Lessons In Etiquette

This afternoon was the first time I had seen clear skies in an entire month.

It was a good sign, I tried t' convince myself. A sign that things were going to be alright. Even given everythin' that'd just happened.

"Zachary?" A voice called to me from inside a ramshackle hut. It was a familiar voice, but one that I didn't want t' hear.

Care for Magical Creatures had just finished up. It hadn't been anything difficult today. Just the basics of poffle and why we should care about their importance to the pet trade, or something like that. I hadn't paid much attention. I was too busy tryin' to keep myself under the radar.

"Zachary, please come inside." The familiar voice called to me once more. Clearly, my attempts had failed. Unable to justify standin' out in the fields for much longer, I found myself headed towards the one person I did not want to see most at that moment.

Professor Firethorn greeted me as I joined him in the crappy hut. The thing was put t'gether with sticks and glue, covered in straw an' scratch marks, really nothing more than a glorified stable. The roof was cramped-- had I been a foot or two taller, I'd have had to crouch to get through its entrance. It also stunk like hell, t' the point where my eyes nearly watered.

Firethorn was sat on a creaky wooden bench in the back of it. His dark black hair and widow's peak were framed by light pourin' in from the little windows behind him. His eyes bore into my soul, almost defiant of his calm expression. Even jus' lookin' at him unnerved me.
All I could think of was the way he'd looked at me in the Forbidden Forest. The things he'd done, an' the things he'd promised t' do. So many of those promises had gone unfulfilled that I almost feared, instinctively, that he'd act on them now.

Beside him was a space barely big enough for two kids my size to sit. Upon one of those spaces, closest t' Firethorn, sat a small grey thing of some sorts. As I got closer, I made it out to be a baby hippogriff. It was covered in down, sat upon a little pile of hay, an' chewing on some kind of beetle.

"Take a seat."

I did as he told me to, even as the mere sound've his voice was enough t' keep me on high alert.

"Zachary, I want to begin by being frank," my heart skipped a beat, "and lauding your handling of the poffle today. You were gentle, careful, and very tolerant of them. Even after they began showing their tongues, you didn't drop them. Or throw them. I have to applaud you for that."

For a moment, I primed myself t' interject with some kind of frightened accusation. I thought, for just a minute, that he'd said somethin' about showing wands instead of tongues.

I rubbed my eyelids fiercely. Those bags underneath them were doing me no good. "...thank you, professor," I managed to mumble.

"As a show of thanks... I wanted to introduce you to this little Hippogriff here." Firethorn let his vision drift down to the bench, to his left, and the small hatchling, still munching on a bug, that sat upon it. "She hasn't got a name yet. That's how new she is."

I had to wonder what that meant. She almost looked like what I would expect a kitten to look like after a month or two. Open eyes, clear signs of maturing, and a playful demeanor. Just's I thought that, even, the little eaglet-foal-thing cooed at Firethorn as if he were her mum.

Firethorn continued. "Given how well you did with the poffle, I supposed it could have been safe to show you a younger hippogriff to try and ease your issues with the older ones. These grifflets aren't nearly as picky with respect, so I figured it could be good training. I understand if this may not be to your liking, but my other alternatives would be more perilous in a way that I don't feel would help you nearly as much."

The baby looked up at me with big, black eyes. There was a sparkle in them that eased me, somewhat, unlike the judging stare of its older brethren. Perhaps Firethorn was right... but I couldn't keep my mind on just this moment. There was somethin' else on my mind. "How long have you had this planned for?"

Professor Minrathous Cicero of Charms had been assigned a Herculean task today.

In front of him sat Amalia Oceanborough, quite possibly his worst student.

The one solace was that this status was not earned due to her performance. She was actually rather acceptable at the subject, demonstrating an especially proficient use of heavier, more complex charms like Locomotor.

No, she was his worst student due to her habit of simply not attending. She believed herself above her studies, clearly, and made sure to make it obvious.

And yet, despite this... she had the absolute nerve to show up for her private tutoring almost every time she had it.

