4pm
Monday 10 August 2009

Niobe Thursby had Floo'd in a few minutes early to meet with Ignan Storm, Hogwarts' Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and she was already quite interested to meet the man.  He had successfully, by all accounts,  instilled fear of wand and wizard into the hearts of his students to great measure.  He was a Dickensian in his methods, they said, but the School Governors had assured her that test scores had never been higher.  Truth be told, she was feeling like a student all over again even though Storm had never been her professor.  It was just something about meeting with stern old teachers that made one feel... young and impudent again. 

She'd made an appointment with him by owl to meet at the Three Broomsticks.  Her owl had indicated an interest in learning about Hogwarts' preparations for the grand Tournament, so the venue seemed fitting.  The Broomsticks was peppered with teenagers who were very likely foreign, dressed in different clothes, speaking in different languages and accents.  But there was another angle on her mind.  A sort of 'summer swap' scoop to find out what made ex-patriots like Ignan Storm tick when it came to competition against a school he was very connected with.  Perhaps this was something that Skeeter would have slavvered over, but Niobe had kept her true motives hidden in her be-dreadlocked head.

The figure that darkened the door could have been no other than Ignan Storm by all description, and Niobe stood up quickly from her table, and approached him hand extended.

"Niobe Thursby.  You must be Professor Storm.  Thank you for taking my meeting."  She smiled in a friendly way.

"Not at all."

Ignan Storm smiled politely at Ms Thursby, and extended his own hand, and squeezed hers with just enough effort. Pleasingly, the witch met his handshake, though he doubted no less from a leading reporter from the Prophet. She had curious dreadlocked hair which made Ignan feel old and straight-laced in comparison. Still, he was here to do his duty as a Hogwarts professor, and provide positive exposure for the Tetra-Wizard Tournament. For the moment the battle was fought in column inches, and as long as Hogwarts exceeded Durmstrang, he would be happy.

"Are you drinking anything?" He asked, not yet sitting down, politely prepared to top up her glass or buy a fresh one to keep her quill writing sweetly.

Once the initial niceties had been performed, he settled, arranged his hands with fingers laced together, and turned his attention to Niobe.
"Ms Thursby, how can I be of assistance?"

Niobe responded to Professor Storm's inquiries on beverages by shaking her head and allowing him to order tea for them both.  Niobe requested a favorite loose leaf oolong glow-tea, a curious blend of traditional tea with shavings of the stem of lantern grass.  It tasted a little bit lemony and gave off a pale greenish-blow light.  She was frankly a little surprised at how genteel he seemed because his legendary reputation painted him as having sharper edges.  But perhaps he understood the importance of a friendly face for the press.  If only others she interviewed had the same agreeability.  Many of those she inspected often took a defensive tack and it made the process kind of embattled.

She sat down and gestured for Professor Storm to do the same.  She smiled when he started things off.

"You can answer some questions about the Tournament, Professor Storm.  The Daily Prophet readers are deeply interested in its return and we'd like to provide some insight into the inner workings," she said in her Belfast accent.  Slowly, with the understated motions of a street magician, she unpacked her trappings onto the table.  There were two notebooks each no bigger than the surface of her opened palm; one of them she placed carefully off to her left, the other contained her agenda and talking points. 

"Don't mind the quill," she said as she produced her Verbatis Quill and set it carefully nib to notebook, like a person carefully setting the needle of a record player.   Although it appeared to be a mundane feather pen, when Niobe released it the quill stood up on its own and seemed to quiver ever so slightly. As soon as the next words were spoken, the idle quivering jumped to life scratching out the uttering in exact detail and minuscule script.

"So," she grinned lightly, hoping to keep Professor Storm at ease.  The Quill scratched the single syllable.  "How are you anticipating the Tournament, Professor Storm?"

Ignan Storm gave what could have been considered an attempt at a smile. It was fleeting and was not the sort that put one at immediate ease.

"I anticipate it will be a very newsworthy event. The cultures, differences in opinion, swell in student population and tourism will keep us very busy for a year, even without the challenges." The smirk returned to his features. "Hogwarts will play perfect host, the preparations have been second to none, for which we must thank the Governors."

His gaze moved from Niobe's face to the quill scratching away as he spoke the last sentence. One of those might come in handy for a student taking notes in his NEWT lesson - he did lecture at a rate of knots, though the temptation would be to sleep instead of listen.

