Dancing with the Green Fairy

Philippe Alain Gaspard was again behind the desk in his office on the bottom floor near the main entrance court of L'École Supérieure de magie avancée Isobel D'Éry. He had been shifting through the piles of notes but had stopped, and was now staring in front of him at the only narrow window and the view outside. Students were hurrying by on their way to classes. They looked so busy. It was only inside the little room that time seemed to have stopped. He drew his finger over one of the piles of papers at the edge of the table. Looking at his finger, he realised with dismay that the pile had a thin layer of dust.

He took out his wand from behind his ear and flicked the wireless on.

"What do you want to hear today?" it asked.

"Play me something to take me away from here would you?"

The wireless started to play an old song by Cheb Mami that he recognised. "Meli Meli," the Cheb sang. He wondered if it could be the name of a girl, or what did it mean in Arabic. Gaspard walked over to the window thinking about Morocco; travelling through the desert on an old and slow train, or sitting on the hotel roof terrace at night when finally the heat had subsided a little and you could relax, and talk, drink arrack and hot strong Turkish coffee. He wondered what Hermione would think about Marrakech.

"I wish I wasn't such an insensitive bastard all the time. I guess I want discussions in my class but provoking the students to the point that they storm out of the classroom might not be the best of ideas," he said to the empty room. The worst thing was the look of disappointment he thought he had read in her eyes. It had meant something that he had disappointed her. But whatever it had been, it was now possibly beyond repair.

He picked up a small water can and poured water on the begonia that stood in a blue pot on the marble windowsill.

"Thank you," it said.

"You're welcome," he muttered. "I'm so pathetic, I have enchanted everything to talk in here, if only those things would tell me what to write." He sighed and looked out the window again. "And the only person I really want to talk to is probably busy making a wax figurine of me to stick needles in right this moment, or throwing it in the fire."

He lifted one of his favourite eagle feather quills that had been lying on top of a pile of books in the window for some time. He turned it distractedly in the bleak light from so that the gold and grey glistened, he realised he didn't care anymore. He wanted to be with her, or be friends or he didn't really know what, but whatever qualms he had had before about overstepping the professional distance he kept to his students, they were now gone. It was true he had a special and very close relationship to his Aritmancy students, but he usually kept it within certain boundaries. But what did it matter? It felt as if being locked inside this room while the dust gathered on his old notes and interviews might not be such a bright future after all.

There was no denying it, she made him feel alive, she took the things he cared about seriously, although they had different opinions about things, she was beautiful and she made his head spin.

And she was outside his door.

He jumped back from the window before she saw him. Then he leaned in again cautiously to get a peek.

She had the baggy maroon sweater with an R on the front and a scarf that was winded several turns around her neck before casually falling over her shoulders. No cloak despite the grey and chilly weather. Though the thick wool covered most of her slender figure the bulge of the R seemed to do something for his imagination than wasn't entirely proper. The weak sun caught golden in a loose strand of her untamed brown hair that flapped in the wind, and her nose was a little red. Her pretty lips where pressed together in determination. Were they ready to bite or...

But what was she doing, was she just going to stand there?

Hermione stood outside the door to Gaspard's office with her hand raised to knock on the arched door. She could hear some sort of Arabic pop music faintly through the massive wood. It looked as if designed to allow the inhabitant of the office to not be disturbed in the highly qualified research that was going on inside. Would he be annoyed that she came to see him? She could perhaps pretend to have a question, but after the scene yesterday that would seem just a little bit too transparent. Better just play it straight and get it over with.

She took a deep breath but then she lowered her hand. No this was silly, she had come to sort things out and she couldn't just turn and run away like a little girl. She took another deep breath and raised her hand again to knock, but before her hand made contact with the wood the door swung open.

"Are you going to stand out here all day?" Gaspard asked, smiling.

"Oh, hello, I hmm...sorry," Hermione stammered. She felt stupid.

"Please come in," Gaspard said. He opened the door wider and gestured for her to step inside.

It was a nice little room and messy. There was a large desk covered with piles of papers and open books, quills and half empty inkbottles. Gaspard's bike was leaning against the wall beside a red easy chair that seemed to serve mainly to hold huge stacks of magazines. The room had a narrow window with a deep marble windowsill where a small plant was sitting, beside some books and a wizard wireless. The walls where covered with bookshelves and books all the way to the ceiling.

