Disclaimer: No I don't own Harry Potter etc. J K Rowling does. Elianne is my own character though. And the poetry is definitely mine, and only mine.
Author's Note: this is the sequel to one of my other Harry Potter fanfics, 'fathers daughter', you are HIGHLY advised to read that before this, otherwise the following wont make one bit of sense.
Chapter 3
"Now That's What I Call Magic"
~
#Elianne#
They'd filed into the defence against dark arts room over an hour ago. Met by the steely beaded eyes of Professor Laudant. Or Sysalsia, as she insisted they call her by her first name, as she was most accustomed to. This practice seemed more in line with something to put the students on edge, not only making lessons greatly unfamiliar to them but also bringing the sharp intimidation onto them. Her name like everything else of her sliced thinly through the atmosphere of the class, cutting up the good humour surrounding the new school year and the mischief over a foolish new teacher.
Though anyone would know from a glance that Sysalsia was anything but foolish.
Despite her cranky appearance of a hunched back and tatty cloak, she held total attention like barely any other person. The students scarcely dared to breathe under the presence of her maintained silence at the start.
Quite quickly she got to business, ordering them around profusely in a practical demonstration of the shillelagh for starters.
They'd lined up straight across the back end of the stonewall, one by one meekly testing their own summoned weapon against the Professor's.
When Elianne got to the front she'd sworn a glint of malice had crossed the woman generally eager glare. And Sysalsia had awkwardly adjusted her stance, minding herself in what appeared to be a shaded self-constraint.
Elianne struck out against her teacher's identical sheath of leaves that made up the bound florical blade.
She cried out as her teacher moved erratically against this and Elianne's own strike hit surprisingly close to the strangled leg. Even in her best efforts to play it safe as they were instructed, Elianne had very nearly sliced up the teacher. The reason for this seemed not to her inexperience at fault but stranger that Sysalsia had herself rearranged her form last minute, resulting in the near accident and then the rough tackling of her blade with Elianne's, that forced the girl to stumble backwards; falling onto the floor and her shillelagh shimmying across the scathed stone tiles in response.
She knew however it seemed, that she had done no wrong. Her hit had been like most, timed and gentle as commanded, for it was only meant to be a test of everyone's skill in making the weapon and not a battle in itself.
It was Sysalsia, who'd deliberately caused the accident in first and second movements. For a defence against dark arts teacher, Elianne refused to believe this action could be out of error. They should know what they were doing and Sysalsia indeed looked to know her stuff.
"100 points off gryffindor for your insolence and endangering an instructor!" the dark haired woman's hand flew to point out at her and her angry cackle echoed off the chambered walls in a way of defence like a child would accuse in.
The class whispered round in amazement of what had happened, clambering over the facts in their chatted conversations that Sysalsia did not stop. Instead they all stood round, Elianne standing up now opposite the greying Professor, an awfully fierce set to her jaw, staring up at the equally threatening Laudant.
After a standoff of minutes, Laudant had barked at all of them, even the noisy gossips she'd allowed time to before. They all sat down, with Elianne slumping deep into the chair and avoiding any murderous looks from housemates or admirers of Laudant.
Then there lay the doubt to it. Either Sysalsia Laudant was an extraordinary actor for the job that no-one else would accept or she'd administered the fight out of some bizarre scheme to get at her in particular.
Elianne could only wonder what could have made the professor take an almost instant dislike to her, if the latter was true.
Laudant it appeared, unlike the air Elianne had found towards herself on the opening feast and at the test moments before, treated the students fairly if strictly even under her veiled attitude as appointed vice-head of slytherin. It was only Elianne that witnessed distaste in her looks across the classroom, as if all hatred of gryffindor was centred to her.
It might have been unsurprising as she was the daughter of the man who was in a multitude of ways the epitome of the very house. Yet she sensed Sysalsia's malice was directed at her simply.
She silently voiced a concern that perhaps it was to do with the all too public knowledge of her mother these days and the best-forgotten grandfather of hers.
And for all this, no one else said anything against the new professor. Cassy and Dido, like the others, sat reasonably entranced by the account of the battle strategy used in 1509 by Hertz the Frank to overcome the dark prince Orrin.
