[THD & DDC] Like howling fire [Anne]

It was a normal morning on the Schull estate. Dermod had enjoyed a late breakfast in his study and was just finishing off a few random thoughts in his journal that might one day turn into stories when a long snout poked hesitantly around the door. "Yes, Sorrel?" The head house elf rarely bothered him while he was in his study, knowing how irritable it made the ex-Death Eater, but after five decades of faithful service to the family Dermod knew it wouldn't interrupt unless it was something important.

The elf bowed low, it's nose and forehead both scraping the floor "A..a letter has arrived Master, a...BAD letter..." the elf's voice quavered as it held out an unmistakeable shaped piece of bright red parchment. A howler? Dermod frowned his displeasure and the elf quivered with the effort of not stepping backwards. "Thank you Sorrel, you may return to your duties" he said, though his tone was short as he took the letter from the elf and examined it. The name on the envelope was Kevan Taite, the address Abercrombie publishing - clearly they had received the howler and forwarded it to Dermod. He wondered if Farren herself had been the one to readdress the envelope. The young woman didn't have much time for Dermod these days, he could imagine her being delighted with the prospect of his inconvenience. But there was no time for further thought. The howler snatched itself from his hands, formed an angry mouth and screeched

"Monsieur Taite,
Je suis dégoûté de votre manque de romans récents. Je suis un grand fan de vous depuis de nombreuses années
et j'ai attendu votre prochaine histoire depuis trop longtemps. Si vous n'écris pas quelque chose bientôt, je serai obligé
de lire Beedle the Bard!"

With that, it tore itself to shreds and littered his floor liberally. Dermod sat down at stared in equal exasperation and amusement. 'Kevan Taite' had died at the Battle of Hogwarts. That was why there had been no novels for the past three years. Well, that and the fact that it wasn't exactly safe to publish his preferred form of reading in the current climate. But then he started to think. What if there were people who didn't realise that the Death Eaters had lost? People who still believed in pureblood pride, and who wanted to...what?

Suddenly Dermod was on his hands and knees, grabbing up the pieces of torn paper and trying to put them back together. There must be an address, something he could use to track down the writer. Not being a fan of jigsaw puzzles it took another hour before he was able to piece together the vital words. 2e arrondissement, Chatoeil. It was a start. Standing up, he strode to the door, issued a quick instruction to the elf who was scrubbing the stairs to clear up his study, took his summer cloak from the hallway and left the castle. Once beyond the boundaries of the estate he stopped and took a deep, steadying breath.

Chatoeil isn't so much father than Inverness he told himself firmly - and, it must be said, reassuringly. It would be the furthest distance he had attempted to apparate in three years. Another moment of deliberation and he closed his eyes, turning on the spot and, to his immense relief, reappeared in the French village. He hadn't been here for some years, and it suddenly occurred to him that a visit to one of the cafes might be a pleasant distraction while he considered how to track down the letter writer.

[Translation: I am disgusted with your lack of recent novels. I have been a great fan of yours for many years and have awaited your next tale for far too long. If you do not write something soon I shall be forced to read Beedle the Bard!]
@Anne Hofstede

It was nearly time for term to begin. Although Holland had its own Wizarding village, Welderen, Anne didn't find it as practical as the more developed Chatoeil for purchasing her supplies, considering that Welderen was famed for art and was rather a tourist location. Going into her fourth year, Anne was acquainted with Chatoeil now, especially since she performed her student service of acting as a museum docent in the 4e arrondissement. Her mother Rebekka and her middle brother, Andries, were here also, as Andries was starting his first year, but Anne had excused herself after helping him pick out some of the more crucial things on the first-year supply list, distinguishing between high-quality things that would actually come in handy in the current atmosphere of the school and those things where a less expensive variant would serve just as well. Anne spent a good deal of time helping her brothers and was pleased to note that her parents were letting the 14-year-old act rather independently.

Anne had somewhat adopted the rather French habit of stopping at a patisserie in the afternoon on her break for an admittedly somewhat childish pain au chocolat, but she rather preferred the tea in the cafe next door, which catered to an audience wider than just France and thus had tea and in flavor varieties such as licorice, so she gently opened the door and passed inside. Even though it wasn't afternoon yet, she wasn't about to give up her favorite haunt while she was here. Anne's bag was mostly full of parchment, books, and quills and the like, as these were her priority during the school year. She had, however, also stopped by the apothecary; Anne was reinforcing a passing interest in Medical Studies and needed new supplies. Between the books and canisters full of small ingredients, her bags weighed heavily, and she was happy to sit down at a table and set them down while requesting her cup of tea.