Hermione stepped inside tentatively, and avoided looking at Gaspard. She felt awkward, but at the same time, she couldn't help but feel taken in by the cosiness and atmosphere of the little office. She took a book at random from one of the piles: "History and Class Consciousness" by George Lu'cacs.

"Do you want Turkish coffee?" Gaspard asked.

"Yes please," Hermione said. She didn't know if she wanted Turkish coffee or how it differed from ordinary coffee, but she didn't feel like letting Gaspard know that just now.

"Hang on a second, I'll just remove some of this clutter," Gaspard said and heaved the magazines from the red easy chair. He deposited the magazines on top of a pile of notes on his desk where they balanced, in danger of toppling over. He then gestured towards the chair and smiled. Hermione sat down and removed her scarf.

Gaspard started to rummage inside a locker behind her with his back turned.

"What kind of music is that?" Hermione asked.

"I believe that would be Rai music. Have you ever been to Algeria?" Gaspard answered.

"No, I haven't."

"You haven't travelled until you've gone on the Marrakech express."

"But that is in Morocco?"

"Yes, I like both Morocco and Algeria. And due to the crimes in our nation's past they conveniently speak French." He laughed a short dry laugh. "Here we go." Gaspard muttered a spell and then he returned from the back of the room with two small cups of hot coffee.

Turkish coffee was very sweet and very strong. Hermione held the tiny cup in her hand and sipped. The weather had been raw outside and the warm coffee was nice after the walk.

Gaspard sat down behind his desk with his cup. He eyed her above his glasses. He didn't speak; he just smiled at her and then turned his attention to the coffee, drinking it slowly. Hermione was a little confused. She had expected him to be angry, or at least grumpy. She hadn't expected to be received with such warmth after the scene she had caused; especially since she was obviously intruding on Gaspard's precious research time.

"I came to apologize," she said.

"For expressing your opinion?"

"Eh, well, for screaming and making a scene in your class. I'm sorry, it won't happen again."

"I must admit I was a little shocked, but maybe I should be the one doing the apologising. I shouldn't have used your friend as an example like that, it was very provocative."

"Well, it happens all the time. Everyone wants a piece of Harry Potter," Hermione said. "My roommate currently walks around in a daze licking her lips and looking generally silly since he came to visit." Hermione laughed. "I don't think he minds too much though, she is quite pretty."

"So you two aren't?"

"Aren't what?" her eyebrows narrowed. "Is that really any of your business Philippe?"

"No of course not, I was just curious."

"Perhaps it is part of your teaching duties to inquire about your student's social life?"

"No of course not. Sorry, Hermione, it is really none of my business." Gaspard stared down in the small cup in his hand, swivelling the last zip of coffee at the bottom.

"Oh, no," Hermione thought. She wasn't going to fight with him again was she? Couldn't he ask whatever he wanted? To be honest she liked telling him off. Hermione couldn't help herself, every time she happened to make Gaspard a little embarrassed she felt both terrified and a little amused. He had it all too easy to be on top of things, it wasn't fair. Seeing him a little uneasy was oddly satisfying.

She wondered if she ever would have a little office like this where she could treat fresh students to Turkish coffee and give them friendly advice.

"I didn't get much sleep last night. I lay awake thinking," Hermione said after a while.

"Oh," Gaspard said.

"When I had calmed down I started to think about what you were actually trying to say. I should have listened instead of blowing up like that. But I think I understand what you mean now."

"You do?"

"Yes, but I still think you are naïve in a way. But I guess what you were saying was that you secretly dream about finding a cure for evil."

"Eh, I would never dare put it like that," Gaspard said. He looked uncomfortable and embarrassed. "Oh, what the hell. After all you confessed your ambition to become minister of magic, so why not. If that is how you want to put it maybe I am." He grinned.

"I was drunk at the time," Hermione said. She felt herself blush. "I'll settle for foreign minister if I have to."

Gaspard laughed.

"Do you want more coffee?"

"Yeah, why not?" Hermione said.

Gaspard got up and fetched the coffee pot. He leaned over and poured coffee in her tiny cup. He smelled of tobacco. Did he smoke? The smell lingered when he retreated behind the desk to fill his own cup, and mixed with the smell of the old books and magazines. It was an interesting and musty fragrance.

