A Cordial Meeting

[Caira LaPointe]

It had been a particularly uneventful day for Caira, as usual.

She woke to a morning filled with sunshine and warmth, spewing forth from her Westminster Arch Window, the golden rays dancing across her features, illuminating her hazel eyes and deep brown locks. Gracefully she had removed herself from her bed and went through the motions of her morning routine. She bathed, washed her hair, brushed her teeth, and finally she returned to her main bedroom chamber where she dressed for the day. A proper selection of deep, ruby robes with different shades of red, highlighting and lowlighting the garments. Finally throwing on, in a grandiose flutter of fabrics, an even deeper, almost crimson cloak with gold embellishments, she departed from her chamber and swept down the corridors, her office in sight.

Immediately upon entering the warm den she called her office, she removed her cloak, and to nobody in particular, she held it out to the side and dropped it in mid-walk. Before the cloak could hit the ground, a small >pop< was heard and Garamsythe had apparated into existence right in time to catch her garment. "Garamysthe is sorry for his lack of punctuality, Mistress." His voice sounded as if someone hadn't taken a drink in months, crackly, and raspy, but it had a low timbre to it as well. The emotion in there sounded as if he was slightly frightened that he may be punished for his marginal infraction of his arrival time.

She merely grazed her soft, silken, loose curls at her right shoulder, and gently tossing them back, she sat at her chair behind her desk. "My tea, Garamsythe." She said with an impartial tone of voice, readying a quill at her hand.

The house elf squeaked, and placed her cloak on the hook behind the door, and disapparated, then apparated back, balancing tray of sweets, a tea kettle, and a saucer and cup. He placed the tray at her desk, and then set down the saucer and teacup. Pouring her a nice steaming cup of black tea, he nodded to her and stood by, idly awaiting orders. After she had adjusted the flavor of her tea with a couple spoonfuls of sugar, she brought the cup to her lips to savor a long sip of her favorite tea. With her eyes closed, she allowed the hot liquid to slip past her tongue, and down her throat, invigorating her taste buds on the way. Inhaling deeply, a self-indulgent smile crossed her lips before she turned to Garamsythe.

"The elves will be reporting to me throughout the day, I trust? Any suspicious activity at all, I mean if a student so much as does ANY form of magic relating to one of the five elements; Earth, Air, Fire, Water, and of course, Metal. These traitors have been hiding amongst us long enough, and it is time to take off the masks." Her tone had evolved from a sweet, dulcet, effervescence of verbal thoughts to something a bit darker and monotone at the end. She continued to scrawl out something with her parchment as she talked with Garamsythe.

"On a different note, two Ministry officials will be arriving within the week. I shall require you to orchestrate their accommodations here at the castle. If the guest quarters are not perfectly immaculate, you shall assemble a team of elves to do so." She said, her eyes transfixed on the note she was finishing up. All Garamysthe did was stand there, ever-waiting for more orders.

She finally finished up her letter, or, invitation of sorts and held it up, to admire her penmanship and pomp.

Dear Paris,
Greetings and Salutations! I hope this letter finds you in good health, for I am extending this invitation to you for tea and conversation in my office. There are some matters that I wish to discuss with you regarding your education while here at Hogwarts. Please do not delay, I shall be expecting you. If you have a scheduling conflict, please show this note to your Professors and everything should be cleared. Upon arriving at the gargoyle statue, please say the word: Glumbumble and it should grant you passage. I am in eager anticipation of your arrival.

Cordially,
Headmistress LaPointe

She then tri-folded the parchment and placed it into an envelope, sealing it with her designated wax seal, the face of the envelope reading Ms. Paris Nowan in green ink. She handed the letter to the elf with explicit instructions on a swift and immediate delivery, and within moments, he was gone and she had resumed her paperwork. The letter would be delivered promptly as she requested, but it wouldn't be for a couple hours before she was sure Paris would read it, for it was early, and classes weren't for another hour. Taking another indulgent sip from her tea cup, she let go of her quill and it continued to write on its own.

