch.

"This is beautiful," she told Madam Pince, kneeling on the living-room window seat with her chin on her hands on the windowsill. "Just lovely. I shall adore living here."

Madam Pince laughed aloud. "There now, you don't like it one bit, do you? Shall we send Hagrid to help you with your luggage?"

"Oh no, most of my things are still at the Three Broomsticks in town. I'll just pick it all up tomorrow."

"All right then. I'll leave you to settle in." Irma Pince turned to go, but paused on the threshold. "And – welcome to Hogwarts, Emily."

"Thank you, Irma."

Before the elderly librarian had made her way down the four flights of stairs, Emily had lain down fully clothed on her new four-poster bed, and was fast asleep.

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Emily arrived for her visit with Dumbledore just after supper. After several hours' sleep, a hot bath, and a fresh pair of knickers, she was feeling much more confident than she had upon her first meeting with him.

Professor McGonagall had directed her to a second floor corridor that had appeared to hold nothing but a large stone gargoyle, but after McGonagall stood before the gargoyle and intoned, "Apricot toffee!" in a terribly imposing voice, the gargoyle had stood aside, revealing a spiral staircase. The staircase began to rise slowly upward, depositing her at the entrance to Dumbledore's office. It was a great round room with a lofty domed ceiling – a gallery ledge lined the upper half of the walls, which were full of even more books.

She could hardly imagine what it must be like to have so many books at her disposal. How lucky these Wizarding folk were.

Everywhere she looked in this room, there was something curious to look at – quaint mechanical instruments made of some silvery metal, a carved, claw-footed desk as big as her parents' great dining table, and a thick silk rug depicting the Hogwarts four-quadrant crest underfoot. Something made a hoarse croak at her as she crossed the office threshold – and she turned to see a large bird with gorgeous, iridescent red plumage regarding her from a perch behind the door. The bird tilted its head to the side, and croaked a curious, interrogatory, Auuuuk? at her.

"Ah, Professor Swain. Good evening." Dumbledore's pleasant voice sounded above her head. She looked up to one of the gallery ledges to see Dumbledore close a book and re-shelve it, then start down a slender, twisted golden staircase toward the ground level.

"Good evening, Headmaster."

"Come in, come in." He descended the steps slowly and deliberately – she was reminded that he was nearly twice her own father's age. "May I offer you a cup of tea? Or perhaps something stronger?"

"Only if you'll let me pour one for you too."

Dumbledore threw her a mischievous smile, lacing both hands behind his back in a boyish gesture. "Truthfully, I was thinking of tapping the cask of apple brandy your parents sent me for my last birthday. Your arrival here seems like a wholly appropriate special occasion for it."

"You have Third Kingdom calvados here?"

"By happy coincidence, so I do." Dumbledore opened a cupboard behind his desk, where a low shelf held a tiny barrel propped on its side on sturdy wooden legs. With a wave of his wand, he conjured a tiny golden spigot – and filled two crystal glasses with a pale amber liquor. He pressed one into her hand and waved her to one of the two inviting leather armchairs flanking his majestic hearth, then took the other one himself. He sat down with a sigh, propping his feet up on a soft leather ottoman and taking a long sip from his glass. The brandy was delicious, with smoky apple and caramel flavours that filled the mouth like warm honey.

"Ah, that's lovely. So tell me, are you finding Ravenclaw Tower to your liking?"

"I'm finding Ravenclaw Tower quite magnificent, sir. I'm amazed at just the sheer size of Hogwarts – and the number of libraries you have here."

"Yes – Irma Pince was so pleased to find in you a fellow bibliophile. I think you've made a friend there." He took another sip from his glass, looking as contented as a cat purring. "Do tell me, how have your parents been?"

"They're very well, thanks. Mother's latest news is that she's finally retired from active combat duty in favour of a strategic command position. Father's practically standing on his head with happiness."

Dumbledore smiled gently. "And how is your father? Still working?"

"He took up his study of barding traditions again about two years ago, and now he's on the verge of completing it."

"Really? That's wonderful. It's always such an event when we receive another of his works for our library. What subject will he take up next?"

"He's had an idea for some years about writing a volume on each of the Faery tribes."

"He would be undertaking a very large task, indeed, then," Dumbledore said. "I do hope I live to see its completion."

"I hope I do too, sir," she said bemusedly, taking a sip of brandy.

Dumbledore slanted a long look at her. "And how is Gwydion faring? Health still good, I hope?"

"He seems well. Though to be honest, I hope he lives to read my father's latest work. His great age is becoming more obvious in recent years. His mind has never failed him, but he seems frail to me."

