Demitria Strelnikov didn't know what she was doing. Of course she could have chosen an easier costume, but that would have been considered defeat on her part. If there was one thing that Strelnikovs never did, it was concede defeat. So instead, that evening she found herself climbing the tower to the Charm's teacher's office. Kesali was smart, she had to admit that, but she dearly missed Professor Mustache from last year. She was made for charms, but under Kirchlehner, her ability had truly flourished. There was probably a reason that a large amount of 5th years had gotten O's on their OWLS the previous year.

But Charms were Charms and Kesali was good while she was not that advanced. She had the affinity, but not the knowledge that she needed. With a deep breath, she knocked on the door to the Professor's Office. She really did hope that he would be able to help her, because there was no way in hell that she was going to Professor Sandusky for this one. She could not tolerate the presumptuous and overbearing old man.   

Nightingale Kesali had grown up in the arms of the night, the laughter of drunken gypsies, and fires that burnt brighter than the sun. They touched the tops of the pines with embers as wild as those who danced around them, but seated now in the heart of his office Gale never looked further from his heritage. Even despite his appearance,  the bells around his wrists, and the feathers in his hair, he was seated among the books like some wayward scholar so enthralled with the text. Curled on the sofa he read over silver rimmed glasses, and pulled his wrap around him further when the cold draft shifted through the castle. 

The last few weeks have been rough, he would be the first to admit it. He hadn’t expected to be liked instantly, but he hadn’t expected this. It hurt. Deeply, and the debate that gathered around him stirred emotions that forced dreams forward. He felt so detached from himself that when the knock came it took him a few moments to register it ever happened.

“Hmm?” He blinked from his book, pulling the silver frames from his nose when he realized there were shadows beneath his door, and quickly covered his blind eye.

“Miss Strelnikov…” He spoke from the crack in his door, surprised greatly to see her, but trying his hardest to not allow it to show.  Her name on his lips mixed well with the Picardie accent that came with his multicultural background, but when he continued he trid his best to suppress it. “Is there something I can help you with, Ma petit?” Swinging the door open he welcomed her inside with a polite smile, and nerves that could have almost caused him to laugh.

As Demitria waited by the door, she couldn't help but realize how loudly her heels were clicking on the stone floor. Nervous indeed. Pressing the circle on her palm, her blood red wand sprung into her hand, and she cast a quick silencing spell on her heels. When she was in a crowd of people, it was acceptable, but alone it was simply obnoxious.

Miss Strelnikov?

The accented voice of her teacher came from behind the closed door. How had he known? She did have a very individual voice, but... no she hadn't spoken. Oh, wait. There was a good sized gap between the door and wall and even a quick glance at her features would have given it away. She wasn't exactly a character that could blend into walls.

When the door swung open, she gave him a quick smile. She didn't know why he tried to hide his accent. The only reason she didn't have as strong an accent as she used to was because she had lived in England for more than seven years. Still, speaking Russian with the Durmstrang contingency was making it come back slightly.

"Professor, I'm sorry to bother you," she apologized, "but I need your advice on some charms for my Halloween costume."   Rolling up the black sleeve of her cardigan, a metal contraption was revealed. Taking her red wand, she placed it carefully back in it's spring and rolled her sleeve back down. She blushed at the familiarity of the ma petit, but chuckled anyway. He certainly wasn't her Uncle Storm.

She took a moment to look around the room as she sat down. There were so many books! It looked very similar to her mother's library in their Llanina Manor.   

He smiled in return at her request and invited her in further, “Please take a seat…uh…” He wasn’t certain where, as nearly everything was in disarray. “Forgive me I am still trying to get moved in. And I get distracted easy.” He always had, all his life. A constant state of observation made him truly appreciate the beauty of the world around him, but far too often found him lost from the walking path in the woods. His poor mother.

“You are not bothering me, actually. I hadn’t realized how late it’s become. I have been seated there since morning.” Gale admired her red wand, but truly loved more the dress she was wearing. Such a vicious little creature this one, it wasn’t a wonder that the other students truly had their respect for her. Demitria was beautiful, he knew this, though the desire wasn’t there (as it shouldn’t) He simply admired her like one would a rare rose, and perhaps he was one of the few to understand how you had to watch for their thorns.

“I was actually doing a bit of research myself, for a…friend actually.” Gale took his seat again on the sofa, pulled his feet clad in bear skin shin shoes under him, and replaced the book on his lap.

“What can I do for you?” With his own wand not far, he reached for it and summoned the bit of his breakfast (now dinner he supposed) to be between them, and warmed the tea.

Demitria couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the Professor's Office. Growing up with three brothers and one live-in cousin, she had heard the phrase "like an earthquake" enough times to have the image implanted in her mind. She had never actually seen an earthquake, but the room may have qualified.

