Hogwarts lawns, around 7:30 p.m.

Maggie was drawn to the crackling fire like a niffler to a silver sickle. There was something about the way the air smelled and how the wood popped and sizzled that made the bonfire an inviting place. The lawn outside of Hogwarts was set up like a campsite with logs scattered around the perimeter of the fire. Margaret chose one of the logs furthest away. It wouldn’t keep her very warm, but she didn’t feel like being completely involved in the storytelling anyway. For now, she’d rather people-watch than chat, and be free to get up and leave whenever she wanted.

When she sat down on the cold log she wondered if being so far away from the fire was the best choice, but then a breeze came through and brought some of the warmth towards her. Maggie rested her chin in her hands and listened to snippets of a tale from one of the survivors of the Battle of Hogwarts, who was just now describing the shocked hush that had fallen on the castle when Hagrid had carried Harry, presumably dead, in his arms. It had been like dementors had come and stolen all their hope in that moment. Margaret hadn’t been there for that part; she and the other first years had already made it to the Hog’s Head, but she could imagine. As the tale continued Maggie watched the various couples and families: one woman rested her head on her husband’s shoulder, a child sat on his grandfather’s knee, and group of students hesitantly standing on the sidelines seemed to huddle closer to one another.

Suddenly she wished her Dad was there and shivered a little, but she ignored it and pulled her jacket around her more tightly. Margaret also thought about her little sister and brother and how they were doing. She knew that she should be getting home soon to check up on them, since her mum had stayed home yesterday and today trying to make them feel better about what had happened during the memorial ceremony. It had been Lexie and Brandon’s first remembering day and it had ended in disaster. Maggie shook her head. In all actuality this was the second time life had taken a cruel turn for her little siblings, as they were her adopted siblings and lost their real parents during the war. It wasn’t fair to them, that they’d had to witness a student storm the stage and kill two Aurors on a night that was supposed to be about remembering. It made Maggie angry that something like that could have happened, and the only way she could deal with it was to sit and sort out her thoughts in peace. Even if it meant picking the coldest log. She shifted, trying to get comfortable, and glanced up as the first speaker finished his story and made room for someone else to speak.

There was no denying that it had been an interesting couple of days.  They'd been, at the same time, strange, confusing, exciting, unnerving and fascinating and Mairead certainly had learned a lot about this new world in a short period of time.  Luckily, the information had all been presented in a manner that she was familiar with.  In place of a formal education, Mairead had grown up learning about her world and culture through living tales.  Through stories told by elders in the evening to  the youngsters gathered around them.  That was the school she'd grown up in and, remarkably, for a few weeks the school was offering her a crash course in just that style of teaching.  And, she was soaking up every one of the stories, the way they were told and, as indeed happened at home - though less violently so - the actions of others during the stories. 

It had taken Mairead some time to realize the student that had killed the two adults ealier hadn't been part of the act.  It was so hard to figure out what was real and what were illusions in this place and, Mairead easily remembered watching the two bodies for several moments, waiting for them to bounce up to the applause of an audience all mesmerized by the believability of the performance.  But, they didn't get up.  And, no one applauded.  It had only been during the chaos that ensued afterwards that it had fully dawned on Mairead that it had been real. 

In the wake of that horrid experience, Mairead had followed the light of the bonfire with curiosity and trepidation.  Part of her wanted to know more, especially in a setting as familiar and homelike as in the flickering light of a fire.  At the same time, the onslaught of information was starting to become overwhelming and Mairead found herself moving slowly as she approached the circle of logs and the clusters of largely unfamiliar faces.  She began to make her way through the patterns of sitting logs, looking for an unobtrusive place to sit herself.  She weaved past the clusters of families and started towards an open seat next to a woman that was sitting on her own but stopped a short distance from the log when she recognized the woman. 

She'd seen glimpses of Maggie around the school but had been careful to give her wide berth.  The strangeness of the school and navigating it on Mairead's own had enough potential of being intimidating on her own.  Even just the act of going to school and being surrounded by students - a population which, back home, was the source of unrelenting trouble.  She didn't need Maggie staring at her, reminding of that - Mairead had, after all, imposed herself enough on the woman.  Mairead turned and moved away again, weaving her way back out of the circle and found a spot just beyond the last row of logs and set herself down.  She lay back in the grass and stared up at the sky, watching the sparks leaving the fire drift up into the sky. 

