Around 7pm

“You were given enough chances last year,” The Head of Ravenclaw said coolly, glaring across the large wooden desk at the blonde sixth year wearing her uniform and a tie of Ravenclaw blue. She’d been crying and had a soggy tissue from the box on the desk in hand. “I spent most of last year backing you up and you’ve made me look like a bloody idiot, girl.” The Welsh witch rose from her chair and grasped her wooden stick. “First day back and you lose us 20 house points for your stupidity.” Moving around the desk with her weight on the stick and good right leg, Charisma Aldridge pulled open the door to her office. As if by magic, or perhaps surprising coincidence, their new Headmaster was stood at the door, hand raised to knock. Charis would have jumped had she not been made of sterner stuff.

“Croeso i Hogwarts,” She greeted Greyfriar with a strained smile before waving her hand at the girl. “Be gone before I get creative with my punishment.” Over 40 years of working for the Goblins had given the Ancient Runes Professor a reputation for creative punishments at Hogwarts. Without needing any further incentive, the sixth year jumped from her seat, snatched up her bag and rushed past her Head of House and returning Headmaster to the corridor and apparent safety.

“You wished for another bet, Headmaster?”

"This one time I shall listen to my better natures," he said, "as ill-used to that they'll be, their voices hoarse from speaking without anyone listening. Why not hear them out and keep my gold?"

The bear of a man, made his entry. He carried with him a stack of this and that. He took it past the Head of Ravenclaw and found a clear space on a small table. Then he stood back from it a bit, put his hands in his pockets and had a good look at Charisma Aldridge, his Professor of Runes.  She had a great deal of practical experience, and the gossip around her gave him enough confidence that she certainly wouldn't need any of his help.

"If you have a few minutes, Aldridge, I thought we'd talk a few things through. Shouldn't take more than a few hours."

He was staring, evidently making a quick judgement on the Welsh witch as she shut the door behind him, still grasping her walking stick. Blue eyes followed him to the desk, taking in his size. ‘Bear’ had been how some had described their new headmaster, and up close and stood, she could see why. He towered over her and his voice was deep, commanding. Fortunately, however, he had none of the arrogant dismissiveness of Storm but still held himself in a manner that warranted respect. Storm, she had no time for. But perhaps Knox Greyfriar had something more about him.

Minutes turned into hours according to the wizard and Charisma found her eyebrows rising.
“Do the hours fly like minutes when you discuss business?” she found herself asking with a smile. It better not be hours, Charisma Aldridge had a bottle of fire whiskey in her cupboard with her name on it after the long first real day back.

Her spare hand was waved at the chair opposite the desk, recently vacated by the sixth-year problem child.

“Charisma, please. We’re colleagues.” It was with slow deliberate movements that Charisma navigated the large man and the desk to reclaim her seat, breathing a sigh of relief at once more being off the damned leg.

"Did I say hours?" Knox chuckled, feigning a faux pas by touching his hand to his chest. "Merlin's beard, no. This won't take more than a few - yes. Charisma."

"Charisma, that's exactly why I came to see you. I was cleaning out the old office," (he hadn't been), "and came across a few odds and ends," (he'd bought them), "and I said to myself, Knox my friend, you could find a good home for these."

Bribes. He had with him a pile of favors, boons, and bribes.

"And why not speak with the only witch in the castle who has a charmed name and is unmatched in riddles?"

Knox picked up a small blue velvet bag covered in embroidered silver stars. Inside was an ebonywood handled magnifying glass.  "For example." 

He held it up to his eye and peered at Charisma Aldridge. "Do you think Professor Singh would like this?"

Clearly their new headmaster thought himself a comedian. Or he was genuinely a bit odd. It might take some time to fully come to a conclusion but, so far, she at least preferred him to the grumpy arse with grey hair and a permanent scowl.

To be greeted with various things the wizard had ‘found’ was certainly unexpected and Charisma smiled up at him, placating. Compliments would always warm her to a person and today was no different as her bright eyes found the magnifying glass.

“That would be bloody wasted on Ravindar.” The Welsh witch honestly proclaimed, holding her hand out to examine the object.

Knox handed it over. He was surprised Charisma didn't think it'd be suitable for Professor Singh. A magnifying glass that showed a map of the stars' current alignments seemed a handy gadget.

While she inspected it, he produced another bribe.  It was a shallow wooden box with a flip-open lid.

"Bluesmoke cigars. They're my favorite since - well, ages. Has just a touch of nightshade to calm the nerves. Who is your most high strung colleague? Or are these for you?"

He raised his eyebrows.

“Completely wasted on Ravindar, indeed.” The former curse breaker repeated herself as she drew the magnifying glass close and examined it. Completely wasted on anyone but her. She placed it down on the desk beside her, hopefully for real examination at a later time should her new boss deem it.

Now the cigars caused a genuine grin to twist Charisma’s lips as she thought about it.
“You want an honest answer about the most highly strung adult in this castle, Knox?” She leant forward against the desk, elbows resting on the wood. “Are you seeking gossip about my esteemed colleagues, Headmaster? That will take a lot more than a pretty magnifying glass.”

"Gossip? Me? Madam, perish the thought. I would never. My inquiry was entirely altruistic. Entirely to do with the welfare of whoever would benefit most from a mild enchanted stupor on lonely nights."

As he finished up, he paused with raised eyebrow, leaning just a little bit closer.

Charisma wasn't the first to seem to suggest their new Headmaster was keen for gossip, but Knox couldn't find himself to surprised or insulted. Wizards of many words, a personable demeanor, and fondness for knowing people were often judged so. It was better to bear the assumption humbly and demonstrate with Hufflepuff stalwartness that he was no such fellow. Nosy, he was, in only the most benevolent sense.

