The Golden Age
Disclaimer: Obviously, I own nothing but my own thoughts. Harry Potter and his world are the property of J.K.Rowling.
I began writing this very seriously, but half-way through I was the victim of demonic possession. "Life is a Comedy to those who think, a Tragedy to those who feel." I suppose I could split it into two chapters, but I won't.
10. Adulthood: Harry Potter and the Posh Dinner Party, Part Two
Harry himself felt that he ought to make clear what it is he wanted to know. "I'd like you to tell me about going to school with my parents."
"Oh, my!" laughed Ms. Rochester. "That does make me feel old!"
"Well, what was it like—when you went to Hogwarts?"
Ms. Rochester's smile faded and she gave Harry a long, measuring look. "It was a long time ago. I've put it behind me."
"But you knew them, didn't you? What was Hogwarts like in those days?"
"Quite a bit like it is now, I imagine. Students come and go—"
"No. I mean, what was it like going to school with my parents?"
"I was in fourth year when they were in seventh, I was a Ravenclaw and they were Gryffindors. I knew them by sight, of course, but I'm sure they didn't know me."
"But you saw them! They were Head Boy and Girl! You must remember something!" Harry was getting angry, feeling that she was evading the question.
"I really don't feel my impression of other students during my school years are relevant to the post I'm applying for. I'd rather not talk about this."
"Well, I want to talk about it!" Harry nearly shouted.
Hermione pressed her hand over his. "We have to insist. We think it's very important that the Head of the school be open and aboveboard about his or her views. After all, you weren't exactly a presence during the War—"
The nondescript woman sat silent for awhile, and then sighed, "I guess the game is up. I should have known this would happen. Nothing has changed."
"What do you mean?"
"All right. It seems I have nothing to lose, but you may not like what I have to say."
"I want to know."
"I wonder if you do. Well, there's nothing for it. I thought I'd give the wizarding world a last try, but—All right. I'll tell you." She grimaced and then said, "Hogwarts was a lot better after my fourth year."
"Why was that?"
Very grimly, Ms. Rochester said, "Because that's the year the Gryffindor gang called the Marauders graduated. That's what you wanted to know about, wasn't it? Yes, I went to school when your parents were there. Your father and his cronies ran the school exactly as they liked, and if you were smart, you stayed out of their way. Your other choices were sucking up to them or a bracing dose of public humiliation. Lucky for me that I wasn't deemed worthy of their notice."
"I know they liked to play pranks. Sometimes they got out of hand, but they meant well. Well, except for Peter Pettigrew, of course—"
Ms. Rochester listened in silence. Then she said. "I told you wouldn't like what I had to say. I'm not very fond of pranks myself. They're not much fun when you're on the receiving end. In fact, they can be very cruel--"
"Sirius and my Dad were not cruel—"
"I don't know what they were like as adults. When I was in second year, I saw them pants a student—"
"I know about that," Harry said impatiently. "It was a Slytherin--"
Ms. Rochester's eyes flashed, and she answered rather sharply. "What does that matter? What should it matter? I hate that stupid House rubbish! They ganged up on a lone student and tormented him, laughing. I stood there on the edge of the lake, so ashamed that I wasn't doing anything to stop it, but I was afraid. I was afraid to tell my parents about it for fear they would either take me out of school, or make a fuss, and I knew that there was nothing a pair of muggles could do. Everyone was afraid of them! I'm ashamed of it to this day, and that is why I've never tolerated bullying in any class I teach."
"But my mother—Lily—she stood up for Snape—well, until he called her a filthy name—"
"I saw her there—I'd heard she was the boy's friend—but she was about to burst out laughing. You think he didn't notice, even hanging upside down? And then that James Potter offered to let the boy go, if she'd go out with him! What kind of friend goes out with a bully like that? I couldn't stand any of them! And then to drop the Slytherin boy, because he called out a rude name in a state of panic and anguish... My fellow Ravenclaws said at the time he didn't fit in with the crowd she had moved up into, and she'd just been looking for an excuse to lose him."