"He has always had such a zest for life that sometimes I forget that he was in his fifties when I was at Court."

"You know, they still tell stories about your year as a Tithesman," she said. "Is it true that you and Gwydion persuaded a naiad to let you Transfigure the waters of her well into wine one evening?"

"Oh, yes. Those were the days, my dear," he said with a nostalgic grin. "And what has kept you busy lately, Emily?"

"Not much to report," she said. "Just the usual. Training squires, peacekeeping manoeuvres with my unit. And I'm spending a good bit of time with Mother and Father."

"I see." Dumbledore nodded.

"It's good to have work to do," she said with a rather humourless swig from her glass. Dumbledore frowned.

"Of course. I think after your classes start Tuesday, you'll soon have plenty of work to occupy you here."

"I can't wait to visit all the libraries, and you do have such a lot of brilliant scholars on the staff. It's almost intimidating."

"Oh, don't worry. Believe me, they'll be just as curious to talk to you as you are to talk to them."

"I hope so. I can't have made a very good impression today, staggering in out of the rain like that – "

Dumbledore waved away her worries. "Again, don't worry. Everyone on the staff has grown up hearing legends of the Fae – so now that you've made such a dramatic entrance out of a rainstorm, think of it as just adding to your general air of romance."

She laughed heartily. "I certainly hope that a general air of romance will be enough to distract everyone from the fact that I looked as though someone had been emptying buckets on my head."

"You were considerably drier than little Dennis Creevey, one of this year's crop of Gryffindor first-years," Dumbledore said. "Poor little chap actually fell in the lake on his first day here."

"The poor child. What an anticlimactic beginning to the term."

"Oh, I could tell you some amazing stories about anticlimactic beginnings to term," Dumbledore told her. "Just two years ago, we had two Gryffindor second-years crash an enchanted flying Ford Anglia into a tree on campus. And that flying car ended up on the front page of the Daily Prophet, no less – "

"No! You can't be serious!"

"Oh, wait until you hear about the year after that, my dear... "

Dumbledore really did have some amazing stories about beginnings of term. He had some equally fascinating stories about the middle of term, and the end of term. He also had a wonderful store of anecdotes about his students, as they both triumphed and got themselves into dreadful scrapes. Then he told her all about the upcoming Triwizard Tournament, his spring-blue eyes alight with excitement. Then he filled her in on the House Cup, and her duties in giving and subtracting points from students. Later, he told her a little gentle staff gossip about her new colleagues – their strengths, their eccentricities, something of their histories. As they continued to drink apple brandy and bask in the firelight until it was very late and they both felt very mellow indeed, he reminisced about her father's years as a student at Hogwarts.

"I'm so thrilled to see Professor Flitwick is still teaching here," she said. "He was just starting as Head of Ravenclaw House when my father was a second-year. Father greatly admires him. And to think, now my father's favourite professor has got the apartments below mine in Ravenclaw Tower."

"Yes, Filius, Minerva, Poppy Pomfrey – they're all part of the old crowd, bless them," Dumbledore said. "We truly do have a marvellous lot of teachers here. My only worry about the staff is that younger professors, like Remus Lupin, who taught Defence Against the Dark Arts last year, Severus Snape, and now you, will find yourselves feeling rather at loose ends, when so much of the rest of the staff are the same ages as your parents or grandparents."

"I doubt that'll bother me. Over the last few years I've only really sought the company of my parents, Gwydion, and Dahlia," she replied. "They're the people who know me best."

"I understand." Dumbledore took a reflective sip from his glass. "Tell me, have you and Severus ever met before?"

"Who – Professor Snape and I?" She felt her heart rate pick up rapidly as she fumbled for a truthful reply. "I've never met him before this weekend."

"He reacted so oddly when I introduced the two of you today. I thought he seemed rather flustered, which is very unlike him."

"Did he seem flustered to you? I didn't notice." Which was, again, the whole truth – of course she couldn't have been expected to notice if Snape was flustered; she had been far too preoccupied with her own state of knickerless flusteredness.

"He's a brilliant scholar, Severus Snape. Though I must warn you, there are those who find him a bit... difficult to get along with."

"He seemed all right to me today," she said noncommittally.

"Good, good, all for the best," Dumbledore said, setting his empty glass down on a small table beside his chair. "I'll want him to take... special note of... what you teach this year. There's a good reason for that, you know... "

As she waited for Dumbledore to tell her what the good reason was for his desire to see Professor Snape take special note of what she taught this year, her mind was racing, trying to figure out plausible half-truths for any question that he might ask her about the Potions professor. When he asked her whether she had known Snape before her arrival at Hogwarts, and told her that he had seemed flustered upon being introduced to her, she had very nearly panicked.

