Absit Omen RPG

He loved it when pupils brought along friends who did not study Creatures - to Sylvain, it was an opportunity for people to observe something out of their ordinary, that would go on to affect how they thought of beasts in general. Animals were commonplace in wizarding life and in his opinion, everyone should have some kind of interest in them.

            “Just came to see if any of the skrewts were still with us.”
      "...figured I’d come and see what all the fuss was about.”

"Ah, you are Ambrose's little brother, non? I see him when I visit my friends at the Ministry," he smiled at Tim and then gestured for both of them to climb on to the fence. "Come, come join me. From here you can see our skrewts..."

Sylvain looked out across the paddocks, some of which had sturdier barriers between them and the more dangerous creatures like the skrewts. "You can also see the Jackalopes!" he craned his neck to look at a much smaller paddock further along, where the antlered rabbits hopped about. "They have only just arrived from America."

The Jackalopes would be seen by all the years he taught, but were especially ordered for the third years as a lesson in how even the sweetest creatures were more dangerous than they appeared to be.

Most mornings were early mornings for Sylvain, who was roused daily from his hut by Marcel. The dog knew his routines well, sometimes protesting the seasonal changes - for instance, how he spent less time in the forest during the colder months. But Spring was on the rise and Sylvain had gone for a walk beneath the towering tree tops to scout ahead for his trek with Feliks[1] tomorrow.

Now he was perched on the fencing that surrounded the Blast-Ended Skrewts, cradling his second cup of coffee while watching the armoured creatures with a mildness that opposed their fiery temperaments. Marcel was on the outside, chasing after a hare who had foolishly braved his still-sprouting garden.

Over the odd blast of firing stingers, he heard familiar voices. Sylvain turned his head in their direction - he squinted through the dispersing fog to find their source.

"Bonjour!" The professor called out; he remembered then, inviting one of the fourth years to come observe the beasts at their own leisure this weekend. "Is that you, Monsieur Marsh? And a friend?" Sylvain could not quickly place the other voice.

1.	March 25th - Under Giant Trees

Sylvain smiled at Feliks, who laughed at the Herbology professor's quip. It was easy to amuse the young wizard - he delighted in the novelty of the world around him, a quality one hoped would not be too dimmed by his approaching adolescence.

Marcel trotted ahead cheerfully and barked at the odd bird or insect in their path. It was a lovely day, the kind that hinted at a lush spring, full of saplings growing into the sunlight on the edge of the path and the sounds of the waking forest around them. Sylvain felt at home here with the taste of fresh strawberries in his mouth.

"Non," he tousled Feliks' curls with a grin. "You are going to catch fish. But I will show you how first."

The boy was snacking on fruit from Owen's basket, nodding with his full mouth. Fuelled by a bottomless pit in his stomach no doubt. Marcel gave another bark, chasing a squirrel, and Feliks ran ahead after the dog.

"So much energy," Sylvain commented wistfully with a smile at Owen. "He was brought up with squibs - I think you know?" he spoke in a lower voice, unable to separate the different ways he learned about Feliks' life - either through his friend Balfour, or Greyfriar's briefings.

It was muddled in his head. Sylvain watched Feliks coax Marcel away from a tree, chatting to the dog about catching fish. "I teach him how to do everything by hand. Then, by wand. We collect herbs, carve branches, learn birdcalls."

When Sylvain first came to work at Hogwarts, he had felt overwhelmed by its atmosphere and people. His work in handling beasts had kept his disposition a young one - in comparison, his peers appeared mature beyond their years. And they were very much settled, roots grown extensively into their lives or families.

So there was a kind of joy in seeing Owen's youth shining through in a laugh, a glimpse of a boy who went rolling down hills. He mirrored the smile with an earnest one.

"It is a pear I think," Sylvain replied distractedly as he glanced at Feliks, who was mercifully displacing a slug from his shoulder.. "I try to arrange something every weekend, but less so in these days. He is growing."

By this he meant that Feliks was more comfortable now, with friends and hobbies and thriving interests. The boy walked up to them and grinned. "Bonjour Professor!"

They usually spoke French on their outings, which would not be the case today.

Sylvain couldn't help but grin at the other man, trying to picture a young Owen Prewett clambering up trees. He liked Owen - they both spent much of their time around nature, and appreciated the natural world for all its dangers.

