#i once had a professor in law school who was so slender her wrists looked skeletal

[dialux]

hello it's me again!! just completed my last exam whoo!! anyway. what are your character designs for anaire, earwen and nerdanel? how do you picture them? (my anaire is dark skinned and steel eyed, my earwen has silver hair and calloused fingers and my nerdanel can never tame her wild red curls.)

Honestly, my primary physical reference for these three is this photo (from here)

...but they all have much longer hair. More than that- Nerdanel's strong in the sense of a broad oak tree; Earwen is slender and delicate and indestructible as a beam of moonlight; Anaire is sparrow-small and just as sharp-eyed. They all have callused fingers from their work, but in different spaces- Nerdanel's from a hammer and chisel, Earwen's from a healer's mortar and pestle, Anaire's from a pen. Anaire and Nerdanel both have silver eyes, but Nerdanel's are brighter; Earwen's are a blue the color of lapis. Nerdanel is the tallest of the three of them and Anaire the shortest. Of the three of them, Earwen enjoys intricate hairstyles the most, Anaire dresses in the elaborate Noldor fashion most often, and before the Darkening, Nerdanel outshone them both when she put in an effort: but Nerdanel only ever bothered to make an effort for her husband, and after she left him could only ever be found with a stonecarver's smock and unadorned braids.

[raziroo]

Karma | The Marauders

[Chapter 3] The Mudblood Hate Organisation

Karma was nervous, and extremely so. Her visit to Diagon Alley, in which she'd been accompanied with some creepy bloke who she was supposed to call Professor Fisher, had gone surprisingly well. She'd bought books and robes and cauldrons and gloves and whatnot, and although they were all second hand, Karma was satisfied – she was going to school, and she would at least have a sense of ownership over her belongings, because she certainly didn't have any idea on how to use more than half of them. She'd also bought a wand – holding it was one of the best experiences she'd ever have, she knew of it.

Professor Fisher, in all his light ginger-haired and musty cinnamon-scented glory, lead the way to a narrow shop just down the street. It was old, Karma could tell – there was nothing on display in the windows, through which Karma saw that the shop was quite not as big as all the others she'd been to. Over the door was written,

Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC.

As Fisher pushed the door open, Karma peered inside, not paying any attention to the tinkling bell that had rung somewhere overhead. This shop, Karma thought, this shop is the most expectedly magical thing I've seen.

And true her thoughts were, for the shop's each and every content – be it the awry chair that stood in a corner, the thousands of narrow and thin wand boxes that lay messily stacked in shelves, the dust that covered them, the very air - it gave an old, witch-like feeling that Karma had been expecting all along.

A man – old, wrinkly, and with a wistful look in his moon-like eyes – emerged from the shadows. He said in a soft voice, 'Good evening, Karma, I've been expecting you. Took quite long, long enough...' he trailed off, staring at Karma with those silvery eyes. It might have felt weird to some, but Karma couldn't help but stare back, right into the man's eyes. It seemed as if he had seen entire eras pass, and noting his appearance, he might as well have.

He spoke up once again. 'Your wand arm?'

'Uh... I'm not quite sure I- '

'What hand do you write with?' said Fisher, in an exasperated sort of voice. Karma didn't like it.

Mr. Ollivander, Karma assumed, just now seemed to notice Fisher's presence. He exclaimed, still in a quiet tone, 'Oh, Maurice, no? Maurice Fisher, Ash wood, 11 inches, unicorn hair... I expect it has served you wondrously, yes?'

Fisher nodded, still seeming tired of the very fact that he would have to use his voice. 'Yes, Mr. Ollivander.'

'Hm... well, Karma, time is precious, not to be wasted...' and he whipped out a measuring tape with silver markings, seemingly out of nowhere.

'Wand arm?' he asked again.

'Right.'

And so Karma was measured – not by Ollivander, just by his tape, mind you - shoulder to finger, wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, and round her head. He asked the wand to stop, and so it crumpled up and fell to the floor. Karma watched it vanish just before it touched the ground.

Ollivander piped up. 'Now, now, Karma, here, take this. Ash wood, dragon heartstring core, 12 ¾ inches. Give it a wave, go on...' Karma sort of jerked the wand, but it was abruptly snatched back by Ollivander.

'No no, that won't do, certainly not...' Another box was pulled out. 'Here – beech wood, unicorn hair, 13 inches, swishy and bendy...' Karma waved the wand around. It felt... not right, even when it made the spindly chair's legs break. It was promptly taken back.

After a bit of searching, now for a longer period of time, Ollivander pulled out a sleek cherry shaded box, which was so dusty its true colour was hard to decipher.

He pulled out the wand, a roughish looking affair with little to no design – there was an engraved loop around it, a little way off from its rear, and twine was encircled around this rear. As soon as her slender fingers gripped the wand, Karma felt a tingly kind of shockwave go through her body, and as she waved the wand in a roundabout motion, the chair's legs repaired themselves.

Ollivander had a smile on his face, but his eyes seemed so far away, Karma was almost sure he hadn't even seen her enormous grin, or the satisfied-but-still-exasperated huff of air Fisher had produced.

'M- Mr. Ollivander...? Are you alright...?' The man blinked his moon-like eyes twice, and said in an even softer voice, so that it was just above a whisper, 'This wand... this particular wand – alder wood, unicorn hair, 14 ½ inches – this wand has been in the shop since the beginning, the very beginning...' The man's wistful voice had a slightly grim tone to it; so slight, in fact, that Karma failed to notice it, but Fisher didn't.