Strellie could not relate. Being more than a little obsessive compulsive, everything had its place and moving them to random locations could almost be described as painful. But this was Kesali's room and his things, so even though she never understood disorganization, it didn't bother her. Still, she could understand distractions.

She caught the measured look that Kesali gave her. She wasn't the Monarchy's spy master for nothing. A small smirk turned up the corner of her lips. Maybe she could learn to like this teacher. Intelligent, observant, and rational, though a bit strange in his methods.

She seated herself across from her Professor and crossed her ankles while taking a small clutch from her bag. Snapping it open, she took out a full miniaturized outfit. "So, I have all the pieces for my Halloween Costume, but I want to make it... well... functional." She didn't bother casting the enlarging spell on the shoes or dress, as she knew they were fine how they were.     

Gale put one hand under his chin as he watched her with a very careful observation. She was a deadly one this one, even if she didn’t realize how much simply one look could kill.

“A big event this, the biggest of the year. You will want to look your best naturally.” He spoke quietly eyeing the little costume, and already trying to imagine her in it.

“Rose or Fire, Ma Petit? I hardly imagine you a simple flower. You want the wings to work hmm? A slow steady rhythmic beat or a fast rush like a drum?” He looked over the edge of his glasses at where his wand was waiting on a table, and made the reach for it. With a careful breath he removed the silver rims and placed them on the books at his side to hold his place.

The Charms that whispered from his lips sounded like a prayer with his accent, but the room went dark a moment. The candles came to life, and the shadows of the various objects cast dark figures on the wall. One a woman, in a short dress with wings that beat like that of a horsefly, and in an instant she shot from her perch on the desk to fly about the room much smaller now and nothing more than a gold trail of pixie dust. The sound of silver bells and nothing more filled the room as she flittered from one place to the next, and finally when the object seemed to land inside the lantern the room filled with light again.

“Forgive me, I read too much.” Peter Pan’s shadow disappeared along the wall as well, and Gale looked back at Demitria. Lord, he could make an ass of himself in front of even the most polite company. But he had to wonder if the Strelnikov child had ever known what it’s like to dream such things, or was ever even read to.

“What are your thoughts? What is it you wish, and I think we both know you are talented enough to know damn well you can do this on your own without my help. I’m honored you came to ask. Tea?" He warmed the pot, like some crazy cat lady in his shawl.

Perhaps her initial observation of one-on-one interaction with the charms professor had been too shallow. Eccentric didn't even begin to cover the peculiarities the pale man seemed to thrive on. However, he was brilliant and brilliance often came with twinges of madness. Demitria knew that from first hand experience with her own family. Her father was as sociopathic as one could be because of his ingenuity.

However, unlike the majority of her family members, Kesali seemed stable if not necessarily normal. And the projections of shadows and fairies around the room caught her fancy. He looked at her for a moment as if she was supposed to recognize the figures. With a small smile on her round lips, she shook her head. "I was raised an isolated and very, very traditional pureblood, Professor. If those were muggle images, there's a 100% chance I have no idea who they're supposed to be."   

With a smirk at the praise from Kesali, she answered his query with a light "Da, please," before continuing. "I'm aware that I know many of the charms that could be used, but I have not used many in practice and need your opinion on them. Also, no fire. I have a healthy respect for it, but I am much fonder of air. And I do not need to be overstated. I'll leave that to Kitty."

She cocked her head sideways and gave the Professor a measured look before continuing. "However, there is one thing that I do not know how to do. Is it possible to miniaturize myself to be the size of a faerie and have the wings carry my weight?" 

Between them was a table, and a spread was placed out of tea in shimmering porcelain. A pot hand painted of misty mountains with paper lanterns, and the detail followed over the elegant rims of the saucers.

“I’ve been looking forward to using this.” And he seemed so pleased, evening cutting a few of the roses from the pot there in the window. “I don’t get a lot of company.” And it was a wonder at the way he had to move over and around the piles of books, But the room was coming a long. He had a style, it was just hard to see it with everything still being moved in.

“And really it breaks my heart to hear that. Though I can not judge you or your parents.” He spoke settling back in, and pulled one of the cushions on his lap as he tucked his bare feet beneath him. “It’s just hard to hear sometimes, even if I know that here it is the normal. It’s different…here. In our world. Magic is real. Magic is to a Muggle the same as air. It is part of us. We command it, and control it like the world around us. But to them…they think of things like this,” He leaned forward and opened one of the books on the little table between them, “Painting images like this, telling stories about boys who can fly who never grow old, and of fae without ever knowing that they are real.” Allowing her to look through the book if she wished, he ran a hand through his hair while trying his hardest not to allow emotions to rise that he didn’t wish to show.

