The Forbidden Forest
12 October 2011 @1pm
Full Moon

The autumn chill was settling in, and it perhaps bit Knox Greyfriar more than others. In the previous days, Knox's health had waned as the moon waxed. His complexion more ashen, his eyes darker, and his beard rougher. It was a cycle he'd endured 37 times. The Wolfsbane Potion mitigated the effects, but this was not an affliction that time would heal. It would, perhaps, only get worse as he aged. One thing he could control was his mood. He kept his smile and vigor for his students, not wishing to worry them.

But he reserved little of that energy for his two escorts tonight. These three had done this together only once before. It was an odd conflict between guest and host. One one hand, Onuris and Storm were invited and following Greyfriar to a facsimile of his home, intruding on a private experience. On the other, he was accountable to them, all of them accountable to Hogwarts.

The three wizards followed the path down to the Forbidden Forest, Greyfriar leading the way, wrapped up in a heavy cloak and scarf.  As they walked along the edge of the forest, Knox's wand was engaged in the Seeking part of the Seek and Find Spell, the magic that concealed his transformation venue.  He attempted small talk.

"The Hogwarts Howler is back in the bathrooms and I believe we three are featured in illustration. A thorough but apt roast."

The second years would see him slightly later today, rather than right after lunch. Today Professor Storm and Onuris carried out their new lunar duty with the Headmaster, while Temple had a different routine.

Last month had been entirely unremarkable, even if the Defences Professor had checked wards meticulously and been tempted to stay the night within the boundary of the castle for peace of mind. This would be the second occasion, and he hoped, just as unremarkable as the first.

Ignan had been content to walk in silence, mulling over thoughts and listening for the sounds of the forest. It was normally Sylvain who engaged in friendly discussion, sometimes too friendly, in Ignan’s opinion. But it was Greyfriar who began the conversation once he had begun to navigate the forest edge.

“Hrmph,” his Deputy replied, following behind. Ignan wore one of the long, dark cloaks that had become trademark, and his bootsteps softened as they left the path to negotiate the uneven terrain of tree roots, rabbit holes and gullies. “If you were to mention your admiration to Pepper, I am sure she would send you a signed original.” Zeta Pepper had remained for NEWTs, while her magical liability of a cousin had not. Her ability to capture and caricature the staff and other residents of Hogwarts had not gone unnoticed. Professor Storm had only made the mistake once of believing Zeta was firmly engaged in his lecture, to find her instead sketching his frown lines ever deeper in her notebook with no mercy at all.

“Have you seen it?” He asked Onuris, unsure if their younger colleague was even aware of what the Howler was, “it’s the student newspaper,” he added by way of explanation.

In his standard attire of corduroy and thick-knit sweaters, Sylvain trudged alongside the older members of the faculty as they made their way through the Forbidden Forest. He had finished teaching his last lesson of the day - a NEWTs class to do with Thestrals - and taken his lunch, so there was left only more leisurely activities once his obligations as groundskeeper were complete. This was unavoidable.

He could not personally approve of a werewolf Headmaster, in spite of how smoothly the full moon had come and gone before. Sylvain was glad to be a part of this procession and even more glad for Ignan Storm's presence amongst them. A man who appreciated good beekeeping was a man to be trusted! At least that was as much as he could surmise from how often Ignan entertained his animated apiary updates.

            "Have you seen it?" the Deputy Head attempted to include him in the odd exchange, "it’s the student newspaper."

"Ah, merci." Sylvain smiled sheepishly, bending over to pick a poisonous looking flower in their path and slip it into his pocket. "I do not read it. It is not good for my head I think," he tapped his temple with a laugh. "But I hear this and that from my students. A good distraction from serious work, I am sure."

In honesty, he had overhead several fourth years discussing an article about his 'physical merits' and decided that it would be less embarrassing to avoid the Howler altogether. He preferred to ignore the fact that teenagers ran on mischief and hormones.

"But it does not bother you, non?" Sylvain asked either of them, patting Ignan on the back with friendly emphasis. "When I was their age, ah! We used to write rude limericks about our teachers!" And rude puns on the back of their textbooks or parchments - all in either French or English. "Les frustrations de la jeunesse!"