"Snape was a spiteful, greasy git—"
"I read that he was pretty brave during the War. He never did anything to me. He wasn't doing anything to them that day, but they sought him out, the way bullies always do, choosing the lonely, unattractive outsiders no one likes—"
Harry was offended. "Snape always gave as good as he got."
"He wasn't giving much, hanging upside down with his pants off. He was very tough to bear it. At least he didn't make the list of suicides Hogwarts has totted up over the years. All very discreet, of course. 'So-and-so has withdrawn due to ill health.' 'She left to go back to the muggle world.' 'He's gone abroad to study—'"
"They say that when there are suicides?" Hermione asked, horrified.
"Or when some girl is pregnant, and there's no wizarding marriage in view," Ms. Rochester told her. "There was a girl in my dormitory, a fifth year, who left one night and never came back. We knew what had happened, though. It wasn't a boyfriend, mind you. It was some bully who knew she'd be too ashamed to tell—"
"You had better not be talking about Sirius!" Harry shouted.
"I thought you wanted to hear about my school days. That was one of the more memorable episodes. As I said, things were better after fourth year."
Hermione tried to take control of the interview. "Well, maybe—"
Harry was furiously angry, and interrupted her. "My parents sacrificed their lives for me—"
With painful patience, Ms. Rochester pointed out, "I thought we were speaking of my school days. And what parents wouldn't sacrifice themselves for their child?" She looked down her nose, pulling herself together. "I understand. I don't think we have anything else to say to each other. If my employment is going to be contingent on my reverence for those rather unkind boys, thank you, but no. I was under the impression that this was a post that would be chosen on the basis of professional qualifications. I am not going to pretend things never happened, or conveniently rearrange my memories to suit the current political climate. I shall write my withdrawal to Professor McGonagall. Don't bother to see me out." She rose and stalked out, head held high.
"Well," said Hermione. "That went well."
"Good riddance!" Harry snapped. "We don't need her kind! We'd be better off with Mrs. Weasley! She's taught all her children—"
"—with somewhat uneven results—" Hermione muttered.
-----
Minerva McGonagall was not happy with them. She called them to Hogwarts and rounded on them for a quarter hour.
After a brief pause to take a breath, she went on, "Fortunately, I have been able to persuade Jane to reconsider. I explained that you were speaking as a private individual, not on behalf of the Governors."
"Who knows whose side she was on during the War?" Harry snapped. "For that matter, maybe she didn't even have a side. She was lying low like a coward, and then she has the nerve to criticise my parents!"
Hermione knew that Harry should not have pressed the woman to talk, but he was much too angry to reason with at the moment. The Headmistress of Hogwarts, however, was not inclined to give an inch.
"What I principally know about Jane Rochester is that she is an excellent teacher and the best chance we have for a Head who will bring fair play and high standards to our school. That is what we want, isn't it?"
"I don't see why Rowan can't be the Head. Or Mrs. Weasley—"
"Harry Potter!" McGonagall interrupted. When he was quiet, she steepled her hands before her, and asked quietly, "Do you understand what is meant by the terms 'political corruption?' or 'cronyism?'"
He glared and refused to answer.
McGonagall sighed, and said, "The wizarding world is small, Harry. So small that it's easy to give out jobs to our friends and relatives, because we know them and love them. But don't you see that it's just that attitude that has led to so many of our troubles? Don't you see that giving a plum position to Mrs. Weasley is not much different than the pureblooded fanatics wanting to keep all the plum positions within their own little group?"
"Mrs. Weasley—" Harry began hotly.
"—raised Ron Weasley, who wrote on one essay that Belladonna is the name of a star in the constellation of O'Ryan," supplied the gloating voice of Severus Snape's portrait. "She also completely failed to control the twins, those purveyors of subversion and chaos. If she cannot control two children, how could she control a school?" Snape smirked, his voice a syrup of sweet reason.
