Hogwarts proved to be a moving mass of people in black robes trimmed with different colors, staircases that swung through the air as students climbed or descended, and an enormous hall with four great long tables laid out. The first years were lined up down the center path, which ended at the legendary Sorting Hat of Hogwarts.
It was as grimy and tattered as reputed, with a large rip near the brim, and a pointy tip that was as bent and crooked as an old tomcat's tail. She watched as one student after another was helped up onto the high stool, the Hat was laid on their brow, and seconds later, the name of a House was shouted into the hush, followed by an explosion from one table or another.
Spike remembered Durmstrang's Chalice, and shuddered. At least I don't have to drink from the Hat. Though Totenberg, Dmitri, and Sascha had amused themselves one night by breaking into the Headmaster's Quarters, stealing the Chalice, and drinking cheap wine from it. I wonder how Durmstrang's next Severing is going to go? The Chalice had been joining in the fun by the end, she had heard, singing bawdy songs, and as a drinking mug, it had an enormous repertoire. I wonder if it will be sober by then . . .
Suddenly they were calling her name, or at least a garbled version of it. She decided on the spot that she would use her old family nickname--there shouldn't be any other Spikes to get confused. Not like the reunion picnics, where it was often simpler to use birthplaces or residences to refer to someone. A prickly bunch, us. And then the Hat was over her eyes.
It chuckled gleefully to Itself. "This job hasn't been so easy and obvious since that Malfoy brat--wait. What did you say?"
Spike hadn't said anything, knotted with her worries that something would go wrong and this second chance would be taken away from her after all. The goblet at Durmstrang had hesitated like this, the steam rising turning from silver to green to red to black and then back again, wavering in the air. Looking for something. She felt a wrenching cold in her stomach. "Not again."
"What again?" Images flashed through her mind like cards being shuffled. "Interesting. I see why the Chalice had issues. Well. Mad scientist, or evil genius? Which path are you going to walk, Spike?"
"I'm sorry--"
"You have minions, indeed you do. Good start! And ambition. Plenty of that. You seem to know how to handle that; you'll do well wherever you're Sorted. But it’s a fine line where you walk between the green and the blue. Cunning and clever.” She had the creepy feeling that the toothless, fingerless Hat was tapping its fingers on its front teeth the way the head chef would when agonizing over a menu. Hibiscus or Royal Tokaj for the postprandial, she thought, and bit her lip to keep from laughing.
“Well!” the Hat remarked at last. “It’s a good thing we sort more than once, now. I told Dumbledore that the one and done was a mistake, I told him that people could change from what they were as children, even old children. Got to be . . . Slytherin!!!” Dimly, as the Hat was lifted off her head, Spike could hear cheering from one of the tables.
The Hat winked as she climbed off the stool. “Do me proud, girlie,” it said.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Sunday, March 18, 2012
A Turning Point, Part One
Back up in her rooms, Totenberg was holding his small mistress's hands, trying to warm them. She had gone through the full crash after the immense relief of opening the letter of acceptance to Hogwarts; the stoic mask shattering like porcelain when they returned upstairs to find her trunks deposited on the floor, her writing desk restocked with ink and papers.
He'd stopped her from diving into the trunks and pulling everything back out into it usual magpie's nest by reminding her that everything was packed and ready to travel. "Just a couple of days till term starts. Don' want to pull it all out just to have to put it away again, yah?" Reluctantly, she'd agreed to the wisdom of his proposal, and left most of it put away, although she'd pulled out her wand and slept with it in her hands that first night. He'd watched her breathe from his post by the door, remembering when she'd held a toy that way. Remembering her father and his first wand.
The next three days simultaneously dragged by and went far too quickly. When she woke up in the morning, Spike wondered how she was going to fill the long empty hours of the day, and when it was over and she was finally able to drop into bed, she had no idea where the time had gone. At last, the footmen were loading the last of her trunks onto the carriage of horn, and they were off to England.
The trip was uneventful--people took one look at her sideboys and got out of the way, but they did that everywhere. They had a compartment on the train to themselves, and she noticed some of the students, particularly those with green trim on their robes, seemed to be accompanied by escorts as well. Spike breathed a small sigh of relief. She had heard that Hogwarts wasn't like Durmstang, and had been concerned that she might be utterly separated from her batsmen, told to send them home for the duration, only to see them during term breaks.
When they left the train and found the famous horseless carriages, all three of her body servants stopped and looked long and hard at the front, where the empty harnesses and traces hung.
"That what I t'ink they is?"
"T'ink so. Closer look?"
"Yah." Totenberg stayed behind, at her side, while Sascha and Dmitri slowly approached from the side. Sascha took a lump of sugar out of his pocket -- he was fond of the stuff, and would hoard it given half a chance-- placed it on his open palm, and offered it to the nothing at the head of the carriage. Spike gaped as it suddenly vanished from his hand as if plucked up by soft mobile lips. There's no there there, she thought. How did --
But it was time to board the carriage and ride to the school, with the rest of the first years.
