5:30 PM, Friday, September 23rd
Hogwarts weather is rainy
 
With a hard, stubborn pop of gum, a gentle hiss of steam, and her bag hanging over her shoulder, Naomi skipped her way towards the headmaster’s office. Each skip let her shake some water off the bottom of her boots and also let her ignore the little rolling cloud of steam that crawled up the wall behind her and filled the room with the warring petrichors of the warm tropics and chilly highlands—which she guess was what she got for using her leftover magical gum from Jamaica, rather than making a new batch at Hogwarts.
 
Naomi came to a stop and brushed a free hand down to check that her black, weatherproof school robes were dry, flipped her hood down into a shawl collar, and then strode closer to the headmaster’s desk with her mane of kinky, ombre-teal locs bouncing behind her.
 
Although the Slytherin had done her best to put this meeting off, it was inevitable.
 
After walking out on Transfiguration in her fourth year, Naomi started to struggle at Hogwarts, almost to the point of expulsion. That episode resulted in her family pulling her out of Hogwarts for a year and a half and sending her to the Caribbean, immersing her in their Afro-Caribbean magical culture and the Caribbean’s nomadic magical school. Then she gambled her return to Hogwarts on taking only eight OWLs: Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Charms, Care of Magical Creatures, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Transfiguration and Potions. Her ability to get an O in everything except Arithmancy and Potions, which she got E’s in, allowed her to qualify for NEWTs for her sixth year. 
 
One month into all the classes she qualified for, minus Ancient Runes, and Naomi was doing well. She was doing well in classes, hadn’t had any outbursts, hadn’t had any (public) fights, and hadn’t walked out of class yet—and rushing back to the castle at the tail end of her Care of Magical Creatures class, as far as the Slytherin was concerned, definitely didn’t count.


Finally she stopped and waved a hand at the new headmaster, "Yuh wanted to see me, sir?"

 

Professor Greyfriar was waiting at the bottom of the stairs for the singular Naomi Foley, a student who was followed by a trail of parchment. Metaphorically. In the literal, she was currently followed by a magical curling fog and a sweet breeze.

"Accept no facsimile," he said cheerfully. When a wizard has as much sway and presence as Knox, he found very little reason to be gruff if he could avoid it, even when, perhaps, more serious topics were on the table.

"Right this way, Miss Foley." He lead the way past the granite griffon guardian, up the spiral stairs, and into the tall office tower.

He sat himself down behind the desk, leaving Naomi to take a seat if she wished. He shuffled for the appropriate documents, donned his reading glasses, and had a quick look.

"Let's see... I have notes from Mr. Morgan," - the former Slytherin Head of House - ," and Professor Storm. You'll forgive my needing to get up to speed, but it seems that a welcome back is in order."

The only thing Knox wasn't enjoying about being back at Hogwarts was the feeling he'd missed so much. He would certainly prefer to know more of the students better and not have to rely on notes to be up-to-date on their Hogwarts experiences. But it was just a matter of time, and in good Hufflepuff fashion, he'd keep at it and things would be ship-shape in no time.

He looked up and smiled. "How're you adjusting? I can't apologize for the weather."

• "Accept no facsimile,"

Naomi's eyes studied the headmaster's features more closely before her lips parted into a wry grin. It looked like she had either just accepted a challenge or was playing a nostalgic mental game of 'spot-the-difference' between the Greyfriar in front of her and the Greyfriar of old.  But she quickly abandoned those thoughts, and the little cloud rolling up the walls, as she followed the headmaster into his office.

As the elderly wix sat down and reviewed his notes, Naomi slid into a nearby chair with another, softer pop of gum and a fresh air of petrichor.

It was easy for the Slytherin to flow with the calm aromas and welcoming atmosphere, but it didn't stop the anxious thoughts from brewing in the back of her mind. Last she talked with Morgan he thought she had the potential of a prefect, so who knows how that opinion could have changed. And who knows what Storm wrote? He could have written anything along the lines of an innocuous "does well in class," to an unintentionally-extra "inconsistently maims her peers." But it seemed these topics were currently on the backburner as the headmaster opted for talking rather than reading.

Naomi rolled her lips into another wry smile and shrugged a shoulder at the headmaster, "Well it's kinda weird not movin' 'round all 'di time, or swimming all 'di time-makes me fidgety," Naomi flexed and rolled her fingers into her palm, "but braiding some warming charms into first years' hair helps wit' dat… it also helps me brush up on warming charms again."

