In teaching you cannot see the fruit of a day's work.  It is invisible and remains so, maybe for twenty years.

The day before Christmas Eve was cold and snowy, but Professor Storm had need to be free of the castle at long last, even if it was to the warmth and bustle of a pub in Hogsmeade. The ice glistened beneath his feet, but a good charm always saw to him not landing on his backside when he made he way down from the school where he was staying to finish a few jobs after the end of term.

Pushing open the door to the famous Three Broomsticks pub, the wind and snow came in with his cloak which buffeted around his feet. A long, firm arm shoved it back in place and the howling wind retreated. The inhabitants of the pub raised an eye to the incoming wizard, a few recognising and nodding to him, others ignoring or continuing their conversations unconcerned.

Ignan brushed a few flakes from his shoulders and pulled his gloves from his fingers before heading to the well-stocked bar, undoing his cloak as he walked the strides from the door to the stools. By the time he made eye contact with anyone behind, his cloak was draped over his arm.

"Firewhiskey... please." He spoke as cleanly in English as he could, always a little conscious that his accent could make such orders a little hard to decode in noisier situations - then again, he thought as he recognised the face the other side and gave a curt nod of recognition, Bethan Ellis should be more than familiar to hearing it.

"And how are you keeping?" He asked softly, his aged featured offering the hint of a kind smile to his former student.

Bethan Ellis was most in her element in the midst of chaos, especially when she was, for all intents and purposes, orchestrating said chaos, keeping things moving from the center of it all. After working behind the bar at Hogsmeade's oldest pub for a few long months now, the former Gryffindor, a smudged half-apron tied around her middle, could work the room without too much difficulty. The normal crowd had changed somewhat now that the Christmas holiday was on the horizon, as Hogsmeade was attracting far more shoppers as the big day approached. Meanwhile, the locals were trying their hardest to avoid the packed streets, and Beth had to admit that she understood why. She couldn't have imagined working in a huge shopping district like Diagon around this time. The deluge of shoppers stopping by for a pint and a bite might be good for business, sure, but her pay was her pay whatever the crowd looked like, and she was more concerned over how swamped she'd be. She didn't, after all, expect The Three Broomsticks would be going out of business anytime soon. She secretly loved the chaos, though. She was a child of cacophony – she could handle this pub on the eve of Christmas eve as easily as she could handle her hot little wand. It was absolutely no sweat.

If she looked up every time someone opened the door and let the cold in then she'd have whiplash by now, so it wasn't until she heard Professor Storm's familiar and distinctive voice and glanced upward that she recognized just who she was in the presence of. The professor had the sort of voice that narrated the nightmares of harried seventh years on the eve of their exams, and the light of recognition filled her eyes as she ducked behind the bar to fetch him a a clean glass. “Hiya, Professor Storm! Alright?” she greeted warmly as she popped back up, speaking to him as though the two were old friends and not merely a student and teacher who'd never quite seen eye to eye. Even now they were in stark contrast – the old man with his cloak folded neatly over his arm sitting placidly on one side of the bar, and the young girl who could barely keep her hair contained in its ponytail scurrying around on the other.  “Firewhiskey, you said? Well, I don't suppose I'd have pegged you as a butterbeer sort, like,” she grinned, setting his drink in front of him. There wasn't much to pouring firewhiskey in a glass.

”And how are you keeping?”

“Alright, alright. I'm always alright. Can't say there's much of anything exciting happening, but I'm not dead, so there's that,” she rambled pleasantly, siphoning up a spill with a mindless flick of her wand. “I'm working tomorrow in the afternoon, but I can't go getting too sour about it, since they gave me the evening.” She didn't mind all that much. She was keen to see her siblings, but chances were she'd be sick of them both by Christmas morning, so it was only to her benefit to put in a couple of hours while they got themselves settled at her parents' house.

“And I see they finally let you out of the castle – that, or you escaped. Either way, good for you,” Beth smirked, dashing to the other end of the bar to retrieve some empty bottles. She tucked them under her arm as she came to put them in the correct container.  “Taking in a little liquid before you go shopping?” she asked, speculating.  “That's the right way to do it, if you ask me.”

Ellis rambled an answer, happy to chatter, so it seemed. He hung his cloak over his knee and settled on a stool, content with the possibility of company for a bit.

