Hogwarts: Another Story

She nodded, the case close enough to her own experience before she'd begun her own work. She finished the Firewhiskey in her glass, tossing it back with all the flair her heritage might indicate. She tipped a bit more into her glass, setting the bottle back down. She looked at the alcohol on her glass. Bored holes into it figuratively.

"I had another case today that managed to disturb me. Terrible to think of, something that could manage that, huh?" She asked rhetorically of her co-worker. She sipped the amber liquid, hoping the warmth might counteract the ball of ice in her stomach. "I got a case that might easily be one of the most atrocious I've ever seen. And there's indicators that there could be more like her." The whiskey didn't work. Nadia sat back, though this seemed more from distress, than any sort of relaxation.

"A girl, no older than 14, a Squib, had been taken, held captive. Ritual torture, obliviation, more torture. They've discovered that there are so many triggers set in her brain that we can never free her. She'd kill too many. She'd been instructed to kill Muggles and Mudbloods. She has so many names and faces in her mind. But otherwise, her mind is like swiss cheese. She has no memories that aren't instructions or some sort of mental dossier."

The Great Hall had been decked out. The ceiling looked like an utterly dreamy, perfect night sky. The way that lights kept glowing of and on, you'd almost think lightning bugs buzzed about. The torches added low light. The tables had been cleared back to allow for dancing, and currently some popular Muggle tune played.

Cider, butterbear, pumpkin juice. All matter of seasonal things covered the tables. The pillars that held up the roof over their heads appeared as trees, autumnal colors already beginning to tip the leaves upon the "trees". It isn't expected that people keep to houses. It's, in fact, supported that they not.

Idea. The thinker occasionally works, if I kick it enough times. How do people feel about getting that dance thread up early, but dating it for the 15th? I'm impatient, bored and we all know how badly that can go. Just ask any of the ones who been up with me middle of the night or early in the morning Anybody else a yes?

Taking up a similarly friendly tack, Death offered her hand to shake. "I'm Nadia Neros, Madison. Pleased to meet you." She played up that accent slightly, letting it thicken charmingly. Accents never failed to put others at ease. Because of this, her Ws all but disappeared. "Vat do you teach here?" Nadia asked, held tilting. Again, charm, candor. It didn't strike as fake, possibly because this was a part of Nadia. Just not one she showed often in her line of work. Excepting her job as a Healer.

She sat forward, her hazel eyes on Lirit and catching the flame of the candle on their table. She gestured a 'gimme' sort of movement to him. "I want to hear. Tell me. I've always wondered what it's like to deal with some of the people out there from a judicial side. I see more than enough crazies in my day to day." Her hand folded so that her chin could rest upon it. Something in her voice says that one of those had disturbed her severely of late.

Nadia chuckled slightly. "Nah, Tasha wouldn't ever believe such a thing could happen. She'd think I was messing with her. She is occasionally gullible. And my tricksy bent can't seem to resist playing on that." A pirate's smile curved Death's lips, a wink flashed at Lirit. She'd never hurt a friend, but Tash was just too much fun.

The Firewhiskey showed on the table along with two glasses. Nadia looked at the bottle and laughed softly. "I might have seriously considered swimming in a bottle of this after the day I just had. I am going to control myself. Half the bottle." She's obviously joking about the amount she plans to drink. But her words on her day are pure truth. "Tell me about your day, today." She said, giving the floor to Grace, a curious and attentive eye on him. In the sort of habit one would never guess at in such an independent female, she lets him pour the drinks.

She took in a breath, and let it out slow. "All right. Apology accepted, then. I'll choose to believe in you." She gave a nod. He couldn't know exactly how much that admission was a step.

"When I was a child, Father was very harsh. Very demanding. He wanted magic when we were young. He wanted to know that his children would be great. So, he pushed us. At first, it was small things. Holding a treat from reach, perhaps. Making something difficult to see if we would use our magic to get the thing desired.

When this didn't tender the results he craved, it worsened. He locked us in rooms. Put us through terrible trials. And by hurting and terrifying us, he awoke our magic very early. I at the age of three, my brother at the age of 5. But these things were not enough for him. He wanted more. As he used to say, "More than mere parlor trick.", his eyes boring into mine." Her accent had thickened as she echoed the long ago phrase. Her hands wrapped 'round the mug of rum, and she shivered, though the room was hardly cold.

"The winter I would turn 5 in was a harsh one. Deep snows, temperatures far beyond freezing. But Papa wanted what he wanted. And you didn't tell him no. So he locked me from the house after pushing me into the snowbank. Told me that I would do magic worthy of my name, or that I would die.

In the end, I almost did. But he got his magic from me. I sat there shaking, and so cold I couldn't think. I cried and begged until my throat hurt, and my voice was no more than a rasp. Finally, I stopped crying. I stood up, and I screamed. I screamed until the windows shattered, the doors flew open on their hinges. Inside, I could here things breaking. And my father yelling, and I didn't stop until I couldn't hear him anymore." She looked at the rum in front of her quite studiously, intent upon it. And refusing to meet Lirit's eyes.

"He's at a wizarding hospital in Russia. He never woke up. I ran away. But in the end, I accomplished what he wanted. I became a powerful witch in my own right. My methods stem from my own ideals. If kindness and understanding will not awaken magic, it is not wrong to attempt the other end of the spectrum.

As a Healer, I hear many stories, some of them horrific, most of them traumatic, about a wizard or witch's first flare of true magic. Pain, danger, stress, and fear bring forth powerful reactions. Desire for something motivates. That is why I have my job. I have the tools and capability to bring forth the strongest desire any being can know. The desire for life, to live." She finished her rum, slowly looking up after she looked at the fire.

"I give them the chance, the same way I found mine."


 

Death isn't much of a lone wolf type, a thing made abundantly clear as she enters the pub. The jeans, boots, royal purple tank and black men's dress shirt very clearly says that she's off duty. She stopped by a few tables, shooting the breeze for a few moments, leaving them smiling and laughing as she went. She slid up to the bar, mock elbowing the man beside her. "Warm butter rum, please." She said to the keep.

"Been that kinda day, Nadia?" The keep asked lightly as he prepared her drink. "You have no idea. Some people have comfort food. I like my way better. Comfort and oblivion." He slid the drink her way, and she sniffed it. "Thank ya, kindly." Coins were exchanged, a generous tip in with it.

She picked up the drink, the quiet, resigned look crept back into her eyes. Precisely what a girl wanted. Paternal disapproval from a colleague. I left home to escape this. She scooted out the chair, setting the mug down on a napkin. "Hello, Lirit." And just as quick as that, Nadia had pulled that cloak of coolness back around her not unlike a shield. Gone was the easy friendliness she'd exhibited not moments before. No, this is definitely Death.