"Yes," agreed McGonagall. "Thank you, Severus. Mind you, if Molly wished to teach a class, we would seriously consider her application."
"Maybe very young students," Hermione temporized. "She loves little children so much." Actually she was not sure about Molly's hot temper and tendency to favoritism, but Harry wanted Molly recognized, possibly because he knew she would be so disappointed when there was no wedding to plan next summer.
"We are going to vote in two days, " Minerva said with quiet force, "and we are going to vote to appoint Jane Rochester Headmistress of Albus Dumbledore School. Anything else is simply wrong—it would mean putting personal feelings and family preferences ahead of merit. Do you believe in the pursuit of excellence, Harry? Would you place someone on your Quidditch team simply because he was your friend?"
Hermione blushed, remembering her own adventure in manipulating Quidditch tryouts.It had seemed the right thing to do at the time, but she suspected that McGonagall would not see it that way. She was glad that McGonagall's eyes were fixed on Harry, and not on her. To her embarrassment, she saw that Snape was regarding her with amused interest. She turned her back on the portrait, and smiled at Harry.
"You know she's right, Harry. And it's not like you'll be seeing much of her anyway. I'm sure she'll be a very good Headmistress. Let's go home and finish planning the party."
McGonagall nodded in approval. "Very good. If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to ask. Be sure to invite all the Hogwarts Governors. They can be a touchy lot. And it would be sensible to have Narcissa Malfoy vet the menu."
Harry and Hermione looked at each other. "I'm sure we can manage," Hermione answered, rather stiffly.
----
"Hermione, I've got to invite Ginny. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley won't understand if I don't."
She gave him an expressionless stare. "Harry, you wouldn't get yourself into these situations if you would just tell people what's going on. Ginny should tell her parents that she doesn't want to marry you. Inviting her as your girlfriend just raises unfounded hopes. They'll thank you someday if you're just honest with them."
"Yeah, maybe someday. But they'll give us hell now. I promised Ginny I wouldn't tell her parents about her Quidditch plans."
"So why does that mean you have to keep up this stupid pretence? How is it that you have to protect Ginny?" She drew herself up, and asked, "Are you ashamed of me?"
"No! God, no! It's just that—I thought you hated gossip—and the talk about the 'Wanderings' has only now died down. And I'm trying to stay friends with Ron, and that won't work if thinks I've stolen you—"
Her voice turned icy. "Stealing me implies that I am somehow someone's property. Is that what you mean to say? That I was Ron's chattel and you stole me away like sack of galleons?"
A no-win situation. "I don't think that way, but you know that Ron does—a little."
"I don't care how Ron thinks, if you want to describe his reptile-brain reactions as 'thinking.' If you're going to ask Ginny, that's your decision. I would never lower myself to demand that you choose between us." She turned her back, and continued making notes for the dinner menu.
Harry doodled an elaborate seating charts, trying to keep mortal enemies as far apart as possible. With the current Hermione/Ginny situation, he would have to sit between the two girls, and hope that everyone drew the conclusion he wanted, instead of the correct one.
"It always worked for Dumbledore," he muttered bitterly.
"What worked for Dumbledore?"
"Misleading people. Telling them zip and then twinkling at the train wreck. Why can't I do it? Maybe if I practice, I'll get it right by the time I'm, say, a hundred and twenty."
She pursed her lips. "You shouldn't criticise Dumbledore, Harry. Everything he did, he did for the Greater Good, even if parts of his plan aren't perfectly apparent to us. It all turned out for the best, didn't it?"
"I'm not sure Snape thinks it turned out for the best. Or Andy Tonks."
"I'm surprised. I didn't think you cared what Professor Snape thought."
"Thinks. What he thinks.Whenever I go to Hogwarts he's there in the Headmistress' Office and he gives me that look. He still thinks I'm an idiot."