'This wand, Karma, its existence... quite curious, quite peculiar, yes...' Karma seemed inclined to stay silent. She was scared that Ollivander would stop his words and lose his train of thought if she broke the silence. 'This wand... its core, as you know, is of unicorn hair... a core that is prone to melancholy... it might "die", you see; if mishandled, it will need replacing. It doesn't make for the most powerful wand. But what's curious, Karma, is that even though alder does not- should not, rather, compensate for that weakness, your wand is still a quite powerful one. The reason is what is so curious...'

Ollivander trailed off once more. After a bit, he said, 'The reason Karma, is that the tree your wand's wood was taken from... it was not normal... certainly not usual...'

'How so?' Karma's curiousness became too much to bear.

'That... my dear girl, that, is something better left untold...' and the man had once again retreated into the shadows.

All Karma could do was share a look with Fisher, who, for the first time since she'd seen him, didn't look exasperated.

That encounter had been quite nerve-wracking, but not this much; standing amongst a crowd of small people such as herself in the centre of the Great Hall, Karma felt nauseous. The queasy feeling in her belly wouldn't go away, and as she watched all the other children talk among themselves, she felt oddly singled out. The fact that about a hundred other people were watching wasn't helping. Even in the Hogwarts Express, she was sat with a third year Ravenclaw called Pandora who, apparently, no one wished to sit with. All through the journey, there was an awkward energy in the compartment, and multiple attempts by Karma to diffuse the awkwardness had been in vain, because Pandora seemed to speak only in riddles, that too in a voice dreamier than even Ollivander's. Karma suddenly knew why Pandora was a reject.

Although all the first years had been briefed about the Sorting Ceremony and the four Hogwarts houses, Karma was still feeling immensely overwhelmed. She had read absolutely nothing in her magic books; she'd been too busy sharing her excitement and sadness and disappointment with Jade and Morgan.

Her wand-

'Abbott, Hailey!' a voice said loudly. Karma's gaze focused back on the scene in front of her eyes; she hadn't really been paying attention to the Hat's song. As everyone watched McGonagall and the teachers all patiently waiting, a little girl, certainly undergrown for her age, briskly walked up the stairs and placed herself on the stool. McGonagall put the Hat on her head, and Karma was sure that before it even quite touched her head, a screech of 'HUFFLEPUFF!' echoed through the hallway. The table to their left, whose students were all clad in yellow and black, gave an enormous round of applause, and "Hailey" ran to her house table, smiling with glee. Next, a slim, pale boy with dirty blond hair, called "Geoffrey Bailey" made his way up the stairs. He was quite frail-looking. He quietly walked to the stool placed there, and took a seat. The Hat was sat atop his head, and after only a few quiet moments, it bellowed, 'SLYTHERIN!'

The table to the extreme right gave a quite unenthusiastic round of applause.

Karma wondered what surname Professor McGonagall would use for her; or if she would use none at all. Deep down, deep, deep down, so deep down she wasn't sure if it was there, Karma knew the answer. Although she hoped she was wrong, prayed that by some miracle she would be proven wrong. She was given the unwanted answer pretty soon.

'Beauregarde, Karma!' Said girl made a thoroughly disgusted face at the fact that she would now be known as "Beauregarde" by the school. Couldn't the teachers have picked a better name? Harrison as a surname had always sounded pretty cool to Karma, and Montgomery was a quite intriguing one, too. But no, due to stupid rules and regulations and laws, Karma would have to go around being called "Beauregarde", because that's what kids do, right? They don't ever address you as the person you're supposed to be, you'll mostly be called by your last name.

These vicious thoughts were swirling through Karma's mind when she sat on the stool, and it was only when the Sorting Hat was perched on her head did she stop complaining about rules and Beauregarde and who-knows-what.

'Eh,' a small-ish voice sounded, 'a bit tricky, but not to worry. Hmm... got a multitude of traits in you, have you? Impulsive, even a bit reckless, I'll go as far to say... not very chivalrous though, not very brave either, but quite outspoken, no unfair behaviour accepted... clever too, huh? But not bookishly, no... you'd rather read about ghosts than do your homework... self-preserving, definitely, borderline selfish... definitely not too kind, but you are loyal... bit of a surprise, honestly... not very ambitious, but still... you'd do good in... SLYTHERIN!'

The hat was taken off, the girl opened her eyes; Karma was speechless, because holy cow, the ruddy thing could talk!

But even though Karma tried to focus her thoughts on that personality-deducing, talking, tattered hat, she couldn't shake the feeling of dread off when she looked at the Slytherin table – its occupants all gave off a particularly vicious aura, even more so when she looked at them. They were all dressed primly, except a select few, and all looked like they would curse her into oblivion and shred her to ribbons, if only they could lay their hands on her. All, but not that frail boy – what was his name, Geoffrey? He looked just as confused as Karma, and actually shot her a sympathetic look. Karma was grateful, and she was hell-bent on making that boy her friend.

She took a seat on the very edge, as far as she possibly could without falling. She was in front of Geoffrey, who was now trying to ignore her, most probably because he didn't have a death wish; the other students were all glaring at the both of them with gazes so sharp they, Geoffrey and Karma, should have been split in half. And Karma was thankful that looks couldn't kill, because if they could, she'd have been six feet under.

After the Sorting, Slytherin had five new pupils under his wing – Karma (not Beauregarde), Geoffrey Bailey, Alec Hartley, Arabella Lestrange, and Adrian Pucey.

