Dancing with the Green Fairy

In the chilly October nine a.m. sunrise reflecting off the cobblestones along the Seine, the only sound heard was the faint clatter of hurried steps. A girl in Muggle jeans a baggy maroon sweater with a large R, approached deeply concentrating on a piece of parchment in her hand. Her untamed long brown hair fluttered in the bitter wind along with an enormous knitted scarf. She cast irritated side-glances at the boats that lay anchored at her left side, walking more hurriedly still. Finally, she found an opening where she could see clearly to the other side. Casting the briefest glance around she jumped over the edge into the water, but before she reached it, she disappeared in thin air with a popping sound.

An elderly Parisian gentleman who was walking his dog in the chilly morning vowed he would never drink whisky before noon, ever again.

At about the same time, in an office on the third floor of the old flaming red brick building that was L'École Supérieure de magie avancée Isobel D'Éry, est. 1189, a tall balding man in simple grey trousers and a light blue shirt was admiring the view, still fascinated after twenty five years how the winds that climbed towards the narrow windows of the west tower looked like flames when the season made the leaves turn yellow and red. In a little while they would be gone, but for now they put on a magnificent display in their last dying moments. He thought that some year the fascination might die with them, but yet he found himself in love with the view, the buildings, and the honour and tradition of this, the finest institution in France. At least it was in his opinion, an opinion it wasn't always prudent to voice, but never the less one he had held firmly since the first day he set his foot in the yard where Isobel herself had walked so many times. Perhaps it was not surprising that he should feel this way, because he was in fact the headmaster of the university he so loved and admired. His name was Antoine Roquentin and he had been dubbed master of history after completing his master's thesis on Marquis the Rollebon twenty years ago. But research had not been as rewarding as he had hoped and soon he had found that administration was not only easier work but also something he felt he had a real talent for.

He would have wanted nothing more than to sit at his ornamented wooden desk sorting through his correspondence and ordering the paperwork in little neat piles, or planning the week's meetings with his secretary, while sometimes pausing to admire the view and feel awe at the fact that he was the person that held the position of headmaster for all this. Having reached this far in his career, before the age of a hundred years was a remarkable feat, and previously unheard of in the history of the university, but there had been a price.

Part of the price was the two intimidating strangers standing in his office looking at him through their masks. Roquentin tried to draw some last strength and comfort from the view outside before he sighed and turned to his guests.

They were dressed completely in white. The masks were white and their long robes that almost touched the wooden floor were crisp white and made in an elegant thin material. Magically enhanced silk he would have guessed. They had white hoods over their heads behind their masks so he couldn't even see their hair. Not that he doubted they had white hair as well. They were all white, white and more white; obsessed with white.

They had Apparated inside his office passing the anti Apparation spells just to demonstrate that they could. He would have been perfectly happy to open the door for them, but this way they had sent the clear message he should not feel safe anywhere, not even in his own office. Everything about them was designed to intimidate him, and it had worked.

"The Nation of the White Mind is very grateful for your contributions to our cause," the leftmost knight said. "I think you will agree that you have been helped a great deal by our little interventions as well."

"Yes, I think so," Roquentin said uncertainly. He didn't know exactly what they had done for him, but he realised he had been just a little too lucky at times, unnaturally lucky.

"You know a suggestion from our brothers and committees and boards can easily be made to change their mind about who is the better candidate for a post and who should be made to step down." He picked up a gold plated quill lying on the headmaster's desk and studied it thoughtfully for a moment. "They can just as easily change their mind again of course." He flicked the quill in the air as if it was a wand.

Roquentin shuddered.

"But for now we are very pleased," the knight said.

"There is only one very minor disturbance," the other knight said.

The white knights stood in silence for a few seconds before the other continued. "You have a young researcher here at the university, Alain Gaspard."

"Yes, he is very talented. He is also a very appreciated teacher of Aritmancy of Philosophy."

"Yes, we know everything about him. The trouble is his research in the prison of Azkaban. We are a little concerned about what it is he is doing there."

