The Cardinal

“Absolutely,” Herbert complied, taking his seat across Armaud, his form formally rigid and his gaze vigilant until Armaud spoke again. “Certainly, your eminence,” he acceded, glancing back over at his superior as he was occupied by his thought. Herbert remained silent, conscientious until Armaud drew his attention back to his presence.

“Consider it done,” he spoke, his tone saturated with his belief in the other man’s judgment, as he added tactfully, “however, the bands that reside in the Court of Miracles are still certainly under the most suspicion for orchestrating the attack on his majesty. We do not know yet how many parties may be involved, we could perhaps assign more men to go undercover.” He leaned slightly into his chair, though his back remained straight. Herbert awaited stilly for Armaud’s response before his habitually tense shoulders relaxed slightly at Armaud’s sudden inquiry.

“Oui, I am well.” His tone shifted, though only as to bring out a considerably convincing assurance. Both men knew well the inconsequence of such trivialities, and Herbert had never thought to- for the past two decades - ever burden Armaud with the extent of his woes. “I find solace in my duties, Armaud,” he added, with an attempt at a receptive expression, “I pray that things are well for you as well.”

Armaud nodded a sympathetically at Herbert’s answer, but inwardly he felt a little wistful. A void had stretched out between the two of them. Where there once was a certain familial warmth, back years and years ago, there was now rigid formality. Herbert had always been dutiful, had always tried to maintain some sort of occupational distance from Armaud after joining the Red Guard, but Armaud had allowed the gap to widen to the point where he could barely see the other man on the other side of it anymore, looking rather like a pinprick out beyond his reach. Armaud thought about the days before, when genuine smiling and joking weren’t so uncommon as they were now, when feelings weren’t something so taboo, and he missed them. But he was being a sentimental old fool.

“My business is rather well known, I think,” Armaud said lightly, dismissively. “The king’s would-be killer to catch, souls to save, wars to prevent, you know, just the day-to-day.” If some of that wistfulness reached Armaud’s eyes, then he couldn’t tell, but his tone sobered soon after, and he returned swiftly back to business. “Undoubtedly you are right. I’m afraid that the Court of Miracles is most likely the den of activity for our little band of terrorists, and you are also right that embedding more men might be to our advantage. But I believe we require the help of people more connected within the system already, people much more trusted there that we simply do not have.

Marie immediately started walking when he said he wanted to deal with it now. “It was Fernand, really. He realised what it was and got it back in the closet, I didn’t do much.” Marie didn’t think it was false modesty, it was just honesty. “Oh, we’re fine.” As fine as they could be, considering Fernand’s boggart. “We went to the kitchens. The house elves gave us hot chocolates and brownies, that helped.” She still had one in her pocket, she’d figured it’d be good to have something in case she felt bad later.

She fell silent as they continued walking, unable to think of much else to say. She didn’t want to tell him what Fernand’s boggart had been, since they’d made a deal not to tell. The deal had been meant for their siblings, but she figured it was a good idea to just keep it between the two of them.

Once she was back at the closet, she pointed to it. “It’s that one. I hope you don’t mind, but… I don’t really want to deal with that again.” Marie took a step back as if to head back down the corridor. She couldn’t bear hearing someone she loved saying horrible things to her again, seeing them look at her with hatred or disgust. “Besides, it’s late, I have class in the morning.” She was trying to justify leaving him, even though it was silly to be worried about Professor Rossignol dealing with a boggart. He was the DADA professor, after all.

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention,” Armaud said, looking straight at the closet door. “Ten house points for coming to get me and ten more for successfully warding it off, for both you and Mr. Baptiste. I’ll deal with it on my own. You may go.” Marie went, and Armaud watched her leave, making sure she was definitely out of his way. The corridor itself was bare, void of any decoration which felt somewhat odd to Armaud. Distantly, he thought he might’ve thoroughly made use of such an out-of-the-way place while he was a student, if only to get into mischief. But even as an adult the privacy would served Armaud well. Those who were privy to what lied in wait for him were few in number, and he planned to keep it that way for as long as possible.

