Special delivery for roses_at_sunset Title: Some Things Begin As Ice Author/Artist: Recipient's LJ name:roses_at_sunset Pairing: Michael Corner/Lisa Turpin Rating: R Summary: A case involving potions analysis force Michael and Lisa to finally deal properly with each other Word Count: ~23,500 words Warnings/Content: None Disclaimer: The characters and situations do not belong to me. No copyright infringement is intended. Author Notes:roses_at_sunset, trust me when I say this is not the pairing I intended to write, as looking at your list the rest were much more suited to my 'norm'. Then, somehow, this happened. I really really hope you enjoy it, because working with characters of minimal canon is a worrisome thing in exchanges, and I struggled with this a fair bit.
Two witches walked into a pub.
Said like that, it sounded like the beginning of a dirty joke, but for Michael Corner, it was reality. He had been sitting at a table in the Leaky, nursing a pint and waiting for Anthony and Terry to show up, when the flash of a red sari from the door caught his attention. It might be Wizarding London he was sitting in, rather than out of the way Tutshill, but most of the population was stereotypically British. It didn't take identifying her features to guess at Padma's identity; once upon a time he might have considered her sister as an option, but the latter tended to favour Muggle clothes that were often some shade of pink. Not that one really needed that sort of aid in telling the twins apart. Parvati was everything smiling and light, while Padma always seemed vaguely disapproving. He gave a wave and a half nod to Padma, who only narrowed her eyes slightly in response.
As she turned to levitate her cloak over to the wall, Michael saw the woman who was with her.
Lisa Turpin.
He gave the same acknowledgement, but her response was only slightly friendlier. It bothered him from her a little more however than it did the other witch. Nothing he could do though had ever been able to break through the shell, either of theirs – since school at least. Their group might not have been Slytherin, but their common room had been nothing like what he had always pictured that of the 'Puffs and the Gryffindors to be, full of easy camaraderie. They were a group by default, even now that they had all left school, but sometimes he wondered at the strength of the bond.
Merlin forbid if he'd decided to become an underling in a clothing shop, or a clerk for the Weasleys, or something with a similar lack of intellectual stimulation. Michael doubted any of them would have talked to him in the same way they did now.
He was always the one who had probably been considered the most likely to do something like that probably, in their Ravenclaw group. Not that any of them knew that he and the Sorting Hat had had a long discussion over his suitability for Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw. From what they could observe he was the one who cared the least about academic success, and the one who achieved it anyway despite his indifference, much to the consternation of some. They probably wouldn't have been surprised if he had decided not to care about prestige and the intellectually stimulating nature of his career and dedicated his life to farming flobberworms.
Michael turned his attention to the pint in front of him, though he had already taken in every aspect of Lisa's appearance, from the business set of robes she wore, to the fullness of her face. The latter was a welcome sight, considering. For while she'd looked so weary and gaunt even he'd wanted to feed her. At the very least he'd wanted to ship her off to his mum for an extended vacation. Yolanda Corner would have pampered her to death, like she tried to with Michael every time he came home, though he couldn't imagine anything else that would make Lisa any more uncomfortable.
He fully expected them to search for a table on their own, but it was the afternoon of the Quidditch match – Falcons versus Harpies, and every table in the pub was filled in anticipation of the broadcast on the wireless in a half hour or so. He felt a wry sort of amusement as Lisa and Padma shot each other a look before making their way over to the table he sat at on his own.
"Do you mind?" Lisa asked, motioning towards the empty seats.
"Of course he doesn't mind," Padma sat down without waiting for an invitation, arranging her clothes carefully. "It's not like he's going to be meeting a woman here or anything."
"Just Terry and Michael," he said mildly, kicking out one of the other chairs for Lisa to sit in. She hesitated only slightly before taking her seat.
"Terry might be a close enough substitute then," Padma said archly, motioning towards the bar for a menu to be levitated over.
Michael snorted, he couldn't help it, disloyal as it was to his mate. Years now since Hogwarts, and he still didn't understand Padma. Sometimes he wasn't sure if she was taking the piss, or meaning a serious insult. Considering Terry was on the pull more often than not, even if he had been graced with the longest eyelashes one had ever seen on a bloke and a fondness for listening to serials on the wireless, Michael chose to believe the former in this instance. Sometimes Padma could seem like, well, an uptight bitch at times. Merlin knew how she managed a career in inter-wizarding relations, but the Ministry seemed to like her for it. Somehow she and Lisa had always been close though, despite the fact that Michael wasn't sure Padma actually liked people.
Not that Lisa was warm and cuddly. Her attitude was one of icy reserve though, more than a seeming attitude of contempt.
"Here to listen to the match?" He asked by way of making conversation.
"No," Lisa said, grabbing one of the menus that flew over from the former Puff behind the bar, "but it's a nice side benefit if Padma decides to linger over her drink." The other woman snorted, and waved her hand dismissively. She'd been one of the few who had little use for the sport. Lisa had done her turn at chaser for the Claws for a few years, and could discuss the major players in the professional world, but Michael was fairly sure her interest had always been rather...academic. Of course, even the most rabid fan was usually quite analytical, so she wasn't unique in that. "I'm going home to visit my mother after though." She didn't elaborate beyond that.
He tended to forget about the Leaky's purpose as serving as a gateway to the Muggle world. He had only ever used it once in that respect himself, during a trip with a Muggleborn co-worker for a non-magical potion ingredient the stores in Diagon Alley had been low on. He was fairly sure he'd come off like a complete arse, fascinated by everything around him. At least he was a Ravenclaw, who had been fascinated from a more academic perspective, not a Slytherin who was disgusted with every difference he saw.