All she had left to do was to wait for Paris to arrive. The topic of conversation would indeed not entail her academics, but something a bit more on the boundaries of allegiance. Dark Phoenix needed more "inside" allies, and Paris's lackadaisical and impartiality to the whole ordeal would not be tolerated any longer. Work was to be done, and if Paris knew what was right for her, this meeting would progress swimmingly.

[parisnowan]

Everything seemed to echo. It was as if in one light movement, the walls would erupt with their thunderous reaction. Even a soft sigh, or whisper would be heard as a shout. Few would brave to enter this sort of place. Yet there she was; Paris Nowan, in the center of the hallway, slowly making her way down the deserted corridor. But it really wasn’t like a corridor; it was more like a maze of walls, dark and haunting; a labyrinth designed to captivate and daze its possessor. And surely it was. Night time had fallen and faint light from the half moon filled the sky, getting more aide from the basket of stars and constellations surrounding it. Yet, other than this, there was no other light to aide her walk. There was merely the faint light falling from the sky, slowly resting on the walls of this labyrinth, adding to the effect of captivity.

She wore a long, silk dress; a sliver pattern that reflected beautifully the lights of the moon. Her hair was let down loosely; somehow so beautiful and untouched. And her eyes were dazed, giving off an aurora that she really wasn’t there. Yes, her mind was else where, perhaps in a castle, far, far, away. Yet as she continued to walk, the walls got thinner and thinner. The pathway became firmer and firmer; almost as if it was trying to make an attempt in eating her heels. She did not even notice that her path was getting darker by every moment, and above her, the sky was being covered by some sort of ceiling. And…there were whispers…speaking of her name, of her secrets, and of her desires. They had no mercy; no feeling; no shame; only cold, mysterious, fact. Yet so far off….so unconnected.

The blonde soon found herself entering a clearing, her eyes struggling to remain awake. And in this clearing, there were mirrors; large, thin, haunting mirrors. It seemed as if in every direction the girl looked, there was her own reflection looking back. Timid, and tired; curious, yet not even entirely there, she moved forward, her long dress trailing behind her. And then the whispers grew louder. With every step she took, she heard her name pronounced more loudly than before. Their voices overlapping, she had to strain her ears to make out what one chilling voice was saying, “Paris…I promise…I promise…”