"Isn't there a problem though?" Hermione asked. "If Lord Voldemort is incapable of feeling empathy, doesn't it mean he is innocent?"

"How do you mean innocent?" Gaspard said. "He is certainly not innocent in the sense of the law. Not even an American lawyer could get him off the hook."

"American lawyer?"

"They are supposed to be the best in the world aren't they? But I guess what you mean is that if he cannot feel empathy then he would not understand the consequence of his actions and thus is innocent in a purely moral sense."

"Exactly," Hermione said.

Gaspard fell silent with an introverted look on his face. They sat in silence for a while, both lost in thoughts. The wireless had changed to a soft jazz tune with a lonesome saxophone. Its tender tone filled the room on a low volume. Hermione wondered if Turkish coffee was the secret rocket fuel behind Gaspard's research. It really was very strong. She felt she could develop a taste for it.

"So what are all those notes?" Hermione asked at last.

"They are interviews with former Death Eaters and followers of Lord Voldemort mostly. I believe you are familiar with Azkaban prison," Gaspard said.

"Oh, yes." Hermione shuddered. "I met the Dementors when they were posted as guards around Hogwarts. Horrid creatures. I feel depressed even thinking about them."

She paused and looked at all the piles of notes on the desk. "Quite impressive. So have you made any progress in repairing the consciousness of the prisoners? I'm sure they all call themselves former Death Eaters by now." Hermione could not keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

"Well, some are more remorseful than others of course," Gaspard said quietly. "There is one actually who is quite broken. The only time there is a flicker of pride in his dead eyes is when he tells me about how his son used to give Harry Potter and his self-righteous friends a hard time. How his son kept fighting for the purity of blood and the traditions even though he himself was in prison. He did also once mention an exceedingly annoying and stuck up mudblood by the name of Hermione Granger who had to meddle in everything."

"So that was how you knew about me and Harry. I guess the Death Eaters are familiar with both of us by now. And who would this old Death Eater be? Anyone I would remember?"

"His name is Lucius Malfoy," Gaspard said.

"Oh, him I'm familiar with," Hermione said. "How is the old sick disgusting creep?"

"He doesn't have as many teeth as he used to I think," Gaspard said. "He is quite broken," he repeated.

"Oh yeah, I feel so sorry for the poor old sod," Hermione said. "I'm sure he's been filling you up with stories of how sorry he is about ever joining the Dark Lord and how he never meant to do anything bad. After the first war he managed to talk the Ministry of Magic into letting him go. He used to be the Minister of Magic's pet, or rather the minister was his pet until he was caught red handed by the side of the Dark Lord inside the ministry." To her amazement she heard anger had crept into her voice again as she talked.

"Now look here Hermione, I'm not that stupid," Gaspard said. "I don't believe anything Lucius Malfoy has to say. What do you take me for?" He was also raising his voice now and he looked rather angry and annoyed. "I might have been playing along with him, that is true, but that is only a way of getting him to talk. If you let them think that their arguments are having an effect they will have all the more reason to talk to you."

"Yeah pamper him why don't you? Let him indulge himself in his self-pity. I'm sure he likes to wallow in his own misery. Or maybe you don't have the guts to tell him what he really is?" Merlin, what was she saying, was she going insane? She had come to apologize and now they were almost shouting at each other again.

"Or maybe I'm just a little older and wiser than you are. After all I'm supposed to be your teacher and I have spent a lot of time studying evil. Maybe I understand it a little better than you do." Gaspard barked. He stared at Hermione. His amused smile was now long gone. Hermione hesitated. Had she gone to far? It looked like she might have touched a nerve somehow with Gaspard.

"Maybe I have spent a lot of time fighting evil," she said. She looked into his blue eyes and the anger there made her a little apprehensive. But she wasn't going to back down. She might not be a scientist but she had more experience with Lord Voldemort than most people. And the age argument was really a bit lame.

Suddenly a wide grin spread on her face. Gaspard's closed face relaxed and he looked at her in confusion.

"Ha!" Hermione said, and pointed at him. "Jean-Paul said it was going to happened eventually."

"What?" said Gaspard, frowning.

"He said that you would try to use the 'I'm older than thou' argument on me, sooner or later."

