The staff room, with its warm mahogany finish and its royal blue upholstery, was one of Minerva McGonagall's favourite retreats.
Most of the other professors seemed to agree, she noticed. Apart from Albus, who was probably busy in his office, all of her colleagues were currently reclined in the plush armchairs around the room, as relaxed as they would ever be. Sinistra was talking cheerily to Pomona about a radio show. Severus was lurking in his usual corner with a thick potion book. Sybil was mumuring to herself, crystal ball in hand. Even Rubeus Hagrid came in today with a teapot and a basket of food.
"So, anything new?" Minerva asked the room while politely declining one of Rubeus's rock cakes, "The students haven't been giving you any trouble, I hope."
"N...Not at all," Quinius squeaked, "no trouble..." There were nods of agreement.
"Of course, I'm still stuck with more or less the same bunch of idiots," Severus complained sourly. Minerva was used to his trademark pessimism. More or less? At least it was an improvement from what he'd said last year.
"Something interesting happened in my class," said Professor Binns.
Minerva McGonagall nearly choked on her tea at this. "Did you say something, Cuthbert?" Perhaps she'd heard wrong. She didn't mean to be disrespectful, but it had been common knowledge, even when she was a student, that the phrases "Professor Binns' class" and "interesting" were never to be used in the same sentence. Even now, she still felt like calling him Professor Binns. In all these years, he hadn't changed a bit.
To her surprise, Professor Binns - Cuthbert - nodded. "I've been having the first year students read their essays in class - because I cannot turn over parchments, as you know. They were assigned to write about medieval witch burnings and common evasion practices - "
That was one of the more interesting lessons, yes, Minerva thought.
"- and then a student made a very interesting analogy. She said that muggles persecuted magic because it was powerful and poorly understood, and that was why they feared it. And then," he paused (a rare practice, Minerva thought,) "she said this was rather like how we persecute the dark arts today."
And Cuthbert paused again, because he'd rarely been subjected to the undivided attention of so many people.
Minerva pursed her lips. She wondered if the student knew what she was implying. Then she wondered if the rest of the class caught it at all. "There was an uproar after that, I'd expect?"
"Fortunately not, or I shan't know what to do... But they did look more alert by the end of the class, I think, which was a good thing."
"Was this a Slytherin student?" Pomona asked. Severus smirked from his corner
"No, a Gryffindor. Her name... no, I can't remember, sorry. I've had too many students to remember all of them."
Strange, Minerva thought. Though when she thought about it, she could see that the student had a point. "Well I suppose she could draw some parallels... We hunt down dark wizards like our lives depend on it, but we really don't know anything about it."
"And then most of the times we toss them into Azkaban, whereas the muggles simply toss people into the fire," Sinistra added thoughtfully, "but at least we give them a trial, most of the time."
True. The comparison grew more apt the longer she looked at it. What was it about the dark arts that made them so bad?
She had no idea. She'd never cared to learn about them. In Defence Against the Dark Arts they might have a chance to see incantations and their effects, but she'd never read about their theories and principles. Did the school have any books like that?
"But dark wizards are evil!" Rubeus exclaimed, "Ye can't compare them to the innocent witches an' wizards who got murdered by the muggles!"
"That's what the muggles said too," Charity, who taught muggle studies, mumbled. It was what Minerva would've confidently said yesterday as well, but now she couldn't help but wonder. What did the dark arts even constitute, exactly? Did they even agree on a definition?
"But... just look at You-know-who! And them Slytherins -"
"Excuse me?" Severus interrupted icily. Hagrid's cheeks reddened, and he quickly apologized to the Slytherin Head of House. Minerva now wondered whether safety was the reason why the Slytherins always banded together. It was common knowledge that many of their families dabbled with dark magic, but they had arranged themselves in a strong enough position so that one could only suspect, but dared not lay accusations unless they openly admitted it.
Throughout the conversation, Quinius fidgeted in his seat. It was rather silly, Minerva realized, that a roomful of professors would be debating over one small comment in a first year student's essay. The girl probably meant nothing by it in the first place.
Pomona checked the clock. "Oh dear, I really ought to be going to my next class,"
And they each left for their respective classrooms. Minerva brisk-walked toward the transfiguration corridor, fully intent on arriving before any of the students accidentally set fire to the furniture like the first year boy (his name was Seamus Finnigan, she believed) had done yesterday. As she re-immersed herself in the hassle of the day, she allowed the matter of the history essay to settle to the back of her head.
Food for thought.
"It sure is getting cold," Neville wrapped his new red-and-gold scarf tighter around his neck, shivering. "Look, all the flowers wilted. I think that's the last one, too."
