If one descended deep enough into the bowels of Larniton University the walls turned from rough-hewn masonry to a single smooth stretch of stone. 

Laszlo had been down here many times before, but Miss Rosewood hesitated, examining the unusual material. 

“Do keep up,” Laszlo called over his shoulder. “We don’t have all day.”

“Yes, professor,” she said and hurried to catch up with him. 

“It’s called concrete,” Laszlo explained, as they passed another landing on the staircase. “This part of the building predates the firestorm. It’s believed to be a shelter of some sort. The walls are very thick, made to withstand explosions. Perfect for experiments.”

She hummed, appreciative.

“Convenient. How come we’re the only ones down here?”

“This place is a well-kept secret. And it will remain that way,” Laszlo said and gave her a pointed look. 

She nodded. 

“Of course, Sir.”

The gravel pit officially designated for spell casting was perpetually overrun with younger students who needed to work on their accuracy. Any higher level student or member of staff that attempted to conduct experiments there invariably spent most of their time scrambling out of the blast radius of failed spells or performing first aid. 

Only faculty knew about this place and Laszlo was bending the rules by taking her here, but she didn’t need to know that. Laszlo would hire her as soon as the ink on her doctorate dried, so what did it matter? She would have a key to this place in mere months. 

Once they finally reached the bottom of the staircase, Laszlo unlocked the heavy metal door that bared their path, planted his feet and started pulling. Painstakingly slowly it started to creak open, hinges whining in protest. 

“Professor, let me?”

Laszlo sighed and stood back to allow his student to pull open the door with ease. While Laszlo was of above-average height for a human, she was more than a head taller than him, not including the horns, and her Nilevian strength was beyond comparison. 

A not-inconsiderable part of the Institute of Magic was going to throw a fit at having ‘one of those’ for a colleague. Laszlo was not looking forward to the looming confrontation, but he wouldn’t back down either. In his opinion, anyone that had a problem with Rosewood or her horns could go fuck themselves, though he would probably phrase it a little more diplomatically when finally addressing the issue. 

Rosewood gestured for him to take the lead again and Laszlo stepped through, having to duck slightly. 

“Watch your h-”, he said, reflexively, then stopped when his brain caught up with his mouth, cringing. “Uhm.”

“You can say ‘horns’, Professor. It’s not offensive,” Miss Rosewood laughed behind him.

“Well, do watch your horns, then. And close the door.”

The room they stood in was large, dark and empty, save for some supporting columns and the numerous scorch marks on the ground. 

There was always a risk to casting, especially to untried spells. Nobody could say with complete certainty if a spell that had never been attempted before would work or blow up in the caster’s face. 

Laszlo dropped his messenger bag safely behind one of the columns and nodded at Rosewood.

“Go on, then.”

In the light of the floating orbs Laszlo had cast earlier, Rosewood started setting up by unrolling the scroll of paper containing her spell matrix. Her design measured close to three feet in diameter and was based on a classical circular protection pattern she had cleverly combined with a pentagon. It was busy, every square inch of paper brimming with her neat, precise handwriting. She would have some cleaning up to do before submitting it as her thesis, but today was just for proof of concept. 

While her work was brilliant and this spell ground-breaking (if it worked, that was), Laszlo had only agreed to supervise her thesis reluctantly. Spell creation was far from Laszlo’s speciality. His chosen field was theory. 

He had been close to ushering her out of his office when he had realised that she had to know that several professors were better suited to supervise her research. There was a reason why she was at his door instead and Laszlo suspected it had to do with her height and horns and unusually sharp teeth. 

Laszlo was going to make sure her thesis was perfect because it had to be. 

Rosewood had been one of the first horned students admitted to Larniton after Nilevians had first been allowed to attend eight years ago and she would be the first to ever receive a doctorate, at least if Laszlo had his way. 

As Miss Rosewood settled the last small bag of sand on the corners of the scroll to weigh it down, he could not help himself but ask:

“You did make a copy, did you?”

She raised her head to give him a withering look. 

“Quadruplicate.”

“It never hurts to check,” he said. “Some of my most brilliant students have charged their only copy of a matrix.” So had he, twice, but he wouldn’t admit it with a knife to his throat. “It’s easy to get so lost in your research that you forget the most basic things.”

Her face softened. 

“I know, sir. Thank you for looking out for me.”

“Believe me, I just want to spare myself the work of having to check your calculations again,” he lied. (He really needed to work on keeping his distance. His tendencies towards sentimentality had only ever caused him trouble.)

Finally, Rosewood fished a hairbrush out of her bag and put it down next to her matrix. 

“It has a detangling enchantment,” she explained at his questioning look, looking slightly embarrassed. 

“I suppose that works as well as anything else,” he said. “Shall we begin?”

Rosewood nodded and placed her fingertips on the edge of her matrix.

“Would you like me to take the time?” Laszlo asked and pulled his pocket watch from his robe.

“Please do. It should hold for five minutes,” Miss Rosewood explained. 

“Very well…” Laszlo waited for the minute hand to hit twelve. “Now!” 

