Immortal Memories -part two-

Chapter 1: Reminisce

Great, this is just what I need: being late to Snape's class on the first day, Harry thought as he rushed down the dungeon hall, footsteps echoing loudly off the stone. That, or his ears were ringing. He almost missed the door in his hurry, but stopped quickly and pushed the door open to enter the classroom. He found it rather strange that the professor seemed not to notice him as he took the only available seat at the front of the room. He was expecting a yelling-at and a week's detention at the least. But the professor's attention was fixed, it seemed, on the large portrait at the back of the room.

Harry twisted around in his seat to see what was so amazing about a painting of an old guy who slept most of the day anyway. Maybe he was dancing a jig or something. He found, however, that the professor's attention was not on the sleeping man at all, but on an obscure female sitting in the far corner of the room under a burned-out lamp. Her bowed head of dyed black hair, shadowed features, porcelain skin and dark plum-trimmed cloak gave the girl a rather suspicious look, almost like that of a dark wizard.

Ron, sitting two tables in front of her, made a gesture to get Harry's attention and mouthed, "We have to talk," earning an elbow in the ribs from Hermione, who merely shook her head. Harry tilted his head forward in a curt nod and turned away. By this point the Potions Master was beginning to regain his composure and might have been ready to begin class, if not for the knock at the door, followed by its opening by Professor Sprout.

"Terribly sorry to interrupt, Severus, but I've misplaced my mandrakes and thought you might know something about it," she said politely.

"No, I don't," Snape replied coldly. "Perhaps you should keep better track of your plants."

Professor Sprout looked hurt, but covered it quickly by saying, "Well, I'll just be going, then," and started to close the door.

A soft voice spoke up from the back of the room. "Forgive Severus for his rudeness," it said. "He has been rather irritable for the last week, though his advice is as good as ever. Your mandrakes are in cabinet 4A in greenhouse two."

Nearly everyone turned to look at the unknown girl at the back of the room. She had lifted her head and was now looking forward at the Potions Master with an odd expression.

"Why, thank you professor," the herbologist said, and left the room.

Professor? Harry thought. But she's so young, and she wasn't at the opening ceremony. What could she be teaching? He and Hermione had noticed several new courses for sixth and seventh years only on the course cards, but he didn't think many of them were actually new to the school, and he certainly didn't expect any new professors to show up. He tried to think of what classes he had signed up for, but couldn't recall any that were new to Hogwarts. At this, he returned his attention to Snape, who looked as if a great plan of his had been foiled by the most foolish method imaginable. He obviously didn't want to be stuck with introductions. He looked even worse when the girl stood up and walked to the front of the room.

Standing next to Snape, who was paler than usual, she made him look as if he'd been standing in the sun for several hours. The term "porcelain skin" was not merely a figure of speech when it came to her. Stature was no gift to her, as she stood at only four feet, six inches, reaching barely higher then Snape's elbow. In the improved lighting, her cloak proved to be a deep plum, almost black, trimmed with a lighter shade of the same color. It split a little at the bottom to reveal part of what may have been an elegant black and white gown, but could just as easily been a simple maid's dress.

"What is the matter, Severus?" she began, her voice coated with an unmistakable Russian accent. "You seem depressed. Well, no matter..." She turned to the class. "Good morning everybody. I apologize for this. I had hoped to save introductions for later, but I suppose now is as good a time as any. I am Avelon Valentine, the new professor of Alchemy here at Hogwarts. I know I am young; I finished my schooling in St. Petersburg only two years ago, but I assure you, I am one of the most skilled alchemists you will probably ever meet, save Mr. Nicolas Flamel, of course. Oh, forgive me. Bragging does not become me." She paused to examine a table leg, then turned to Snape. "You should replace these tables, you know." He only glared, earning from her a sigh. To the class, she continued, "I was offered the position of Head of Slytherin House...” (She glanced at Snape, who was looking quite indignant.) “...but I graciously declined, saying I could not hope to do as good a job as my dear friend here." Snape cheered up a bit at this. He had full well expected her to accept the offer. She clapped her hands together. "Well, I have held up your class long enough, Severus. I hope to see several of you in my class."

As she made to leave, she paused at Draco Malfoy's desk. He looked at her with the same sneer he looked at every teacher with, save Snape, expecting her to act toward him the way every other teacher did. Instead, she reached into an inner pocket of her cloak and pulled out her fisted hand, glowing from the inside. On the tabletop in front of him she placed a metal rose blossom.

"Your father was a gifted alchemist, but he let his talents go to waste," she said. "Do not let the same happen to you." Her face softened ever so slightly. "Good day." And then she was gone.

Draco picked up the blossom, gingerly, afraid it might break if he breathed wrong. He examined it at length, eyes drinking in its every detail, from the shape of the flower itself to the subtle folds of the petals and the tiny grains of pollen at the heart of the blossom. The edges of the petals were slightly luminescent, as if they had absorbed the glowing alchemy at work. Finally he decided it would be fine if he put it in his pocket, and he did so, feeling every so often to make sure it was still intact.