“Dream things, that sometimes it’s not until a student comes to ask for help do I forget that this side of the tracks even has.” He smiled, and pondered her other question. Looking a little more like a weather worn old goat as he placed his silver rimmed glasses over his nose to read in another book. They were only for his good eye, that was starting to go bad, but he worried not of blindness—just yet.

“I think it is possible, yes. Even if it just an illusion, we could levitate you all night if it meant to. But my darling, you should fly. Though suppose we got the wings to work. To flicker with a charm that is the slave to your master hand. You can wiggle your finger and the wings will move. Help you command the air, and push and pull you.” And there went his madness, as he stretched for another book one so old that when it opened a bit of dust filled his face.

“But to be so small while doing it…Reducio could do it, but it would need to be powerful enough to shrink everything. I would fear of missing your heart and the rest of your body squeezing until it stopped, are you sure you are up for this? Perhaps we should practice on something.” Or someone. Maker knows, he has a few people he would like to try it on.

“Like Storm. Maybe he wouldn’t be so intimidating at three inches tall.” Gale pondered a moment really just talking to himself now, “No…he’d still scare me. And Lord that man does.” The last spoke to the book again, but he closed it with a rush.

“Oh let’s try it anyway.”

Demitria watched Professor Kesali flit around the room like an exotic white bird. She couldnt help but smirk at his eccentricities once again. Although it was blaringly obvious he rarely had guests to his office. When he reached the roses at the windowsill, her sly smirk softened into a true smile. She really did love roses and they loved her. The Russian knew that Amara would be upset with her (if the younger Slytherin decided to emote at all) since she had been keeping her Charm under admirably tight control over the past weeks. But she couldn't resist the urge to slip the smallest tendril of her Charm out to brush the roses' petals. The flower turned their heads to her momentarily before turning back to the sunlight from the window.

Strellie sighed softly. She loved the fact that plants responded to her touch, reaching out to her.

Her Professor's voice continued and she was brought back into the world of the present. "I grew up around muggles as well, Professor, but they were as isolated as my brothers and I. So they never knew of these stories you speak of, but they did see real magic. Perhaps the ingenuity of muggle imaginations is a byproduct of muggles who actually knew us. Their stories were passed on and diluted and fancified to please children and before long, they convinced themselves that magic was not real." The tiny blonde shrugged.

A moment later, Kesali was rummaging through books and clearly showed his madness. Her ghost green eyes watched the pale man with clear calculation, but listened to all of his words. It made sense. Having control of her wings with her fingers...

However, she was not prepared in the least for him to give her a picture of her Uncle Storm 3 inches tall. If she was less of a controlled person, she would have visibly choked on her tea. She still couldn't help the flash of light in her eyes and the gape that dropped her jaw. "Unc- Professor Storm? Three inches tall?" Amusement curled the corners of her mouth and a few seconds later, she had a full blown smile on her round lips. "If you're scared of him now, you might as well quit your job if you accomplish that. The only thing that would keep him from hiring a hit wizard would be the fact it was all for the good of research."

She didn't add the fact that the fact that she was involved would also make it easier on the new professor. Demitria nodded at him, though. "I'm open to trying it. I'm already small to begin with and am healthy. Sleep deprived and scarred, but healthy." That small bit made her pause though.

"But, Professor. When I return to normal size, will that affect the state of my scars?" She pulled down the neckline of her blouse slightly to show more of the blemishes. "I have them from my chest to my chin, down my arms, completely covering my back, and this one on my cheek." Her pale fingers returned to her lap. "I have many, but they are relatively thin. Would returning to size stretch them?"     

“My people didn’t know the meaning of the word isolation, M’dear. So forgive me for being shocked. I just couldn’t imagine a world without their stories.” He handed her the book indicating she should take it and read it. Demitria had a reputation for being course and fierce. He knew that from day one, but watching her now—the way she almost laughed, the light in her eyes, and the smile made Gale realize that just like those flowers the thorns were only there for protection.

“I’m not afraid,” He lied through his teeth, and knew that she would pick up on it. But he still pulled his knees to his chest to watch her with a grin, “I’m just…intimidated.” Attracted. wasn’t safe for a students ears, and if he knew that they were related—Maker he would die right there. However, when she asked of her scars, and even went to show him Gale’s heart stopped in his chest. He tried to mask the shock from his face, but as his visible eye rounded the empathy and concern swelled until it threatened to tear.

“Mon dieu,” He whispered, and corrected himself on the couch. “What happened to you?” His voice was still quiet, though the shock faded as he stood to close the distance between them. Gale took a seat beside her, and sat her tea down. “You do so well hiding them. I didn’t even notice. And I honestly do not know, Ma petite. I would not think them to stretch any further, but it might cause them to darken."