Armaud exhaled once, trying to ground his emotions. He listened as the sound of Marie’s footsteps tapered off into silence. Now he could do what he came here for without any witnesses. From where he stood, he opened the closet with a flick of his wand, and it soundlessly it swung open. Revulsion filled his soul.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he said lowly.

Marie smiled sheepishly at Professor Rossignol when he opened the door. He always unnerved her a little. It wasn’t that he said or did anything to warrant it, but he had this commanding aura, as if he knew everything, and she had always worried he’d get annoyed with her antics.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir. The problem isn’t urgent urgent, if that makes sense, but I didn’t want to wait til morning, just in case.” Realising she was babbling a bit, she took a deep breath and explained. “There’s a boggart. We - Fernand Baptiste and I - we found it while on patrol. It kinda took me by surprise, well both of us but Fernand clued in quicker. He locked it back in the closet, but anyone determined enough could break in and get affected by it. I figured I should let you know. If you want, I can show you where it is now, or tomorrow, if it’s too late?”

She half hoped he said it could wait until morning. He wasn’t a mean professor, but she’d never spoken to him outside class really, and he always gave her the impression that he knew all the rules she’d broken. It wasn’t as though she sought out trouble, but she definitely wasn’t always a model student either.

“You do yourself too little credit, Miss Duval,” said Armaud after hearing her story. He looked at her sympathetically, eyebrows furrowing in an exaggeration of the worry he felt. “Boggarts are nasty business, and even I am loathe to deal with them. Please, if you could, take me there now. I’d like to for it to be gone before morning. Besides, there’s no use in leaving a problem to be dealt with for later when one has all the means of dealing with it right away.” He was glad that the two students were successful in defending the boggart themselves, and felt deeply proud in having ensured they could rebuke dangerous enemies despite their young age. He turned to lock the door to his study before setting out with her. “More importantly, the two of you are alright, yes? Facing one’s fears is always a nerve-wracking experience.”

Armaud had always viewed Marie as a student like most others at Hogwarts: silly in the way children should be expected to be silly, wanting of a good education, but perhaps more importantly, in possession of a great deal of good intention. He had no doubt she would grow up to be an upright citizen when she was of age, but he hoped, as he did with all his students, that she would become discerning and compassionate.

Sybille sat just a little bit sullenly as Armaud told her off. She was just being a good Slytherin, embodying the history and attributes of their house in a way that would make any househead proud. She crossed her arms over her chest, her normally straight posture slinking as he went on and on and on. Wasn’t he the one always marking her essays, telling her to be precise and concise? He could use a taste of his own medicine, instead of rubbing salt into the wound and making her feel bad.

She swallowed when he reached into his robe and pulled out his notebook, though she tried to make it look nonchalant by looking out to the side and pouting. It was always bad when Armaud grabbed out a notebook. A notebook meant he had too much on his mind to say at one time. She waited for the number to fall like a guillotine, only to be… pleasantly surprised. She fought hard to keep a smirk off her face. He had only noticed… what… two months ago? Sybille kept up the pout, shifted in her chair sullenly. She had been borrowing books from his library since at least half the year.

Still, despite her pervasive, flippant attempts to keep in good humour, Sybille was hurt by this telling off. Despite herself she felt her eyebrows arch upwards, her eyes going hot, and - Merlin forbid - her vision going blurry. Along the way she had come to crave Armaud’s praise; his displeasure was a pain to her too. She tapped her foot against the floor agitatedly, keeping her face decisively pointed away from him. She wanted to scream at him, that she was only doing as he taught her, that she was smarter than he seemed to think, that she could handle herself. Instead, she stayed quiet, that foot tap-tap-taping, her jaw clenched tight.

“May I be excused?” she asked after a pregnant pause, already loathing how weak she felt. She would sneak to one of the abandoned rooms of the castle and practise her attacks until her tongue was tied in knots. After she ciphered and charmed and locked her notebooks that she was to hand to Armaud beyond the rotating cipher she had written them in. Taking out her feelings on a levitating sack would definitely make her feel better.

