[wunderbar] old flame [sylvester]

april 2002

When Bérénice had mentioned in one of her more recent owls to Sylvester that she would be teaching at Beauxbatons as a substitute she’d expected perhaps a snide comment or at most a half-hearted congratulations, but not an offer to meet up. She wasn’t sure how to interpret the proposal at first, but she supposed it couldn’t hurt. They hadn’t ended things poorly, and it wasn’t like they weren’t friendly. That was all it would be – friends meeting up for a drink or two, maybe dinner. This was probably better than remaining at home, or else in the palace, mulling over her still-fresh singledom with no distractions.

Sylvester had turned up at Bérénice’s sea view cottage just after lunch, and he’d suggested a tour of the school. She had felt like she couldn’t refuse him, after coming all this way. Besides, it was no worse than inviting a tribe of giants to live on the grounds. The Frenchwoman was wary of any students getting the wrong message if they saw her with a man, but nobody had so much as raised an eyebrow at them as they walked through the halls and gardens. Perhaps the staff and pupils were so used to people coming and going by this point that it didn’t seem worthy of their interest.

After taking him through the palace and around the grounds they had strolled back, past the vineyards, to the town of Chatoeil, passing the opera house and theatre, heading for a little bar that Bérénice had heard about but not yet been to. It hadn’t been open when she’d been a student, and though she’d lived in the town for a couple of months now she hadn’t yet felt like venturing out for the nightlife, nor had she had anyone to do so with. Bérénice didn’t want to be the sad, single woman at the bar looking for someone to take pity on her.

As they stepped into the cosy venue the brunette shrugged out of her coat, revealing a deep green, fitted midi dress. The former couple made their way to an empty booth, Sylvester ordered their drinks as they sat, and the waitress left them. There were a few other patrons, but it was still early in the evening and so the atmosphere was still rather quiet. The sign out on the pavement had said their would be live music later.

Bérénice tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, smiling at the waitress as she deposited their drinks on the table. “Merci.” The hypnotist pulled her glass closer; it was a lavender spritz. She usually preferred a simple glass of wine, but it seemed somehow uncouth to come to a cocktail bar and not order a cocktail, and the spirits might calm her nerves somewhat. She stirred the contents of her glass with the straw, flicking her warm brown eyes up to meet Sylvester’s. “So, now that there is no-one to overhear us,” she took a sip, her eyes blinking pleasantly at the acidic fruit juices, “what did you think?”


@Sylvester Walker

When Bérénice had written to him that she would soon start teaching at Beauxbatons, Sylvester had genuinely wondered if she’d actually received the position through legitimate methods. Truth be told, while she was a professional and an especially skilled healer indeed, her superior ability in hypnosis always made him wonder if she actually earned it through professional merits, or through hypnotism itself. Part of him didn’t dislike that side of her – well, not anymore. As long as he wouldn’t be part of her schemes again, Sylvester did not mind her using it. She’d also proved herself especially useful in helping his own quidditch team’s therapies, so Bérénice had certainly redeemed herself in front of him.
   
Consequently, the wizard had decided to properly congratulate the witch for her accomplishment, and suggested a meeting. When the former Ombrelune agreed, Sylvester stated he would just pay her a visit in the Chatoeil. In the end, he had some business to tend to in Neroli, so a taking a port-key from there wouldn’t be as troublesome as Bérénice coming all the way to Melbourne when he found find an opening in his schedule. It was better for him to pay her a visit while still in Europe.

Upon meeting her at her sea view cottage, Sylvester had tried as much as he could to distract himself from the fact that while the area was wonderful, Bérénice’s home was so ridiculously small, that he couldn’t even process how could anyone live in such a place. In his approach of not appearing too sharp and judgemental regarding her poor (quite literally) living conditions, he thoughtlessly suggested she give him a tour of Beauxbatons. Of course, the Victorian hadn’t expected her to agree to it, and actually move forward with the visit. It somehow perplexed him that an elite school such as Beauxbatons allowed guests in, without proper notice beforehand. But since Bérénice was teaching there – let it be only as a substitute – he guessed it was alright, as professors were allowed to occasionally receive visits. They had lives outside their jobs, after all. 

