To Know Who I Am | By : firefly124 Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 3961 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. |
Many thanks to my "first readers" bluedolfyn and willow_kat and my excellent beta ubiquirk. Any remaining errors are mine, all mine.
I don’t want the world to see me,
‘Cause I don’t think that they’d understand.
When everything’s made to be broken,
I just want you to know who I am.
-- “Iris” by The Goo Goo Dolls
Chapter 1
The Great Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was just a wee bit overwhelming. Okay, it was a tossup whether it would be more overwhelming in a couple of hours when it would be full of hundreds of kids. Still, it was an insanely long walk up to that table where she would meet the rest of her new colleagues, who had all arrived before her, some by as much as a week. Not that she could have come sooner. There were way too many things she had needed to handle before coming here. It was a miracle she’d finished her lesson plans and owled them in for the August twenty-fifth deadline. Okay, not a miracle. Just a bit of unorthodox magic.
At least she felt a little less conspicuous next to Hagrid. Well, anybody would be less conspicuous next to Hagrid.
It’s not like they’d be staring at him, she thought. But it beats walking in here al… wow, it really does look like the sky. She’d heard about the enchanted ceiling, but had not visited the Great Hall the one other time she had been up to the school before today. There were unlit candles floating in the air, too, presumably to be lit later on. Sure, let’s just use massive amounts of magic for something we won’t be using until later. And, you know, the ceiling’s pretty, but not exactly essential. I am so not in Kansas anymore. Not that I’ve ever been to Kansas.
As she arrived at the dais where all of the faculty sat at their table, Headmistress McGonagall rose and stepped around the long table to greet her.
“Thank you for bringing in our new colleague, Hagrid,” McGonagall said. She turned and led her new teacher to meet the others. “Everyone, this is our new Herbology professor, Celia Reese. She comes to us from the United States and is very highly recommended by an old friend of mine.”
Celia noted with interest that the Headmistress did not name her reference. Well, it was always possible they might recognize the name and, for whatever obscure reason, her mission here was being kept under wraps.
“Your new colleagues,” the Headmistress continued. “Professor Sybill Trelawney, Divination.”
Celia instinctively held out her hand for a shake, and found it instead being turned over and examined.
“Such a strong hand!” Professor Trelawney began.
“Yes, well, a bit of weeding will toughen the skin up,” Celia said with a faint laugh, snatching her hand back. Like I want to be read!
She just barely kept from rolling her eyes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Professor Trelawney looked like a puppy who just had her favorite toy taken away, but at least she wasn’t actually whining.
“Professor Firenze, also Divination,” McGonagall was saying, and Celia turned her attention to the centaur. This time she kept her hands clasped behind her back and merely smiled, nodded, and responded to the fairly generic “Pleased to meet you.”
In fact, she found that worked fairly well for most of the rest of the introductions. She should have realized handshakes weren’t the way things were done here, at least for ladies. She wasn’t used to thinking of herself as a “lady.” For that matter, she could think of quite a few people who would find the idea fatally hysterical.
“Professor Harry Potter, Defense Against the Dark Arts,” said the Headmistress.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Professor Potter. She did her smile, nod, and echo routine, but then found it interrupted as he continued with a grin, “It’ll be a nice change to no longer be the youngest on the faculty.”
“Only by a couple of months,” she replied, raising her eyebrows to indicate she didn’t think that ought to mean much at all. Not even. Six weeks. Never mind that you were all saving the world from Big Bad Voldemort when I was just getting my powers. I wasn’t the only one just getting my powers that day, and I’ll bet any one of us could take you. Okay, what am I, five? Good going. Send myself back to preschool when I should be projecting how I’m totally your equal. I’m still smiling, right?
“Still,” he was saying, “even a contemporary is a novelty for me.”
She pasted the smile more firmly on her face, nodded, and moved on to the next introduction. And the next. And the next. The end of the table loomed into view. Almost literally.
“Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master and Deputy Headmaster,” McGonagall said.
Right, this would be the one I was warned about. Shields up, then, not that they weren’t already. Smile, nod, look him in the eye, Reese.
“Pleased to meet you,” he said, though he obviously wasn’t, unless you were looking up “pleased” in some alternate universe’s dictionary where “pleased” meant “something in here smells seriously rank.”
