Chapter Two: A Journeyman's Life

A/N: This story is immeasurably improved by the beta efforts of Bambu345 and sshg316. I also want to thank Kribu for her generosity in sharing her knowledge and photographs of Tallinn.

And sshg316 made this gorgeous banner:

A note from the publishers: Due to the unexpectedly broad readership this story has enjoyed, we have decided to issue a special edition for the Muggle market. The story itself is unchanged, but the noted historian, Calpurnia Bagshot, has added notes at the end to explain some of the less familiar aspects of our culture and history to our Muggle readers. As a half-blood, raised in both the wizarding and Muggle worlds, she is an ideal interpreter, and her recent work on the history of the Potions Guild was widely acclaimed in the wizarding world for both scholarship and readability.

Despite the time difference, it was still dark in Tallinn when Hermione Apparated back after the party. Even so, she was cautious, taking no chance of being caught out at night without permission. Making her way quietly past nondescript concrete housing units and into the Muggle old city, she followed the winding cobblestone roads to the Muggle town square and up the side-street to the building that housed the old apothecary. Two pulls to the left and three to the right on the curved brass handle and the brightly painted outer doors swung open. Climbing the steps into the building, she passed the locked door of the apothecary and made her way down the hallway to an alcove tucked neatly behind the bend in a winding staircase. Once inside, where she would be invisible to anyone casually walking by, she traced the whorls of the rosette embedded in the wall – once clockwise, twice counterclockwise – opening the archway to the magical town square, the second lobe of the heart of Old Tallinn.

While the Muggle town square shone brightly with the light of electric bulbs, the magical one was dark. It had once been lit by the glowing facade of the Guild Hall – Hermione knew that much – but since the magic of the Hall had faded, the square that surrounded it, lined with the great Guild Houses, depended on the whims of the heavens for illumination.

Using a Silencing Charm and a Disillusionment Spell to cross the square without being noticed, Hermione let herself into Dunford House and wearily climbed the stairs to her room. At the House, days started early, and she had barely an hour to rest before having to drag herself back out of bed.

Hermione struggled sleepily into her clothes, fumbling with the buttons of the fine, linen chainse shirt and the high-necked, button-up tunic that was the uniform of all brewers. As a Journeyman, her tunic was a doublet in the blue and white of her House colours, with slashed sleeves showing the fabric of the shirt beneath. Boots and black trousers completed the outfit, along with the Glamour that kept her sex a secret. She poured a blob of her own conditioning formulation into the palm of one hand, rubbed her hands together to warm it and then finger-combed it through her hair. It wasn't nearly as effective as Sleakeazy's Potion, but it took much less effort to apply, didn't make her smell like a girl and tamed the worst of the frizz. With her hair cut short, unless she put something in it, her head looked like a giant dandelion puff at the slightest hint of humidity. When her best friends in the world had been a pair of teen-aged boys, she'd never noticed that they were as vain in their own ways as teen-aged girls, but she'd learnt quickly when she started living as one.

First thing every weekday morning, Hermione and the other Journeymen met with Potion Master Dunford in the gather room. They slumped half asleep on the comfortable sofas and overstuffed chairs of the House's informal sitting area to discuss the day's plans while the House Mistress directed the apprentices in getting the morning meal organised. Being a weekday, it was nothing more than a simple petit dejeuner, but with so many people to serve, it was still a logistical exercise. That day, as usual, the apprentices spent an hour doing housecleaning before they went to the lower-lab to prepare ingredients under the supervision of the House Mistress. Like all well designed potions labs, it was located underground, where fumes from botched experiments could be easily contained. Dungeons were, of course, ideal, but the Guild Houses had deep basements, descending several floors below the ground, that served just as well.

As a Journeyman, Hermione was excused from most household duties. Instead, she started her day with a seminar on the relative merits of different methods for stabilising the essences of rapidly-deteriorating botanicals, after which the Potion Master supervised the Journeymen in the upper lab as they applied the methods to a variety of ingredients and then discussed the outcomes of their experiments. Hermione offered up a silent thank you to Severus for having taken her through the same exercise years earlier; her foreknowledge of the subject saved her from making foolish errors when her attention wandered due to exhaustion.

