Voir

Where Is My Mind?

"Mr. Dumbledore, I highly doubt that my presence at this hour is of utmost importance regarding Mr. Snape's current mission--"
The wisened headmaster just smiled at the young graduate and waved a hand casually. "That may be. However, as you are an invaluable asset to the Order, it was deemed appropriate for you to join us this evening." Even when all but demanding her presence, the cumbersome headmaster still managed to appear as if his intentions suited her.
At this point, the pureblooded witch had to suppress the urge to award the old coot with an eye roll worthy of her mother's rolling pin to the head. Instead, the woman merely sighed and fell in step with the walking fossil.
"Albus I don't deem my presence pertinent to your cause. You are well aware that my efforts lay purely behind the scenes-- I do paperwork. I am hardly cut out for your little party of vigilantes." Her stiletto heels clicked across the pavement in a curt manner, betraying her annoyance.
At this the headmaster chuckled. He abruptly paused in step and turned to look at the young recruit head on. Fenne Voir was no figure to scoff at.
She was a lethe, willowy woman with a strong personality and a penchant for calling bluffs. At the age of twenty-three she had already soared through both her magical and muggle education with top marks and the title of youngest student to be awarded a doctorate of psychology in Great Britain.
She was beautiful in a classic appeal, inky black hair spilt down her shoulders ram-rod straight, framing a pale face with sharp cheekbones and small delicate lips. Her eyes were hazel and unclouded with cosmetics, unlike the other women of her generation.
To Dumbledore, Fenne reminded him a lot of his late sister; her strong will and cultured behaviour striking a chord of familiarity within him that he hadn't encountered in years. She was spirited and not afraid to get her hands dirty to meet her goals, although she would never admit such, true to her heritage.
"My dear, the implication that you are incapable of field work for our cause is inaccurate as I am sure you are aware. You underestimate your abilities. I seek to rectify that." He offered the young woman his arm as they had reached the apparition point and promptly apparated them to the sidewalk across from Grimmauld Place.
She took a moment to allow the blood to return to her head after the magical transportation and raised a hand to her temple. "Of course I am capable of field work. That is simply not why you specifically requested I join the Order."
Dumbledore held up a finger in placation as his eyes swept the barren road for signs of human activity. "We must be careful with our words here. There are ears everywhere."
Fenne simply nodded once in understanding, hot on the headmaster's heels as they approached number 12's front door and slipped inside with naught but a dull thud of the door meeting the frame to announce their entry.
It was midnight in Grimmauld place and the younger inhabitants were fast asleep by now, dreaming of whatever occupied a teenager's mind.
'Fickle things, teenagers' Fenne internally stated, taking a moment to apply a silencing charm on her stilettos so as to not wake the sleeping teenagers with her favoured choice of footware.
She ghosted into the dining room where the rest of the Order of the Phoenix sat and slid into a chair furthest from most occupants, in a secluded corner. Of course, Dumbledore chose that moment to draw every eye to her. "As many of you are aware, I have been consulting with a criminal behaviour expert in regards to Voldemort's followers and their weaknesses. Allow me to introduce Miss Fenne Voir, a rarity amongst wizarding purebloods."
It was unnerving how quickly their gazes shifted to her in simultaneity, she had to resist the urge to retreat further into her corner.
It was Professor Snape who chose to speak first. "How is a therapist relevant to the Order?"
Fenne could not resist the monstrous eye roll she had stored for a moment as precious as then. "I am a criminal profiler Mr. Snape, you should know: I wrote your very own file at the beginning of my career." Her snarky reply brought a smile to a bedraggled man across from her, His long hair swinging as he held back a chuckle.
"It looks like Snivellus has met his match." He grinned at her, his eyes belying the mirrh he felt for her sass.
Snape's nostrils flared but he remained silent, as if deciding she simply wasn't worth his effort. Fenne arched an eyebrow at the childish man who sat appraising her and allowed herself a small, patronizing smile.
"Evidently Mr. Snape has not deemed your childish antics worthy of his sharp tongue if it simply takes a frank remark to earn your respect." Fenne had no time for children, especially those of the adult variety.
The smile was wiped from Sirius' face at her comment, clearly disappointed in her. The psychologist internally shrugged, less need for her to play nice then.
"If you will please excuse me, I would like to steep myself a cup of tea." Fenne stood from her chair and swept from the dining room, waving away Mrs. Weasley when the matron made to fetch her tea from the kitchen. "I assure you ma'am, I am more than capable." Any excuse to escape the dining room.

