The Headmaster was in no mood. Over the past several days a dozen or so letters had suddenly poured in from angry parents ranging from concerned to angry (and one lone approval), all of them concerning his History of Magic curriculum.[1] The trouble was, the curriculum they were opposed to (and one approved of) was fictitious. Concerned parents and guardians and general citizens were not new, nor all that unwelcome. He appreciated parents paying attention and engaging in their children’s education. It takes a village and all that.

But the most concerning message was the one from Temperance Cartwright of the Daily Prophet. Word was spreading and Knox was baffled by both how it started and how it was spreading. But he put the thoughts from his head for now. Professor Onuris was on his way at the Headmaster’s behest.

His matters with Sylvain were not as dire as his current ruminations, thankfully. Sylvain was doing well and his classes were the talk of the corridors. His subject was always popular, but his methods seemed exceptional. (He couldn’t completely dismiss that a portion of his popularity could be attributed to his, em, youthful cut.)

He moved from behind his desk down the few steps to the seating area by the fire, in his hand a few pages. Centaurs, Glumbumbles, some such typical politics with the local herd.

The scraping of stone heralded the stone griffon’s ascent and likely the arrival of his colleague.

1.	[Nov 12-16] And howl, howl, howl

Chipper as usual, Sylvain waited patiently as he ascended to the Headmaster's office. It had been a good day for him - lessons were over by lunch and he'd enjoyed a few good hours in the Forbidden Forest, exploring and liaising with its many beastly inhabitants. He was looking forward to updating Greyfriar on the good humour of their Centaurs.

"Ah, good evening professor!" Sylvain smiled, striding towards the fireplace with his hands in his pockets. "You are well, I hope?" he looked the older wizard in the face as he took a seat in one of the armchairs.

It was not that long ago that he had been talking to Kurby[1] about their illustrious Headmaster on his overzealous methods. Sylvain wanted very much to discuss these things with Greyfriar but he was still a teacher in his first year of employment. He did not want to, how they say, rock the boat.

"I am today the bearer of good news," he indicated some papers in his hand, featuring his untidy script. "Our Centaurs are in good moods."

1.	Heard it Through the Pumpkin Vine - 11th Nov

Sylvain in a good mood, Centaurs in a good mood. Well, wasn't just everyone in such a good mood. Knox checked the petty thought and let himself be relieved that at least for now the often rocky relationship between Hogwarts and the wards of the forest was stable.

"Ah, that is good news," he said forcing a smile. "So you've spoken with them? That's a good omen for the closing of the year, that at least."

Knox leaned on his elbow, hand scratching in his beard. "Hmm. Classes going alright for you? Students seem happy."

Usually it was a challenge to get word in edgewise with the Headmaster but his mind was on the conundrum. So what if he was lecturing on werewolves and their place in history? Yes he certainly was a werewolf himself, so who better? A conflict of interest, working towards the education of the next generation, for the well-being of his werewolf students and those students with werewolf friends and family. He frowned at these thoughts, not Sylvain's reply.

            " That's a good omen for the closing of the year, that at least."

At least? Sylvain eyed the older wizard curiously as it finally set in that maybe something was the matter. He was bad at social cues and usually defaulted to friendliness, if he was unsure, but Greyfriar did not appear responsive. There must be matters on his mind; he had his problems and everyone else's problems to worry about.

"Oui, we are fine. The fourth years especially," he replied with a smile as he thought about his students, "are very interested in their work."

It was easy to surmise that that was the most enjoyable year to work with. They were not as new and green as the third years, or as stressed as the older ones. They still felt and enjoyed the wonder of working with creatures. The magic was still alive. But such positive thoughts was distant from the atmosphere tonight.

"You are well, professor?" Sylvain tilted his head slightly, glancing to and then away from the live fire. "It is a difficult week for you?"

Knox Greyfriar was an astute observer of others' comfort and disposition, but it was only just now that he realized he was probably visibly sulking. He furrowed his brow, shook his head, raised a hand and looked away.

"It occurs to me..." he started. "That I've never made it deathly clear that I stand behind the professors. Do you understand? You're here for a reason. My predecessors, back to and excluding Analiza Snark, trusted you all as top of your craft and duly qualified to -"

He paused, wiped his mouth and looked at Onuris once again.

"I am behind you. I wouldn't allow outside forces to meddle with your -," he stopped himself again, finding it frustrating not to quite have the words. But thinking of two things at once did that.

"You set your curriculum. You're here because I trust you. And respect you. And you can count on it, I will support you - all of you - if your work is ever assailed." He shrugged. "What kind of headmaster would I be otherwise?"

That might have muddied the waters a bit. He was accused at both ends of being too forward with his authenticity and stubbornly close-kept with the truths about himself.

Sylvain was feeling increasingly uncomfortable, in a room that usually radiated warmth and inclusiveness. Mon dieu! What was he talking about? What had Sylvain done to cause this halting outpouring of words that did not lead anywhere? He twisted the roll of papers in his hand anxiously, and watched the other wizard.