She was spending yet another of her scarce days off brewing yet another batch of Pepperup potion for Harry and Professor Snape, when it occurred to her that it might be more effective if she used Mandrake root instead of chopped ginger. It wouldn't last as long, of course, but at the rate the two men were consuming the restorative, that was hardly an issue. Pepperup was the only thing they had found that affected their energy levels, granting Professor Snape the strength to get out of bed for a few hours each day and extending Harry's ability to function. The potion worked that day but was useless by the next after the Mandrake root began to decay. She had to take a few hours off of work to brew them another batch. By the time she was finished, Professor Snape had a shopping list for her.

She decided, at that moment, to prove him wrong.

Hermione finished off her last infusion of Mandrake root by the grace of Severus' earlier teaching and then skipped dinner, claiming that she had just had an idea for a research project that she wanted to make some notes on before she forgot it. The House Mistress looked at her askance, but Dunford waved her away, excusing her from both the main meal of the day and the after-dinner discourse.

"Inspiration must never be wasted," he declared to all and sundry. "It is a precious gift that must be treasured." The apprentices and Journeymen all accepted this declaration with solemn faces, but the House Mistress snorted and her daughters giggled. The girls knew well that their father had never in his life allowed mere inspiration to tempt him away from the table.

Hermione dragged herself up to her room and managed two full hours of sleep before she was awoken by the spluttering indignation of a plastic dwarf, scolding her for oversleeping. The previous Christmas, Harry had bought memorabilia from the Muggle films of Lord of the Rings books for all of his gifts. Hers had been a Gimli figurine, Charmed to function as an alarm clock. The extra rest had served her far better than food would have, and she faced the afternoon's tasks in considerably better shape than she had the morning's. This was a good thing, considering the risks inherent in her duties that day.

Supervising the junior apprentices was generally recognised to be the most dangerous of the Journeyman's responsibilities. The senior apprentices could be counted on not to spill, corrode, explode or flame anything they were not supposed to. While the potions the juniors brewed were not all that complex, they were still early enough in their training that accidents were a regular occurrence. On the days she spent watching over the juniors, Hermione vacillated between playing at being Alastor "Constant Vigilance" Moody and Severus "Curse the Dunderheads" Snape.

Fortunately, Hermione was teamed that day with Claude Pyrites, who was on journey from the House of Chatillon. Hermione found the term "journey" somewhat comical, considering that Chatillon was just next door, but a Journeyman has to journey for learning, no matter how short the actual distance. When an overly vigorous bubble created an orange-tinted cloud of smoke which hovered over the workbenches, he merely sniffed the air and said, "A hint of somnolent quandong overlaying deep notes of Asian Pepperberry and musky groundnut, with just a wisp of dried Murtlap."

"Are you a Nose?" asked the wide-eyed apprentice, looking up from his frantic efforts to clean every last splattered drop from the floor before the Potion Master noticed the disturbance. It was rare that Dunford looked into the lower lab unless his attention was drawn there by the sound of an explosion or a cry of distress, but there was always the chance that he would glance down from the balcony-like upper lab to see what was happening below. Even the newest apprentice knew better than to risk appearing incompetent in front of the Potion Master; an apprentice who failed to impress would soon be sent home in disgrace.

"But of course! I am French, and all Frenchmen are Noses."

Hermione had to hold the counter to stop herself from knocking over the cauldron in her efforts to suppress her laughter. Claude loved mocking the pretentiousness of his countrymen, particularly those at the Guild who seemed to be indoctrinated at birth with the belief that they alone possessed the finesse to create the super-refined cosmetic potions which were the specialty of Chatillon House. He had an ability to skewer that particularly French form of smug superiority that had always irritated her about Fleur. Coming from a plump, plain boy with a snub nose and a pathological inability to keep either his tunic or his face straight, it amused rather than annoyed. Besides which, while Claude was a talented brewer and a good friend, he was hardly a Nose. That talent, the ability to detect every ingredient in a potion along with the method of brewing by scent alone, was nearly as rare as Invisibility Cloaks.