"Oh, really?" Gaspard said. "Did he really say that? I'm that predictable?" He grinned sheepishly.

"Well, I'm really an idiot coming here after a few months of studying trying to tell you I know something about these things," Hermione said.

"Of course not, that's why you're here. As long as you are prepared that I and everyone else will argue against you," Gaspard said. "I realise that fighting the Dark Lord has touched you deeply, and perhaps some of your anger is fuelled by personal loss and grief. I can understand that. And I guess you think I'm just a theoretical coward who never participated in the war. That I was locked inside here doing math while you guys were out there fighting."

"Mm," Hermione said. She didn't want to answer.

"Well, spending all that time in Azkaban wears you down after a while. You really need to be fuelled by a passion to find an answer or you'll go insane in there. But maybe I did it all wrong. Maybe you are right. I might not be brave enough. But maybe you are." He looked at her and now his superior self-confident little smile had returned. His eyes twinkled.

"Maybe you should go out there and try to interview Lucius Malfoy and see if you can learn something you do not already know about evil."

"But, but..." Hermione stammered. "I can't just go out to Azkaban and ask to talk to Lucius Malfoy, can I?"

"If you are my assistant you can," Gaspard said, warming to his idea. "I just have to sign a form that you are my research assistant and they will let you in."

"But he hates me. He'll just spit in my face and send me away."

"He did that to me the first couple of times I went out there. It comes with the research. You know, most field research in behaviour is unpleasant like that. It might have to do with how society does not invest a lot of time and money in trying to correct already pleasant behaviour. Most Arithmancy of Philosophy studies are geared towards one bad thing or another. So what do you say?"

"Eh, I don't know," Hermione said.

"Since I am older and wiser and I am your teacher, I'm giving you this assignment. Or maybe you're not up to it? Maybe you are not brave enough?"

"Of course I am," Hermione said.

"Good," Gaspard said, and he stood up from behind his desk and put away his coffee cup. He walked to the corner of the room and started to lift piles of notes from a large stack. He threw books and folders to the side in great hurry. Hermione thought that he seemed fuelled by a new energy, amused with how he had managed to frame her into another 'assignment'. She felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach thinking about the Dementors. She had hoped she wouldn't have to meet one of those ever again in her life, but apparently that was not to be. She downed the last sip of coffee from her cup. It was stone cold. She grimaced. Turkish coffee didn't taste good at all served cold.

"Here it is," Gaspard said, and turned around. "My notes on Lucius Malfoy." He held out the folder to her. Hermione got up from the chair, took it and opened it at random. It was filled page up and page down with Gaspard's scribbles. She squinted. It was quite hard to read.

"Sorry about the messy writing," Gaspard said. "I never intended for anyone else to read it."

"No, that's all right," Hermione said. "I'll decipher it somehow," She smiled. "I'll do it. I'll interview old Lucius and see what he has to say after all these years. Do you want me to structure the interview in any certain way, or ask him about anything special?"

"No, I'll let you use your imagination. See what you come up with."

Gaspard took a step closer to Hermione. "You mustn't think I don't want you to stand up for your ideas and have strong opinions you know. I just hope we can agree to disagree without you punching my lights out." He smiled, his eyes filled with enchanting warmth.

"I will try to restrain myself," Hermione said, smiling back. She felt a tinge of nervousness. What was he doing to her temper? There was only one other person in the world that could take her on a rollercoaster ride like that from flaring anger to excited joy in a millisecond.

Oh shit!

Gaspard took the folder with the notes from her and looked thoughtfully at the text for a second. Then he put it down on the desk. He was standing very close. He looked at her without averting his gaze. Hermione studied the fine lines around his eyes, the bushy eyebrows with a few grey hairs and the firm nose. Those lines must be the secret behind the warmth and charm of his smile. How old was he really? She couldn't escape his gaze, it locked her in, but she wasn't sure she really wanted to escape. It made her excited and nervous. It was a dangerous thrill that she just wanted to steal a second of for the fun of it. To avoid the feeling of drowning she focused on the iris of his eye. There were little specks of green in the blue. She liked the combination of the dark stubble on his chin, the faint smell of tobacco and the few hairs that were visible on his chest, where one button of his shirt was unbuttoned. She felt a weird impulse to unbutton another one.