Armaud sat in silence, and though he leaned back in his chair with all the condescension of a king, his eyes could not conceal his anger, and he needed a moment to compose himself. The girl’s pride assured Armaud that she needed no further scolding from him to feel the consequences of a destroyed relationship. Unscrupulous people such as her would no doubt use and abuse people all their lives, Armaud thought, but perhaps this would teach her some measure of temperance and consideration. He would probably never hold her in the same regard ever again. Disappointing, as she had the potential to become actually interesting if she could learn humility. God, he’d been nearly apoplectic with rage what had transpired behind his back, and by a favored student no less, and was halfway to dismantling the club entirely before his good sense reined him back. But good had begrudgingly come from this betrayal, and ever since Armaud had charmed all Dark Arts books in his possession to hell and back to prevent any other sticky fingers from taking them again. The seconds ticked by before he rapped once on the table with his knuckles and released a long-held breath.

Marie left the kitchens and headed straight for Professor Rossignol’s office. She didn’t want to wait until the morning to tell him about the boggart in case another student stumbled across it. The chocolate had gotten rid of the physical effects of the dementor, but she had to try focus on anything else to forget about what her boggart had told her.

She knew it hadn’t been real, that Marian would never actually say those things, but the fear was still there. She hated knowing she was so scared of being abandoned, but she couldn’t help it. It was easier to focus on what she had to do, to focus on getting rid of the boggart, keeping an eye on Fernand over the next couple of days, homework, classes, quidditch practice, prefect duty, everything. If she thought about that, she might not feel so lost.

Once she knocked on the door of his office, she looked down at her outfit with a grimace, knowing he’d probably dock points for being out of uniform when she was technically on prefect duty, but at least it wasn’t blatantly out of uniform.

@redeminence

Armaud was grading papers–a never ending task–when a knock at the door roused him from his duties. He looked at the little clock on the far wall, surprised that someone should be summoning him so late. It was good that he had not already retired to his own rooms. Unhurried, he finished circling the last of the errors on the paper in front of him, cleaned and clipped his fountain pen to the lapel of his outer robe, and went to answer the door.

One Ms. Marie Duval stood waiting for him on the other side. Armaud knew Marie to be a fairly diligent student, a responsible prefect who took her duties seriously, and upon seeing the untidy way she wore her clothes, he immediately became alert. While Armaud doubted there was too much trouble given the way Marie was not totally frantic, it was unusual for a prefect to come calling during the night unless his presence was actually needed. Unconsciously, he felt for his wand in his pocket.

Simone didn’t know how, but Professor Rossignol always seemed to catch her in trouble. Fooling professors was easy and navigating through the cracks of the system seemed to be a natural skill for her. But the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor always found her out. Of course it didn’t help that she had started it. The first time she cast the full body bind curse on him, it was a dare from a classmate. Since then, she’s tried it just to see if she was successful. She would have stopped years ago if she didn’t secretly enjoy the treks out into the Forbidden Forest.

Still, she wanted to work on her potions that night and not roam around with her professor. In fact she was sure there were a million better things to do with her time, but of course, she had no choice in the matter. With her hands stuffed in her pockets she made her way to the Quidditch pitch, only half aware that she now had to miss practice that Saturday because of detention.

As she got closer, she saw her professor, instinct having her reach for her wand. Before she could do anything stupid, however, she nodded in greeting. “To be fair, this is the first detention of my fifth year. That has to be a record with us right?” she asked with a small smile.

“Erklings are like elfish creatures that are native in Germany. They eat children and when used for a wand core, the wand is incredibly tempermental,” she added as she remember what she read about them in her wand lore book.

“Excellent!” Armaud said. “They’re nasty little things and they’ve quite the fight in them, but to witches and wizards like ourselves, they shouldn’t prove too much of a threat. I suspect the most trouble we’ll encounter in their capture is actually locating some. Fortunately, erklings favor nesting under alder trees, so we know where exactly to look. Come, let’s get going.” With that, Armaud turned and went in the direction of the forest, knowing Simone would not be trailing too far behind him. One good thing about those few students who found Defense interesting enough to purposefully get detention was that they were much keener on following directions.