From what he knew though, the very Muggleborn Lisa didn't go back often. Not that he would know that from her. It was the second hand gossip of the Ravenclaw network.
She hadn't talked to him properly since school, not that they had ever been best mates in school. He fully admitted he'd tried the hardest with her though. There was something that drew him too her, both in the past and now. It wasn't just trying to achieve the unattainable – if that was the allure he'd have been lusting after Padma nearly as much. There had been a thawing, a slight thawing, over a study session late one night in the library, and Michael had been given hope.
And then Voldemort and the Death Eaters happened, and things changed - even if he still wasn't sure why it had ruined a chance of anything between them.
"How is work?" Michael asked, as pondering on that slid through his mind.
"Just fine," Padma raised her eyebrows, "I've been tasked to sit on the Ministry team that's going to conduct negotiations with the Canadian wizards about...." She gave a terse smile when he shot her a look. "Oh, I suppose you weren't asking me, were you? Please, do go on discussing your potions," on her lips the word sounded somehow derogatory, "while I sit here and contemplate the state of measly world affairs."
"You're just bitter about the fact you couldn't get into the NEWT potions class," Michael couldn't resist needling her, even if it was a very old topic. Especially because he knew despite that fact it was guaranteed to get a response.
On cue, Padma narrowed her eyes at him. "I didn't want to study potions anyway," she stressed, "but honest to Merlin, letting Ron Weasley in with the exact same mark despite the fact he couldn't brew his way out of a paper bag, when it was 'strongly suggested' by our head of house to avoid the class despite the new technicality." The memory still left a sour look on her face. Padma, and to be fair, most Ravenclaws really didn't take well to not being top at everything academically. That only four of their number had got into the potions class sixth year was still a sore spot.
However Michael let his attention turn to Lisa, whom he'd meant to ask the question of anyway. She had been one of the four, along with him, Terry, and Anthony Goldstein. Though she'd sat her NEWTs months later than him, she'd gotten the coveted potions consultant job for the Ministry of Magic. He had been relegated to something sadly and humiliating commercial, working in experimental brewing for 'Potent Potions', the largest potions conglomerate in Britain. If he were the bitter sort, he might have considered the offering of the Ministry position to Lisa to be a result of the bending over backwards for Muggleborns that had followed Voldemort's reign.
And, well, he could be at times – but he knew Lisa had come by the job honestly. She had always been the best of them, though he was a close second if he said so himself.
"Is this an attempt then to get me to break the secrecy contract I signed with the Ministry?" Lisa asked with raised eyebrows.
"Never," he held a hand over his heart, "I swear. Just making pleasant conversation." In reality the conversation hadn't been all altruistic and in the name of making small talk. The Ravenclaw part of him twitched to know the cases she was brought in on. Interesting potions, dark potions, crimes using potions, old formulas found – the Ministry got all the good stuff. With work in experimental potions the only interest was from formula inventions he created himself, which wasn't quite the same thing usually. At least he wasn't one of the drones brewing standard potions all day. He'd have to Avada himself if that was the case.
"So how is brewing for the commercial gods?" Lisa asked with arched eyebrows.
Michael whistled. "Low blow. At least I'm given free rein in development. Aren't you just brought it to advise on others brilliant ideas most of the time?"
Her eyes narrowed in a way that was much too reminiscent of Padma. "Who is getting petty now?"
"So basically discussing work is out then," he said with a laugh, "considering I think some variant of this happens every time."
"So what does that leave then considering we're both married to our jobs?"
"Ancient runes?" It was Terry's voice interrupting them as he plopped down in the last remaining chair. He grinned, leaning back, his tall frame barely fitting under the table. "I admit I'm biased though. It's just because I know I can win any argument on that every time. You lazy sods never bothered to learn anything beyond the cursory amount on the subject." An interpreter for the National Wizarding Museum, he could certainly talk circles around them on runes. None of the rest of the Claws had taken it to the NEWT level, deeming it too irrelevant.
"At least you can discuss your work," Anthony said, sounding morose, transfiguring himself a chair out of a bar napkin and sitting down. Not that that was an unusual occurrence. Anthony always sounded morose and serious, and was a man of few words. Unless he was cheering for the Falcons, at which point he became much livelier.
"Please," Lisa said, "you enjoy the fact your secrecy requirements are much more stringent than even mine. I have top level clearance at the Ministry, and even I don't know exactly what you do." An Unspeakable, Anthony literally could not discuss anything about his work. It was true though for all he might pretend otherwise, he was a little too smug about that fact, pointing it out as often as possible.
"Nobody is ever going to marry you," Padma said, "considering your whole life will be a secret to them."
"Nobody was ever going to marry him anyway," Lisa replied, her tone even rather than with obvious humour another woman might have implied, "I mean, it's Anthony."
Despite the fact that males outnumbered the females in the group that still maintained contact from their house, Michael was fairly sure the three of them were always at the disadvantage. It took a lot to keep up with the women's level of insulting indifference and well...just plain insult. He had been annoyed when Terry and Michael had sat down, considering he enjoyed even just getting a chance to bicker with Lisa, but it was easy to smile and wave for another pint. Despite the fact he could be frustrated with them at the best of times, it was nice to have the Claws together. It didn't happen all that often – they weren't the sentimental type.
"Not everybody's end goal is marriage," Terry pointed out lazily, "there are many cultures that even look on monogamy as an aberration. Try not to paint us all with your enthnocentric brush Miss Patil."