“And I see they finally let you out of the castle – that, or you escaped. Either way, good for you, taking in a little liquid before you go shopping?  That's the right way to do it, if you ask me.”

"I'd have to agree." Ignan replied, "But I'm not off to buy anything, no, just escaping the castle. Sometimes its a little too quiet in the Christmas holidays." He pooled enough coins to pay for the drink in his fingertips from his pocket to give to Bethan. "I suppose you might suggest I even miss the students, but that would be a lie." He smirked.

"Enjoying your time here?" Ignan asked, with a hint that Bethan had once had bigger dreams than mopping up spills at the Three Broomsticks, not that it wasn't an admirable job - just not what she'd been aiming for. "I caught up with Fauna, Grace, Dax and Dion not so long ago.[1]"

1.	Nov 15 Beyond the Walls of Hogwarts

Bethan reached to knock the offered pile of coins off of the counter and into her palm, but not before she grabbed the bottle of firewhiskey and topped off his glass. The professor may have gotten himself a free drink out of the encounter if he hadn't been so eager to pay her, but she couldn't go on insisting with the pub so packed. A free sip or two would have to do.

“You don't miss the students, but you miss the racket,” she remarked with a hum, leisurely dropping his coins into the till. “Yeah, I hear you. I'll provide as much racket as you'd like for as long as you're sitting there, like. That's always been a skill of mine, rackets. Oh, and mixing drinks, but that one's new.” She meandered back toward him even as she glanced around, looking for glasses to be cleared or puddles to be siphoned. People seemed to be taking their time, though, staying out of the cold and away from the agitated, overworked store clerks for as long as they could manage. She didn't blame them. Shopping was the bane of her existence, and she still had two tiny nieces to buy for. It was going to be a long evening.

”Enjoying your time here? I caught up with Fauna, Grace, Dax and Dion not so long ago.”

“Is that a fact?” the Welsh girl asked dryly, losing every trace of her good mood in all of an instant. She was well aware of what the man's tone was implying, and he was rubbing up against a raw spot with every last pretentious syllable. “Well...” she started boldly, as though she was about to launch into some sort of witticism, but none followed. She scratched her nose, ground her back teeth together, and then, looking him in the eye, she shrugged. “Are you trying to suggest that I messed up, sir?” she asked defensively, just seconds later, her tone challenging his own. “Because I'm working on it. I'm re-sitting my NEWTs, and it's going to be all O's, straight down the column.”  She stared right at him, as if daring him to suggest otherwise. She was too small and sloppy to really look threatening, even while gripping her wand as though she intended to crack the casing into splinters, but if looks could kill she would have had a body to bury before she clocked out.

All of a sudden Bethan lost her chatter, her tone turned.

“Are you trying to suggest that I messed up, sir? Because I'm working on it. I'm re-sitting my NEWTs, and it's going to be all O's, straight down the column.”

Ignan returned her fierce gaze with his steady one from across the bar.
"Not at all, Ellis, just curious as to whether you'd given it some thought... and well, clearly you have." The Professor raised the glass to his lips and sipped, blinking away from her for a moment.

"I'm glad you've not lost sight of your dreams despite your temporary deviation." He raised his glass to her slightly before taking another sip.

"Anything I can arrange for you, from Hogwarts, in which case?" Her former professor asked reproachfully - half expecting another irritated response from Bethan. One shouldn't irritate a barkeep, never knew what you'd get in your drink, if you got it at all...

She wanted to be challenged. She couldn't have articulated that desire, but the fact was, she was used to it and, in a way, she liked it when someone had the audacity to question whether or not she was up to task. She loved proving people wrong. That was, in part, why losing her opportunity to become an Auror straight out of Hogwarts was so profoundly devastating. It would have been the ultimate 'up yours' to everyone who'd ever doubted that a pudgy pipsqueak born of muggleborns could ever make something of herself. No challenge came, however, just an affirmation of sorts, and where the majority of people would have been happy with that, it made Beth squirm. It was a visible squirm. She passed her wand from one hand to the other like she couldn't figure out where it fit, then looked down at her feet with a disgusted grimace that made it seem as though they'd offended her in some way. Something gave in her shoulders, and they dropped just the tiniest bit, indicative of her shift from full on defensive mode to something a little less callous.