"I was the same," he remarked as he helped himself to a strawberry. "Climbing up trees and running down hills. When you are young you think you are invincible."

Although, he thought, Feliks was too old for that sentiment. The boy was careful; even calculative, if his subterfuge was anything to go by.

"I think, today, we will go deeper into the Forest than usual. What are your thoughts?" he asked as he glanced back at the pear tree and spotted Feliks making his way down. "It should be safe, non? With two of us."

By himself, Sylvain wouldn't dare take the boy much deeper than the outskirts. He was comfortable navigating the forest but he took his responsibility seriously. But with two professors it did not seem risky.

On this thought, Feliks dropped to the forest floor from the lowest branch. He didn't come over the join them right away - the boy sat on the ground to put on his shoes first.

Early morning

He watched Feliks climb a flowering pear tree in the middle of the clearing.

The Forbidden Forest was thawing out from a long winter and its many trees were in bloom, leaves sprouting brightly for the weak morning light above. Gone was the crackling of frost underfoot. Instead, the great muddiness of spring had already began to soften the earth. Sylvain stepped back to get a better look at his charge, hands in the pockets of a brown corduroy jacket.

"Attention, mon garçon!" he yelled at the young wizard to be careful.

Not that the fall would be great. Compared to the towering trees that surrounded them, the pear tree was a squat thing. It was full of white flowers and there was a single unripe pear at the very top that Feliks insisted on plucking.

            "Je connais! called back the child, briefly looking down through the leaves.

He was fairly visible in his jeans and dark red sweater, and climbed barefoot. Apparently tree-climbing was one of few summer pleasures where Feliks grew up, in the Siberian countryside.

Sylvain had been taking the boy out on the grounds almost every Sunday morning. It had been awkward since it turned out Feliks had lied[1] about one of the sinister packages he received last month. But Sylvain didn't linger on that fact.

There were other adults who broached the subjects. He was here for Feliks to chatter and explore and feel more at home in this country.

A sound caused Sylvain to look over his shoulder, wary. It was only the snap of twigs underfoot - and there, headed towards them from the direction of the Greenhouses, was Professor Prewett.

"Bonjour!" he waved at the other wizard, smiling easily. The clearing was not far from the edge of the forest.

1.	March 17th - The Only Other Sound

In spite of his words of support, Zeta responded ambivalently. Sylvain smiled to himself - because he remembered being her age and holding arguments or fights that took place in one's imagination. It was easy to imagine the world against you, to be wary of it. Sometimes things felt that way even as an adult. Certainly for some adults more than others.

            “...more interesting to go to the protest?" Jorkins was saying to the fourth year. "It seems really interesting.”

"You could get a butterbeer and attend Miss Pepper's protest," the professor remarked mildly, with a dry smile. "Unless it is not the butterbear Miss Bythesea wishes to enjoy for the whole afternoon..." he added with a seemingly innocent glance at the pair.

Sylvain knew, from his experience of Valentine's in Hogwarts, that the students could contrive many methods to play away from snooping eyes. "To be young again, eh?" he laughed. "When I was un jeune homme we would claim to play card games in private. Black Jack? C'était parfait."

He reached into his pocket for one of two small wooden figurines he'd taken from his office.

"Grimwold," the Frenchman threw the miniature bear at the boy. "I take one of the young Spectres down to the forest later, if you want to join. We examine trees and whittle. Before lunch, oui? Dress warmly if you come. Mademoiselles," he bowed his head at the witches before turning to leave.

These three were not, he decided, natural friends.

For one thing, they each had singular responses to his approach. Sylvain glazed over the Slytherin's compliment - too similar to the cloying tone of his peers at Beauxbaton - and smiled a little as Zeta asserted there was much to do on this glacial Sunday morning. No doubt she would be borrowing pots and pans from the house elves, to bang on as she woke up her soldiers to prepare for imminent battle at the end of the month.

"Ask me about the bugbears after lessons this week, Monsieur Jonkins," he shrugged as he leaned against one of the courtyard pillars, hands slipping into the pockets of his corduroys. "We will see."

There were traces of what might be bugbear nesting in the forest; they were dangerous beasts, yes, but Sylvain did not very much mind pupils pursing extracurricular research. Under the right circumstances.

            “Loads to do — of what?”