But the questions, and the explanation, never came, because Dumbledore, from the depths of his chair, suddenly gave a soft snore.

She glanced at him in surprise, to see his white head pillowed on the cushioned back of his seat, delicately veined lavender eyelids fluttering gently. Yes, of course – she was looking at the predictable effect of the combination of the late hour, the warmth of the fire, the comfortable chair, and much liquor on an elderly man who worked very long hours.

Emily finished her brandy and stood up, then collected his glass and hers, and set them on a small tray in the cupboard behind his desk. Then she crossed to the lamp that burned on his desk and silently turned the wick down until it went out. As she made her silent way toward the door, she paused in front of the red bird's perch and whispered, "You'll watch over him, won't you?"

The bird cocked its head at her again and gave a quiet, affirmative, Auuukkkk.

"Thank you. Good night."

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"Good afternoon, class."

"Good afternoon, Professor," said many young voices. It was Tuesday morning, and Emily's first class session had just begun.

The new elective Defence Against the Dark Arts professor surveyed her class in a businesslike manner. She had worn simple black robes and had tied some of her hair back. She waited until the class quieted down, then launched into an introductory lecture.

"Welcome to your supplemental Defence Against the Dark Arts class."

"My philosophy of defending oneself against the Dark Arts begins with three principles.

"Avoidance of confrontation, and misdirection, are the first. If you aren't a clear target, you won't be attacked. We'll be covering several means of making yourself scarce against attack in this course.

"Second – Repellents and Protections. With some preparation, you can forearm yourself with that which makes you repellent to your attacker, that which makes you inoffensive to your attacker, or that which neutralizes his power.

"Third – the Wizarding magical tradition is wand-centred. Without a wand, most wizards and witches find themselves in a tight spot. Wizard magic can fail you, especially when your wand is taken from you, or is broken." Both Harry and Ron glanced at each other and laughed ruefully.

"Also, if your opponent is magically so powerful that you have no prayer against defending yourself from him or her that way, you then must turn to an alternate means of protecting yourself."

With that, she lifted her right arm, and in another second had thrown a dagger at the far wall, where it struck a cork target mounted there. The class let out a collective gasp, then turned back to where Professor Swain had been standing a moment earlier.

She wasn't there.

They all gasped again. It was impossible that she could have hidden behind her desk, or pulled on an Invisibility Cloak, or Apparated away – she had simply vanished, without making a sound, in the time it had taken them to watch the thrown dagger hit the back wall. They looked around uncertainly at each other for a few moments. Seamus Finnigan even got up and peeked behind her desk and into the broom cupboard.

"She's really not here," he said.

"I guess that means we've got the rest of the class off, then," Draco Malfoy snickered. He stretched and kicked his feet up on his desk, lacing his fingers behind his head.

"Don't put your feet on the furniture, please," came Professor Swain's voice. From right beside Malfoy's desk. Where she suddenly was, solid as life, her arms folded over her chest, her posture totally relaxed – as if she had been standing there the entire time. The class gasped again, staring. Professor Swain smiled.

"Now," she asked, surveying the entire class, "can someone tell me how I did that?"

No one was surprised that Hermione Granger's hand was the only one in the air. "Miss Brown Curls Front Row there. I'm terribly sorry if I don't have all your names right yet."

"If I'm not mistaken, you used a form of the Faery art of Obscurantis, or, the art of hiding in plain sight. A practitioner of this art can walk through a crowd and be certain that no one will remember having seen him. An object treated with Obscurantis is effectively invisible, though it may be sitting in plain sight."

"Excellent. And how did I undo my Obscurantis effect?"

"You spoke to us, and drew attention to yourself."

"Exactly." She paused by Hermione's desk, looking admiringly at her. "You know, that was a rhetorical question – I wasn't really expecting anyone here to actually be able to answer it. How, on Earth, did you know that?"

"Well, when Professor Dumbledore said that you were from the Arcadian Kingdoms, and your class was about doing magic without using a wand – I thought that sounded interesting, so went to the library and found some books about the history of the Arcadian Kingdoms and their magical traditions. It's a tiny section, there's lots of conflicting information, and all the maps look different, but... "

A smile had spread across Professor Swain's face. "And you've done all that reading in the time since I was introduced Sunday morning."

Hermione nodded.

"You must be Hermione Granger, of Gryffindor House, if I'm not mistaken."

Hermione nodded again, smiling.

"Great work, Miss Granger. Thirty points for Gryffindor for your extremely diligent preparation."