“Yeah,” she said, her tone softening as she jammed her wand into her pocket and leaned forward onto the bar. The blonde gazed across the room, fixating on a table where two witches in hats that hadn't been the fashion for two decades were picking at mince pies. “Yeah, it's not like I'm giving up or anything like that. Aurors are the best and the brightest, yeah? The best and the brightest. But after Hogwarts, that doesn't just mean doing your homework, isn't it? It means something else.” She drew her gaze away from the elderly witches and back toward the professor. “I'm committed to something that's not homework, like. That's all.”

”Anything I can arrange for you, from Hogwarts, in which case?”

“Such as what?” she asked, bouncing up and away from where she'd been leaning, reaching back to scratch an itch on her neck. “I've got my books. You mean more than that?”

"Well, we've got books too," the Professor replied dryly, and smirked, "which if you want to come and refer from one evening, you only have to write an owl." He folded his arms over the bar top.

"I more meant that I could put you in touch with some of the staff up there if you wanted a hand with some of the areas of your revision that are a little more challenging. They are after all, teachers, and that's what they do." He gave a shrug, "But I'm sure you'll do fine without them, asking for help being a weakness and all. Besides, you don't need my help."

There was a glint of mischief in his expression as he dropped his eye contact on purpose. Bethan may not have agreed with his perfectionist ways, but she never declined the challenge to improve if the challenge was posed in just the right way. Human nature, and a strategy professors and parents alike often engaged to persuade.

Raising his gaze once more he unfolded his arms and softened his tone.
"Undoubtedly there's better things to want for Christmas, forgive me for not losing the habit of being your Professor."

Beth didn't really want any of Storm's books. She didn't even really want to read the books she had. She always began her little revision sessions with good intentions, sitting down at the kitchen table with her books, her wand, and a snack, but somehow, almost without exception, her little homework session would turn into a duel to the death with her shadow, or a nap, or a competition to see which book she could throw the farthest without breaking anything expensive. She knew everything she was reading about, if only vaguely, which made the task even more mind numbing and painful. Bethan's strengths simply did not lie in sitting at tables and reading stale material from a year ago. She was proud of that. She figured it meant she wasn't boring. It also meant that she was not making as much progress as she probably should have been. Plus, there was that little issue with her cauldron being, erm... indisposed? That was a non-issue at the moment, though, since deciding between spending her money on exotic potions ingredients or Christmas presents was a no brainer – presents every time.

”But I'm sure you'll do fine without them, asking for help being a weakness and all. Besides, you don't need my help.”

“You're right about that,” she replied quite confidently without a pause, an almost cocky grin forming on her lips - but a few seconds passed and she cocked her head to one side, seeming to register that she'd been insulted in some way but unsure how she was supposed to respond. The little smile vanished and was replaced with a squinty-eyed look of perplexity. “Wait a second. What do you mean asking for help's a weakness?” she asked him. It seemed like she had genuinely no idea what he could be referring to. “What am I supposed to be asking for? Homework or something?” She snorted. “I didn't even do it when I had to,” she mumbled, smirking to herself. Maybe that was the problem.

“Well, how about right now? Wanna teach me something right now?” she asked him, maybe a bit too eagerly. She plucked her wand from out of her apron pocket again and held it expectantly between her fingers, staring him down. She was pretty sure he'd hated her when she was his student... and she was pretty sure he hated her now. And if he didn't? He probably should have.

In short truth, James really had no reason to head to the three broomsticks.  But he did miss everyone, and he figured he should try every now and then to make a few new acquaintances.  He had been gone for a while, but figured this social scene would be as good as any other.  He was wearing gray dress robes with a hood over him, and was looking rather unremarkable.  As he consulted his notes to see what he had eaten and what he had eaten (in order to see how much he could drink), he grinned.  He had kept off the empty calories so he could probably afford two glasses of firewhiskey.  Maybe more if a young lass would be willing to provide him with some company for the evening.  As usual, James looked for attractive females, but he noticed someone he had not seen in a long, long time.  The man who had taught him fiendfyre, and how to control it.  Though that particular spell would probably be out of his league since he had not kept up the Dark Arts since leaving Durmstrang, the man who made sure he got a Newt in the subject was sitting down, apparently chatting up a barmaid.  James was debating whether or not he should go overthere or not, but figured it had been long enough that he could probably at least give the professor a drink.  Since the waitress seemed to be right beside him, he figured now was as good a time as any to partially repay the man for all he had done for him.  As he walked up though, apparently the waitress had already pulled out her wand, saying something about teaching.  James realized the professor was still teaching somewhere.  Though James had no idea the professor taught DADA, not the Dark Arts anymore.

