OUTFIT


The white china appeared out of thin air. In its scrubbed and expertly dried surface, Juliette could see her reflection, pale as a ghost staring down at a globe. Only this globe didn’t spin, and it fit daintily in the lap of a matching tea plate. Steam rose from the mug, which was warm to the touch, and might have been scolding if the elves weren’t so good at what they did. Juliette could not understand such a life, but she knew their magic would be a gift to many a sixteen-year-olds who fancied themselves an O on the Potions N.E.W.T., but couldn’t control a cauldron’s temperature to save their mothers.

Beside the coffee, a bowl of fresh berries and walnut porridge appeared. Juliette picked up a small shaker of cinnamon from a silver tray beside her breakfast, and let its seductive scent linger under her nose. Her eyelids felt heavy with winter and memory. She sprinkled the spice over her oatmeal, giving in a moment to sink in and make everything perfect.

Breakfast could wait; coffee could not. The woman encased the china with a firm grip, lifting the hot brew to her lips, enjoying the snake of smoke that trailed with her hand and disappeared toward the enchanted ceiling overhead. The Ethiopian Harrar Longberry bean was intense to the nose, delicate to the tongue, and coated the throat with essence of blueberry. Juliette loved coffee almost as much as she loved perfume; surely each blend was as aromatic, as intricate as the aphrodisiacs women dabbed behind their ears and pressed between their wrists.

A deep sip of the smooth coffee, and Juliette felt her senses awaken. She set down the cup and reached for her spoon, but her pale gaze perused the near-empty Great Hall.

Of course, one couldn’t expect many of the holiday stragglers to be early to breakfast on their last free Friday before school was back in session. But where were the other professors? Did they, too, usually take their first meal in their quarters or offices, like Juliette usually preferred? Or were they were still hungover from the New Years celebrations, clinging to the weekend like the children they corralled?

Juliette shrugged mentally, and focused on the oatmeal. Her spoon plunged into the seasonal favorite, and she relished the first bite, the picture of a woman, however seemingly coy in play, who shied neither to appetite nor indulgence.

pick an outfit, any outfit

Landis was moderate in most things. His New Years celebration was certainly no different.

Oh, there'd been occasions in the past that said otherwise. Dazmond, although not quite at blackmail level, at the very least had some stories and photos Landis would really her rather not share from previous holidays, New Years included. But Landis had few friends as good as Dazmond - none, really - and he was very picky about whom he chose to relax around, and so it was seldom he stayed in his rooms nursing a hangover, or dreaded facing a coworker after a company party.

He also did not suffer unduly from a lack of sleep, only the shadows under his eyes ever betraying him should he retire late or not at all to his bed. So while breakfast was usually a quiet affair, it did happen, and early enough that he didn't share the Great Hall with any but a select group of strong-willed students.

This morning, there were none at all. No surprise in that. He would have been one of the few not celebrating, although he'd gone to bed at least as late as most. The only person in sight as he made his silent way to his seat at the staff table was a redhead currently lost in her cuppa, a stranger to him, and therefore either a new member of the staff or a visitor of some sort. Or, alternatively, she might just be a modern ghost who'd been poisoned by the very cup she was so intent on now. Landis didn't pay her much attention, instead sitting down to a suddenly available cup of his own (tea) and a basket of pastries that appeared nearby. He calmly selected a crescent from the basket as jam and butter materialized at his left elbow, some eager house elf doing his morning duty, completely unseen.

Maybe it was the way the wintry sun in its all enchanted ceiling glory hit her spoon, or maybe it was the faint smell of mint which preceded that gleam of something fair. In any case, it-- turning out to be a he-- caused Juliette to pause in her perfectly lovely devotion to her bowl of porridge. She looked toward the offender, at least expecting a hello, but found herself staring quite critically at an exquisite profile and lots of blonde.

For a man, he was almost prettier than she.

Juliette cleared her throat and took a long draw of the coffee. It cleared her mind, and her senses. Turning her attention back to the newcomer-- or, rather, veteran, at least compared to she-- she offered a more mild gaze. The mint had paved way for sandalwood, and her honed perfumer’s skill warmed with it. Perhaps he hadn't seen her...

(Right.)

“What do you teach?” She asked, amicably enough, as apparently a discussion on porridge versus croissants was a touch on the dull side. And futile, judging by the steadfastness to which humans clung to their breakfasting habits.

“What do you teach?”

The woman spoke, her voice curious, polite, and disturbing the silence of the near-empty hall.