There it was. That pity. That damnable pity that Demitria did not and had not ever wanted, but every turn in her life seemed to lead to the same place. Pity. Yes, she hated her scars for all that she was worth and would do anything to have them gone, but that did not mean she wanted people to look at her like she was a poor child. She hated it. At least Kesali had the guts to just come out and ask, unlike most of the school who only looked at her with confusion and pity. It was the way that Katrin and her Grandmama Nika had looked at her the day she came back from St. Mungos. That look of superiority. She had heard them whisper to each other with the more sensitive hearing she found herself with. Poor girl. With so much potential too. She'll never get anywhere with those scars...

All of this flew through Demitria's head while her expression had not changed at all. It would be the death of her to let everyone know how much their side-ways glances hurt just as much as the magical lines that ran across her body. Instead, her ghost green eyes followed her Professor as he came to sit by her. When her tea cup had been placed back on the cluttered table, she sighed slightly. He asked and she might as well tell. There was nothing to hide, unlike there had been the year before.

"When I was eight years old, I was playing in the Frozen Forest with one of my muggle maids. She was my closest friend while growing up and we spent much of our time together. The Forest surrounded Stone Manor and is much like the Forbidden Forest is here, except by October 31st, it is frozen solid. On Halloween, Tanya and I snuck out to play." The Russian paused momentarily. "Tanya was attacked by crups and I tried to save her by jumping on top of her. But the crups did not recognize me as their master," or as a witch. But that part was left unspoken. Kesali did not need to know that she was anything less than Pureblooded. "I lost enough blood to put me in a coma for well over five months and Tanya had died anyway. The result, magical scars on my back and face that cannot be covered with glamours or taken away completely."

That part had been simple enough, but the next was still raw in her mind and her throat. She still spent her nights screaming, trapped in nightmares.

"This summer August, I was with a friend on the full moon. We were having a picnic when," She had to stop and close her eyes. She was not weak. She would not cry from a memory, even a memory as fresh as the roses on the sill. "We were attacked by a werewolf. It was everything we could do to subdue it... two sixteen year olds against a beast. It landed on me multiple times, tearing all the scars you see on my neck, chest, and arms."

She was surprised that Kesali had not seen them, or at least heard about them before. When she had come back to school, they had been so strong still that not even heavy glamours would cover them and she had thought everyone in the entire school was whispering about the Slytherin Princess' unfortunate accident.

The Russian's rose lips pursed slightly. "A quick notice-me-not directed at them only works if you don't know that they're there, so most can see them if they're looking. Although, once it started getting colder, I try to cover them. They are not pretty to look at." Her strong accent drifted off as she wrung her hands in her lap. "If they darken, it is not matter to me. They are already strong and the moon is almost full again, which makes them even darker. I just don't want them stretched."
 

’Do not mistake my understanding for pity child.’ His voice would have echoed had known her thoughts, but instead he listened quietly. He listened to the way her story seemed as if it were already a legend, but she wanted it to be myth. She was so young to have gone through such a thing as this, but still beautiful. She had to know that. She had to understand that she didn’t need to hide her battle scars. That she should be proud of them, and wear them like a badge of honor. But how much would she believe this coming from a man who hid his eye beneath leather.

Gale for many years after the battle had struggled with the absolutely terror that came with the trauma he witnessed, but he knew that his own vanity wasn’t to blame. No, he didn’t hide his eye because he felt it ugly, but he hated the attention that it drew. He wanted so badly to go back to that quiet little Hufflepuff that lived in the shadow of a Slytherian Perfect, and every time he was asked of what was beneath he’d answer – the past to leave it at that.

I love you, you know that right? The last thing his lover ever said to him, and died just a few seconds later.

“I don’t think they will darken no, nor do I worry of stretching.” He spoke from his thoughts, and from her story to lean in and brush a strand of her hair from her brow, “But you shouldn’t worry of it, mon cher, Even if they did, if the grew into something horrid, and something fearful. You would still be the best student I have, and a fierce young lady.” He let his hand fall behind her, not realizing how this might have looked to any one passing by, and it was easy to forget how much things changed when he was considered ‘an older man’. Gale would forever and always be an immortal soul who favored his childhood vs. the now, but he truly meant nothing by the closeness. Hell, he would have taken her into his arms and held her like a child should wish it.

Demitria should not have been surprised that he had not heard of them before, not when she was such a remarkable caster. He was far too infatuated by the way she mastered his class to have ever noticed something as trivial as lines like maps on her body.

“My parents are gypsies, sweet child. You would be there Queen with such markings. They would embrace you as they did my imperfections. Give you a title, and put you on the lead caravan.” He grinned at the thought, at how they would bow down to her, “But ah, my grandfather would be so disappointed that you would be fearful or doubt anything to do with a party.” Gale reached for the dress, little thing that it was, “He’d approve of this too.” A spontaneous look swelled in his good eye, mischief and mayhem abound, and he took out his wand from his sleeve.

“Let’s do this.”