She had not even been at the Mansion for a week, but already she had been regaled by tales carried through no less than five childrens' mouths. Five. Whatever the man currently named Head of Mansion Staff was thinking about children not noticing, he surely was a little less smart than one Granny Stephens would have liked.

Five. Children. They all had told her – after liberal bribing with baked goods – about the exploits of said individual. The children had been much too young to understand the full significance of what was happening, of course. Or rather they thought, as children did, that they knew everything worth knowing, re-telling their wisdom ever more smugly to each other. And to her. Granny harbored no intentions to disabuse them of the notion that they were great any time before their sixteenth birthdays. And, depending on circumstance, well beyond that date.

Speaking of dates: The reason for her outrage at a particular individual of certain note and notoriety at the Mansion was not the fact that he had more dates than could be good for him in any sense of the word. No, that was a thing she would, in her very magnanimous ways, forgive him. What was certainly not appropriate was letting the children think of him as a role model for living their lives and then not bothering about keeping such exploits a rather well guarded secret. Judging by her experience – she had quite a lot of that – the man probably thought himself overly clever. And overly masculine. She had yet to see that second part. But even if he was – goof for her old eyes that might be - it would be no excuse.

The man was indeed in need of a lesson. And if Granny was to put a dent in his lecherous and disrespectful – he had not even greeted her here – ways, then it would have to hurt. That was why she had acquired a certain calendar. A calendar that had been well over the news, but was now fetching quite outrageous prices despite its seeming ubiquity. The reason for that was that the person pictured lasciviously in it was one Miss Isabel Duskmoore, the most sought-after criminal and the Grand Cop Killing Lady of New York City. In all her near-naked and slightly gory glory. She had taken it, and she quite believed the news this time, upon herself to pay visits to those openly advertising their ownership of quantities of these particular pieces of merchandise. Their demises were not pretty. And not quite painless. So she had paid danger pay to the person who had owned this. (She was sure she could have confiscated one right in the building, but this man was not worth stealing some kids dreams.)

Now she was owning it.

She was also owning a bottle of super-glue. And she was presently standing in front of the office door of one Mr Johnson. There was a shiny plaque on the door announcing the owners status. Men. Pff. The bottle of super-stick unscrewed itself, glowing greenly. Then it liberally lathered itself over said plaque. And over most of the door. For fun, a glob went under the handle, too. It would probably dry before anyone could touch it, but she felt petty today. Then a green-glowing calendar proceeded to glue itself to said office door.

Now that would not come off easily. Granny nodded in satisfaction at the near-undressed woman staring back at her. This man should be ashamed of himself. And she would make sure that happened.

An old lady was glueing a dirty calendar on Sam's door.

With telekinesis.

Gawain stopped in his tracks; he was just passing through mirrors down the hall, but he couldn't help. That was something you don't see every day.

Maybe if it was a guy.
Or a young lady.
Or anyone they knew.

Or maybe if they were glueing something else.
With their hands.

Or maybe if it was somebody else's...
Nope, it had to be Sam.

There was a creepy grandma in the house.

"Whoa." Gawain grinned, leaning against the mirrorframe "Where did you get that?" then he remembered his manners "Ma'am. I am sure Sam will be very grateful for the, umm... present."

Just who the hell was she?

"So. Are you the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?"

Cheeky grin.

"Ma'am."

There was someone talking to her. Quite suddenly. This time though, she remembered enough of herself to not swing around her cane wildly. This time no one would nearly get a concussion. It was better that way. Especially with children. She could not help a green glow creeping along the edges of her cane though. This landy was not fond of surprises.

Especially if someone was talking to her from a mirror. She blinked. To her credit: She blinked once. Slightly incredulous. And then she smiled. And answered. “That boy better be thankful. From what I hear it might deter some of the attention.” She eyed over him-in-the-mirror.

“My name is Alastair Moody, boy. Might wanna call me Granny though. Rowling got a few parts wrong, you see? Everywhere they think I'm male. Not to mention dead. And I will hear not a comment about my eyes. None.” Yes, she could live with cheeky teenagers. That was, after all, what they were pretty much born to bee. Little brats. Lovely little brats. Which she had been working with one way or another for longer than they lived. So much fun. And a bit of a headache. And no, she had not read Harry Potter. Her eyesight was too precious to poison with that kind of story. She had listened to the audiobooks. In a dignified manner. In front of a chimney. Thank you. Without floo powder. “And no, I will most certainly not tell you where that came from. Let us pretend I summoned it with my magical wand.” Her cane twitched in her fingers. Slightly menacingly in Gawains direction.

Do we understand each other, her smile asked. Do we? She smiled wildly.

>> “That boy better be thankful. From what I hear it might deter some of the attention.”

Aaaah. The decency police has arrived. Gawain smirked; if the lady was thinking that some dirty pictures would make Sam stop chasing tail, she was thoroughly mistaken.