"It seems he is causing a stir among the former followers of Lord Voldemort."

"Yes," Roquentin said. "He is writing a thesis about their mindset. There is nothing remarkable about his research per se. It has been done before I dare say, but it is good enough to dub him a master eventually."

"A study you say. We could have sworn he was trying to cure them of their belief in the purity of blood and superiority of the pure blood wizards."

"To see the error of their ways," the other knight filled in. "That in fact his work is political."

"Oh no, it is nothing like that. It is a study on the evolution of the Death Eaters and their loss of empathy," Roquentin said. "Nothing political at all."

"You make it sound like the Death Eaters should feel compassion for their inferiors."

"I'm sure that is what Gaspard feels," Roquentin said, cleverly avoiding stating his own opinion.

"And yet you say his work is not political."

"Well," Roquentin paused and cleared his throat. "He is entitled to his opinion. Every researcher is entitled to an opinion, and it would be silly to try to stop him having an opinion. This is not the Ministry of Magic, people here love to discuss and argue. However, the high standards of our research, and methodology, prevents him from turning his research into a crusade. Nothing but solid and verified facts will get him anywhere in the university world, I dare say."

The white knights were silent for a moment.

"If you say so," the white knight said thoughtfully. "Maybe you could keep an eye on him for us just the same. You know the importance of Azkaban in our plan. We need the Death Eaters as they were; ready for our little experiment."

"I can not interfere with his research as that would look very suspicious."

"No I suppose you can't, but you might express concern about the quality of his work and his methodology. Just make sure he doesn't interfere with our plans. Perhaps his relationship with his students may be questionable. It would seem natural that you wanted to keep an eye on him."

"Eh, what do you know about his relationship with the students?" Roquentin said. He knew Gaspard had a very informal and close relationship with his little group of students. He hoped it wasn't unhealthy or ethically questionable. He didn't need that right now.

"Well, there have been rumours that they sometimes tend to become, shall we say, intimate."

"That is just a rumour I can assure you, you needn't worry about it," Roquentin said, hoping this was true, he had heard the rumours too of course.

"We don't care," the other knight spoke up, "but it provides you with the excuse you need. Now, we should be going. Just keep an eye on Gaspard for us and we will all be happy. The plan must go on. We are very pleased you let us have our little meeting here at the university. There are very few completely safe locations and we need absolute privacy. The spells protecting this office leave a lot to be desired, I hope you can do better for the meeting."

"Don't worry about it. This university hosts some of the brightest spell designers in the world. They are working on it. It will all be ready in time."

"We are glad to hear that, and we are happy that you choose to work with us. Have a great day." The white knight smiled a cold smile and then both of them disapparated again with a pop.

"As if I have a choice," Antoine Roquentin said darkly to his empty office. Well, I don't think Gaspard will be surprised if I keep an eye on him. That guy is trouble and he hasn't published anything in ages. I wonder if he ever does research or if he just hangs out with his students.

Roquentin sighed and looked at the flaming winds snaking the tower outside. They still cheered him up a little.

In an auditorium two blocks away the researcher on the headmaster's mind was hard at work sharing his bad mood and flaring temper with his students.

"Okay people, if you are going to Apparate across town try for Merlin's sake to do it more discretely. The university is getting lots of complaints about upset Muggles reporting people disappearing in thin air. For some reason the Headmaster always seem to insinuate my philosophy students are the worst offenders." Gaspard turned and walked across the auditorium along the huge blackboard looking for a piece of chalk. "I don't think he likes me," he muttered, and picked up a piece.

He took off his glasses and put them on top of his head, half burying them in the black curls. Today they definitely looked well on their way towards greasy.

"So in this set we try to isolate the four humours. We have the L-factor which is associated with dopamine in the brain, but that is only hardware. Let the potions people worry about chemistry. We, ladies and gentlemen are theorists. So what is the L-factor then?"

"It is the vector associated with euphoria and rewards."

