Maeve Whitman returned to classes with a renewed purpose in her lessons, or rather, the lessons for one class in particular -- History of Magic. She had taken to heart Austerlitz's comments from the dinner party at the Bombays and had set about with vigor to find a career path that would suit her ambitions and desires.

Hildegarde had given Maeve a list of reading materials before leaving the dinner and Maeve had been surprised to find that many of the titles sat right on the shelves of her grandmother's London home or had even been under her nose all along at Ceinwen Plas. The latter should not have surprised her because Sarah Whitman had once lived there herself before being widowed. And before her, it was her great-grandmother who had added substantial breadth to the Whitman library.

Maeve had poured over the contents with a drive usually attributed to the likes of the overachieving mudblood, Grace Eddy. That was quite the feat, considering History of Magic texts were known for being dry and boring.

Maeve had been so preoccupied by her work that other matters such as making fun of others, gossiping, and snogging Callum, had all been pushed back on her list of priorities. And the only reason that she didnt mind taking a razzing for it was because of her professor's words essentially giving her license to be selfish. They had become her mantra since the dinner.

She certainly could be a selfish little thing. Oh yes, could she. But now, instead of using that selfishness in a negative manner towards others, she was going to (unknowingly) put it towards a greater purpose.

With am armful of the smaller books (she wouldn't dream of lugging around the more weighty ones), she stepped inside of the History of Magic classroom during the evening break period, eager to discuss with her new favorite professor the few talking points that she had jotted down from her readings. She was also going to be receptive to whatever gems of wisdom Austerlitz felt inclined to give.

Maeve also carried a small gift, meant as a token of appreciation for Austerlitz taking the time to mentor her.

Hildegarde had finished writing a letter to Archer, her hand adeptly writing out every single word with experienced poise and grace. Taking a moment to admire her own work, the handwriting was immaculate. As always. She sealed the envelope with the Austerlitz family crest, the wax a vibrant violet colour. The Austerlitz crest was an eagle, with wings outstretched, the claws grasping onto a hollowed skull. Although macabre, Hildegarde had used it on several occasions ever since she inherited the Austerlitz name off Bernard. The clan itself was dying out, so it was important to keep the smaller traditions alive, for Bernard's memory if anyone.

Hildegarde's owl, Nemesis, flew off into the evening dusk, the small letter of short informatory pleasantries well on its way to the recipient. Turning around and walking down the stone steps from her office, the classroom was slowly transforming more and more into her own classical haven as the year progressed. Tall, mahogany bookshelves flanked every single wall, crammed alphabetically with almost every History of Magic tome Hildegarde could get her knowledgeable paws on. Several pristinely white busts were dotted around the room, with individuals such as Plato, Archimedes and Caligula depicted and immortalised forever. The domed ceiling of the room had been painted with various scenes of Greek mythology, the nymphs, goddesses and satyrs moving gracefully across woodland glades, Mediterranean islands and the crags of Hades and Tartarus. It was everything Hildegarde wanted in her History of Magic classroom; some had criticised the woman, stating she focused too much on the ancient rather than the modern. Hildegarde was far too stubborn and stuck in her own ways to even listen to criticism.

Picking up a pile of assignments on her table, Hildegarde heard the door open and looked up immediately, her eyes narrowed with assessment and examination. It was Maeve Whitman, and Hildegarde neither smiled nor frowned at the girl, that stony glare still present on her face.
"Ah, Whitman, I was wondering when you'd be dropping by." Her harsh words at the Bombay family dinner had obviously hit a few nerves, and rightly so. It wasn't that Hildegarde had anything against the likes of Sarah Whitman, she just hated how they refused to get their hands dirty, despite the fact that they were historians like herself. For her age, Professor Austerlitz was something of a maverick.

"What can I do for you today?" Hildegarde asked, taking a seat behind her desk. With a flick of the wand, a student desk chair moved across the stone floor, the scrape of which echoed in the large, cold classroom. "Do take a seat."

A flower could wilt under such a gaze, Maeve thought. Even her cousin, Melanthe--who prided herself in her steady demeanor--would probably find difficulty blooming in such an environment.

Maeve attempted to stand a little straighter, steeling her own gaze and taking a bold step further into the classroom. Even if Austerlitz had the perception of a hawk, Maeve was going to do her best to show that she had the poise of a Whitman (even if half that poise seemed to be driven by false confidence).

"Well, you said I should come and see you when I was ready to talk about my future," Maeve said. She slipped gracefully into the offered chair and murmured a soft, "Thank you."  She would have brought her professor a gift, but she didn't think the woman would have appreciated an attempt to suck up. Maeve figured it was best to keep things simple and show her that she genuinely appreciated the subject and that would be enough.

Maeve cleared her throat. "Over break, I spent a lot of time in my grandmother's library. I came across some of her notebooks." Maeve reached down into her back and pulled out a worn down journal. "You are mentioned quite a bit in them..."

