Who: Professor Rakow and Artisan What: Talking Where: Rakow's office When: Tuesday Night; Spring Break. Rating: G
The halls were empty. The dorms were silent. The grounds once alight with the the buzzing of springtime life were now restrained by the darkness that the night had set upon it. Save for the professors and the few stragglers who decided to stay back to catch up on extra work or who had rough family stories he didn't care to hear about, Artisan practically had the grounds all to himself. Yet during the Easter holidays, even Artisan himself had obligations to attend to. Per usual, he walked down the halls of the East Tower promptly at 8:30, half an hour until curfew, toward his Transfiguration Professor's office.
Professor Rakow heard the footsteps and a smile crept across his face. Rakow knew it was Artisan. The steps varying between loud and soft, the professor was certain it was him. Who else could exude such insecurity even through his footsteps? Continuing to carefully pour deep red liquids from one chalice into another over a multicolored cloth on his desk, Rakow kept his concentration on his work unflinchingly as the door opened without a knock.
Without reserve, Artisan pushed open the door. The characteristic scent of frankincense and moldy pages filled the air.
"The campus is nice when it's empty." He spoke with a confidence that was unknown to his peers. "I wish it were like this more often." Artisan took a familiar seat opposite the professor. "What are you doing?" he noticed the elaborate set-up on his desk.
Rakow made a slight movement of his eyebrow to acknowledge the boy's presence, but said nothing until he seemed to complete his work or at least reach an adequate stopping point. With a lazy flick of his wand, the chalices and liquids wrapped themselves up into the fabric and were tucked away in a shelf.
"This, my boy, is the art of libations," Rakow spoke slowly, deliberately, voice like a creaky door. "Let me save you the trouble of showing your ignorance and explain it to you directly," he looked at the boy in front of him, a hint of a smile at the edge of his wrinkled lips only evident through the twitching of his full beard.
"Libations are the ancient art of offering. They go back to the time of our pagan ancestors, when these fearful men experimented with the tools of an unrestricted Earth, praying to their gods for both livelihood and mercy. It wasn't long until the monotheistic men took up this art as well and incorporated it into their history. There was a time that they won't teach you about in history where there was no dichotomy of Muggle and magicfolk."
Artisan listened wordlessly. "Oh. But why do you do it for? If it's magic, why don't we learn about it here?"
Rakow laughed a hearty laugh. "It's Easter. I do it every year. Religious observance. You don't learn it here because it's considered 'Archaic Magic'. Worse than Divination. But enough about that. I want to know about your progress. Have you deciphered the text I asked you about in February?"
"Oh," Artisan reached into his bag. "Almost. It's a tricky text. It's quite poetic. More like a verse, actually. I don't quite think I have the right words, but I've done what I can with it."
He pulled out a scroll, full of frays and dark from ink smudges. Artisan had been pouring over this extra assignment for the last two months and this was a large part of why he decided to stay for Easter. Unfurling it, he began to read bits of it to the professor. It was the text he went searching for on the grounds by the lake some few months ago with Willow.
"Overflowing in the joy of the coming equinox and partaking in the feast of sweet honey, nectar, and fattened meats, two swan-necked youths identical in ivory touch, the ocean in their eyes, will shake their lion manes, unaware that the diamonds that fall forth from their crowns will only carpet the path of the seven-headed beast. Impart one from the other and both are dust.
There's one more line that I can't translate." Artisan showed it to Rakow.
Rakow listened to the boy's verses intently. He was pleased with what he heard. He took the scroll into his hand and saw the word Artisan had circled.
"Ah," he grinned. "There's the new word we learned today. Libations. The word you're looking for is libations."
Artisan took the scroll back and puzzled over it for only a few seconds before reciting the newly translated final verse.
"Carnal libations shall make the beast slumber again." Artisan looked up at Rakow. "Is this it?"
"Yes, yes, yes." Rakow repeated. "You've done well, my boy. Your gift of decipherment is amazing. I see a future in Cursebreaking with you, no doubt."
Artisan blushed. "Please, professor." Artisan was overcome with emotion upon receiving this small bit of praise, forgetting to ask the significance of the text he had just deciphered and read.
"Honestly." Rakow brought out an old piece of parchment now, one which he had left buried for some time but unearthed specifically for this purpose. He wanted to change the subject quickly. It was nearly curfew. "Here's another text. These runes are Eastern European in nature, not like the Celtic ones you're used to. But I know you'll be up to the challenge." He handed over the parchment to the boy, gingerly. "Ah, be careful with it. I went through quite some trouble to obtain it. Write on it as much as you please, though. The ink will disappear at will -- it's imbued directly with your insights."
Artisan carefully took the parchment and looked at it for a second before placing it carefully into his bag. Although a piece of him was pleased to help his professor in this way, his mind was weary and he felt his hands tremble at the scroll's touch. "Thank you, professor."
"I'll see you in a few weeks then?" Rakow asked.
"Of course." Artisan replied.
"Good. Off with you then. Wouldn't want to be out too late past curfew now would you?"
"Of course not." Artisan picked up his things and headed out the door. "Good night professor."