Elianne gave up on convincing them of Sysalsia's unfair treatment to her and instead flicked through the pages of the textbook whilst the crowing teacher went over the most thrilling part of the story. The story mildly annoyed Elianne, as it had nothing to do with their studies. She couldn't help but question where it was going.
As the bell rang, Sysalsia rounded off the fable with the eerie warning to heed visions and pay attention in divination lest your foolishness backfire on you much like it had for poor Erwin, Hertz's ill fortuned brother who was the tragic hero in the conquering of Orrin.
Elianne merely yawned wryly at this and left the room, stalking off in a foul mood to history of magic. Where she prayed she'd find some sanctuary from both Sysalsia's attitude problem and from the dim ambience of her first school morning of her second year.
++++
The blackboard was filled with scrawled writing, notes on the goblin rebellion, yet all over the class was loud and disruptive. Not a single pupil was taking notes.
Professor Isaacs himself was sat next to a drooling crowd of second year girls, led by Cassy.
The same Cassy who'd not batted an eyelid over the handsome teacher last year. Now she was making up for with overtime.
The professor seemed to take the interest as flattering and rattled on enthusiastically about how he hoped they would all be coming back to him extra mythology course.
And he carried on talking on that topic, reminding them of their credit essay on the subtleties of custom which was focused on the goddess Caltrice in particular as a major influence when…. a large chair flew past his head, clattering on the stone and cracking up against the combination of the barriers of floor and wall that it had met.
Isaacs looked up for a moment, wiping the blood off the slight graze on his forehead and saw a small patch of windswept classroom around one fair-haired girl who's hand and face when clenched tight in restraint.
*Oh dear* he thought.
++++
She peered at her watched for the fifteenth time. Five minutes she'd been told.
Currently it was four left.
Which was better, four was infinitely better than anything else, except three of course.
And three made it closer to two and in turn even further nearer to one.
Then there'd be simply sixty seconds between her and whatever was going to happen to her.
The door swung open outward with a defined creak. A voice called from around it, the teacher moving to the front of the frame. McGonagil wavered Elianne into her office.
The stern looking woman sat down and up straight, settling her in the seat.
Elianne took her own seat, opposite the witch and feared a peek across to the head of gryffindor.
"Professor Isaacs told me what happened in his lesson", McGonagil's voice was clear and impassive. The facts stated deadpan.
Elianne gulped. She didn't like the look of this. What would they do to her for it?
The head carried on sounding only a little more joyful, "and I think we may have a slight problem in you,"
Elianne found herself sweating from apprehension. She had no idea what it was, it was a problem clearly that she'd caused a flying piece of furniture though she had not the faintest idea how or why.
"Though it's most certainly one we know how to deal with. It's a rare wizarding affliction associated with traumatic experiences that may occur once off or perhaps permanently. Much like young magical people's short bursts of magic in extreme situations, older trained magicians can experience uncontrolled breakouts of magic, more often than not caused by anger. Would I be correct in thinking something Professor Isaacs said may have provoked an emotional response from you?"
Elianne thought quickly, unsure what she meant" well he was talking about our mythology essay…"
A small chuckle escape the professors mouth at the thought of homework provoking an attack
"…about behaviour and the Michiya gods and goddess' like Caltrice and…"
McGonagil straightened up and said, "Ah, I see. Caltrice. The goddess who sacrificed herself…now it makes sense. I believe unconsciously your mind was angered at the mention of Caltrice which presented in effects much like you are exhibiting right now."
McGonagil stared up over her head and Elianne following the trail to it saw to her surprise a mini rain cloud that had formed over her head. It emitted a short crackling sound a bit like thunder and a brief shock of lighting hit her nose the second time.
Elianne sat there in wonder of what she'd done. Meekly she sank into the soft backed chair, whilst her dutiful head of house explained it all.
"The key to treating this ailment is to learn to control your emotions, both conscious and subconscious. For which we need to ascertain your magical type.."
"My magical type?" Elianne crossed her brow in confusion. She'd never heard that term before.
