Chapter Text
Silviano loved preparation days before every term started. He loved packing all the clothes he knew would show his growing figure off; he loved previewing all the books he knew would earn him beautiful grades; he loved wandering in Londinium window-shopping, and he loved filling his special basket with new products from the joke shop of de Veronese.
Boys of his age quite normally tricked their peers, or in some bold cases, their professors, but Silviano liked not these little tools themselves, rather the man who made them. When other students rejoiced at how useful they were in skipping classes they didn’t like or making fun of some fool, Silviano tried his best to understood how they work and to imagine a working de Veronese who had been his hero for years. Every year he hoped he could meet in flesh the legendary wizard who took down the Shadow, but de Veronese was never there, never to be found in the small delicate building. Silviano even attempted a leave without leaving money just to see if the owner would show up to catch a naughty boy, only to find correct number of coins flying automatically from his pocket, across the air, and falling behind the counter.
Before a lucky day came, which Silviano believed would, he thought walking around shelves full of crafted toys satisfactory enough, but when he light-footedly came stepped closer to the shop, he recognized a shut door, a dim building with a sign out of his expectation:
CLOSED.
They were always saying that Gratiano de Veronese was not for a joke shop, nor would he like one, and Silviano laughed at those boring adults. While he of course believed in de Veronese’s talents and ambitions, he also believed, in a way maybe a bit too romantic, that man was an incarnation of freedom, of revolutionary. Running a joke shop was nothing compared to leaving school when everyone thought he was a good boy, or destroying the Shadow when everyone had been convinced he was a worthy Dark wizard. He had totally forgotten that de Veronese could also wilfully closed the shop.
What would he do after this? Where did he go? Back to Verona, his family’s home, possibly. Suddenly Silviano was jealous of the benefits of living in Siena such as having no wizardry schools. He would have more free time to utilize if his family hadn’t moved to Britain! Well, he understood they moved to escape from the oldest and the most terrified stronghold of the followers of the Shadow, but after all, he could not truly know how terrible the man was, as he was only six-year-old when the Shadow fell.
Now Silviano disliked preparations days before the term. He didn’t like Hogwarts. He didn’t like Britain at all. With his half-alive ambition of being a model student, he got all remaining items on his list languidly, and spent his trip on the coach to school with his head down.
He paid little attention to the sorting of the newly coming young wizards and witches. Only the smell and taste of the evening meal comforted him. There were others sighing at the loss of de Veronese’s shop, but they didn’t share even half of Silviano’s feeling.
A future pride of the school should at least take a note of all notices, so he listened to the long speech of the headmaster, extracting key points proficiently, and cast a glance at the table of teachers.
There was a new face. DADA, without doubt. Silviano remembered vividly the corpse of his third teacher of this subject, penetrated on a spire of the castle. There had been a long list of professors teaching it, and many students and alumni could prove that none of them, in more than a century, had ever lasted more than one year. Most of them did not end their tenures in a sensational way, but they left anyhow. The position was cursed, it was said, by the Shadow, who actually cursed all positions in all schools that taught how to fight against Dark Arts rather than how to master it, across the continent and isles. If that were true, the curse seemed not to disappear with the Shadow’s death. Alternatively, some whispered, he was never dead.
Silviano cared not how long the new teacher would last, but only how to become a favourite student when he was there. That was a short man, 30-year-old at most, pretty young for a professor. The headmaster must have run out of candidates, Silviano absent-mindedly thought. Should be easy, although he looked not nervous. Then he caught some important words of the headmaster:
“-Welcome Professor Gratiano de Veronese, our new teacher of Defence Against the Dark Arts.”
The man stood up with a broad smile and a posture speaking of confidence to greet the students. Silviano blinked. De Veronese was twenty-seven now, brown-haired as the new comer appeared, how could he missed this possibility! This was why the shop was closed!