Landis paused in sipping his tea. He regarded her for a moment, pale eyes flickering over her flaming hair and pretty little face as he mused. No ghost here, far too solid, and there probably weren't any guests at the school over the holidays. So that left staff, new staff. Open positions at the school now were - what? Deputy Headmistress, gamekeeper, and yes, Potions.

"I don't," he said, in his soft, emotionless voice, and drank. Then he carefully set the teacup down on the table before turning his head to speak to her again. "I am the librarian, and the Head of Slytherin House. Landis Morgan, pleased to meet you." His eyes flickered down, then back up as he tilted his head to the side, and now there was politeness coloring his tone as he inquired, "New arrival?"

Shadows hung from his eyes, presenting an poster to warn those who refused to value sleep.  Graham Bombay had not had a good night, nor a good morning, and the house elves kept giving him funny looks when they brought breakfast.  He had had enough, and chose to dine with humanitiy that day, to his dismay.  The disgruntled professor, in a pair of not his cleanest robes, made his way to the Great Hall, grimacing as each screaming child ran by him.

His shaggy hair reflected his demeanor.  He didn't want to talk to anyone, wanted to hide away particularly after the nightmare of a dinner party his mother threw for the entire population of Hogwarts.  Pulling a flask out of his coat pocket, Graham took a quick swig before he entered the room.  Fortunately it was less full of people than usual.  He made his way to the staff table, acknowledging Landis with a nod.  Except there was a woman with him.  Graham supposed that during the interim, staff was allowed to have guests.  If the lady was Landis's whore, the gentleman had good taste.  Graham applauded his balls.

"Mornin'," Graham muttered, sitting down on the other side of Landis's lady friend.  Landis couldn't have all the fun, even if it meant slipping him a few dollars for the slice of conversation and presence afterward.  He grabbed a roll, splitting it open to plot a dollop of jelly on top.  Graham sandwiched them back together, taking a large bite.

The librarian? He didn't look like any librarian Juliette had ever met, to be sure. Not even French librarians were so... so this. She left off there, deciding not to get too ahead of herself, or to let the  attractive cologne sway her loyalties.

“Slytherin,” she mused aloud, a small smile surfacing on her lips. “The ambitious ones, no?” There was a faint facet to her accent, a carefulness of pronunciation, which betrayed that she was not Hogwarts educated, however good her English. “I’m Juliette Vaillancourt, your new Potions Mistress.”

She extended a hand, but was distracted by the sudden approach of a less groomed, more homely character. He sat down and greeted them as if they were breakfasting in the downstairs pub of a country inn. Like a regular patron, fresh from the depths of inebriated slumber.

And, like the cologne she’d recognized with the librarian-- Morgan-- Juliette’s scent sensitivity picked up on the less-than-virginal aura of Mr. Mornin’s pre-breakfast cocktail.

“Good morning,” she echoed, smiling, and studying the new man’s robes. She looked back to Landis, hoping to catch his eye and silently decipher whether this... man... was a normal breakfast-time occurrence. “I’m Juliette. You?”

After the introductions had been made, she focused on the blond man. “So tell me about your library, Mr. Morgan.” She sipped her coffee slowly, lashes settling coquettishly over the edge of her coffee china.

"That's right," Landis said evenly enough, but there was a smirk lurking about his lips to match Juliette's own. It faded when she spoke further - Juliette Vaillancourt, your new Potions Mistress. He blinked, long and slow, to cover, and tried to squash the immediate, bitter pang.

He didn't want that job. He hated children. Really hated children. Would probably  have used them to line his cauldrons - and yet. Landis would have taken the Potions post over the library any day. Dust and preservation versus experimental concoctions and a whole store of ingredients ... the former was hardly tempting in comparison.  Landis comforted himself with the thought that at least he never had to make a lesson plan and he had far more time to devote to the WBA, but there was still the persistent feeling that he was somehow letting down the past Slytherin Heads by being the librarian instead of swooping around the dungeons with a cauldron as nature intended. Swooping around bookshelves looking menacing was just not the same.

Well, perhaps at least she'd be more bearable than the last one. She was French, if the name and the careful enunciation were any indication, but Landis didn't hold that against her.