As the people gathered around the fire started to become more involved in their private conversations, Maggie became more lost in her thoughts. She was now thinking about River, one of her good friends on the Auror force who had been at the memorial ceremony. It was likely he had his hands full and she didn’t envy what the law department had to deal with right now. They’d lost one of their own and had to sort out the mess caused by that unstable student. She just felt grateful that River hadn’t been on the stage. He’d only been near it, and thus far enough to avoid the brunt of the catastrophe.

When someone appeared next to her she looked up and scooted over on the log, surprised that anyone would choose to sit back there and not quite processing who it was at the moment. When the child turned on her heel and scampered off, Maggie saw something very familiar in the form’s retreating back. She peered after her. Of course, it was Mairead.

Mairead either found offense with the log, or with Maggie. It wasn’t too hard to guess that between herself and an inanimate object she was more likely to cause a kid to run away. The fact that it had been unintentional offense didn’t matter. The last time they’d met, Maggie’s reaction to Mai’s lack of traditional education had made the kid uncomfortable enough to leave, even though Maggie hadn’t said a word. Perhaps she should have said something kind or reassuring, but at the time Maggie had congratulated herself on simply not saying anything rude. How was she supposed to know what the kid wanted from her?

She stared grumpily out at the fire, trying not to be annoyed by the rejection of a pipsqueak, and failing miserably. Finally, and with a sigh that could easily blow away a straw house, a brick one, or maybe even Hogwarts, she rose from her lonely, cold log and wandered over to where Mairead sat on the grass. Normally she’d leave someone alone, especially when they wanted to avoid her that much. Normally, she was doing the avoiding. Tonight though, she was tired of sitting by herself and she knew her conscience would never stop nagging at her if she left without finding out that Mai was here with an adult, either her mother or the school sponsor. After everything that had happened a few days ago it wasn’t a good idea to let kids run around at night on their own.

“Hey,” she greeted her quietly, perching on another log and feeling slightly ridiculous. It was one of those very rare times she wished Lexie was around. Her sister was about Mairead’s age and could talk someone’s ear off by way of starting a conversation.

“So… is the grass any more comfortable than the logs?” She asked, amused by Mairead’s choice of seating, but her voice sounding gruffer than she’d intended. With any luck, the kid would have better conversational skills than Maggie, or at least resist the urge to run away from her this time. Margaret shrugged a little and glanced at her with a smirk, then looked back at the fire to give her something to do.

Just as Mairead had come to believe she'd been a pest and a nuisance that day in Hogwarts, Mairead assumed the woman would have been grateful Mairead had chosen an alternate place to sit.  Quite often, people outside of her group regarded all of them - children included - with an uncertainty.  The kids, especially, were considered troublesome hooligans and, as Maggie had likely seen, they didn't do a whole lot to counter those assumptions.  Mairead didn't take it personally - it was just the way things were. 

She hadn't expected Maggie to pass through her field of vision as she gazed up at the stars overhead.   The surprise was quite evident in her face when she saw the woman move overhead.  When she saw the woman sit down, Mairead's first thought was whether, somehow, she'd managed to do something wrong.  It seemed remarkable that, in the space of the few seconds Mairead would have, again, dumbfounded the woman but she'd achieved such remarkable endeavors before.  "Hi," Mairead replied, quietly, propping herself up on her elbows to look at the older woman.  "I thought I'd come listen to the stories.  Ye know?"

The woman's unease was quite obvious and, again, Mairead stared at her, wondering why the woman had followed her.  She didn't seem angry so it seemed unlikely Mairead had managed to do something wrong.  As if doing so would help her find a reasonable answer to the question, Mairead looked down at the grass beneath her.  "I - I guess.  It's not as hard.  And, I thought I wouldn't be bugging no one.  I didn't want to be a bother.  Again." 

Just when Maggie thought Mairead might ignore her, she spoke up. "I thought I'd come listen to the stories.  Ye know?"

