𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

- Toadstools & False Friends -

Albus Dumbledore found himself in the novel position of being utterly confused by his Magical Theory professor.

He didn't know what to make of the woman, not that he'd had the time to sit down and contemplate Delphinia Dullahan much in the week since term's beginning. The lion's share of his attention went toward his duties on the Wizengamot, issues brought before the International Confederation of Wizards, and tasks demanded of Hogwarts' Headmaster. When he wasn't owling his fellows or handing out needed discipline, Dumbledore watched over his charges, contemplated the Boy Who Lived, and listened to Severus' growing suspicion of Quirinus.

His concerns were enough to cripple a lesser man, but Dumbledore wasn't considered one of the strongest wizards alive for nothing.

It was when he sat down to meals and set aside his burdens for a moment that he glanced past Minerva and Severus and contemplated Professor Dullahan.

A curious witch, Delphinia had an irreverent bearing and a yielding sense of person. To be certain, the woman was always very polite when she spoke to the other professors and faculty, but none of those he consulted could give a comprehensive view of Delphinia. She spent one lunch hour with Septima discussing the application of Arithmancy, and though Septima confided to him that Delphinia didn't have much a talent for the subject, the witch had obviously dabbled and experimented with it. She and Charity shared affable chats about Muggle sciences. She popped by during the week to borrow Minerva's issue of the latest Transfiguration journal. She had earned his Potions Master's dislike instead of his simple disregard.

Delphinia ingratiated herself at Hogwarts quite quickly, and Albus did not know why. He had seen her office, the strange floor and the contraption hidden beneath the blanket, the bird and the human skull sitting on the shelf, and though she had settled in, it was not with any sense of permanency. Albus guessed her to be a wanderer of sorts, a well-traveled woman who expressed interest in a variety of different subjects but never narrowed her focus, a witch who went where she willed with a single trunk of possessions, a shelf of odds and ends.

Indeed, Albus thought her decision to come to Hogwarts must have been rather flippant. Why would a woman like that wish to become a professor?

He sipped his orange juice as he turned the thought over in his head and stroked his beard. At the Gryffindor table, the Weasley twins went about taking their seats—then stopped, throwing enthusiastic waves toward the staff table. Albus glanced about and saw his Magical Theory professor grin before she continued to pick apart her eggs.

Perhaps Dumbledore simply didn't know anything about Delphinia Dullahan.

~.oOo.~

Fi sat on the floor of her office and glowered at the stick in her hand.

"Bloody wand," she said, the word coming from her mouth with the same intonation she reserved for particularly wicked curses. Several scorch marks marred her robes and the floor was littered with puffy toadstools. Another mushroom bloomed from the wand's end and fell with a soft plop. "Bugger."

"Delphinia, the language," Ever chided from her shelf. "You are not concentrating."

"I am."

"Don't argue with me, girl. Concentrate."

Fi resisted the petty urge to throw toadstools and attempted again to withhold her Will from the wand in her hand. Traditional magic was much like laying bricks. It was systematic and controlled by the whim of the brick-layer; the order of the blocks, the mortar, the position all explicitly controlled. The old magic of Fi's coven was more like spinning pottery. The magic remained in constant motion, wild and revolving, and a skilled practitioner could only lay their hands upon it and mold the clay: they could not control the motion, couldn't grab hold and force it into shape like sticking two bricks together. It took finesse, focused intent, sacrifice, emotional control, and patience.