“As am I,” she replied steadily. No pressure against her mind, which was good. She supposed he really wouldn’t have any reason to go poking around. Yet. And apparently he didn’t just randomly Legilimize new people. It would be quite easy to fall into the hypnotic depths of those eyes and become vulnerable, though. An odd shiver ran down her spine, which she completely ignored. Move along. Move along.
Except she couldn’t move along because Headmistress McGonagall was wrapping up the introductions. “And of course you’ve already met Hagrid,” she said, waving Celia to the empty seat between Hagrid and Professor Snape.
Perfect. Just … perfect.
Somehow, she made it through the faculty meeting that followed. It seemed kind of odd to hold one in this large room and all stretched out over a long table, but apparently a charm of some sort was making it easier to hear one another than she would have expected. At least this way they were already here before the students arrived, rather than having to all trek over from some other place, considering you couldn’t Apparate on the grounds of Hogwarts.
Professor Aurora Sinistra was announced as the new Head of Hufflepuff. Celia hadn’t realized that her predecessor had held that job as well. Professor Sprout must not have lived in the cottage next to the greenhouses, then. From the sound of it, the Heads of the Houses had to be a lot more accessible for midnight emergencies than that.
Some stuff about the new Prefects, the Head Boy and Girl, and patrolling schedules, and then Hagrid excused himself to go into Hogsmeade to meet the train and the rest began talking about their summers. Some of them had gone to some seriously cool places! She demurely mentioned that she had largely spent the summer months working on some hybridization research, hoping that would be enough to get her off the hook. Sadly, it was not.
“Really? What sort of research?” asked the diminutive Professor Flitwick.
“Well, there are certain potions that I think might be more effective, or variants that might become possible, if certain plants were crossbred rather than added individually.” At his encouraging nod, she continued, “My particular focus is on a set of ingredients for a pair of dream potions, one to suppress prescient dreams, and another facilitate working with such dreams after the fact.” There, that should do it, right? At least she’d said nothing that was not already known to anyone who cared to check out ongoing Herbology research projects. And that’s approximately fifty people on the entire planet, if that.
Instead, she found herself once again the focus of those arresting eyes beside her. They looked astonishingly cold. Oh, hell. I’ve stepped right into a conversational minefield, she barely had time to think. And I so should have known.
“Really,” Professor Snape drawled. “And whatever gave you the idea that it would be possible to suppress that particular type of dream?”
“Actually,” she replied, steeling herself, “the idea came to me from a letter on another subject entirely in The International Journal of Potions. I’m sure you can appreciate that the ingredients for such a potion are intuitively obvious, except for the fact that they do not interact well, or in fact at all, when combined in a potion together. Nor can the effect be achieved by using each in its own potion and taking them separately. The author of this letter seemed quite convinced – stated quite vehemently, in fact – that the only way certain herbs would ever work in the complementary fashion one might hope for, would be to alter their basic genetic structure. I rather thought he was on to something.” She had also kind of thought there had been no need for being so rude when commenting on another researcher’s article, but considering the way he was sneering at her right now, maybe he’d thought the letter had passed for polite and professional. Actually, for him it probably was polite and professional. Not that she’d had any plan to get into such a conversation, with him of all people, but she was moderately happy that she appeared to be holding her own.“I see,” Snape said, eyes narrowed. No, he did not appear pleased at all to hear his own words quoted back at him. Except, you know, back in that pleased-equals-stinky alternate universe.
Finally, the first wave of students for the Welcoming Feast roared in. Not exactly saved by the bell, but it’d do.
The feast itself had been fascinating. How did they manage to serve up that much food and still have it taste good? Okay, magic, but still. The Sorting process was amusing, but she still wasn’t crazy about the basic idea. Defining kids’ whole personalities when they’re eleven? Well, she supposed it was something she’d have to get used to. At least she hadn’t allowed the Headmistress to talk her into getting Sorted back when she was first hired.
On the way back to her cottage, she decided to have a look through each of the greenhouses. It wasn’t that she didn’t know which ones had which plants, or which classes would be in which. She’d been through them all this afternoon. Still, she wished she could have arrived a week or even a day earlier, to have a more thorough feel for her botanical charges before introducing her human charges to them.