Greyfriar nodded. He couldn't personally relate to the tale she was telling, but from the way she told it, he thought she seemed to be taking the change in stride.

Her file was not a very happy place. But the young witch in front of her looked like someone looking to be her best self. Her transgressions were some of them minor (only sins against decorum, which was no great curse), but a few were dangerous, costly, and violent.  Thinking just of Miss Foley's well-being, it might have meant a great deal of personal struggle to face whatever tangles of the heart that had helped to weave these bad acts.

"And here..." He flipped to a separate little sheaf of paper.  "A message from Callaloo. From what's written here, you're going to be missed very much, I think. You got to do a great deal of work in Legilimancy. Fascinating!"

He leaned forward, took off his glasses and peered at her in sudden silence.   He was thinking deeply of cheese danishes, and Irish coffee, and did not relent his gaze!

Naomi's smile shrank a little as Greyfriar talked about Callaloo and her being missed. Rather than get caught up in how she missed them too, she looked away for a moment and chewed her gum a little more until she realized the headmaster had suddenly stopped talking.

When her gaze returned to Greyfriar's de-spectacled, hunched form, she slowly blinked and raised a tall brow. It did not take a legilimens to catch onto what the headmaster was doing, but it did take one to catch onto how his intense gaze was fueled by warm thoughts of sugary, cream-filled pastries that were laced with a strong, steamy scent that Naomi could easily identify as Irish Coffee.

"Can yuh stomach handle all 'dat?" Naomi rolled her lips into a skewed pout, "I mean--not 'cus you're a werewolf but because…" the Slytherin popped her gum again, flooding her senses with a whiff of rain as she gestured a hand towards the professor, "You seem kinda elderly to be eating like 'dat."

The Headmaster sat up straight, his eyebrows had shot up, and his mouth opened in wordless scandal.  But after a moment, he broke out in a wild smile and howled with laughter.

"Elderly! Elderly! Albus Dumbledore, did you what she called me!" 

Above them, the enchanted portrait of Hogwarts's perhaps most famous headmaster was wiping a mirthful tear from his cheek.  Knox's own portrait (from the last time he'd been headmaster) waved his hand as he stepped out of frame to compose himself.  Even Armando Dippet was cackling. 

"Now I understand what they've all been talking about," he said, stabbing a finger at her stack of disadulations. "You are trouble, ma'am!" 

He picked up the papers and flung them into a drawer, still shaking his head thoroughly entertained. Those who called the Headmaster vain wouldn't be far off, and he couldn't remember a time anyone had called him 'elderly'. He'd have to tell Hannah Bombay - she'd have a kitten!

"Naomi, gentlewitch, tell us your plan. What will you do to help this go-round be smoother? N.E.W.T.s do not mess around."

At the headmaster's silent, scandalized expression, Naomi lips twisted into a wry pout and she caught the sight of some portraits trying to compose themselves out of the corner of her eye. The tension didn't break until the headmaster broke into a fit of laughter.

Naomi just sat there a little amused, but mostly confused. Getting caught up in laughing was old people could be dangerous because they could go on to find, approximately, a billion other things to laugh at.

When Greyfriar accused her of being trouble, she just raised her eyebrows and gave shrug of acceptance.

The Slytherin lightly sucked her teeth and looked around at the portraits. A thorough response to Knox's question would have probably involved a mile-long parchment of an essay, or an hour-long presentation, but Naomi had none of those things prepared (and she probably never would). The half-Jamaican witch, with her kinky ombre locs and assertive green gaze, just had her honesty.

"I t'ink 'not internalizing existential crises' sounds good."

"Hm." Knox remarked in reply. Couldn't argue with that. It wasn't all that specific, not a bulleted action strategy, but it was... introspective and the old Hufflepuff could appreciate it. But he might feel a little better if they both had something upon which to hang their hat.

"You'll humor an elderly wizard. What were the situations that were the most difficult for you to navigate before? How can we handle them better from here forward? What's the... catalyst?"

He had learned it wasn't enough to want to do better. He'd learned there needed to be some plan. Practice even. Because when the overwhelming moments began, it wasn't easy to think strategically off the cuff.

Naomi was certain she would never live down calling the headmaster elderly--even if it was true.