"Pardon me young lady, but I do not think this is the best place for the good professor to teach you.  Professor Storm, it has been awhile.  Allow me to buy you a drink," James interjected, not really caring that he was interrupting a conversation.  After all, he had not seen the man in a long, long time.

“Wait a second. What do you mean asking for help's a weakness? What am I supposed to be asking for? Homework or something? I didn't even do it when I had to,”

Ellis still had the beautiful way of talking herself into a corner by thinking out loud. 

“Well, how about right now? Wanna teach me something right now?”

"I'm not here to teach, Bethan." Ignan replied softly, but clearly, his response lost by the arrival of a face he'd not seen in a good long time.

"Pardon me young lady, but I do not think this is the best place for the good professor to teach you.  Professor Storm, it has been awhile.  Allow me to buy you a drink,"

"Forrester!" The Professor was genuinely surprised, "It has," he raised his glass an inch from the bar to indicate another whiskey, "thank you."

The moment had turned very odd indeed, changing from a defiant Ellis to a student of a lot further past in less than a minute.

"Do excuse Ellis, she's just reacting to the thought that she needs any assistance to re-sit her NEWT examinations. Ellis, this is James Forrester, taught him back at Durmstrang, James, this is Bethan Ellis, former student of mine at Hogwarts." He paused to let the two of them exchange any pleasantries and for Bethan to attend to Forrester's order.

"What have you been doing with yourself, then? Last I heard you were larking about on a broom for a quidditch team over here."

“Well, I didn't want you to, anyway,” Beth spat back defensively, doing her best to come off nonchalant so they could forget that she hadn't issued the challenge in the first place. The grumpy quirk of her lips may have betrayed her, however. She kept her wand in her hand anyway, flipping it between her fingers in a way that seemed to come naturally, the handle jumping from knuckle to knuckle with a well-rehearsed ease. She'd spent many hours practicing under the desk over the years. It had provided many genuine opportunities to get out of her chair and crawl around on the floor in pursuit of her fallen wand over the years, coming in especially handy during boring classes and when there were notes that needed passing.

”Do excuse Ellis, she's just reacting to the thought that she needs any assistance to re-sit her NEWT examinations. Ellis, this is James Forrester, taught him back at Durmstrang, James, this is Bethan Ellis, former student of mine at Hogwarts.”

“Yeah, do excuse me. I'm only the help,” Beth snorted, rolling her eyes as she slipped the wand back into her apron pocket and poured the professor another firewhiskey. Unsurprisingly, she was no longer in the mood to comp him one. She set the glass down and turned to the newcomer. “If you don't mind, I'd just like to point out to you – both of you,” she paused, giving Storm a pointed look, “That I didn't fail or nothing. I'm not quite as dense as you like to give me credit for. I've got mates that flunked whole subjects. But go on and finish calling me dim – isn't my place to stop you, like,” she smiled passive aggressively, shrugging her shoulders. Was that considered a pleasantry?

“And what are you drinking?” she asked James, biting her tongue to keep from taking any more of Storm's comments out on his former students.

James's introduction appeared to surprise the professor.  Like the no-nonsense man he was though, he quickly accepted the drink and then introduced the help while insulting her.  James smirked.  Somethings never changed.  Before James could even get a word in edge-wise, Beth snarked back at Storm, and then requested his order.

"Firewhiskey please," James ordered.  Turning to face the good professor, he said,

"Well, she was smart enough to seek your help, so that implies she has some sense.  Though glaring at you after asking for help makes me wonder," James commented, wondering what the girl was trying to gain.  Eye contact was one thing, but the look she was giving the professor seemed overtly hostile.  James sincerely doubted anyone would want to resit the NEWTs.  Though he did not pass his with flying colours, he did pass.   Going back to the professor's question, James answered.

"As for what I've been doing with myself?  All those detentions I skived off to go play quidditch paid off.  I play for Falmouth now.  Funny how that works out.  I used to skive off to practice quidditch.  Now I fly a broom for a living and if I want to practice what you taught me...I have to skive off.  How the times change," James answered.

"But you teach at Hogwarts now.  How does that school treat you, and how does it compare to Durmstrang," James asked, genuinely curious.   James had never been to Hogwarts, but from his conversations with his brother it seemed a bit less disciplined than Durmstrang.  He wondered if the students their would give Professor Storm ulcers.