Maggie nodded. It was why  most people had gathered by the fire, to listen to tales from the survivors of the war. Those weren’t exactly happy bedtime stories, but they needed to be told, and heard, and people needed an excuse sometimes to huddle together. Maybe that’s why Maggie had sat by Mairead. She didn’t feel good about being alone at the moment, and hoped that Mairead would stay long enough to hear her out. Of course, that meant she’d have to figure out what to say without scaring her off again.

Like Maggie, Mairead seemed uncomfortable, but at least she wasn’t jumping up and running.

Their fascinating conversation about logs turned yet more awkward when the kid looked down and said she hadn’t wanted to be a bother again.

Maggie let out a surprised snort, startling one couple sitting a few logs away. She shrugged at them and glanced back at Mairead.

“You’re not a bother,” she said, and then paused. “You know, at first I thought you didn’t like kneazles. Or cat-like creatures. Kneazles, cats, whatever,” she rambled. Maggie knew what she wanted to say but she didn’t know how she wanted to say it. For a moment she wished she could write it out, but then realized how ironic that was. Mairead wouldn’t be able to read it. She rolled her eyes at herself. She’d just have to talk.

“Anyway, by the time I finally realized what was going on, you were long gone. I must have said something, right?” Except she’d been speechless. “Or looked at you funny.” That was more likely.

Maggie was trying to be nice, actually, and patch things up, but she had no idea if she was succeeding or not. No matter how hard she tried, her tone of voice always sounded dry and mocking. Yet even if she and Mairead never bumped into each other again, Maggie didn’t want the kid to think she blamed her for not being able to read. There were more important things than writing and literature- Maggie struggled to think of them- but they did exist. She just needed to be more careful about her slack-jawed responses next time.  Holding her tongue was one matter, and took quite a lot of effort, but controlling her facial expressions was another beast entirely. Her facial expressions were almost as hard to control as those fiendish, manic puffskeins had been!

It was already a touch after the half of the hour and the early May sky was in twilight.  Sure the majority of what the professor had planned for required darkness, but he had plenty of other things up his sleeve—err… his bag… and apron… and the pockets of his labcoat… and his loosened boots.

Dropping the good he carried in hand his surprising deep and resounding laugh resounded far toward the Forest.

“Ho, ho, HO!” the bean-pole of a man went cheerfully, grabbing his tummy just like his father who was the spitting image of St. Nicholas... save for the fact his hair was peppered, not snow-white.  

The children outnumbered the adults, which was a little sad considering who was supposed to be telling the stories.  Then again, even a decade later some found it hard to speak of the events which occurred on that fateful night.  Nevertheless, he was very happy to see some very, very young faces in the crowd.  Hardly old enough for Hoggies some of them, he thought.

Blessedly, Nicodemus had been confined in an African refugee camp at the time.  He had been shuttled off his island home when the Snatchers put a very specific price on his Muggleborn head after they caught him healing rebels in the streets.  To him being away had also been a curse.  He quietly wished he had been there to experience the event, to say he had been there, hell… even just to be at the end of it all to help dole out the potions for healing, but no.  He had missed out.  And no matter how much he was reminded of all the things he had done, why he had been shipped out in the first place, there was still that empty hole… that sense of separation from those who had been there.

As such, he was here for the special effects.  “Shall we begin the festivities?” he queried the elders about him, kneeling down to relieve his clothes and shoes of their baggage.


(Nota Bene: I am calling out most of the peeps around as NPCs just to get things going.  Feel free to add in what the storytellers say!  We can each put in a bit of the tale as we post, like a round-robin dealio.)

Mairead was as familiar as most people with the feeling of community that a flickering fire and a few shared experiences brought.  It was one of the hallmarks of her upbringing.  Her family and friends didn't have much to their name but they had each other.  And they took great pride and found great value in their companionship.  But, the company of strangers and, in the case of Maggie, recently met acquaintances was different.  Especially when the stories told had such a dark feeling to them. 

But, if Mairead had been wrong in her interpretation of Maggie's reaction then she would happily accept her companionship.  Even if it was starting out somewhat awkwardly.

Glancing up, Mairead watched Maggie taking interest in the log beneath her.  Seeing the older woman behaving in a clearly uneasy manner emboldened Mairead slightly. 