It was gratifying for Michael to see it wasn't just him who provoked her to annoyance. "Just because you will shag anything that moves," she snapped, "doesn't mean that everybody is looking for a different bed partner every night." It was obvious she was beyond annoyed though, if she was descending into petty insults. Padma did what she termed 'academic discourse', she didn't descend into the personal.
Except with Terry.
"Not everything that moves," Terry pretended to ponder, "just everything without a y chromosome, and with enough intelligence to remember to take the potion beforehand." Considering the potions efficacy was nearly one hundred percent, it was fairly hard to get knocked up or catch a venereal disease in the wizarding world.
"Not much more than that though I'm sure," Padma remarked sarcastically. "After all you must enjoy finding somebody who can look up to you with wonder in their eyes."
"It beats finding somebody who chooses to look with blind hatred," his voice was quiet.
It took the strength out of Padma's vitriol. It hadn't just been friendly bickering with the two of them, it never was, especially not since school when they were without parental or professorial supervision. It was a complicated thing, Terry and Padma. They had been rather obviously attracted to each other for a long time, but never at the point or mindset to do anything about it. The only things they had in common beyond their attraction were their pureblood status, and their academic nature. It wasn't just the sexual promiscuity on Terry's part that held them apart, though it was probably a large part of it. In some ways at least, Padma was very traditional.
Still, what it came down to was instead of simply shagging or working it out between them, they bickered more often than not.
Michael cleared his throat, choosing to be the one who stopped awkwardness from descending. "Please you two, stop bickering so snidely, or somebody listening might think we left school as Slytherins."
Anthony was the one who snorted, taking up the familiar if not all that serious snide remarks. "Better than Hufflepuffs."
Padma managed to tear her attention away from Terry to comment with a wave of her hand, "No, I think Gryffindors are the scourge. They are action without thought. How is that in any way a good thing?"
It was a conversation they'd had time and time before, and would again, even now not being at Hogwarts anymore. Every house considered themselves superior, and even in a world that was more about equality in every way, that hadn't changed. Especially with the Ravenclaws.
"We sound like we're twelve," Lisa remarked.
"But with better income," Michael remarked, "and our own flats."
At least the other men snickered in response.
*************************
Lisa was the one who had to break up the festivities of sorts, needing to leave once she had finished her drink. It wasn't that she couldn't stay, because it would be nice to stay and listen to the match, but more that she shouldn't. Her mother would never say anything, but she would imply disappointment in every way if Lisa was late. It might be manufactures solely for guilt, but it affected her all the same. Her mother was the one person who could get to her, especially now; now that she was all Lisa really had left, when it came right down to it.
She would have preferred to stay though, for a multitude of reasons.
There might have been a lingering gaze towards Michael if she hadn't stopped it. Maybe she hadn't entirely, because there was a pointed look from Padma when she got up too, announcing that she'd walk a ways with Lisa on her way to her Mum's. She was one of the few that Lisa didn't have to worry about coming along; having come multiple times to the Muggle side with her, she was comfortable enough in the surroundings she could come back on her own.
They were walking down Charing Cross Road when Padma finally decided to speak.
"I thought you wanted to avoid him," she said mildly.
"We'll talk about him the second you want to talk about Terry," Lisa responded, not looking over at her friend.
For a second she thought Padma might actually pursue it. It was a futile hope and despair both though because the other woman only nodded, as they walked past Muggles and fast driving cars. It wasn't that she wanted to talk about Michael, but sometimes it might be nice if she could.
Padma might be her best friend though, but they weren't like say her sister Parvati and Lavender Brown. They didn't talk emotions, in fact more often than not they pretended not to have any. They didn't talk about men, preferring to believe they had little interest. And the rest, most anything personal, they only alluded to rather than acknowledged. There had been one exception, when Lisa was at the lowest point in her life, but it was the one time only. Sometimes, she wondered how they could be close in spite of all that. Maybe it was that they read things non-verbally the other person refused to let out any other way.
It was at the nearest tube station that Padma turned to her, obviously having decided to turn back. "Enjoy your visit with your mum," she said.
"Not exactly a high chance of that," Lisa remarked dryly. "However I appreciate the sentiment."
Padma hesitated, but gave Lisa's arm a quick squeeze before turning and walking back at a brisk pace towards the Leaky Cauldron's entrance. It was the most physically affectionate the other woman ever got.
Deciding she was delaying, despite the nice day for walking, Lisa hailed a taxi with her friend's departure. She gave an awkward nod of her head to the driver that picked her up as she slid in. It was a source of constant analysis for her how she could be so uncomfortable in non-magical surroundings despite them being the ones she grew up in. Even now, she had to think about the relative merits of the Pounds she carried in a special pocket in her purse, when she was used to dealing in the value of Knuts and Galleons. It probably didn't help that she rarely came back – it was just in so many ways it was easier not to.
Nicolette Turpin's place in London, the place she and Lisa's father had bought when they married all those years ago, was opulent. It wasn't just the location that had skyrocketed the cost, it was the interior. Spacious and decorated to the nines, it was everything that most people aspired to live in. After the taxi had let her off, Lisa didn't stand in awe however, she was too used to the environment of it, and everything it represented.
It had been odd adjusting to the wizarding world because of it. In the Muggle world the Turpins were high society, in the wizarding world she was something on the bottom of the blood purists shoes because of her birth. It was a constant blessing she had been sorted into Ravenclaw where acceptance was more a matter of intelligence and accomplishments rather than anything more base; everyone in her year save herself was pureblood, but that wasn't a factor once they realized what she was capable of. It was hardly warm, and it was more work, but it was an environment Lisa could adapt to. In some ways the lack of pesky emotions in the way they tended to function was like the environment she had grown up with.
