[There are witches, Prudence knows, who's magic comes from the old gods and their like. Witches who placed their faith in the earth, and the energy around them, and made power from it. Her own magic is changing now, with each passing day and with each new prayer to the triple Goddess. Her energy longs for the old ways; to be gone from the oppressive hold of Greendale, and to be where magic is not something that is given, but something that simply is.
She does entirely mean to return to Scotland. She thinks of Haiti first, or New Orleans, or even the deepest parts of South America. But she has unfinished business in Scotland she has to attend to first, with the last of her fathers being buried under twelve feet of holy scripture and different bonds to keep him. Hogsmede is where she stays, tucked away in a little room with her clothes layered and her own admiration for the towns ability to stay so far away from mortals.
It's peaceful, for a bit. The butterbeer is sweet, the food is -- well. The food is edible, and no one pays her any mind. She listens to the talks of Hogwarts and their very different approach to teaching; listens to the talks of darker wizards who's practices resemble her own more closely. It's always so funny how black and white magic has to be to people, she thinks.
She looks like one of their dark wizards, she supposes, and that's fine, too. When she is looking through books at the bookstore, it means people keep their distance. The restricted books, of course, are more to her liking. She's aimless, though, fingers drawn to the Eldritch texts, but so averse to them that she forces her eyes to the beasts instead. Her hand moves to Finding Your Skin: Newt Scamander's Notes On Selkie Hides, when her fingers brush someone else's. ] Ah -- pardon me.
oh my gOD DANI THIS IS BEAUTIFUL (no voldemort au hermione is an experience)
[It would be fair to admit that life does get better after Hogwarts, at least by a bit. The bullies that made life hell for her in school have all moved on with their lives, away from her, and that's allowed Hermione to move on with her own too. The wizarding world isn't perfect - despite proof of brilliance from many muggleborn witches and wizards, society is still inclined to swallow the utter bullshit around blood purity and what made magic good or bad, so her opportunities have been pretty scarce.
An intense Mastery in Charms and Transfiguration, a boring year spent as the intern of a Ministry official, and finally the letter from McGonagall. In all honesty, she thinks life's picked up recently, more than anything.
She's been Professor of Charms for one year now, and finally living in Hogsmeade has come to feel comfortable. She has her routine - the bookshop owner knows her by name, her orders are set aside, and she even has an arrangement with Aberforth for delivery of muggle food by owl.
But she is still very much a recluse, she knows this. It hasn't changed since her school years: Hermione Granger, nose buried in a book, never lifts it unless someting extremely interesting happens.
And today, it does.]
Oh - sorry. I hadn't looked - my bad. [She doesn't recognise this young woman, and she recognises almost everyone. It still is polite to smile, and she does, even though she wants that book.]
Oh, not at all. [Prudence's smile is very polite, her eyes narrowed as she nods with it, tapping the book spine with a ringed knuckle. ] Is it truly? We don't have much of Mr. Scamander's notes in my neck of the woods.
[Too sanitary, her father had once said. Whitewashed nonsense about unity and so on. She's more inclined towards it now, perhaps as an act of defiance. Ambrose might like it, she thinks. He always has had a fondness for the oddities of their world. ]
[She hesitates for a moment, and then relinquishes control of the book, because if this is a stranger from a different neck of the woods, then they can't wait until a month from now when the bookseller will order her a new copy.]
No? It's funny, I thought that after all that he did, Mr Scamander was well known in the States.
[Prudence's sidelong smile is filled with quiet humour as she examines the book's cover, fingernails trailing over the embossed imagery painted in gold. ] Oh, we know him to be sure. I imagine he's well taught in other sides of the country.
[She glances up again, pressing the book close to her chest. ] My schooling was rather eclectic by comparison, I would imagine. We had a very specific focus and purpose right up until our final years. We had a change of management.
[She rather thinks Zelda Spellmen would hate to be called management rather than High Priestess, which is privately quite funny. Some people need to relax.] Did you study here, then?
[Interesting - so maybe not a student or alumni of Ilvermony, but of somewhere else. It would not be outrageous to believe that some witches are homeschooled - it isn't the case here, but she imagines the States produces more magical children per year than Hogwarts could cope.
Imagine all those minds to shape... but she asked her a question.]
I did, yes. I also teach here now. [She'll just hold a hand out for shaking.] Hermione Granger, Professor of Charms.
[The hand she takes with a delicate shake. Professor of Charms. How quaint. ] Prudence Blackwood, job title under some construction.
[She can hardly say weird sister or sentinel, former and not explain it. And she very much does not want to explain her life at this moment. She would much rather soak up all she can about Hermione Granger's life and the odd little life English witches must live. ] The Goddess must be smiling upon me to run into a charms professor right away. I was just going to try some butterbeer after this, would you like to join me Professor Granger? I would just love to pick your brain about charms. On me, of course.