He'd stopped her from diving into the trunks and pulling everything back out into it usual magpie's nest by reminding her that everything was packed and ready to travel. "Just a couple of days till term starts. Don' want to pull it all out just to have to put it away again, yah?" Reluctantly, she'd agreed to the wisdom of his proposal, and left most of it put away, although she'd pulled out her wand and slept with it in her hands that first night. He'd watched her breathe from his post by the door, remembering when she'd held a toy that way. Remembering her father and his first wand.
The next three days simultaneously dragged by and went far too quickly. When she woke up in the morning, Spike wondered how she was going to fill the long empty hours of the day, and when it was over and she was finally able to drop into bed, she had no idea where the time had gone. At last, the footmen were loading the last of her trunks onto the carriage of horn, and they were off to England.
The trip was uneventful--people took one look at her sideboys and got out of the way, but they did that everywhere. They had a compartment on the train to themselves, and she noticed some of the students, particularly those with green trim on their robes, seemed to be accompanied by escorts as well. Spike breathed a small sigh of relief. She had heard that Hogwarts wasn't like Durmstang, and had been concerned that she might be utterly separated from her batsmen, told to send them home for the duration, only to see them during term breaks.
When they left the train and found the famous horseless carriages, all three of her body servants stopped and looked long and hard at the front, where the empty harnesses and traces hung.
"That what I t'ink they is?"
"T'ink so. Closer look?"
"Yah." Totenberg stayed behind, at her side, while Sascha and Dmitri slowly approached from the side. Sascha took a lump of sugar out of his pocket -- he was fond of the stuff, and would hoard it given half a chance-- placed it on his open palm, and offered it to the nothing at the head of the carriage. Spike gaped as it suddenly vanished from his hand as if plucked up by soft mobile lips. There's no there there, she thought. How did --
But it was time to board the carriage and ride to the school, with the rest of the first years.
A Turning Point, Part One
Back up in her rooms, Totenberg was holding his small mistress's hands, trying to warm them. She had gone through the full crash after the immense relief of opening the letter of acceptance to Hogwarts; the stoic mask shattering like porcelain when they returned upstairs to find her trunks deposited on the floor, her writing desk restocked with ink and papers.
He'd stopped her from diving into the trunks and pulling everything back out into it usual magpie's nest by reminding her that everything was packed and ready to travel. "Just a couple of days till term starts. Don' want to pull it all out just to have to put it away again, yah?" Reluctantly, she'd agreed to the wisdom of his proposal, and left most of it put away, although she'd pulled out her wand and slept with it in her hands that first night. He'd watched her breathe from his post by the door, remembering when she'd held a toy that way. Remembering her father and his first wand.
The next three days simultaneously dragged by and went far too quickly. When she woke up in the morning, Spike wondered how she was going to fill the long empty hours of the day, and when it was over and she was finally able to drop into bed, she had no idea where the time had gone. At last, the footmen were loading the last of her trunks onto the carriage of horn, and they were off to England.
The trip was uneventful--people took one look at her sideboys and got out of the way, but they did that everywhere. They had a compartment on the train to themselves, and she noticed some of the students, particularly those with green trim on their robes, seemed to be accompanied by escorts as well. Spike breathed a small sigh of relief. She had heard that Hogwarts wasn't like Durmstang, and had been concerned that she might be utterly separated from her batsmen, told to send them home for the duration, only to see them during term breaks.
When they left the train and found the famous horseless carriages, all three of her body servants stopped and looked long and hard at the front, where the empty harnesses and traces hung.
"That what I t'ink they is?"
"T'ink so. Closer look?"
"Yah." Totenberg stayed behind, at her side, while Sascha and Dmitri slowly approached from the side. Sascha took a lump of sugar out of his pocket -- he was fond of the stuff, and would hoard it given half a chance-- placed it on his open palm, and offered it to the nothing at the head of the carriage. Spike gaped as it suddenly vanished from his hand as if plucked up by soft mobile lips. There's no there there, she thought. How did --
But it was time to board the carriage and ride to the school, with the rest of the first years.
He'd stopped her from diving into the trunks and pulling everything back out into it usual magpie's nest by reminding her that everything was packed and ready to travel. "Just a couple of days till term starts. Don' want to pull it all out just to have to put it away again, yah?" Reluctantly, she'd agreed to the wisdom of his proposal, and left most of it put away, although she'd pulled out her wand and slept with it in her hands that first night. He'd watched her breathe from his post by the door, remembering when she'd held a toy that way. Remembering her father and his first wand.