"Pray tell: what made you believe this session would be more interesting than this morning's class?" Cicero groaned, already beginning to tire.

"Well, mister, i's rather easy t' say. You're sat here, in your office, without much distraction, yeah? You can teach me things on my level. You can talk t' me like a teacher instead've a robot an' break down concepts like a human, or a book." Amalia started, and refused to stop. "Instead've sittin' in place watching you do things from afar, I actually get t' learn like a human bein' would. Duh."

She continued on with her contempt for the very system she had been enrolled into. How much worse classes were when they weren't suited to her biases. How Professor Firethorn seemed to be the only one who knew what he was doing because he 'let students do cool things.'

"Amalia, I must ask you to stop." Cicero frowned. "None of this has to do with what we are learning today."

"Then wha're we learning today, professor Cicero?" Amalia's legs dangled off the oversized chair she sat upon, watching her teacher with excitement in her eyes. Only God knew whether such excitement came from the material or from what she planned on doing to the one teaching it.

Cicero saw fit to brandish his wand behind her to demonstrate the topic. With a glint in his eyes and a burst from his wand, a bronze javelin became visible behind Amalia.

Amalia gasped and grinned, hopping off the chair with a big smile on her face. "Aw, awesome! How'd you do tha'?"

Cicero lowered his wand. "Revelio. It is a rather complex charm, but it should be simple for your level. You would have already learned this, had you attended your classes a few weeks ago."

Amalia shied away for a moment, clearly somewhat bothered by the reminder, but returned to full strength not long after. "An' you're going to teach it t' me?"

Professor Cicero turned around and took a seat behind his desk. "Only Revelio today, yes. We shall also review the... mentale charms. Confundo, Obliviate."

The professor continued on in a quieter voice. "I am sure you are well-acquainted with them already, but it would never hurt to practice."

Professor Firethorn gave me a blank stare. "I didn't plan this, Zachary. I simply saw you struggling and wanted to offer a hand."

I bit my tongue before changin' my tune. I'd wanted t' say something more incriminatin', but decided against it. "Even after I bothered you in your office an' made you subtract points?"

Firethorn blinked. "Zachary, they're just House points. I wouldn't forego something like this over petty insults."

And yet you chased me all the way into a forest over a funny-looking towel, I thought.

The little Hippogriff trilled again. It had finally finished its snack. Its beak was covered in juices, as were its talons an' some of its feathers, an' it looked at me with an unbearable kind of innocence. The kind that made little girls beg their parents for puppies at the pet store. "...thank you, again, professor. I... appreciate it," I muttered.

I did, really. Deep down, the idea that someone was offerin' help to me at all was a welcome surprise. I just wished it hadn't been for a subject as stupid as this, nor after a night as bad as the last's.

"So, to begin this exercise..." Firethorn reached out a hand and gently rotated the little chick in my direction. "I want you to get down on your knees and lower your head to the grifflet."

"Wha'?" I spat, tryin' my best not t' sound offended.

"It seems excessive, I am aware. But remember: you are training for the adults. They will not appreciate you skipping out on such excess." Firethorn's voice was the kind of gentle that sent chills down your spine. The kind that naggin' mums would talk to you in before threatenin' you for bad grades.

I shuffled off've the old creaky seat an' descended onto the dirty floor, the soil sinkin' into my knees feelin' practically caked on as I lowered my head in shame.

"Mental charms!" Amalia repeated.

"Yes, mental," Cicero clarified. He'd chosen an easy topic for revision to spare him any possible frustrations. Mental charms seemed to be Amalia's strong suit... as most of the staff could attest.

"Well, tha's all well and good, but I want t' do Revelio first! I want t' make things out've thin air! Show me, show me!"

She was like an uppity child. It was hard to imagine her ever having been disciplined at all. Cicero sighed. "You misunderstand. The charm reveals that which is hidden. It does not create out of that which is not."

The professor splayed his arms out in both directions. "You have not even wondered why this office is so empty? I have hidden things all around me for you to find. The javelin was first of many."