Professor Austerlitz looked up at her, glancing through thin, wire-framed spectacles, slowly examining Maeve's every move. She was every inch the Whitman; posed, and collected, that was a given, but there was something a little less clean cut about the Slytherin. Hildegarde knew that Maeve was a lot more cunning than the women in her family would like to believe, and although the girl had the reputation of a bully, she quietly admired Maeve's subtle dissimilarity with the rest of her family.

"Your grandmother and I go way back, Whitman," she replied, flicking her wand which laid neatly on her desk. An ornate silver coffee pot from a table at the back of the room immediately began steaming, gliding over to the pair alongside two matching cups, a jar of milk and a tiny bowl of sugar cubes. "We've crossed paths many a time."

Dropping a sugar cube in one of the cups, her eyes flicked back up to Maeve's.
"Care for a cup of Peruvian coffee?" she asked. Although her tone was anything but hospitable, Professor Austerlitz possessed that dying English stern politeness. "I'd like to know your plans post-Hogwarts."

"Yes, my grandmother mentioned that you have often worked together," Maeve confirmed, gently caressing the binding of the book she had taken out of her bag. Her next comment was not intended to suck up to the History of Magic professor. Maeve simply felt that it was stating well known fact. "She said that even though she didn't always subscribe to the same line of thinking you did, that she respected your critical opinion more than anyone else's in the realm of wizarding history."

Maeve's chatter allowed her not to notice that the distinguished professor was inspecting her quite closely. Her confidence would have been shaken with that knowledge and she would have probably ended up looking like a scared little child.

Maeve watched Austerlitz's movements in silence and simply nodded when asked if she wanted coffee. She was already contemplating what she was going to put in the beverage when the professor asked about her future.

Maeve did come prepared to discuss this, but she had not expected the conversation to take that turn so swiftly.

Taking a breath, Maeve started with the first thing that came to her mind. "Well, I admit that I did not think much about what I was going to do after school, as I'm sure you got the impression from when we were at the Bombays." Maeve grimaced slightly before continuing. "But over break, my grandparents were sharing with me some of the finer details of our family's history. I was drawn to my great grandmother's story." Maeve rubbed her hands together as she shared the information that she was sure Austerlitz knew already. Still, Maeve continued with what stood out to her. "She was an artist. And she collected works from other artists as the years went on. That turned into collecting ancient artifacts and turning her home into a museum." Maeve paused. "I've been reading up on becoming a museum curator. I know a lot of women in my family have sat on the Museum Board of Trustees. And that's great and all. But I think I would rather have a more hands on experience with historical artifacts."

"A lot of people do," Hildegarde concurred arrogantly, raising her eyebrows in agreement. "We have too many theorists in the History of Magic; they can talk, and talk, and talk about the Ancient Grecians or wizardry in the Middle East, but they shall never visit there, let alone head an excavation. You have to get your hands dirty to garner a true opinion. Sometimes, there's a lot more than you bargain for on expeditions, but that's the price you have to pay." Hildegarde exhaled a little, remembering a dig in Nevada. It had been her sole venture into America, and the whole episode put her off visiting there ever, ever again. A junior under Hildegarde's supervision recklessly cracked into a Native American burial tomb, unleashing some of the worst dark magic the old scholar had ever seen. Three people dead, and dozens injured. Even the most rigorously planned operations could result in catastrophe.

Professor Austerlitz listened intently to Maeve's plans; yes, the girl was entirely misguided, and a playground bully, but Hildegarde couldn't help but like her. She was like a much more glamorous version of herself in those younger days; Hildegarde had been a plain, short prefect. She wasn't charming, nor attractive, but authoritarian. The woman was terrifying even in her youth.
"Museum curation is all well and good, Whitman," Professor Austerlitz began to explain, resting her chin on two clasped hands. "But it's not something you can just walk into. It takes years of training and reputation-building to gain a post like that."

Hildegarde had supported many young women in their ascent to success: Gabrielle and Fiona to name but two. Would Maeve be her no protegee? If the young blonde managed to curb her attitude and gain a little more focus, then perhaps.
"Have you thought about the Ministry?" she asked, picturing Miss Whitman in the International Relations wing, where she herself had begun her long and winding career.
 

Austerlitz' conceit might be off-putting to many others, but it was a language that Maeve knew well and she felt a sense of pride that she understood it. She sat a little straighter in her chair and focused her attention fully on her professor as she continued to speak. Inasmuch as it would please her grandmother to know that she was currently sitting with Austerlitz and discussing her future, Maeve was determined that this meeting would be because of her own concerns for that end. No one else would look out for her best interests better than herself. This was clearly something she knew from her seventeen years of being a Whitman. And now it was time to put that line of thinking into practice.

Maeve swallowed hard before telling her professor, "Well, I want to be more than a theorist, that's for sure." Even if it meant muddling about in dirt and leading these excavations that Austerlitz was speaking about.

Maeve was a little hurt that her idea of becoming a curator was shot down so promptly by her professor. It was on her tongue to point out that she had several members of her family who worked in the various museums and that her great-grandmother was someone quite notable in that regard.