He reached out to shake her hand, but then Bombay entered, looking as dubiously unkempt as ever and with table manners to match. Both distracted by his entrance, their hands faltered, and didn't touch. Landis, who was quite used to Bombay by now, withdrew his hand and picked up a knife in one hand and his croissant in the other. "Bombay," he acknowledged as he sliced it open. He did give Juliette a long sideways glance, amused at her reaction to this first-time encountering of one of Hogwart's most memorable residents. Horrified fascination... yes, that was about right. When she glanced back at him, his lips quirked faintly upward, he raised an eyebrow, and then he went back to buttering his croissant (with considerable more finesse than Bombay, it should be noted).

"Lovely dinner the other night," he remarked idly, tone perfectly innocent as he glanced down the table towards Graham. "Thank you so much for inviting me." Bombay was particularly surly this morning, it looked like. Landis, who was generally amused by the man as long as he didn't turn his rude tongue on him, was also not adverse to rousing him further.

“So tell me about your *library*, Mr. Morgan.”

Funny how suggestive that sounded. Landis was not certain whether this was intentionally so, or whether his own mind was at fault; either way, he dismissed the thought hurriedly.

"What would you care to know, Ms. Vaillancourt?"

He swallowed,  wiping a stray bit of jelly from his mouth with his robe sleeve that bore a few other blotches from previous meals.  The librarian had so kindly answered the woman's question as to his identity.  Little else was needed.  "Believe me, I had nothing to do with it.  Send your compliments to the backstabbing, society ass-kissing hostess," he replied.  He still hadn't spoken to his mother since the debacle of Christmas dinner.  She had no right to go through his diary, nor to invite its inhabitants to the same table.  Or to do it in his name.

The mention of a library tour, however, earned the raising of his left eyebrow.  So that was the code these days?  Graham was a fast-learner.  "Perhaps afterward, I can show you the greenhouses.   They're quite large, fully stocked and so forth.  With compensation for your time, of course," he added with a swift wink.  He pulled out his flask, adding a liberal amount to the juice in his glass.  He recapped the steel flask, tucking it back into his pocket before taking a sip of his new beverage. 

Of course, he would never infringe on Landis' own time with the woman.  Afterward.  Graham didn't mind being second.  It meant being in the line, which was a vast improvement over his status most of the time.  He stabbed at a slice of quiche, setting it onto his plate as he dug in.  Hogwarts was hell at times, but their food was heavenly.

Society? Ass-kissing? “Are you married?” Juliette inquired, unable to stop herself. “I’m terribly sorry. I hear those things turn a sour after a few years...”

She turned to Landis, fully prepared to let him know exactly what she wanted. And expected. It was, after all, his job. What luck, to have found him so soon.

“Well I’d like to hear more about this Restricted Section, to begin with. How dangerous are the books, exactly? I’ve heard rumors. And I’m also looking to put together a presentation on using the library’s tools. Would you be interested?”

The word “no” might have been the universal language, but here in the Great Hall, it was a silent form of eye communication that got the job done. Or only further served the confusion. Juliette had long resigned herself to the fact that she’d be reheating her porridge later that morning, but she could not get over the stark difference between the men on either side of her.

One, with a keen and devilish smirk, as if it hurt to smile, and hurt more to be forthcoming about his identity. And yet he was tidy and composed as any satan in the history books. The other, a disheveled and dipsomaniacal creature apparently called a Bombay, whose natural habitat was ruffled robes, and whose feeding habits were questionable at best.

But he was friendly, and blunt... if also, ironically, attempting to adopt some lingo Juliette didn’t know she was perpetuating.

Not naive, but also not trained in the innuendo of a professional escort, Juliette carried on with her conversation as if it were perfectly innocent, albeit a bit salacious in emphasis. Could she help it if she couldn’t wait to sink her wand into the school’s collection of tomes? Many a less patient women would have kidnapped said blond Lucifer by now.

Or at the very least, requested a dash of whatever was in the prematurely crotchety adversary’s flask to calm the anticipation. Sitting a little more straight, Juliette remained perfectly composed in demeanor. (Minus the obvious expressions of surprise cast in Landis’ direction).

“Oooh, perfect. I was wondering who managed the greenhouses. I haven't had the chance to go down and see them yet. I’d love a tour. Today, if you’re free?” She quirked a brow, but was met with a wink. And something about compensation. The English had funny ways of doing things. Had she really been away so long? “Compensation? For ingredient harvesting?” She gave an airy laugh. “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Bombay. In fact, I’d be more inclined to pay you for the favor.”

"Believe me, I had nothing to do with it.  Send your compliments to the backstabbing, society ass-kissing hostess."