A third reason she loved this place was that all the teacups belonged to different tea sets, and it was always a surprise and pleasure to see what the cup would be. Anne collected teacups, and she noted that this one was from the German brand Meissen. While she had plenty in common with @Rémi Park, this was one thing he never took too much of an interest in. Anne traced the pale green lines and watched as people entered the cafe. It was always decently popular around this time of day, although most other patrons were drinking coffee, and they ranged from a family with a young daughter swinging her too-short legs on her seat to an older gentleman in his 50s wearing black leather gloves despite the Mediterranean heat.

Several minutes later, a commotion from outside made the girl start. Animalistic noises streamed in from a door opening as a number of people rushed indoors, holding the door shut. Anne stood up curiously, trying to see out of the window. What could possibly be happening in broad daylight in Chatoeil?

ooc: let me know if you think we should move it along a little morebut I think we can come up with fireworks in three posts XD

As he made his way down the increasingly familiar street, Dermod's attention was drawn to a shop that had definitely not been here on his last visit. It looked to be something between an apothecary and a joke shop, but what really caught his attention was the neatly-stacked display of magical fireworks in the centre of the largest window. Although she was almost a young woman rather than a child now, he still loved to bring presents back for Rhiannon, and it took just a few moments to step into the shop, select a large box, have it wrapped, pay, and tuck it under his arm. Only then did he continue with his original plan, foregoing the crowded patisserie in favour of the cafe next door which, he seemed to vaguely recall, once sold particularly acceptable tea.

Quaint was probably the best word to describe this place, and Dermod had the sudden shocking thought that it might be a nice place to bring Gabriella. She would be delighted by all the different teacups, though he was quite sure she would either try to buy some or - and this did bring a smile to his lips - creep back after dark and simply liberate her favourites. By now his own drink had arrived and he sipped it, pleased that the server had added enough firewhisky to mingle with the already strong flavour of gunpowder tea. Simply the name of the combination amused him, something that sounded as if it might explode at any moment when in reality it was just a pleasant drink, so long as one was used to strong liquor, of course.

He let his mind wander back to the letter. Other than coming to Chatoeil Dermod had given little thought to how he might find the writer. One couldn't exactly walk down the street asking people if they'd sent a howler to a famous deceased author recently. Perhaps he could... and here four or five people burst into the cafe and slammed it behind them, staring wide-eyed back the way they'd come. In the brief time when the door had been open the Irishman had heard frightened shrieks and what sounded like... surely not? Casting a quick glance down to check that Rhiannon's fireworks were safely tucked beneath his table Dermod stood up, his wand already in his diminished hand. People were crowding towards the windows to get a better view.

The writer found himself standing behind a small, light-haired girl a couple of years older than Rhiannon, though he still didn't have a clear view of what was going on. However, he was quite sure that the shouts and screams from outside were getting louder, and before he could attempt to move closer there was a loud crash, and the people holding the cafe door shut were knocked backwards. Dermod didn't think, he simply acted as he put a hand on the girl's shoulder and said in accented French "Unless you are MUCH older than you look, I strongly suggest you hide under a table" Troll, giant or beast, whatever was trying to get inside would quickly make mincemeat of a kid, and besides, Dermod quite liked the idea of testing out a few advanced curses in a situation that wouldn't see him locked away.

Anne gasped as a huge impact hit the door, suddenly very concerned, and turned around at the feeling of a hand on her shoulder. She noted that it was the same older gentleman she'd seen a few minutes before. Feeling chastened, she looked around, half moving to follow his instructions, but something about the idea of hiding under a table while this was happening didn't sit well with her, and she paused. Anne wasn't stupid, she had no illusions of throwing herself into some fray to protect the people in this cafe, but if anything was going to happen to her she wanted to see it. She started to back away from the entrance, however.

Just then, another impact shook the door's hinges, and a second one in quick succession knocked the door clean off. This was the kind of thing one always heard about happening at Hogwarts but that Beauxbatons gave less of a focus to, as evidenced by their Defense curriculum which emphasized mediation in addition to the practical physical defense. Perhaps it showed, she thought grimly as the patrons shrank back from what appeared to be a huge mountain troll riding a graphorn. Her mind stretched for logical explanations, but Anne refrained, focusing her attention instead on the issue. The troll was one thing; she thought it might be incapacitable by an adult wizard. But they had studied graphorns briefly, and she knew they were heavily magic-resistant. One person wouldn't be able to handle all of it at once.