The other Gryffindors grinned at her. Hermione pinkened with pleasure.

Draco Malfoy's hand went up immediately. "So will we learn that, this year? How to throw knives?" He sounded like he couldn't wait to get started.

"You'll find that throwing knives, Mister... " She stopped, taking a long look at him. "Mister... um... "

"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

"Malfoy." Professor Swain paused. "Any relation to Lucius Malfoy?"

"He's my father." Draco smiled with satisfaction, no doubt figuring that if the new professor knew his father, he would soon have her as firmly in his hip pocket as he did Professor Snape. A few of the Gryffindors exchanged worried looks.

"I can see the resemblance. At any rate, getting back to your question, throwing daggers actually isn't the most effective means of countering an attack in many situations. The reason why I threw that dagger was to get you all to look away from me, just for a moment. You cannot use an Obscurantis effect to vanish when someone is looking directly at you. You can only use it when you are out of sight.

"If you are trying to flee from an attacker, you will need to divert his attention in order to Obscure yourself and hide. Also, while you are running away, be careful not to disturb anything or make any loud noises, because that will alert him to your presence."

Harry put up his hand, a little nervously, no doubt wondering if he could expect the same sort of dislike from the new professor that he always received from Professor Snape, a former Slytherin and a friend of Draco's father. But she called on him with the same pleasant manner she had used toward everyone in the class: "Yes, Mr. Second Row with the Black Hair and Spectacles."

"Please, Professor, how is Obscurantis different from using, say, an Invisibility Cloak?"

"That's a good question. An Invisibility Cloak needs to be put on, whereas Obscurantis effects are created using Mots de Puissance. Can anyone tell me what Mot de Puissance means?"

"Word of Power." Some heads turned toward the sound – it was Draco Malfoy who had spoken.

"Excellent, Mr. Malfoy. Ten points for Slytherin. I see someone else has been doing some reading."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "How did you know I was in Slytherin?"

"Oh – someone told me once that the Malfoys have all been in Slytherin since roughly the beginning of time. Anyway, to elaborate on your question about Invisibility Cloaks, Mister... "

"Harry Potter – "

She glanced sharply back at him as he spoke his name, her eyes seeking the scar on his forehead, but there was nothing in her manner of the usual extreme deference – or animosity – his name conjured in some other people. "Mr. Potter, an Invisibility Cloak is an Objet de Puissance, an Object of Power. A witch or wizard using an Object of Power does not invoke an abstract magic the way he or she does by using a Word of Power – the magic is contained within the item itself. Later on in this course, we'll be making protective amulets, which are simple but very effective Objets de Puissance.

"The drawback with carrying a magical object, such as a wand, or an Invisibility Cloak, however, is that it can be taken from you by force, or accidentally pulled off, whereas once you have learned how to use an Obscurantis effect, it's yours for good, so long as you can use your Word of Power.

"An Invisibility Cloak reflects your surroundings on itself, making you vanish from sight. An Obscurantis effect makes you so unmemorable that you cannot be seen. It works by compelling people to totally ignore you."

Ron stuck his hand up. "So you were really here the whole time? We were all just ignoring you?"

"Indeed, Mr. Redheaded Second Row – " She motioned for him to give his name.

"Ron Weasley."

"Mr. Weasley. Yes, it was very funny. When Mr. Front Row with All the Freckles looked behind my desk for me, he brushed right past me. And Miss Back Corner with the Butterfly Clip In Your Hair, you'll want to close that copy of Witch Weekly that you pulled out once you thought I had left the room, and that you now have hidden under your Divination book." She smiled broadly as she said it, and even Parvati laughed.

"So we won't be learning anything about fighting, then?" Malfoy sounded like he was about to cry with disappointment.

"Yes, we most certainly will, Mr. Malfoy. You'll receive some training with the dagger, but it won't be the focus of my martial arts curriculum. My weapon of choice is the sword. In addition to two sessions of lecture each week on Tuesdays and Wednesdays in this class, you will be required to attend a two-hour session of instruction in fencing and self-defence techniques, Thursday mornings. We'll be practicing in the courtyard."

Everyone's eyebrows shot up, some people reacting with surprise, some with excitement, and some with apprehension. Hermione put her hand up. "So we'll all have to learn how to use a sword?"

"Yes, Miss Granger. Just enough to keep yourselves from being slaughtered if someone comes at you with a weapon, or if something big and frightening comes at you while you're holding a weapon." Hermione and Ron both glanced at Harry at that remark.

