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Tell Me About Faere Dhu


Pleiades Gaunt was not in his office when Minerva McGonagall knocked upon his door. She used her wand to unhinge the lock and stepped inside, her eyes roaming the office space. It was dark, the lamps burning low, glowing off of various muggle artefacts that cluttered the shelves, rows of moldy-looking books crammed amongst things like old fashioned toasters and trays of hair curlers. She could smell the floo powder still burning off in the dying embers of the hearth. Her lips twisted, upset, and she backed out of the room, pulling the door closed behind her and marched up the stairs to the Defense Against the Dark Arts corridor.

“Elphinstone,” she said, entering his office without even knocking.

Elphinstone Urquart looked up. He was sitting in a plush chair, his feet up on an ottoman by the fire, a thin blanket over his lap, glasses low on his nose, a book clutched in his hand. He dog eared the page and sat up, dropping his feet to the floor and putting his book down on the little table at his elbow. “Minerva?” he said in surprise, then, seeing she was a bit distressed, he added, “Are you alright?” His eyebrows folded in concern.

She went over and sat on the ottoman before him. “What do you know about Professor Gaunt?”

“Professor Gaunt?” Elphinstone mused, “Nothing much, besides his appointment as Muggle Studies Professor here at the school. I’ve never crossed his path prior.”

She frowned. “Nothing?”

“Unless he’s of the Gaunt family, of course… But I don’t know of a man named Pleiades even then… Perhaps another Gaunt? Although… not a very common name, is it? I would assume Albus Dumbledore would be the better source for your inquiries,” Elphinstone said. He studied her a moment.

“Of course,” she nodded. Honestly, Minerva didn’t know why she hadn’t gone to Dumbledore in the first place. A twinge deep inside her whispered perhaps to visit Mr. Urquart and she flushed and diverted her eyes from his, unable to look at the man as she suddenly realized she had avoided him ever since the night with the warm milk and tea in the kitchens.

Which explained the surprise in his voice when she’d first entered the room unannounced.

He sat forward, “Has something come up concerning Professor Gaunt?”

“He’s given one of my students detention, citing an act of insolence, for voicing concerns on the lessons he’s been teaching,” McGonagall replied. “Remus Lupin.”

Elphinstone raised an eyebrow, “Remus Lupin? Insolence?” He chuckled, “Are you sure he hasn’t mistaken him for Sirius Black? They’re so rarely seen apart that perhaps Mr. Gaunt has them mixed up which is which.”

Minerva’s lips twitched in amusement. “Mr. Gaunt has little experience with Mr. Black. Sirius does not take the N.E.W.T. Muggle Studies class.”

“Well then, in that case, there must be some other sort of misunderstanding. I doubt Remus Lupin could be insolent if he was dared to try.” Elphinstone rubbed his chin, “Did Mr. Lupin share with you the nature of the lessons he was questioning?”

Minerva nodded, “Aye. It’s… rather disturbing, if Mr. Lupin did not misunderstand the Professor. It seems he’s been teaching the sixth years of the history of muggle-wizarding relations… rather graphically… with a decidedly anti-muggle bend, as Mr. Lupin worded it. It would take a good deal to press Remus Lupin into an upset bad enough to bring about a detention,” she added. “Mr. Lupin also said that there was a reference made to the Greater Good, and he was disturbed enough by the event to get up and walk out of the classroom - something I have never seen Mr. Lupin do in six years of teaching him.”

Elphinstone looked truly concerned. “Well. That does sound like the Gaunt family, but… I’m afraid they’re all either dead or imprisoned already. Last blood descendants of Slytherin, that family… so inbred, the last generation was… rather mad, really.” He mused a moment, then, “But there’s really no way Mr. Gaunt is of the same family. As I’ve said - they’re all either dead or imprisoned... But muggle haters, the lot of them. Purists. Knew the wizard who arrested the last of them - he was the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement before I was. Morfin Gaunt was the last of the family… killed a whole muggle family down in Little Hangleton and had the audacity to brag on having done it… He died in Azkaban back in ‘43.”