Backing up more quickly, she called to the man, who didn't seem fazed the way the rest of the patrons were, "Sir, do you know a way to distract them? I can't fight them but I," she took a breath and severed the fear from her course of action, "could help with that." Her heart was pounding in her chest but Anne refused to lose herself to panic when it was life-critical. She hoped she came across as firmly as she intended.

Dermod had known for many years that the curriculum of Beauxbatons was pathetically inadequate compared to almost any other wizarding school, but until now he hadn't realise quite how ill-equipped it left its graduates. Aside from those few who were still holding the door shut, most people who had been sitting in the cafe were now running screaming to hide behind the counter, or cramming themselves into the small bathrooms. The yells of indignation as toes were trodden on and ribs elbowed were almost as loud as the sounds coming from outside. No more than half a dozen people remained in the main body of the cafe, all with wands drawn and staring towards the door. The former Death Eater felt calm, almost relaxed, though his mind was racing with anticipation of what was to come. He hadn't felt so alive in years; and had all but forgotten the reason why he was here.

Then the door burst open, and he sensed rather than saw those around him who remained take a step backwards. His lips quirked in a curious expression that came close to being a smile even as his mind stumbled and grasped for the name of the creature before him. It escaped him for now, but he remembered something about creatures that were unwillingly ridden by trolls that were...ah. Resistant to magic, something in the distant hinterlands of his memory murmured. Well, that could be awkward. Nonetheless, Dermod had a suspicion that if the troll was subdued, the creature might at least calm down sufficiently to be trapped in the cafe until it could be captured.

As he raised his wand, he was shocked to hear someone calling to him. The child? Out of all these people, the first one to volunteer assistance beyond straightforward fighting was a girl barely older than Rhiannon? And strangely, her words did suggest a possible course of action. He could always buy Rhiannon another gift once this was over and done with. Without turning his head or lowering his wand, he replied quickly "there is a box of magical fireworks under my table. If you can get around behind the beast and set them off, it should serve as a distraction..." he almost added "try not to get yourself killed" and then belatedly wondered where the girl's family was, then as the graphorn stepped forward, lowering its massive head and snorting (it had truly terrible breath!) he decided it didn't matter. Someone had already fired a stunning charm at the troll's head, to little effect.

Dermod swore in gaelic under his breath as he realise he couldn't simply use the killing curse. There would be an investigation and it would be obvious that he was the culprit. So he fired off a series of curses that were disabling and unpleasant but not actually deadly. As the troll, it's kneecaps neatly reversed, toppled off the graphorn with a loud wail he struck it with the pathetic but necessary conjunctivitus curse. There. If anyone decided to investigate who had disabled to troll he'd just made things a little harder for them. That was, of course, assuming they got out of this at all, for now freed of it's encumberance the massive beast was advancing rapidly, horn lowered.

Anne's eyes quickly found the table where the man had been sitting earlier and, ducking to avoid drawing attention to herself, made her way over to it. She wondered distantly what Rémi would do if he was here. He would probably find something about it exhilarating, more than she currently was. It was undeniably dangerous, and she didn't expect he wanted to die just yet, but it was a sort of testing ground, in a way, and it certainly wasn't conventional. Besides, his father had probably told him stories of much worse situations, and Rémi practically idolized his father, apart from his current...preoccupation. He probably would have some idea of how to do this with spells rather than manually, his repertoire was wider than hers. Anne herself would much prefer to stay behind the observer's glass or in the laboratory, but she didn't see much of a choice.

She quickly found the box and tore open the wrapping paper, small fingers working deftly. In the back of her mind she felt sorry; evidently by the wrapping they had been meant to be some sort of a gift. Pulling open the case, she found a vast array of different fireworks. Rocket...phoenix birth...writhing snakes...firefountain... Peeking up from under the table, Anne saw a Stunner hit and bounce off the troll's head and the first of some debilitating curses set off by the older wizard. There was no time to categorize and choose between them for the most appropriate set with the least collateral damage, as her mind was wont to do and indeed had begun to do; she set the lid back on the box and tucked the whole thing under her arm, looking up again to see the troll falling off the graphorn, which was looking angrily towards the wizard. Get around the beast, he had said. Seizing her opportunity while it was focused on the wizard, Anne scrambled down an aisle of tables and up the next, arriving next to the doorway where it had entered, an area which was now cleared by people fleeing from the doorway. Squatting and gritting her teeth, she shook out the entire box of fireworks onto the floor.