The woods were cold and misty and the rugged terrain made each of their steps uneven as the two of them traversed the landscape. “One interesting thing,” Armaud said as they walked, “about erklings is they are capable of human speech, but they speak english with a heavy german accent. I’ve tried speaking german to them before, but they speak german with a heavy american accent.” He paused in his lecture, having reached their first alder tree, and he put a steadying hand on the bark to observe some scratches upon it. “That was a lie, by the way–but look here.” He motioned Simone over and pointed to some faint lines on the alder bark.

Sybille blinked when Armaud mentioned rescheduling the meeting. He would let them know of postponements during meal time; a simple note enchanted to fly over to his students. She hadn’t received any such notice. At first she was pleased that he had something to say to her; perhaps it was that her charms were getting better each time she used them; no, that her silent spell casting was really showing improvement!

Instead, he shattered her bubble of happiness in two sentences. “My behaviour!” she squeaked, incredulous, hand at her chest, splayed wide. “What could I have possibly done…” she trailed off, hand lowering, looking off to the side. Well… there was her B+ grade, but she was working to fix that! Maybe it was the polyjuice potion she was brewing- or the occasional book or seven she had “borrowed” from his office. It wasn’t like she hadn’t returned them, after taking extensive notes and not having asked permission to take them in the first place! Maybe it was the net of blackmailing she was weaving - Merlin - Baltasar better not have run off to Armaud to complain about her catching him and subsequently extorting him over his carryout of an Imperius curse! She’s show him a Forbidden curse.

The pause between Sybille’s rhetoric question and her next words did not bode well for her mortal soul. Clearing her throat she face Armaud again, smiling pleasantly, if not a little bit strained. “What do you think I have done wrong, Professor Rossignol?”

He tutted at her answer. “Careful now, Miss Delacroix,” chided Armaud. “You implicate yourself more than you know. You must understand the fact you are incapable of placing what exactly landed you in this situation does nothing to help your case.” He put on his glasses again and leaned back in his chair, sizing up the girl in front of him. Quiet, he looked up and down at her once before he continued with his scolding.

“I found it curious when I could not find one of my books a couple weeks ago–a treatise on the Imperio curse–and despite the rest of my shelf being in order, I could not locate it. Mind you, I’m not the sort of man to easily lose things, so when it miraculously found its way back on my shelf only a few days later, I was quite intrigued. Over time, a pattern began to emerge.” He smiled wanly. “It brings me no end to my amusement, that students often forget that we professors also possess eyes and brains.”

From an inner pocket of his robe, Armaud pulled out a small leather book and flipped through it for a moment before stopping a finger on a page. Peering down his nose, he looked at his list and said, “Nine books. Nine books missing from my library at one point or another, all of which contained sensitive information, not removed by me or by another staff member. You’ve borrowed nine books from my library this past month, and who knows how much longer this thievery has been going on.” He looked at her with displeasure plain on his face and shut the book with a decisive clap, returning it into its hidden place.

@redeminence

There was nothing that could make Sybille more excited than a Candlelight Club meeting. She even added some rouge to her cheeks, flowers to her hair. She liked looking as enigmatic and secretive as the club made her out to be. Finally made up properly, she quickly made her way to Armaud’s office, armed only with her coded notebook and her wand.

“Good evening Professor,” she sing-songed once he opened the door, walking into his office and seating herself down at her usual chair: front and center. “What is the agenda tonight?” She looked around the room, surprised that the other club members weren’t here yet. Slackers. “Am I early or are the others very late?”

“Ah, Miss Delacroix,” Armaud said, setting down his fountain pen from the First Year papers he had been grading. His least favorite year was always the First Years, who were often too young to get a real grasp on the matters he was teaching, and had the most abominable spelling and grammatical errors. All their papers were swimming in corrections. It was a pity, to Armaud, that there was no class dedicated solely to reading and writing, but he endeavored to correct each misplaced apostrophe all the same. “Technically, you are extremely early, as I’ve postponed Candlelight Club to tomorrow evening. It is somewhat curious you’ve come nonetheless, but I’ve been meaning to speak to you.” He took his glasses off and polished them with a little rag he kept in the drawer, mulling for a moment over how best to word his next phrase, but ultimately decided the straightforward approach would best suit his needs.