For some unknown reason, such sentence had a terrifying effect on her. The dazed Paris was gone, replaced by an entirely new one entering into a stage of panic. Trying desperately to move along faster, the girl walked center stage into the clearing, trying to get herself to the other side, her dress slowing her down. And as she walked, she saw out of the corner of her eyes frightening images. Small cracks had emerged in the pavement, and within them, arouse hands, and arms; to her left, right, and behind; only now Paris knew where the whispers were coming from. She was breathing heavily, but refused to look to the sides. She kept her head looking forward, walking at the most rapid pace her dress would allow her to pursue. Somehow, she knew that if she could get to the other side, and stand in front of a mirror, she would be alright. And in seconds, (which seemed like and eternity), she found herself there. She stared frantically at her reflection, trying to understand what to do next. And then she knew. She needed to walk through it; continue waking to escape this horror. But with a sudden jolt- she couldn’t. Something had her dress; something strong. And to her horror, as she turned around, she saw something frighteningly familiar. In cold fear, she saw herself.

~~~

Her eyes lightly opened to reveal a blurred version of the sights of an early morning in the Slytherin Girls’ dormitories. She heard the sounds of a few students quietly moving across the room, and smelt the familiar scent of a combination of girls’ perfume. Yet it took her a moment to realize where she was, or even if she was even alive. Yet, after the ceiling came out of blur and into focus; her mind snapped back into production. She quickly sat up, breathing heavily; eyes wide and afraid. It wasn’t very logical, why such a dream would terrify her so, yet, it did, and to immense amounts. She closed her eyes, in an attempt to suppress tears from coming, yet it only did her worse. Even closing her eyes now and awake reminded her of that terrible place in her dream. It terrified her almost to the extent that fought back letting out a quiet scream. Opening her eyes quickly, she pulled both of her arms to her shoulders; holding herself in place. She allowed her eyes to linger on the sights in front of her, trying to send herself a very important message that she was indeed alright and in no harm. After letting out a sigh, she lightly moved one of her arms down and laid her palm lightly on her bed. She then slowly held up her hand closer to her face; it was shaking. But that was not acceptable.

She now put both of her hands together and looked down at her palms, taking a time for some deep breaths and relaxation. She would get through this; and soon. After a few seconds of trying to talk herself into calming down, she realized that she’d spent enough time trying to recover and supposed the best option would be to just keep moving and keep her mind busy. So, she looked up, ready for the day. Through her curtains she made eye contact with another Slytherin girl, who had probably seen Paris’ awkward awakening. She refused to look down, and a stared back coolly. Even if there was embarrassment in her heart, there was no point in showing it. She then rose, and walked away in a narcissist manner. Yet, despite this performance, her hands were still shaking…

Thirty minutes later Paris appeared in the common room, dressed and pampered for the coming day. Her long, blonde hair which was usually left down was pulled back in a large bun today, a psychological precaution all too well to do with the Slytherin’s dream. Most of her friends and acquaintances were in the Great Hall for their last shot at Breakfast, yet Paris would not permit herself. She simply wasn’t hungry this morning; not after last night. Yet now, as she felt more alone than she would have liked herself to be, she wished she had accompanied them. Here alone her thoughts were allowed to wonder…to fear. When with others, she was preoccupied. Trying to distract herself, she leaned against a nearby wall and focused on the interior design of the Slytherin Common Room. Yet, that only lasted momentarily. For she was immediately sent back into a state of fear.

There, set in place on a nearby table, was a large envelope; one with her name on it. The font and color seemed vaguely familiar, perhaps she had seen it earlier in the morning but placed it aside…? Yet she did not recall ever going over to such table. Not at all, even in the entire week… The thought illogically chilled her skin, and her eyes widened. One would think it mad to be scared of just a simple letter…but this was not the normal Paris. Similar incidents were happening more frequently with Paris, and it was not all due to a silly nightmare…there was something more.
She knew about the war at Hogwarts. She knew that there was secretly a silent fight for lives. And the thought that it could affect her drastically was becoming more and more of a reality. She had been doing fine with suppressing her concerns for the past year or two that she’d known about the Mage. She was only a young woman, who had her whole life ahead of her and would be hardly useful as an agent regardless. She was more of the type for parties and sports; not wars and sabotage. The few deaths and disappearances that had happened before she had shrugged off; simply because it had not seemed significant enough for her. She hadn’t allowed herself to try and tie it back to the Shadow Wars. But now…with the recent disappearance of Alessandro Darko…things had changed. She’d known him only as a younger student, and a competition on an opposing Quidditch. She remembered watching him, trying to figure out his flaws and weaknesses on the field. And now, he was gone. A younger student was gone. And she didn’t know why.