At his command, Miss Rosewood charged the matrix. He could hear her slowly let out the breath she had been holding as the paper burned away to reveal her design etched into the ground below in the fiery burnt orange that was unique to her magic. 

Laszlo's shoulders sagged in relief. For all of his confidence in her theoretical work, he too, had been getting ready to dive for cover. 

“Well done,” he said softly.

Miss Rosewood looked over her shoulder to give him a smile that was simply blinding. Then she picked up the hairbrush and held it over her matrix. The lines lit up, intensifying both in colour and brightness. 

She gasped and waved the brush over her matrix, again and again, clearly ecstatic with her success. 

With her back to him and her focus entirely on her experiment, Laszlo allowed himself a smile with teeth. 

“Don’t forget your negative control!” he called, startling her out of her joy.

“Oh, right,” she put the brush down and ran her empty hand through the air over the matrix, eliciting no response. “It’s actually working,” she breathed.

“So it is. Did you bring anything else to test?” Laszlo asked. 

Miss Rosewood stilled, then shook her head sheepishly. 

Laszlo tsked, checking his watch. Three more minutes.

“I swear, Miss Rosewood, if I hadn’t graded your methodology exam myself,” he grumbled, patting down the many pockets of his robes, searching for something, anything enchanted, before remembering his ring.

It had been a gift from Fen for his 35th birthday last year. The stone was a dark burgundy to match his robes. Fen had once off-handedly told him the colour complimented his dark olive skin and like the fool he was he had taken to wearing burgundy almost exclusively. 

The gift had been thoughtful. The ring was enchanted to serve as a compass and ruler in a pinch and while he was far faster with his normal tools, it had come in handy once or twice. 

Laszlo wore it religiously, steadfastly ignoring the fact that Fen had an at best tenuous grasp on the intricacies of human society and no idea what gifting someone a ring implied. As far as he knew elven courtship usually culminated in performing a fit of skill to suitably impress the intended. 

The ring would have to do, Laszlo decided, mindful of the ticking clock.

He stepped up to the edge of the matrix and extended his hand.

The next thing he was aware of was the whistling in his ears. He blinked, trying to clear his swimming vision. Slowly Miss Rosewood’s distressed face came into focus and as the whistling started to fade he could make out her words.

“-move, Sir, stay right where you are, I am so sorry, I don’t know how-”

The spell must have backfired after all, he thought, mind still sluggish. It was incredibly rare for a spell to fail so violently after already being charged and active for a while. 

Slowly Laszlo sat up from his sprawl on the ground, ignoring Miss Rosewood's frantic babbling.

“My bag,” he ground out, lifting a hand to rub at his pounding forehead. “Healing spell. Now.”

She nodded and hurried away, leaving him to take stock of his injuries. He could feel blood trickle down the side of his face. A concussion, definitely, and a laceration at the back of his head. Looking around the room, he could tell he had been flung back by several feet. Miss Rosewood had knelt as close to the matrix as he had stood but to his relief, she didn’t seem injured. Probably due to her Nilevian heritage, he mused. They were a sturdy people, as fierce as the horns made them look.

Finally, Miss Rosewood dropped to the concrete next to him and shoved his bag into his hands. 

“You’re not hurt?” he asked, rummaging through the many pre-drawn matrices in search of a moderately strong healing spell. 

“Yes, yes, I’m fine, Professor, but you-  Oh dear, you’re bleeding.”

He only saw her reach for his head when it was almost too late. 

Laszlo flung himself back violently.

“Do NOT touch me!” he shouted, panicked.

Thankfully she dropped her hand and set back on her heels, giving Laszlo space to place the matrix on his chest and charge it. 

While head injuries were tricky to heal magically, he felt better immediately. 

He was still enjoying the absence of pain when he heard her sniffling. 

Rosewood was crying.

Gods, he hated it when people cried, he never had any idea what to do.

“Now, this really isn’t necessary,” he tried clumsily. “We’ve all blown up a spell or fifty before. It’s just part of the-”

“Do you think I’m an animal?” she burst out, looking at him with her chin raised in defiance.

Animals, that’s what some called her kind. Oxen, cattle. Large and stupid and dirty. 

Carrying diseases that could be transmitted through touch alone.

The gravity of Laszlo’s mistake hit him like a brick. 

“I may be many things, Miss Rosewood, but I am not a bigot,” Laszlo said sternly. “My reasons for not wishing to be touched have nothing to do with you.”

“Of course, Professor,” she said, averting her eyes to the ground. 

Something inside Laszlo broke.

“Look at me,” he said and pulled a handkerchief from his robe. “Those that judge you for something as asinine as the circumstances of your birth are sad pathetic little people that do not deserve your tears.”

She sniffed and accepted the handkerchief, giving him a watery smile. 

“Thank you, Professor.”

“Now you will behave like the professional young lady you are and compose yourself. You must never show such weakness again. It is a luxury you cannot afford. The next time someone looks down on you, you will show them only the disdain they are owed. Understood?” 

“Yes, Professor,” she whispered and stood, gathering her scattered belongings. 

She would be fine, Laszlo thought. She was a lot stronger than he had ever been. 

Furtively he ran his hand over his head, making sure the base of his filed-down horns were still covered by hair.