>>“My name is Alastair Moody, boy. Might wanna call me Granny though. Rowling got a few parts wrong, you see? Everywhere they think I'm male. Not to mention dead. And I will hear not a comment about my eyes. None.”

Gawain's mouth was already open but he shut it before he could utter the words. Granny knew her Harry Potter, he had to give her that.

>> “And no, I will most certainly not tell you where that came from. Let us pretend I summoned it with my magical wand.”

Said wand was glowing. It looked freaking badass. By the way.

"Yes ma'am" Gawain nodded with a grin, still eyeing the wand "Telekinesis? That's pretty neat."

It also explained a lot about how she could get her wand on a calendar like that.

Teenagers were such delightful creatures. This one apparently thought that because she was shortly before her expiration date (and well past the shelf life any one of them would consider as such) she would be an ignoramus? Only because she was old? Now that managed to get another twitch out of her 'wand' in Mirrors general direction.

“Telekinesis.” She nodded. “And a bit more.” She even added, considerate as she was. “But you will have to let a mage like me keep her secrets a little longer.” And mage only in the way that she was wonderful. So. Very. Wonderful. She began to cane-walk away from the scene of her little incident, quite confident that Mr. Mirror would follow her backside. Because that was what was proper. He may trail her like a puppy. If he would be good, he might even get a pet out of it. On the head.

“Take my class and you will find out.” Yes. She was a teacher. Let that sink in. With a smile. I can make your life all kinds of miserable. Blink, oh lovely.

>>“Telekinesis. And a bit more. But you will have to let a mage like me keep her secrets a little longer. Take my class and you will find out.”

She was a teacher.

"Wait, seriously?" Gawain followed her, going from mirror to mirror, keeping up. The old lady was surprisingly quick with that cane.

"Technically, I've graduated" he noted, just for the record. It was not entirely true. Technically, he was old enough to have graduated, but since he was homeschooled till 13, and then 4 years not schooled at all, two years at the mansion were not exactly proper education. And they did not really have a graduation anyway.

"I only take classes that are fun."

There was a question in there somewhere. She had the attitude, the power and possibly the experience, but one could never know. Old lady, are your classes fun?"

“Technically you are here and I am a teacher.” She pointed out succinctly and altogether much too sweetly. Plainly she would, whatever youth came her way in these halls, consider them students. No matter their claims toward the opposite. And no matter their wiggling to escape.

“If you take them, go back to the Ma'am. If not, go back to the Ma'am anyways. Flattery suits your face.” Your pretty boy-face, her eyes said in a totally nonattracted way. In a way that was slightly dismissive. Rouges like she herself had been at one time knew her own kind too well. And no, prettyface, for the record: She was not impressed by faces. Hers was too old and wrinkled for that kind of folly.

“Do you know an Officer named Cervantes? He comes here a lot. I nearly beat his brains out with that wand of mine. Consider my classes that kind of fun. But I will teach you.” Now she was not sweet at all. Now she was an old dragon lady ready to take a bite out of her student. Because: Everybody needed a menace they could never best. And Granny was quite capable of being one. "If you don't come I might get a bad impression of you." Not that she did not have one already. Rouges were that way. Either you loved them or you hated them. She was too old for that folly, too. Smile. Thin, very thin. Razorblades.

>>“Technically you are here and I am a teacher. If you take them, go back to the Ma'am. If not, go back to the Ma'am anyways. Flattery suits your face.”

Gawain blinked. There were so many things wrong with that speech. And there was only one thing to answer.

"Yes ma'am."

>>“Do you know an Officer named Cervantes? He comes here a lot. I nearly beat his brains out with that wand of mine. Consider my classes that kind of fun. But I will teach you.If you don't come I might get a bad impression of you."

Blink again.
Cervantes? Wasn't that the counselor's boy... something?
The old lady was making threats of the most serious kind. With a smile. Gawain shuddered. For a moment, he considered resisting; how hard can it be to take and old lady on? He could beat her in a DR session anyt...
Who am I kidding? She moves sh*t with her mind.

"Does the cussiculum include more of that?" he asked with a grin, nodding back towards Sam's door. If he was referring to the pictures, or the mischief, it was up to Granny to decide.

So they had respect covered. At least this much. Granny gave a walking nod to the next mirror. Oh and walking: She was walking in the direction of the kitchen. Why was that?

“Probably not. I might show you how I throw a car though.” Yes. She was not apologetic. She sounded even a bit proud. Because she could. If she sounded a bit threatening though it might be because of the freudian jab at her curriculum. And because kids like this only responded to proper application of force. Apps kitchen. Now Granny could smell cookies, freshly made. “You can now come out of there. We are having tea.” She said. More or less decided. Because carrot and stick was better than stick. And because her cookies were much better than carrots. At almost anything.

>>“Probably not. I might show you how I throw a car though.”