She felt like she was being watched as she reached the last greenhouse, the one attached directly to her cottage and containing her experimental plants as well as some of the more dangerous herbs she was expected to maintain for use in the Potions classes and hospital wing. Looking around, and then up at the castle looming overhead, she saw nothing. Just the sense of being in a still-unfamiliar place, maybe? She shrugged and went inside.
Professor Snape was not impressed by Pomona Sprout’s successor. True, she was not quite as young as he had been when he had first begun teaching at Hogwarts, but that had been a rather different situation. His first thought, upon being introduced to her, was The students here will eat her alive. His second thought, however, was that there was something quite different about her. Not just that she was an American, although that was certainly a count against her, but something odd in the way she had held herself when they were introduced. Then again, their later conversation proved she knew at least a bit about him, so perhaps that was all it had been.
After she had left the Great Hall, he had gone to the South Wing of the castle to see if anything else about her appeared odd. Old instincts, he supposed. All she had done, however, was to go through the greenhouses on her way to the cottage. He supposed it was not all that strange that she had chosen to have her quarters in the Herbology cottage. Pomona had often said she would prefer to be outside the castle if her duties had allowed it. He imagined Herbologists must have a preference for dwellings that allowed more sunlight than an ancient castle.
What did surprise him was when she paused before entering the last greenhouse and whipped her head around and then up, as if she knew she was being watched. She was, of course, but how had she known? He drew back from the window just before her eyes scanned over it and then watched as she apparently dismissed her concern and went inside.
Inside her cottage, Professor Reese took off her teaching robes and hung them carefully. She only had two sets: one for school days and one, slightly more casual, for weekends. Both were in earth tones of green and brown, which seemed appropriate for her subject and would hide any grass stains and soil nicely between Cleansing Charms. It had been a difficult decision which to wear today, and she had finally decided upon the school-day set. Really, for the Welcoming Feast, her choices were either those or something even more formal, and that was clearly “not done.” She sighed.
So much to get used to here.
She rechecked her parchments for tomorrow’s classes and placed them on the coffee table in her “sitting room.” What else could you call it? It had a small couch and a coffee table, as well as the desk and chair, so obviously it was supposed to be more than a study. She’d probably only ever use it for a study, though.
Looking at the fireplace, she thought about trying out the Floo. Most of the fireplaces at Hogwarts were connected only to the internal Floo network for travel, but could also be used for external communication. Hers was one of the few that could be used for external travel as well, but she hoped she wouldn’t need to use it for that. There was no reason to expect things would ever go that badly. For now, it was probably a little late for a Floo-call. It was late here, making it an hour past late in Hamburg. Too bad none of the people she might want to call were in the States at the moment; then the time difference would work in her favor.
She sank down onto the couch, instead, and started undoing the knot she had put her chestnut hair into for the meeting and feast. Why she bothered keeping it long when she had to keep it braided and up out of the way was mystery to her, but she didn’t like the idea of cutting it. Besides, if she were in a rush, there would be no repercussions for using magic to deal with it here. In fact, it would probably be a good idea to get into the habit of using magic for everyday things soon. Now, even.
Pulling out her wand, she pointed it at the desk, and Summoned a piece of parchment, a quill, and a jar of ink. Maybe she should also get into the habit of speaking spells out loud even when she wasn’t specifically teaching them. She rarely did, unless for some reason she needed to conserve the extra energy used for nonverbal spells. That would be something to ask Minerva. She wasn’t sure Hagrid would know. He had admitted he wasn’t supposed to use magic at all despite having been cleared a long time ago of the crime he he’d been expelled for in his third year.
Filing that question away for later, she began to write.
G.
How are things in Hamburg? If you’re still sniffling, there should be more Pepper-Up in the storage room. No, I haven’t found a way to deal with the smoke. Not high on the priority list. Deal.
I seem to be settling in fairly well. The Welcoming Feast was nothing short of amazing. I’m still not crazy for the way they Sort the students. Yeah, yeah, my school had “houses” of a kind, but they were based on academic track, not personality traits that can’t possibly be as cut and dry as everyone tries to make them sound. No, I still haven’t put that raggedy hat on my head. What could it possibly matter what House I’d have been in if I’d been a student? Better that I don’t have any reason to subconsciously favor any one batch of kids. Bad enough it’ll seem like I have a pet eventually.