They had met some months earlier when Hermione had been on one of her journeys, studying at Chatillon House to improve her understanding of the ways that potions act on skin for use in treatment of scarring. It had been her suggestion that Claude include Dunford House in his training. Despite his House affiliation and the wishes of his family, the young man was less interested in improving the looks of the wealthy than in seeking the possibilities of longer term solutions to serious appearance issues. The specialty medical training provided by Dunford House would help him make face creams that did more than just soothe away the occasional spot of dryness brought on by excessive exposure to tropical sun. Hermione had found a kindred spirit in the deeply studious but sardonically amusing Journeyman.

Nevertheless, she couldn't help the occasional envious glance to the upper lab where the rest of the Journeymen were directing the senior apprentices. Supervising the senior apprentices was both less hazardous and more interesting. Despite their greater skill level, the seniors got much higher levels of supervision, with one Journeyman directing no more than three apprentices in their brewing and the Potion Master wandering from group to group, keeping a sharp eye on their work. As each group finished, the Potion Master himself evaluated their potions, carefully labeling and recording all those of acceptable quality; a House that could not reliably produce quantities of salable potions would soon find itself in dire financial straits. A senior apprentice who produced a first-rate potion was treated as a Journeyman for the remainder of the day, with no further obligations, while the rest joined the junior apprentices in cleaning up the lab and preparing and cleaning up after tea.

Still feeling her lack of sleep from the night before, Hermione spent her free time before tea resting and went to bed again directly after the evening meal. She promised herself that she would begin her research on the mysteries of the Guild the next day.

The next day, however, the usual routine of the House was broken, and Hermione had no time to get away and begin her research. The morning tasks were much like those of the day before, but just when they were preparing to sit down for dinner, chaos erupted. A runner from the Reval Hospice burst into the front hallway to announce that there had been a fight between the Houses of Sunjata and Mbele. This was hardly an unusual occurrence. Members of those particular Houses fought often – they shared one of the fiercer rivalries within the Guild – but this fight had been more serious than most. Instead of a backstreet brawl, the confrontation had taken place in the wizarding town square itself. While the members of Dunford House had been in the potions labs and the kitchens, all located well below the street level and sheltered from outside noise, members of the belligerent forces had called in reinforcements from their own Houses. What had started as a simple street-fight turned into a wild free-for-all. In a typical encounter, the absence of wands meant that injuries were simple rather than magical, but this time there was sufficient confusion to cover the use of weaponate potions.

Before the runner even finished his report, the House Mistress had sent her daughters to the kitchens to put away the food and begun to distribute the formal, summer-weight cloaks. Emergency or not, the House of Dunford would make their showing at the hospice in full House colours.

As they all made their way to the front hall, J.J. grabbed Hermione by the arm and announced, "We'll take the senior apprentices."

"Good. Everyone else, team up five junior apprentices to a pair of Journeymen."

There was a rapid shuffling as groups formed, followed by more shuffling as the Potion Master made certain one of the Journeymen who had trained under him was paired with each of the Journeymen visiting the House on journeys. There were several dirty looks sent J.J.'s way. At the hospice, Hermione soon realised why.

Within moments of entering the main doors of Reval, the sight of the injured lined up waiting to be processed had several of the junior apprentices running back outside to vomit in the street. Visits to the hospice always left Hermione with mixed feelings. While she hated the reminder of the fragility of the human body, it did her good to observe the shocked responses of the juniors to the sight of damaged flesh; she treasured their innocence. This was, however, her first visit since becoming a Journeyman, and she was surprised to realise just how much effort was involved in supervising those innocent juniors. The senior apprentices were accustomed to the sights and sounds of the hospice and needed nothing more than instruction and crowd management, but the other Journeymen had to cope with periodic episodes of panic, fainting and vomiting. J.J.'s quick manouevering had bought them the easiest assignment for the days to come.

Hermione exchanged a quick smile with J.J., nodding her thanks.

"Gotta take care of the new kid," he said with a cheeky grin.

Justin Johnson had been her first friend at the Guild. He was an irrepressibly cheeky American, with a cheerfully mischievous disposition and a knack for staying half a step ahead of trouble. A few years ahead of her, he had taken inordinate pride in her accomplishment and claimed full credit for himself when she made Journeyman just one year after he did. Since then, he had made sure they regularly teamed up together.