He’d heard about Beauxbatons from his Italian friend, Enzo Bertinelli, and from Bérénice herself, nonetheless it was quite different to see the building with his own eyes, especially because it was the complete opposite as to what his friends had told him. Yes, of course, the school would be elegant and quite imposing normally, but right now the atmosphere seemed tense, the grounds and gardens were messy, and when seeing that giants were around, Sylvester had been utterly and completely bewildered. Bérénice had mentioned to him that Madame Maxime had been hosting giants at Beauxbatons, but naturally he took it as a very bad joke from the French witch’s side. Even Hogwarts during the second wizarding war had been safer – at least nobody’d been exposed to the risk of being eaten for lunch.

Naturally, Sylvester had avoided mentioning anything while still in the school, and the walk back to the Chatoeil had managed to calm him down. The wizarding town was much nicer, and thank Merlin it did not have any giants around. They passed by both the opera house and the theatre, which the Australian enjoyed much more than Beauxbatons. There was nothing life-threatening there. Bérénice had suggested going to a bar she knew, and while Sylvester wasn’t keen on such establishments, he’d agreed to her suggestion. Surprisingly enough, the place was rather modern and quite elegant. Again, an improvement from the French school.

As they made their way to an empty booth, Sylvester took off his black silk cloak, revealing an elegant set of dark red robes, silk and velvet. His fingerless gloves mirrored them, but had a top layer of black dragon leather embroidery, also matching his cloak. A waitress came up to them, and Sylvester ordered some yuzu chu chai for himself, and a lavender spritz for Bérénice. He wasn’t keen on drinking alcohol, in fact he generally disliked it even in the form of a cocktail, but the former couple was celebrating the healer’s professional success, so Sylvester decided to let loose just this time.

The beverages soon arrived, and Sylvester nodded politely in the waitress’ direction, gaze turning back to Bérénice as he’d heard her starting to stir the contents of her glass with the straw. Was she nervous? Sylvester sketched a warm smile, picking up his glass to gently clink it to hers. Perhaps that gesture would calm her down, even if it was just a bit. He took a sip out his own cocktail, and as much as he disliked to admit it, it didn’t taste half bad. Well, not as bad as he initially assumed anyway. He smirked at Bérénice’s question, his warm smile turning a bit sarcastic.

“Well…” He shrugged one shoulder. “I guess it’s good you’re a skilled hypnotist. You can persuade the giants to not eat you more easily than others.” Sylvester nodded twice in disapproval, letting out a heavy sigh. He leaned on the back of his seat, back straightening in the process. “I can’t believe Madame Maxime is away, and left the school like that. Of course, on a good day, it would look especially nice and grand, much more than Hogwarts.” He could really deny it, the architectural style was much more beautiful indeed. “But right now, I wonder if you teaching there is even worth the risk.”

“Academic success is indeed highlighted by a job at a prestigious school, but are you willing to put your own life at risk for it?” The wizard added, fingers gently tapping the edge of his glass. “I guess… teaching at Hogwarts during the war wasn’t a pleasant experience for anyone.” Indeed, Sylvester did not share nor did he approve of the Carrows’ methodology, despite agreeing with the fact that pureblood elitism has to be enhanced. But even he wasn’t as cruel as to torture children – for that was what students were. It was a different issue wanting them to experience magic and its effects for the purpose of growing as witches and wizards, but torture for the sake of it, with no purpose at all, was plain cruel. Having giants around was no different than knowing that one’s professor could and would perform the Cruciatus curse on them. It inspired the same sort of terror. To some extent, he felt awfully bad for the children. 

And to add more to the issue, France right now was quite at conflict and the Ministry was more focused on that, it seemed. He didn’t know the details, but Sylvester was aware there was also some sort of political tension around. He picked up his glass and took another sip. “Isn’t the Ministry worried about the giants at all?” The Victorian inquired, arching an eyebrow. The entire situation was just awfully odd.

Bérénice smiled at Sylvester’s gesture and was immediately taken back a few years to when she had felt so young and inexperienced next to the Australian wizard. She still felt that way a little, she supposed, but not quite so much. It was a relief, to finally feel like she held her own beside him. Perhaps that was what she had been missing before.