Classes start in the morning. You’re going to regret telling me to keep in touch. I’m so going to be asking a thousand and one questions on how not to be an “ugly American.” I think I’ve done all right so far. The one person I managed to offend probably gets offended by anyone breathing too loudly – or possibly at all. I know you told me to try and stay clear of him, but Minerva’s stuck me between him and Hagrid at the table, and it sounds like the seating doesn’t change often, if ever. So that should be interesting.
Even more interesting is that I’m realizing this is already the longest continuous period of time I’ve spent in the wizarding world, and it’s only been twelve hours. No ill effects to being around so much magic that I can see, but it’s going to be a while before I’m completely comfortable using it for just anything. Oh well. That will just show my Muggle upbringing, which isn’t the worst thing. Might even be a useful distraction.
Are you sure there’s no way to hook up my laptop here? E-mail would be so much more convenient than owls and fireplaces.
Yours truly,
C.
Celia waved her hand over the wet ink, then snorted and cast a Drying Charm. Rolling it up, she decided it would be easy enough to detour to the owlery before breakfast. Probably the best idea, really, so no one else would likely be around. With a stretch and a yawn, she got up and took the approximately two and a half steps required to cross to her bedroom door. She looked around the quaint little cottage. It was tiny, but better than many of the apartments she had lived in, and probably warmer than the castle, come winter. She smiled. While she had a lot of adapting to do, that was something she had always done well, and once she got the hang of it, it should be a treat not to have to hide her magic.
She turned and went in to bed, closing the door softly behind her.
Professor Snape swept into the Great Hall and strode past the Slytherin table on the way to the staff table. Most of the older students were present, and all of the N.E.W.T.-level students. The first-years were, of course, the least well-represented. They would learn the value of early rising soon enough if they truly had the requisite ambition.
He nodded to Hagrid before passing behind him and the empty Herbologist’s chair to reach his own seat. He regretted for a moment that this was the spot that gave him the best angle of vision over the Slytherin table. If not for that, this would be the perfect year to acquiesce to Minerva’s insistence that the Deputy Headmaster should actually be sitting at the right hand of the Headmistress. Being sandwiched between Pomona Sprout and Septima Vector had always been annoying at the later meals, as they would talk across him about the most absurd subjects, but they were blessedly quiet at breakfast. This new teacher was an unknown quantity and quite possibly the sort who would be bright and cheerful in the morning.
Then again, she was also late, so perhaps she either was not a “morning person” or else preferred to spend her pre-class time working with her doomed experimental plants.
A disturbance at the Slytherin table caught his attention. A disturbance that quickly quieted down when one of the miscreants realised they were being watched by their Head of House. He might still favour his own House, as all of the other Heads did to some extent, but it had been years since he had turned a blind eye to misbehaviour among the Slytherins. One or two first-years with siblings who had left Hogwarts before the end of the war always appeared to think they would still be treated as above the law, and often the older students would egg them on, which looked to be what was happening now. Unfortunately, he could not determine who had done what to whose breakfast first. Fortunately, he still had no objection to simply disciplining all involved with no regard for such trivialities. All three would have detention on their first day of classes.
“Good morning, Hagrid. Professor Snape,” an accented feminine voice said from his left. He turned to offer a curt nod in reply and then returned his attention to his breakfast. There was no point in encouraging conversation in which he did not desire to participate.
“Mornin’, Celia,” Hagrid replied. “Sleep well?”
“Like a log. I’m already beginning to feel spoiled rotten, too. One of the house-elves, Lulu I think her name was, has already scolded me for making my own bed.”
The half-giant snorted.
“Yeah, they’ll do tha’,” he said.
Professor Snape dearly hoped they would both just eat their breakfasts and be quiet now. He took it as a hopeful sign when Professor Reese picked up her pumpkin juice and took a large sip. That hope was lost, but replaced with amusement, when her eyes appeared to swell to twice their normal size and she swallowed her juice as though it were the vilest potion ever concocted.