But her attention shifted as the headmaster began his questioning, Naomi rolled her lips together and concentrated. There were tons of situations, but it felt impossible to pinpoint a 'catalyst'. So, Instead of thinking of all the things that were difficult at Hogwarts, Naomi thought of all the things that were easy at Callaloo.

For one, Callaloo was nomadic and travel, lessons, and etc were sustained by a minimal amount of magical tools and a give-and-take with local resources. It allowed them to learn how to play to each other's strengths and weaknesses,  how to conduct interspecies lessons, how to manage ecological resources, and how to facilitate cultural exchanges between the magical and non-magical mish mash of Circum-Caribbean cultures. Second, the social, political and economic isolation of Callaloo, and of the cultures they interacted with, meant their conflicts had never developed into a muggle/magic dichotomy.

Their grief came from the Western World.

Specifically, how both the mundane and magical Western World would exploit land, cultures, and resources, during almost every moment of every day… and so they were always in some sort of survival mode.

Finally, Naomi's lips parted and her brows raised in realization, "Di' catalyst? I'd just feel…" the Slytherin rolled her lips together again and focused a cautious gaze on the headmaster, who was no longer just an elderly man in her eyes. But her gaze softened with resignation as she glaced over the portraits of the other headmasters as she continued.

 "Stuck… misplaced, in some situations." Naomi then looked down at her hands as she flexed her fingers and rolled her feet, focusing on her composure, "'Den I get pent up… fidgety." There was that word again.

"Wit' no mind on how to redirect all 'di energy." Finally, the young wix relaxed her shoulders and raised her firm gaze to meet Greyfriar's, "So I redirected it best way I knew."

Naomi knew that, as a Jamaican, her behavior was normal and manageable, as a pureblood, her behavior was merely tolerated due to privilege. She also knew Hogwarts was no Caribbean school, but Naomi was still learning how switch gears.

Greyfriar watched the young witch work through her feelings, so much of it made clear on her face. He couldn't help but sympathize with her apparent feeling of being out of place. It wasn't always easy for adults to understand why being young had to be so hard. Naomi seemed to him to be a very bright girl, caring, ambitious. It was too bad things were not going smoothly for her, for whatever the reason.

But he waited patiently during her pauses, and gave her some space to explain.

"I see," he said when she was through. "I think you're very perceptive to have come to this point. I appreciate your being honest with me.  Hogwarts is many things and I can certainly see how it's acceptable paths are very narrow at times. Would it help..."

He paused. He'd have to spend some of his good grace with the staff, but ... "would it help if you had more space? I could speak with your teachers. Perhaps they'd agree to allowing you leave to step out of the classroom if you were feeling," he used her word, "fidgety?"

It was a risk. Naomi had trespassed school decorum and being in a Place At A Time was one of school's central tenets. If she wasn't ready for the responsibility, it might cause more harm than good.

Naomi's voice strained with an uncertain lilt, "I don' t'ink I need to be someplace else… I just need 'di sense of movement, or a perception of it. My gum helps," the Slytherin popped another bubble,  followed by another chill of petrichor, "but it can get real noisy." She shrugged and then continued, "Pulling, twisting, weaving," she gestured with the relevant hand and feet movements, "or rolling t'ing's between my feet, hands or fingers-" Naomi wiggled her brown fingers, "my original offense-helps too"

"I have tons of ways to work through it but not a lot of 'dem are quiet or won't get somet'ing taken from me." It was hard going from one place, where certain traits were the norm or very useful, to another place, where they were frustratingly hard to manage. Naomi hadn't put this much thought into her habits, but nearly a month back at Hogwarts made her realize she needed to figure out ways to make them work in certain parts of life at the castle.

He hated to send her on her way empty-handed. His face showed his puzzlement. He sat back in his chair, scratched his beard and thought quietly for a moment.

"Would it help to choose a seat strategically? Near a window? Towards the back?" He shrugged.  "At the front?" 

He remembered being a student who preferred the back of the classroom. It had been quieter and and there was no one behind him who'd be distracted by his bouncy leg. But then, he had a friend who simply couldn't focus unless she was at the front where she couldn't see the other students without turning around.  It was a crapshoot.  And before he could stop himself, he almost considered having her consult the budding (and troublesome) divinations of Winifred Oliver who, too, was challenged by Hogwarts' structures.

"Have you tried Muffliato? Or pistachios?"