Minerva murmured, “A true shame such a bloodline died out.” Her voice dripped of sarcasm.

Elphinstone smirked.

That smirk nearly unseated her - the way it made his features crinkle and brought about the boyish charm she remembered him having when they were younger...

“I s’pose I ought to go to the headmaster with all of this. I appreciate your time, Mr. Urquart,” she said, standing up stiffly.

“Of course, Minerva,” he replied, nodding.

He stared at her and she back at him. She should be leaving, they both knew if she was going to that she should have by now, but there she sat, on the edge of that ottoman, staring at him, both their hearts beating a bit wildly and Elphinstone took several long moments before he got up the bravery to do it but he finally reached up a palm and stroked her cheek, his eyes staring right into hers and he whispered, “I am here for you. Anytime. Anything you need. Always, Minerva.”

She closed her eyes.

He whispered. “I always have been. I always will be... This you know.”

She opened her eyes and stared back into his.

Minerva whispered, “You know I canna do this, Elphinstone; you know what I’ve left in Faere Dhu.” She touched his face gently and tears collected in her eyes. “I’m verra sorry, I shouldna have bothered ye with this… I shouldna have bothered ye at all!” She stood up, drawing her herself away from him.

If only she could snap her heart in two - if only she could stop the guilt that filled her whenever she thought of her past.

“Minerva, I --”

“No, Elphinstone. No.”

Minerva hurried from the room, pulling closed the door behind her.

Elphinstone stared at the door and sighed heavily, turning back and grabbing his book from the table and flipping it open to the dogeared page, only to find that he could no longer concentrate.




Pleiades Gaunt had been in the room when Minerva McGonagall had been there. He had. He’d just returned through the floo, just stumbled in and had not yet had time to prepare himself for company. So he had stood in the shadows, having whispered nihil vedere and became utterly invisible, watching as McGonagall looked around the room. He’d seen the suspicion in her eyes, seen the lines of worry…

He followed her, afraid she would go to the Headmaster, afraid he’d be found out, sticking close to the shadows, his invisibility spell keeping her from spotting him… and he followed her into the office of Elphinstone Urquart, whose senses were too caught up with Minerva to notice the disturbance of the silent, invisible figure lurking there… but Pleiades Gaunt heard it all.

And it would never do to have Minerva McGonagall nosing about asking questions…

He had to see to it that she had reason to depart the school before he set his plans into motion.

But how was one to move someone as stubborn as Minerva McGonagall?

And then she’d said the thing about Faere Dhu… and he waited until she’d left… and Elphinstone had gone back to reading his book… and he snuck up behind the chair.

Elphinstone lowered the book to his lap as a wand was pressed into his jugular - hard and purposefully so. His eyes were wide as he stared straight ahead.

“Tell me about what’s in Faere Dhu, Mr. Urquart,” came a voice that made the hairs upon Elphinstone’s arms stand up, chilled to the very bone.

“No,” he said.

The wand pressed tighter.

“Curse me, then. Go on and do it,” Elphinstone challenged. He didn’t know why the Dark Lord wanted to know about Faere Dhu… or how he had come to be in his office… but he would die before he told.

“Very well.”

And there was a pause and Elphinstone prepared himself for death, his only regret that he had never married Minerva McGonagall, and he closed his eyes tight, his soul bidding her a silent goodbye and his heart racing - just do it already please, he thought - and then --

Imperio,” hissed the voice.

And Elphinstone Urquart’s eyes went a bit unfocused…

“Now. You will tell me all about Faere Dhu.”

And Elphinstone told.




James Potter was pressed against the wall of the corridor just outside of the Gryffindor common room. Meg leaned against his chest, her fingers tangled in his messy hair and their lips locked together as they snogged, James’s hands running across her back, feeling the curve of her shoulders and the swooping, soft landscape of her lower spine and her bum as he pulled her closer, their lips moving desperately. “Gods alive,” he murmured into her as she pressed against him, “You have the most incredible tasting mouth, Meg.”