“Is there something wrong, Professor Reese?” he asked mildly.
“I did warn ye, Celia,” Hagrid said at the same time.
“It’s orange, it’s juice, and it’s breakfast,” she replied, apparently to both of them while clearly trying to erase the grotesque expression from her features. “It was an honest mistake before coffee.” She peered into her empty teacup. “It is possible to have coffee, right?”
“Sure,” Hagrid replied. “Mos’ like their tea, bu’ all ye have to do is say what ye want over t’ cup.”
“Is pumpkin juice not a common morning beverage in the Americas?” Snape asked before he could remind himself he did not want to have conversations at breakfast.
“Not where I’m from,” she answered. “Our orange breakfast juice actually comes from oranges. I was a bit surprised when Hagrid told me how fond of pumpkin juice the British wizarding community is, considering they’re a New World plant. On our side of the pond we tend to stick with making pies and breads out of them.”
Snape made a noncommittal noise in his throat and took a sip of tea to excuse himself from further comment. Clearly he was not to be allowed to finish his breakfast in peace, and the woman was now poking at her breakfast plate with an expression caught halfway between confusion and disgust.
“And this is …?” The expression on her face suggested she already had a fair idea.
“Black puddin’,” Hagrid supplied. “Don’ think you folks have tha’, either.”
“No.” She pulled another face. “We generally leave the blood-as-food thing to the vampires.”
From the corner of his eye, Snape saw her slide the slice of pudding to the edge of her plate. He also noticed Hagrid shooting her an aggrieved look and was slightly startled. Was he offended? Snape bristled on the half-giant’s behalf, but before he could say anything, the irritating American was already speaking.
“It’s just more culture shock, is all, Hagrid, don’t worry. Well, that and nerves, I guess.”
Hagrid snorted. “Ye can’ be scared of a bunch o’ eleven year-old kids, now, can ye?”
“Heh, I’d trade them for a nice simple two-headed dragon at the moment. Unarmed. No, it’s just first-day nerves. And really, it’s not the first-years that worry me so much. All their teachers are new today. It’s the ones who are disappointed not to have Professor Sprout back.”
Hagrid nodded sagely. “I worried abou’ the same thing when I took over fer Professor Kettleburn.”
“How did that go?”
Hagrid appeared uncomfortable again. Was the woman deliberately needling him or just foolish?
“Well, I wouldn’ recommend jumpin’ in wi’ t’ mos’ int’restin’ stuff ye can think of, t’ get their attention. If they aren’ ready to take ye seriously yet, they migh’ get hurt from not listenin’.”
“Good advice,” she agreed. “Well, I wasn’t planning on introducing any seriously lethal plants to anyone below N.E.W.T. level this week, and they, at least, should have the sense to listen to precautions regardless of who is giving them by that point. I hope.”
Snape finally managed to tune out the remainder of the conversation as another case of first-year baiting arose at the Slytherin table. Interestingly, the first-year in question seemed to have avoided implicating himself, although the second-year student next to him was clearly trying to make it appear that the younger student had flung that bit of sausage at the Ravenclaw table. Both students finally looked up to the staff table and quailed under their Housemaster’s glare. That settled the issue of detentions, then. If the boy was going to behave as though he were guilty, even if he were not, then he would serve detention as well. One had to learn to do better than that in Slytherin House.
She stood as straight as possible, willing herself to appear more than her five feet and three inches tall. As the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff first-years clustered around the long central table were well under five feet themselves, this was probably unnecessary, but felt like a good idea, anyway.
“Good morning, class,” she called loudly from what she had decided would be the front of Greenhouse 1.
“Good morning, Professor Reese,” the students replied in something approaching unison.
“I imagine several of you are disappointed to be starting your magical education with plants, because you do not think they are very magical at all,” she began. “Others are probably horrified that the climbing roses behind me are actually climbing up the wall, because where you come from, roses just don’t do that sort of thing.” Some of the vines were, in fact, tangling up with one another and apparently wrestling for dominance. “You will be relieved to know that they are generally much better behaved than this in the wizarding world, so long as you do not overfeed them.” She had, of course, deliberately spiked their pots with extra nitrogen on her way to the owlery this morning for just this purpose. “Also, they will not leave the trellis they are climbing on, so unless you are very foolish and stick your hand amongst them, you have no reason to fear their thorns.”
