Bats and Cauldrons

Bats and Cauldrons

In the summer of their second year, Brooke took John home with her for the first time, much to Alfred's initial vexation.  John might have been the first adoring fan the man ever had, but John thought he was perfection personified. The green eyed boy also might have brought up an apparent collection of news articles featuring pictures of Alfred and Brooke.  It should have worried her but it didn't,  and they were both still rather young. What did they know about life? Even if they had enough grief to fill an ocean and enough unanswered questions to dry one up if water was ink for a quill. 

Perhaps they were each wise beyond their years because of their suffering and maybe that was why they accepted the strange things they found in each other.  They were not bothered by things other people found worrisome,  why should they be? They both knew things could be worse and if it meant having someone around who understood them,  they could deal with inconsistency. 

Even Alfred turned an intentional blind eye to a lot of things about both of them.  He was a brilliant man but he could be willfully ignorant when he wished.  He might worry about John's more morbid leaning or Brooke's obsessions that lead her to entering a progressively more involved and active crime fighting life around her third year.   He pretended not to know she was an illegal Animagus by age fourteen.  He pretended not to know John could speak to snakes. He saw the obsession in both of them and looked the other way. 

Brooke never brought anyone around so Alfred was willing to overlook his doubt if it meant she socialized with another living being.  He might not have been averse to her bringing home anyone so long as they were breathing and human.  Strangeness,  the man could deal with if Brooke learned to be less secluded. 

Fred had gushed his approval of Brooke finding friends enough for an army of enthusiastic elves.  He did not seem to find John's obsession with her at all odd,  probably because the elf himself was obsessed with his mistress and thus everyone else should be as well.  John was a good friend,  that was all that mattered.  Alfred quietly seemed to agree to the friendship end,  at least. 

The unusual boy managed to both annoy and endear himself to Brooklyn's self-appointed father figure, which was probably very fortunate considering John Lestrange spent every summer at Wayne Manor thereafter while they attended school. Even then, when they were so much younger, she could never endure the thought of him floundering in a harsh world that never seemed to understand him, at least, she could not endure it without knowing she would be right beside him to rectify any potential damage.

Even as young as they were she swiftly became highly protective of the little boy with too wide a smile, a manic gleam in his eye, and green hair. In turn, she supposed he was just as protective of her. They were inexplicably close almost from the moment they found each other. Perhaps because John seemed to desperately need someone and Brooke had almost no one left in the world. It only made sense for her to step up and be his someone so that she too could have someone. After so great a loss too early in life, she was a fierce defender of anyone she did have, and if anyone needed sheltering, it was him.

John was a conundrum, full of contradictions; he was sinister and innocent, worldly and nieve, trusting and wary, steadfast and chaotic, kind and cruel. Brooke was rather set in her ways even at eleven and twelve, and he benefitted from consistency. All along, she felt the need to be there to hold him in one piece before someone much less trustworthy than herself could get a hold of him. Thus why she endeavored to keep him well away from the Lestrange family as well and the Black's and decidedly the Malfoy's. John had potential and she would be remiss in her duty as his keeper if anyone else realized how much.

That first summer with him, though, she really began to see how much potential he possessed.

"John!" Brooke looked up at the cliff, frantic, wand at the ready for the inevitable moment he would slip and plummet to his death.

Of all things, he was picking flowers from a treacherous bit of land on her property. She had absolutely no idea how he managed to climb so high without her notice but she was equally sure he would never be able to get down again. Her every nerve was tense, her small fingers shaking despite her white-knuckled grip on her wand. The thought that kept rolling around her mind was the inevitability of watching yet another person in her life die in front of her. It was such a high place that she doubted he could survive a fall from it. If she could catch him, perhaps he would be fine but she was not confident enough not to be utterly terrified.

There was a loud crack and her heart stopped in the certainty that the rocks had broken under his feet to send him to his doom. Her eyes bounced wildly, desperate to spot his falling body, more than horrified that she could not see him at all, that he was simply gone from her sight. She could only assume, even in those short seconds, that he must have fallen inside the cliff somehow and he was surely dead.

A second crack had her spinning, gasping for breath her lungs could not take in. She could not comprehend the sight of his grinning face, flowers held out to her like a trophy. She was seeing his ghost already, or perhaps a figment of her own mind born to torture her for all time for her failures. His beaming smile began to slip as he watched her most likely dissolve into a weeping mess before his eyes.