He procured his wand once more and mimicked the movement he'd managed before. "Like this. An 'R'. Do this, and proclaim the name. You should have no trouble," Cicero said.

Amalia mimicked his movement. "R, an'... got it." She twirled around, coming face to face with the javelin once more, staring at a large section of empty wall that seemed to separate it from the ground. "This should be easy..."

The girl stepped a few paces back, making sure not to hit her chair, before hastily scribbling a B and shouting the charm. "Revelio!"

Nothing happened.

"Your shape is wrong. Change it," Cicero called.

"Shape is wrong... right." Amalia raised her arm once more and drew a P. "Revelio!"

Once more, nothing.

"...let me assist."

The chick was beamin', makin' squawking noises an' sittin' on its hind legs like an overexcited weasel.

Professor Firethorn had... a genuine smile on his face. "Yes, that's a good start! Look, she appreciates how far you went for her."

I glanced back at the happy hippogriff. "So tha's it, then? I've got t' soil my trousers to get their respect?"

Professor Firethorn shook his head and grinned. "No, no. It isn't so easy. Many of them have individual preferences, and I intend to show you how to adapt to most of them."

It took all my power not to groan. Christ, how was it that animals could be so particular about entrances?

"Get back on your feet, Zachary." Firethorn grinned, but his eyes never left the hippogriff chick.

Once I'd done as he'd told me, he clarified further. "Now, I want you to curtsy while lowering your head."

This had to be a humiliation ritual. "Come on! There's no way it knows wha' that means!"

"Oh, but she does! You underestimate her intelligence, Oceanborough," the name made my heart skip a beat, "and I do not want to see you make that mistake again. Am I clear?"

He was soundin' threatenin' again. I nodded, and curtsied.

The chick once more gushed with joy, her expression barely containin' her excitement. Surely, she felt like a princess. I wished I could feel like anythin' more than a court jester.

Come to think of it, this almost felt medieval. The whole scene. Holed up in some garbage-bin shed, surrounded by bad smells, wearin' dirty clothing while being told what t' do by some superior. For just a moment... I thought I finally understood Amalia's hatred of schooling.

This brief moment of insanity was enough t' almost make me act like her for just a moment. "We've got to do this somewhere else, professor. My nose is burnin' with this stench, an' it's very cramped in here. Please."

Professor Firethorn simply raised a brow. "I can't afford to let this hippogriff out into the Hogwarts fields, Zachary. This shed will have to do."

An idea floated t' mind. One thing I did remember from my brief skimming of the books Firethorn gave us was that there was supposed to be a hippogriff herd nearby... "...why not bring her into the Forbidden Forest with us?"

Cicero's office remained rather empty.

Amalia sat on the same oversized chair as she once did, her wand waving wherever it pleased, repeating Confundo incantations over and over again. The only difference, this time, was that she was now doing so to the wall.

Minrathous Cicero himself sat behind his desk, somewhat pleased with himself. Amalia hadn't taken to Revelio, so he'd politely suggested that she practice what she was good at... and now he had some time to himself. That time, of course, was going to be spent going over some of his future plans...

"Professor Cicero?" Amalia called, her tone more confused than inquisitive.

The professor didn't look up from his desk, too focused on his various books and pieces of paper to give Amalia much eye contact. "Yes, Oceanborough?"

There was a pause for a moment. Amalia didn't seem to know what to say. After some silence, she responded in a quieter tone. "I've been si'in here doin' Confundo for a long time now. I'd rather we go back to Revelio, please."

Cicero waved a hand at her, dismissing the thought instantly. "No, you must improve it further. Once you can consistently perform that kind of shape, we may return."

Amalia huffed. "I think I've improved plen'y! See?"

The Gryffindor got up and turned to Cicero's left, forming a proper R, and spoke the words: "Revelio!"

Her spell shot straight and true, hitting what seemed to be a blank wall... and revealing an inanimate painting of some kind of renaissance man, sat next to a ruby-red stone, with everything from abacuses to easels to flutes and maps upon his table. The man himself held a drafting compass in one hand and an actual compass in the other.