"Yes, you would not have been taught about that yet. It's usually saved as an optional seventh year class. Generally its not too important an issue, wizards and witches usually get on and do what they do, however it would be instrumental in the cure for your ailment to find out exactly how these effects of emotional provocation will manifest themselves. I'll need to take a piece of hair from you, to give to the potions assistant, he should be able to whip up a testing potion to find out which you are. Though I could quite likely predict you are a water type at the very least, still better to be certain. I'll be gone a few minutes on the errand, meanwhile take this book it should explain most of what you need to know"
With that the teacher sprightly got up and reached over the bookshelf, fingering along the spines until she found the appropriate title.
She gave a small soft leather bound book to Elianne before leaving the room on her way to the dungeons presumably where the substitute potions master was.
Elianne touched the velvety cover of the minute volume. She opened it up hesitantly, greeted by fantastic illustrations of catastrophic fires rapidly burning across the top, tornados turning around as high speed, the seas swirling up the side of the page and a steady garden at its bottom.
She smiled, pleasantly surprised at the books contents, before starting to read the first paragraph.
"All wizards and witches power is drawn from an elemental type. In the most it is not needed to be known, as they on their own will find their strengths but in certain cases it can be helpful to be aware of your type.
Air, fire, water and earth.
Main category is usually easiest to figure out, in most times by examining a persons character and traits. This is so majorly caused because of inherited preferences on character. Though type cannot be judged on parents alone, such would be difficult in the instance that all four types were included in the possibilities. Yet it is a rare occurrence that a child of two likewise elemental types, e.g. two water-air's could potentially still become a type figuring neither elements into their type e.g. fire-earth."
Elianne sat there, taking it in slowly. She marvelled at the simplicity that magic had underneath. In the last year, as you would presume, not one mention had been made to this magical theory. She laughed out loud to herself - that magic and your skill at it could be every bit the same as eye colour. It was in the genes just like everything else. But of course wizards would never think to link such things to muggle ideas like DNA. She briefly wondered if Hermione had ever heard about this, if not it would have made a brilliant book for her aunt to write…
And then it came back to her, the realisation of the last few months.
She stifled a small sob and tried to get on with her reading.
"Weaknesses in spells are often due to a confliction of elemental powers, fire types for example may have difficulty in water activities, likewise they may be good yet never able to excel in such things.
Air opposes earth and fire opposes water.
In second point there are subtypes, mostly your type can be referred to by its sub-categoral name as defined in the chart below"
Elianne peeked at the chart, scanning over the bizarre seemingly weather themed names that some wizard had picked out for the various types. She vaguely wondered which one she would be.
1st 2nd Subname
fire earth --- thunder
fire air -- flame
fire water -- shell
earth air - sand
earth water -mire
earth fire --ashes
air water --tears
air fire - furnace
air earth - haze
water air --storm
water earth -- fusion
water fire - sultry
She glanced over those containing water, pondering which she'd want to be called. Fusion? Sultry? Shell?
All far to odd to choose from and it appeared that wasn't completely the end of the text to read, though McGonagil or a previous owner of the book had indeed marked the beginning and end points in the book for pupils use.
Instead Elianne read on in interest, hoping her teacher wouldn't walk in on her after she'd turned the page over to one that was not in any way what she was meant to be seeing.
"Those with sub types that reinforces the dominant power are fortunate indeed, for fire-air the air fuels the fire and makes them greater. Earth-water types are the other fortunate ones. Nearly all other type have their own advantages but fire-water water fire, air-earth, earth-air types are very rare.
Mostly only 8 out of the 12 are seen, with 4 of them being more prominent themselves. The significance of such rare types are that they encompass that which makes them weak, thereby providing them a limited boost or protection in dealing with the opposing powers. This in those cases provides them either to get to a normal standard in the opposing talents or to become greater in them, despite that all types have a weakness to the opposing power to some degree.
Such talents inherent in types although possible, are not guaranteed except in those who possess great power at birth. A powerful air may become a skilful flyer despite no training on a broom but for most of us, a water element would need to learn before expecting to be brilliant at tending to plants.