 Anyone else likely would have been crying but she was holding her breath.  After a moment she was forced to breathe,  but then she was breathing too fast.

John frowned slightly,  though the smile didn't fall, "I heard girls like fresh flowers, especially if you pick them personally.  These kind of double as  flowers and a potion ingredient so double the appeal... I was thinking."

That did it. She knew she was sobbing incoherently though she was attempting to tell his ghost how sorry she was, but the air her lungs drew was not sufficient to speak properly. No tears fell but her eyes burned with the effort to hold them in order. 

John's eyes grew wide and he rushed her, still holding the flowers but also curling his arms tightly around her shoulders, "Brookie, what's wrong? What is it?  You're not allergic are you? Why-?"

The first honestly comforting thing she noticed was his solidness, which ruled out ghosts, "What did you do?" She gasped, "How did you get down?"

He cocked his head, holding her a bit tighter, "I just did. House elves do it all the time. It's how I got up there... so... its how I came down."

He was safe that was good,  yet she suddenly had a flood of emotions running though her and nothing to do with them. Somehow she blamed him for her helpless,  fearful few moments,  and why not? She had been worried about his stupid head! How could he be so reckless? How could he frighten her for no reason?

Her emotions flipped over on themselves with the understanding that he was safe, now she almost wanted to hex him, "You can Apparate and Disapparate?!" Her voice was unusually shrill.

"Ummm... yes?" He ventured hesitantly, letting go of her, flowers still in hand but forgotten. 

She was thankful the second shock seemed to have dried up her hysterics, "We aren't supposed to learn that until we are older, at least sixteen or seventeen, in sixth year, and know how to do it safely! We are legally and mentally not ready as second years! Who taught you?"

He looked puzzled, "No one taught me, I don't think.  Maybe they did, I can't remember..." there was the usual hesitation he exhibited when confronted with puzzles, "I think I have always been able to."

Brooke could only stare at him, amazed at his casual use of advanced magic he should not have a handle on. 

"It's not as hard as they say.  You just think hard about where you want to be,  and you know,  snap,  there you are.  Like the house elves.  Maybe that's where I learned it."

"You don't have a license." She pointed out because she was nothing if not practical. 

John was nonpulsed, flippant even, "Do I need one? That kind of thing is really only for people that don't know what they're doing, not me, I do fine."

She was not calm enough for a rational conversion.  Her head was still spinning from her issues breathing.  She had almost, or she guessed she honestly had,  lost control for a moment.  She tried so hard to shut down and control her emotions and normally excelled at the stoicism she strove for. 

Normally she was the calm to John's storm.  That would need to be carefully reformed and resurrected from the ground up after that thorough, unwitting demolition. Her shields needed work and she would have to practice longer on Occlumency.

Brooke pinched the bridge of her nose, "Look, just... make sure no one else finds out you can do that. And, for Merlin's sake, try not to do it unless it's absolutely necessary. It's dangerous, John, you could Splinch yourself!"

"I've never Splinched." John nearly scoffed, like it was something only the truly dense and hopeless wizard would do.

"That doesn't mean you never could! There is a reason we aren't supposed to attempt that kind of magic until we get older!"

"Why are you so upset about this?" He frowned at her with a lack of understanding.

"Because you frightened the life out of me, you git! I thought you fell and died!" She shoved his shoulder with one hand in pure irritation.

John cocked his head, "You were worried about me?"

"Of course I bloody was!" She growled at him, "And you better not ever do that to me again or so help me!"

The smile that spread across his face was blinding and it made her want to hit him, but then he held out those flowers again. She accepted them a little grudgingly considering she was still angry with him, and she told him so. He did not seem to take it particularly seriously, more amused the longer she glared. When she insisted that having her best friend risk life and limb on a whim was not even slightly humorous he had the nerve to laugh. She scolded him again for lack of anything better to do but it did no more good. If anything, it made it worse, because he grabbed her hand with a devilish gleam in his eyes and with a crack, they vanished together.

Hiding out in the Divination classroom when there was no class being held was technically against the rules, but what the professor did not know would not hurt her, or them. It was the most comfortable place to gather as a group in the castle. So long as they cleaned up after themselves and put up ample silencing charms as well as a ward or two to warn them if she was moving their direction, all went well. The classroom, though gaudy and ridiculous in style, was peaceful and pleasant with the most comfortable arrangement aside from any of their respective common rooms. 