The brunette let out a sharp little laugh, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth politely. “I’m not sure it would work on them, I can’t say I’ve ever tried on a non-human.” She bit her bottom lip gently, “Let’s hope I don’t need to find out.” The academic in her was now wondering if she could hypnotise other beings, such as giants, goblins or vampires, or indeed those deemed ‘beasts’ but whom she personally believed were beings; mermaids and centaurs. She would have to see if anyone had done any research on the matter.

“I haven’t seen Hogwarts.” The Frenchwoman replied honestly. “Is it really that bad?” Bérénice grimaced. “It can’t be as bad as say, Durmstrang Institute, surely?” She’d heard terrible stories about the ‘elite’ school. She couldn’t personally say she found anything about it or it’s alumni to be ‘elite’ other than their snobbishness – and people said the French were snobs. Bérénice came from a pureblood family, she knew what it was to be raised as ‘better’, but she didn’t believe in any of it. Well, not anymore. She never really had, but until recently had continued to live under the delusion that it was somehow her duty to keep the family line pure. Well, what did it matter? Her child wouldn’t be a Bonaccord anyway, if she ever had children. Ancestrally, yes, of course – but in name? What ‘appropriate’ man would ever let her use her name for their children? Bérénice knew the kind of men her parents expected her to end up with. A man like the one sat across from her right now.

“I’ll be honest, they didn’t tell me about the giants when I interviewed.” She frowned softly, obviously dismayed that anyone could fail to be anything but honest. “I had read it in the papers but,” she pulled a face, “Who believes the papers these days? For once they weren’t exaggerating.” She sighed and shrugged lightly, sipping on her drink. “I suppose some of the other Professors left for that reason.” Bérénice smiled softly at Sylvester’s concern. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. Someone has to look after those children.” Once the French witch had seen just how bad things were at her alma mater, she knew she had to stay. Had to protect them.

The former Ombrelune sat up straighter at Sylvester’s question, automatically adopting the posture befitting of a Bonaccord (not that she had been slouching before). Bérénice wasn’t a stranger to being asked her opinion on political matters, and nor was she unfamiliar with deflecting or answering noncommittally. With Sylvester, however, she felt no need to avoid the question – largely because she didn’t know the answer. “I’m sure that they are, but they’re rather preoccupied at the moment.” Bérénice tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and took a sip of her cocktail. ”I think there’s quite the shake-up happening at the Ministry behind closed doors. I suspect Clement is on the way out, from what I’ve heard.”

Sylvester smirked as he could literally feel the academic in Bérénice being intrigued by his words. Her reaction had been as appealing as always, nonetheless, her curiosity surfaced the moment she bit her lip. Her words didn’t match her demeanour, as far as he could tell. “This is the moment I would technically agree with that statement, but let’s be honest, you’d enjoy finding out whether or not it would work on them.” He elegantly shrugged one shoulder, and threw his friend a teasing glance. “We both have that desire of pushing the boundaries, can’t really deny it.” 

Sylvester didn’t know what exactly to say; Bérénice’s question regarding the British school was more than legitimate, especially since the witch hadn’t visited it. The again, he referred more to the architectural style than how the teaching had been done. “During the war, yes.” Sylvester replied simply; he was positive students at Durmstrang weren’t treated in similar ways the Hogwarts ones had been during the Dark Lord’s rise to power. Furthermore, if someone did treat students in such a manner, their parents would retrieve them from school; that hadn’t been a possibility during the war for Hogwarts, for all halfbloods and purebloods had to mandatorily attend. “From an architectural perspective, I do suppose Durmstrang would be more exotic, to me, at least.” Hogwarts hadn’t been that special, and Beauxbatons, even while not at its best now, did easily outshine the British school, at least in his own eyes.

Sylvester mirrored Bérénice’s soft frown as she stated that at the interview they hadn’t informed her about the giants’ situation at Beauxbatons. “That’s unprofessional.” The Victorian remarked, and took another sip out of his yuzu chu chai. He didn’t need to comment on the healer’s remarks regarding newspapers; she was well aware that he trusted no reporter, no newspaper, no media. Ever since he was a young boy, the media had always written about him, and Sylvester was now well past beyond the point of even considering believing even one percent of what was written in newspapers. He still kept up with the news, but it was done only out of desire to see how far a writer’s imagination could take them.