"No?" Mairead asked.  She licked her lips and shook her head.  It hadn't been about the animals - not directly at least.  "The cats?  Or whatever.  No - I don't not like ... I like most animals.  It's just - people at home always get angry that we're not as smart as everyone else.  The smart school kids always make fun of us.  And, kids would sometimes do that, ye know ... will say something's something it isn't knowing we don't know the difference.  Say a packet's got sugar in it when it's really salt.  Or, call - an animal something its not to see if yer dumb enough to believe it."

“Anyway, by the time I finally realized what was going on, you were long gone. I must have said something, right?  Or looked at you funny.”

Mairead shrugged her shoulders, trying to appear apathetic about what it had been.  Again, she shrugged before replying.  "Not funny, really.  Ye looked at me like most people do at home."

Mairead looked up towards the fire as a tall man got up and addressed those around the circle.  His cheerfulness was a touch infectious and a thin smile flickered on her mouth as she glanced at Maggie before glancing around the circle, curious who among these strangers would stand up and speak.

Maggie shook her head slightly as she listened to Mairead tell her about the kids at home who made fun of her. The behavior was to be expected at that age, but that didn’t make it right. She’d often wondered when she was little why kids couldn’t just stick to themselves and shut their mouths when they didn’t like someone, but then and now it seemed to be their nature to band together and pick on the ones who were different. Of course, children had their good points too, but Maggie didn’t think much about those. Mairead was one of the few ten year olds who she actually thought of as being more mature and independent than her peers. Perhaps she was this way because she’d lived such a different lifestyle.

Still, it was a shame Mairead didn’t know how to read yet. Yet, being the operative word. She was missing out on so much! She seemed to enjoy stories too, judging by the way she looked at the speakers and gazed into the fire (when Maggie wasn’t distracting her). For Mairead, a book would be like a portable campsite, she imagined. But Mairead would only realize that by experiencing it for herself.

When the girl shrugged her shoulders as if Maggie’s reaction at the Menagerie hadn’t mattered to her, Maggie just let it go. The kid wouldn’t have run away if she hadn’t been upset, but that was nothing she needed to comment on.

“…Ye looked at me like most people do at home."

That couldn’t be good. “Sorry,” she said gruffly, but meaning it. It was the best apology Mairead would get out of her, and luckily, she didn’t think either of them wanted to dwell on it anymore.

Margaret turned her head when a very familiar voice sounded- the potions master, hoping to encourage more speakers. She rolled her eyes even though she was happy to see him again.

“That’s Professor Gunnar,” she told Mairead in a low voice. “Potions professor. Very… enthusiastic. But a really nice guy. He was a Hufflepuff, after all.”

Margaret glanced around, waiting for the next speaker. A few moments passed and the visitors started looking at each other. Nico may have let out another round of his Santa laughter to fill the silence. Then Maggie had a sudden idea and smirked.

“Well, I guess that’s my cue,” she told Mairead, standing and brushing the dirt off her pants.

Margaret took the seat in the center by the fire, where the heat warmed her back and the flames crackled loudly. She glanced at Nico, as if making sure this was okay, and started speaking without preamble.

“So, many of you have heard what the Battle of Hogwarts was like from those who actually fought in it. But what about those who were at Hogwarts and never actually saw any fighting? The underage wizards, for example, were there for the very beginning and then led to a safe place, where they waited and wondered about what exactly was happening at Hogwarts. Like… what happened to the older students? Did any family come to fight? Who survived and who was killed? Did Voldemort kill Harry? And were the ones who escaped just waiting to be killed next?”

“Ten years ago I was one of those first years. Twelve years old,” she glanced at Mairead. “So I can sum it up in a few words: we were all terrified. But I bet you want to know a bit more than that.”

Maggie crossed her legs and decided to start at the very beginning. “The first sign that I knew something was wrong was when I was suddenly woken up by the magical alarm in the dorms. At first I thought there might be a fire, or a practice drill, and I was tempted to stay in bed and shove a pillow over my head. But one of my housemates dragged me out and said something about death eaters attacking the school. That got me moving. The prefects made sure we all made it to the Great Hall, where professor McGonagall and the other staff were trying to organize things.”