"Right you are Sören! And here we have noradrenalin, the K-factor. It is involved in feelings of fear, and how awake the mind is. Oh, do pay attention!"

A piece of chalk came flying through the air and hit Hermione in the forehead.

"Ouw!" she said and clasped her head. She had terrible problems following what Gaspard was saying. Not only was she tired beyond belief from having been up all night studying for an upcoming potions exam. To add insult to injury, at this crucial point in the term Hermione also had managed to catch a cold and possibly a fever too, although she wasn't sure if maybe it was only exhaustion. The potions exam was part of completing the first circle as was the terminology at the university. It was quite simple, if you didn't complete the first circle you didn't make it to the second circle and you had to try your luck next year again or drop out of potions. Potions was a big subject and hence there would be a big test covering a tremendous amount of material. No wonder the first circle potions test had earned the nickname 'the impending doom' among the students.

At two o'clock in the morning Hermione had started on her French grammar and only gone to bed when she found herself a sleep with her face in her book.

"You are getting very good at throwing those things," René said in good humour from beside Hermione where he leaned in his seat looking as relaxed and fresh as ever. "We aren't even safe up here any more."

He was right. Despite making sure not to sit at the first row Hermione apparently weren't safe from Gaspard's target practise.

"So what is this then?" Gaspard circled the rightmost part of the polynomial.

"It is the S- factor," Hermione said with a sigh.

"Yes, the socialisation factor. You don't have to say it like it is the most boring thing in the world when it is in fact possibly the basis for our society. So how can we isolate these different factors then? Hermione?"

"Eh..."

"Think damned it! They are super positioned oscillating humours."

"Well, maybe, well... I don't know." Hermione couldn't concentrate. Her head felt like a heavy bowling ball that wanted nothing more than lie down on the floor or anything and sleep.

"Oscillating..."

"Oh, try transforming them into the frequency plane." She tried. "Integrate them over half a period or something." She felt desperate.

"Hermione, how does the Fourier transform work?"

"Eh, well, let's see," she said slowly, trying to buy time. "Assuming the signal is a sum of sine and co-sine components, you multiply the frequency you want to isolate with itself. Then you get the square of that overtone which will be only positive above zero. You can then integrate the whole of it and the sum of the other frequencies will all be zero and you isolate that particular overtone."

"So?"

She stared at him blankly. The class was silent around her. "Ah, you must integrate over the whole period or the sum of the sine curves won't be zero."

"Yes of course," Gaspard scribbled the integral with quick and irritated movements. He then proceeded to solve it, his small handwriting snaking across the blackboard. Hermione felt her eyelids starting to droop. She longed desperately for a cup of hot coffee.

"Since you all seem unusually sleepy and dense today, let's provoke you a little." He paced in front of the blackboard, pausing for effect. "What would you say if I proposed that your emotions only belong to you to a degree, but they are also an instrument for us as social beings, the S-factor."

"It doesn't seem too far fetched, although it seems to fly in the face of what you said earlier," Jean-Paul said.

"Not necessarily. Besides, Hermione said it, not I."

"What?" Hermione said.

"Well, anyway. This is of course controversial, but the idea is that we do not control our emotions partly because then our peers can trust us."

"How's that?" Hermione asked.

"The simplest example would be for instance if you wanted to tell me a lie. Shall we say that you find this lecture very interesting and your highest desire right now is not at all to tell Gaspard to go to hell so you can go home and relax a little."

"But I do find the lecture interesting!"

"You see, not very convincing. So you are not entirely able to control your emotional reaction, therefore your emotions becomes a social mediator that takes a position somewhere between us. It resides in you but you do not control it. I can choose to stop talking or continue pestering you, which I will do, due to my sadistic tendencies, but the truth is out there."

"The S-factor."

"Yes, quite. As a social being I do not trust your mind because it has transcendence, but to some degree I can trust your emotions because your mind executes less control over them. Of course for little things you will be able to lie convincingly, but the trouble will increase as the intensity of the emotion increases." He drew a diagram on the backboard. "After isolating the components in the frequency plane we get an equation that we can treat as a simple max min problem. We derive to get the max and min points and use the second derivate to see which is which. Simple N.E.W.T level Arithmancy. Very elegant."