"Well, you're alive and he's dead, so you must have done something right." She frowned, considering, "Or he did."
"Maybe we should ask Mrs. Malfoy to look over the guest list. I can't make any sense of the Hogwarts Governors. One old sod from St. Mary Axe is still on the list, but the Weasleys told me that he's dead. "
"Harry! I thought we agreed we do this ourselves. It's bad enough that the Malfoys are involved at all. Next you'll want her to look over my menu!"
"What if we're missing something? What if there's something about wizarding dinners that aren't in the books? What if we're going to look stupid?"
"It's going to be fine, Harry. Trust me."
-----
Altogether, it could have been worse, he supposed, but not much. With a book on wizarding customs and some painstakingly drawn diagrams, Harry achieved a seating plan that placed the Malfoys and Weasleys on opposite sides of the Great Hall. Hogwarts was represented by its Headmistress and its Heads of Houses. The new Gryffindor Head was someone completely unknown to Harry. It bothered him somewhat, though Hermione pointed out that there had been years and years of Gryffindors, and it wasn't reasonable to expect everything to go to people they had known from school.
The Minister was there, sitting to the right of the Headmistress. To her left was Headmistress McGonagall. and many of the Department Heads. The current editor of the Daily Prophet and her husband were in attendance, and a good sprinkling of the Wizengamot. The governors of both schools and their guests sat at a table set perpendicular to a longer one. The new Headmistress was in the center of the head table, looking about her with an inscrutable expression.
The good part about sitting down to dinner, Harry thought, was that he would no longer have a young woman on each arm, pulling him slowly but relentlessly in two. Ginny was dazzling in blue and Hermione was resplendent in red. Both looked quite gorgeous. Harry kept wondering why everyone's eyes looking down toward their waist level. At first he wondered if his fly was open, but Ginny hissed in his ear, "They're looking for an engagement ring. On any of us."
Harry saw Lucius Malfoy struggling not to laugh. The Malfoys were whispering together, look very amused. Possibly it was because of the problems Harry had when he tried to shake anyone's hand, or even move. He supposed the evening would figure in a long letter to Draco at Miskatonic University.
Endless pictures were taken. One elderly wizard starting droning on about the precedents for polygamy in the wizarding world, telling a long, involved story about "Gold-Tree and Silver-Tree,' and about the harem of the wizard Caliph Haroun al-Raschid until at last even Harry grasped what was being said. He managed a weak grin and slunk away, his arms pinched to the point of nerve damage by the girls' grips.
The house elves had furnished a splendid meal, though it was a strange mix of the old-fashioned and the trendy. Some of it was well-received and some of it was not. Hermione's smile hardened like cement.
"What is this, Hermione? It tastes really strange. Did you tell the elves to serve this?"
"I told the elves to use their judgement. They wanted to know some of my favorite foods, and I told them. That's goat cheese with tomatillo salsa. They're only trying to please me."
There was a soft and puzzled murmur rustling down the tables. The wizards and witches gamely tried to eat the curious dish, thinking it was some sort of pudding. A hiss of reaction followed. Mafalda Hopkirk uttered a choking scream and fell backwards, arms flailing. Half the table rose to come to her aid. The other half were choking as well.
"Did you say that was from a goat, Hermione?" asked Kingsley Shacklebolt desperately. "Don't you know that a large proportion of wizards and witches are allergic to anything made from a goat?"
"Don't eat it!" screeched Professor Sprout. "It's poison!"
Harry saw the Malfoys discreetly spitting into their serviettes.
"Oh, this is a gala night, " he groaned.
Headmistress Rochester, on the other hand, continued eating her portion with every sign of enjoyment. Madam Hopkirk's limp form was spirited away, and the offending plates abruptly disappeared. After some hasty imbibing of potions, the replacement, Angels on Horseback, was greeted with relief. Two elderly wizards were speaking loudly enough for Hermione to hear.