“Then, suddenly, Voldemort’s voice sounded. I know that you are preparing to fight. It almost caused a panic. We thought that he might be there already, inside the castle, but no, his voice was just amplified. Still terrifying,” Maggie shuddered. “Not a voice you want to hear in the middle of the night. Anyway, he and the death eaters were at the gates. He made us a deal: hand over Harry Potter, or die. At the time I kept thinking, how can he expect us to do that? But looking back on it, it was perhaps the most generous offer someone like Voldemort could give.”

“Well, of course, most of the Slytherin house was all for taking the deal and so McGonagall ordered them to leave. Then she asked all the underage students to follow suit. Some of them still wanted to fight, out of bravery or maybe they didn’t know what they were signing up for, but every first year was ready to get out of there. Myself included. We hadn’t learned anything at all constructive in Defense Against the Dark Arts, so even if there had been some younger students wanting to fight, it wouldn’t have done anyone any good. My magical skills at that point were limited to spells like Lumos and Wingardium Leviosa, and anything I’d picked up on at home before coming to school.

The prefects and the professors led the Slytherin house and the younger students out of the castle. Madame Pomfrey, the school nurse, helped with the first years especially. We made it to the Room of Requirement- I didn’t even have the presence of mind to marvel at the door appearing in the middle of the wall. The room expanded to hold all of us until we could safely make it through the passage. We went in groups of ten, giving time in-between trips for the professors to make sure the Hog’s Head was still safe. The Slytherins went through first and no one was about to argue that, though many were worried that they first thing they’d do was betray us. However, Aberforth Dumbledore- Albus Dumbledore’s brother- stuck them all in the pub’s waiting room for what he said was their own, ha, safety.

And so the youngest, the first years, were escorted to the Hog’s Head next. I was in a group with a bunch of Gryffindors and Filch. The passage was very narrow- in some places we could only walk in single file, and the air was thick and musty with cobwebs everywhere. A few of the kids got claustrophobic, but somehow managed to quell their fear when Filch threatened to feed them to the spiders,” Maggie smirked. “It took less than ten minutes to get to the Hog’s Head, but it felt like forever, only a few wands lighting the way- some kids didn’t have time to grab them. I, on the other hand, had slept with my wand underneath my pillow all year,” Maggie shrugged.

When we stepped out of the tunnel and through the portrait into the Hog’s Head, Aberforth waiting for us, I don’t I’ve ever been so happy to see that place. Like I said, the Slytherin house was stuck in the sitting room where Aberforth could keep an eye on them, and the other groups were hidden in guest rooms. When it got too crowded later on, professors started taking kids to other safe places in Hogsmeade, but the first years stayed inside the pub.

I didn’t see them, but I heard some of the members of the Order of the Phoenix use the secret passage to make it into the castle. It was comforting though, to know that people were arriving to fight for us, for the school. Every time more and more kids came through the passage and Order members left through it, we had a bit more hope to get us through the night.

It was hard to wait for hours, not knowing what was happening. When voices or a crash sounded it was both scary and welcome, depending on who it was- maybe someone was here to tell us it was over, or maybe the Death Eaters had invaded the Hog’s Head too. We just didn’t know. Some kids were so exhausted they fell asleep, others cried, others whined, I did a bit of all three. There is a small detail that few of you probably know about, though,” Maggie paused for effect. “The inevitable potty break dilemma- stick a bunch of youngsters in one place and all of them will need to go at the same time. Yeah, yeah, it’s funny now,” she told a few giggling teenagers. “But back then we thought… what if a death eater, or snatcher or someone bad is waiting for us in the loo? Or what if the Slytherins decide to hex us like they normally did when they got frustrated or bored?”

Well, as you can see, we all managed to figure it out! The prefects helped there. It was dawn when news finally came. Good news. Hogwarts, the Order of Phoenix, the good guys won. Harry Potter had killed Voldemort. I think we were so shocked it didn’t register at first… not until our parents and families came to get us from the Hog’s Head. Or at least… most of the families made it,” she added somberly. “I was one of the lucky to see my parents.”

Maggie paused, trying to think if there was anything she was leaving out. Finally she smirked and shrugged at the audience. “I think that’s it, for my part.” She stood and sat back down next to Mairead. It was rare for her, to get up and speak about something like this, but it was the only way she could think of to reach out to people- Mai, especially.