Hermione glanced at the single yellowing rose adorning the drying branches. "The Apothecary's Rose," she sighed. "An exceptionally hardy flower, but even it can only last so long." Hogwarts' roses were of the same variety as the ones that once blossomed in the garden of the Slytherin castle, which was most likely in ruins by now.
Neville nodded. Hermione could see that he was making a mental note of the information. If there was anything the boy was exceptionally interested in, it was herbology. His essay on medicinal plants had been detailed enough to rival her own.
Even the fact that they were braving the biting wind and making the trek across the muddy field to greenhouse five spoke volumes to Neville's keenness. Ron had decided to skip Herbology today, opting instead for the warmth of the common room. Harry had been debating before Hermione pulled him along. From his expression, he looked as if he regretted not being more decisive.
"I bet we're going to be the only ones to show up today," he grumbled, "Professor Sprouts won't be able to teach a class with only three students."
"That's not true," Hermione told him, "Look, other people went to class as usual." A small group of first year students were heading toward them on their way back to the castle. Neville visibly blanched when he saw their green-and-silver scarves. He'd suffered a number of times at the hands of Malfoy and his cronies, who loved to ridicule him whenever they chanced to meet.
But his fears had been undeserved this time, as Malfoy was not in this group. One of the Slytherin girls, Daphne Greengrass, gave her a very slight smile as they passed. Hermione recognized her from Potions, where she'd sat next to Blaise.
Neville breathed a sigh of relief when they were out of earshot.
"See? Not everyone in Slytherin is a Draco Malfoy," Hermione whispered. They were making progress, she noted.
She'd deliberately made herself and her capabilities highly visible in Potions, knowing that anyone who would truly do well in Slytherin would see past something as petty as blood status if the benefits were great enough. Blaise Zabini was the first, and she could see that a number of the more neutral students were swaying if only due to reciprocity. Once they get used to her, she would be able to reconsolidate some of House Slytherin's teachings that had been distorted beyond recognition over time.
And meanwhile, that "dreaded" witch-burning essay for history that Blaise had been complaining about had turned into another opportunity for her. She wondered she'd made too much waves too early by demonstrating some of her views on the dark arts to the teachers. But this would be another case where she was willing to risk it. What could she say? As someone who'd still like to consider herself a dark lord it was rather difficult to convince her sense of responsibility to sit by and not do anything.
The water-bogged earth squished as they stepped through it. "Sally?" Harry asked with some hesitation.
"Yes?"
"What you said yesterday in History, about how we treat the dark arts like muggles treat magic, what exactly did you mean?"
On her left, Neville stiffened. They'd both picked up on her point and spent time considering it, Hermione noted. "I meant exactly what you think, Harry. I've been reading some historical accounts, and I noticed that we use the same words to describe dark arts as muggles had used to describe magic. We call them evil, yet we know nothing about them at all. How do we know our hatred for them is justified?"
"But the dark spells Professor Quirrell talked about were really dangerous," Harry pointed out.
"Dangerous, yes, but so are all powerful things. Any tool can be used to do good or evil, and from what I've read magic and the dark arts just seemed to be heavier machinery."
Harry looked thoughtful. She knew he was trying to reconcile this with the impression he must've gotten from Hagrid and the others, as well as the name of the course, "Defence Against the Dark Arts".
"But they can't really be the same," Neville blurted, "Magic and the dark arts?"
"Why do you say that, Neville?"
Neville shivered. "You-know-who tortured my parents with dark arts."
Ah. It would be much more difficult to change opinions on the Gryffindor front, as it would involve reasoning with very emotionally charged people. "I'm so sorry, Neville..."
She could see that Neville didn't want to discuss the topic, but that wasn't an option. The issue must be resolved some time eventually. "You-know-who committed his crimes with magic, Neville," she told him gently, "which he used shamefully. But just as not every Slytherin is like Malfoy, not every dark art user is like You-know-who. Look, I haven't been through what you've been through, but I can appreciate that it might take more strength and bravery than Gryffindor himself to keep an open mind and charge the crime to the true culprit after all that happened. Will you try though, Neville?"
An uncomfortable silence settled over them for the rest of their walk. Both boys were so deep in thought that they hadn't thought to question why she was so sure. No one said a word until they stepped through the door of Greenhouse five, appreciating the sheltered space. "I will, if they give me reason to," Neville said, quietly but determinedly.
"Thank you, Neville. I knew you would," said Hermione, glad that she had perhaps convinced one person at least. Possibly two.
But she really must put a check on the number of waves she'd make this year. Else, she had a feeling she'd probably get dragged into trouble for some reason or another rather quickly, and the whole "laying low" plan would go to hell in a hand-basket.
Funny enough, that simple plan was turning out to be somewhat more difficult than expected.