Their Professor surveyed all the apprehensive faces around her and laughed. "No need to look so alarmed, you lot. No one's going to expect you to go to the Olympics by fifth year."

Ron Weasley's hand went up. "Professor? Pardon me, what are the Owlimthicks?"

"Something like amateur Quidditch for Muggles."

Draco Malfoy put up his hand again. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy."

"How can I use a Word of Power?"

She smiled at the class.

"It's simple. Everyone creates his or her own."

"How?" asked several voices at once. Hermione, leaning forward in her seat, hadn't even bothered to raise her hand.

The bell rang. "We'll take that up in our next session."

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"Did you notice?" Hermione excitedly asked Ron and Harry as they hurried down the hall to Potions class. "Her hair was pulled back – and she's got pointed ears. Not like a house-elf's, but if you look closely... "

"That professor was all right!" Ron said. "Throwing knives around and vanishing like that... 'My weapon of choice is the sword... ' Like she's got a whole armoury in her pocket and has a favourite one of them. That was cool."

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After the class had left, Professor Swain crossed to where the dagger was protruding from the target in the back wall. She tugged it free from the cork board, then drew a roll of suede leather from a pocket of her robes. A neat row of highly detailed miniature swords and daggers pierced the leather, like nothing so much as a tailor's paper of needles. She held the dagger before her.

"Reducio." Then she silently spoke a word.

In a moment, the dagger had shrunk to needle size.

She replaced the weapon into the bit of leather, and then returned the tiny armoury to her pocket.

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When Professor Swain arrived at her Wednesday class session, she was not prepared for what greeted her in the classroom.

It looked as though fifteen or twenty new students had enrolled in her class. There weren't enough seats for all the students crammed into the room – some of them had seated themselves on the windowsill, and a few had even sprawled on the floor in the front of the room. She noticed, with a bit of a start, that occupying five of the seats in the back row were Headmaster Dumbledore, and Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Moody, and Sprout.

"Professors. Is there anything I can I help you with?" she asked, approaching the last row.

"Professor Swain. Good afternoon," Dumbledore called. "We are here to sit in on your lecture on the creation of a Mot de Puissance. I have reason to believe that it should be quite enlightening."

"Headmaster – are you not... quite acquainted with... Faery magics?" she asked Dumbledore in a lowered tone.

"Yes, Professor. But word of your lecture on Tuesday has piqued the interest of others besides your students."

She paled to the tips of her pointed ears. "I am flattered, sir." She glanced at the small crowd in the classroom. "But I was not expecting this, sir." She met the eyes of all the other professors, looking at her expectantly. Mad-Eye Moody's rolling, unblinking blue eye was fixed on her face.

Dumbledore was smiling at her, very gently. "The opportunity to learn a non-Wizarding tradition of magic is a rare thing at Hogwarts," he observed. "You, one whose culture understands so well the thirst for knowledge, cannot blame anyone for taking a scholarly interest in this lecture, can you?"

"Of course not, sir. I simply was not expecting this sort of... this large of... an audience, sir."

"Please proceed with the lecture you had planned to give, Professor. It will not lose meaning if a large number of ears are here to listen to it."

"Of course not, Headmaster."

She was still in agonies of nerves while she was returning to the podium at the front of her class – until the door to the classroom opened again, and she walked headlong into Severus Snape, who had just arrived. The side of her face impacted with his neck and chest – where she took a deep, involuntary, enticing breath of the scent of his body – the first time she had been in his presence since the morning of her first day here.

As if she wasn't rattled enough already.

She sprang back immediately. "I beg your pardon, Professor. I didn't see you come into the room."

She thought he unhanded her as though she was red-hot, and exceedingly stinky besides. "Of course, Professor," he said, extremely stiffly. "Do excuse my clumsiness."

"No matter. My fault entirely," she said.

They stood exhaling at each other for the briefest of moments, then turned their faces resolutely aside and passed each other with elaborate casualness. Professor Snape moved up to the teachers in the back row, and took a seat Dumbledore had been saving for him. Professor Swain went to the podium at the head of the class and quickly organized her lecture notes.

"Good afternoon, class," she said, her voice rising in volume to fill the room. "Our group seems to have grown in size from last session. My greetings to everyone who is joining us for the first time. And welcome to our distinguished professors, who are visiting us today."

She meant to take them all in with her smile of welcome, but her gaze was lingering on the dark, etched silhouette of Severus Snape. He was suddenly minutely absorbed in dipping a quill.

Well then – fine. Her eyes searched the room for a more attentive audience.

Hermione Granger was sitting in the front row, as usual. Leaning forward in her seat, dark eyes alight with interest, several freshly sharpened quills laid out beside her notebook, brown curls all but springing from her head with absorption.

