The first Saturday of March arrived with the kind of dreary persistence that made even the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall seem reluctant to offer any comfort. Rain lashed against the high windows in sheets, and the usual warm glow of floating candles seemed dimmed by the oppressive grey that hung over the castle like a shroud.
The four house tables had vanished entirely, replaced by open space that stretched from the entrance to the staff table, and arranged in neat rows across the flagstones stood wooden hoops—similar to the Quidditch hoops but slightly smaller in size.
Gilderoy stood at the end of the hall near the Ravenclaw cluster and Amelia had taken her position on his left.
"I heard the instructor is from the Ministry," Amelia murmured, her eyes fixed on the front of the hall where the Heads of Houses were assembling. "Apparently he's been doing this for decades."
Nearby, Pandora Leonis had positioned herself on Gilderoy's other side, her pale eyes bright with barely contained excitement. Xenophilius Lovegood stood just next to her, his absurdly long silver hair falling in tangled curtains around his shoulders as he gazed at the hoops with dreamy contemplation.
"Have you ever done anything like this before?" Pandora asked. "I've only ever seen them in diagrams."
Xenophilius studied the hoops with the intense focus of a man deciphering ancient runes. "They seem ordinary enough," he said slowly, "but I've always suspected the Ministry has ulterior motives with these sessions. Probably tracking who Apparates smoothly and who stumbles. Building a profile on everyone. Classic Ministry behaviour."
Amelia made a small choking sound.
"Xeno," Pandora said patiently, "they're just trying to teach us how to Apparate safely."
Xenophilius nodded sagely. "That's what they want you to believe."
Xeno might actually be on to something.
Pandora opened her mouth, closed it, and turned back to face the front with a resigned shake of her head. She caught Gilderoy's eye a moment later, and the smile she gave him was slow and knowing, her gaze dipping briefly to his lips before returning to his eyes.
Gilderoy's ears turned pink.
Amelia leaned closer, her breath warm against his ear. "You're thinking about Pandora."
"I was thinking about how hard it is not to laugh."
Amelia's smile was knowing. "Gil, we've talked about this. I don't mind. In fact, I find it rather entertaining."
Gilderoy turned to look at her properly. "You do?"
"Of course I do." Her hand found his, squeezing once. "You're mine. That's not going to change just because someone else wants you." She paused, her smile widening. "Besides, watching you squirm is its own reward."
The Heads of Houses had finished their whispered conference, and Professor McGonagall stepped forward, her tartan robes swishing against the flagstones as she raised a hand for silence. The murmuring that had filled the hall died down gradually.
"Students," McGonagall announced, her voice carrying across the hall with the kind of authority that came from decades of commanding attention, "the Apparition instructor from the Ministry will arrive shortly. Please give him your full attention and refrain from any behaviour that might interfere with the lesson. I need not remind you that Apparition is a serious mode of magical travel that requires discipline."
As if summoned by her words, the Ministry instructor strode into the Great Hall.
Gilderoy's brain briefly refused to process what his eyes were seeing.
The man was elderly, with wispy white hair that floated around his head as though caught in a permanent gentle breeze, and a round, cheerful face that seemed utterly at odds with the serious nature of the magical discipline he had come to teach. He wore spectacles perched on his nose, which he pushed up every few seconds in a gesture that had clearly become habitual over many decades.
And he was wearing a floral dress.
The dress was a soft, flowery number in pale pink, with a pattern of small roses scattered across the fabric. It fell to just above his knees, revealing knobbly legs and a pair of mismatched socks—one striped pink and white, the other a lurid shade of orange. On his feet were what appeared to be leather sandals that had seen better decades.
Gilderoy felt his jaw go slack.
Beside him, Amelia made a sound like a strangled cat.
"I'm going to die," she whispered, her voice strained. "I'm actually going to die right here."
Amelia took a deep breath, her jaw tight with the effort of maintaining her composure.
Across the hall, chaos was erupting.
Emma Halloway had gone the colour of a ripe tomato, her face contorted into an expression of desperate concentration that suggested she was actively trying to suffocate herself rather than let out the laugh building in her chest. Benjy Fenwick had his hand clamped over his mouth, his eyes wide and streaming with tears.