"Certainly," Landis said, taking a thoughtful bite of his croissant. Yes, blunt as ever - it was really very delightful. Still an atrocious eater, but Landis was no longer bothered by that. He'd only been appalled for the first week or so of school; after that, it was far less effort just to ignore Bombay's gobbling and food-stricken clothing. It took a special kind of blindness, but by now it was force of habit.

Vaillancourt's mistake made him raise an eyebrow again, but he left the correction to Bombay. After all, it was his mother, and Landis was quite interested in seeing how explosively he would splutter.

He was much happier to explain the Restricted section. It was, after all, his favorite.

"Not much, at this point," he said. "Over the ages discerning librarians have removed the deadliest ones; there's nothing fatal in there now.  The dangerous ones are more outweighed by those which are either too valuable to leave on the regular shelves, or those which are deemed inappropriate for children. For example, there are still several volumes bound in human skin." And human... other things. "Then there are those inlaid with jewels, or extravagantly illuminated. Then there are those books which either contain very dangerous information - usually Dark - or are themselves likely to bite, curse - " He gave a languid shrug - "whatever. But they can be vicious; there is an inventory in the section detailing each book and its individual handling instructions. I'd advise you consult it before you look at any of them." There were still even those books which required blood before they'd give up their entrails. Sometimes they'd only take wizarding blood... sometimes, only a muggle or muggleborn. In those instances, the book was usually Dark, because it usually required much more than just a pinprick. Quite a bit more. Nearly worthless now, since it seemed unlikely anyone would let him perform human sacrifices just for a bit of light reading. "I don't know which rumours you've heard, but they're probably true."

"And I’m also looking to put together a presentation on using the library’s tools. Would you be interested?”

Immediately Landis sensed danger. His eyes narrowed, just a little. This did not bode well for his peace of mind.  "What... kind of demonstration?"

Fortunately Graham intervened with a particularly sleazy wink and mention of "compensation." Landis exchanged Juliette's surprised glance with a blank one of his own, having no solid idea what Bombay was talking about but reasonably able to guess. The new professor was lovely, and Bombay was somewhat... piggish... when it came to ladies, if his occasional off-hand comment and total lack of a love interest was anything to judge by. But Landis was not exactly a knight in shining armor, and he wasn't about to protect anyone's virtue, if that was even what Bombay was after (and so early in the morning, too, Landis was impressed).

Graham sputtered, sending a chunk of bread flying out of his mouth and into the pan of eggs.  Eyebrows upraised and eyes watering, he recovered slowly, swallowing hard to keep from choking on the rest of the roll.  "N-no!" he uttered emphatically, almost as if in protest.  Of course, he protested the entire institution.  Man was not made to sleep with one woman alone.  "No," he coughed again, "Not married." Graham paused, hesitant as to whether mentioning his relationship with the woman would denote his residence with her as well.  Best to avoid it altogether.

As they chit-chatted about books, Graham refilled his plate after wiping his mouth once more with his sleeve.  Merlin, he hated when he choked on his food.  Embarrassing.  Although, he supposed, enough galleons would make her forget that as well. 

Books.  Boring.  Restricted Section--interesting, but talked about in the most boring way possible.  Plus it just meant they would probably screw in the stacks.  Kinky, but it wasn't as if Graham had never thought about the same.  Good for Landis, he supposed, for making it happen. But what kind of demonstration? Really? Was the librarian just a grab bag kind of guy? Graham knew he'd be lucky for anything to happen, but he wished Landis would just step up and set his own requirements.  That was the whole point of payment, wasn't it?

Smiling back at the beautiful woman, Graham was pleased to find himself more fluent in code than he thought.  "You can go down anytime you like, miss." Landis had done well, this one was a quick wit.  Ingredient harvesting?  Be still his heart, he'd be glad to let her harvest all she liked.  Not that he wouldn't have to begin with. He laughed with her, goosebumps appearing on his arms as she uttered her next words. 

Holy shit.  He knew it was only to ensue she'd get a good tip, but this woman had a knack for making her comments appear genuine.  He blushed slightly, returning to his breakfast.  It was Landis's time, that he had to respect.  Although he couldn't wait to give her a 'tour' of the greenhouses.  Today was turning out to be quite fantastic after all. 

The mystery woman remained that. A mystery. Juliette looked between the two men, and felt it was probably best left unsaid-- for the moment. There was plenty of time to inquire after Professor Bombay’s... hostess... later. Maybe when he gave her a tour of the Hogwarts greenhouse’s. But for now, Juliette preferred the breakfast trays remain unsoiled, and the breakfast itself remain in the mouth of whomever happened to be consuming it.