Karma knew she was scre- sorry, messed, because 1) her house members already seemed to detest her more than she detested Gertrude Beauregarde, or as Karma liked to call her, Beelzebub, which she hadn't thought was possible, and 2) the first thing Adrian had said after seeing Karma was, 'Ey, Lestrange! This scum here is a mudblood, no?' and Arabella (who was, by the way, too pretty to be just eleven) had responded in jest. 'Yes, yes, Adrian, she is... I'd consider her decent-looking, if only she hadn't been filth. And I would rather you call me Arabella, seei-'

Adrian hadn't let her finish. 'You know what, we should form a society against mudbloods. Call it, uh, We Do Not Support Filth, Scum, Or Mudbloo-'

'You fool, that's what you're gon' to call it? You purebloods, honestly, thinking you're better than the world-,' This was Alec Hartley, the kid who was so pale he could've been a vampire and it wouldn't've been a surprise, spoke at the speed of light, Karma was sure, and had donned a gray beanie hat for some reason.

'I never said-'

'-The name you've chosen would make it W-D-N-S-F-S-O-M. So dumb. Might as well just name it "We're Bullies Troubling A Fellow Pupil, But Will Most Probably Get Away With It Because Our Parents Are Cousins And We're Results Of Incest – W.B.T.A.F.P.B.W.M.P.G.A.W.I.B.O.P.A.C.A.W.R.O.I.'

Adrian flared up. 'Oh, is that so? Well, why don't you-'

'Yes, you dingbat, I already have a name, because I am not as stupid as you are, honestly, call yourself filth instead of the mudblood, such painful stupidity-'

'Shut up, you scrawny little-'

'Oh wow, resort to name-calling, wow, stupendous really, what pureblood values you have, Pucey, Slytherin would be embarassed-'

'Do not utter a word against my famil-'

'I never did, and you would've known that if you weren't so thick, but you know what, I'll just tell you the name, because knowledge is power, and knowledge conquers all, but pity really, that on one hand I have such an amazing mind, and on the other hand are people such as you, without brains; truthfully, I think your brainpower's also been given to me-'

'You-'

'Geez, calm down, will you, no need to wave fists around like that, the name will be "Mudblood Hate Organisation".'

Adrian had resumed a sitting position, having stood up to try and punch Alec; Geoffrey had been straining to prevent him from doing so. Arabella had barely even batted an eye, content with filing her nails using a nail filer which had diamonds on the handle; Karma had been watching the scene unfold with equal parts curiosity for the meaning of mudblood, amusement at Alec's way of speaking and Geoffrey's lack of physical strength, earnest awe at Alec's ability to find acronyms so easily. and fear for her life.

Adrian nodded. 'Well, that is a better option-'

'See, dumb; you could call it a better alternative, but no-'

'Hartley-'

'Ok, sor-'

'SHUT UP!' screeched Arabella, throwing her nail filer across the floor. Karma, and quite a few others, including but not limited to, Geoffrey, Adrian and the boy sitting next to Arabella. Alec hadn't moved an inch; he was too busy sketching cat portraits in a leather journal. 'Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut...up,' Arabella's voice lowered as she took quite loud deep breaths.

Karma asked in a tentative voice, 'Are you oka-?'

'Don't talk to me,' Arabella replied, her voice back to that calm, collected tone. 'I apologise for screaming, it's just that I was filing my nails, and misdid it because of all the disturbance. I have slight temper issues. And yes, "Mudblood Hate Organisation" is a nice name. Simple and to the point.'

'No one's looking out for us. Not for the Slytherins.'

[hunterartemis]

The Assistant: Filler Chapter : Nostalgia and Unresolved Issues

Word count: 4340 (initial) 5745 (after edit)

Chapter Theme: Beth’s Theme by Ólafur Arnalds : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pmKkaCKWreM

Warning: Intoxicated state, mention of alcohol and smoking (I do not drink, do drugs or smoke or advice to do either one of these to anyone.)

This chapter is also very prose based, and has lesser dialogues and actions (I thought, I should take it easy in this chapter)

Summery: As the title suggests, there will be some nostalgia and unresolved issues.

The golden memory of the sunset stayed picturesque in their mind while they whirled in the edge of Dover cliff. All that happened in the golden winter afternoon seemed like a distant happy past in comparison to the ashy lilac sky against the stark white and still Dover cliff. They parted ways like two playmates after a long day in the playground, forcibly separated from each other by their mothers, however good memories need to be embalmed with a quiet solitary pondering.

Newt didn’t go straight home. He was tired and out of his senses with exhaustion. He went to the Leaky Cauldron to have himself a dinner; smiling and recalling his memories at Le Procope just to take off his mind from this perpetually subordinate meal, under a musty and dark roof. At the time of his return, while he was paying his bills, he felt the rigid folded paper in his inner breast-pocket, dormantly tucked in for a chance of safe posting.

He called upon the Hotel Owl and posted the letter, and with a crack, he was standing in front of his apartment. With a click of lock, a soft plop of his coat on his side-couch and clacks of kicking shoes of and a sweep of disrobing, Newt thudded in his bed, fast asleep. The last image in his eyes was the light blue Lanvin paper bag on his bedside study table, bulging with his unexpected ‘Christmas gift’.

On the other side of Thames, Maxine entered her apartment. Despite the day, there was a lingering futility in her exhaustion. It was that kind of exhaustion that comes after labouring intensely and getting no positive result out of it. She disrobed and donned on her favourite pink watersilk dressing gown, plopped herself on the chaise and called for her dinner. Lampito, her elf brought her dinner at the baroque coffee table at the lounge. She downed her food without any enthusiasm, as if she was being tube-fed while being anesthetised.  She was constantly reminded of Newt’s molten gold eyes and dazzling smile when he replied “yes... I do.”

There was a sense of disassociation in those three words.

