Giovanni Cattani||+||Sorcerer||+||Height: 6'2”||+||Weight: 180lbs||+||Age: 28||+||Hair: Black||+||Eyes: Green||+||Theme of the Moment||+||
Magic is only as powerful as the mind that wields it. And power is always a relative concept. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Giovanni stood in front of the Tomb of Albus Dumbledore, known as the greatest Headmaster of Hogwarts that had ever lived, and wondered how he: Giovanni Cattani had ended here standing in front of this tomb. His familiar Loki landed on his shoulder. His head darting around in the way all ravens did. Giovanni knew, that despite the fact that Loki was a bird, that Loki was intelligent, and likely egging on his master to get a move on to the castle. Or perhaps Loki simply sought to amuse him, the bird was after all quite mischievous.
Giovanni had been contacted by the current Headmistress for a teaching position as the professor of the Wandless Magic Practice class at Hogwarts. T o be honest, Giovanni had no idea why she had gone through so much effort to contact him with her offer nor why she wanted him specifically; nevertheless, he accepted. He had been a little tired of constant travel, but to stay in one local result in a need for paying work. It helped that Hogwarts was a prestigious institution that was said to have many old tomes on several forms of magic thought lost or at least forgotten. The scholar in him was clearly tantalized by the offer, the chance to confirm such rumors and intriguing mystery all on its own, if they turned out to be true….
Giovanni laughed softly, after all, despite his amusement he was present before a man's tomb. Still the current situation did border on ridiculous; after all Giovanni Cattani, an Italian, was to teach British students in their nation’s school rather than teach at his own alma mater. The fact that he would have to explain and teach a high level of magic, wandless magic was never simple, in a nonnative tongue was a curious challenge. Not really though, as Giovanni was fluent in several languages, English included. Though technically he was Professor Giovanni now wasn't he? Giovanni wasn't sure he could get used to that, or if he wanted to, he had grown accustomed to traveling after all. But he wouldn't shirk his duties as a teacher because of the class, or his feelings towards his position; it just wasn't his way. In fact, teaching at such a prestigious institute as Hogwarts may even prove to be to his benefit. Though aside from the possibility of secreted knowledge, he hadn't yet figure out exactly how.
Nevertheless, he hadn't immediately gone to find the Headmistress once he arrived at the school grounds. He had decided to come here, to Dumbledore's tomb to pay his respects to a great man and powerful wizard. He respected Dumbledore, because the man hadn't been afraid to make some of the hard decisions that had to be made during the war with Grindelwald. And then again during the war with Voldemort; and though Giovanni would have handled Voldemort's subsequent resurrection differently, not to mention the soon to follow Second Wizarding War he couldn't argue the effectiveness of Dumbledore's ploy. He had orchestrated the destruction of Voldemort while simultaneously building up his successor, as it were. Though Giovanni had never met The-Man-Who-Lived-Again, Harry Potter, he was aware of the power of a symbol.
Giovanni knew he was no paragon of good and justice. Dumbledore had been that man, and he wondered what Dumbledore would have said about the things Giovanni had seen, said, done. Would Albus have disagreed with him? Or would Albus have supported his actions?
He turned away from Dumbledore's grave and began walking to the school. A grim expression upon his face, for he had much ahead of him, much to do. He had originally come to England because he ha heard whispers in the darkness, faint glimpses of something twisted. The tree of arcana was bearing leaves again, after nearly a century of nothing but withering branches. He was living a rebirth of magic as the world knew it, and all he could think of was the growing storm on the horizon. As he walked away from the tomb, he muttered something to either the tomb or himself, he wasn't sure. Nevertheless, the words bore weight:
Niente è vero; tutto è permesso. Nella pace, vigilanza. Nella guerra, vittoria. Nella morte, sacrifichi.Such was his way, and on this path he would walk.
Translation:Nothing is true; everything is permitted. In peace, vigilance. In war, victory. In death, sacrifice.
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Thirteen families rose to support the Dark Lord, they would have succeeded if not for seven brave souls. Five fell in the defense of their home and country, the other two have vanished; but they are not forgotten.