After she was sure he wasn’t choking to death, she continued with her own meal, and listened with an intrigued ear as Landis Morgan elaborated on the castle’s collection. “Nothing fatal? Sad,” she concluded, a slight music to her voice as she humored aloud. Her spoon hovered in her hand above the porridge, which had long since stopped steaming. “But biting books do sound promising-- and around children?” She laughed. “There aren’t nearly enough of those where I last worked.” Not that perfumers required many texts of an oral focus. Their business was far more olfactory, naturally. “Tomes with teeth, I mean.”

Smirking slightly at the sudden suspicion in the man’s eyes-- he really did look like some sort of Aryan bird of prey when he squinted like that-- she tilted her head and challenged him right back, her own eyes doing the opposite. Her brows shot up toward her fiery locks, her blue eyes widened as if she were offering up an obvious proposal. “Let’s talk after breakfast. Pleasure,” she said, eyes darting to her spoon. “And business so early in the morning-- I love it as much as the next person, but at least let the coffee sink in, no?”

The other man, this Bombay, seemed more keen and accommodating when it came to... demonstrations. Perhaps she’d set up something with him for the third year students if the field trip to town fell through.

“Wonderful. Do you mind if I bring my gloves and get my hands a little dirty? There are a few things I want as fresh as possible, if you don’t mind.”

“Nothing fatal? Sad."

"Indeed." Landis did sound vaguely regretful. As for tomes with teeth – well. He was pretty fond of them too. Actually, he was fond of all the biting, hexing, stinging volumes that populated a few lone shelves in the Restricted section. They’d somehow survived the ages, overzealous librarians, the never-ending complaints from parents, and were still there, the plucky little malevolent sods. They were almost endearing, like the pets he’d never had. “Pity. Well, you won’t be wanting for them here.”

“Let’s talk after breakfast. Pleasure and business so early in the morning-- I love it as much as the next person, but at least let the coffee sink in, no?”

That was the good thing about tea – it did not require time to sink in. But Landis inclined his head, a gracious gesture completely at odds with the still suspicious downward slant of his brows. “That’s fine.”

Juliette turned to Bombay, and he glanced up at the flapping of wings. A lone news owl swooped in and perched awkwardly on the staff table next to Landis. While Juliette and Graham talked, he gave it a sickle and took the paper it held rolled up in its claws. Over the holiday, there was no set owl schedule; he preferred this, because it meant he could get his paper earlier.

He folded it over into a neat, manageable-sized rectangle, reading the headlines with half an ear on the conversation down the table. Next to him, the owl shifted from foot to foot. Sidling closer, it snatched some croissant from between Landis' listless fingers before taking off. Landis did not appear to notice.

Biting? Tomes with teeth?  Kinky.  Graham grinned salaciously at Landis's reply.  Of course she wouldn't be lacking, not between the both of them. 

Of course, her main business was with Landis (the brilliant, lucky dog) and Graham was satisfied enough with the promise of a later encounter.  He had learned that even with women who were not ladies, you waited your turn or you'd meet the fist of whoever's turn it was.  While he wasn't sure if Landis was capable of the same, if this were to be a recurring thing Graham hardly wanted to ruin his chances of jumping on the train.

As the owl gracefully landed beside the librarian, Graham was pleased to see the conversation turn back towards himself.  "Bring what you like," Graham replied with a smile.  He could deal with gloves.  Not the best manner of contact, but one pleasing all the same.  "And I assure you, it'll be quite fresh."  His pajamas were already feeling a bit too small. 

“Tell me, Professor Bombay,” Juliette continued, deciding for the moment to focus all of her attention on the Herbologist. The librarian seemed... finicky... in the mornings. Juliette was good at reading people, but she had not known him longer than fifteen minutes, and therefore couldn’t decide whether he was simply hungry, or always this way. So she smiled. At Graham Bombay. “Which heating methods do you favor in the winter?” She sipped her coffee slowly, methodically.

“Hogwarts has several greenhouses, I’ve been told. Do you separate the plants according to environment, and then just charm each house, or do you separate them according to their uses and sensitivity?”

Giving her oatmeal a stir, she used her wand to reheat it. Some things weren’t salvageable; Juliette would make due. She finally looked between the two men. “Is breakfast always this empty, or is everyone else on holiday? I was hoping I might meet a few of the other professors before I start next week.”