“Ah-HA!” he cheered gratefully as he saw a former pupil and fellow Puffle of his take on the challenge, “That’s the spirit, Miss Groust!”  As she approached the fire he kneeled down on the ground, and after nearly having a fit over taking out one of the tiniest of tubes from between his toes, took his boots clear off.

Gingerly he lined up the bottles and bags up in several lines, taking out a wee cauldron and an extra set of gloves and setting them closest to him.

As she began he hummed some low dramatic music in the background to accompany her words.  Then he furiously began opening bottles and untying bags.

“Then, suddenly, Voldemort’s voice sounded.”

A flick of his wrist sent a white powder over the flames, causing a sudden flash of silver sparkles and the fire turned green as the Dark Mark appeared deep within the ashes.

“I know that you are preparing to fight.”

As the snake’s head wound about through its eye sockets the fleshless jaw worked up and down in time with the quote as it left Maggie’s lips, the dark red embers showing through the back of its mouth.  With another sprinkle of white dust sent the bonfire back to its original state.

“And so the youngest, the first years, were escorted to the Hog’s Head next.”

“Hmm…” he stared up at the sky.  Nico was going to have to work fast for this next idea to pull through, but thankfully the grown Badger went into quite a bit of detail.  Mixing a few noxious looking liquids and bits of unknown solid ingredients in his mini-pot he shook it about in a circle.  As quietly as possible he rummaged about in one of his pockets and smiled as he successfully withdrew what he had been searching for: a simple bubble wand.

Standing up after sliding on his goggles, holding the plastic stick in one hand and the stick, brown goo in the other, he dipped the former into the latter.  Taking a deep breath he blew a giant bubble up into the heavens, the fire illuminating its now pinkish color.  Artfully he continued to inhale and exhale, refueling his bubble wand a few times, until a scene appeared above their heads. 

A line of miniature people were walking what looked like a pig’s head, its mouth opened wide as the bubbles—one by one—went through and disappeared.  Resting the plastic stick into the bubble juice he took one last inhalation and blew up to pop the Hog’s Head… which it did, but with an indignant “OINK!” instead of a pop.

Plopping back down onto his bum for a bit, guffawing at Margaret’s mention of having her wand under her head, quite reminiscent of some of the movies he had watched as a Muggle child, but with other Muggle weapons, of course. 

And so he continued to provide the special effects throughout Miss Groust’s tale, blowing another bubble when the lavatory issue was mentioned in the form of the aforementioned toilet, which popped with a “FLUSH” instead of the usual noise.  True it must have been a terrifying thing to think of at the time, but he could not help but let out one of his jolly loud bellows of merriment.

By the end both sets of gloves were quite dirty (the first pair’s palms and fingertips had actually disintegrated), his goggles had a new layer of grime, and there was a bare smoking spot on the ground where some grass had been.  Well, he had to dump out the stuff in the cauldron when he needed to make some new concoction somewhere.

His presentation ended with two handfuls of powder, the left hand blown first over the fire and then the right soon following, which swirled together with the flames, collecting them together so that it showed two figures hugging a much smaller figure.

Mairead shifted herself, moving so that she was lying flat on her back.  From the top of her line of vision, she could see the light of fire ebbing and flowing with the flicker of flames.  Regularly, a pocket of water or sap would boil and burst, releasing a shower of sparks up into the sky.  Like miniature fireworks, they'd break up into her field of vision before drifting lazily up overhead. 

Mairead shrugged her shoulders as Maggie apologized.  "It's alright," she said, quietly,  turning her head to smile slightly at the woman. 

Rubbing her head across the ground, Mairead tilted her chin up so she could peer over her head towards the voice by the fire.  He was an interesting looking fellow and sounded, strangely, chipper.  "Professor?" Mairead repeated.  "Ye mean, teacher?"  She sat upright quickly and turned to face the man.  "That's gonna be one of me teachers?" She cast an uneasy glance at Margaret but the young woman was pushing herself to her feet.

The story told was as much a simple fire-side story as it was a fully orchestrated production.  Mairead hadn't seen anything like that and she stared, dumbfounded at the proceedings.  It was remarkable - it was a shame her friend wasn't here to see it. 

