Post by Syrus on Jun 18, 2007 14:58:55 GMT -5
If someone, anyone, had had the gall to tell him that Salazar Slytherin had gone off to found his own school somewhere in the wilderness of Spain after his memorable departure from Hogwarts, Syrus would probably have told him to lay off the mickey and, perhaps, visit the Hospital Wing for an emergency detoxification. Such delusions were not to be allowed to propagate, to evolve into irritating and full-fledged rumors of the sort usually featured in The Quibbler, eventually being accepted as truth by the more naïve.
And yet, in a poignant example of just how strange life can be, fate decreed that such a school would be built, and that the fate of Firefox would one day intertwine with that of the Violet King. So it was to be, regardless of how unlikely the situation appeared, another proof that life is often stranger than fiction.
Syrus stood, quietly ruminating, at the very bottom of the elegant staircase that led to the Office of the Headmaster, an expression of delicate amusement on his face. He had been forced, most definitely against his will, to afford a grudging respect to the administrators and staff of Firefox, and especially to their perseverance. After the damaging attacks that Scorpius and his Shadows had unleashed many had thought the school finished.
Alas, it was not so. The school braced itself, absorbed the impact, and quickly patched up the holes in the walls. As he traveled through the vast interior attracting looks of curiosity, contempt, and outright terror, from the students and staff, he was struck by how smoothly the entire school operated. The Headmaster and his Deputy Headmistress were little more than children, but he gave them credit for knowing at least the basics of how to run a school.
“Perhaps I underestimate their generation,” thought Syrus, nodding curtly at the statue of Salazar Slytherin before slowly ascending the silver and jade staircase. Despite the fact that he was clad in a heavy suit of magically charged armor he was still silent as the shadows, every footstep calculated and slow, less perceptible than the scrabbling of a mouse.
He reached the top and stopped abruptly, transfixed by the hallway lined with portraits of former headmasters. He thought that quite a few appeared quite ugly. Smirking, the Violet King continued down the hall, pointedly ignoring the noises of indignation that many of the portraits were now making. He glanced at a few nearer to the end and was not surprised to a see a look of recognition on the face of one of the portraits. He had been well known all throughout the world during the days of Lord Voldemort and he had no doubt that information concerning the movements and plans of the Death Eaters had trickled down to those with as much connections as the leader of Firefox. Especially since Spain did not have an established Ministry of Magic to deal with its problems.
At the end of the hallway he finally met the ruby phoenix that he knew guarded the office. It snapped its beak at him, a glint of what might have been anger in its red eyes, and stepped aside.
“Show some respect,” said Syrus, a tone of amused contempt in his voice, “or I may be tempted to turn you into jewelry.” Grinning, he knocked twice on the door of Talon’s office and, not waiting for a reply, entered. His grin widened as the door opened silently, revealing a cluttered but strangely alluring office.
“We have an appointment, Talon,” said Syrus, his eyes gleaming chips of amethyst, “perhaps we can begin?”
And yet, in a poignant example of just how strange life can be, fate decreed that such a school would be built, and that the fate of Firefox would one day intertwine with that of the Violet King. So it was to be, regardless of how unlikely the situation appeared, another proof that life is often stranger than fiction.
Syrus stood, quietly ruminating, at the very bottom of the elegant staircase that led to the Office of the Headmaster, an expression of delicate amusement on his face. He had been forced, most definitely against his will, to afford a grudging respect to the administrators and staff of Firefox, and especially to their perseverance. After the damaging attacks that Scorpius and his Shadows had unleashed many had thought the school finished.
Alas, it was not so. The school braced itself, absorbed the impact, and quickly patched up the holes in the walls. As he traveled through the vast interior attracting looks of curiosity, contempt, and outright terror, from the students and staff, he was struck by how smoothly the entire school operated. The Headmaster and his Deputy Headmistress were little more than children, but he gave them credit for knowing at least the basics of how to run a school.
“Perhaps I underestimate their generation,” thought Syrus, nodding curtly at the statue of Salazar Slytherin before slowly ascending the silver and jade staircase. Despite the fact that he was clad in a heavy suit of magically charged armor he was still silent as the shadows, every footstep calculated and slow, less perceptible than the scrabbling of a mouse.
He reached the top and stopped abruptly, transfixed by the hallway lined with portraits of former headmasters. He thought that quite a few appeared quite ugly. Smirking, the Violet King continued down the hall, pointedly ignoring the noises of indignation that many of the portraits were now making. He glanced at a few nearer to the end and was not surprised to a see a look of recognition on the face of one of the portraits. He had been well known all throughout the world during the days of Lord Voldemort and he had no doubt that information concerning the movements and plans of the Death Eaters had trickled down to those with as much connections as the leader of Firefox. Especially since Spain did not have an established Ministry of Magic to deal with its problems.
At the end of the hallway he finally met the ruby phoenix that he knew guarded the office. It snapped its beak at him, a glint of what might have been anger in its red eyes, and stepped aside.
“Show some respect,” said Syrus, a tone of amused contempt in his voice, “or I may be tempted to turn you into jewelry.” Grinning, he knocked twice on the door of Talon’s office and, not waiting for a reply, entered. His grin widened as the door opened silently, revealing a cluttered but strangely alluring office.
“We have an appointment, Talon,” said Syrus, his eyes gleaming chips of amethyst, “perhaps we can begin?”