The next three days simultaneously dragged by and went far too quickly. When she woke up in the morning, Spike wondered how she was going to fill the long empty hours of the day, and when it was over and she was finally able to drop into bed, she had no idea where the time had gone. At last, the footmen were loading the last of her trunks onto the carriage of horn, and they were off to England.
The trip was uneventful--people took one look at her sideboys and got out of the way, but they did that everywhere. They had a compartment on the train to themselves, and she noticed some of the students, particularly those with green trim on their robes, seemed to be accompanied by escorts as well. Spike breathed a small sigh of relief. She had heard that Hogwarts wasn't like Durmstang, and had been concerned that she might be utterly separated from her batsmen, told to send them home for the duration, only to see them during term breaks.
When they left the train and found the famous horseless carriages, all three of her body servants stopped and looked long and hard at the front, where the empty harnesses and traces hung.
"That what I t'ink they is?"
"T'ink so. Closer look?"
"Yah." Totenberg stayed behind, at her side, while Sascha and Dmitri slowly approached from the side. Sascha took a lump of sugar out of his pocket -- he was fond of the stuff, and would hoard it given half a chance-- placed it on his open palm, and offered it to the nothing at the head of the carriage. Spike gaped as it suddenly vanished from his hand as if plucked up by soft mobile lips. There's no there there, she thought. How did --
But it was time to board the carriage and ride to the school, with the rest of the first years.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
A Reluctant Conversation, Part Four
Finally, Spike’s father put a finger under her chin, lifting her face so her eyes met his. Was that a softening? A memory of when he was just learning his way around? "Nischka. Spike. You're a talented witch, and you have the potential to go far with this, even to join the ranks of the great ones someday. Maybe. But you have to be trained, like the hawks have to be trained, like the Hounds have to be trained. Otherwise, you are simply too dangerous--to yourself and to others." He had turned from anger to sorrow, and somehow his sadness was harder to bear than his fury. "And you know what happens when a dog runs mad, when a bear comes down from the woods to forage in the town."
She knew. Was she a mad dog then, slavering at the mouth; a bear grown lazy with the easy pickings on the outskirts? First a dog, then a pig, then a child, they said. Was it first a wall, then a door, then a professor? This was bigger than her father being angry with her, bigger than the punishment he might mete out for disobedience. This was big enough to encompass the whole world. Tears formed in her eyes. "Papa?"
He took her hands in his then, crouching so their heads were even. "I can only protect you so far as my reach extends, my Hounds a little further, maybe. But the job of keeping you safe is going to pass, first and foremost, to you. You must learn how to get a hand on your wild magic, to bring it to heel. To hood and jess it, so when the time is right--and at no other!-- you can set it on its rightful prey, confident that it will return to your glove."
"I understand." And she did; she had liked Durmstrang. The people were challenging, but the work all flowed and made sense. She could feel the movements of the wand in her fingers, and all that she needed was someone to show her the patterns and channels for her magic to follow. Learning to dig ditches, she had called it once, and of course someone had misunderstood, thinking that she meant it was simple manual work, fit for Muggles and peasants. She'd set them straight, of course. Fortunately Durmstrang turned a blind eye to most students' escapades.
“So, with that in mind,” he handed her an envelope sealed with red wax, embossed with a florid capital H, “I think you should open this.”
She knew. Was she a mad dog then, slavering at the mouth; a bear grown lazy with the easy pickings on the outskirts? First a dog, then a pig, then a child, they said. Was it first a wall, then a door, then a professor? This was bigger than her father being angry with her, bigger than the punishment he might mete out for disobedience. This was big enough to encompass the whole world. Tears formed in her eyes. "Papa?"
He took her hands in his then, crouching so their heads were even. "I can only protect you so far as my reach extends, my Hounds a little further, maybe. But the job of keeping you safe is going to pass, first and foremost, to you. You must learn how to get a hand on your wild magic, to bring it to heel. To hood and jess it, so when the time is right--and at no other!-- you can set it on its rightful prey, confident that it will return to your glove."
"I understand." And she did; she had liked Durmstrang. The people were challenging, but the work all flowed and made sense. She could feel the movements of the wand in her fingers, and all that she needed was someone to show her the patterns and channels for her magic to follow. Learning to dig ditches, she had called it once, and of course someone had misunderstood, thinking that she meant it was simple manual work, fit for Muggles and peasants. She'd set them straight, of course. Fortunately Durmstrang turned a blind eye to most students' escapades.
“So, with that in mind,” he handed her an envelope sealed with red wax, embossed with a florid capital H, “I think you should open this.”
Sunday, March 04, 2012
A Reluctant Conversation, Part Three
He began to pace in the narrow chamber, back and forth down the long length of it. “You’re a lucky little witch,” he said, spinning and pointing at her as if cracking a whip. “Lucky that the damages could be restricted to only a few, lucky that Totenberg is insubordinate enough to have been there to help put the fire out. No, don’t start,” he said, as she opened her mouth to explain.