She listened closely, quietly to the story, her gaze was directed at the flickering flames and, every so often, focused on the small dramatized version of the story.  When the story finally ended, Mairead wasn't quite sure what she thought or felt.  It seemed like a remarkable story if it weren't for the nagging reminder that this was more than just a well-spun tale.  It was true.  Even after the last words of the story fell silent, Mairead sat still, staring at the fire.

Margaret sat in silence with Mairead for a few minutes, as the crowd once again waited for the next storyteller. She glanced at the kid next to her, who seemed to be lost in thought. Maggie wondered if her story had frightened her. Maybe she was worried, now, about being a muggleborn and coming to Hogwarts. Rather than ask, she stood up and gestured for Mairead to come with her. She knew just what would cheer her up.

After she zigzagged around the logs, Maggie stood over the potions master with her hands on her hips and a mock scowl on her face.

“You know, you could have warned me about the sound effects. The flushing noise? Really, professor?” She rolled her eyes, glanced at Mairead, and sat down next to the eccentric Nicodemus Gunnar. Margaret had actually been touched by the very last image he’d produced, with the two figures hugging the smaller child, but she wasn’t about to admit it.

“Mairead, this is the potions professor I was telling you about. Only good things, of course,” she smirked at Nico. “She starts school here in the fall, so don’t scare her off, now.”

Margaret leaned back on the log so they could get acquainted properly without having to hear more of her shoddy introductions. She had a feeling that with the potions professor around, Mairead would be smiling again in moments.

Unable to contain himself, he guffawed at Maggie’s look.  “You should know better, Miss Groust!” wiggling a finger at her.  Feeling a drop of some sort hit his boots, he looked up at the sky, quite confused.  After seeing nothing he looked back down and suddenly realized the outer shell of the glove’s index finger went from dirty to liquid.  “Oopsies!” he exclaimed, shaking his hands out of them before his naked finger became liquid as well.

Flinging the spent safeguards by the wrists onto the fire—though he had been aiming for his dirty cauldron—it reduced to embers… and then exploded back to full life, singing the backside of his labcoat.  “YIPE!”

Jumping forward closer to the two young ladies he giggled off the surprise and visibly blushed red enough to be seen in the dark, “Aww… now you are too kind!” his white teeth contrasting with the muck on his face as he smiled.  Taking his goggle in hand he slid them to his forehead, “you know very well I have a habit of scaring the new kiddies,” the familiar raccoon eyes making the blue usually hidden behind the grungy specs  stand out quite like his teeth.

Nicodemus bent his knees and bent forward like a giraffe would his neck, “Ho ho HO!  You will be one of my new class, eh?”  Leaning down even more to get a good look at the wee one while he scratched his chinny-chin-chin and hummed.  Quite swiftly he made his mind up: she was a good egg.  “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Mairead!” sticking his hand out for a handshake.

Mairead was lying quietly again, watching the sparks break free from the fire and drift up into the sky when she saw a shadow pass overhead.  Margaret had gotten to her feet.  Mairead pushed herself half-upright, leaning back on her elbows and scowled when the woman beckoned her to follow.

Her eyes followed Margaret's progress, hesitating at follow but, finally, curiosity got the better of her.  She pushed herself to her feet and weaved through the logs and came to stand behind where Margaret was sitting with the strange looking man. 

She eyed the man with a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty.  The concept had really, yet to settle in her mind, yet.  Professor.  Teacher.  Her teacher.  She was going to be going to school.  The thought seemed to hit home on occasion and then settle back into the recesses of her thoughts. 

"I don't get scared that easily," Mairead said, inhaling and expanding her chest.  This man seemed eccentric, but not scary, really.  Most men that made little flushing noises and dancing figurines were less likely to seem scary.  When the man spoke, it seemed to only fortify Mairead's belief that this man wasn't that scary. 

But, she did watch warily as he shook the strange liquid from his hand.  "What was ...?" she'd started to ask but quickly flinched back when the flames suddenly erupted.  "What was that?" she finally managed, now both about the liquid and the sudden eruption of fire.

"I ... I don't know.  I guess so," she answered, glancing at Margaret for verification.  "Glad to meet ye, too, ... em-"  Again, she glanced at Margaret.  What was she supposed to call him?  What did one call professors?