Tonight the hall was more appealing than usual. Silviano could not love the magical starry sky and the drifting candlelight more than he did now, and could not take more pride of his seat at the table of House Slytherin more. How lucky he was to have moved to Britain and came here to study! How perfectly all the elements fit with each other! Yes, his hero looked short, but who wouldn’t in such a grand hall, and who could show more calmness under the same circumstance?
He heard the girls discussing de Veronese’s appearance, pitying he was not as tall or strong or extraordinary handsome as they would like to find. How could they be so superficial? Boys were talking about the disputable fame of the man and the rumours about the return of the Shadow’s followers-how could they be so stupid, worried about those deserters when de Veronese himself would see to the castle’s security?
Silviano had no worry in the whole world. He just couldn’t wait to attend to the first DADA class of this term. Wizards should really invent some device to travel forward instead of backward in time. Ah, plus some protection spell to prevent having one’s feet sunk in trick steps when one forgot everything that surrounded him due to an exciting prospect.
Things had become better than Silviano could dream, and he kept talking about his plan to everyone whenever and wherever. If other students had once thought they understood how much Silviano liked their new teacher, they would further their understanding this year. Some of his friends commented Silviano behaved like a love-crazy girl, and others reminded him for the nobody-knew-the-exact-number time that de Veronese was a Dark wizard, but Silviano didn’t care at all. When all his roommates had fell asleep, he was still excited, rehearsing every question de Veronese might ask in class and every line he should say to his hero to impress him. And every question he was to say to the professor. How should he prioritize questions? He craved to know more about him so much that any piece of information would be welcomed.
When Silviano at last sat in the classroom seeing his hero came in, all those rehearsed lines escaped him. Abandoned was the formal style from last night, de Veronese was in a laced doublet, with floral patterns crawling around the waistline. His black hoses caught eyes by contrasting red and gold laces, and a pearl-studded pallium of knit-miss bourrelet fabric made the matching outer garment.
Fashionable. In a way many except Silviano would like. He could already hear some students praising de Veronese’s grace. Silviano knew the professor didn’t like this outlook himself, but it was the style of him to dress up like whatever considered good-looking at the time. That had been how he entered the hall, clad in long, decoratively lined houppelande, his sleeves fluttering…
Silviano blinked, not quite understanding himself. What houppelande? Why would he think of something so irrelevant? Why would he feel something so impossibly…familiar? No, he had never met de Veronese before last night, when the professor wore a rason, not a houppelande.
“Professor!” Someone called urgently, before falling unto the floor, his skin abnormally pink and his flesh creeping, “I-I am not well! I think-”
The student’s voice trailed off when de Veronese brandished his wand, turning him quite normal again.
“Thanks for patronage, Mr. Perret. I am more than happy to offer you a ready-made cure as you unfortunately forget to take it with you.” The smile on his face was perfectly polite, and nearly the whole class laughed aloud.
“Nobody will be forced to my class,” said de Veronese, “as long as they can pass the exams and turn in their essays in time, they can let their minds wander anywhere when they sit here, or don’t come at all…”
Perret blushed for forgetting where his trick sweets came from, but Silviano felt a sting of jealousy. He wanted there to be very difficult tasks-best if only he among all could finish them and earn praises from de Veronese, but now the professor was looking at Perret and talking about how little he cared beyond what students were supposed to learn in this term. Although new to his office, de Veronese had gone over their records and determined to help those weak on this subject, those who learned slow or often confused. As for those who were quick enough like Silviano, he gave them freedom, which might be many others’ desire, but definitely not Silviano’s.
“…You may explore the more…advanced area of the library with my signature, or saunter and talk, if that’s how you like your time spent. Just keep a low profile,” de Veronese spoke as if the students were his secret conspirators, “because if you get me fired, I can simply go on with my life, but you will get a worse teacher.”
“Professor de Veronese,” Crovan of Gryffindor held his hand up high, “why did you join the Sea of Shadows?”