While uncoiling her finger-curled bob, she leaned at the door panel of her bedroom, looking around her room with displeasement. It was the usual, a normal bedroom with a single bed and a small study table, monochromatically dull and claustrophobic. Two of the four walls were stacked upto ceilings with some read and mostly unread books. It was literally done prim and proper by her elf and instead of a welcoming comfort it generated a sternness and rigidity. She lolled towards her bed, kicked off her slippers and tossed her robe at an indefinite direction and sunk into the bed, only to summon her slender pipe and light a cigarette. But coincidentally, not once her lips touched the pipe. As the bluish gray smoke rolled upwards her mind whirled in her past.

The journey hadn’t been easy

The night oddly reminded her of her first night at Hogwarts. It was a rain-drenched September night, cold as the ninth pit of hell and awfully quiet. She smiled sourly at the affectionate bed arrangement for her on the floor by her roommates, where she slept all night, just to return the favour for the next few weeks. And she couldn’t blame them. After all, not every day a beautiful French girl comes to claim one of the spare beds amongst the people she never seen in her life. She wished she was this confident when she was actually there. The execution of the revenges and wiping the OWL papers blank of that bully Montague just after submission would have been way more fun.  

His face was priceless when he had to repeat fifth year.

Although she would never admit it to herself, she clearly remembered the first time she walked the grounds of Hogwarts, accompanied by her father Hrothgar Valois*, grabbing her by the wrist. Her unsteady feet and mass of black waves interfered with her vision and caused irritation her otherwise generous father. She remembers how he sat her down in front of Headmaster Armando Dippet and Albus Dumbledore, the assistant headmaster and head of Gryffindor house, with utter disappointment, and she remembered the flabbergasted look on their faces, as at the time of admission she was 14.

“Zere ‘ad been some circumstances for which I have come ‘ere--” Monsieur Valois spoke with a low melodious tone with a heavy French accent, and did not sound very pleased with himself.

“That we can conclude... however” Professor Dippet answered with a wheezy voice “may we know what is the reason she is insisted to be admitted here so late...? The window of admission at Hogwarts comes only once, and it is the rule and the Law of the British ministry.” Professor Dippet looked at Monsieur Valois with displeasement.

“You misunderstand me, Professeur , she is, in fact educated. She is ze third child of mine and an heiress to the noble house of Valois, surely you’ve ‘eard?” Hrothgar waved his left hand perhaps to give them a glimpse of his baroque Alexandrite signet ring, glinting on his small finger.

“Blood purity cannot buy your daughter a place in Hogwarts, I am sure you know that.” Dumbledore answered sternly and Dippet agreed with him.

“What is the proof that she wasn’t neglected her education... a couple of purebloods we know take pride in their illiteracy and claim that Hogwarts have nothing to teach... they are the Gaunts, descendants of Salazar Slytherin, surely you’ve heard?” Professor Dippet commented with taunt. Hrothgar did not faze at all, in fact e softened instantly, in fact, he became almost glib.

“Of course, of course Professeur , ‘ow impudent of me. I should ‘ave brought it earlier” Monsieur Valois gave the headmaster a series of papers, “Zis is ‘er proof of previous education, a certificate from ‘er previeus school, ‘owever, in ze matter of delicate circumstances, ze name of ze school must be confidential.” Valois looked grimly at headmaster Dippet.

“And you are still insisting that I let her in my school?” Professor Dippet spoke quite loudly, but was pacified when Dumbledore spoke something in his ears. Dippet took the papers and read through all of them, and then he looked at the girl, who was, until this point, invisible. Both Dippet and Dumbledore fixed their gaze upon the fourteen year old.

“Do you know how to perform standard spells?” Dumbledore asked her, and her dark eyes fearfully looked at her father’s face then at the professor’s face, in shaking voice she replied

“Pardon, mais je ne comprend pas…” (I am sorry but I do not understand anything) and she was more scared when professor Dippet looked displeased, “Professeur, je suis désolé pour mon incapacité a parler Anglais, je promets…” (Sir, I am sorry for my incapacity of speaking English, I promise...)* she sounded positively panicked, “d’essayer plus fort--”* (I will try my best)

“It’s okay Maxine... Ca va... Est-que ce tu savais a effectuer les sorts standard?” (do you know how to perform standard spells?) Dumbledore asked kindly, and her fearful eyes glowed with hope. She went up and attempted to perform a spell, but she could not do anything except sparks and smoke.

“It’s no good…” she heard Dippet utter, “she is just another--”

“No Professeur… j’essayer encore… une chance… sil vous plait” (No sir, I will try again, one chance... please) she waved her wand desperately again and again but nothing happened.

“Miss Valois... relax...” Dumbledore called out “respirez...” (breathe)

She breathed and closed her eyes, letting her surroundings vanish. Slowly she raised her wand and conjured a paper out of the thin air. She manoeuvred the paper to fold on itself into a bird which increased its size each time it flapped its wing and gave a final dive into the teacher’s table where it vaporised with a small ‘poof’. Dippet was judging the child by her father, and now he looked impressed for her talent.

“Very good…” came Dippet’s verdict while Maxine huffed a little sigh of relief.

“Peux-tu me montre… un sort pour transfiguration avancé?” (can you show me an advance transfiguration spell ?) Dumbledore asked her and within a moment Maxine transformed the jade paperweight on the table into a black iguana which jumped from the table and slithered across the room, startling all three men in the room.

“Bah… j’essayair un dragon” (I was aiming for a Dragon), Maxine mused but she knew with their expression that she is as good as in. Her years in L’estate Valois made her good in reading men.

Maxine smiled at her little memory of entrance exam. She remembered when professor Dippet finally agreed to bring out the sorting hat and place it on Maxine’s head. Dumbledore kindly informed her about all the formalities of the school. But that’s not the most kindest or memorable about the first day; the strangest thing started when that frayed battered hat was placed upon her head.