Of course there was Michael, who sometimes tended to be the complete antithesis of the attitude of Ravenclaw, but he was the exception rather than the rule.
"Lisa," her mother said with a smile, opening the door. There were no hugs and effusive greetings from Nicolette, but the fact she hadn't sent one of her 'assistants' to greet Lisa was enough of a sign of affection.
"Mother," Lisa said, kissing the air somewhere near her cheek, "sorry I'm late."
Nicolette had been born in France, and the accent remained, though she dissolved into that language only when aggravated. She had met Bernard Turpin at some reception, the latter serving as a Member of Parliament for the English government – though from much more humble origins. They had made an odd sort of sense, her parents, and not just because they were matched in some respects socially. They had actually loved each other, in a sort of world where that was all too rare.
Her apologies were waved aside, as Nicolette turned and strode towards the sitting room. "I have had the cook prepare your favourite," she said, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor, "those delicious little scones that...." her voice trailed off as she walked further ahead.
Lisa's attention was caught however, and she'd stopped short at a table near the entrance. There were new photos there, encased in silver frames. It didn't escape her notice that the family photos were gone, the ones of the three of them. This time it was her father and mother at their most important; at political functions, at receptions for her mother's job, and an intimate one with smiles shortly after their marriage. They were distinctly Muggle shots, so still and unmoving, but they captured so much still.
Her hand reached out to trace over her father's face, caught by a stray burst of emotion.
When she pulled her hand back slowly, it was to find her mother staring at her with an odd expression on her face, having turned back once she realized Lisa wasn't following.
"It is a nice photo," Lisa said quietly, at a loss of what else to offer, feeling helpless in the moment, not something she relished.
Nicolette nodded jerkily, before turning around, speaking again of scones and tea – expecting this time her daughter would follow.
Lisa did, but at a slower pace. Right then, her mother's words were to fill the silence, not anything to be responded too. It was easier for her not to come back, but for all her mother pressured her into it, it was easier for her as well if Lisa only came by occasionally. It was a more than complicated situation between them, with her father gone.
Her hand slid unconsciously to rub at the ridged tissue on her wrist.
They sat in the dining room for tea, chairs at a close enough distance to be able to hear each other. Yelling of course would be uncouth. Nicolette had delved into inanities again, about people who were central in her life, but Lisa hadn't seen in years. It left her free to contemplate and analyze, which she felt compelled to do every time she was in her mother's presence. She never doubted the woman's love, but she never was sure what was there beyond that.
Her history was something that was largely a matter of public record, but it wasn't something she ever discussed. Not since the one night with Padma.
That year Voldemort had taken over she had gone back to Hogwarts. Of course she had, she hadn't known any better. Her wilful ignorance humiliated and grated even now. It had been different for her, considering she'd lived entirely in the Muggle world when she wasn't at school. That didn't mean she hadn't know something, but she hadn't believed, not entirely. It had become apparent when she'd got on a train patrolled by Death Eaters that she had been wrong. When she'd been officially taken into custody and sent to the Ministry for questioning, her brain had shut down for just a moment. Not a feeling one relished when one was a Ravenclaw and that was you prided yourself on, and relied on.
Even sitting in the bowels of the Ministry it still hadn't seemed quite real, because none of it made any sense. She hadn't stolen her magic, how could she have? Everything she had ever been read or taught, and everything she had learned by direct observation, meant that she couldn't have. How could people in power believe that Muggleborns had? Like many of the Muggleborns though, she'd had family with her. In her case though, it had been a Muggle – her father. A member of parliament he was used to getting his way, and used to having sway, and had insisted on coming when her friends had managed to get a hold of her family. It had never really occurred to either of them exactly how much that played into their hands, letting him come.
When he'd become irate and threatening during her sham of a 'hearing' they'd Avada'd him. With her still in shock, they'd decided to send her to Azkaban. She would have been there for the duration of the war as well if it hadn't been for one of the half-bloods in a similar position having a spare wand tucked in his shoe and confounding the Death Eater who'd been escorting them.
The rest of the year, she'd spent on the run.
Lisa supposed in a way there were others who were grateful for the fact he had been one of the ones who had met very similar fates. A murder of one of their own MPs is what had got the Muggle government entirely willing to be on their side. Initially they had been presented with Thicknisse as a legitimate Minister of Magic, and the wizard normally guarding the PM attending to other duties. They hadn't realized exactly what the eventual intent was towards Muggles, or at least hadn't believed it.
The murder, when they'd found out about it, had convinced them.
She couldn't be grateful though, it had been her father. She couldn't be happy for any of it, when it had ripped her life apart.
All of it was the reason for the gap between her and her mother too that they couldn't quite narrow entirely, no matter how much they loved one another.
Nicolette had always said all the right things. She had been the one who never judged when Lisa had sat stone cold and silent during her father's memorial a year later when his body was "found", understanding it was too much emotion rather than a lack of it that held her that way. It had been her who had tried to convince Lisa to see a therapist, statute of secrecy be damned, because those didn't exist in the wizarding world; she had felt it was owed to her daughter, and would have taken it to the Minister herself if Lisa had let her. It had been her too, not one of the servants, who had come to sit with her when Lisa got up night after night, unable to sleep – puttering around in the kitchen for warm milk.
Still, there was something not there anymore.
Lisa forced a smile as Nicolette nattered on about her being too skinny, and pushed over the plate of scones.
*************************
"Bugger," Michael muttered under his breath.