Was it was because he was a lightfighter? Had the Mage taken him? Or was he a member of the Mage himself, whom the lighfighters had gotten to? Or perhaps, the worst situation of all; indeed he was a member of the Mage…who had failed to perform up to the standard properly. Would she be next on the hit list? Would Dark Phoenix herself have her killed? What would her father do? And if she was dragged into this, how could she live with her father; knowing what he was? Would they come looking for her? What really was going on? She couldn’t take it anymore. For the past few days she couldn’t even eat a meal without looking over her shoulder. She wouldn’t even walk out to the Quidditch Pitch without someone with her. And in the back of her mind, there was always that figure of Alessandro Darko haunting her. She wanted to kill him. She wanted to do anything just to get ride of the fear. She had to take care of herself.

Just looking up at the letter made her feel sick, but she knew she couldn’t avoid it forever. She quickly found the resolve to approach the test, walking forth firmly and grabbing the envelope with full force. The was a certain resolve in her eyes, as if she were conquering a great task that required a maximum amount of strength of mind. She quickly broke the seal and threw her eyes at its contents. Thankfully, it was nothing to be worried about…but it surprised her…to a great degree…

She found herself walking to the Headmistress’s office at a normal pace. Her head was erect, her face was calm, and she carried a sly smile known oh-so well as one of her traits. However, despite her physical appearance, she internally fought with herself to remain calm. She tried to focus on the task at hand-getting to the office, rather than what the reasons why she was being summoned. In the back of her mind she couldn’t quite understand nor even believe why the Headmistress would be so interested in her education as to call to a private conference. But Paris also knew, from the past few days, that if she let her thoughts wander she would surely start to internally worry and over analyze the situation. Nor could she risk letting her emotions take control, as she could become more instable as less in control. So she just kept walking, not letting any emotional thought cloud her mind.

Before she knew it, she was there, standing in front of the gargoyle statue. She wasn’t exactly sure what would happen after speaking the password, and hesitantly pulled out her letter to re-read to pick up on any missed details. However, to her dismay, she found that she had not missed anything, and she only knew to speak the password. How odd…She then was suddenly struck with the feeling that someone was watching her…and spun around to see if anyone was there…but her eyes saw no one. For a second, she contemplated leaving and coming back in a few minutes so that if anyone was here watching her they would not hear the secret password, but realized that the Professor’s office was probably the safest place in the school and she would rather risk someone finding out the password than her own safety. So, she calmly spoke the word, “Glumbumble,” and waited for something to happen.
And suddenly, to her amazement, the gargoyle leaped aside to reveal a staircase. In reaction, Paris quickly situated herself on the staircase and stood dazzled as the staircase spiraled up. She looked above and around, curious about the way the whole thing worked and when she’d find herself in the Headmistress’s office. But she didn’t have to wait long, for she soon found herself in front of a large, polished, oak door. With a now nervous sigh, Paris closed her eyes and then knocked. “Professor.” She said coolly, although those perceptive enough would be able to tell that there was an awkward nervousness about her pitch.

[Caira LaPointe]

She stood by her grand, arch window, gazing out onto the school grounds, watching children run about the courtyards, fly around on brooms during their flying lessons, and trot off to the Herbology green house to learn about Mandrakes. Such a simplistic life style, she thought. Children born into a world of magic, coming to school to learn how to cast spells, transform objects into something they’re not, and brew up potions for any purpose imaginable. Her hand slipped down the velvet curtain as she watched, patiently waiting for Paris Nowan to arrive. With a snap of her fingers from her free hand, she summoned Garamsythe. In a matter of milliseconds, she heard a small >pop< and knew that her faithful house elf had arrived. Without turning to address him as if he were an equal, she merely spoke in a calm manner, continuously gazing outward.