[It's not that she's not a hospitable person, because when the stars align, she is, but seven years studying in Hogwarts, seven years besting every little snotty, conceited, smug pureblood at their game, seven years of professors murmuring things like brightest witch her age and practically painting a target for bullying on her back...
They should've given Hermione more suspicion of strangers.
Fortunately for Prudence Blackwood, job title unknown, she finds the young woman very attractivestunning intriguing, and curiosity is going to be her downfall.]
I'd be delighted to then, Ms Blackwood. If you'll let me pay for my books, I can show you to the Three Broomsticks.
Oh, of course. I suppose Mr. Scamander and I should be heading that way ourselves.
[It's a gift, she's decided. Something she will either have to mail to Ambrose or have him collect in person, some months in the future. Greendale seems like such a faraway place now, it's hard to think of a when she will return.
She follows alongside Hermione to the check out, and her collection of strange English wizard money has been carefully organised in a way that she just hands over the gold coins and accepts the change, no matter how annoyed it might make those who have to count it. Prudence has an air of unbotheredness about her; a hint that she doesn't pay too much attention to the way people react to her. She exists and takes up the spaces she occupies; she refuses to be small, even when buying books. ]
[She's barely met the woman, and yet Hermione is already suitably impressed. It's strange - the way she handles money for example might betray her being a muggleborn, but the way she takes up space might indicate she's just American and unsure of the culture here. Regardless, Prudence has her suitably intrigued.
Does it help that she's pretty?
It certainly does.
Once outside again, Hermione will lead them both through Hogsmeade to one of Rosmerta's quietest booths.]
Passing through on my travels. It seemed a waste not to explore the most famous magical sites in Britain.
[She has been to no dark Kirks yet, or even any temples to the Triple Goddess. No religious offerings made. Prudence time is selfish time, thus far. She still has time to burn a few Kirks to the ground and pay her respects, though. In the meantime: ]
I don't hail from a predominantly magical city, myself. We co-exist in relative secrecy. This is an interesting change of pace.
It's a good thing you chose, Hogsmeade, then. [And maybe this part is unwelcome, but Hermione Knows About A Fact, so she has to share it, evidently.]
Most of our community lives in mixed settlements, but Hogsmeade is one of the very few that are entirely magical. I wouldn't go as far as calling it a city, though. Where do you come from?
Would town be more accurate? [Village, perhaps. ] Town is more accurate for me, actually. Small town called Greendale. Or, on the outskirts of it anyway.
[She shrugs. ] It's an old witch hunting town. But we've stayed our ground, living in secret.
[Oh, she's read all about those, the witch hunts in puritanical America, back in the day. Of course, some parts of the States seem to her that they'd try it again if they could get away with it, but she's not about to say that to Prudence's face.
They've known each other for only twenty minutes, tops.]
I can understand why that would be the case, considering. It's harder to feign your own death as a witch nowadays than when people didn't cart you off to a morgue.
Oh, I suppose it helps if witches are running the morgue.
[They are, she means. In Greendale. Mortals are so fickle; she's glad to not be surrounded by them, here. ] I hope you don't mind if I bend your ear some more? For example -- all these barriers. It must take a lot of magic.
Grim - but probably true. Practical, too. [It was purely observational, right? Witches running the morgue - well, maybe in America that's how they deal with staying hidden.
She shakes her head, to not go on too many side-tracks.]
Ah, yes - the Statute of Secrecy is incredibly convoluted and complex. It's not just one person performing the spells, it's a combination of ancient blood rituals, probably some sex rituals in there too, not to mention Arithmancy and Runes, as well. It's - think of it like an iceberg, really. What you see on the surface - the fact that Muggles can't see us or find themselves in Diagon Alley by accident - is just the tip of it all. The underbelly of it is - is such intricate spellwork!
And here I thought you English witches were so vanilla, these days.
[There are worst generalisations to make, really. Hermione seems and sounds so proper, in a way that reminds Prudence of Hilda and Zelda both. There is a warmth to her that draws her in, that makes the prospect of butterbeer and conversation more enticing by the minute. ]
Do you do much research on the old ways? I don't mean to badger you with questions, it's just so fascinating how differently we all seem to evolve, don't you think?
It's fine, you can call us prudes - certainly in many aspects the British Wizarding world feels that way.
[They arrive at last at The Three Broomsticks, so Hermione pulls and holds the door open for Prudence to step through first. She'll find them a table by the window, maybe somewhere secluded, if they're going to continue having this incredibly entertaining conversation. She doesn't feel badgered at all; what's more, she feels interesting to someone, finally. All that knowledge locked up in her brain, finally useful to someone.]