Hermione knew she should be taking notes, but she couldn't muster the energy.

"Now facticity enters into the equation as well. Normally a person in a social context will adjust his or her S-factor in proportion to the experiences in his life, the actions that form him, his achievements. The more achievement and competence, the less social anxiety in a given situation; what we might call self-confidence."

Hermione rested her head on her hand and drew little circles on her parchment. Gaspard wasn't really saying anything she didn't already know. It was just a mathematical analysis of common sense knowledge in her opinion.

"So normally bad confidence doesn't lie. If you are an expert or experienced person you become confident and may become a leader that other people follow. They can sense confidence and trust it because they know an individual is not completely in control of his or her emotions. The higher the stakes or the danger, the harder lying and hiding your feelings become. But there is of course a personality factor." Gaspard scribbled some more equations on the blackboard.

"Many of us judge our achievements and knowledge harsher than we should and underestimate our knowledge, so we have low self esteem."

"Then you will have your conscientious leader who is responsible. Who takes on the troubles of the world upon his shoulders, yet has the confidence to believe he knows what to do. A famous example in wizard world that quickly comes to mind would be Harry Potter."

Hermione snapped up from her parchment that was filled with random little ink circles. "Hey, Harry Potter happens to be a very good friend of mine!" Hermione said, her eyes narrowing. "So be very careful what you say." Everyone in the room turned to look at Hermione. René beside her had a curious and attentive expression on his face, as if he was seeing her for the first time.

"I know," Gaspard said softly. "I'm desperate to get your attention here." The rest of the class murmured around them. There seemed to be buzz of curiosity filling the room.

"Well, you wouldn't deny he is famous and something of a leader," Gaspard continued. And though some of us might not agree with his visions and methods," Gaspard cleared his throat and paused when he saw Hermione's face cloud over. "There is no denying that he was a powerful wizard already at an early age, and that he put his life in danger to earn the respect he has among his followers," he continued quickly.

"And it is a remarkable example which I bring up because his equally famous adversary, a clean cut specimen of the other kind of leader would be Tom Riddle, or as he liked to call himself, Lord Voldemort. The sociopath, or psychopath or evil guy, or whatever you want to call him. Remorseless, feels no empathy for anyone. He uses people and the throws them away. He can think but he cannot feel. In fact his constant quest for immortality seems to indicate a great emotional void. A search for a meaning with a meaningless life."

The class was silent for a moment, everyone lost in their own thoughts.

"So why, Simone?"

"Why what?"

"Why do these kind of individuals become leaders? Why do people who are only half indecent follow them and commit outrageous acts just to please them."

Simone looked at Gaspard with a blank expression. Gaspard frowned. "Didn't I just explain?"

"He is emotionally broken and has no S-factor. He can lie convincingly and make people believe he is an expert and a leader who is all knowing and confident, when in fact he is simply devoid of emotion, remorse and empathy. Instead of feeling the danger, people feel comfort in his confidence."

"Yes, something like that, although it is perhaps an oversimplification, but for driving the point home. Good show Simone, you seem to have been listening. This is of course usually only true to begin with. Pretty soon the followers of Lord Voldemort realised his true nature. It was too late then. You also have to factor in that the acts the Death Eaters committed changed them. Remember that it is our acts that define us, and even outrageous crimes become something we can get used to. For every time the Death Eaters killed and tortured they took one step closer to becoming the void that is Lord Voldemort. They might have started out just slightly inhuman, but in the end they lost their humanity, and now nothing in the world can bring it back. So all we can do it lock them in Azkaban and throw away the key." Gaspard sighed and stared absently at his hand for a moment.

"What do you mean by outrageous acts?" Hermione asked.

"Well Hermione, as bad as Tom Riddle may have been, or is, if he is still alive, murder is still murder." He smiled his amused smile and turned back to the blackboard.