Barry Allen from Hufflepuff had left a few moments before, babbling in a panic about being late for something, abandoning his cards in his rush. A winning hand, no less, but it was his loss. Before him, though, lithe, raven-haired little Loki Odinson begged off the game when the mirror his mother spelled with the Protean Charm began to go off.

It was the two of them that began the conversation, or their departure, more like. Loki was a Slytherin pureblood, though he was adopted into the Odinson house after his family, all death eaters, abandoned him when they ran to avoid Azkaban. It was a strange situation, particularly considering Odin's family was almost entirely made up of Aurors and had blood connections as old as Gryffindor himself.  Loki's older brother was a Gryffindor to the bone,  flaws and strengths, per all expectation. Loki had to live with an unfounded reputation even if he had been far too young to even be a Death Eater. Barry, though, had a father in Azkaban, wrongfully charged if the Hufflepuff was right.

Once those two left, the cards reshuffled and began fresh, but the conversation turned to darker topics amongst those left. Harvey was the only alternate house left with Oz, John, and Brooke being Slytherin. If not for him they could have just moved to the common room in the dungeon, but then, they would never have spoken of this in a common room full of students with a sore spot for accused or convicted family members.

"I heard Mad-Eye was after Malfoy again." Harvey ventured a second before the explosion from Exploding Snap, and the boy muttered a curse word under his breath.

John sniffed, eyeing his options in the game, "Because that always goes well for that one-eyed, paranoid, nutter!" 

"As long as Malfoy has money, he's not spending his time well trying to catch him at anything." Brooke tisked. "Anything he finds will get pinned on someone else."

"Ain't that a fact! They just love to dole out their brand of justice so long as the Prophet finds it interesting print and they make some nice coin under the table." Oz growled.

"Oh yeah!" John chuckled darkly, "Like they hung Aaron Helzinger out to dry even though everyone knows he didn't do it... or if he did, he did it with help. No way he was smart enough to pull it off alone, all brawn and no brain. Same with Buddy Standler, of course. Bet we could all tell you who was pulling those strings!"

"That's just it! 'E didn't get a trial, now did he? But he's in Azkaban all the same, right? It shouldn't be that way!" Oz snarled, most definitely thinking back to his own family's ruin.

"It shouldn't." Harvey agreed sadly. 

"Well, with things like they are, they have all the power. People are still running scared and they will let the all-powerful, all-corrupted courts do what they decide is justice, and everyone will look the other way... so long as it makes them feel safer." John had something of a manic glint in his eye and Brooke worried he might be getting worked up. 

"No one is safe anymore, even with You-Know-Who gone. The whole system is corrupt and you can't trust anyone. So long as you have money to throw around you can dodge all the charges." Harvey glowered at the ground, "But it has to stop. That's why I'm going to get a seat in the Ministry."

"Change isn't gonna come from those bunch of puffed up geezers!" Oz threw down a card contemplatively, "Nah, it'll come from outside the useless, corrupted system. Nothin' done in there is ever going to be right."

"It could be if someone made the effort to change it." Harvey insisted. "Corruption only stops when people make it stop."

Oz shook his head, "Sometimes things are too far gone, you gotta throw them out an' start over. Out with the old, in with the new! Eventually, someone is gonna step up and be the hero we've been waiting to back."

John wrinkled his nose, "Wasn't that what some people thought Voldemort was? Some kind of hero to save the wizarding world?" John ignored the way everyone else tensed at the use of the name, "Look how well that turned out!"

"That's only because he was a dark lord out for power! I'm talking about a hero!" Oz seemed no less enthused about his point. "Things're gonna be on the upswing soon. A revolution is knocking on the Wizengamot door... we just have to let it in."

"You spent too much time in America." Harvey smirked, "Revolutions aren't all about big causes and flashy banners, it happens slowly. It happens when people realize there is a better way and things need to change."

"Exactly! The need for change! But people don't see the need until someone shows them what they need to see. Revolutions are started by people like us!" Oz tossed his hand emphatically around at them. "People who are tired of seeing our world eaten alive and doing nothing about it." 

"Death Eaters call themselves heroes too, doesn't mean much." John looked dubious, "You can't trust anyone to be out for the greater good. Most of them are just out for their own gain and they'll step all over the little guy to get there. People like Waller." John's lip curled just saying the name.

"Real heroes aren't out for personal gain. They stand up to oppression and defend the people from injustice, no matter the cost." Brooke declared simply. "We have to work together to make change happen, and separately too, I suppose. We have to find our place in things and make changes, we can't wait for some great leader to do what we should be."