To answer your question, I do try, though there isn't a lot of written research on it to go by. Mostly it's old magical families who preserve rituals, and they're secretive. Especially to people like me.
[There's a tight, almost pained smile, before Hermione bristles and looks towards the bar.] Anyway - Butterbeer, Ms Blackwood?
[Whatever does she mean; her curiosity is bubbling over. ] Old magical families tend to be snobs in my experience, for what it's worth. Annoyingly so.
[Not in the way Hermione means, probably. Worse, perhaps, in all manner of ways. ] In some ways -- tradition is all we have. Like butterbeer. I've heard you can't pass through Hogsmede without trying it.
I'll get us some. [She points towards a table by the window, empty.] Take over that one, will you?
[She hoists her bag of books over one shoulder and makes her way to the bar, where she orders two butterbeer pints for the two of them. She pays Rosmerta, and makes her way to the table, where the barmaid will have sent the pints through a clever spell.]
Ah, here we go - where were we? You mentioned that tradition is all we have in some ways, and I would disagree. [She shrugs, and takes her cloak off before taking a seat.] That kind of mentality is one I am very familiar with from my time in school, and all my adult life in the wizarding world, Ms Blackwood, so I should preface it by saying that I am a muggleborn. [And proud, says the jut of her chin.]
The wizarding world is stale in its traditions. It could do with some changes.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
jesus WHATEVER THIS IS no voldemort or something
She does entirely mean to return to Scotland. She thinks of Haiti first, or New Orleans, or even the deepest parts of South America. But she has unfinished business in Scotland she has to attend to first, with the last of her fathers being buried under twelve feet of holy scripture and different bonds to keep him. Hogsmede is where she stays, tucked away in a little room with her clothes layered and her own admiration for the towns ability to stay so far away from mortals.
It's peaceful, for a bit. The butterbeer is sweet, the food is -- well. The food is edible, and no one pays her any mind. She listens to the talks of Hogwarts and their very different approach to teaching; listens to the talks of darker wizards who's practices resemble her own more closely. It's always so funny how black and white magic has to be to people, she thinks.
She looks like one of their dark wizards, she supposes, and that's fine, too. When she is looking through books at the bookstore, it means people keep their distance. The restricted books, of course, are more to her liking. She's aimless, though, fingers drawn to the Eldritch texts, but so averse to them that she forces her eyes to the beasts instead. Her hand moves to Finding Your Skin: Newt Scamander's Notes On Selkie Hides, when her fingers brush someone else's. ] Ah -- pardon me.
oh my gOD DANI THIS IS BEAUTIFUL (no voldemort au hermione is an experience)
An intense Mastery in Charms and Transfiguration, a boring year spent as the intern of a Ministry official, and finally the letter from McGonagall. In all honesty, she thinks life's picked up recently, more than anything.
She's been Professor of Charms for one year now, and finally living in Hogsmeade has come to feel comfortable. She has her routine - the bookshop owner knows her by name, her orders are set aside, and she even has an arrangement with Aberforth for delivery of muggle food by owl.
But she is still very much a recluse, she knows this. It hasn't changed since her school years: Hermione Granger, nose buried in a book, never lifts it unless someting extremely interesting happens.
And today, it does.]
Oh - sorry. I hadn't looked - my bad. [She doesn't recognise this young woman, and she recognises almost everyone. It still is polite to smile, and she does, even though she wants that book.]
Go ahead. Nice choice in lecture.
meet cute MEET CUTE
[Too sanitary, her father had once said. Whitewashed nonsense about unity and so on. She's more inclined towards it now, perhaps as an act of defiance. Ambrose might like it, she thinks. He always has had a fondness for the oddities of their world. ]
THEY ARE CUTE AND THEY MET
No? It's funny, I thought that after all that he did, Mr Scamander was well known in the States.
no subject
[She glances up again, pressing the book close to her chest. ] My schooling was rather eclectic by comparison, I would imagine. We had a very specific focus and purpose right up until our final years. We had a change of management.
[She rather thinks Zelda Spellmen would hate to be called management rather than High Priestess, which is privately quite funny. Some people need to relax.] Did you study here, then?
no subject
Imagine all those minds to shape... but she asked her a question.]
I did, yes. I also teach here now. [She'll just hold a hand out for shaking.] Hermione Granger, Professor of Charms.
no subject
[She can hardly say weird sister or sentinel, former and not explain it. And she very much does not want to explain her life at this moment. She would much rather soak up all she can about Hermione Granger's life and the odd little life English witches must live. ] The Goddess must be smiling upon me to run into a charms professor right away. I was just going to try some butterbeer after this, would you like to join me Professor Granger? I would just love to pick your brain about charms. On me, of course.
no subject
They should've given Hermione more suspicion of strangers.