             "What kind of headmaster would I be otherwise?"

"Eh, I, um. Of course you are very... caring. Thank you for trusting us, professor," he mumbled in his confusion, only half sure of what he was saying, "and for your support."

No, this was not something to do with him personally. Something had maybe shaken the Headmaster? Something to do with the teachers? Or their lessons? He licked his lips, gaze faltering reservedly and then rising back to Knox's face. "What has happened? For you to be talking like this?"

When all cues failed, Sylvain defaulted to the direct method.

Greyfriar directed himself to pay attention to Sylvain who was being more gracious than he was required to be. Or maybe this is exactly how gracious a first-year professor was supposed to be in the highest office in the tower. Either way, Knox was imposing. He could either dismiss the man and assure him nothing was wrong, or, well, maybe...

One of the letters had mentioned the Beast Division of all places, and Sylvain Onuris spent some of his time there. Consulting or something. It had been all fine with Knox. Perhaps...

Knox leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

"The strangest thing," he said.

"These last days I've been receiving letters from parents objecting to the History of Magic curriculum. There's even an inquiry from the Daily Prophet. Concerned parents are nothing new, don't think me a glass cauldron. I wouldn't be so unsettled but the tricky bit is, I haven't been teaching anything that's being complained about."

He nodded his head to the side. "I wish to respond to them all, but I can't really until I can offer some kind of explanation. And at the moment, I can't. My only clue is that the rumor, if I can call it that, started in the Ministry of Magic. Beast Division."

The headmaster shrugged his great shoulders. His tone was far from accusatory and more like he was telling about a funny bird.

            "...parents objecting to the History of Magic curriculum. There's even an inquiry from the Daily Prophet."

He felt something cold in his stomach as the Headmaster continued to speak, explaining the troubles at his door. Sylvain could only think of that afternoon on level four - the many handlers and secretaries and ministry staff who had been lingering in the bullpen with their tea and newt biscuits. All while Kurby discussed his disturbing revelations.

"Ah," he glanced away for a moment, gaze falling on the knowing portrait of Albus Dumbledore, who no doubt recognised a guilty face when he saw one. "That is a... coincidence maybe."

Sylvain looked back at Knox and licked his lips. Did Bagnold not say that his niece told him about the assignment? But why would Greyfriar lie about that? Why would Bagnold or Nicola lie? He was no less confused than he had been just a moment ago.

"I know this rumour. I did not think it was serious," Sylvain shrugged, "but I hear that it was an assignment, non? The historical persecution of werewolves?" he said this hesitantly and was reluctant to mention either Kurby or his niece - he especially did not want to let the young girl fall into trouble with the Headmaster.

As it was, it felt like he was in trouble with Knox.

Knox lifted his head from his hand and raised his eyebrows at the younger wizard. On a different day, he'd be amused! Bark out an 'oh ho!' and have some tea. Today his surprise was more measured.

"Yes, that would be the one. That would be the ... phantom assignment. I much prefer inciting disapproval for things I've actually done. In this case I'm under critique for a fiction. And why can't I help thinking, 'why didn't I think of that?'"  He breathed a small laugh.

"No, let's see. The first years are on a project of their choosing. Second years are hip-deep in the Goblin Rebellions. Third, magical education across the ages. Fourth, just starting imperialism  - reading on it, that is. Fifth, O.W.L. preparation," he weaved a hand in the air, meandering through the curriculum. "And my N.E.W.T.s are studying mago-muggle relations via primary sources. I can't -"

He winced and touched his finger to his thumb. "I can't for the life of me glean what kernel of truth sprouted into this chattering ..."

Knox looked at Sylvain with a little more intensity. "Any ideas, Sylvain?"

Ah, that sounded dramatic indeed. Like a novel by Rascal Rosier. The Mystery of the Phantom Assignment.

Sylvain watched the other wizard carefully - it was clear that the assignment did not exist, but also clear to him that Knox would defend his decision if it were genuine. Personally, he did not think it was wise to teach first years about the persecution of werewolves but he kept that opinion to himself for now.

            "Any ideas, Sylvain?"

Oui. One idea, an idea that took the form and image of the young girl who had come to look at his bees with Feliks last month. But why would she lie to her uncle? Sylvain pictured the poor thing being interrogated by Knox, a giant of a werewolf, and he frowned slightly.

"I have a... how you say, an inkling?" he looked at Greyfriar uncertainly. "But I do not know, professor, if I should say. Do you maybe permit me to investigate on your behalf? Only to ask questions of certain persons."

He was only postponing the inevitable but he felt safer interviewing Nicola by himself and keeping the Headmaster out of it. Sylvain was wary of bias and of how Nicola - or her family, if she told them - might react.