"We are the future, as they say." Harvey simpered in his usual, cocky, but happy way, "Don't Muggles have a saying... Something like: 'Evil thrives-goes unchecked, when good men refuse to act'? Right? Something like that. Even Muggles get it."

"It's in the Bible, I think, Mate." Oz agreed, "Good stuff, that! Lots of revolution and history talked about there! Heros, brave and bold... flawed, yeah, but they stood up and fought when they had to. We should all take a lesson from that, yeah? I agree that we have to work for change, have to battle the odds, fight giants!"

"Doesn't the Bible also talk about redemption and peace?" John smirked wickedly, clearly savoring the irritated look Oz sent him.

"Sure, but the people they hold up as meaningful are the ones that wouldn't stand by and let evil thrive when they could stand against it." Oz persisted, not swayed.

It was Harvey's turn to earn a glare when he said; "I'm pretty sure they also tended to die for their causes nine times out of ten."

Brooke spoke before she really thought it over, "Shouldn't you be willing to make that sacrifice if the cause is worth it? The odds being against you doesn't make it not worth fighting for. One person can change the tide of battle. If you can save other people, isn't that..." She trailed off when all their eyes fixed on her, though Oz looked particularly pleased, if not almost proud of her; Harvey looked a little sad but not as if he disagreed with her unfinished point. 

John stared at her like she had frightened him, "Careful, you're all starting to sound dangerously Gryffindor."

"I am a Gryffindor." Harvey pointed out.

"Sure," John agreed, "but you have to have a brain about it, which is where Gryffs have their failing. Rushing off into danger like a Hippogriff on fire doesn't do anyone any good."

"That's why you have backup plans for backup plans," Brooke muttered, but it was mostly covered by Harvey's protest for his house honor.

Oz winked at her like he must have heard her anyway, "I think we've all got brains enough to get by on, even if one of us is a Gryff. Besides, if we all teamed up, we'd have three times the brains for our bravery percentage."

"Why don't you put your Slytherin-" Harvey began, but Brooke decided it was time she cut the testosterone off.

She found herself on her feet, raising her voice marginally, "Why don't the two of you head out? It's almost curfew, don't make me use my prefect power on you and threaten to take points. John and I have to get moving."

John shot up from the chair, "Right, right, duty calls! Have to send all the wayward youths on the right path, or, you know, to detention barring that." He chuckled in a high to low swing.

Ozwald propped his chin on his fist and eyed John, "How do you do that laugh? I still can't figure it out. Whenever I try it I sound like I'm going through puberty again."

"You went through puberty?" Harvey teased.

Oz curled his lip in response. "Funny."

Brooklyn withdrew from the memory, eyes returning to the picture of herself looking bewildered at the flashing cameras. She glanced around the street and found most people staring at her, whispering. How things had changed since those days! The headlines of the Prophet were anything but flattering. Even so, she dared not wear the hood of her cloak up or she might get even worse responses, like having someone ask where she misplaced her mask. It had never been her way to back down, however, so she walked with purpose, head held high. 

It hardly felt right to walk the halls of Hogwarts without John at her side, but she had been instructed, for whatever reason, to come alone. Brooke Apparated into town from the mansion and walked the rest of the way and made her way inside as instructed. The school was deathly still, unnatural in the lack of occupants in the summer. It was disconcerting, she thought, and she kept her fingers nearer the pocket housing her wand just to be safe. Long nights behind a mask taught her to be wary of this kind of silence over the years.

The skittering magic moving around her felt like a welcome home though, as if the castle itself remembered her and was pleased, in an almost morbid sense, that she had returned. Hogwarts knew why she had returned, she sensed, even if she was not yet aware. She wondered if the morbid slant to the welcome had to do with what was planned for her. After the meeting, she might well linger and examine her well-remembered haunts for the sake of nostalgia. It might soothe her temper later once whatever unpleasantry lurking ahead in the unknown was finished.

"Right on time!" A sharp but pleasant voice startled her so badly her heart nearly jumped outside her ribcage. "As I expected. Punctual as always."

Brooke turned instantly, looking those wizened, wise eyes that cowed even the hardest and bravest. The wrinkles around the woman's mouth and eyes seemed no deeper than they had been the last time she had seen her, the glasses perched on her nose were no different, and the stern smile was just as she recalled, though the smile was rarely seen, "Professor McGonagall."