Hermione followed as J.J. led their group around the hospice, observing in all the wards where combatants were being treated. As specialists in medicinal potions, the members of the House of Dunford were expected to be familiar with the uses of their potions in the treatment of actual injuries, and this fight provided a rare opportunity to observe the actions of salves for burns and deep-bruising and potions for bone knitting, skin regeneration, pustule reduction, personality stabilization and inhalation illness.

As Hermione and her group made their way through the wards, they stopped at each bed where the Healers were working, quizzing the apprentices on the ways in which the various healing potions (most of which had come from their House) were being used. Injuries from weaponate potions were particularly difficult for Healers to identify, as potions were not designed to be splashed on the skin in uncontrolled dosages. The delicate precision required to use potions correctly, without incurring unfortunate side-effects, meant that, when deliberately used incorrectly, most potions could be weaponised.

Finding appropriate treatments depended first and foremost on identifying the potion used. Fortunately, or rather, unfortunately, the Healers at the Reval Hospice were quite familiar with the range of poisons that were the specialty of Sunjata House. The sentience potions of Mbele House, however, had far more unpredictable effects. While simple mind-stealing compounds were easy to identify by the Confunded state of the victims, discerning between overdoses of Far-Seeing potion and Stabilitas-serum, for example, was far more difficult. Beyond that, when potions were used as weapons, side effects, such as burns and allergic reactions, could be as deadly as the intended uses.

As they turned a corner in the corridor leading to the burn ward, Hermione caught sight of someone sneaking into a supply closet. Signaling J.J. to go on without her, she went to investigate. A junior apprentice from the House of Sunjata, identifiable by the bright yellow and red House colours of his sash and the sleeveless grey tabard-style tunic that marked his rank, was attempting to rub a salve into his own back, just above the shoulder-blade, where some sort of burning potion had melted through the fabric of his clothing and left a nasty-looking blister on the skin.

"Why don't you let a Healer have a look at that?" she asked the startled boy, noting the deep, almost blue-black skin tone and fine bone structure that was typical of the West Africans who made up Sunjata House. It was one of the oldest Houses, founded in 1325 by a witchdoctor from the court of the wizard-king Mansa Musa, and it kept to the old ways.

"They're too busy," he explained nervously. "I was told to wait, but it really hurts. This way is quicker, and I don't need to bother anyone."

Hermione checked the salve. "This is for infections, not burns. Wait here and I'll get you something better." She wondered as she set off to get the salve what the boy's real motives were. Hermione was well aware that she was not the only member of the Guild who had to hide their true identity. Some were over-age, others Muggle-born. Most Potion Masters looked the other way, but Sunjata House was known for its strict adherence to ancient custom. It was one of only three Houses that never sent nor received Journeymen, keeping its secrets to itself and accepting only pure-bloods from West Africa as apprentices. Whatever this boy was hiding, the burn was not serious enough that she would force him to submit to the kind of professional medical care that might reveal his secrets to the Master of his House.

It was a simple matter to get a sample of the appropriate salve. When Hermione rejoined her group, she gave J.J. a wink, letting him know that she was up to something. He hung back as she led the apprentices to a loaded medicine cart, opened a jar of burn salve and scooped out a fingerful.

"Who can explain what the colour and luster of this sample tell us about how this has been stored?"

As soon as the question had been answered satisfactorily, J.J. directed the apprentices toward the end of the ward, allowing Hermione to slip away without anyone noticing that she hadn't cleaned her finger. When she got back to the supply closet, the injured apprentice gave an audible sigh of relief.

"I don't know how to thank you."

"No need. Just try to be careful."

"I will."

The members of Dunford House spent the better part of four days at Reval, observing the progression from emergency care through to the healing of minor injuries and the beginning of longer-term treatment programs. During mealtimes, Dunford alternately lectured and quizzed his charges on the ways in which the activities at the hospice demonstrated uses of the various potions. While it was certainly more exciting than the usual routine, it also meant that Hermione had no chance to get away on her own, and when the Guild Hall was locked that Friday evening, Hermione had still not managed to sneak in to get materials to start her research.

Despite her disappointment, Hermione appreciated that the Guild had adopted the modern notion of the weekend; less than a generation earlier, they had still followed the more traditional practice of granting days off from training only for Guild activities and holidays. With regularly scheduled weekends that included entirely free Saturdays, Hermione could schedule her leisure activities, starting with her weekly martial arts class in Muggle Tallinn, followed by shopping (for books, more often than not), games with her House-mates, excursions to museums and whatever else caught her fancy, while still being able to slip away for an hour or two every couple of weeks to see Charlie. Saturday evenings, most of the House members went out, but Hermione generally stayed in and read.

