#hogwarts headmaster

‘You’re not focused tonight.’

The cold voice cut through the air and Alienor turned her tired gaze towards the Headmaster, biting back her retort.

‘I… - don’t snap, don’t snap – am sorry. ’ Seeing the way Black’s eyebrow shot up, she could tell he was as surprised as she was. ‘It’s just that with the coming Task, I have a bit too much on my mind …’ The eyebrow arched a bit higher in a more interrogative way. ‘Well this isn’t exactly the training I should be doing to survive the Task, is it?’ she clarified a bit annoyed.

‘Is it?’  The Headmaster repeated flatly. His face remained impassive, but the brief flare of his nostril told her everything she needed to know regarding her ability to choose her words.

As in poorly. Very poorly.

‘What was it then?’ Black insisted. ‘I think we covered lengthily the importance of intention so what was it this time? Did you forget the instructions?’

There was no correct answer to this question, was it?

In any case, she wasn’t sure she would have been able to provide one. For a moment everything had been going smoothly and the next, a thought had arisen, and she had lost her concentration. So technically, she hadn’t forgotten the instructions…

‘I just got distracted,’ was her weak defence.

Usually, the hint of a sneer that played about the Headmaster’s lips would have ignited her anger or stung her pride. It would have done something, making her double her efforts just to prove him wrong. But this time, her shoulders swiftly dropped, like sails suddenly starved of wind.

‘You’re still wary of your power.’ Black’s voice pierced through the wall of her thoughts, but she didn’t raise her head to meet his gaze. What for anyway? There was nothing to challenge. He was right. ‘Being distracted is not the issue here. But caging your ancient magic away at every shift of attention won’t get you far.’

But at least, it would prevent any accident.

‘Miss Lecomte, look at me.’

From his contemptuous look to his sly smile, she had been prepared for anything.

The softness in his eyes caught her off guard.

In disbelief, she watched him cover the distance separating them until he stood right before her. Slowly, he raised his arm and quietly snapped his fingers which started to glow with a faint light.

Ancient magic.

‘As I explained to you,’ he said eventually, barely loud enough for her to hear, ‘I am not a wielder of ancient magic. As Headmaster of Hogwarts, I am merely the school’s vessel.’ He slightly rotated his hand, and the light grew into a wisp that gently swirled around his fingers as if it was playing with Black’s gaze. ‘The day I accepted this position, it became a part of me.’ He tore his eyes off the wisp and waited for Alienor’s eyes to meet his own. ‘But you, it’s not only part of you. You are a natural wielder.’

‘I know that.’

‘Well then, are your distractions so demanding of your attention they make you forget even your own identity?’

‘I am not following you,’ she said with a light frown. She braced for the coming part as on the list of reasons why Professor Black had never taught, impatience was most certainly on top of it.

In lieu of a snide remark, she got a smile. A genuine, understanding smile that made her question everything she thought she knew about him.

‘Ancient magic,’ he said softly, ‘is not a part of you. You are ancient magic.’

Last time she checked she was human.

She must have looked as puzzled as she felt for The Headmaster went on before waiting her reaction: ‘Who are you?’

Which didn’t really help.

‘Don’t tell me,’ he quickly added as she was opening her mouth to reply. ‘I don’t want you to talk, I want you to think.’ He joined his index and middle finger together and pointed them at her.

‘Who – if she didn’t back down as he moved his hand closer to her, it was because he must have petrified her… right? –

Are – his fingertips were so close to her forehead, she could feel the light warmth emanating from the wisp –

You?’ -  she couldn’t remember when she had ordered her head to move and yet, she felt it push into the Headmaster’s touch as if it was acting on its own.

First she felt the lukewarm sensation of his fingertip on her forehead and then, the caress of ancient magic. Black had conjured it and yet, it felt just like the traces she had tracked in her fifth year, or the calm swirls of the repository as she had set it free. Flowing within and around, dizzying. She felt herself falter but, as if he had sensed her discomfort, Black slightly increased he pressure against her forehead, grounding her. As if his magic was holding her steady.

A familiar, curious, lively and formidable magic.

Not his, nor hers.