“Do go and fetch a platter of sweets, treacle tarts, fudge, anything that is readily available. Another pot of tea would be lovely for our guest, Garamsythe, she is to be due at any moment. Post-haste.” She said fluidly, tilting back her head slightly as she watched a young Gryffindor girl as the first of her class to successfully mount and fly on her broom. “At once, Ma’am.” He croaked. Spinning on his little heels, he disapparated with a >crack< and Caira dropped her hand from the curtain, and turned around and stepped forth, making her way over to the seating area, her frock whooshing as she walked. She took a seat over by the fireplace in a cozy armchair upholstered with red velvet and gold trimmings, as was the other situated directly across from hers, separated by a low, mahogany tea table. Waving her hands in front of her in a slow and controlled manner, a fire exploded in the fireplace, lighting the logs and setting a continual blaze. When Garamsythe returned, he set a sparkling silver tray on the table, riddled with treats for anyone to enjoy, and then a pot of tea, with two cups. When he was finished, he disapparated, and left Caira to wait for her guest.

Her head gently lifted, her eyes continuing further to see Paris Nowan enter into her office, a wry smile spreading across her lips as she gestured to the seat in front of her. She had addressed her as “Professor” and it had been several years since she was anything less than a Headmistress, and felt it appropriate to correct her young charge. “Headmistress.” She said after a small clear of her throat, her smile never faltering. “It’s been years since anyone has ever called me by that title. I’ve grown quite accustomed to being addressed as my current role of Headmistress. Some tea?” She picked up the tea pot and poured herself a small cup of tea, raising her eyes and eyebrows up at Paris to see her reaction as to whether or not she should pour her a cup.

[parisnowan]

For some unknown reason (perhaps logical, perhaps not) she found herself alarmed at the smile Headmistress LaPointe gave her. Perhaps it was the peculiar circumstance she was in? Paris knew very well that although she considered herself a fairly intelligent student, she was not at the top of her class nor was she near the bottom. The fact that she had been summoned here was odd indeed, for what interest would the Headmistress or even any Professor in particular have in her education at the time? She was not a stand-out student academically, and in the classroom she took care to mind authority and generally perform well. It was not as if she was particularly memorable in the sense that she was worthy of a personal conference with the Headmistress. It seemed out of place for Headmistress LaPointe to have any concern about her in general...and Paris sincerely doubted that the Headmistress would have called her here to discuss her involvement in Quidditch. How intriguing indeed...especially underneath the odd circumstances of the late...But Paris tried not to let her thoughts linger any further at the moment, for fear that her recently developed trait of isolated paranoia would set in. She'd already experienced fearful thoughts enough this morning....and to allow herself to enter such a state of mind even further would surely even worsen her condition. Slightly timid, yet afraid of looking so, Paris did her best to maintain eye contact with Headmistress LaPointe, and lightly took a seat where she had gestured to do so. Letting her body weight relax a bit, her mind followed in suit and she found herself a little bit more comfortable both in mind and body.
However, such slight shift toward a calmer feeling was completely undone when she realized her apparent error in addressing the Headmistress in an improper way. Her hands slightly gripping her chair, she tried to maintain her former composure and appear as calm as before. Ironically enough, Caira LaPointe’s smile which had previously sent her a feeling of unrest, now seemed to be her only source of reassurance and comfort. She nodded quickly at the Headmistress’ inquiry of her desire for some tea. “Sorry, Headmistress,… and thank you.” She said in a soft, yet loud enough volume to be heard. With a sigh, she relaxed her arms and looked down at the ground, taking in a quiet breath and allowing herself to rest her thoughts. After but a second of this, she looked back up with a resolve to get over this seemingly irrational fear and apprehension. Her eyes relaxed as did the rest of her body, her gaze resting on her Headmistress. At this point, she did not know what was expected of her. Was she to wait quietly or speak up? Surely Caira LaPointe would get to the point of this meeting in all do time, but the thought of beating around the bush seemed to create unrest in her stomach. Yet, she had no evidence that such thing would happen and perhaps it would be very soon when Caira LaPointe would get to the bottom of things…then it would be better just to wait for the continuation of dialogue from the elder woman’s part. Yet, then again, Paris did not want to present herself weak and fragile as she was sure she’d already leaned to so far in their course of interactions. Speaking up on her behalf would surely show more confidence, would it not? Yet then again, she ran the illogical risk of offending the Headmistress….
This inward debate continued on for only a short period of time, but what felt like an eternity to Paris. Finally, she spoke in a soft, inquiring voice, “Forgive me, Headmistress, but exactly am I doing here? And what matters regarding my education do you wish to discuss? I confess myself to being a bit lost.” A bit; indeed an understatement.