The Theory of Magic (Book 1)

31 // Dullahan & the Mirror

After such a climatic confrontation with Quirrell, the remainder of term proved rather uneventful for Fi.

Her classes resumed with applause from her students, the Headmaster smiling as he stepped back from the lectern with no small amount of relief in his blue eyes. Fi administered revisions and proctored exams as she stood at the back of the classroom, leaning on the wall, listening to the soft breathing of children and the scratching of quills. She could sometimes hear Snape lecturing in the repaired Defense classroom, the muffled drawl of his baritone a welcomed reprieve from Quirrell's uncoordinated stuttering.

Summer sat heavy upon the highlands, the air ripe with the smell of distant summer showers, the grounds lush and green, the giant squid a regular visitor to the lake's shallower depths. Fi liked to sit in her office with the windows open, feeling the wind against her face as she listened to Puck's morbid cries and thought about the end of term. She would need a home, she decided. She could not return to her cottage, but Fi didn't want to drift from acquaintance to acquaintance as she had the previous summer before taking her post. She needed a home of her own for the holidays, and for a home she would need Galleons.

So, Fi started sending out inquiries. She had prospects.

She spent the idle afternoons after exams chatting with Minerva about Transfiguration theory and the other professor's newest article in Transfiguration Today. They ate biscuits and drank tea and listened to the happy students running in the corridors outside the open office door. Fi helped Pomona in the greenhouses in the evening and argued the meaning of ancient runes with Babbling on the weekends. Sometimes Fi lounged on the lawn with Hagrid as the half-giant whittled and lamented the loss of his Cerberus, who had been recently returned to a sanctuary in Greece.

All in all, Fi had a quiet convalescence at Hogwarts—well, as quiet as anything ever got at a school meant for wizards and witches in training. One of her Hufflepuffs still managed to blow up a theory book in the middle of class. The room smelled of burnt paper and, oddly enough, peppermint humbugs for the rest of the term.

Harry Potter earned a tidy sum of house points for throwing himself headfirst into danger to save his classmates and a professor—a very Gryffindor sentiment that the others of his House all congratulated the boy on. However, acts of heroism aside, Gryffindor couldn't quite catch up to Slytherin, and so the Great Hall remained decked in silver and green when it came time to attend the Leaving Feast. Snape, true to his word, had taken it upon himself to badger and bully Fi into drinking a plethora of foul tasting potions and concoctions that she'd rather do without—and the worst form of punishment became apparent when she realized the new "restrictions" upon her diet did not allow for any sweets.

There was almost a fight over the treacle tart at the head table that evening. Either way, Fi came away from the evening quite sullen and Dumbledore had half a key lime pie land in his lap. The infinitely cheery wizard was not amused.

Then, the school year was over. Exam results were given, grades administered, trunks packed and rascally familiars shoved into carriers. Fi helped students track down misplaced possessions and checked over the girl dormitories in Slytherin—twice—for any forgotten clothes or books or other miscellanea. Children filed out the main doors into the early morning sunshine, a line of black carriages pulled by skeletal horses waiting to take them out beyond the open gates. Fi sat at the head of the stairs with her elbows on her knees and her watching stare distant, thoughtful.

"Professor Dullahan?"

Blinking, Fi brought her head up to spot three little Gryffindors in their Muggle attire, all ready to set on the train ride to London. Fi grinned. "Hello, you three. Ready to go home?"