But this idea of nepotism had always pervaded the Whitman means of getting what they wanted. They felt that they were entitled simply because others before them with their name had had it that way. In a sense, the Whitmans had had a lot handed to them on the proverbial silver platter. Maeve could either be like everyone else and expect that too, or, she could earn whatever she would get based on merit.

Maeve bit her lower lip as she considered what her professor was really saying. To truly be successful in her field, she was going to have to pay her dues and work her way up through the ranks of the historical elite. And if she wanted real cred in that regard, she was going to need to leave her crutch in the form of the Whitman entitlement behind.

"The Ministry?" she hedged. "Well, several of my family members work in the Ministry, including my father and uncle. I suppose I never considered it as being a place for someone with an interest in History." She grew pensive. "But now that I think about it, my father is quite proficient in the subject. That makes sense." Maeve sat back in her chair. "So what exactly would I be doing? I mean, when I leave school in June, what kinds of jobs are available to new graduates?"

"You're going to have to change your current attitude," Professor Austerlitz firmly replied. "For some reason, I do not think you'd be able to handle sixteen-hour days in a burning hot desert. More grit and less femininity, Whitman." Hildegarde remembered how tough leading excavations were; the language barriers, the time schedules, the risk of curses within tombs. It was all well and good Maeve sitting opposite Hildegarde saying she wanted to follow her path in life, but was the Whitman child really cut out for such dirty work?

"The Ministry is an excellent place to start a career, and provides a good, solid working background that will put you in good stead with future employers. Working in the International Co-operation department involves a lot of wizarding historical knowledge, and it is just as important to learn about the current global state to gain insight into the past." She mulled over her memories within the Ministry, working her way to the very top and becoming a respected yet feared associate; she'd travelled the world and organised countless raids and defence operations during the war. Hildegarde was invaluable, but left the public life of the wizarding word after Bernard's death.

"It may seem a dull ignition," she began to explain, resting her chin on two clasped hands. "Yet it provides invaluable experience, and you'll gain a lot of contacts working there. Alternatively, I was looking for an apprentice for my next excavation in the summertime..." She trailed off, beginning to write notes again and mark poor students homework. "But something tells me you're not yet prepared for the hardships of archaelogical life."

Maeve was starting to get discouraged by her decision to accept Austerlitz's tutelage. So far, every idea had been met with pessimism and doubt. Did her professor see anything promising in her future plans? Or was she simply intent on telling Maeve that she was destined to be unsuccessful?

Maeve could barely contain a scowl when she was told that she would not be able to handle the labor required for this line of work. She had already admitted to herself that it was an unlikely thought for her to be scrounging around dirt and meager accommodations.

The Slytherin sat up a little straighter and pursed her lips. The power of someone telling her what she could and couldn't do was not to be underestimated. She boldly told Austerlitz, "If my grandmother and great-grandmother could do it, then so can I." She paused before adding, "I know you doubt me, Professor, because frankly, I have given you little reason to think otherwise. But, you should know by now that when a Whitman wants something, there is very little that can get in their way of having or achieving it. And I can assure you," she told the woman matter-of-factly. "That I am no different in this regard."

Maeve cleared her throat and prepared to utter words that had little voice in her head wondering if she'd regret them. "If the path you have outlined is how I am to become an important figure in the field of History of Magic, then I will be dedicated to it." Her voice trailed off as the last bit of doubt lingered. She carefully considered her professor's proposition for the summer. She ventured, "I would like to be your apprentice....if you will have me."

Hildegarde couldn't contain a nostalgic smile that appeared on her face. Maeve's own declaration of solid, hereditary determination sounded just like a young Austerlitz during her Gryffindor days; unashamedly bold, dedicated and self-righteous, it was like looking into a mirror of the past. Meeting Maeve's glance, Professor Austerlitz narrowed her eyes, as if challenging Maeve to keep on gazing back.
"Spoken like a true Whitman, young lady."

Finishing up on a few notes, Professor Austerlitz neatly placed a sheet of parchment in a tray on her desk, interlinking her fingers. The woman sighed, thinking. She was always contemplating, logically balancing potential pros against cons. Convincing Hildegarde Austerlitz of ones 'willingness to learn' was a difficult task indeed. But what if she was to give Maeve a chance in life? A chance to change? Hildegarde was doubtful. She slowly took of her spectacles, clicking her tongue before finally breaking the steely silence of her office.

"Fine, you may have this opportunity, Whitman," she said with a bow of the head. "It'll be a month-long excavation in Alaska, which means freezing cold temperatures, plenty of jumped-up historians attempting and failing to disprove my theories, and sixteen-hour shifts. If you really want to make a name for yourself, you will accept this position. I'll organise your wage, but don't expect any special treatment. If you want some testimonials of my tutelage, contact Gabrielle Murray-Harker or Fiona Marren; they'll be more than pleased to tell you of a few harsh truths. Taking a deep breath and continuing her notes, Professor Austerlitz glanced at her parchment once more, her hand adeptly moving quill over paper, releasing a neat and definitive trail of cursive handwriting. "I'm hoping that you will prove me wrong in my assumptions, Maeve."