"I am very pleased to be involved, and to welcome Salem to the tournament. The changes this time from the last at Hogwarts will hopefully allow many to cast aside their doubts and worries."

He was polished, frank, but not effusive.  He was totally in control of himself.  Some intereviewees were flattered to be interviewed and spoke a great deal.  Others were reluctant and said little to nothing.  Storm, he seemed to know just what to say.  Enough detail, easy tone, easy to quote.  Niobe nodded, still smiling.

"It must all be very exciting.  Certainly wish there would have been a tournament in my days.  Can't imagine what things will be like all year.  But you, Professor Storm, you've got a unique take on things, haven't you?  Your father was the Headmaster of Durmstrang for many years, wasn't he?  And you, you earned your magical education there as well."

Niobe's tone was level and she kept his gaze. 

"And now here you are, recently named the Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts.  Can't be easy to compete against your dear alma mater." 

"He was." Professor Storm replied quietly, "I did."

"And now here you are, recently named the Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts. Can't be easy to compete against your dear alma mater."

Ignan's mouth turned into a smirk.
"Oh, on the contrary, very easy." He assured Niobe. "Know thy enemy?"

The older wizard steepled his fingers and pressed his lips together in thought, his blue eyes rising as he considered how best to explain to the woman with curious hair.
"My father was Headmaster, quite correct, and I was student, but you neglect to mention I also taught there before coming to Hogwarts. The Durmstrang camp may consider Hogwarts has benefitted from this migration, though in reality they probably believe I have 'gone soft'. I will let the students and their parents inform you on whether I am considered 'soft' in any sense of the word."

He lowered his hands to the wooden table-top and placed one over the other before looking to Niobe again.
"It will be difficult not to laugh too hard as Hogwarts wins in any case." He told her with a smirk.

If Niobe were to consider this or any other intereview a kind of game or contest (and she sometimes did) she'd have found Professor Ignan Storm a very worth opponent.  Niobe didn't even know him well, and he had no authority outside of Hogwarts Halls - he was but a bogey man to the students and no one else.  And yet, Niobe had to consciously force down a feeling of intimidation from him.  It was rather fun, to spar with this wizard even in the loosest definition.  If it wasn't a daring exercise, Niobe didn't want anything to do with it.

She smiled at the Professor not quite able to imagine what he'd look like laughing.  Every move he made was so measured and deliberate, as if each one carried a threat with it.

"You seem confident," she observed plainly, "but why Hogwarts?  You've been there a year now? More? Why leave Durmstrang and risk a softening of your reputation.  Was it the sunny weather?"  she joked a little.   Maybe she'd coax a laugh out of him yet and prove herself wrong.

"Ten months." Ignan corrected, "Mainwaring regrettably had to leave his post for the Ministry in November. From what I understand he was well liked." He raised his glass to his lips and sipped, contemplating the best way to word his response to the comment of leaving Durmstrang.

"I taught at Durmstrang for some time, but I'd never actually seen it as a long term position. I'd filled a gap, joined the staff when they needed someone, and just remained. All my life I had never, ever considered doing what my father had, and there I was. Much as I enjoyed the high levels of academic achievement and the opportunity to research, new challenges presented themselves unexpectedly at Hogwarts. I suited the requirements, and Durmstrang did not consider me lynchpin to spellworks either." He gave a shrug of the shoulders.

"Sunny weather, have you lived in Britain long, Ms Thursby?" The Professor gave a smirk. He was pleasantly surprised, having expected to find the Prophet reporter acerbic and irritating to deal with, he was rather enjoying their conversation.

Leaning over towards the witch slightly, he gestured with a long pale finger to where the quill had scribbled his explanation of moving to Hogwarts.

"If you're looking into whether they were all too pleased to lose me to Hogwarts, then I will let you draw your own conclusions from their expressions and dismay when Hogwarts lifts the cup at the tournament conclusion."

The fleeting twinkle in his otherwise cold eyes at that moment would have caused the entire student body to claim hallucinations.

Luckily it was only Niobe, and he only hoped she didn't consider him to be flirting, as one might consider that improper given their age differences.

Besides, Azorma would be seething if he had, in Azkaban or not.

He was marvelous.  Where did wizards like this come from?  He was measured, deliberate, and arrogant.  He seemed settled as if he understood his minute place in the cosmic ever-going-on.  A stout oak in a gale.  A stern look in an interview.