Fortunately for Prudence Blackwood, job title unknown, she finds the young woman very
attractivestunningintriguing, and curiosity is going to be her downfall.]I'd be delighted to then, Ms Blackwood. If you'll let me pay for my books, I can show you to the Three Broomsticks.
no subject
[It's a gift, she's decided. Something she will either have to mail to Ambrose or have him collect in person, some months in the future. Greendale seems like such a faraway place now, it's hard to think of a when she will return.
She follows alongside Hermione to the check out, and her collection of strange English wizard money has been carefully organised in a way that she just hands over the gold coins and accepts the change, no matter how annoyed it might make those who have to count it. Prudence has an air of unbotheredness about her; a hint that she doesn't pay too much attention to the way people react to her. She exists and takes up the spaces she occupies; she refuses to be small, even when buying books. ]
no subject
Does it help that she's pretty?
It certainly does.
Once outside again, Hermione will lead them both through Hogsmeade to one of Rosmerta's quietest booths.]
So what brings you to Hogsmeade, Ms Blackwood?
no subject
[She has been to no dark Kirks yet, or even any temples to the Triple Goddess. No religious offerings made. Prudence time is selfish time, thus far. She still has time to burn a few Kirks to the ground and pay her respects, though. In the meantime: ]
I don't hail from a predominantly magical city, myself. We co-exist in relative secrecy. This is an interesting change of pace.
no subject
Most of our community lives in mixed settlements, but Hogsmeade is one of the very few that are entirely magical. I wouldn't go as far as calling it a city, though. Where do you come from?
no subject
[She shrugs. ] It's an old witch hunting town. But we've stayed our ground, living in secret.
no subject
They've known each other for only twenty minutes, tops.]
I can understand why that would be the case, considering. It's harder to feign your own death as a witch nowadays than when people didn't cart you off to a morgue.
no subject
[They are, she means. In Greendale. Mortals are so fickle; she's glad to not be surrounded by them, here. ] I hope you don't mind if I bend your ear some more? For example -- all these barriers. It must take a lot of magic.
no subject
She shakes her head, to not go on too many side-tracks.]
Ah, yes - the Statute of Secrecy is incredibly convoluted and complex. It's not just one person performing the spells, it's a combination of ancient blood rituals, probably some sex rituals in there too, not to mention Arithmancy and Runes, as well. It's - think of it like an iceberg, really. What you see on the surface - the fact that Muggles can't see us or find themselves in Diagon Alley by accident - is just the tip of it all. The underbelly of it is - is such intricate spellwork!
no subject
[There are worst generalisations to make, really. Hermione seems and sounds so proper, in a way that reminds Prudence of Hilda and Zelda both. There is a warmth to her that draws her in, that makes the prospect of butterbeer and conversation more enticing by the minute. ]
Do you do much research on the old ways? I don't mean to badger you with questions, it's just so fascinating how differently we all seem to evolve, don't you think?
no subject
It's fine, you can call us prudes - certainly in many aspects the British Wizarding world feels that way.
[They arrive at last at The Three Broomsticks, so Hermione pulls and holds the door open for Prudence to step through first. She'll find them a table by the window, maybe somewhere secluded, if they're going to continue having this incredibly entertaining conversation. She doesn't feel badgered at all; what's more, she feels interesting to someone, finally. All that knowledge locked up in her brain, finally useful to someone.]
To answer your question, I do try, though there isn't a lot of written research on it to go by. Mostly it's old magical families who preserve rituals, and they're secretive. Especially to people like me.
[There's a tight, almost pained smile, before Hermione bristles and looks towards the bar.] Anyway - Butterbeer, Ms Blackwood?
no subject
[Whatever does she mean; her curiosity is bubbling over. ] Old magical families tend to be snobs in my experience, for what it's worth. Annoyingly so.
[Not in the way Hermione means, probably. Worse, perhaps, in all manner of ways. ] In some ways -- tradition is all we have. Like butterbeer. I've heard you can't pass through Hogsmede without trying it.
no subject
[She hoists her bag of books over one shoulder and makes her way to the bar, where she orders two butterbeer pints for the two of them. She pays Rosmerta, and makes her way to the table, where the barmaid will have sent the pints through a clever spell.]
Ah, here we go - where were we? You mentioned that tradition is all we have in some ways, and I would disagree. [She shrugs, and takes her cloak off before taking a seat.] That kind of mentality is one I am very familiar with from my time in school, and all my adult life in the wizarding world, Ms Blackwood, so I should preface it by saying that I am a muggleborn. [And proud, says the jut of her chin.]
The wizarding world is stale in its traditions. It could do with some changes.