The second weekend in September, however, was far from typical. It was an intake weekend, and the entire House spent all day Saturday preparing for the likelihood of new arrivals on the morrow. Bedrooms were prepared, lab stations stocked and set up, inventory taken of surplus House garb, formal wear checked over and laid out, and the entire House given a thorough cleaning and polishing. Hermione's favourite part was the airing of the bedding; she thought the entrance hall looked wonderfully festive when draped in the traditional Estonian blankets, with their bright colours and rich embroidery.

That evening, she had just settled down to read in the gather room when J.J. came over and lounged casually on the floor by her feet.

"You gonna be reading long?" he asked her.

"Meaning that you want to know when I'll be in my room so you can sneak back in through my window," she replied, rolling her eyes. "I don't know why you don't just ask properly."

He threw her a cheeky grin. "It's more fun this way. Besides, your eye-sockets need the exercise."

Hermione flipped through her book, assessing how long it would take her to finish reading it. "Two hours, I'd say. Two-and-a-half at the most."

"Awesome. See you then."

She shook her head in mock despair as he bounced out of the room. J.J. was a handsome lad, with big blue eyes and a winsome face that could charm the birds from the trees. The problem was, he knew exactly how good he looked and wasn't above using it to his advantage with the young women of Tallinn. It was, in fact, his penchant for flirtation that had led to their first real meeting.

Hermione's room was tucked under the roof, giving it a slanted outer wall that left precious little headroom, but it was also one of the rare side rooms with a window. It was just a narrow dormer, and it only looked out onto the roof and dormer windows of the next House, but it did let in daylight, for which Hermione was very grateful. J.J. had his own reasons for being grateful for Hermione's window.

It was her tenth night at Dunford House. She was reading in an old armchair she had managed to scrounge from the attic and fix up using transfiguration spells. Suddenly, a body hurtled through her, thankfully open, window.

The very first free afternoon Hermione had, she rented a flat in Muggle Tallinn to store her personal belongings.

...

Sunday mornings were reserved for Guild business. More often than not, that meant a boring convocation, and intake days were only a little different. On the second Sundays in September and March, the town square was filled with applicants hoping to join the Guild. The Houses dressed in formal robes and marched to the Guild Hall in formation. Mounting the front steps, they filed in under the motto of the Guild, carved in stone over the great doors, "SOLVE ET COAGULA – Separate and Join Together," and took their stations around the walls, standing facing the empty benches that had been lined up in the centre of the Hall. Having only been founded in the fifteenth century, Dunford House had a place about halfway back from the end of the Hall where the ornately carved and inlaid ebony Seat stood on its dais.

As the applicants entered and took their seats, Hermione remembered her own excitement on the day she had first arrived at the Guild. Looking at the wide eyes and occasional greenish skin-tone of the young boys filling the benches before her, she couldn't help smiling.

"Hey. Look at that one, at the end of the bench." J.J. elbowed her, whispering rather loudly. "Want to bet he passes out before the first speech is over?"

She eyed the young applicant carefully. It was true he looked paler than most, but his hands were fisted tightly in a gesture of determination that she recognised, and as she watched he lifted his head to look up at the brightly painted ribs of the vaulted ceiling. "You're on. The usual?"

"Deal."

Silence fell over the Hall as the aged and fragile Guild Master slowly made his way to the Seat. Hermione had only heard him speak once, and that had been a querulous inquiry as to when he could leave that day's ceremony. The Bearer of the Staff, who was also the Master of Algorab House, acted as his proxy in welcoming the applicants.

The first time Hermione had heard the welcoming speech it had sent shivers down her spine and inspired her to do everything in her power to succeed at the Guild. By now, having heard exactly the same words twice each year for five years, she could have recited it herself. It was still a good speech, but she felt no need to listen. While protocol dictated that they stand perfectly still, so as not to shame their Houses, nothing forced her to actually listen.

