#cyruswroxton

[cyruswroxton-blog]

Catching Up {Cyrus & Dinaldo}

With the headache of the Tournament--it had been far more of a logistical nightmare than he'd anticipated--Cyrus had neglected other, more personal matters. Specifically, the attention he had once paid to his staff to ensure their comfort and contentedness had been overshadowed by discussions with Ministry officials, meetings with his fellow school Heads, and panicked letters from parents who were certain that his allowing a Tournament to be hosted at his school was a sign that he was, at 50, past his prime and due to be replaced with a younger, more sensible wizard.

(The mother who had written that he was "a nuisance" and "due to learn lessons from fresher, more able" minds had made him laugh out loud in the middle of the Great Hall.)

A much-needed gap formed in his schedule--the unfortunate hospitalization of a Ministry contact--allowing him time to visit his favorite  employee. (Not that he would ever admit that. Having favorites never ended as well as people hoped.)

"Dinaldo?" he asked, knocking on the door to the professor's study. "Might I come in?"

[cyruswroxton-blog]

The Kingdom

Cyrus did enjoy formality, though some of his staff seemed a bit on the rebellious side. There was, to him, something quite cathartic about organized meals, students lined in rows, service choreographed, while the instructors looked on. This was now doubly important given the fact that Hogwarts was the tournament host. Neither Beauxbatons (always snobby and elitist) nor Durmstrang (delusionally elitist and quite displeased with everything) would be able to say anything about his school or the way he maintained order.

Or perhaps he simply enjoyed lording over his kingdom.

He had already that day scared a young Beauxbatons boy—perhaps the younger brother of a student hoping to compete?—and as he sipped his tea he considered, was he really that intimidating?

Perhaps to children, those accustomed to less structure and more individuality, he was. But he was simply a man who enjoyed—and, indeed, expected—a certain level of deference, respect, and tradition. He had flirted with frivolity in his youth, traveling and being accountable to none but himself, but that was temporary. His excursions had been quite exciting, and he was grateful for the experiences, but a quiet life, filled with routine and structure, was his ideal.

Yes, as he sipped his tea and looked out on the Great Hall at all the children before him, he realized that he was exactly where he needed to be, and he was doing exactly what needed to be done. Any who would question that were entitled to their opinions, but Cyrus felt confident that his school and his methods were in need of no changes.