Eyes up again to confirm that it was still advancing upon him, she pulled out her wand, hand shaking somewhat from the adrenaline. "Incendio," she whispered, not wanting noise to draw its attention until she was ready to move. Her wand sparked but sputtered; while not especially weak in charms, the stress was making her casting imprecise. "Incendio!" she said again, desperately, willing her magic to respond. A jet of yellow flames shot out of her beech wand, hitting the center of the tubes. A deafening thunderclap rent the air, sending her tumbling backward onto her backside and closing her eyes reflexively to protect them. Recovering her ability to move, she sprinted for the doorway, turning around only when she had crossed the street in time to see a phoenix burst up from a fiery mess and fly around the cafe. The graphorn seemed to have wheeled around but was screeching; she hoped it might have been blinded by the sparks. Hopefully she had done something.

Moving around the corner of a building on the other side of the street, still ready to sprint again if it came out charging, Anne nevertheless put her head around to see what she still could through through the dim windows and door of the cafe. After all, it was an unusual thing to witness.

Dermod had not, until now, ever fully appreciated how large Graphorns were. It was one thing to fight a fellow wizard who thought and made plans. Such opponents were generally predictable and even when one was almost outmatched, it was still possible to second guess what another wizard was going to do. And, of course, a shield charm, though simple and frankly the mark of a weak spellcaster in Dermod's opinion, would repel the majority of basic curses. But to be faced with a large, unpredictable beast was another matter entirely, and the Irishman felt...afraid. The last time he had found himself up against a beast was during the Battle of Hogwarts. And he had lost.

"This is no centaur" he told himself firmly as the Graphorn lowered its head and snorted "This is no thinking creature, it can be easily outwitted..." but he was trying to convince himself, he didn't truly believe the thoughts. He could remember the centaur raising its bow, aiming arrow after arrow directly at him...

He'd almost forgotten about the girl. Despite her brave words, he fully expected she would have taken refuge beneath the furthest tables, or even, if she dared to touch the fireworks, to set one or two off from the safety of a barricade. So when the fireworks exploded loudly en masse he actually laughed and turned to watch them for a split second, before he realised his eyes would be affected by the flashes and whirls. "Good girl" he muttered under his breath as the graphorn wheeled, clearly disturbed and perhaps momentarily blinded by the lights.

Magic resistant or not, this was their change. "Tout le monde! Stupefy! Maintenant!" he yelled, casting the spell (verbally for maximum force) and repeatedly at the beast's head. From the corner of his vision he saw the girl sprint out of the doorway, and felt relieved. She really was a little heroine; right now Dermod would almost have forgiven her even if she turned out to be a mudblood. The Graphorn, on the other hand, didn't seem to be badly affected even by seven or eight wizards casting the spell (Dermod didn't include those who were trying from beneath tables) and began to stagger back towards the door. Suddenly he had a thought, and directed his wand - and curse - to the doorframe and surrounding brickwork, bringing it crashing down directly upon the beast's head. He doubted it would cause such a large animal any permanent damage, but then inexorably slowly, it subsided and ceased moving.

Dermod just hoped the owners of this place had adequate insurance.

["Everyone! Stupefy! Now!"]

From her position across the street, Anne saw the flashes of combined Stunners effectively bounce off the graphorn, which staggered but did not fall, and then another curse that crumbled the entrance of the cafe on top of the suddenly prone beast. After a few moments of silence, she released the breath she had been holding. She was tempted to turn away from the scene; as much as she had wanted to witness what had happened, she still would much rather it not have happened to her at all. However, her belongings were still underneath her table, and although she wasn't sure whether it might have been overturned by the rampaging beast or even affected by the spinning fireworks she herself had set off, she felt she ought to go salvage what she could. The Hofstedes were not really poor, but there was no room for frivolously throwing things away if there was an alternative.

Stepping around the rubble of the doorway through what had previously been part of the wall, she stopped at the sight of the man, who had clearly been the driving force behind the defeat of the beast. She gave a small curtsy in recognition, spreading her skirt slightly. "Merci, monsieur," she murmured in acknowledgement. Remembering her earlier twinge of regret, she added, "My apologies about the fireworks, they seemed to be a gift of some sort?"