The potion had turned a nasty shade of green, but he forced himself to patience. Perhaps that was what was needed. Merlin knew he'd learned yesterday the lovely pale violet potion he'd produced was not the solution, considering the fact they were still cleaning up in the lab downstairs from the result of it. Today he'd substituted dicing of the dragonfly thorax for grinding, and it had drastically changed the properties as he'd hoped it would – as dicing often led to a more subtle effect of the ingredient which he hoped would be the solution. He was trying to come up with a potion that would serve as an energy drink for Quidditch players and other athletes whom had to play day long games, and the endurance properties of the dragonfly thorax should be the solution.
It wasn't quite curing the incurable diseases, which sometimes he did get to try his hand at, but it was occasionally the life of corporate potions development that he lived with – and a potion like that would make the company a lot of galleons.
"Michael." The calling of his name rarely registered. Nothing usually did when he was working.
It took a tap on his shoulder to bring him to himself. Annoyed, Michael cast a stasis charm of the brewing to hold it until he could give his full attention again. In such a delicate process, he had to be able to catalogue every step.
"What?" He almost snapped, before realizing he was supposed to be the easy going one. And he was. Usually. Just not when he was in the middle of a potion.
He almost groaned when he saw that it was Pansy Parkinson who had invaded his lab. She was usually the only one who would do so without so much as a knock. Of course there was always the possibility that she had this time considering how engrossed he was, but it would be going against precedent. She might be the only one of his year who'd been taken on by the company, but they were far from mates. He probably had a lot more in common with Jeremy Humplewich who cleaned the labs at night. However they coexisted decently enough because he quite simply didn't care if she acted like a bitch quite regularly and she did have a hand with potions, he would grant her that.
"Ideas from the marketing committee that they want us to prioritize," she said, tossing some parchment onto his desk, setting his teeth slightly on edge as they got too close to the cauldron. "Pick it up yourself next time."
"But the role of secretary suits you so well," he remarked, knowing that would garner a response.
Right on cue her eyes narrowed. Before she could deliver what he was sure would be a properly scathing response, Michael looked at the list she had brought and did groan aloud this time.
"They know these are not going to happen, right?" He read further down the list, looking at what the company wanted them to try and develop. Every once in awhile if the owner felt his pockets weren't deep enough he consulted a committee to see what potions would be most palatable to the general public. Half the time they came up with things distinctly unbrewable – for example, if the cure for sneezing could be found in a cauldron it would have been developed decades ago, and the rest were mind numbingly awful. For the other half they had come up with things that insulted his talents and abilities.
"Perhaps they're beyond your capabilities," Pansy said archly, sweeping out of his lab before he could say anything back.
Not that he would, unless it was reverse psychology to get her to dedicate her efforts to those projects. If anything, she was welcome to the list to try and pacify the higher ups. Half of those things he'd rather gouge out his eyes than attempt.
Before he could return to his cauldron, the wispy form of a Patronus appeared in the room.
Something that was supposed to be this important skill, here it was often used as interoffice communication.
"Floo call in the main office," were the words out of the lynx that belonged to Jillian Norwick, the lab administrator, before it faded into thin air.
Resigning himself to the fact that he wasn't going to get as much accomplished as he'd planned that morning, Michael made sure to cast wards around his potion to make sure nobody could get to it. If there was one thing he was paranoid about, his brewing work was it – even here in a quite secure building. Once that was done he made his way to the main office, nodding at acquaintances as he went. He had his doubts about it being anything important, usually any communication he got was from his Mum, much as he admonished her that she should never contact him at work. Ever since his parents had sent him off to a Death Eater controlled Hogwarts, and with the stories they knew of what went on there, she had been a little clingier than she would normally be to an adult child.
It wasn't his mum's face that he made out in the fireplace though.
"Lisa," he said, surprised as he bent down to the flames, shocked to have her on the other end of the Floo. If nothing else he knew she liked to avoid it; it wasn't exactly comfortable experience, and Muggleborns took to it even less.
"It's not a personal call," she said in a cool tone. If it was possible to interpret a cool tone through the Floo network.
"Of course it isn't," he remarked dryly, "I would never assume otherwise."
He really didn't understand her. He was fairly sure he never would. Half the time now she was so intent on not thawing around him as anything more than a friend, she didn't even allow herself that sort of connection. Lisa hesitated now, seeming to search for something in his words, but eventually left it alone and continued.
"I got a call from the magical law department office," she said, "they're worried about the patents for one of your potions and...."
"....don't know the difference between grumblebumble and graphorn parts."
She paused, but nodded. "In essence."
"If this is your life I'm glad I didn't get the Ministry job after all," he couldn't resist needling her. He knew though this was probably her most mundane duty, and rare enough too.
"If you would be so kind as to indulge us people who have better things to do with their day," she clipped out.
Michael had just been trying to joke with her, but he was aware that was most often a futile effort these days. Instead, he only sighed, asking, "The memory potion?" It could only be that though, considering it was his best success in the last few months, an enhancement on the standard memory charm that worked far better. It would likely be peddled to students before exams, but it wasn't his job to worry about the ethical implications. Besides, he liked to fancy it could used as daily treatments for those who were losing their memory due to age or curse. So long as they didn't call it 'Michael's Magical Memory Mixture' though, he could live with whatever the company was marketing it as though.
She nodded, and he shrugged, "What do you want to know?"
"I'd appreciate it if you'd go get your notes."
"Lisa, it's my bloody potion, I know everything off by heart."
"Still, I would be more comfortable with your notes in front of you," she said stubbornly.