To this day she had absolutely no idea how this woman or Snape managed to sneak up on her.

"Albus is expecting you, Miss Wayne. If you will accompany me?" The woman billowed ahead in what Brooke would absolutely swear were robes she had seen during her own school days.

Surprisingly, she had to use every bit of the length in her legs to catch up to the woman without simply sprinting, "What is it that he wanted to see me about?"

"I think he would rather be the one to tell you that, my dear." There was an amused glint in the older woman's eyes when she glanced at her from the corner of her eye, "But I shouldn't worry. He can hardly take house points from you after graduation, now can he? You needn't look as if you're walking to your death."

"I never feel overly comfortable being summoned without explanation as to why. Meetings like that tend to be most unfortunate." She had been subjected to more than enough misfortune of late, what with her newly branded titles from Rita Skeeter.

McGonagall seemed to read the meaning behind her words and the humor vanished, "No, I suppose recent experience would dictate otherwise." There was a moment of hesitation before the woman spoke again, her pace slowing considerably, "Surely, you must know that you cannot be held responsible for the ill actions of your father? You were only a child and your actions have been nothing but absolutely above board since you took over the head of Wayne house."

It had been six years since she attended the school but she could not think of the woman as anything besides a former teacher, "I appreciate the vote of confidence but not everyone is as accommodating or forgiving."

McGonagall frowned but said nothing more, simply calling out a password once they reached the infamous statue leading up into the Headmaster's office. Brooke followed in equal silence, unsure what to say and too apprehensive to put more effort into a conversation. She could only guess at the reasons Dumbledore might wish to speak with her personally and she supposed any number of them would have to do with her Death Eater father's activities. Skeeter called her the "Dark Princess" among other things.

It was the height of irony to consider how many years she trained and fought to quash the Death Easter remnants and rid the wizarding world of the evil that destroyed her entire life... only to find out her father had been a dark force all along. Harvey called her a 'pillar of the city' once upon a time but he did not call her that anymore, though he did not know her nightly secret. She battled day and night in order to keep evil on the run, all the while, evil ran through her own veins without her knowledge. It had been a blow, to say the least, more like it shook the foundations she based her every action on and she was still trying to stay together.

So long as Batwoman remained a force of justice, she supposed nothing else mattered. They could say what they wanted and accuse Brooklyn of anything they pleased so long as the Bat was free to hold up the precarious balance.

Hesitant, she lingered on a landing near the top of the stairs that were both too long and not long enough, not eager to see the old and powerful wizard of her school days. He always made her feel uncomfortable and in the wrong even when she had done absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. There had been more than one occasion when she noticed him prodding at her mental shields and she had been less than appreciative. Even though she was sure he never really entered her mind she was still commonly struck by the feeling that he knew all her secrets and was waiting for the right moment to spring on her. Now that she had been exposed as Death Eater spawn she could only suppose it would be worse.

"Are you planning to take up residence as the new statue or were you planning to go in?" Professor McGonagall prompted, and it oddly sounded more fondly teasing than chastising.

Brooke did not answer but it did prompt her to move. Her feet felt heavy as she ascended, the dread a sort of thickness at the back of her throat. Once she arrived she found the door to the office open, like a yawning mouth to some glittery creature that enjoyed hoarding shiny, magical items in the extreme. Part of her rather suspected the old man in his long, silvery beard, might make an exemplary dragon, but far more likely, a griffin or Hippogriff. Walking in made her shiver and she was not entirely sure why but she rather thought she did not like it.

Dumbledore with his half-moon spectacles, gaudy robes, and accentuating hat atop his long hair seemed no different than normal. He smiled and gestured for her to sit the way he had done many times when she had been a student in attendance. His entirely too knowing eyes made her no less queazy then than they did now and she suspected it was worse now than ever.

"Brooklyn Wayne!" He spoke her name as if she had been an old, dear friend visiting, one he had not seen in a few hundred years, "It seems you are looking well!"

"Features in the Daily Prophet must agree with me, I'm sure." The retort came unbidden and without her intention to speak it, but it held all her usual sarcastic tone.

The old wizard chuckled heartily as if he honestly found her amusing, "At least you are young enough to still look good in the papers, my dear! At my age, the photos accentuate every wrinkle. It's terribly unflattering."

"Oh, I'm sure." She agreed mildly, not caring if he took it as an insult or not.