Fenne's black robes lined with midnight blue swept behind her as she stalked into the kitchen as if it were a runway and she a model.
At first glance, the kitchen appeared to be the lightest, most comforting part of the house; unusual considering the favoured theme throughout the Black ancestral home.
Without Voir's intimate knowledge of the dark families her eyes would have slid past the faint outlines of curiously coloured stains spotted on a cuttingboard, or the miniscule runes that marked the edges of cupboards, but she simply knew better. This kitchen had seen very dark magic, and no amount of light, healing magic and renovation could completely scrub such history from its surfaces.
Her own kitchen growing up had looked most the same-- that is, without Mrs. Weasley's vain attempt to spruce up the forbidding workspace.
Many years had passed since rituals were performed in wizarding kitchens, over time magic-folk favoured potions labs, mainly due to the invention of the charm 'Aguamenti' which allowed wizards to conjure water rather than having to be near a working sink.
Only the oldest families had kitchen cupboards sealed with runes for keeping forbidden ingredients out of prying hands' way and for proper storage. It was an old talent to carve them as the runes were a lost knowledge dating back to Merlin's time.
For a moment Fenne lost herself to the knowledge that she had crammed in her head through her childhood, before firmly shutting that door of memories and locking it away. There was a reason why she had left that life, it would not do to return.
The witch raised her wand and pointed to the kettle, levitating it wordlessly to the stove and flicking on the heat. She rummaged through the cupboards until she came upon a measely tea-stash and picked a sleeve of earl grey. As she waited for the kettle, Fenne sat at the once-opulent ebony table and collected her thoughts.
As she sat with her head in her hands boredly, a lone figure creeped sleepily into the kitchen, making a beeline for the tea cabinet.
It was not until the figure sat down at the table with his tea bag in hand that she recognized his presence, only flicking her hand minutely as if shooing away a fly. The boy ignored her audacity, instead appraising her from where she sat.
It was a few moments later that she finally looked up from her hands and swiped a hand lazily through her hair.
"I take it you're not supposed to be awake." Her voice was plain, with an even drawl.
Harry awarded her with a scowl, clenching his hands under the table in frustration.
"You are angry." Her voice very matter-of-fact.
"No, that's not true." He countered.
Fenne rolled her eyes in exasperation, "Yes, you are angry. Judging from your denial and how we are not aquainted it's safe that I am not the cause." She rested one hand under her chin and stared lazily beneath her eyelashes, unperturbed by his abrupt attitude.
"If I'm angry, than why? Tell me if you're so sure about me." He challenged, bravely boring his eyes into her.
The pureblood flitted her gaze across his body and allowed a small smile to girl the corners of her lips, "Confrontational, perceptive, malnourished and quietly adult. Judging from how you unconsciously perch on the edge of your chair as if you are prepared to flee at a moment's notice; I would say you are commonly mistreated. You stare out the kitchen door as if you are attempting to burn a hole in the wall in order to see the Order's meeting, otherwise you must have an odd fetish involving the hallway's troll foot umbrella stand." She smirked before continuing.
"I think it's safe to say that you are angry about being kept out of the loop of the precious Order meetings."
His eyes flitted to hers, a little baffled. "You don't even know my name-"
She flipped her hair over her shoulder and stood to remove the whistling kettle from the stove and pour the hot water into their waiting mugs. "I do bot have to in order to see what makes you tick. I'm a criminal profiler, I make a living out of being observant."
There was silence in the kitchen as the witch crossed the grimy kitchen tile and set both mugs on the beaten table, bringing a carton of milk and the sugar bowl with her. "Cream and sugar?"
Harry just shook his head and accepted his mug from her firm hands, quietly wafching as she dropped a sugar cube and a teapoon of milk into her tea.
They sat in silence before he spoke again, "If you're a member of the Order, since after all you're in headquarters, how come we've never met?"
Fenne grinned in a polite fashion and took a moment to swallow her mouthful of tea. "I don't march to Dumbledore's fife. I'm a consultant, if you will. That, and I don't typically play well with others."
The teenager laughed a little at the last part and grinned over his cup of tea. "I'm Harry."
"Call me Fenne."