He raised his hand and reached out towards her, then hesitated in midair. Slowly he continued and traced with his finger playfully in a circle on her forehead while stepping closer. Her knees felt weak and his face was really a bit too close now.

If he tries to kiss me I will have to make another scene.

His finger left her face and combed through her hair behind her ear.

"Your hair is almost as wild as you, you know?" he whispered, brushing her hair back over her shoulder. His touch felt electrical. He really had very beautiful eyes.

"Oh that is so sweet, I wish I was a rose," the plant in the window said.

"What? Did that flower just speak?"

"Eh, sorry about that." Gaspard said and retreated his hand quickly, looking embarrassed. "I was playing around with some spells in here once when I was a little bored. I just thought it was kind of stupid when you are supposed to talk to your flowers to make them grow and be happy, that they never talk back."

Hermione laughed.

She stepped back, glad for the interruption. She felt disoriented. This was getting weird.

"I really must get going," she said and reached for the notes on Lucius Malfoy. "I have a train to catch. I'm going back to England for the weekend. I'll read this on the train."

"Good! You can prepare your interview and then we can discuss the details on Monday. I look forward to hearing about your ideas."

"Very well. Thanks for the coffee," Hermione said, winding the scarf around her neck. "I see you on Monday."

"It was a pleasure chatting," Gaspard said. He opened the door for her.

"I'm sure," Hermione said, and stepped out from Gaspard's office.

That afternoon the sun came out briefly to light the crisp autumn. It flashed in through the train window between houses and trees that swept by outside. It cast long shadows on the backyards and lawns where neat piles of red, orange and brown leaves announced that the conscientious homeowners had done their autumn duties in the garden. Hermione leaned back and shut her eyes so that all she could see of it was the orange flicker through her closed eyelids. Merlin she was tired. She felt like she had some serious thinking to do. One more week before the big potions test and the hours and seconds flew by like the landscape out there, while she was trying to gather enough energy to keep up. Well, she should try to rest. If she could only rest a little she could take on the world again, even the test of impending doom. She was going to see Ron and the Weasleys in an hour and that would of course be a lot of fun. She just hoped she wouldn't fall apart in his arms and start crying. The cold combined with late night studying and lack of sleep had left her completely washed out. The sour throat had now turned into a full-blown cold and her nose was runny and red.

But the last thing in the world she wanted was to return to England, an emotional and beaten mess, and cry in the arms of her boyfriend. She'd rather eat poison. Or Snape's shoes.

To sum it up, her first months at the university weren't going too well. Not that she wasn't having fun. But she felt like she was slipping and sinking deeper in the quicksand. The list of things she had not finished was growing alarmingly long and the fact that she had terrific fun hanging out with her new friends and forgot to write as many owls to Ron as she should, just made her feel more guilty. Everyone else seemed to be in control, and she was just winging it; improvising and running around like crazy but falling behind.

The worst bit was all the worrying. What if she wasn't cut out to be part of Isobel Déry' and the ancient tradition of wizards and witches? She had always known she was smart, but maybe she just wasn't that smart. Everyone has a limit and you never know where it is before it hits you in the face.

Sometimes she couldn't sleep at night. Suddenly an ice cold sinking feeling would grip her stomach as she pictured herself failing every exam. She pictured her mothers' disappointed look as she returned to be their dental assistant. Gaspard would smile his amused smile knowingly, and Jean-Paul would probably hug her and say she would be missed. But she was sure she would soon be forgotten.

Maybe she just lacked in self-confidence. Everyone else seemed to have faith in her except her. Gaspard was gladly sending her to Azkaban to be his research assistance. Sure it was more of a dare, but he didn't seem to doubt she could do it. And Soren and René asked her about impossible equations. What if they all found out she had no idea what she was talking about half of the time?

She blew her nose in a paper napkin and looked out at the sun that was disappearing in an orange glow at the edge of the horizon after its hasty autumn visit.

I wonder what it is like to be Lucius Malfoy?

How can anyone be so supremely confident and yet so completely wrong? Does he know that he is morally bankrupt? That all he fought for is wrong? Of course not. He probably thinks he is morally upstanding and is fighting for the right thing. Somewhere deep down he must know he is telling himself a lie though. He must be. All that pure blood mumbo-jumbo is just an excuse to explain why he should be disgustingly rich and everyone else should be his servant.