"You can't go wrong with oysters," sighed one. "This is more like!"
"Well," said his companion, as if continuing a previous remark, "I suppose the school is a good idea, but other than that, I don't see that much has changed. There are the Malfoys, still at the head table, as they've always been. The Potter boy doesn't seem to understand--"
''--Shh. Later."
Above them all, looming over them, was a huge copy of Dumbledore's portrait from Hogwarts. Headmistress McGonagall had spoken privately to Headmistress Rochester about the pros and cons of Dumbledore being able to look over one's shoulder at all times. Thus, his portrait was placed, not in the Head's office, but in the Great Hall, so that all the children would see the wizard for whom the school was named.
A few other notables had smaller likenesses decorating the walls. Copying portraits, even in a smaller size, took some tricky charms work, but the pictures made a good effect. McGonagall thought it important that the children know that there was more than one wizard worthy of respect. The small portrait of Headmaster Snape, on McGonagall's advice, was indeed in the Head's Office and faced the Headmistress's desk.
Harry overheard the two Headmistresses talking about it.
"Occasionally he gives very good advice--if you sift through the sarcasm. More importantly, he is my reminder not to judge by appearances. I think you'll find his company interesting."
"Actually, I already have. We have quite a bit in common, it seems."
A number of speeches were made. Harry and Hermione listened dutifully. They drank champagne for the toasts, and disregarded much of the news about the school's opening the following September, since it was not news to them.
Headmistress Rochester was introduced, and rose to make some remarks, when there was a tremendously loud "Pop!" and a tall and skeletal wizard, staff in hand, Apparated into the middle of the Great Hall.
The newcomer, in ragged grey robes, bellowed, "Not invite me, will you? I'll curse the entire proceedings! I'll--"
Shrieks of horror filled the hall.
"--It's Lord Thingy!"
"--He's back!"
"--Run for your lives!"
"Sit down!" roared Kingsley Shacklebolt. "Everyone!"
The stampede paused. A number of guests peered back through the doors. The newcomer was not Voldemort, it appeared, but--"
"John Wellington Wells!" trilled Griselda Marchbanks. "We hadn't heard from you in thirty years. We all thought you were dead!"
"Dead? No--not dead--doing research. Where the hell is Albus?" Madam Marchbanks gestured up to the huge portrait. Wells gaped at the sight.
"You poor old blighter! What have they done to you? No, don't shush me, woman! Then I find out you're having this bacchanal without me! I won't have it! Maleficarus ad---"
McGonagall rose to the occasion and transfigured an empty place at the head table beside Ginny, who blinked. "Do join us, John. We're so delighted to see you. Perhaps Miss Weasley can bring you up to date. Ginevra, this is John Wellington Wells, the longest-serving Hogwarts Governor."
"Ha!" Ragged grey robes trailing in his wake, the wizard sat down with a leer at his fair companion's cleavage. "'Now to the banquet we press--!"
Shacklebolt relaxed, declaring "--Now for the eggs and the ham!"
Lucius Malfoy sat, smiling. "--Now for the mustard and cress!"
McGonagall concluded, "Now for the strawberry jam!"
Harry and Hermione exchanged a bewildered look.
"The Sorcerer," McGonagall explained. Seeing their blank faces, she added sharply. "By Gilbert and Sullivan."
"Oh," said Hermione, blushing.
Harry was unenlightened. "Are they wizards?" He looked at the elderly Mr. Wells, who gazed back, clearly as puzzled by Harry and Harry was by him. "Who is he?"
Minerva McGonagall rolled her eyes. "You shouldn't have asked that, Harry."
"Sorry-- but--"
"You really shouldn't have asked that."
For the elderly wizard was standing up again, beaming at the guests, who were all gazing at him in anticipation--every one-- Malfoys, Ministers, Weasleys, and all. To Harry's utter confusion. he burst into song:
"My name is John Wellington Wells,
I'm a dealer in magic and spells,
In blessings and curses
And ever-filled purses,
In prophecies, witches, and knells.