(By this time it seemed Aldridge had taken the magnifying glass into her possession. Or was it only set aside for consideration as they made their way through Knox's cloying inventory?)

“One might suggest Storm if he weren’t married.” The witch responded before her better judgement stopped her. He was certainly the one whose mild stupor might benefit the rest of them. It was no secret that Charisma much preferred other staff members at Hogwarts.

Charisma’s smile didn’t falter as she now leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms as she pondered. “I would pay money to see Honeysuckle[1] sample the delights of Nightshade.” Blue eyes snapped up to Knox’s. “Two Galleons, I would pay two galleons for that.” The 2 galleons he’d lost to her the night before at the feast.

OOC - I think she's definitely eyeing it up for herself...

1.	Lillian Honeysuckle is the NPC Muggle Studies Professor who works part time.

Charisma's joke at Storm's expense was received with a hint of a smile, his own better judgement prevailing and holding back his booming laugh.

"In that case, Honeysuckle it shall be," he said raising the box in toast. He set it aside and moved to another item in the trove.

It was a small ceramic jar, short and wide. It was hand-thrown and finished in a pit fire giving the outside an almost charred look.  A little paper tag on the lid described it's content.

"Dragon's balm," Knox said. He lifted the lid and took a tiny sniff of the shimmering pale orange cream inside. He immediately drew back. "Phew!"

His eyes were watering and his cheeks were red as if he'd been eating some well spiced curry. "Oils from that gland on dragons that ignites their fiery breath. Apparently does wonders for stormy hips, trick knees, and bad backs."

Knox kept his own supply for himself. It was useful salve after a rough full moon.

“That would benefit any of us over 60!” The former curse breaker said with a half laugh. She knew little about Knox Greyfriar; she’d not bothered to research him. He didn’t look far off sixty. Charisma considered, with mild disgust, her birthday the following month would make her 64. Mix sixties. Old. “We’re rare.”

“What sort of a host am I? Goodness!” With no real answer for the new Headmaster, Charisma pulled her wand from her robe pocket and pointed it at a cupboard. Her wrist twisted the wand to the side and a lock was heard in the cabinet as it clicked out of place. Wooden doors swung open and out danced two tumblers and a bottle of Ogdens firewhiskey.

“Sit, sit.” Her spare hand was waved at the chair normally taken by Ravenclaw students in trouble of seeking advice. Normally in trouble. Aldridge tended to feel more like a rule enforcer than a supporter and facilitator. “I’ve little choice, but you’re tall and making the place look untidy.” The office was already untidy. It was cluttered. Nothing about Charisma or the office she inhabited screamed professional. It was untidy, unorganised, her.

"Oh, madam, I couldn't possibly. The hour! I'm on duty. My wits about me. What will the parents say," he mumbled without a shred of sincerity as he quite happily took a seat and the generous pour of Ogden's Old.  He savored a sip.

"Cheers."

Back to the task at hand.  He set the Dragon's Balm firmly on her desk, and gave it a nudge.

"You should take it. I'd feel a bit odd giving Ignan Storm a thing of lotion."

The next bribe from his hoard was a slim box.  "Bespoke dragonhide gloves. Tin says they'll fit anyone who wears them. They seem quite supple. Think for our rugged friend Mr. Onuris?"

The Headmaster wasn’t a stick up the arse prude with no sense of humour. Good. Charisma resolved that she would get along considerably better with Greyfriar than she ever had or would with Storm.

"You should take it. I'd feel a bit odd giving Ignan Storm a thing of lotion." Talk of the devil.

Charisma couldn’t control the laugh that came and neither did she attempt to. It was simply fortunate that she’d not chosen that moment to take a sip of the much needed firewhiskey.
“Yet you can give it to me?”

And now she was thinking about the young Frenchman in the grounds’ hands. Knox certainly led a conversation in a bizarre manner.

“For his rugged hands?” She lifted her tumbler to her lips and took a long sip, enjoying the burn.

“Tell me Knox, what has brought you back to Hogwarts?”

Knox nodded.  Yes. His hands. He had to admit it had been his assumption.

To be honest, he hadn't been ready to hear this question or to hear his first name. Neither offended him, but both caused him a moment to think. There was a bevy of possible answers, all partially true but not all suitable for publication. For example, it would not be a good idea to mention the obscene stash of forty stolen wands had had hidden and he'd hoped to forget about. And it might not be the most flattering thing to mention that he just had never felt as at home as he felt at Hogwarts.

Knox's face showed how he was working over his response: a thoughtful furrowed brow and a puzzled frown. After a few moments, he responded.

"I was asked. I had the time. I'm suited for it. And I missed it."

Impressive brevity!

"With the rate at which some professors come and go, it seems I'm a rare creature to hold tight to my time here. Puzzling." 

Who could not want to be at Hogwarts, to savor the privilege of serving in these halls? Was this the melancholy of a Historian?

Knox Greyfriar seemed like one of those sorts that lived to make people happy, or at least Charisma could judge from this short chat. Time would, of course tell. So far he seemed likeable, tolerable.

Most people may have given far more explanation, but then Charisma was quite certain her own verbal reasoning would be similar in succinctness. She, too, had been asked mid-term and she’d simply ended up staying. It was initially been a temporary agreement until she’d suddenly found herself moving up to becoming the Head of Ravenclaw and then she’d been back again this month. In truth, it was a relief to be away from her husband back at home.

“I wouldn’t know why,” Charis started to respond after a gulp of fire whiskey from the tumbler, “I only intended to be here for a few months and that was last October.” Her eyebrows rose at the new headmaster. “I was just glad to escape the shackles in my office at Gringott’s.”