When class was over he walked all the way to his dormitory with his left hand over his right waist pocket, protecting the delicate flower from any possible harm. He placed it on his bedside table, almost strategically, and placed a binding charm on it to keep it from being stolen.

"Your safety measures are a bit drastic," Valentine told him when he returned to the common room.

"What do you mean?" Draco asked.

"With you hand over your pocket," she replied. "It is made of a special type of titanium. It would not break if you dropped it from the top of the Astronomy tower."

"Oh," Draco said simply.

Valentine shrugged. "Cheerio," she said as she waved and walked away.

"Hey, wait!” Draco called after her. She turned, a questioning look on her face. "How do you know my father?” he asked.

Valentine smiled at the question. Of course, she had expected the boy to ask, but not so directly. She almost admired that in him. "Ah, Lucius...” she muttered. "He is now a follower of the Dark Lord, is he not? No doubt he wants you to follow in his footsteps.”

Draco looked at the floor as if he was ashamed. "That’s right,” he answered hesitantly. "Did my father tell you?”

"Who else would have? Besides, it is rather obvious, in the way you act, I mean, and your eyes betray you.”

After a long pause, the boy commented, "You’re not like other teachers. You’re more like one of us...more like a Slytherin, you know?”

Valentine smiled. "I know. I feel like one, too,” she said. "I am even staying in the seventh years’ dorm here.”

Draco almost yelled, but restrained himself. "You’re...what? You can’t be serious. Dumbledore would never allow it.”

"Oh, but he did, so I am staying here.”

Already uncomfortable having a regular casual conversation with a teacher, Draco’s conception of a student-staff barrier crumbled at this. But Valentine was different. She was only two years older than most seventh years, and she was teaching them, but she didn’t have the composure of a teacher. Her use of the English language was exceptional, considering she was foreign, and she spoke as if she’d come from a different age. An older age, but not so much so that she couldn’t adapt to the present. This was Draco’s impression of her, just from the way she spoke. Her clothing was only a complement to the dialect.

Valentine was now unclipping the clasp from her cloak in a motion to remove the heavy cloth. Beneath that layer was a plain but elegant black and white dress that looked like a modernization of the old Victorian style. Around her waist was a belt of worn brown leather from which hung pouches of all sizes, strings of leather and beads, and several adjustable loops. In one of the loops was a glass vial of red liquid with undissolved solid ingredients mixed into it. When Valentine caught Draco looking at it, she quickly tucked it into a pouch right next to it.

"What’s in that vial?” Draco asked curiously.

Valentine eyed him a moment, then replied, "Blood,” and occupied herself with removing the contents of several pouches.

Out of one she pulled another vial containing a clear liquid, the consistency of which was something like thick water; from another she took two knives and a small ceramic bowl; from a third pouch she removed a folded square of parchment. All this she set on the table nearest her and sat down in front of it to set up her workspace. She beckoned Draco to sit by her and smiled as she unfolded the paper. Inside were pieces of some kind of plant. Draco recognized the herb.

"You’re setting a bad example, Miss Valentine,” he said.

"Am I?” she mused. “It seems an example has already been set for you, Mister Malfoy.”

"Be that as it may, you are a teacher, a role model for students,” Draco replied. "If someone, say Snape, were to catch you doing this, he would have to take you to Dumbledore. Why, I should do just that.”

"But you will not.” She smiled.

The day had had its share of surprises, and this was by far the best and worst. Both Harry and Ron excelled immediately at the new subject, while Hermione was stuck on the physics portion of it. The school-issue textbooks were new, no doubt, but Hermione’s looked worn already due to her extensive searching.

"I don’t know why I can’t wrap my mind around this,” she complained. "I feel positively absurd asking either of you for help, but would you mind?”

Ron smiled as he knelt next to her and flipped the book open to a specific page. "The Law of Equivalent Exchange,” he explained, "states that all materials must already exist or the alchemist must supply something of equal composition to that which is being made. Like...you can’t make a wooden bowl out of a metal button.”

"It’s not like Transfiguration,” Harry added. "Let’s say you have a wooden board, ok, and it’s broken. You could glue it back together, or you could use alchemy and fuse the molecules in the wood itself back together. The wood is already there, so you’re not adding anything or doing anything out of the ordinary.”

"But it’s not ordinary,” Hermione said. "It just doesn’t make sense. Just like with the Philosopher’s Stone. It had the power to turn any metal into gold, and with that, there is no equivalent exchange.”

"But there is,” Harry said, conjuring a small metallic ball. "Take this fancy silver ball, for example. This could be made into gold quite easily because you could take protons from the air around you and put them into the alchemic process. Or you could make sand into glass simply because glass is melted sand.”

"Or you could make a table out of some parchment,” Ron put in.

She sighed dejectedly. "Maybe I’m just reading too deep into this. Maybe I should just relax.”

"I agree,” Ron said. "Get some rest and you’ll feel better."