"Huh," the girl continued, "who's that?"

Cicero finally had to look up to answer her question. His face bore the marks of his irritation quite well, but such irritation faded when he realized what Amalia had uncovered. "Oh, that is..."

Professor Firethorn was lookin' at me like I'd called for the little chick t' be killed. "Zachary, I cannot emphasize enough how bad an idea that would be."

I only partly knew the problem. Sure, it was very dangerous... but wouldn't that danger be cancelled out by the adults? How would that herd keep maintaining itself if it didn't know how to care for its babies? "There's a flock've them in there, right? Hippogriffs, I mean?"

The comment seemed to unnerve Firethorn more than I'd expected. "Yes, but they aren't like her. They're wild, and wouldn't appreciate an extra mouth to feed. I doubt they would allow you anywhere near them, either."

My professor extended a hand to the chick and began to scratch her, gently, underneath her beak. "You will have to deal with the smell. This won't take much longer, anyways."

The thought of that made me perk up for the first time... t'day, really. I'd be out've here, soon. Back to the dorms! Home free...

Firethorn's voice cut through my hopes'n dreams. "For now, though," I braced myself for the incoming humiliation ritual...

"...I'd like it if you extended a hand to her," Firethorn requested. Politely.

This... there was no way he'd been there in the forest, had he? I blinked a little, then asked another question. "Sorry, I... professor Firethorn, how old is this chick? Were you tendin' to her last night?"

Cicero's mind blanked for a moment. He had to blink a few times to even understand what he was looking at. "I am... not sure whom. Maybe a relative." Yeah, that made sense. Distant family that had achieved something.

The painting faded from his memory as soon as he spoke those words, and it took him looking at it once again to answer Amalia's follow-up: "Why've you got a paintin' up of someone you don't know?"

The professor couldn't answer that question, so he tried to pivot instead. "Good work on revealing the painting, Amalia. Continue practicing," Cicero spun back to his work.

Amalia seemed to cooperate for a time, begrdugingly, going around and revealing various things. After a misfire, however, that nearly ended in the same painting from before getting a hole where the man's head should have been... she couldn't keep shut. "Sorry! Sorry. Sorry... Cicero's grandad?"

The fourth-year paused again, looking to Cicero for confirmation that she never received. "...are you really not sure who this is, or d'you jus'... not want t' talk about him?"

The question made her professor pause, only to grunt irritation and try to get back to his work. "It could be both. It could be one. You are here for spells, Amalia, not chit-chat."

Why was he dodging the question? Maybe he really didn't want to talk about this guy... or worse.

There was a third spell she was supposed to be practicing. "Obliviate... wears off, doesn' it professor?"

Gears were turnin' in my head as professor Firethorn kept pettin' the chick. She really liked it: she was doin' that dog thing with her back legs, kickin' with those overlong hooves an' everythin'. It was hard not t' watch her.

"I was tending to her last night, yes. This grifflet is barely a week old. I have been doing a lot of overtime to keep her alive and well. It's a very important part of caring for creatures: you must make sure to look after them from dawn past dusk. Sometimes, that means losing sleep to tend to all of them." Firethorn chuckled, seemingly recalling a pleasant memory.

I couldn't help but chuckle a little myself, even if the prospect of such a thing sounded very unpleasant to me. Staying up until midnight caring after things I couldn't clearly communicate to, wadin' around in filth an' constantly smelling this dung... I wouldn't last a week.

"Now, Zachary, can you extend a hand like I asked you to?"

Only then did I realize I'd jus' been starin', not doin' anything to the chick. "O-oh. Um, sure."

Once I offered the chick my hand... she decided to place her tiny head upon it. It was fluffy and dry. Warm, too, like laundry jus' pulled out've the drier. The chick looked up at me with those puppy eyes...

"Ah, she wants you to start scratching too. I see she's a communicative one," Firethorn grinned.