Yes, this young girl, she was the sympathetic audience Emily craved. She would tell what she knew to Miss Granger. Miss Granger, and Dumbledore. The rest of them could make of it what they would.

"To review, briefly, last session we had an introduction to the Faery art of Obscurantis. As Miss Granger of Gryffindor very competently pointed out – " at which Hermione looked down and smiled – "Obscurantis is the art of hiding both oneself and objects in plain sight."

She could not look up in the direction of Severus Snape during that portion of her lecture. Why did he have to be in the room during this speech?

"Obscurantis is a very ancient art. Fae historians estimate that it came into use in the Faery magical canon as many as three thousand years ago. Both Wizarding and Muggle sources allude to its use. The great Muggle playwright, William Shakespeare, describes its use in his play A Midsummer Night's Dream, in which he describes Puck, a Faery character, using Obscurantis, and another Faery art, the casting of Glamours, in order to hide himself from Queen Titania and the rude mechanicals as he carried out the bidding of his liege, King Oberon.

"On a related historical note, the character of King Oberon was actually based on King Auberon, a historical High King of the Sixth Kingdom. He ruled some four hundred years ago and was a great patron of the arts. He was known to have visited the Second World – that's what they call your Earth here in Arcadia – many times."

Hermione Granger was leaning forward in her seat, chin on her hands, enraptured. Her fascinated interest was so heartening that Emily could have hugged her in gratitude.

"But getting back to the source of the Faeries' magical power. As many of you know already, the Fae do not use wands, as wizards do. Yet, nonetheless, Fae spells and charms require a source of power, exactly the same as Wizarding magic does. Without a source of supernatural power, no spell is truly effective. Wizards use wands, which are powered as the will of the wizard is channelled through a core of primeval magical substance – the hair of a unicorn or a veela, a phoenix feather, dragon's heartstring, et cetera.

"Like all of you, I sometimes do magic with a wand. Yet, I find the source of my most effective magic remains my Mot de Puissance, or, as the younger Mr. Malfoy also very competently translated for us, my Word of Power." Draco Malfoy smirked triumphantly at Crabbe and Goyle.

"I am well acquainted with why you have all decided to attend my class today. You're all here to learn how to create your own personal Word of Power, which will allow you to work magic without your wand. Such a source of power does exist, and has been in use in the Faerielands for millennia."

A low murmur broke out amongst her listeners.

"Now, let me explain something about Arcadia's culture. The Fae... tend to be secretive. We like to know things about other people, but not for them to know us. The cultivation of mystery around ourselves is practically the hallmark of our kind. Much of the Fae magical tradition is about pretending to be other than you are, and how to keep others from looking at you or knowing your true thoughts. Knowing and keeping a great secret is the source of all of our magical power, and it colours our national character. However, once I have explained to you how our magic works, you will better understand why this is the way we are."

Of all the assembled group watching her, she could most acutely feel the heat of Severus Snape's black eyes on her face as she faced them.

"I can tell you that I have been commanded by my liege, King Gwydion, and been given permission by all the Sovereigns of the Nine Kingdoms of Arcadia, to teach part of our magical tradition to you, the professors and students of Hogwarts. Suffice to say, the red tape that has had to be negotiated in this situation has been somewhat difficult. As your Headmaster and I have both observed, Faery government makes the Ministry of Magic look as efficient as a Swiss watch." Her listeners let out a soft murmur of laughter.

"But King Gwydion has been a dear friend of your Headmaster's for over a century. So, here I am."

The entire room had fallen silent now. She could feel their interest leaning close to her.

"You are all now curious as to how one creates one's own Word of Power, of course.

"Now such a word is, always and inevitably, what you would call a Hapax Legomenon. Does anyone know what that is?"

No one did. If Dumbledore did, he did not raise his hand.

"A Hapax Legomenon is a word or form of language that has only one use, in print or otherwise. They are created by one person, and used by that one person, never anyone else. A Word of Power is unique to the person who creates it.

"It is within this absolutely secret and totally individual creation that lies the power of Faery magic."

Silence.

"Of course you are all going to next ask me, please, Professor, how can we create a word no one else knows? And the answer is, you do it the same way everyone else does it. You work at it. You commit all your thought to it. You read extensively, you pore over poetry and dictionaries of all languages. You pay close attention to the nonsense declaimed by the local drunkard. You take notes from religious mystics speaking in tongues. You do all this until you find a combination of sounds, letters, and syllables that feels absolutely right to you. Some of the Fae swear that their Words came to them whole in dreams, while others agonize over the origins of every letter."