“Because I was young, proud and ignorantly cruel then, and I am here now to keep you from the way I once went.”
That was not a respectful question, embarrassing at best, but the straightforward answer and the calmness of de Veronese obviously bored Crovan, and discouraged other students with similar questions. They were expecting awkwardness, expecting a shifted-eyed de Veronese. When an adult did not hide anything, the boys easily lost their interest to “dig out big secret”.
As he promised, de Veronese allowed several students to leave the classroom freely. He also answered remaining ones patiently, encouraging those unconfident to express their difficulties, and kindly guided them.
Few would want him fired, Silviano realized, as few things could be more appealing to young students than an adult treating them as conspirators. This should be part of his expectation, but for unknown reasons, Silviano was uncomfortable. No challenging tasks, nor extra demands from excellent students? Then how could Silviano win his attention? He was now focusing on those losers! How could they occupy de Veronese with their stupid questions, which could be well sorted out themselves if they could just pull their heads out of their asses! How could he impress the professor, get close to him, and ask all the questions he wanted to ask?
Something was snapped in Silviano’s mind, and he hardly hesitated before he shot a curse from his wand, aiming at the girl who stood the nearest to de Veronese, and his hero, as he expected, noticed and reacted to it quickly. No one was harmed, but all students who saw his actions stepped away from him, and suddenly the room is filled with silence.
“Accident. I am most sorry.” Silviano said, surprised at how shamelessly he could behave, “I think I need some guidance, on how to control my magic better, sir.”
While other students whispered to each other all pretending to look away, de Veronese gazed at him intentionally.
“What you need is not guidance, Mr. Romano, but discipline. Detention for a week. Dear all, we will of course discuss curses and jinxes, but not in such a dangerous way.”
“Poor Silviano,” his friends said after the class, “first class with his hero, detention for a week. Honestly, since when you have lost control over your mag…”
“First time in your record…”
“You should use that curse to…”
Silviano didn’t respond to them. He didn’t listen to them, and they soon left him alone when they found him staring blankly into the air with a smile of victory.
Meeting in private with de Veronese. One week. Wonderful. He lifted his own wand in the air, imitating the motions of de Veronese’s wrist, and there was a strong feeling. He didn’t know what it was, but his heart was drumming. It was a good thing, he guessed.
“You will not punish me.” was the first sentence he spoke in his detention.
“No, I won’t.” replied de Veronese in a matter-of-the-fact way, “but I have to comment, you chose a rather bold way to achieve your purpose. You wanted to meet me, I understand, but there should be many excuses you could come with.” He waved his silver-like slender wand, making two cups of tea for his student and himself.
“But my action would impress you the most,” Silviano confidently said, taking a sip of the tea, and couldn’t help looking at him, also his wand, “professor, is it-is the wand a trophy from the Shadow?”
Then he realized he had behaved too hastily. Better to start with softer topics like the weather, but de Veronese replied softly, “Yes, it once belonged to La Sombra. How do you know that?”
“Your wand is aspen, sir, and lengths at eleven inches, but this one you wield now is obviously longer. Thirteen inches probably, and it’s not aspen, although it’s white and smooth as well. And I know the wand of the Shadow is some thirteen-inch long, made of birch wood, so I made my assumption. I have heard that some wands would lose their power or precision when gifted or lost to others, but there are also stories of taking another wizard’s wand after a duel triumph. You are the greatest duellist in the known world; the Shadow dead while you well alive. Most likely you took his weapon-Is it powerful, sire? Extraordinary? Oh, I remember that aspen indicates good skills of martial magic. Your old wand may have precisely foreseen its destiny of a final replacement by this one…”
He spoke in a hurry, as if knowing he would never get enough time speaking with the man, despite that the beginning of the term seemed relaxing, many time blocks empty. The young professor listened quietly, with a subtle look of missing something. Cherishing the moment when he defeated the Dark wizard, the most glorious victory in his life?
“What’s the name of the book?” he asked after Silviano paused to drink from the cup again.