Ducking under her table to retrieve her bag, she opened it and grimaced. One of the bottles of ink had ruptured, staining the bottom of the bag and the sides of the books that were touching the end. Pulling the unscathed ones out, she turned over the few damaged ones, opening and inspecting them to assess whether the damage was only done to the margins or whether it had rendered some of the paragraphs illegible. Hypnosis was salvageable, Medical Studies would have to be replaced, the pages having served as an effective wick for a wave of ink that leached into the diagrams. And at the very bottom, the personal reading she'd picked out on how atomic theory informs a deeper understanding of magical theory was soaked through. Turning over the bag to let the bottle roll out, she shook her head. She would likely need a new bag and check to see whether replacements of the two volumes would be feasible.

"Honestly, where did this troll come from?" she frowned slightly.

The chaos was complete. Dermod stood in the midst of what had formerly been a nice cafe as people all around him began to get to their feet and ask what on earth had just happened. He had no answers, of course. An elderly witch wearing a bright red had and purple robes tottered up and gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek before clambering precariously out of the window without another word. A man a decade or so younger than himself made a joke about synchronised spellcasting, and Dermod dutifully chuckled. A young family crawled out from beneath one of the tables at the back of the room, the woman gasping as she saw the damage and realised how close they had come to tragedy.

And the kid who'd let off the fireworks was climbing back in and thanking him, and...apologising?

Dermod threw back his head and laughed. Really, he hadn't done much, and this had been almost fun. No, he amended silently, it had been fun. He couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed himself so much, the coursing adrenalin, the almost-forgotten sensation of power when he had shouted out the spell and it seemed as if the entire cafe had heard and obeyed; and the girl, no doubt thinking he was laughing at her was now sitting on the floor, looking at her damaged...books? He walked over and took a seat at the table.

"The fireworks were for my daughter, but I can pick up another box easily enough. She's a little younger than you" he added, glancing down at the damaged books. As she took the last one out he grimaced slightly. It was so damaged that there would be no choice but to replace it. But the others... "Scourgify!" he said, pointing his wand at what seemed to be school textbooks. He siphoned almost all the ink from the first, the second...there was still a stain on the cover, but the words appeared readable now, so maybe it wasn't a complete loss.

"You did well today. Your family should be proud" he said, whilst turning the question over in his mind. Where had the troll come from, indeed? A better question would be where it was going...and why? Trolls weren't intelligent, so was it simply obeying commands? Whose commands? Was this part of a bigger plot that would come to fruition in time? And if so... Dermod smiled. "A freak occurrence, wandered down from the mountains and somehow managed to avoid muggles" he offered blandly. The simplest explanation was usually the most likely.

He stood and prepared to leave. "I wouldn't worry about it. The Ministry will be along shortly to clear up the damage...ah, here they are" he said, as two figures in official robes apparated outside with a loud crack. Definitely time to be leaving, then. Dermod smiled as he strolled quietly around the edges of the rubble and then, when the Ministry workers' attention was elsewhere, simply stepped out of the window as the old woman had done a little earlier. Another box of fireworks for Rhiannon, a cursory search for the writer of the letter, and then...home. The howler no longer seemed as important as it had done earlier. Not now that he had the seeds of a delightful new tale he was itching to write.

[Dermod out]

Anne was taken aback by his laughter, but she kept an open mind, not having enough information to know what he meant by it. Anne tried not to be easily offended, and he seemed amiable enough at the time. She stood up as he came to the table in order to be around the same eye level; Anne was short, so they were almost even despite the fact that he was sitting.

"More to thank you for, sir," she said politely as even her Medical Studies textbook was salvaged. She could have done it herself she supposed, but it would have been more blatant than the underage magic she had done with Rémi where no one else was looking. In his attic alone, they were free to cast as many spells as they had; here things were different and she wasn't exactly in mortal danger anymore. Anne didn't know if she completely believed his explanation--Chatoeil was so far from the mountains, it felt--but adults were like that at times. She would have pushed it, but Anne was more worried that the bookstore would be out of copies, and the man seemed eager to go as well.

"Thank you again, and I hope you find another gift," she said as he stood up to leave. Scooping her books into her arms, she set back out to find the bookstore and her family. At least she would have a tale for Andries and Arthur. And Rémi.