What a curious collision of former students over the bar this was.

"Well, she was smart enough to seek your help, so that implies she has some sense.  Though glaring at you after asking for help makes me wonder," Forrester observed, and Ignan did little elaborate at that moment, deciding Ellis had got into such a peculiar corner with her thoughts she might need a moment to unravel. Perhaps Forrester's good looks might bring her round.

"As for what I've been doing with myself?  All those detentions I skived off to go play quidditch paid off.  I play for Falmouth now.  Funny how that works out.  I used to skive off to practice quidditch.  Now I fly a broom for a living and if I want to practice what you taught me...I have to skive off.  How the times change," The Professor mustered an amused expression, remembering Forrester was his student.

"But you teach at Hogwarts now.  How does that school treat you, and how does it compare to Durmstrang?"

"Its different," He stated the obvious perhaps, "No divisions like the old school, just houses for sleeping and socialising within. One day I am convinced it is a better structure, the next, I doubt it somewhat. It breeds softer young adults, but on the plus the weaker candidates are rather more involved and encouraged. A leveller playing field, certainly."

The older wizard glanced to Ellis, daring to look a little miffed,
"Ellis here is a fine example of a good Hogwarts graduate, though I was just trying to offer negotiating a little contact with the current staff at the castle to ensure she joined the Auror trainees in fine shape next academic year." Then addressing Bethan directly, he added, "I hadn't meant it in discouragement of your capabilities, my dear."

Beth was grumpy now, and she wasn't in the mood to stop being grumpy, no matter what anyone said. Her lips were smooshed together to form a straight line, and one of her eyes was half squinted, like she was thinking about glaring but got distracted half way through. She got to work fixing up a second firewhiskey and then, without any of the chutzpah she was known for, set it down in front of James. She didn't much like that they were talking about her right in front of her as though she wasn't even there. “I never asked for any help,” she informed the athlete brusquely, even knowing he wasn't addressing her. She figured she had the right to defend herself. “And I'm not glaring. This is what my face looks like, and if you don't like it, you don't need to look,” she added as she took the few short steps to the back of the bar so she could eavesdrop on their conversation under the guise of staring at some bottles.

”Ellis here is a fine example of a good Hogwarts graduate, though I was just trying to offer negotiating a little contact with the current staff at the castle to ensure she joined the Auror trainees in fine shape next academic year.”

It was only seconds later that they started again, talking about her like she wasn't in the room. She glanced over her shoulder when her name was mentioned, unable to keep from snooping when it concerned her. Nobody else was going to defend her if they said anything else that was untrue, so she quit eavesdropping and inserted herself again.

“You never said that,” she grumbled a touch defensively, one hand sitting on her hip. “You'll tell him what you're getting at, but you won't tell me. See, that's a communication problem,” she insisted, still feeling miffed for no reason in particular. She couldn't help but detect some kind of secret subtext to everything Storm was saying, for no other reason than he'd been her professor and she was used to expecting his judgment. Teachers weren't really people. “I've got great capabilities,” she added, using Storm's word. “I'm not a great student, though. I don't like learning stuff, really. I like doing stuff.”

The waitress was hovering around Ignan and James.  It did not seem to bother their conversation, and James did not recognize the waitress as a pureblood so he felt that he could ignore her without too much bitching from his relatives consequences.  As James listened to Professor Storm give her a compliment, he wondered how the heck Professor Storm put up with the lack of discipline. 

"Huh.  Interesting.  Wonder if it's better that way or not?  People do not realize it, but they generally rise and fall in competence to the same level as their peers.  I flew with Victor Krum, and now I play professionally.  Does it make much sense to keep those who can barely scrape together a cauldron with those who plan to take potions NEWTs?  I have no doubt I can hang with the best in Defenses, and even teach the best on a broom, but I know I should not interpret tea leaves and tarot cards," James asked aloud, genuinely curious.  He was rather perplexed at how a school could produce graduates like Potter if they allowed talentless idiots to work alongside hard working geniuses.

"So you seek to be an Auror?  What made you choose that career path?" James asked her, wondering how a bar-maid planned to get into that job.  Or rather, why she would want to get into that path.  Though James had not seen Cinaed in a long time, he still had a foot in the underworld.  It would be useful to know, though James doubted the lady would make the cut.