“Of Wand-Quality. Souls inside Wood, and How to Know a Wizard by His Wand. I also read a lot in other aspects, sir. I tried my best to understand what dis -”
“No, not these.” de Veronese’s green eyes locked on him, “Where did you learn that the Shadow’s wand is birch and mine lengths at eleven inches?”
“It’s-”
Silviano began and fell wordless very soon. What was the book’s name? Did he learn the information from a book? Every page was precious to a book, due to the price of papers…The more he thought about it, the more impossible it seemed to read about any details like that anywhere, but he knew it. He just knew it, from nowhere. He had never seen the birch wand of the Shadow, but it looked so very familiar, as if he had witnessed it waved gracefully before, glittering.
“Sorry, professor. I don’t really remember.” he added awkwardly, “But I promise that I don’t believe any ridiculous stuff they said about you! When I searched for information, I cared only the facts, not their crazy fable accounts or arrogant comments on-”
“There, there, my dear, even I don’t think that far. I am simply curious, as I refused all biography writers.” de Veronese comforted him, his voice flowing softly, “Forget it. What do you come to me to say?”
“Everything, sir, everything.” Silviano jumped up to his feet, and turning over his bag to show his notebooks labelled “sweets A”, “sweets B”, “tops”, “mirrors”… all kinds of stuff from de Veronese’s shop, which he had kept a record. “I took down types, sizes, colours, functions and my assumed theories of how they work. I have been dreaming of a day when I can tell you this for years, and I really wonder if I got all the assumptions correct? I was born in Siena, sir, not too far from Verona-at least not as far as Scotland and England. My family moved here because the Shadow and the Sea of Shadow something something and they were always talking about how terrible that was. Then I knew you, and I wanted to meet you. You are my model on my mind’s altar, the most wilful light and wind, everything I want myself to be. The more I hear about you, the more I want to be a man like you. Now I am so lucky to have you as my teacher! I want to know everything, and I want to tell you everything about myself! How was the Shadow like, as a real person before you, not some vague description of others? How were his followers? How did you manage to complete everything you have done? Are you happy with your shop these years? Are my assumptions about your products right? Oh, forgive me, professor! I cannot calm down. I cannot think! Before this detention I was having a history lecture and I didn’t care what was under discussion at all because my mind was full of this detention! I know you will not punish me because you just like people doing what they can do and let all the rules and traditions go to hell!” Silviano watched closely as de Veronese flipped over pages of his notebooks. The agile fingers of de Veronese were pale, indicating long time indoors. Smooth skin, well-trimmed fingernails, swift motions.
“So strong hearted,” sighed de Veronese, skimming through his records and small essays written for his favourite toys, “so hard-working, as you have always been.” That must refer to his grades from past years, but it somehow sounded like the professor had known Silviano for long.
“As for your questions…I cannot say I am not touched, but as you may understand, I have to work. Works to prepare for fourteen classes. You have other courses and chores to busy yourself, too. I will give you one answer each time, and then you will go back to the dormitory. Now you can decide your question today, my dear.”
“How many successes did I get from these?” Silviano pointed at his notebooks.
“Roughly 60 percent, I think.” de Veronese collected all the notebooks and pushed the pile gently to his student, “Good night, Mr. Romano.”
Silviano fell asleep soon that evening, but waked up suddenly at midnight. In order to be energetic the next day, he should reclaim his good, sound sleep every day, but it seemed so difficult. He tossed and turned restlessly, thinking about de Veronese's words. There were no reliable written materials, and de Veronese himself had hidden behind his joke shop. So where come his knowledge of his teacher? From gossip and scandal? How could he grow such strong confidence in how de Veronese's wand was like and what could please de Veronese? Did he just imagine things and give the credit to some sources that did not exist at all?
Fortunately, he thought in relief, now he could get the most reliable account from de Veronese directly. This term would mark a pleasant start of a wonderful time.