The two wizards did him a favor and allowed him to be distracted. It was not a long walk in, but long enough. And even as he wanted the time to pass quickly, it was only hoping for the dismal event to begin. He smiled back at Sylvain.

"Satire is the soul of wit, don't they say? Forbidding it, as we've learned from our forest, makes it all the more enticing. Besides, we've had more than a few students advance from Howler to Prophet?" Sylvain wouldn't know them, he didn't think, but Ignan would. "Ariadne Gamp, correct? And I have heard that Figaro Sellaphix is making a name for himself."

It wasn't now possible to find the way to the thicket unless the spell were to be broken, even by Knox who'd hidden his house originally. So he didn't know they were getting close, other than the approximate time they were hiking, until they came upon it.

Down in deep gully, surrounded on all sides by twisting roots, sat a small stone house. Coiled near the door was a length of thick silver chain. Unseen were the traces of last moon's wards. The chalk run at the doorway and the wax ones over the window had been rained on and would need to be refreshed.

"Ah, here we are again."  His pleasant demeanor was stretching thin. He'd be slow to admit it, but the journey had taxed him considerably. He moved down the steep embankment carefully and casually leaned against one of the stone columns of the portico. He didn't care to remind the other two wizards of the preparatory work to be done on his hovel. They wouldn't need a refresher and the extra measure they'd insisted on were a point of unspoken tension between them all.

From his pocket, Knox produced the small flask. It was sealed with wax, labeled and stamped with all the official trappings of the Wolfsbane Potion distributed by the Ministry of Magic. He picked off the wax deal, gave it a sniff, and downed it expertly.  There was no improving the taste or the sick feeling it gave him.

“… good distraction from serious work, I am sure.” Onuris laughed, and Ignan got the impression he was glad of a more jovial topic of conversation than their duty provided. The Deputy Headmaster gave a hurumph of agreement and negotiated a deepening rut in the path with his boots.

“But it does not bother you, non?” The paper did bother Ignan, but on a lower level than the frequent hand patting between his shoulder blades from the younger Frenchman. It made his skin prickle and he grit his teeth. The sharp glance he delivered Sylvain appeared to be missed as he continued to discuss the newspaper and reminisce about writing rude poetry about Beauxbatons professors. Greyfriar indulged their uninitiated colleague by elaborating on the newspaper.

“… I have heard that Figaro Sellaphix is making a name for himself.”
“No different to his time here then,” the older wizard commented sarcastically. Figaro Sellaphix had a big mouth and had never been too far from trouble in Ignan’s opinion, along with many of the other students. For all Figaro’s shortcomings, the Professor could not doubt his pluck, which was one quality he did nurture in his students.

Their journey interrupted conversation on the literature choices of students as they encountered the chosen cell of the Headmaster, nestled in the forest, hidden and protected by wards. Ignan let the Headmaster approach the door and then looked over his shoulder to Sylvain and jerked his head, indicating it was time.

He didn’t linger to check his colleague understood, but set off in a circle around the building, weaving his wand through the air and uttering incantations beneath his breath. The air between him and the house rippled with a heat haze and a faint gold sheen arched into the sky towards the roof, as if an invisible bell jar had begun to form around the abode. The wards were a barrier from both sides, to contain and to protect. Another would dampen sound. Greyfriar’s earlier ward would protect a wider boundary from casual wanderers. Somewhere above the hollow, a fox screamed and Ignan paused mid-stride, concentration punctuated. He inhaled deeply, and doubled back to be sure.

As he rounded the corner to the front of the house again, he eyed the preparations Onuris made, ebony wand still in hand, and a furrowed brow. His other hand reached into his robes and extended a small pewter flask to Knox. It might only be the afternoon but the other wizard was hours away from a horrific transformation and already looked like death. It was the nearest Ignan Storm would get to ‘how are you doing?’ to his senior.

“Is there anything different to be brought in the morning?” He asked, studying Knox wearily, visually assessing his health. With winter approaching the nights would be longer, and the transformations prolonged. As much as Greyfriar was a bear of a man, they all needed time to recover, as Ignan was more keenly aware since his brush with death.