Hermione Granger's hand was in the air. "Miss Granger."

"Please, Professor, how long should one's word be? Several syllables, or only one or two?"

"An excellent question, Miss Granger. But not one you are likely to ever get an answer for, because – no one has any way of knowing. Perhaps mine is one syllable long, and everyone else's run fifteen or twenty – as I said, no one ever knows the specifics of another person's active Mot de Puissance. Once you have your own, you don't share it with anyone – and I mean with anyone. Not your best friend, not your sworn companion, not your brother or sister, not your parents, not even your lover, husband, or wife. Without absolute secrecy, such a word loses some, or even all, of its power."

Hermione Granger's hand had gone up again. "Please, Professor, I read in Identity and Illusion: A Wizard's Overview of Faery Magic," – here Professor Swain hid a broad smile under her hand when Hermione recited the title of the book – "that very occasionally some Mots de Puissance have been shared between two Faeries. Is that true?"

"Yes, Miss Granger, but that practice is very rare. Like I said – I cannot emphasise this enough – the power comes from the secrecy.

"There are stories of Words of Power being passed from parent to child, or from teacher to disciple, on the elder's deathbed. If your Word is the creation of another person who has since died, it is still only known to one person, and loses none of its power.

"In other stories, they are shared between two living people. This is only done as a desperate measure, and only between people extremely close to one another. One famous story of a shared Mot de Puissance was the story of two twin brothers, who served as knights during the First Age." Hogwarts' only set of twin brothers, Fred and George Weasley, exchanged a conspiratorial smile between them.

"When one brother's Word was stolen by an evil sorcerer, his twin brother shared his with him. In order to preserve the Word's power, one brother would only use it during the night while his twin was asleep, and the other would only use it during the day when his twin was asleep. While each brother was sleeping, it could be said that only one person knew the Word in question. While both brothers were awake, the Word was still usable, but only half as powerful as before."

Harry put up his hand. "Yes, Mr. Potter."

Harry nodded. "The two brothers – were their names Castor and Pollux?"

Professor Swain grinned at him. "Those were indeed their names. Five points for Gryffindor for being such a well-read lot."

The other Gryffindors grinned at Harry. "I'll bet it's nice to earn some points for Gryffindor without having to risk your life for a change," Hermione whispered close to his ear. Harry chuckled.

Pansy Parkinson of Slytherin put her hand up. "Yes, Miss Black Pageboy Haircut in the Third Row. I'm terribly sorry, all of you – I swear I will get your names right by term's end, or sooner."

Pansy giggled. "So what would happen if someone found out another person's Word of Power, and put it on the front page of the Daily Prophet or something?"

A fleeting expression of terror crossed Professor Swain's face. "That would be a very great tragedy for whomsoever had created that Word, because every single time someone opened that paper and read it, it would lose more of its power, until it ceased to mean anything at all."

Lavender Brown put her hand up. "So it wouldn't be a magic word anymore if lots of people knew it? Not at all?"

"Not at all, miss. Like I said, the magic lies in the Word's complete originality, and in its secrecy. If everyone knows it, it means nothing at all."

Draco Malfoy put up his hand. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy."

"Is it true that some people can't create Words of Power at all, no matter how hard they try? That the magic just won't work for some?" A note of challenge rang in his voice.

Professor Swain looked pensively at him for a moment before continuing. "Yes, that's true, Mr. Malfoy. Some people, through no fault whatever of their own, cannot wield Faery magics. This is extremely uncommon amongst the Fae, to be certain. It is much more common amongst people with no Fae blood, who try to learn the Faery tradition of magic. For these unfortunate few, asking them to create a Mot de Puissance is like asking a person with severe dyslexia to write a great novel, or asking someone with severe dyscalculia to prove the Theory of Relativity."

Some of her listeners frowned at the references to Muggle concepts of learning disabilities and Muggle science – others nodded understanding.

"For some, it simply cannot be done. Some part of the brain, or spirit, or whatever – is just not there. This does not mean that such a person is somehow lacking in talent or intelligence by any means, Mr. Malfoy."

She turned to the rest of the class. "Let me emphasise that now – because, you see, as far as I know, this is the very first time that a Faerie has taught Faery magic to a class composed exclusively of non-Faery students. We have no way of knowing how any of you will do in this class – there is no precedent. Your Headmaster, and my King, are undertaking a experiment here. Let's hope that it turns out well."

Malfoy continued. "What if one of us can't do it – can't come up with a Word of Power? Will that person fail your class?"