The thing with this lady was: one could never know when she was joking and when she was serious. You just... couldn't. Could she really throw a friggin' car?!
Did he even want to question that?!

>>“You can now come out of there. We are having tea.”

The kitchen was filled with the smell of fresh cookies. It was a good smell. Gawain hopped out of the reflecting surface of the window, and extended a hand to the lady.

"Gawain Morris. Mirrorwalking and, umm. Gender shifting. Nice to meet you, Ma'am."

Honesty and politeness.
...
Holy hell, wha is she doing to me?!

>> Gawain Morris. Mirrorwalking and, umm. Gender shifting.

Uhmmm. This was exactly the thought that filled Grannys mind at hearing about the kids rather particular nature. It was a long uhmmm. The kind of ah-uhuhm that explained a lot. It also left a lot of questions. Mirror-walking was one thing, of course. Gender-shifting quite another. Also: While Granny was far from prude, the thought processes of the common male homo sapiens eluded her, even in her advanced age, on most occasions. It was not like males were totally different beings, no. Many times she was appropriately able to gauge their territorial and slightly muscle-brained reactions to stimuli. It was only the times when these reactions did not occur after a pattern that puzzled her. When did one decide not to hit the other in the face to resolve a dispute?

But this was a line of thought somewhat removed from the present situation.

“So you're a girl also? I think I might like her better.” Granny gruffly announced, as if her moment of silence had not happened right then and there. The grabbed a box of plastic that was rather obviously displayed on the kitchen table and pronounced just as she proceeded to remove the lid: “Have a cookie.” Then she practically thrust the whole box into Mirrors face, while she turned around to get water to boil. The kettle was so nice as to lift itself under the faucet. Which was so nice as to turn itself on. And off after the kettle was filled. All with the distinct green of her mutations workings. The tea was beginning to cook itself.

Its a kind of magic. Granny smiled. Those cookies were, too.

>>“So you're a girl also? I think I might like her better.”

"Is that so?" Gawain smirked, sitting down "But you haven't even met her yet... I mean, me. It's the same person. Just... different... parts."

How to explain the gist of gender shifting to a grandma in polite company?...
She probably already knew.

>>“Have a cookie.”

There was no denyig the cookie. Gawain took one. "Thank you ma'am."

Granny was making tea. However extraordinary and witty she was, she was still a grandma. That made him smile. Gawain never knew his grandparents.

"So. Do you have any family?"

Family. A bitter word for her. It might have shown a bit on her face. The bitterness. When you were off fighting wars then you did normally not get with children. As a female soldier. As a member of a special group that was both distrusted and highly valued she had not been allowed closer contact with the other sex. That had been in her youth. After that the long years of managing a Hotel and a Bar on a touristy island where she was nothing less than a foreign body, she had not found a suitable mate. Not that she had been looking exceptionally hard among the island populace. Those were of an earthy kind she had learned to value only with time. A long time. No, indeed her only family lay on a windswept island cemetery where the green ivy leaves swayed in the perpetual wind and the few trees lay almost on their sides from the continual draft that forced them.

Force.

No, she had no family. Not any more. She had not had a family for what this young one would deem to be a very long time indeed. And she told him so in no uncertain terms. A very sharp no indeed. Then she seized upon her opportunity to change the topic. Quite quickly.

“Women do have the wonderous tendency to not think with their testicles.” She said in a tone that was much too matter-of-factually to be embarrassed. Or embarrassing. “I find males often severely lacking in this regard.” And again she was not really trying to be hurtful. Only sharp. Maybe a tad too much. Family. An old word. A word of power. A word of emotions. She had those, too.

Nope. She did not have a family. That fact and the way she said it made Gawain uneasy. He had clearly said something he was not supposed to. Bummer.
Moving on.

>>“Women do have the wonderous tendency to not think with their testicles. I find males often severely lacking in this regard.”

Blink. Blink.

Ummm.

"I cannot really argue that point" Gawain concluded, giving up the fight "But hey, at least I'm one half better than most males..."

Every other day.

"I don't have a family either." he added, because he wanted to be helpful in the conversation "I only ever knew my mom and she's... away. But you'd make a great grandmother, y'know."

Blink.

"I mean, not a great-grandmother, I mean... you know. A good one."

Ah. Compliments. Such wondrous things. They generally tend to smooth conversation. They also tend to be the right thing to say to old ladies. Old ladies who then proceed to busy themselves over a teapot they clearly have no need to be fussing over. Oh and murmured thanks come from those old ladies. Incidentally. Totally unrelated to said compliments.

Even from boys. Who were apparently not used to making compliments to old ladies. “Have some tea.” There was no need to mention her slightly smiling face. “And if your mother ever shows her face again, I'll show you the car-smash.” Because women who left their children alone deserved nothing less than a small Granny rampage. One where cars learned flying. She would do that. Yes.

Also: The tea was black as night and strong as the sea-breezes in her old hotel. It was good tea. If you had the mouth to stomach it.