The greatest of all elemental types is merely theoretical, The rainbow type, so called because they possess all powers to a large degree and do no suffer any defined weakness, have been strived for for millennia. Many powerful wizards have attempted to' fine-tune' themselves to the elements to become a rainbow type, historically called a Spectria. Melissa McCoy in the fifteenth century went, in attempt to take in her weak elements of water and air, so far as to jump off a high watery secluded cliff. The witch trusted absolutely to her faith that doing it would unleash the two powers within her, yet she trusted to fatality, with evidence to modern wizards of this fine 17th century that such a destiny to become a Spectria is impossible, beyond the bounds of magical nature."
Elianne snapped back to attention as McGonagil arrived, fresh with the test results held in her hand primly.
++++
She looked at the all but blank manuscript in front of her and sighed.
She gone to bed early, annoyed at the treatment by others at her 'mood'. She hadn't yet told anyone, remembering the words her head of house had said, about the stigma attached to her little problem. Funny thing was they all thought she was going dark, from what she could interpret. The talk of her attacking two teacher in one day had already spread. Along with Lucretia avoiding her and her lot, afraid of getting further bad rep she assumed.
And even worse was the trouble with Flora and Leander, and you could guess the next name….Cassy. Which all meant Cassy was the only one she was really speaking to right then.
Oh, and Snape.
That was right, she'd been instructed to write the travelling Professor a letter to request so nicely to him that he give her lessons in emotional management when he returned or if possible and preferable by letter sooner.
And Minerva McGonagil, the very strict and reserved Gryffindor head had sniggered very lightly when mentioning the dear Professors name.
It appeared he had not just learnt the talent of occlumency to assist him as a spy (information divulged by Ron and family at the past Christmas) but also to cure the very same ailment she was now suffering from, which apparently had taken a long time and patient teaching from Albus Dumbledore for Severus to get to grips with his particularly prominent and biting emotions.
This was one of the many reasons she was finding it hard to write a letter to him. Not wanting to alert him to any embarrassing knowledge she might have and too, not embarrass herself to the man which she had come to think of a fatherly figure - someone she admired and respected - despite his often trying behaviour and unfairness towards her house.
Eventually she got out a response that was atleast only slightly incriminating and floundered down to the tense common room, picking up a cheerful Cassandra on her way to the owlery.
After a largely quiet and passive walk there and back, both girls had retired to actual sleep. With Elianne putting her head down weakly, praying for uninterrupted rest after the horrendous first day she'd had. T
That peace seemed to come easy for the friend of hers in the next bed, who was breathing deeply and lightly already. Who'd returned exhausted from extended flaunting most likely and most unlike her.
#####
Cassy dreamt.
It was a familiar scene. Two of them, splashing around in the summer sun at their home, a large swimming pool. Flashes of adults, calling to them - whilst they carried on carefree children that they were. Running around, happily in full-length bathing suits.
But the sun clouded over and the adults were calling again. Massive sirens happened, shrieking out to run away. There was confusion, the wardens came to take them away and the water and the fun faded too….
And in drifted another dream.
Black and white, a monochrome picture of cinematic scope.
A great German fort, she was spinning around the room as she heard a song floating on the ether. Melancholic notes the owner played on even the grand doors burst open, with rain lashing in upon the tiles.
The music stopped abruptly as a lithe blonde woman strutted in, followed by a servant of equal stature. In the rain she was dry.
Her presence takes over the castle she enters.
The pair stopped there in front of the man and in seconds Cassy felt blood reaching through the cells. Moving it over. Displacing reality.
She sat to play the piano, starting with the 'Danse Macabre', horrifying beautiful. A haunting song, notes lingering to the entrance hall as did the woman's daring voice, which sang her words.
Controlling their minds, destroying others.
The new owner of the place got up.
Liking only the cats, she turns to the panthers - the two stone figures, instantly made flesh and colour. To follow her before the wretched female servant.
The violet eyes of the other woman staring out timidly at the violence; unable to affect anything. The golden girl moved onwards into the castle, now its queen, dragging behind her the decapitated corpse of its former owner.
And along with the trail of blood congealing against the grey floor, Cassy felt a great gratitude coming from the blonde goddess of a woman - a happiness that extended to two people - firstly to a man, a patriarchal figure and more alarmingly the second was very plainly and alarmingly, Hermione Granger.