"Tell me, how have you been fairing in this recent... turn of events?" For some reason, the way he looked at her, she almost thought he might have known the truth since he first set eyes on her yet never told her. It was his eyes, she thought, they seemed the eyes of a man that held the secrets to every living thing and held them all as his own treasury, though she would not fault him for his silence. Alfred kept his silence far longer and he had a far deeper, closer relationship to her than the Headmaster ever could.

"As well as you might expect, I should think." Brooke offered, leaning forward in her chair, "Though I must admit to finding myself most intrigued as to the reason for this visit."

He smirked mildly, "I would have been flabbergasted if you hadn't been. I remember your curious nature as a child, the way you and John Lestrange were forever running about in search of yet more discoveries." He steepled his fingers, "And how is John, by the way? If I've heard correctly, he still lives with you on your estate, yes?"

Brooke determined not to clench her jaw, "Oh, yes, he does. I shouldn't doubt you are well informed there. He has been in my home since we both graduated."

"So I heard." Dumbledore leaned forward just slightly, a gleam in his eyes like some old man with a burning and unpleasant question for some unfortunate youth that stumbled on his path, "But you two haven't made it official, I've noted. He can't pin a strong, independent woman like you down?"

"We're still just friends." She retorted instantly.

John's smiling face jumped instantly to her mind along with days spent beside him with his presence a nearly permanent aspect of her waking moments. Nearly the only time he was not beside her was when she went to bed early each night and sneaked out, as was her habit. They were close, just as they always had been. Some nights, when she sneaked away, she had to disentangle herself from his arms. He so frequently found it not enough to simply sit in the same room with her, over the years, he also found it necessary to share the sofa with her while she read. Half the time he requested to be read to aloud and would fall asleep to the text on some new, experimental technique she was learning.

Even when she had gone away on her ill-fated apprenticeship he stayed in her home upon her insistence. It was his home as much as hers and he was free to it. Well, free to the parts of the mansion he knew existed and were not so heavily warded they might as well not exist to anyone save herself and Alfred. John was a Wayne now in bond though not name. 

She loved him with all her soul. He loved her the same, but his romantic interests were settled elsewhere as they had been during school. Even if Harleen changed, his affections had not wavered with time and lack of exposure. Brooke tried hard not to pry into his life but she had voiced her objections on many occasions. John knew she did not approve of his object of affection by now but it made no difference. Though he had not approved of her mentor over much either, and he had been right in the end, but it had not stopped her from running off to the mountains to study under Raʾs al-Ghūl, much to her subsequent regret. 

John was a watcher, he told her, and he was very frequently right about people, though not always. Still, after all these years with her, he never had realized he was the only man she could ever fall in love with, if she let herself, which she had not. They were friends and nothing beyond that. Codependent, maybe, but staunch friends.

Dumbledore dipped his chin in a nod she felt sure had hidden a knowing smirk, "Indeed? I wonder." He seemed to shake it off, "Well, in good time."

She hated it when people did that! Always assuming, thinking they understood! It had been that way for many years and yet she still felt the prickle of offense rise in her. As if she did not know what was going on in her own relationship with the man? As if the two were simply being either obtuse or were lying to the world. Even Alfred occasionally commented but he always backtracked rather quickly and pretended he hadn't meant what he decidedly inferred. It caused her great annoyance but she had learned to ignore it.

"Professor, I feel certain you did not call me here to inquire into my love life. I find my curiosity growing still greater the longer you neglect to tell me why you asked to see me. Unless, you, like many others, simply wanted to satiate a little curiosity over my aforementioned infamous rise in the media?"

"No, no," he simpered, "of course not. Far be it for me to pry into the lives of my former students." Brooke struggled valiantly not to let out a smothered bark of laughter and only just managed, "My reasons are more or less business rather than pleasure." 

That sobered her instantly, causing the mirth to die a sudden death, "And what might this clandestine business proposition be, if I may ask?"

"It is hardly clandestine, my dear girl! No indeed!" He assured her pleasantly, "No, I've recently had a teaching position open up. Defense Against the Dark Arts, as a matter of fact, something I think you are quite... adept in. A matter of your expertise, shall we say?" He almost covertly motioned to a business card seemingly inconsequentially placed to the side of the desk with the name 'Amanda Waller' embossed in gold upon the parchment. "I simply wished to inquire as to whether or not you might consider taking the position on."

Absolutely all expression fell from her face, blanking it entirely as she asked in a distinct monotone, "Beg your pardon?"