Damn it, I'd been roped into pleasin' her again! I frowned an' tried to retract my hand, but the little chick nipped me on my finger! "OW!"

The cabin was full of laughter-- from the professor, from the stupid chick, partly from myself. It was hard not t' laugh when everyone else was doin' it, but I felt awful. My finger was bleedin', and I'd had well enough of this ordeal. Firethorn quickly fixed me up with a healin' spell, though, an' we soon got back to practicin' Hippogriff etiquette...

Professor Cicero couldn't help but raise a brow. "Yes, of course it does. It is only for as long as the victim is not under torture, or effective for less potent memories. You could not, for example, remove-a memory of one man's marriage without something... much stronger."

Amalia's face took on a somewhat alien expression for the young girl. Her usual mirth morphed, instead, to concern. "...could it erase people?"

Cicero didn't entirely understand the question, answering it nearly as soon as it was imposed without thinking further. It was just Oceanborough being a nuisance, after all. Probably nothing deeper. "No, of course not. People still exist if you use this charm, you cannot charm them out of existence."

"No, no," the fourth-year hastily clarified, "I mean... people. From mem'ries."

The professor's attention was finally captured. He gave the girl a curious stare. She continued. "Could you... Obliviate someone from someone's memories? Entirely?"

The former Magia Censore let the room descened into heavy silence. He knew the answer to this question. There was no reason to give it to Amalia.

"The Ministry might object to it," he eventually admitted. "I do not think it would be legal. I would-a 'dvise against you trying anything," his tone became harsher.

"I'm not thinkin' of it, I promise! I-- that's so unspeakably horrible, I jus'... I'd never considered it." There was a gravity to Amalia's voice that told Cicero she was being serious. In her head, too, she was starting to speculate that he might have been the recipient of such pure evil at one point.

Silence choked the room once more, and Amalia tried to Revelio the rest of the objects. Once she'd finally succeeded, she earned a modest clap of congratulations from Cicero and... more silence.

That let Amalia's thoughts fester. Eventually, they spilled out into more questions.

"...professor," she mumbled, "have you ever had t' do that? Obliviate someone from someone else's mind?"

Cicero no longer had any excuses. He had his agenda straight for the next week and not enough grasp on the future beyond that to distract from his reluctant student. He had to answer.

"Not at Hogwarts." His tone was stone-cold. His attention was elsewhere. Instead of looking at Amalia, Minrathous turned his attention to the javelin across the room from his desk. "But I used to do something similar in Italy, before I transferred."

"Could you do that here, if you had to?"

The prospect, at first, confused the professor. "Why would it ever be needed?"

"To repair a relationship?"

Then, it briefly angered him. Cicero kept himself from commenting, however, as he tried to ignore implying such a petty use of something so heavy. "It would be excessive and do no effect. No relationship can be repaired if you are hiding information."

"Why not?"

Amalia was being genuine. She didn't understand what could cause a problem there. She got on with the zoo animals just fine. Most of those didn't know what she was saying, and none of them understood much about her at all. Nevertheless, she got on fine with them. What was the matter if you didn't know everything about the other party?

Cicero was confused even further by the question. Had this child never made a friend? Well-- he shouldn't have asked himself that question. Given her behavior, he would have been surprised if she'd even made a single acquaintance before. And yet... he felt compelled to answer genuinely.

"Relationships rely on trust, Amalia. One cannot be mistrusting of the other. If you are to hide things from this person you are..." ...he struggled to find the words... "...making relations with, it is only matter of time until they find out. When they find out, they do not trust you. Then, you have no relationship."

This seemingly basic advice brought Amalia to total silence. From her expression, one would assume that she had just seen a small animal die in front of her.

Such shock, however, did not sway the magical censor. He got up from his chair, finally unable to ignore the responsibilities this child had brought to his table, and offered Amalia a hand.

"Now, Amalia... for Obliviate, the shape is much more complex. I see that you do not grasp its finer details with your cast-- this makes the charm less effective. When you begin, you want to keep your wand moving like this..."