Uncomplimentary thoughts about a woman he both considered a friend and was attracted to slid through Michael's mind, but he sighed and pulled his head out of the fireplace. She didn't quite believe that when it came to potions his mind was as capable as hers, and he didn't need notes to discuss something he created. However there were battles to pick, and this wasn't one of them. He wasn't the sort to be contrary just to be contrary.
He kept the parchments with his potions notes on a warded cabinet in his main lab. Michael walked slowly there, his one defiance. If she was going to insist on it, she could wait with her head in the fireplace.
As he Accio'd the parchment from the cabinet, his attention was distracted by an owl pecking on the window. He indulged his curiosity, scanning the contents quickly.
It was an invitation to interview for the position of potions master at Hogwarts.
Michael couldn't quite conceal his surprise. In some ways, it wasn't a shock they were replacing yet another professor. It wasn't quite the curse of the DADA prof during his own school years, but since Snape they had been having a steady procession of potions masters at Hogwarts. Not due to any allegiance with Voldemort, or some other criminal activity, but due to simple unsuitability for the job and for teaching from the sounds of things. It took a certain kind of person to put up with children, and to focus on teaching with your own interest in potions being secondary – especially in the isolated realm of Hogwarts that was sadly dull these days.
It would have been flattering to be approached without application, but after so many attempts they probably were scraping the bottle of the barrel. Still, he couldn't stop grinning as he left his office, feeling bad for keeping Lisa waiting so long. The job would be everything this job was not, and while it lacked intrigue, it had its appeal.
"Guess who I just got an owl from," Michael said as he shoved his head back into the fireplace.
Lisa didn't betray any annoyance at being kept waiting, because that would be actual emotion. She did only say though, "I Flooed to talk about the potion Michael not..."
"McGonagall," he said determinedly, not letting her put him aside like she usually tried to. Most of the time he didn't know why he tried so hard with her still, but he couldn't stop himself, "can't quite believe that woman is still around, but then again Dumbledore was older than dirt, wasn't he?"
"Oh, the potions position," Lisa said in a dismissive tone, "I turned that down last time. I can't quite believe the struggles they are having there."
It was amazing the knack she had for taking the pleasure out of any given situation. He wondered if it was just him she reserved the pleasure for, or if it really was with everybody. Michael all of a sudden felt drained. Not enough to call her on it of course, but just enough. Sometimes he really thought he should have been sorted into Hufflepuff. Sometimes too he wished he could be drawn enough to somebody much simpler to form a lasting connection with.
"Yes, well, us commercial drones can't be picky about alternative options," he said lightly.
There was a look through the flames that he couldn't quite interpret, but when she didn't say anything he launched into determined chatter about the aforementioned potion awaiting patent.
*************************
"I can't believe I'm lowering myself to this," Pansy said, sipping from the goblet full of elderberry wine. She had gone all out. On a regular basis her robes at work look twice the value of his. On a night like tonight, they were probably thrice the value. If her upturned nose didn't send the message, her dress would send the message that she was superior to everybody in the room.
Michael was the only one she had deigned to talk to in any real fashion.
They had both been part of the invitees to interview for the position of potions master. It did sooth what ego he had looking around the room now to realize that the other witches and wizards were older. It wasn't just scraping the bottom of the barrel with much too recent graduates. Of course none of the biggest names in the potions world were there, but even for the most prestigious professorship position that was rare. They had all had sit-downs with the headmistress for first interviews earlier in the evening, and now those who hadn't turned down the position when they heard the horrible salary were having drinks in the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade rather than feeling uncomfortable at the castle.
"You couldn't stand not seeing me for so long while I went through the interview process?" Michael said with a grin.
She shot him a look of disdain. "Please. I can't believe that they are considering you for anything but caretaker."
It had taken a few years of working with Pansy, but he was fairly sure she was more upset than usual. It had nothing to do with her snark, that he was used to, but she kept fiddling with the sleeves of her robes and sending overly hostile looks to anybody passing by their table. It had been like that since her interview. He could only assume it hadn't gone well with the headmistress, though she hadn't been cut outright yet. He didn't ask though, they didn't have that sort of relationship. They didn't really have one of any kind outside of mutual tolerance really.
It had to take courage being back here though. The last time she'd been at Hogwarts, she'd suggested handing Potter over to Voldemort. While it wasn't stuff worthy of the Daily Prophet, there were few who had been there who would ever forget. It wasn't something he had ever asked her about.
"One of these days I will find a woman to talk to whom doesn't disparage me with every word out of her mouth," he snorted, rather than pursuing anything more personal.
"Don't your precious Ravenclaws flatter your ego constantly? You wouldn't have lasted a month in Slytherin."
"Have you actually properly met any of the female Claws?" Michael asked, incredulous.
Pansy waved her hand dismissively, "No, nor do I have any desire to."
It amused him, as she completely let the topic slip. He wondered what she really thought their house had been like. There was pretentiousness to rival the Slytherins, except of a different sort. There were certainly as many rivalries, though maybe in more academic matters. Oddly enough, their 'blood' had almost been as pure at least in his year. Only one Muggleborn for them, and not even a half-blood besides.
He saw Neville Longbottom come in, who he shot a friendly wave. He was accompanied by the Puff who ran the Leaky. Apparently the Herbology department wasn't enough to keep him in tonight. Michael hadn't had a chance to talk to the other man before the interview, though he had sent an owl around. They weren't best mates, but like every former member of the DA that last year they kept in touch. It was hard not to respect Neville, and harder still not to like him. The other man smiled back in acknowledgement, but didn't head over right away, helping....Hannah, yes, that was her name, Hannah, out of her cloak and hanging it on a peg. Michael temporarily wondered if maybe it would make a difference if he did that for Lisa, the chivalrous touch, but he didn't think that was the issue of why she acted the ice queen around him.