"Welcome to the Great Hall of the Guild of the Ancient and Noble Order of Alchemists and Brewers. You stand here this morning, among the lucky few who have been permitted to set foot in this Hall. By nightfall, you will either have been welcomed into our ranks and granted that right for life, or be barred from this hallowed space forevermore. Ours is, indeed, an ancient and noble heritage. The origins of the study of alchemy are buried in the mists of time.

"In China, it is traced back to 2737 B.C., when the Chinese Emperor Shen Nung was boiling drinking water over an open fire, believing that those who drank boiled water were healthier. Some leaves from a nearby camellia sinensis plant floated into the pot. The emperor drank the mixture and declared it gave one "vigor of body, contentment of mind, and determination of purpose." While today we think of tea as a beverage, to the ancient Chinese it was a potent potion. From those simple beginnings, they delved into the medicinal potential of the flora and fauna of their land, discovering the myriad ways they can be processed and preserved to enhance their different properties.

"In India, where wizards still constitute a distinct social class and live among Muggles, the practice of alchemy is recorded in the earliest writings of the Rigveda and the Arthasastra. The Indians delved deep into the ground, seeking out the rare earths that hide beneath the surface. While their potions were, for the most part, simple concoctions, Brahmin brewers developed the knowledge of the uses and qualities of metals, building the lexography of cauldron functions we still use today.

"In ancient Egypt, it was the province of Toth, the ibis-headed god of wisdom, and they called it Khem, a word that meant the earth and all things that come from it. Like the Chinese, their efforts were focused on the plants and animals, and from the rituals of their faith emerged the first insights into techniques of brewing, uncovering the meanings of stirring patterns and the effects of light and season and time. When the wizard warrior Alexander led his people into Egypt and left it to the rule of his brother wizard, Ptolemy, the brewers of the temples of Toth shared their knowledge, and the Greeks called it khemia.

"It was among the followers of the seer Mohammed, though, that alchemy first took the name al-khemia and the form we know today. The Muslims were great collectors of knowledge. They brought together the processed ingredients of the Chinese and the techniques of the Egyptians in the cauldrons of the Indians, discovering new principles of brewing and vastly expanding the catalog of known potions.

"But Alchemy came late to the great states of Europe. For centuries, brewers suffered persecution by the Roman papists, condemned as heretics for seeking knowledge that lay beyond the covers of the one book they deemed as Truth. Our Guild was founded in that time of Darkness. In the year 801, when the wizard hunter Charlemagne was newly allied with the Latins, three brothers fled the Frankish king's oppressive regime and took refuge in this city. They joined the local brewers and formed a secret society, sworn to preserve the knowledge of our craft from the ravages of the ever-expanding Muggle church. So secretive were they that even their names are not known to us, for it was not until 989 that the Guild of the Ancient and Noble Order of Alchemists and Brewers was formally incorporated under the protection of the elders of the city and the Great Hall was built.

"In the early days of the Guild, the members lived within this very building. They brewed in the cellars that now house our archives, slept in the spaces above us that are used today for offices, and ate their meals in this very room. But it was in 1182, under the guidance of Gerard of Cremona, the great wizard who brought the alchemical knowledge of the Muslims to Europe, that it first achieved ...."

Hermione stifled a yawn. It was the same speech that had sent shivers of delight and awe through her very bones on the day of her induction into the Guild, but after five years and nine renditions, even the part about the Crusader attacks had become profoundly boring. To its merit, the forty-eight minutes remaining in the speech (she had timed it on several occasions) provided her first opportunity for quiet thought in days.

She made use of the time working out her strategy for researching the Guild's present troubles. If she wasn't mistaken, Harry had identified an important correlation. The Guild Hall had been fully functional before Grindelwald's rise and crippled ever since. Had Grindelwald's supporters been active in Estonia? How could she find out? She began mentally reviewing everything she knew about Grindelwald, starting with his childhood association with Albus Dumbledore and ending with his death, and realised to her astonishment just how little she knew of that time period. She had scored an Outstanding in History of Magic in the special NEWTs that Minerva had arranged for her to take, but both the exams and Flitwick's instruction had focused on earlier periods. Having spent most of the week chomping at the bit to get into the Guild archives, she suddenly realised that she needed to start with a basic history text.