“I suppose.” Sylvester could understand her sentiment; in the end, that was why he remained at Hogwarts during the war. He’d felt the same, that someone had to look after those children. “But you have to be safe yourself in order to do that. Ultimately, make sure you place yourself above anyone else.” He added, the warm smile on his face resurfacing. Sylvester wasn’t especially keen on Bérénice exposing herself to such danger, nonetheless, he wasn’t anymore in the position which would make his opinion actually matter. And even if he were, surely the French witch would make it so he would eventually agree with her. Bérénice was charming that way.

He’d taken note of the change in her posture as soon as he’d inquired information regarding France’s current affairs. Sylvester straightened his back himself, and gracefully crossed his legs underneath the table. The Victorian listened carefully, arching an eyebrow as Bérénice summarised the situation in the country. He’d taken note that she was not especially comfortable answering the question through her body language, nonetheless, Sylvester found himself smirking with satisfaction as the former Ombrelune did not avoid it at all.
 
“Clement upset a lot of people, as far as I’ve heard.” In the end, the way in which the Minister had treated the syndicates had caused quite the uproar worldwide. Syndicates all over the world had been appalled by the French Minister of Magic and claimed their own rights to ensure such a disaster would never take place in their own countries. Quite the mess, really, and Sylvester wasn’t sure why exactly the International Confederation of Wizards wasn’t calling in Clement for explanations. Perhaps the fact that he was already losing influence in France was the International Confederation of Wizards’ doing as well. Nobody really knew with these things.

“Who do you think should replace him?” Sylvester inquired, quite intrigued by the entire political game. “I suppose someone with more authority would follow him, logically speaking. A person who’d be more focused on defence and security.”

A light flush spread over Bérénice’s cheeks, her mouth stretching into an abashed smile as she was called out by Sylvester. “Well, yes, I would like to know, now that you have brought it up. I had never really considered it before.” She dropped her gaze momentarily to her drink, then back up to meet his; she wasn’t sure if he was flirting intentionally, or this was just a side effect of how he spoke. Sylvester was the kind of man that had an innate sort of charm – in her opinion, at least. She really ought to get better taste in men. “If I ever find out I’ll be sure to let you know.”
 
The brunette took a sip of her drink, then licked her lower lip as she finished. “Well, perhaps one day I’ll see one of the other schools. For now I am more concerned with keeping Beauxbatons standing.” She said, realising that this thread of conversation wasn’t really one she wanted to focus on. “Very.” She agreed. “I had expected more, but then I suppose that is why the Ministry is becoming interested in the management.” Her eyes widened ever so slightly before she recovered, “I... would appreciate if you kept that to yourself.” She said softly, “I am not supposed to know, it was something my father let slip when I told him I was coming here.”
 
Bérénice smiled back at her companion, touched by his words. “I will be fine.” She said calmly, though a very small part of her knew she couldn’t promise that. “I’ll keep out of trouble.” She flashed him a quick grin, bringing her drink back to her lips once more.
 
“He did.” She concurred, “Still does.” She sighed, “He hasn’t helped himself at all.” The Hypnotist reached up to play with her pendant absently as she considered Sylvester’s question about who should replace the current Minister. “I’m not sure.” She nodded at his suggestion, “Yes, I think so. Or at least, less focused on spending Ministry money frivolously, asking for dodgy favours and having parties.” She dropped her hand back to her lap and considered him carefully before she spoke again, in a low tone. “I’ve heard whispers about Chartrand, I think she has quite a lot of support from the bigger departments.” Bérénice glanced around their immediate vicinity before continuing, “They’re waiting for the elections, but if there wasn’t one coming up I think they would have made a move by now.” She paused, pressing her lips together in thought before she continued. “I’m not against her, I think she would be a good choice. Better than any of the other candidates. I’m sure my family support her, at least.”
 
She relaxed back a little in her seat and took another drink of her lavender spritz, then sighed. “I thought by going into Healing I’d escape the politics, but I don’t think it’s possible.” She smiled, somewhat sadly. It was a small consolation to know that Sylvester suffered similarly; it was a blessing and a curse to be born to a prominent family. He had guided her through some of the turbulence before, and she knew she could count on him should she need him again in the future. Her long, manicured fingers made patterns on her glass with the condensation as she smiled over at him, “At least I know I can always ask you for advice.”