"Michael," Neville said with a smile as they approached. His hands were nowhere near Hannah, but there were something around their body positioning that screamed 'together'. His gaze cooled slightly when he saw Pansy, but seemed to brace himself before nodding at her.
It would have been too easy if she had said something nice in response. Instead, she sniffed and went to the bar to get another drink.
"It's not a date," Michael said with a sigh at their questioning looks, "we're both been at the school for first interviews for the position of potions master."
"We didn't ask," Neville said, flushing slightly.
No, but they had been wondering. At least they weren't the sort to have wands at her throat. Michael wanted to tell them that Pansy had nothing on Lisa's icy reserve, or Padma's cutting remarks when she got in a mood, but he supposed at least they didn't have the background of going against the hero of the wizarding world to make people assume things. He supposed it was why people took Pansy's attitude all the worse. "I like my bollocks intact," was all he said mildly.
It was Hannah who smiled, "She does seem the type to eviscerate them."
He wondered if it was truly the case - if Pansy was quite as sharp as she put on, or if some of it was a defence mechanism. He supposed, with the way things were for them, in the end it didn't matter much to him.
"I hope you get hired on," Neville said, "it's been a rotating position the last few years. It would be good to have a friendly face around the castle." Like most of them were anything but. Neville was one of the darlings of the wizarding world, even if he didn't quite seem to believe it most of the time.
"I'm hoping so," Michael said, "so I can stop selling my soul just for corporate funding to develop potions. And," he added hastily, "for the opportunity to mould young minds and all that."
"Of course," Hannah said, her eyes twinkling.
They both excused themselves, seeking out a cozy booth in the back. It was only at that point that Pansy deigned to make her way back over to the table.
"It wouldn't kill you to be nice," Michael said mildly.
"But I wouldn't enjoy it in the slightest," she replied, taking a slow sip of her wine.
*************************
The second interview had gone smoothly enough. In essence, Michael wasn't quite sure though. He wasn't a people reader, and the former Gryffindor head of house had an excellent poker face in these situations. There was a difference between not fucking it up entirely, and distinguishing one's self from the crowd. Instead of finding the guest room in the teacher's quarters that had been allotted for him once the meeting was done though, he found himself wandering the school, reminiscing. Without a password, there was no entering the Ravenclaw common room, though he probably could have deciphered the riddle of the day – but the children might not appreciate it.
Merlin, he was already talking like he was eons older than them, and he hadn't even been hired on.
The rest of the castle held just as many memories however, even if it wasn't quite the same building. He hadn't been one of the ones to help with the restoration from the destruction at the Battle of Hogwarts, so he hadn't been aware of all the changes. It was still the same building underneath, but the finish had changed, the details. One wouldn't have even been able to tell there had been fighting here, except for the memorial plaques that hung on the walls. They had done a good job.
There was where Alecto Carrow had cornered him once, pushing him up against the wall.
There was where he had hid with Terry and Michael one night in fourth year, devising charms to scare the bloody hell out of the first years by animating the statues.
There was where he had got into a hexing match with one of the older Slytherins that last year when they were terrorizing a half-blood Claw. The detention, if one could even call it something that mild, had been worth it.
There was where he had practised his spells from that first year in the DA, when the common room was becoming a little too much.
Every room had a memory, and the sad thing was, so many of them had already faded. He wondered how long it would be until they all did. Still, the most important things couldn't, he was sure. It was disconcerting though how much about his school years had already blended from specific moments into general history. At the time, they had seemed all consumingly important.
When a laughing group of Hufflepuffs came around the corner in the corridor he was walking in, he gave them an awkward nod before turning back to retrace his steps, feeling all too old.
Passing by the head office, it was to run into Pansy coming out.
He didn't bother asking how it had gone. The confrontational look on her face told the story.
"Even if I don't get the job," he said, "it's been good to be back."
"Why?" She asked sharply.
"Well, memories and what not I suppose."
She gave a laugh devoid of humour, "Who would want to remember anything about this place?"
Michael almost asked her to explain. He almost asked her what was wrong, the past and the present combined; he almost opened himself up to her tearing him to shreds for trying to care.
Almost.
"Anybody with a soul," was all he said instead, earning himself a disgusted look.
"I want a drink," Pansy said abruptly. "Feel free to come along. If you can manage not to say something sentimental and cloying for more than a few seconds that is." From that, he took it to mean that his presence was more directly required. Ah well, considering sticking around the castle would do him no good except in worrying about the interview, it would be a welcome respite. Though, looking like an alcoholic who couldn't stay dedicated to the school wouldn't help anybody.
They detoured through the potions area on their way to grab their cloaks. He wasn't quite sure who instigated it, himself or Pansy. Maybe both of them wanted a look at what might never be theirs. Late evening now, the area was empty, no students passing through.
"I actually want this job," he said, looking at the empty rows, "not just to escape the potions company but...I want this job. Maybe as much as I wanted the consultant job for the Ministry."
It was different, to be sure, than the one Lisa had been given – but maybe more important. It wasn't something he had ever seriously though of until the owl though, because he never thought he'd have a chance at it. Too young, less practical experience than most, there was a variety of reasons. He was glad the owl had prompted him to try for it. There was also that lingering perception though as well that potions were synonymous with Professor Snape, and that legacy was a hard thing to reconcile one's self with.