Having made a decision, her thoughts drifted, and she began mentally cataloguing the tasks for the coming week. Intakes were serious matters, and neither brewing nor training took place for a full week after while the new apprentices were integrated into their Houses. A similar period of adjustment occurred each June and December when those who believed themselves ready stood for promotion examinations. It was critical that these processes go smoothly, or the Houses would not be prepared for the rituals of rank claiming that occurred on the eves of the great Collection Days each solstice and equinox.

The afternoon of an intake day was one of the rare occasions when the apprentices were free while the Journeymen worked. As soon as the after-dinner cleaning was finished, the younger boys ran off to enjoy themselves in the city, while the older members of the House undertook the serious business of evaluating and processing the applicants who were lined up outside their door. Most had known to bring food, but there were always a few who came to their interviews both nervous and hungry.

For her first experience of the intake process from the inside, Hermione was assigned to escort duty, spending the afternoon shepherding one group of applicants after another through the stages. The object of her bet with J.J., a wide-eyed Scottish boy, was in the first group of three that she brought into the House. Having survived the welcoming ceremony at the Hall, he seemed to be getting his second wind and managed to look nearly confident as his paperwork was reviewed by a pair of Journeymen. Nearly all of the applicants had the appropriate letters of recommendation and certification of their age and pure-blood status; those few who did not were politely escorted back out to the town square.

The rest proceeded to the lower lab where they were asked to brew a simple Calming Draught. This was a far more difficult hurdle. Here, one Journeyman watched and assessed their brewing technique while another peppered them with questions designed to test their knowledge of basic ingredients and methods. Those whose knowledge was insufficient were encouraged to reapply in the next round, but failures of technique merited entry in a black-covered ledger. Those names would never be considered again. Of the first group Hermione brought through, the Scot was the only one who made it to the interview with the Potion Master.

Potion Master Dunford looked over his papers. "Tasgall? That's an unusual name, a brewers name. It means 'cauldron of the gods', if I'm not mistaken."

The boy stood perfectly straight with his hands clasped in front of him as he replied. "Aye, sir. Tha' it does. Me da were here when he were a lad. Always meant me to follow in his footsteps."

"McIslay ... yes, of course. Made Journeyman, if I recall correctly."

"Tha's right. Has his own apothecary in Glasgow now."

"Well, when you write home to tell him you've been accepted, you can give him my best."

"I'll do tha', sir. An' thank ye."

Leaving the new apprentice with the House Mistress to turn over his wand and be assigned quarters, Hermione went back for her next batch of applicants. As always, there were far more of those lined up in front of Dunford House than they could reasonably accept, and, likewise as always, Potion Master Dunford accepted more than he should. When Hermione had joined the House, she was considered unlucky to have a room whose slanted outer wall cut down on her space. Now she was envied, as the full-sized rooms were shared between three, if not four, apprentices, and most of the Journeymen were forced to double up.

The next day, J.J. paid his debt by covering for Hermione while she slipped away. Donning Harry's cloak, she made her way across the town square to wait at the side entrance to the Hall. While it was not uncommon for Journeymen to be sent to the Hall on errands for their Houses, she had no valid excuse for going there that day. When a Journeyman from another House left the building, she nipped in before the door swung shut and made her way to the Guild library beneath the main Hall. Not having much time, she grabbed a few general texts on the history of the Guild and wizarding Tallinn and snuck back to Dunford House without being missed.

Calpurnia Bagshot's notes on the history and culture of the guild:

(1) The old apothecary was built in 1422 to serve both Muggle and wizarding communities and is the oldest continuously operated apothecary in Europe. Having entrances just off both town squares, it served for hundreds of years as one of several conduits between them. With the passage of the International Code of Wizarding Secrecy in 1692, the shop was split into two parts, connected by a doorway that was invisible to Muggles. In 1710, when the city was conquered by Russia, the elders of wizarding Tallinn decided to further restrict access their world and closed down all other approaches to the wizarding city. At that time, the secret door was moved to the hallway to enable passage outside of store hours.

(2) Meals in Dunford House follow the late medieval traditions.

Petit dejeuner is a simple breakfast, consisting of nothing more than tea or coffee (with juice as a modern addition), breads (rolls, croissants, toasted muffins) and spreads such as butter and jams.