Or maybe he is just emotionally flat. Maybe he can't feel a thing for other people. Maybe he cannot feel a single feeling except his megalomania; no worries, no regret, no disappointment, not a single shred of fear.

What a blessed state, Hermione thought while she drifted off to sleep. Her head rested heavily on the cooling train window. Outside the world flickered by in deepening orange.

When Hermione got off the train Ron was standing on the platform waiting for her.

"Hermione!" he cried out.

He hugged her and lifted her from the ground swinging her around. Then he placed a firm kiss on her mouth. He was so tall and strong. Hermione laughed at his enthusiasm.

"I love you too, Ron," she said. She rubbed her nose against his. "And you are going to catch my cold if you are going to kiss me like that."

"If it comes from you, I will love it too," Ron said. He was beaming at her.

"You are more deranged than I imagined," Hermione said, beaming back.

They were standing close together looking into each other's eyes for a while until someone cleared his throat behind them.

"Eh... although I might not be as expressive as Ron, I would like to interject that I too am very glad to see you again Hermione."

"Oh, hello Arthur. It is lovely to see you again." Hermione untangled herself from Ron's embrace and extended her hand towards Arthur Weasley.

He smiled at her and shook her hand with a firm grip.

"You have been much missed around the Weasley household."

"Thank you Arthur. I have meant to come and visit more often but the studies are just so demanding."

"Yes I realise that. Well, at least now you have a couple of days to rest."

"Oh, I wish I could. But I need to get some studying done." Hermione glanced at her stuffed bag. "But I'll try to be social."

"You don't look well. You are not studying too hard are you?" Arthur asked.

"Of course she is." Ron said.

"Of course I'm not," Hermione said, almost in chorus with Ron. They looked at each other and laughed.

"Oh it's only been a minute, and you two are already disagreeing on something, so I guess you can't be that ill." Arthur said, and lifted Hermione's bag.

"Whatever is he on about?" Ron said. He put his arm around Hermione's shoulder.

Hermione made a half-hearted attempt to reach for her bag, but Arthur started to walk ahead of them out from the train station, refusing to let her carry it. She and Ron followed him out on the street with their arms around each other.

Back at the Burrow Hermione was treated like a long lost daughter. At dinner they took turns asking her about life at the university while insisting she'd have double helpings of everything. She was sure she would explode and spray the walls with mashed potatoes and gravy. Yet Molly insisted she must have another piece of chocolate cake with cream for desert. Hermione didn't see how it was even theoretically possible to say no to Molly Weasley's chocolate cake.

After dinner they retired to sit in front of the fireplace. Arthur was reading the paper in his worn leather chair, and Ginny and Ron set up the chessboard to play a game.

Hermione took out a book from her bag and put it on the coffee table beside her. "An Introduction to Master Level Potions." Why was it that the books with introduction or basic in the title always were the thickest ones?

"Are you going to read that now?" Ron asked. He looked at the book and frowned.

"I'm really sorry," Hermione said. "I'll just read a chapter, or two."

"I guess if you have to you have to," Ron said. He hesitated, as if he had wanted to say something else, but then he thought better of it. He turned to the chessboard and started setting up the pieces. Hermione was freezing. She wondered if she might have a bit of a fever. Maybe she should let the book be for a while. Wasn't it almost insulting of her to read while they were having such a good time? But she only had the weekend hours to read up on everything she had planned to cover during the week.

Still it was so very nice to be at the Burrow again. She leaned back in the sofa and closed her eyes.

"Here you go dear," Molly said. She had brought her a cup of tea. She put it down on the coffee table beside the book. "There is nothing like a cup of tea when you have a cold."

"Thank you Molly, that will be perfect."

"Oh, Ron, go fetch a blanket for your girlfriend. Can't you see the poor girl is freezing?"

"Yes, Mum. Of course, one second." Ron jumped up and disappeared from the room. He returned a minute later with a plaid blanket that he wrapped around Hermione.

"There you go," he said as he tucked her in. She closed her eyes again. Ron leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. Then he felt her forehead with his hand.

"You are hot Hermione."

"My boyfriend thinks I'm hot," she mumbled sleepily without opening her eyes. A goofy smile played on her content face.

"Yes, that too," Ron said.