Knox said, "hmm," very pointedly when Sylvain said he wasn't sure if he should say. He bloody well certainly should. The Headmaster was growing concerned that Sylvain had known of this problem from the very start and kept it to himself. And apparently wished to keep it that way. All well and good, except that it's Greyfriar who's being held to account for this, Greyfriar who was getting the letters, Greyfriar's responsibility to resolve. What did Sylvain expect him to do? Write back and say, 'no idea, chaps, but my groundskeeper is on it.'?

He leaned on his hand again, this time his fingers in his temple.

"Seems like a great deal of extraneous steps for what's clearly a misunderstanding." He was being charitable. No. Not charitable. Concealing his growing suspicion that the rumor was more sinister. Knox Greyfriar had few friends in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. If this charade originated there, he couldn't possibly see the value of having Sylvain handle it.

"Tell me, Sylvain, how came you upon this conjured conspiracy?" Knox Greyfriar was a man with an emotional range that ranged from brooding to boisterous. At his most discontent, he was sarcastic and flat. Sylvain was beginning to be regarded with this note.

A misunderstanding. He knew what that meant. It was a politician's word.

Sylvain lowered his gaze, sliding it towards towards the fireplace and composing his thoughts. This wasn't the circumstance under which he expected to exercise the evasiveness and reticence expounded by the French Ministry when they sent him to discover details of the Direwolf situation.

Strangely enough, he felt similar loyalty for Bagnold, for level four.

            "Tell me, Sylvain, how came you upon this conjured conspiracy?"

"I listen to Ministry gossip at tea time," he shrugged as he turned back to Knox, the nervous hint from earlier having settled into obstinacy. "I would not be long professor. I have a name, I will ask a question or two. It would be alarming, non, to be questioned by the figure you have wronged?"

Carefully, rationally, Sylvain was trying not to make this about the werewolf issue. He would avoid that. Greyfriar was sensitive about it and those letters had thrown him - how would Balfour say? Out of colour? Off colour? He must be careful.

Knox listened carefully and took his time in thinking this over. Sylvain was showing a side of himself that was not to his credit. The Headmaster was realizing that his professor - a man he'd trusted a great deal - was not behaving as if he was Hogwarts' ally in this. Did he think this was a personal slight? That the letters made him sad? An easy mistake to make, if that was the case.

At long last, he spoke, not moving his posture or severing his gaze at Slyvain.

"You understand that this issue isn't about me. My reputation, if I might say, has survived and will survive far worse pummeling than a few misled parents. You understand this," he insisted. If Sylvain did not, he'd better now. And if he was in disagreement, he was dearly mistaken. Knox was growing more talkative.

"And it occurs to me that you don't know me very well. I'm surprised all that gossip you've sampled has not included that I'm not a vengeful fellow. Hogwarts must be able to operate independent of outside political interference. This matter?" Knox shrugged. "Troubling. It's come at an angle. Intentional or not, malicious or not, it is my responsibility to resolve on behalf of my duty to Hogwarts."

He paused again, and held the silence captive.

"Share with me what you know and let me handle this. That is how you can help, if indeed that is of value to you."

The more he plied him for information, the more obstinate Sylvain felt. He had one upper hand: Greyfriar's motive was known but his own was not. There was no conclusion the Headmaster could jump to without making a wild leap of logic. Maybe Kurby was right about the old wizard's zeal.

"I do not place weight on any gossip," he answered with a half-smile, taking the sting of the comment whether or not it was meant, "or I would have come to you with it sooner, oui? It is not vengefulness that worries me."

Greyfriar was being wily, trying to use Sylvain's conscience and willingness to help. It might work on students... it might work on someone like Nicola Bagnold. But it would not work on him, for he was made suspicious by the man's insistence on handling the situation.

"Approaching a young student yourself, professor, might alarm h--" he halted, pausing to remind himself not to use an identifying pronoun, "might alarm them. They are already wary of werewolves, by the nature of this rumour. If you trust me, I can handle this quietly."

He reasoned that if he chatted to Nicola, especially with Feliks for cover, it was less reason for the student body to gossip than if Knox interviewed her alone. Quiet, quiet. No more gossip. "I do this for the school, of course."

Knox shook his head gently to himself. Impossible. He hadn't realized that Sylvain's faith in him was so strained. That was a disappointment. He'd thought the pair of them were better off.

Sylvain didn't seem the sort to let something slip by accident, so when he revealed it was a student he could trust that Sylvain wanted him to know. A student. Was that tidbit meant to soften some imagined savage tirade (as if Knox was capable of such a thing)? It was difficult to narrow down who it might be. There was a significant portion of the students who hadn't had him before. 'Wary of werewolves'. Such a bias learned from parents no doubt, and such a bias that could be ameliorated by course content directed towards understanding.

He stopped himself. He was ruminating. Ruminating needlessly as he'd decided what to do about Onuris.

"I'll thank you to consider this matter out of your hands, Mr. Onuris."

Handle it quietly. Doing this for the school. Who did he think he was? Knox stood up and walked away to his desk. He waved a hand over his shoulder.

"Thank you for bringing it to my attention. You can go now."