“Ah… how very interesting” the hat whispered in her mind, “courageous and timid, loyal and detached and an inquisitive mind… what to do with you?” the hat as if whispered into her inner psyche, like some cumbersome thought bugging one in the dead of the night.

“C’est étrange… Vous parlez ?” (How strange… you talk?)  Maxine’s mind relayed this at an instant. In the reply of the child, a faint coarse laugh echoed in the hollow of her brain, “Oui, petit fille, et je peux regarder dans votre espirit” (yes little girl, and I can see into your mind)

“Tu crois que tu peux me comprendre?” (you think you can understand me?) Maxine thought, “un petit chapeau comme toi?” (a little hat like you?)

“Défiance, c’est vrai?” (Defiance, is it?) The hat whispered “mais ma petit fille, est-que ce vous savez quand j’ai possède un abélite extraordinaire ce qui rend vous petit esprit claire comme du verre pour moi ?” (But do you know little girl that I possess an extraordinary ability that renders your little mind as clear as glass to me?) the hat haughtily answered her back and paused, and in a assuring and firm tone spoke “laissez moi démêler ton âme Maxine Valois… laissez moi te guider a la sublime.” (let me uncover your mind Maxine Valois... let me guide you to the sublime.)

“Comme ca?” (how so?)

“Even in the least confident child lies innate capability that, if harnessed correctly, it transforms them into someone extraordinary.” The sorting hat sermonised “and I am here, at the threshold to the doorway to greatness, only to make that choice easier.”

“Je comprend tout… mais c’est Anglais!” (I understand everything... but it’s English) Maxine thought.

“Yes… now let’s look at you again. Ah, such curious mind you have… what a complex concept you have on good and evil, respect and retaliation, rage and calm. An old fear that have caged you long since, but what is that that lurks inside? A bird or a monster...?”

“So you are nothing but a rusty old hat, who cannot even decide where to put me...” Maxine thought sarcastically, and then within her head the voice echoed “You possess contempt for the world because it fails to understand you, but do you understand yourself?”

“What do you mean?”

“And that is the reason you crave greatness to conquer them all and knowledge to conquer yourself” the hat asserted, “and both sides weigh equally. So if you have to choose one of them, which one would it be?”

“Knowledge” Maxine answered in her mind “you can achieve greatness without knowledge, but it will not be for long, someone will eventually defeat you. However, if one has knowledge, greatness is a matter of time.”

“A heart fit for a Slytherin…” the sorting hat said aloud. However in that finality of note, lingered another statement, in which’s anticipation made Maxine lose her patience for every passing fractions of seconds. She knows what she was getting into, another place where status and family meant all. At the same time seeing her father’s eyes glinted with pride; she didn’t had the heart to disappoint him. She saw Dumbledore and Dippet watching her closely, and instantly she knew none of the conversation was heard by them. It must have been quite long because they looked at her way as if they were waiting for long anticipated news.

“But the spirit soars with Eagle wings…” the sorting hat concluded, and announced the verdict “I place her in Ravenclaw.”

Her life in Hogwarts wasn’t normal at all. She struggled a lot with the languages, got a lot of detentions and eventually she became more reckless and desperate with the faculty and the students. She hadn’t any friends, even within her houses. People would either whisper “go back to your country” or openly call her ‘Quin’ or some other adorable slurs. The faculty couldn’t do anything to her because of her grades, but she could tell that they didn’t like that she was the topper, there was some disapproval in their eyes... for which she caused it, she didn’t know.

Another thing which made her more of a target for bullying and censor. She was frequently visited by ministry officials, for what she didn’t know. They always asked the same questions: who was she? how was her family? where she came from? and the answers were always the same exasperated replies. She didn’t even remembered their face at this point, but they looked at her in a way that made her feel like she was being pitied. And she didn’t like that-- after all, why should she, she was from the Noble Family of Valois, one of the oldest  and richest French Purebloods. She should not be pitied, she should be a subject of jealousy. 

Hogwarts, as she remembered, was a prison to her. The hardest part of this experience was the inability to express her opinion. After all, who would believe her? Hogwarts was the best Wizarding school in the whole world.

Therefore she sought her escape in the Dark Forest, away from the maddening crowd, far from the scorns and judgement, into the musty scent and under the shades of the green canopy, with the dryads and wood-fairies, bowtruckles and the nightingales... flying all across the vast forest, harmonising with the Merpeople into a green horizon of peace. The silent ones don’t judge and discriminate, they love unconditionally, give unconditionally and that was the only thing that pacified her in the whole world. That same peace, she found with Newt Scamander.  Only with Newt she found a place where she can belong--without and family name or money, or grades. Just as herself.

The cigarette ash suspended on its dying ember. Maxine tipped it off and blew out the candle.

Many miles underground, inside a dark office, scratching of quills over papers could still be heard. Theseus Scamander was still working on the leads of Grindlewald. His well combed waves were astray, and he was on his fifth coffee in the past three hours. The towers of documents, immigration papers, and status profile and employment details were taking a physical toll on him as well as mental. All his employees left after sunset, as per standard rules, but not him. He could not bear to go home and eat, and sleep and let the memory of Pere Lachaise haunt him. He had to find a way to avenge Leta—

Thud.

“For Merlin’s sake Max, stop generating more work and just go home...”  Theseus screamed while scribbling and when he looked up to see the scattered piles of paper, he saw no one there. Feeling stupid on his antics and thanking that he was alone, he tried to refocus. However, he couldn’t. He put down his quill and tried to reach for his coffee. It spilled all over his papers.