Mafalda Hopkirk had buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking violently. Douglas Tofty, beside her, looked utterly bewildered.
"What's wrong with everyone?" Douglas whispered loudly, his voice carrying across the hall. "Why is everyone laughing?"
"It's the dress!" Mafalda managed, her voice strangled. "He's wearing a—" She dissolved into giggles again, unable to complete the sentence.
"What dress?" Douglas demanded, looking around with increasing confusion. "He's wearing robes. Strange robes, but robes nonetheless."
"It's not robes!" Emma gasped, finally managing to speak through her laughter. "It's a Muggle woman's—" She gave up and pressed her face against Benjy's shoulder, her entire body shaking.
Gilderoy watched the exchange with growing amusement. The purebloods, he realised, had no idea what they were looking at. To them, Archie was simply wearing strange, colourful robes. They had no frame of reference for Muggle women's clothing, no understanding of why the halfbloods and Muggleborns were losing their collective minds.
Thomas Nott stared at the laughing students with an expression of profound disdain. "What is so amusing?" he demanded loudly. "It's just an old man in peculiar robes. Are you all imbeciles?"
"Thomas," Regulus Black murmured beside him, his voice carefully neutral, "perhaps we should focus on the lesson."
"But they're laughing at nothing!"
"They're laughing at something you don't understand," Regulus replied, his tone suggesting he was used to explaining things to Thomas. "Leave it be."
"Hello, dear students," Archie announced cheerfully, apparently ignoring the chaos he had caused. "I am Archie. Just Archie. No need for formalities. I'll be your instructor for the next several weeks, or however long it takes for you lot to manage not to leave bits of yourselves behind."
Someone in the Hufflepuff section made a sound like a goose being strangled, followed by a series of muffled snorts, choked coughs, and the kind of barely suppressed laughter that seemed to vibrate through the entire hall like a physical force.
"Right then," Archie continued, apparently oblivious. "There are three important things to remember when Apparating. The three D's. Can anyone tell me what they mean?"
The hall was silent except for a few residual snorts.
"No? Well, I suppose that's why I'm here." Archie chuckled to himself, as though he had made a particularly clever joke. "Destination, determination, and deliberation. Destination means you need to know where you're going. Determination means you need to want to go there. Deliberation means you need to do it carefully. Simple, really."
He demonstrated by turning on the spot and disappearing with a soft crack, reappearing at the opposite end of the hall with casual ease. The students watched in varying states of awe and barely suppressed hilarity.
"See?" Archie called from his new position, his floral dress fluttering around his legs. "Nothing to it. Now, I want everyone to focus on their hoops. Fix your minds on the interior of the hoop. That's your destination for today."
Gilderoy turned his attention to the hoop in front of him, trying not to look at Archie because he could not stop himself from bursting into laughter. The hoop was simple, unadorned wood, its interior marking a circle of dusty floor that looked completely unremarkable.
"Destination," he murmured to himself. "Determination. Deliberation."
"I can't believe he's actually wearing that," Pandora whispered beside him, having finally recovered enough to speak. "Who wears a floral dress to teach Apparition?"
"Someone who's earned the right to wear whatever they want," Xenophilius supplied philosophically. "Age brings wisdom, and wisdom brings comfort."
"Is that what you're going to be like when you're old?" Pandora demanded, turning to face him.
"Perhaps," Xenophilius replied serenely. "Though I suspect I'll wear something with more pockets."
Pandora made a sound that was half-laugh, half-sigh. "Ha ha, that is my wonderful fiancé, Xeno."
"Likewise, my dear."
"One—" Archie's voice rang out across the hall. "Two—"
Gilderoy turned back to his hoop, forcing his mind to focus.
"—THREE!"
He spun on the spot, but nothing happened.
Instead, he stumbled forward, his foot landing solidly on the Great Hall tiles, and caught himself before he could fall. Behind him, a series of thuds, yelps, and one rather spectacular crash indicated that he had, at the very least, done better than some.
--
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