When They Open the Sun Will Shine

[Lawrence Keelan]

Laurie flourished his wand at his own and warmed it wordlessly, before grabbing a stack of leather-bound parchment scrolls from students, tapping one side with his hand. "Guess I ought to get on these," he laughed. "I don't suppose they'll just let me show a movie." It was dry.

[Qingying]

Qingying smiled and they chatted and then went to teach or whatever they did!

A couple days later, Qingying noticed Lane back in his class!

[Lane Foster]

And he was, as always, slouched in the back of the class with his feet up on the desk, not a care in the world.

[Qingying]

No one sat with their feet up on the table in his class. This was the first time, though, so Qingying said, “Lane Foster, remove your feet from the table.” It was light.

[Zane Marshall]

"Well, I reckon it's comfortable," Lane smirked.

Zane smacked him. "Not worth it."

He glowered and readjusted himself, sliding his seat back so he could rest his elbows on his knees, eyebrow arched at Qingying challengingly.

[Qingying]

That was satisfactory, so Qingying continued with the class. At the end of it, as students were filing out, Qingying caught Lane’s gaze as an indication to stop.

[Lane Foster]

He did, leaning against the wall with one arm crossed casually over his chest.

[Qingying]

Since he wasn’t going to tell him himself, Qingying asked with a smile, “Did you manage to complete any of the assignments?”

[Lane Foster]

"Sure, mate." Lane shrugged.

[Qingying]

“May I have them?” He was of course only asking about the ones for Charms.

[Lane Foster]

He reached into his tote and pulled out a stack of papers, all filled out in his neat, flowing handwriting.

[Qingying]

“Thank you,” he smiled softly and placed them neatly on the table next to him. “Do you know what you want to do later, after graduating?”

[Lane Foster]

Another shrug.

[Qingying]

“What are you interested in?”

[Lane Foster]

"Dunno."

[Qingying]

“In Le Puy-en-Velay, hm?”
In Le Puy-en-Velay was a wizarding true crime book accounting the string of five murders beginning in the small town of France in 1894. Lane had been reading it when Patience and Qingying had found him at the library.

[Lane Foster]

Another shrug. "Sure. En poo poo vay."

[Qingying]

“That book was published in 2002,” Qingying said as he straightened a small stack of books. “In 2005 it was discovered that the third case was not actually perpetrated by Edouard Thibaud and was instead a crime of passion by a woman named Celestine Ricard.” He didn’t have to pick up any pieces of paper and such as his students were taught early to maintain the classroom and remove any rubbish when they exited. “The author had passed away in 1999 – the book was published after that – so it was not updated. These crimes are not that well-known or publicised, so not many sources of information mention the corrected third case.”

[Lane Foster]

Lane's nose wrinkled. "And how do you know it?"

[Qingying]

“Because there is information, and it’s good to know,” he smiled. “If you’re interested, Take Three by Elfriede Graff, published in 2013, includes the third case, a few other corrections – because many lesser known crimes are not really mentioned again after the initial report, right? – and a number of theories on some older unsolved cases. Could be a nice accompaniment when you read about other crimes.”

[Lane Foster]

"Uh huh," Lane shrugged. "Alright."

[Qingying]

He smiled. “You sure you’re unsure what you might be interested in doing later?”

[Lane Foster]

"Sure I'm unsure, mate."

[Qingying]

He huffed lightly, amused. “Okay, you may leave.”

The weekend passed. At the end of their next lesson, Qingying held out a piece of parchment to Lane.
“Complete this and hand it to me on Thursday,” he said, softly smiling. His voice wasn’t demanding, as Qingying rarely demanded anything, but neither did he raise his voice. Thursday was three days from now.

On the parchment was written: The history of the non-magical and magical uses of Radix clematidis.

[Lane Foster]

He handed it in by the end of the next class, looking bored as he stood over Qingying's desk.