Dinner is the main meal of the day, served sometime after midday. At Dunford House, Russian service would generally be used, meaning that large platters of food would be placed on the table, from which diners would select their own food. On a usual day, there would be three courses: fish and soups first, then meats and pies, followed by fruits, cheeses and sweets. A classic Russian service was designed for smaller tables and involved particular foods within each course being placed at designated corners. In a Guild House, where everyone ate at a single long table, the foods would be interspersed much as they are for Hogwarts feasts. Following the meal, the Master would lecture on some aspect of the craft and quiz the Journeymen to test their knowledge.

On formal occasions, a more formal French service is used, in which individual dishes are carried around the table and presented to each diner in turn. At this type of meal, there are five courses. First: fish and soups. Second: prepared meat dishes, such as ragouts, chops and stews. Third: roast meats and pies. Fourth: game and vegetables. Fifth: fruits and sweets.

Tea is the evening meal, also referred to in some places as High Tea. It involves a buffet of cold dishes such as sliced meats and sandwiches, with perhaps a few hot dishes like eggs, vegetables or flavored rice.

(3) Reval Hospice was built at a time when the city itself was known as Reval, named by the Danish who claimed the city in 1219. Until then it had been known as Kluvan, named for the infamous Kalevipoeg, a near-mythic Dark Wizard whose murderous rampages, in which he killed wizards and raped their widows, were tragically misrepresented by the Muggle peasant-writer Kreutzwald in the nineteenth century as heroic rescues of innocent maidens taken by sorcerers. Amongst witches and wizards today, the name of Kalevipoeg is remembered only in the most horrific of children's tales.

(4) Mansa Musa was the ruler of the Mali empire from 1312 to 1337. It was during his famous hajj to Mecca that he first heard of the Most Noble and Ancient Guild of Brewers and Alchemists and sent his chief witchdoctor as an emissary to Reval to learn the secrets of the witchdoctors of the pale northerners. The emissary brought his apprentices with him and founded the House of Sunjata, named for the great-uncle of Mansa Musa who was the first wizard-king of Mali.

Sunjata's father, Maghan, had been a Muggle king of the Mandinka people. A prophecy told him that if he married an ugly woman, their son would be the greatest king the land would ever know, so he took the witch Sologon to wife. When Maghan favoured Sologon's son Sunjata (or Sundiata), even though he was a cripple, Maghan's first wife became jealous and had both mother and son banished from the court. Soon after, the Mandinka were attacked and the royal family wiped out. As he grew, Sunjata's magic compensated for his physical impairment, and he avenged his father's murder, taking back the kingdom of his birthright and expanding it into a mighty empire through a combination of military prowess and magic. He became known as the lion king, and his legend is still celebrated in West Africa by Muggles and wizards alike.

As the only House not named for its founder, the House of Sunjata was never renamed, keeping its original appellation throughout the centuries instead of taking on the names of its successive Potion Masters. It was also unique, at the time of its founding, as the only wizarding Guild House which shared space with a Muggle Guild House. Starting in 1399, when the Brotherhood of the Blackheads was established, the Houses of Sunjata and the Blackheads resided in a single building, with matching entrances on both the wizarding and Muggle town squares. This situation continued until 1599, when the Songhai wizards who had taken over from the Mali, were crushed by a Muggle force from the North. As the people of West Africa turned against their one-time wizard rulers, the wizarding community of West Africa made the decision to sequester itself, retreating into hidden cities buried in the depths of the Sahel. By 1607, the House of Sunjata chose to follow the practice of their homeland and severed their connection with the Brotherhood of the Blackheads. Today, the only remaining reminders of that nearly forgotten connection are engraved into the tympana over the doors of the two Houses: matching portraits of the lion king himself, which you see here:

(5) It is rare that a historian can find a record of a personal artifact that figured in the story of one of their subjects in the days before they achieved fame. In my research of the material culture of the Guild, I discovered that a photograph of the very bed cover that the Potion Mistress slept under as an apprentice and Journeyman has been posted to the internet as an example of traditional Estonian design. The bed in the photo is not the one she slept in, but is of a similar character. It is available at the following web address:

http://search.fotki.com/?link=wqbdwqtdwdrqqtdxwrskqttkrkts&k=tallinn&p=94