Muffliato to cast a sound-muffling field around her to let her hum, fidget, or tap without disturbing others. (Of course it'd need to be dispelled in order to contribute to discussions. 

The pistachios because they were fun to pick out of the shells and quite nutritious.

Naomi hummed as the headmaster rattled off suggestions. She was not terribly effected by where she sat in a classroom (even though she liked the natural light afforded by window seats) and the mention of pistachios just made her realize she now had the information to put together a whole foodie gift-basket for the headmaster, though that seemed like a cruel thing to do to his aging gastrointestinal system.

But Muffliato was a interesting idea. Tedious, but interesting--and it gave Naomi another idea, and it would get rid of this last batch of gum.

The Slytherin leaned over to a nearby trashcan and spat out a discolored and masticated piece of blue gum while pulling out her wand and a crinkly pouch from an inner robe pocket. Then she sat back, opened the pouch, and then pointed her wand at the two bright blue cubes of gum that sat inside the bag.

With a careful wave of her wand she whispered, "Quietus."

And then she popped one of the pieces of gum in her mouth, chewed it a little, and then blew a thick bubble that she snapped her teeth down onto.

click.

There was another chill of petrichor as Naomi leaned back and let the headmaster decide if he wanted to take the last piece. "How long you t'ink it'll last? I'd use 'di silencing charm but I've only seen it used for living t'ings and I don' want to silence meh self." Although Naomi kept her expression neutral and professional, but codeswitching away from 'proper' English gave her away.

"No, we can't have that," Knox agreed. To muffle a great like Naomi Foley would be depriving the world of a very unique voice, indeed.

The old professor could never pin down the exact reason that the chewing of gum had been historically and voraciously considered abhorrent to places of learning. Why, he had even heard that the scented resins of the Aztecs had been found under a granary. Was it the smacking and chomping? Did the vandalism follow the prohibition, or the other way around? Or was it the defiant frivolity of food without sustenance that so offended his own predecessors. Surely, he himself had not been brave enough to take a stand in favor of the habit, but perhaps a champion like Miss Foley would be enough to sway his alliance.

He took up the other piece and held it between his thumb and index finger for inspection. A moment more and he'd popped it into his mouth.  And then, cough! Out of his mouth rolled a puff of blue smoke. It was a very close match to his favorite Bluesmoke Cigar!

As he continued to chew he experienced the most peculiar sensation. He could not hear his own chewing inside his head. His jaw worked as it should with such a burden, but there was no sound of gnashing in skull.

"I think," he said, "that this is most unsettling, but if you can endure it you may be able to surreptitiously chew away without disturbing others."  He took the gum from his mouth, and had a look at it.

"Your spellcast seems enduring to me. And you'll be able to know if a piece is losing it's enchantment by your ear. If this little morsel is enough to keep the angst at bay, I'll produce the documentation."

He could imagine the memo. Professors, suffer our Naomi Foley leave to chew her gum. I have good reason to believe this will be of benefit to all.

As the headmaster affirmed her decision, Naomi felt like he had surpassed normal levels of elderly-ness and possibly ventured into over-accommodating-grandparent levels of elderly-ness. Apparently, this type of wizened-ness also included gum-triggered respiratory issues. Naomi was definitely making a new batch later.

After Greyfriar survived his cough at the hands of the 'unsettling'-ly  enchanted gum, Naomi's mouth twitched with the cheeky pull of a smile that she hid with a thoughtful, wry pout and a firm nod. The Slytherin didn't think it was her total cure-all for fidget-induced angst, but it was a good start, and the headmaster's continued support and promise of 'documentation' solidified her confidence to pursue more solutions as problems arose.

"Should at least help me pick up a good riddim, even if I'm t'rown off by…" Naomi's lips parted into a small grin as she narrowed a suspicious stare at the headmaster, "…'angst'."

While Naomi wasn't entirely aware of what the wizened wix was imagining, her skill in the ritual of mind magic (vs the spellwork of it) allowed her to use the comforting atmosphere, the headmaster's openness, and Naomi's simple "your-generation-uses-more-colorful-and-possibly-slanderous-language" reasoning skills to easily pick up on the fact that the headmaster was probably imagining something that was embarrassingly concise.

The Slytherin blew and popped her eerily quiet piece of gum again, and then let her expression soften with childish resignation-she supposed she could suffer some honest paperwork. "So you t'ink I need to do anyt'ing else, or check in wit' anybody else before runnin' off into 'di night?"