He scribbled erased the blackboard and scribbled a new set of equations on the left side of the board. "Here, the Harry Potter equations if you will, the fearless but responsible leader who rides first in every battle. He is on a crusade to help his friends because he feels so much." Gaspard walked quickly to the other end of the huge blackboard. "And here is Voldemort." He wrote another set of equations with furious jerky motions, breaking his piece of chalk. He threw the broken stump on the floor and picked up another one. Finishing the equation he then walked back to the first one and drew a line from the one, circling the other. He then circled the letter "S" in the leftmost equation set.

"The S- factor Simone, that is the missing link. If I could only move this damned letter from this side of the blackboard to this side I could change the world. Or you could change the world ladies and gentlemen. I invite you to help me. But in this case there is not even a note by Fermat in the margin that could have used some enlarging. No one knows how to do it, or if it can be done."

Gaspard, in mock frustration, mimed banging his head on the blackboard, and the class laughed. Hermione noted absently at how his hair left faint greasy stains as the chalk equations were erased. He then turned to the class again, his glasses dangerously askew on the top of his head.

"I'll buy you a fancy dinner if you can solve that for me," he said and swept out with his hand over the class. "And I'll put your name beside mine on my thesis," he muttered while putting away the chalk on his desk. His hand stopped when he saw the dark expression on the face of Hermione staring at him from the top row.

"What do you mean by outrageous acts? Was it not right to fight Lord Voldemort?"

Gaspard paused and fixed Hermione with his blue eyes. "All this killing Hermione, do you not sometimes wish there was another way? And the violence creates hatred and a desire for revenge that is passed down in generations by the defeated. It only creates more hate."

"Well, Harry hasn't exactly chosen to fight Lord Voldemort, has he?" Hermione was standing up now and staring angrily at Gaspard. "The prophecy doesn't give him a lot of choice does it?"

"That makes it even worse," Gaspard said softly.

"So what are you saying? That people should have just stood by and watched the Death Eaters take over. Should we not have defended ourselves?"

"Must violence always be the way? Why must we fight like the Muggles with Aurors and duelling and Avada Kedavra flying through the air? Must we always be as crude as the Death Eaters?"

"What do you want to do, hug Lord Voldemort and make him promise to never be bad again," Hermione taunted.

Ignoring the loudness in Hermione's voice Gaspard continued even more softly.

"But what does it do to the good people when they use violence? They lose their feelings, they become hardened and lose their empathy. We become like them by fighting like them."

"Oh yeah, so you are one of those who are going to start telling me how bad the Aurors are. Just fine Gaspard! And what were you doing during the war? Afraid to break a fingernail were you? So maybe you stayed at home talking about hugging Voldemort," Hermione shouted. She was dimly aware she was making a scene, but Gaspard just made her furious. He was talking like all the other dimwits who didn't remember what it had been like in the war. He wanted to hide inside his stupid university and pass judgement on others who chose to fight so that he could keep his freedom and his rights. She was disappointed in him and it made her furious.

"I just wished there was another way, that is all I am saying. I do not deny the bravery of those who risked their lives and everything. Please Hermione, I don't mean to mock the Aurors or the Order of the Phoenix. I just wish this old standby could be resolved without someone dying, not even Lord Voldemort."

"LORD VOLDEMORT MUST DIE!" Hermione screamed and banged her copy of "Consciousness Explained" by Daniel Dennet on the table with a loud bang.

The auditorium was deadly silent. No one spoke and no one looked at Hermione. She suddenly became aware what she had been doing. What had gotten into her, she was screaming at Gaspard and making a scene?

"I just wish there was another way," Gaspard whispered very quietly.

Hermione felt as if tears were threatening to well up any moment. Quickly she gathered up her books, threw her quill and parchment in her bag, screwed the lid on her inkbottle and put it away too. She walked quietly and quickly out of the auditorium looking down at the floor to avoid the stunned looks on the faces around her.