If you want a proud foe to "make tracks" ?
If you'd melt a rich uncle in wax ?
You've but to look in
On the resident Djinn,
Number seventy, St. Mary Axe!
We've a first-class assortment of magic;
And for raising a posthumous shade
With effects that are comic or tragic,
There's no cheaper house in the trade.
Love-philtre ? we've quantities of it;
And for knowledge if any one burns,
We're keeping a very small prophet, a prophet
Who brings us unbounded returns:
For he can prophesy
With a wink of his eye,
Peep with security
Into futurity,
Sum up your history,
Clear up a mystery,
Humour proclivity
For a nativity ? for a nativity;
He has answers oracular,
Bogies spectacular,
Tetrapods tragical,
Mirrors so magical,
Facts astronomical,
Solemn or comical,
And, if you want it, he
Makes a reduction on taking a quantity!
Oh!--"
To Harry's creeping horror, the guests began singing along. They all seemed to know the song--even Ginny. It was an eerie thing. He had never seen so many witches and wizards at one time--smiling.
"If anyone anything lacks,
He'll find it all ready in stacks,
If he'll only look in
On the resident Djinn,
Number seventy, St. Mary Axe!
Then, if you plan it, he
Changes organity,
With an urbanity,
Full of Satanity,
Vexes humanity
With an inanity
Fatal to vanity ?
Driving your foes to the verge of insanity!
Barring tautology,
In demonology,
'Lectro-biology,
Mystic nosology,
Spirit philology,
High-class astrology,
Such is his knowledge, he
Isn't the man to require an apology!
Oh!
My name is John Wellington Wells,
I'm a dealer in magic and spells,
In blessings and curses
And ever-filled purses,
In prophecies, witches, and knells.
And if any one anything lacks,
He'll find it all ready in stacks,
If he'll only look in
On the resident Djinn,
Number seventy, St. Mary Axe!"
The song over, he settled creakily into his chair beside Ginny and asked, "So, my dear Miss Weasley, what I have missed? Who's this Lord Thingy fellow?"
Harry and Hermione left as soon as they decently could, and made their farewells brief. Mrs. Weasley was still rather green from the goat cheese, but she and Mr. Weasley were humming happily. They took Ginny home with them, but Harry begged off, telling them that he had an early morning the next day.
"My place or yours?" Harry asked Hermione, already in a better mood.
"Mine, I think."
"We could watch telly."
"We could. I need to get away from wizarding affairs for a little while. Honestly, Gilbert and Sullivan? Goat cheese? I had no idea."
"Neither did I. It's not like it's the sort of thing they ever served at Hogwarts."
"It doesn't affect me. I love it. I wonder if it's a real allergy, or some sort of taboo. Maybe Madam Hopkirk was having a psychosomatic reaction. Goat cheese is actually quite nourishing. If approached with the proper attitude--"
Just before they vanished, they clearly heard the voices of some of the other departing guests, still roaring out Wells' ridiculous song
"Oh-----
His name is John Wellington Wells,
He's a dealer in magic and spells,
In blessings and curses
And ever-filled purses,
In prophecies, witches, and knells."
"Hermione," Harry declared. "the wizarding world is just--strange."
Some remarks.
John Wellington Wells was played by the late great Sir Ralph Richardson.
Yes, Jane is the last descendant of two fictional characters who have never disappointed me. The Rochester family was ruined during the Slump after WWI, and lost the remainder of the estates and fortune to death duties after WWII.
Thanks to all who have reviewed/read. I seem to have largely exorcised my misery over DH and my general feeling of being had. If you are tired of HP, but still want a dose of British Magic, I recommend that you read Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, by Susanna Clarke.
My next chapter is tentatively titled Harry Potter and the Vanishing Headmaster.