She laughed. “It’s cherry lip balm,” she informed him.

“Well whatever it is, is incredible.” He licked her lips playfully, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses, and he smiled at the lights reflecting off her glasses a little. “You know everything about you is incredible, rather, not just the way your mouth tastes. I love your eyes and this dimple in your cheek, and the way you laugh…” James laughed as she nuzzled her nose against his chin and he kissed her forehead, smiling as his hands slid over her hip… and up her side… to the curve of her jumper… his palm softly cupping ‘round the side of her and then--

“It’s after hours, you lot should be in the dormitory, not outside of it.” Lily Evans’ voice broke through the darkness. “It’s going to be detention for sure once I tell McGona ---” she stopped mid-word, seeing who it was, and her face blushed deepest rose and she hurriedly turned right back around, climbing through the portrait hole with an air of panic.

Meg stared after, laughing gently and James smirked, then turned back to Meg, his eyes dancing playfully, as he brought his mouth down to meet hers again…

Lily Evans had not expected to find Meg and James in the hallway - she’d only been doing her duties as prefect - and her heart raced horribly against her rib cage as she hurried off to her dormitory.




Far north in the little town of Faere Dhu, the winds had brought in thick drifts of snow that piled against the village buildings. Long, jagged icicles hung from the rooftops edges like the teeth of great and horrible beasts. It was well past midnight, and the clouds had broken enough to allow the stars to shine through. It was all quite peaceful on the streets as the lamps glowed.

It was after closing time, the bartender came out of the little pub and closed the door, pausing to turn ‘round to lock it up, whistling quietly to himself some new tune he’d heard on the radio that he did not know the words for, as he tucked the keys into his pockets. He threw his scarf ‘round over his shoulder and went down the icy step. In his head, he was going over the things he needed to do when he got home before he went to sleep - and he nearly missed seeing old man Dougal on account of that distraction…

Dougal McGregor lay in one of the dunes of snow, wheezing, the breath knocked from his very lungs, quivering with cold and pain and fear…

The young bartender ran over to him. “Mr. McGregor!” he said, kneeling beside the prone man, “Mr. McGregor!” he took hold of the man’s hand and attempted to pull him up out of the snow, but Dougal McGregor wouldn’t budge, being a much larger man than the young bartender was - built from decades of working in the fields under the heat of the sun. The young bartender shook him, “Mr. McGregor!”

Dougal McGregor’s eyelids trembled, only barely open at all, and he murmured, “‘nerva…?”

The young bartender didn’t know what the old man was saying. “I’m going to go and ring for help,” he man said, pointing to the bar, “I’m going to get you help, Mr. McGregor.” And the lad leaped to his feet and dashed back up the stairs, taking out his key with shaking hands….

When the bartender had gone back inside, there was a crack and another man appeared in the street, seeming from nowhere. He walked fast over to the snow banking where Dougal McGregor lay and he knelt. “Dougal?” he asked. “That you, Dougal?”

Dougal McGregor struggled to open his eyes again and his vision blurred. He stared up at him for a moment, shaking, and then, “Malcolm. Malcolm McGonagall.”

“Aye, Dougal, it’s me.” Malcolm McGonagall looked up at the door of the pub and said, “I haven’t got time to explain just yet to yeh, Dou, so you’ll have to excuse how bloody strange what’s about to happen is…” and Malcolm grabbed hold of Dougal McGregor’s wrist.

When the young bartender returned, just moments later, it was to find the snow banking empty.




When Elphinstone Urquart woke up, he found he was in his chair, the fire dead in the hearth, his book upon his knee. He did not remember falling asleep. He did not remember any of it, really. And he sat, dazed, confused, looking about and wondering, too, why the faint scene of floo powder still lingered in the air.