Pansy didn't mock his statement. It was the closest she would probably come to admitting that she wanted the job too.
"We should....." he began, but was cut off by a sound in the adjacent lab.
Curious, he made his way over to the door, Pansy following behind. Inside he could see somebody flitting around between the stocks. It took him a second to place Norman Burnaby, the interim instructor. He had been at the school for months, but nobody had considered him a permanent option as a replacement from what Michael had heard. He wasn't even undergoing the interviews with the rest of them. Apparently it had been a source of extreme bitterness on his part. Michael actually had respect for McGonagall taking that stand. It would have been easiest with him already in with the students, and the man had credentials.
He wondered what was holding Norman back.
Michael felt a little guilty for spying. Still, before he could back away, his attention was caught. Norman was moving around frantically. Initially he'd thought the man had just been working on independent potions work outside the classroom setting, working under a timeline on the potion, but there was....something...he wasn't sure....
The cauldron. That was it.
In the dim lighting it had looked the normal black vessel, though who knew thick the bottom was, but as Michael's eyes adjusted he could see there was more to it. There were runes on the cauldron, covering about the surface. Michael recognized the shapes, but not the meanings. It was not his forte, not at all. It was curious, because he had never heard of anything regarding the combination of the two magical methods, and he considered himself both experienced and well read.
At Pansy's intake of breath beside him, Michael realized Norman's features had started to distort and shift. A swig from a vial he had in his pocket stabilized them again.
He was fairly sure they both recognized what it was at the same time. Polyjuice.
There was something going on that neither of them had any really understanding of. Obviously though, it wasn't entirely innocent. He and Pansy both stayed silent as they watched Norman continue to brew, as well as gathering vials intermittently from the shelves around him, shoving them in his pocket. The smell of the brew was unrecognizable, and Michael couldn't get a look at the colour and consistency. It made him uncomfortable not to know what he was dealing with. There was maybe a hint of petrol, which often came from bubotuber pus, but it was masked with a more cloying scent which was of too great a variety for him to identify the exact ingredients.
Michael almost made a noise of surprise when after a few minutes Norman levitated the cauldron up from the flame, beginning to move towards the doorway where they stood.
He was the one who pushed Pansy back against the wall, but she was the one who cast a disillusionment charm on them both, and it felt like somebody had broken a cracked egg on his head – but Michael determinedly didn't move.
They weren't noticed as Norman left, but he probably wasn't expecting to see anybody invading his domain.
Most of Michael's thoughts were swirling, and focused on what they were witnessing, but with Pansy's body pressed up against his he couldn't help but think about that. Not because it was going anything for him, but because it wasn't. It would simplify his life if he was even getting a reaction to this prickly woman, but outside of the basest physical reaction, he didn't feel anything with her body pressed right against his no matter how heavily her breasts heaved. Instead his attraction seemed to continue to be limited to a woman who wouldn't even have the decency to snark with hm.
"I know you're a scourge among women Michael, but really," Pansy said harshly, keeping her voice as low as she could as she shoved him away once Norman had left the room, protesting his contact.
"It could have been Neville," he pointed out reasonably, knowing that would annoy her more than any truly deplorable option.
However Pansy's attention was even too distracted to come up with a proper retort. They were both following slowly to see what Norman was up to. They had both certainly got the impression that asking him wasn't going to solve anything, and possibly leave them further from the truth. Polyjuice combined with a rune covered cauldron neither of had ever heard of could not spell anything good, especially done this way at this time of night.
It was surprisingly Pansy who took the lead, but Michael didn't argue. He wished desperately for an invisibility cloak, but Norman seemed unaware as to their presence as he made his way through the darkened hall, his cauldron levitated in front of him. It was a very surreal moment.
It was a miracle they didn't come across any students, but maybe they were better behaved than they had been in Michael's day. Or at least more obedient.
Michael was surprised to see Norman come to a stop in front of the old entrance to the Room of Requirement on the seventh floor. He could see that Pansy had no idea as to the significance of the stretch of wall, but he would always remember it – they had used it so many times during seventh year. Even now with Barnabus the Barmy gone from the wall across he couldn't mistake the location. He did wonder though, how they'd kept current students from using it. Even if the younger ones hadn't been around the same time as him, people talked, older siblings talked. There was no way around it.
They watched as Norman passed back and forth three times before the entrance opened.
Michael darted through to follow him in, because he'd had enough experience to know how it would go if he didn't go in right away. Pansy had hesitated momentarily, but followed him. She'd done the disillusionment charm thing again, quite successfully he assumed, as there were no abrupt shouts of discovery.
The room was bare save them and the interim potions professor, which was surprising. They both watched as Norman cast spells to get a flame going, starting the process of brewing once again. This time though he was chanting under his voice as he put ingredients into the cauldron. Grinding here, stirring here, switching back and forth – all intermittent with inscribing another rune into the cauldron itself. Michael still couldn't make sense of the symbols, but tried to memorize them for future analysis.
It seemed an eternity as the other man brewed, but nothing seemed to happen until the entirety of the cauldron surface was covered in symbols.
At which point there seemed to be an eruption from the potion itself, flames and fluid shooting near towards the ceiling.
Michael couldn't help it, he was the one who made a noise at the shock, feeling the elbow of Pansy to his gut. It was therefore his fault entirely when Norman spun towards them, his attention caught even over the disturbance of the potion. The disillusionment charm at that point wasn't enough.
It was his fault then too when neither of them had a chance to defend themselves before Norman was throwing something out of his pocket at them, blinding Michael before effectively knocking him out.