“This evening could not get any worse... tergeo” with another wave of wand he put away all his papers, took his bag, opened the door and locked it, determined to go home and take some rest. Now he regretted his frequency of consuming coffee which will make him stay wide awake.

At the same time, he was made terribly aware of himself and the silence and utter solitude around him. Each step he took magnified and came to his ears like some demented dying heartbeat. As if he was alone in the world, the only human cursed to walk in his wretched world that had stripped away everything from him. The slopey rails took him further and further down to the landing, now gleaming darkly as the dying lights slowly tossed themselves against the black marbles. The golden bars of the lift glowed dimly with the pallor of dead bones, which in fact surprised him. He always thought them beautiful, but now they did not.

He walked towards the right hand side corridor, towards the Department of Mysteries. It looks like it was one floor down from the Auror Office, but it was not. The illusive architecture always amazed him and always amused Maxine; she called the illusion of the floor ‘like a screw’, winding upwards and winding downwards at the same time.

He smiled on his own, as he trotted through the dark corridor, doors after doors passing like some avoided and neglected people on a depraved street. Then at one point he stopped, he stopped at the Door of Archives, where from the inception of the Ministry, every person is documented and kept behind the locked doors. On the opposite was the interrogation room; where convicts are brought for questioning, and curiously enough, interviews took place. The first time Theseus entered those doors after entering the ministry, was as one of the directors in the Interview board. After a boring set of interviews, entered a willowy and pale woman, whose sharp black eyes and slit smile announced that she was no ordinary woman

“Tell us about yourself...” Travers asked her and Theseus was noting everything down on his clipboard, mainly about her body language.

‘Tall, attractive, very French... ’

‘I am Maxine Valois, I graduated Hogwarts in the summer of 1912, and I grant myself proficient in all the qualities you require for an Auror.’

‘Late-comer, desperate, trying to conceal insecurities with confident voice’

“Excellent... now, if your testimony is correct and so is your records, you’ve been graduated about eleven years ago.” Travers asked, “May I ask why you delayed yourself from reaching out?”

“With all respect sir, I said I graduated Hogwarts at the summer of 1912, that doesn’t conclude that I have pulled a curtain upon my studies, now does it?” said she with amusement “I was out and about around the world, studying and researching, and when my inheritance of some few thousand galleons were at exhaustion I decided that it was an end for my academic pursuits.”

Theseus scratched out the last sentence and scribbled ‘Possibly formidable candidate, intelligent, little on the over-confident side, has a way with words, less likely to follow authorities,’

“What kind of studies were you pursuing...?” Travers asked with curiosity and a sense of annoyance that sounded to Theseus’ ears as a mockery.

“I am not really obliged to disclose that here because I have sworn secrecy with the institutions about the lessons I received...” said Maxine.

Theseus scribbled ‘Emphasis on arrogant, likely to fail for angering Travers.’

“Why is that?”

“I have paid visits most of the Wizarding schools in the world, you can ask them individually if you want. Nothing shall escape my lips”

‘Bordering on insufferable,’

“Thank you Miss Valois you shall be called--”

“You cannot cast me out like this.” Maxine said calmly and Theseus looked up from his paper to look at her face. The level of audacity was just too unimaginable for him and later he understood that he was on the same page with everyone about this interviewee. There was no sign of fear, arrogance or sneer on her face. The calm demeanour signified that she knew what she was talking about and it made Theseus look straight across her face, but only for so long. There was a dazzling sharpness in those angled black eyes that made the beholder lower their sight after a few moments.

“Why do you think that we do not have that kind of power” said Travers, laughing “because we at this side of the table have every power to cast you out as you like.”

“You misunderstand me sir...” Maxine continued with her serene voice “British ministry is getting weaker and weaker every moment, you see, this little Island is not only detached from Europe but also the rest of the world where the recruitments are better, stricter and more efficient. You see, your inefficient policy with wizards and non-wizards have made you vulnerable against the extremists and right now most powerful wizards in the country are rallying against you. If I walk out of this and send a word, most powerful anti-British ministries will jump on the bandwagon of recruiting me, and I would rather be on this side than on the other side of massacre and extremism... if you think I am lying or bluffing, the fourth page of my Curriculum Vitae can testify to that.”

Theseus and Travers, out of curiosity peered to the page Maxine mentioned and a shining golden badge on a piece of silk paper was encrusted. Maxine, understanding that they cannot read the language, pointed her wand towards them and softly uttered in an unfamiliar language.

“This Award of Golden Robe and of Five Seals goes to Miss Maxine Valois, By Japanese Wizarding Congress. She is hereby awarded an honorary member of Society of Eurasian Magical Corporation and is hereby granted a full permission to take citizenship and work on Japanese soil”*

The men could not speak for some times, and then suddenly Travers looked at her “that is indeed an impressive feat. To be able to acquire such a position in an ultra-homogeneous community” Said he and started to counsel amongst his fellow board members. After some painful minutes and questioning stares the verdict was passed.

“And we will be glad to have you here on the British Ministry.”

“Thank you sir... I am most delighted” Maxine stood up and shook his hands.

After all the interviews, when the selections were being done, there was a time when Maxine’s names was announced. Theseus was astound at the frivolity of the minds of men in power; those openly displayed disapproval were now fighting over that single girl who had outwitted them. He remembered how the interview board turned into the fights of Juries in Wizengamot. He quietly observed how the Head Aurors practically jumped on each other. Not even Theseus knew what was going to happen in the next moment.