She wasn't getting what she'd wanted when she walked in.  But then maybe his story was better than hers.  Worth considering.

Niobe leaned away when he leaned in and regarded him with a smile.  She was glad for her quill.  He spoke so well that only Verbatis would do him justice.

"What is Hogwarts up against then, pitted against Durmstrang Institute?  You'd know better than any, I think, what the Hogwarts Champion can expect from them.  Enlighten our readers - how will you prepare to match them?"

"Prepare to match them, Ms Thursby? Prepare them to exceed the capabilities." The Professor explained, and a hint of a smirk curled his lined mouth.

"I have always found Hogwarts students to be the most inventive, forward-thinking and surprising. Durmstrang builds strong foundations, competitive indeed, but solely considering oneself. It breeds arrogance, if not self-insecurity. Hogwarts for all its less regimentation builds confidence, belief, and above all - pride."

As he relayed this, his expression changed to that of an uncle or grandfather speaking fondly of their youngest. It vanished as if it had never been there as Ignan Storm cleared his throat.

"For all their curiosity, merriment, Hogwarts students do not forget their roots, and what the school, and the British magical world has been through a decade or so ago. They will go the extra mile. I am confident they will succeed in the darkest of hours."

Glasses tinkled at the bar as they stacked themselves back onto shelves, floating from the kitchen door. Beyond a sink overflowing with bubbles washed plates and piled them in stacks that wobbled and leaned.

"Durmstrang students are regimented, strong, well versed. Auberon will have picked his champions well. The other schools get to pre-select, rather than trust the Goblet. If he chooses well, the Goblet will be no worry. His students know they are selected already, and know what is expected of them. Hogwarts candidates are self selecting. It is not a decision to make lightly, and it shows greater student responsibility. That said, I would be hard pressed to find a champion selected by him or herself and then the goblet, which I would not support."

Oh that was an interesting turn indeed.  Niobe had often wished she'd taken the time to investigate Legelimancy, to get at what others were really thinking in an interview, if she was getting the truth.  But lacking that particular skill, she and the Verbatis got on well enough.  And watching Ignan, she didn't doubt his loyalties a moment longer.  He spoke with clear pride for his students. 

But this bit about the students and who had selected them...

"I see, so I understand then that all the students arriving from Durmstrang and the other schools were hand-picked for this event, but the Hogwarts students, the ones of the right age,  have all been permitted to submit their names to the Goblet of Fire?" She checked is face to confirm that she was repeating back the procedure correctly.

"No questions asked? No vetting or try-outs on the Hogwarts end.  And you're of the opinion this gives Hogwarts the advantage?  Why?"

Niobe could speculate, of course, but it was Ignan Storm's thoughts the readers would want.  "And what about Durmstrang - clearly their opinion differs? To hand-pick the best?"

"That is correct." Professor Storm confirmed with a slight nod.

"No questions asked? No vetting or try-outs on the Hogwarts end.  And you're of the opinion this gives Hogwarts the advantage?  Why?" Her second question came rapidly, "And what about Durmstrang - clearly their opinion differs? To hand-pick the best?"

He paused to check if a third question would follow, but given no indication, he considered his response, his gaze lowering to the table top as he gestured with his hands between the differences.

"Firstly, Durmstrang have to hand-pick their best in some way or another. They can only bring a certain number to the event for the year. Its an upheaval to take students away from their second home for a year, into a different culture, and ask them to perform tasks outside of a classroom's relative safety." His left hand landed on the table on its fingertips to the left of him, and the right hand raised slightly, to indicate the Hogwarts contingent.

"The host has traditionally had free reign to pool from a lot more students, they don't have to consider who to bring overseas, everyone is there. This means potentially a far larger selection of students for each task, variety, combination." His right hand indicated a larger number before his hands came together and his eyes looked back to Niobe.

"Yes, it is still a lottery, and there will still be the same numbers selected, but there is a far greater selection for the Goblet to pick from. If a Hogwarts student shows enough willing and courage to step forward, the Goblet already knows the student has considered their skills. The other schools however may be selective on who they allow to put their name into the Goblet on each occasion to try and ensure the best pair, or team, or individual is put forward." He smiled ever so slightly,

"I would never be so arrogant as to say Professors can select winning teams. They can make educated guesses, but it comes down to the students themselves at each event. Why should a Professor dictate which student should prove themselves, or take risk?"