"Ah then you have not heard?" he raised his eyebrows at the young wizard, surprised by Grim's surprise. "Miss Pepper and her friends, they are taking up arms at Hogsmeade on behalf of our werewolf populace."

Sylvain could not help the playful exaggeration. There was nothing disagreeable at all about plans to display displeasure at Zonko's - but the seriousness of Zeta's drive was a little funny to him. "I thought perhaps she might be recruiting..." he nodded at Grim and Allura respectively. "It is a cause most worthy."

He loved Sundays, regardless of sunshine or cloud. It was the day of the week that Sylvain reserved for spending time with Feliks - today in particular he intended on teaching the boy wizard how to identify and whittle different kinds of forest wood. But that endeavour was still some time away. The Slytherin was likely still asleep, as perhaps all youths should be on a foggy and lazy morning.

As if to contradict this thought, the Creatures professor was presented with the sight of three older pupils as he crossed the courtyard. He had been into his rarely-used office inside the castle, to collect some papers to be marked in his hut, and was just on his way back via a meandering route.

            ....my next attempt to find the blood-sucking Bugbears in the Forbidden Forest, but now... you guys up to, anyway?”

Jorkins, one of his students, was entertaining a pair of witches. They did not seem to be up to any mischief but Sylvain slowed down to join them anyway. He remembered Ignan once advising him[1] to keep an eye on SAWS, which essentially meant keeping an eye on Zeta Pepper lately.

"Bonjour!" greeted the Frenchman cheerily, smiling at them from behind the looped scarf he wore over a matching jumper; he was looking especially cosy in dark browns and wooly beige. "It is a cold morning to be out, non?" he commented. "And on a day of rest!"

1.	9th Jan - A Column in a Melancholy of Waste

The slope of the earth had risen and now begun to fall, away from trees - towards the sprawl of land before the castle and Forbidden Forest. The lake glimmered in winter light, distantly.

Sylvain gestured to  his conjoined huts by the forest as they began to descend in their direction; the two structures were dark against snow, as was the garden protected by charms allowing its winter plants to gently flourish. Small windows glowed warmly with the promise of a fire inside.

"It is difficult, in these times, to have a quiet life non?" he mused, glancing at Hannah. "But yes, the inner calm, to tend to it is une question de survie. I want to teach it to my students, that art, as much as I want to teach them about creatures. I am trying to teach my friends' son, also."

They reached the huts at last and he broke away from Hannah to unlock the door and let her in, shutting it behind them. The main hut, into which they entered, was a single large room sorted into different sections. A cast iron stove and a small table dominated the side which looked over the forest. Across from this was his working desk, and a battered sofa next to it served as a more relaxed seating area. His bedroom, in the connecting hut, was hidden from view by a beaded curtain.

"Come, sit. Get warm." Sylvain gestured to a sunken stone fireplace that occupied the centre of the hut; three or four low stools surrounded it. "Tea or coffee, Hannah?"

He went to the stove, opening the overhanging cupboards to take out an enamel kettle. Herb and flower bundles hung off the ceiling, drying off. They made the hut smell faintly medicinal but fresh. Marcel was asleep under his desk, but got up and padded over to Hannah with a curious whine.

He settled himself into an armchair not far from Ravindar, with a plate and a mug of coffee. The room was slowly filling up; Malfoy entered, followed shortly by the Herbology professor. Sylvain nibbled on one of the heart-shaped biscuits while pleasantries were exchanged, thoughtful. Camille was wonderful - she made him feel comfortable here, but he was still more at home outside the castle.

One day, he thought, he must invite the staff to his cabin for a kind of soiree. There was room for it, having been built for a half-giant.

"Evening patrol," he queried of Ravindar and anyone else listening, a worried wrinkle in his brow, "is it so bad on Valentine's?"

As groundskeeper, Sylvain's patrols often took place by the forest and across the grounds. He had not been especially worried about students sneaking out for romantic adventures tonight but this discussion was making him reconsider. There was no limit to the fooldhardiness of youth... not even on a cold February evening.

Sylvain did not attach particular important to Valentine's Day. It had not been fashionable to do so, when he was young and studying at Beauxbatons, and there certainly had been no reason to when he was training afterwards. February 14th usually went by without notice when you were living alone in a cabin on the French Alps.

It was impossible to miss at Hogwarts. Even in the days prior, there were cards and flowers being exchanged amongst students, arch or flirty remarks, declarations of affection in the dining hall.