"No, not at all," she replied. "Such a person will be given other assignments, such as papers on the history of armoury or sword combat – we'll come up with related subjects to study, no worry. Remember, Mr. Malfoy, a portion of the grade in my class comes from the martial arts and fencing class – much of that is about athletics. If one of my students cannot use a Word of Power but works hard at fencing, he or she can still get a good mark in my class, and vice versa."

Professor Sprout put up her hand. "Is there any precedent anywhere of persons without Faery blood who have learned to use Faery magics proficiently?"

"An excellent question, Professor Sprout. Yes, there are some very distinguished non-Faery practitioners of Faery magic – most of them native-born Muggles or wizards who live in, or have visited, Arcadia. The first one who comes to mind is the author of the book Miss Granger mentioned, Identity and Illusion: A Wizard's Overview of Faery Magic. He is a very distinguished practitioner of Fae magics, although he comes from an old Wizarding family. No Faery blood at all."

"What was that gentleman's name?" asked Professor Sprout.

"Swain," Professor Swain said, after a pause. "Buckminster Swain."

In the back of the classroom, Dumbledore and Professor Flitwick smiled warmly.

"Any relation?" Professor Sprout asked, interested.

"Yes," she replied, smiling a bit. "He's my father."

Low chatter broke out in the room at that admission. A few Gryffindors leaned toward Hermione Granger, murmuring semi-audible questions in her direction.

A hand went up near the back of the room. "Yes, Professor McGonagall."

"Is it true, Professor, that Fae magics can alternatively be used with a wizard wand? If one cannot create an original Mot de Puissance, that one can create the same effect with a traditional wand?"

"Yes, that is true, although it's trickier, and more limited in application, than a Mot de Puissance. Say, for example, say one wants to Obscure oneself and walk unseen through a crowd. It's a bit counterintuitive to have to take out a wand and wave it dramatically about saying 'Obscurant!' when you're trying to cast a spell to make everyone look away from you.

"However, it's also true that one can power traditional Wizarding Charms, Transfigurations, etc. with a Word of Power instead of a wand. So long as the source of magic is there, the spell can be accomplished, whether you're using the word, or the wand." Excited whispers filled the room, so much so that Professor Swain had to let them die down a moment before she continued.

Another hand went up in the back of the room. "Yes... Professor Snape. Can I help you, sir?"

"I'd like to hear a bit more about Obscurantis, if you please," he said, so tartly that some people shot curious looks at him. "Is it true that you vanished completely during yesterday's lesson?" From the tone of his voice, it was obvious, to her, that he was taking her ability to vanish completely very, very personally.

Emily bent over her notes, discreetly shaking her loose hair down to cover her ears, which were burning so with embarrassment that she thought they would glow whitely in the dark. Why did he have to ask this question, in front of all these people?

"Yes, sir, I did very briefly, in order to demonstrate to my students how it is done," she said, trying for a bright, informative tone. "I assure you I maintained order in the classroom, and that no one's safety was endangered."

"Very considerate of you," he said, with icy coolness. "And tell me, Professor, can this art be used to make objects vanish as well?"

Oh no. He guessed. Or if he hadn't guessed, he suspected. Did he think she had been trying to make a fool of him maliciously... Oh, she wished she could melt through the floor and hide.

"Yes, sir, it can," she said quickly, so that it came out more like Yessiritcan, muffling her own voice with one hand. Another hand went up in the back – she gratefully turned her attention to that person. "Yes, Headmaster Dumbledore, sir!"

"In your experience, Professor, how long should the formation of an active Mot de Puissance take? Weeks, months, years... ?"

"Weeks, months, years – yes, yes, and yes. Some very young children form them at an alarming rate. Others are still trying to form them well into adulthood. Some, as we discussed earlier, try to form one throughout their whole lives and never accomplish it. Like most other intellectual achievements, it seems to be a matter of talent, aptitude, and hard work."

Another hand went up. "Yes – Mr. Malfoy."

"How long did it take you?" he asked.

"I think I was... oh, seven or so." There was a faint murmur of commentary at that remark as well. "But I was born and raised in Arcadia, you know. Think of it this way – if you start studying a language at, say, fourteen, would you expect to speak it as well as someone for whom it's the first language he or she learned? Please don't compare yourselves to me and judge yourselves lacking, by any means."

The bell rang. "That concludes today's lecture. Thank you all very much for coming. If anyone has an add slip that needs to be signed, please bring it up to me now."

She sat down at her desk and was quickly surrounded by students. It was easy to stay amongst the crowd of excited students, like one hiding behind an animated, robed duck blind, until she was quite sure Severus Snape had left the room.