She thought she saw a few sighs of relief and one or two mischievous looks. Oh well. If they insisted, a puncture from a thorn or two would get them over it real quick and with minimal damage.
“Some of the things you will learn this year are basic to all plants. Some are specific to magical plants. All of what I will teach you has the potential to be useful to you at some point in your life, whether you choose to become an Herbologist, a Healer, an Auror, or even if you choose a job that never involves plants or keep a garden of your own. You will learn plants to avoid, plants that have various magical and medicinal uses, and plants you can eat if you find yourself stuck in the middle of nowhere without a wand. You will learn little about plants that are simply interesting or ornamental, though if any of you particularly want to do so, you can do a side project about such plants for extra credit, subject to my approval.”
Looking out over the group, she saw a mixture of interest, disbelief, and boredom on their young faces. More or less what I’d expected. I’m glad I got to start with the little ones.
“We’ll mostly focus on practical work during class, but I encourage you to bring any questions from the reading. Don’t be afraid to ask them. If you found something confusing, the odds are at least three of your classmates did as well, and it would be a good idea for someone to bring it up. With that in mind, I expect you to read all of chapter one by our next class meeting and turn in a paragraph or two of your thoughts about it. You may include questions that occurred to you while you were reading, things you found surprising or interesting, or even that you found it deeply boring. The catch is that I want you to explain the reasons for whatever you write and give me some evidence that you have actually read the chapter.
“I don’t mind at all if you discuss the homework with your classmates.” What is that I see? Shock? Disbelief? Think the new teacher is letting you cheat? Hah! “In fact, I encourage you to bounce ideas off each other. That’s an excellent way to learn. What I don’t want to see are homework parchments that appear to have been copied from each other. You learn nothing by simply copying someone else’s ideas. Yes, there are facts you will all need to learn, but you need to do your own thinking about those facts to really make the knowledge your own. To help keep you honest, I’ll be giving quizzes from time to time, without warning, so stay on top of your homework.”
She smiled at them and waved to the relatively tame and mostly Muggle plants before them.
“Now, let's get our hands dirty!"
“You,” he said slowly, deliberately, “are the few who have succeeded in obtaining a grade of Outstanding on your O.W.L. Potions exam.” He walked slowly across the front of the classroom, looking at each student in turn. “Some of you may believe this renders you among the elite. Some of you may think this means you have a natural predisposition for the exact art and subtle science that is potion-making. What you should realise is that you have passed the minimum standard necessary to attempt N.E.W.T.-level Potions, nothing more. You are in no way guaranteed to pass this level. You will find this class more challenging than any you have taken with me thus far, and you will be brewing far more volatile potions and handling far more dangerous ingredients than you were allowed to in your first five years.”
Professor Snape turned on his heel and returned to the front of the dungeon classroom, drew his wand, and snapped it at the board, where a list of potions appeared.
“These are the potions you will be expected to brew this term. You will need to do more than follow your books as though they were simple cooking recipes,” he continued. “You must bring to bear all that you have learned in the last five years and apply it to the instructions as you read them.”
He saw several startled looks, most on the faces he had expected to display them: students whose essays had always shown their ability to memorise facts but little in the way of critical or creative thought.
“Today, you will begin by brewing the Draught of Living Death, which you will find on page ten of your books. If you are unable to produce the potion successfully by the end of the class, your homework will be to write two feet of parchment explaining why. I trust that by now you all know I will not tolerate cheating, either while working on your potions or on your essays.” He smirked in the intimidating manner he had cultivated over the years. “If you are able to produce the potion successfully by the end of the class, I will be most surprised. Well? What are you waiting for?”
The students quickly opened their books and began scurrying to the store cupboard for ingredients. He watched them closely to see whether any would show signs of the independent thinking necessary to truly excel in the art of potion-making.
===============================================================
A/N: I should note the inspiration for the climbing roses that get frisky with too much nitrogen comes from Lois McMaster Bujold’s Cetaganda.
P.S. Reviews are my anti-drug ... or possibly a very addictive drug unto themselves. :-)
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