“Sirs...“ boomed Theseus, standing up, “with all due respect, I think your fight is nothing more than redundant.“

“What is the meaning of this Mr. Scamander?“ Damon Yaxley roared, “just because you have won the war, doesn’t make you decider of our fates...“

“Why would I try to decide your fates Sirs, I am an Auror... I destroy my enemies, like you all.“ and with him all the interview board started to laugh with him “all I am asking that I should have that Franco-English girl as my intern and subordinate.“

“Sorry m’boy, but I think you are a little too young to decide to that“ answered Archturius Black, and Theseus replied, suppressing the heated insult “and you Mr. Black, is too old for that.“ and the board laughed again

“Sirs... not only my department is short stuffed and suffering, but also compromised most aurors in the field than yours. I am only asking a fair recruit. Besides, don’t I deserve that for winning the war?“ Theseus smiled and sat down, because he knew the game was his when no one spoke against him anymore. He too was surprised of himself... he never thought he would be this desperate.

Theseus smiled at that memory and for a good reason. It was the pivotal step of their relationship, he as the boss and she as the intern. And soon from fetching papers and carrying out notices, that belated intern became an inseparable member of Theseus’ team. Soon Travers started ordering Theseus to take her into important missions, carrying out espionages and surveillance jobs, and her promotion rate was going upwards so steeply that she was soon the Assistant General on Theseus’ team, working alongside him in the same office. Of course he never told her what he did to the entire Law Enforcement team to get her. The Scamander-Valois team was unbeatable, until that time...

It was almost six months ago...

He was preparing for departing to Paris with Leta and his team, Travers had a big row with Maxine as she thought the operation will be a great failure. Terrified more than excited, Theseus was coming out of the archive room after inspecting some papers. After closing the door, he saw Leta in front of him, equally terrified as him and sad.

“Leta... we will be fine” Theseus tried to console her, but she didn’t budge; the thought of dead Corvus Lestrange always plagued her. Theseus took her into his arms, lifted her face and embraced her lips into his. Leta understood that, Theseus always tries to console her at both physical and psychological planes, but sometimes when he finds himself at loss of words, he lets his affections physically manifest and radiates on to others. Each time he connected himself physically with Leta he felt an unknown fulfilment, and Leta allowed him that.

In his moment of satisfaction, his ken picked up another face, gleaming at the dark at the side. He broke his kiss with Leta and looked at the person.

“Max...” he unconsciously wiped his lips and spoke hoarsely and unsteadily. Maxine on the other hand, looked like her usual self; Theseus cleared his voice and said “what you’re doing here?”

“I am sorry to interrupt your meeting but Travers is calling for you...” Maxine informed; and was attempting to leave the place, but Leta stopped her. Her hand reached her high shoulder gently and she waited for Maxine to turn, “Maxine I am sorry that you could not join us.”

“It’s okay...” Maxine asserted before even Leta could finish, “Besides, dictators, social climbers and brainless whiners seems to be the order of day. Someone needs to keep their heads in the right place” Maxine added with her usual twisted smirk, “and um... that dress seems to be a little on the drinking party side than ‘I am visiting my brother’s tomb’ side--”

“Maxine...” Theseus’ voice concealed an alarm in that hushed tone.

“However, who am I to judge, I am not the only French here right?” a cruel smile graced on her lips.

Theseus could take no more, he took a few stepped forwards, “Stop it” he hissed at Maxine, whose expression looked unaffected and almost bored. She turned her face towards Leta, “so bon chance on your failed mission and do let me know how many of you gets compromised--” after a sneer and a wink, she clacked away.

Leta prevented Theseus from chasing her back and shook her head in the indication that Theseus should not speak about this fiasco and cause a ruckus. As Leta left to join Travers, Theseus chased right after Maxine. He could feel the skin under his collar heating up with every step he took. Blood pounded in his ears. As he slammed his office door open, he saw Maxine there, organising papers. She turned towards him as if it was another day in the office, but it only did so to infuriate Theseus even more. He forcefully turned her towards himself and his face, by this time looked like he had murdered someone.

“Why are you like this Maxine, Why?” Theseus bellowed, “Your attitude was beneath you. I can overlook your petty pranks here and there but that... that was unforgivable. You behaved like a mean schoolgirl with her and I am disappointed in you.”

“Beneath me?” Maxine asked unemotionally, “you claim to understand what is beneath or above me? Stop sounding so noble Theseus, you sound like those imbecile chevals.”* She tried to walk off from the conversation by brushing the topic lightly but Theseus wasn’t having any. He again turned out towards her “yes I do.” He said with heat “You behaved improperly today, and not to mention you have hurt Leta beyond the limit. All the ministry employees know that Corvus Lestrange is a forbidden topic--”

“By your orders it is then? Merlin when I came to this place I had to work so much harder despite my academic qualification and she, didn’t even had six months is getting treated like a queen. I wonder how far she went in your--”

“SHE IS MY FIANCEE MISS VALOIS AND YOU WILL DO WELL TO SPEAK WITH HER WITH DECENCY.” Theseus took a few steps back and turned on his heel and walked away. For a brief moment he saw the dazzling black eyes moistened, but he was too proud to stand there.

The memory hit him hard. He stopped at his tracks and leaned on the wall; the same wall where it all started. That incident that never really got resolved even though things got back to normal after the days. Whenever he tried to apologise, Maxine would ignore it or veer the conversation otherwise. Sometimes he thought she leaving Ministry and joining as Newt’s assistant was a big prank on its own; why argue through your job and literally throw it away for animal scutwork?—he will never understand that, and sometimes just thinking about all those mismatching things gave him a headache.

Nothing makes sense anymore these days.

...