He was nonetheless unprepared for what awaited him in the staff room when he entered - though he did look like he'd dressed for the occasion, in dusky rose jumper and tan corduroy trousers. Sylvain's lips pressed into an uncomfortable grimace at the shock of pink. He noticed Camille first, because he was closer, but Ignan stood out the most of them all.

"Bonjour," the creatures professor greeted, approaching the tea table to inspect the biscuits. Non, even the biscuits had not escaped. "Is it like this every year?" he asked, a man preparing himself for the prospect of it.

Snow crunched underfoot as they drew closer to the side gate, and Sylvain's brow wrinkled in concern as Hannah explained she had lost her boa constrictor to a flat fire. He liked that she once had a snake - it meant she was not so squeamish about beasts or other deadly creatures, something which could get in the way of one's love life. Many witches or wizards did not fancy being around dangerous beasts on a regular basis.

Certainly many hesitated before dating handlers in general, at the Ministry. In a serious way. You never knew if the person you loved would return from a sparring with dragons or werewolves. Teaching at Hogwarts was safe in that sense.

            “I’ve not really thought about hobbies much, recently.”

"I find myself collecting hobbies ever since I started teaching here," he commented, stopping to procure a key from his pocket and unlock the side-gate. "I keep bee hives, I collect herbs and grow un potager." The gate swung open - he let his date through first, then locked it behind him once he followed.

They were on the grounds now, where the level dirt path wound its way and disappeared beneath the canopy of towering snow-covered trees. The castle's presence was more definite here, and threw a truly cold shadow. "But these are provincial hobbies," Sylvain continued with a smile, leading them towards his hut and away from the castle.

"You live in the city, so you must be considering urban ones?" he asked, curious. His own time in London had more to do with work than hobbies, if you did not count those nights out drinking.

The towers of Hogwarts rose from the snowy earth, a sight that he knew meant more to Hannah than it did to him. This school might be Sylvain's present but he knew it was also her past, as it was for most wixes of this country. It was home to them, maybe torture to some.

He nodded along to her expectations of the new werewolf wing leader. What else could he do? She was right, and she was even right to be suspicious of Bruce because being a werewolf did not mean having the best interests of all werewolves at heart. It could even mean the opposite, if someone was so full of self-loathing that they hated anyone who reflected the bite they carried themselves.

            “Did you invite me here to discuss werewolves, Sylvain?”

They came to a stop, just under the cover of frosty trees and in the shadow of the safest place in Britain. "A book?" he repeated and then laughed at the example questions. "It sounds like an interesting book I think. Hm. Well I have had many pets, and when we get to the hut you will meet my dog, Marcel, who is border collie. My other answers are too long to be given in the cold, Hannah..."

He squeezed her hand in good humour, pulling her along with a gentle tug. Those questions would be nice in the warmth, before a fire, with hot coffee or tea or whatever Hannah drank in the homes of strange wizards.

"And what of you? Your pets? Your free time?" Sylvain smiled, curious, though he was happy to talk about werewolves too. None of this was boring, not to him.

             "We don't need to put anyone out," began Frank.
      "I can write it for both of us, Frank," volunteered Eirene, helpfully.

Or at least Sylvain thought she believed she was being helpful. "Non, mademoiselle. You must only write your own if you do it at all," he smiled a little, understanding that she simply wanted to do what was best for the situation. Witches were better about this than wizards, sometimes. The professor made a thoughtful sound as he looked from one student to another.

He was not perceptive about these things but he eventually 'got it'. Now, for example, he finally saw the conflict didn't lie in how but if they should act at all.

"You must make a decision, oui?" Sylvain addressed Frank, still quite serious and soft. "Your friend may write her testimony and you may refrain, but there is no in between."

It was strange, what he wanted to convey to them, and he was not so articulate as some of his colleagues at the school. He needed a moment. Sylvain sipped his drink and felt its calming effects, like a heavy blanket to weigh down wandering thoughts. His attention settled on the young witch now, eager as ever she was in lessons.

"Please, allow your friend to take responsibility for his own actions and inactions," he raised his eyebrows slightly. "It might be inconsequential to you but every one of us will one day be forced to make these decisions for ourselves, without Hogwarts and without your mama or papa, and it will be to his detriment if you rob him of his prerogative to learn."