He regretted the last later, when he considered the phrasing the concerned parents would be all a flutter about risk again. Ah, well, there was the official line on that from the Ministry and Herschel already.

Niobe nodded and her quill took notes.  They'd fallen into a familiar but satisfying stride.  Professor Storm was thoughtful, knowledgeable and surprisingly lacking in the controversy that had preceded him. 

But he left the doorway ajar and she toed it open.

"What do you think is at stake for Hogwarts? For the students competing?  Certainly we remember the dangers of the Tournament of '94 although we can probably agree that was an exceptional case...  But the last Tournament before that, there was a cockatrice fatality.  Why the risk?  What's to gain, do you think?"

It was a hugely open question, and she didn't like to ask them too often.  But Ignan Storm was up to it, she was sure now.  He was already speaking easily when asked, offering substantial answers.  If he had something to say, this might allow him to say it. 

Long question, this could take a bit to answer, the old man thought as he tried to formulate his plan a moment.

"Pride, usually." The Professor answered. "Why invite a tournament if you do not believe you can win it, or at least run it well? Equally for those attending, they would not dare decline on losing face. Salem has a lot to prove, being first into the tournament this year."

He laced his fingers together and considered his next point over them.
"The dangers have been lessened, to my understanding. Very few know the exact details, but we do know it is not based on single competitors. How did Zephyr put it... 'reflect a new age of teamwork and scholarship rather than a strict individual effort in the area of sport and athleticism'..? Its your paper, there'll be a quote." The wizard raised his eyebrows and waved a hand before relacing his ageing fingers.

He glanced down at the parchment, checking her question rather than his own answer,
"Risk - have you attended classes at Hogwarts?" Professor Storm asked Niobe, and gave a faint smile, "We are magicians, we are resilient. Risk is very much a part of our lives as our magic. Its good for us. Besides, the officials would stop and rescue anyone who got out of their depths."

I'd hope. He thought to himself.

"Whichever students get selected from whichever school, they will be given full support by their Professors and fellow students. Any student who does not wish to participate, can of course, opt out of entering their name at all. The Headmaster and the officials will reiterate the responsibility and commitment required, as will I and the other staff."

He peered down again, and rolled up the parchment to her question.
"This is beginning to resemble an essay, Ms Thursby. Will you be submitting written feedback with your article?"

A joke, Ignan Storm, Merlin, he realised he was enjoying this. People weren't meant to enjoy talking to reporters.

"Ah, gain. Now this is the essay. In summary - stronger ties between new generations of witches and wizards graduating from these strong schools. A chance to share knowledge and learn from each other. As an economy, tourism will be a welcome bonus, and of course, a chance to demonstrate Hogwarts is pick of the crop."

He raised his eyes from the quill which was busily finishing the last of his sentence, mildly satisfied with the way he'd phrased that. Still, had he been asked on paper, his response would have been more eloquent still, if not far too long, and harder to paraphrase. Thursby had her work cut out either way.

Professor Storm seemed somehow embarrassed - no, that wasn't the right word.  Perhaps he felt that he was going on too long and that she and her little quill would be hard-pressed to keep up.  The old wizard could relax.  Niobe needed no such coddling and everything that he was saying was gold.  Thoughtful, provocative, and rich with content.  It'd make for a great article that would require very little puffing up from her.  The more of the interviewee's words you could include, the better.  No one wanted her opinions, that's for sure. 

She chuckled obligingly at his little joke and nodded encouragingly as he went on, to keep him feeling comfortable, to make sure he knew that she was interested.  Luckily, it was not a burden as it could be with other people she had to talk to in this line of work.

When he finished, she saw his eyes watching her quill.  Some people found the quill to be intimidating, marking each of their words exactly, but Storm seemed to view it as a tool, just like she did. 

"I must say, Professor Storm, this was an unexpected pleasure."  Not the most buttery thing to say, but she sensed he felt the same way, that neither of them had expected this interview to go so well.  "You've given me a great deal to work with and my editor's going to be pleased, I think."

She closed up her things, collected her quill and notebook.  The interview was over, but she didn't rush out.  She stood and asked him, as she took up her jacket, "Do you have any questions for me?"

Often people did.  Concerned with publication dates, if they'd be quoted exactly, and that sort of thing.  So she usually asked to make sure.