‘‘Maîtresse... maîtresse...’ a wheezy voice woke Maxine up in the middle of the night. Rubbing her eyes, she breathed sharply and sat up on her bed. There was still some streetlight left in the street that could permeate through the still and transparent linen curtain.

“What?” Maxine exclaimed angrily and the elf turned on the bedside lamp, “it’s two thirty in the morning, I told you unless someone is dying on my doorsteps do not disturb--”

“It is a man maitresse… ” Lampito answered fearfully, “he introduced himself as Scamander… he is asking for you maitresse, and he is not well.”

Maxine’s face hardened and a trace of worry in her sleepy eyes appeared like a thin curtain “Barbe de Mer…” she almost jumped out of the bed, throwing herself only her blush colored dressing-gown. The time she entered her sitting room, she saw a tall brunet man in tweed suit lolling on her chaise with his face down towards the floor. His hand lolled at one side and it seemed like all the blood in his body was drained. Maxine rushed towards her chaise and straightened him to see his face.

“Theseus--” she whispered, but it was unlike anything she ever known that barely resembled ‘Theseus Scamander’. His face was red and lulled to a drunken stupor. Traces of vomit crusted around his lips and jaw, and some even soiled his shoulder. Maxine covered her nose and pointed the wand to siphon the dirt of his body and face, and indignantly looked at her chaise, if something has been dirtied or not.

“This chaise cost me six hundred galleons… direct from Provence too…” Maxine exasperated, “I wonder what gotten into him to do this. Lampito…” she turned to the elf “go make Monsieur Scamander some tall espresso and fetch all the sausages and eggs we have. For now, get me a glass of milk. Levicorpus…” Maxine lifted Theseus up on air and kicked off the door of her study, to prop him on the fainting couch; no way will she let a drunken man into her bedroom.

She laid him on his side first, loosened his shoes, necktie and got rid of the blazer and the waistcoat. She gave them all to the elf and ordered them to wash it. With all the changes of position and possible rise of discomfort, Theseus started to groan as a response of being moved.

“Okay you schmuck…” Maxine propped his head as gently as possible. It was a strenuous job to lay him comfortably on the cushion because not only he was a foot taller and weighed at least 40 pounds more than Maxine, but he was also an exceptionally difficult person in his intoxicated self. Maxine tried hard to hold the head close but not too close to her chest, the fluttering of her neckline due to Theseus’ groaning and breathing was unnerving already. After an agonizing struggle when she finally managed to lay his head on the pillow, he jolted up and another wave of projectile vomit ensued, spewing everywhere.

As much as Maxine wanted to scream at Theseus and bash his skull in the walls for ruining her Victorian couch and Chinese watersilk, she felt an uncommon pity towards him that she never knew before. Siphoning every speck of sick, she knelt beside him as he groaned feverishly. His dry, puce lips mumbled something so low that Maxine had to bring her ears to his lips to listen.

“Forgive me…. Leta… I couldn’t save you… I am sorry… so sorry”

“Oh you fool…” Maxine whispered to herself, “stop blaming yourself for her death… it wasn’t your fault” her small voice shook, “you cannot carry the whole burden of the world… stop being such an imbecile Cheval… ” Maxine put her hand on his forehead reluctantly after contemplating against doing it, and stroked him gently and surely. She felt terrible seeing someone who had always been superior to her broken into pieces like this. Not even in her worst nightmare she would have imagined that Theseus would do something like this. Even the day when she quit, he seemed fine and alright. Personally she blamed herself a little for this state of Theseus; after all she was the Vice Head of his team, working alongside him day and night. She could have understood it—but she failed.

People say it’s the woman who are difficult to get a read on, but what about men like him, who suppress their emotions to such a point that it breaks them from within?

“please don’t leave me… pleas--”

“Maitresse…” Maxine startled into life and looked at the back, Lampito was standing with a glass of milk, “you wanted it for Monsieur Scamander”

Maxine stood up hastily, rearranging her robe a little, “feed him, and check on him every hour…” she walked towards the door.

“Maitresse, are you alright?” Lampito asked in a puzzled voice.“Yes…” she turned towards the elf and smiled with a small manner, “I am just tired.”

Tags: @my-current-fandom-is

In this chapter I wanted to explore a bit with the dynamics of Maxine and Theseus. They were former colleagues and I have hinted that things weren’t entirely platonic. From whose side it was more, I will leave it to you. At this point you can see, Maxine has totally different dynamics with Newt and Theseus. 

The French subtitles were getting cumbersome, so I added the translation right there. But some words here and there are added in the footnote.

Baroque: I have mentioned that quite often. Baroque is a style of architecture, music, and fashion that is emotional, overtly religious and ornamental. It was famous form late 17th to late 18th century. This is also the period when French Aristocracy died (French Revolution : 1789), so I thought that an old French Pureblood family, such as the Valois will try to hold onto that ‘good old days’. Here is an example how ‘Baroque’ looks like:

Signet Ring: a family jewel worn as a ring on the little finger by European aristocratic males (the eldest son, the Paterfamilias). It usually bears the Family crest, and passed down generation after generation. Here is the sample Baroque signet ring worn by the Last French Monarch, Louis XVI, crested with Fleur de Lis

Valois: French for “From the Valley”, it was a very famous Aristocratic house in France, and for several centuries, they assumed the French Throne.

Quin: a Slang for Vagina

Maitresse: French for “Mistress”

Barbe de Mer: French for “Merlin’s beard”, however, Maxine shortens Merlin into “Mer”, French for the sea, also signifying “Beard of the Sea” or tumultuous waves.

Fainting couch : a couch in the Victorian household where women who were sick, fainting or both used to lay down.

Cheval: french for “horse”, metaphorically signifying Cheveliers (knights).