She nodded and hung her head. If he's scolding, then it's not so bad. No one ever died from a tongue-lashing. She braced for him to go on the way he did, pausing to probe for more, coming back to spit acid.
"Haven't you been taught better? Haven't you learned from the Hounds? When a door is shut, you have no way of knowing who's on the other side. That goes for all doors, physical and magical. Make sure you have an ally waiting. But no, the first chance you get, you fling openings to the bottom of the Mandelbrot set wide and shout 'Is there anybody out there?' " He stopped short of yelling the last sentence, but he had raised his voice for the third time in her memory. He stopped, grasping the bridge of his nose as if to ward off a headache.
"I didn't--"
"Quiet." They listened to the heavy brocaded silence in the chamber for a moment.
Outside in the hallway, Totenberg fished in the breast pocket of his tunic, finally coming out with his tobacco pouch and a sheaf of leathery leaves. He proceeded to roll a cigarillo there in the hallway, fingers surprisingly nimble at their task. The younger of the human guards stepped forward as if to stop him, but the other caught his sleeve and shook his head. Totenberg grinned as he caught a light off the torch in the hallway. Being a Hound had a few privileges.
Including the hearing. The old man had almost lost it for a moment there, but seemed to be regaining control. That's a good thing, he thought. He had served Spike's father, and his father before that, and his father before that, and confidently expected to serve Spike's children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren before he retired. Spike was . . . interesting, though. Interesting in a way that might cut his plans short. We never know, do we?
Sascha watched the operation closely. “You ain’t done that since . . . that night at Durmstrang.”
“Yah.”
“Think it gonna be that bad?”
Totenberg blew a long blue breath at the ceiling, ignoring the pointed glares of the guards nearby. “Dunno. We—“ he motioned to himself and Dmitri, “We can always go back to the hussars. You?” He tapped under his left eye, two quick pecks on the cheekbone. “On horseback? With a projectile or a ray? You almost as dangerous to our side as you are to the enemy.”
Sascha pulled himself up straight, out of the typical Hound’s crouch dictated by anatomy. “Can still fight!”
“Didn’t say you couldn’. Just said you couldn’ ride with us no more.”
Sascha had angled himself to be able to keep watch on both the door and his captain. Now he turned his full attention to the door. Totenberg put a hand on his shoulder.
“We wait.”
She nodded and hung her head. If he's scolding, then it's not so bad. No one ever died from a tongue-lashing. She braced for him to go on the way he did, pausing to probe for more, coming back to spit acid.
"Haven't you been taught better? Haven't you learned from the Hounds? When a door is shut, you have no way of knowing who's on the other side. That goes for all doors, physical and magical. Make sure you have an ally waiting. But no, the first chance you get, you fling openings to the bottom of the Mandelbrot set wide and shout 'Is there anybody out there?' " He stopped short of yelling the last sentence, but he had raised his voice for the third time in her memory. He stopped, grasping the bridge of his nose as if to ward off a headache.
"I didn't--"
"Quiet." They listened to the heavy brocaded silence in the chamber for a moment.
Outside in the hallway, Totenberg fished in the breast pocket of his tunic, finally coming out with his tobacco pouch and a sheaf of leathery leaves. He proceeded to roll a cigarillo there in the hallway, fingers surprisingly nimble at their task. The younger of the human guards stepped forward as if to stop him, but the other caught his sleeve and shook his head. Totenberg grinned as he caught a light off the torch in the hallway. Being a Hound had a few privileges.
Including the hearing. The old man had almost lost it for a moment there, but seemed to be regaining control. That's a good thing, he thought. He had served Spike's father, and his father before that, and his father before that, and confidently expected to serve Spike's children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren before he retired. Spike was . . . interesting, though. Interesting in a way that might cut his plans short. We never know, do we?
Sascha watched the operation closely. “You ain’t done that since . . . that night at Durmstrang.”
“Yah.”
“Think it gonna be that bad?”
Totenberg blew a long blue breath at the ceiling, ignoring the pointed glares of the guards nearby. “Dunno. We—“ he motioned to himself and Dmitri, “We can always go back to the hussars. You?” He tapped under his left eye, two quick pecks on the cheekbone. “On horseback? With a projectile or a ray? You almost as dangerous to our side as you are to the enemy.”
Sascha pulled himself up straight, out of the typical Hound’s crouch dictated by anatomy. “Can still fight!”
“Didn’t say you couldn’. Just said you couldn’ ride with us no more.”
Sascha had angled himself to be able to keep watch on both the door and his captain. Now he turned his full attention to the door. Totenberg put a hand on his shoulder.
“We wait.”
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