Daria Ravenclaw: The Year of the Owl. Chapter 29: First Teacher-Student Conference
DISCLAIMER: Daria is the creation of Glen Eichler and is the property of MTV Viacom. Harry Potter is the creation of JK Rowling and is the property of JK Rowling, Wizarding World, and Warner Brothers. I own neither franchise, and neither expect nor deserve any financial compensation for this work of fiction. I am writing solely for my own amusement
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Daria Ravenclaw: The Year of the Owl* Daria Ravenclaw: The Year of the Owl* Daria Ravenclaw: The Year of the Owl
(Flitwick's POV)
Professor Flitwick opened the next folder on his desk and read the parchment of the next student he was going to interview.
Daria Lynn Morgendorffer. Born April 9th, 1979 in Austin, Texas, USA
Age: Eleven years
Parents: Helen Barksdale Morgendorffer, Muggle
Jacob Morgendorffer, Muggle
Education: Completed sixth grade
The file included a photograph, an unmoving Muggle-style image. The girl was gazing at the photographer in disapproval.
The form did not include more useful information. Flitwick wished it did. Through contacts with Muggle-born former Hogwarts students and their kin, he'd learned that Muggle schools often had files that listed such data as medical conditions, previous education, and places of residence as well as academic scores. He'd come to the conclusion that Hogwarts ought to have such things and had joined Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout in pleading that such information be recorded, even if it meant that the school might need to hire additional staff, but Dumbledore had rebuffed his request.
The girl should be here soon, he mused. His musing ended with a soft knock on the door.
"Come in," he said, and the girl entered.
"Good morning, Professor," said the girl, a little nervous but polite.
"Good morning, Miss Morgendorffer," he replied, "please take a seat."
The girl sat down in the chair in front of his desk.
"How are you enjoying your first week at Hogwarts?" he asked.
"It's interesting," said the girl. "And quite a change from my old school."
"You went to school with other children?" said Professor Flitwick.
"Yes, Sir," said the girl. "A Mundane public school."
Ah, the current North American wizarding term for Muggle, he thought.
She stopped for a moment and looked thoughtful. "Your pardon, Sir, I don't think that properly translates," she continued. "A government-operated day school."
"And the rest of the students were Muggles?" said Professor Flitwick.
"Actually no," said the girl. "A lot of the magical kids around Highland put in a couple of years at public schools before they go off to Ilvermorny or someplace else."
Neither of them said anything. He used the time to look her over. The girl was short, under five feet. She had pale skin and long auburn hair. Her spectacles covered a pair of gray eyes. She was looking at him as if trying to make up her mind about what she thought of him.
His years of dueling, followed by years of teaching had taught to read body-language as well as facial expressions. The girl was tense, but it was the sort of tension common to first-years conferring with their Head of House for the first time.
The girl's speech, physical appearance, and body language were a mass of contradictions. By her appearance, the girl was clearly a Barksdale: a fecund family of wizards and witches that had been trying for many decades to advance to the uppermost tiers of British wizarding society yet always falling short. Her posture was more relaxed than a typical Barksdale; it lacked the typical Barksdale social climber's tension. Most Barksdales wanted to be seen as high-status wizards and witches; this girl, by contrast, didn't seem to give a rap.
Then there were the eyes. They were an interesting gray color that seldom appeared outside those of the oldest and most powerful families of Magical Britain.
He decided to ask her more questions.
"Are there a lot of wizarding children in your town?" he said.
"Yes and no," said the girl. "I suspect that Highland and the surrounding area has more witches and wizards than most parts of west Texas, but I don't know how that compares to wizarding areas back East or here in Britain. Besides, there aren't all that many people out in west Texas anyway."
"Have you always known that you were a witch?" he asked.
"At a conscious level, no," said the girl. "I didn't wise up until last November when I blew a hole in my bedroom wall with a wand I'd bought at a flea market."
Her story made him smile. Her story was uncommon but not unknown. "Did the other children in your town know that you were a witch?" he asked.
"A couple of girls at my old school knew that I was a witch for years," said Daria. "So did a nasty Muggle neighbor girl who used to live across the street."
"Did that girl ever see you perform magic?" he asked.
"She never saw me perform any magic, but she was walking along a street where I tossed a rattlesnake that was getting ready to bite my little sister."
"You weren't trying to throw it at her, were you?" he said.
"I wasn't aiming at her or anybody," said the girl, a trace of resentment in her voice. "That snake was getting ready to strike Ronnie and I wanted it far away. It was my bad luck that it landed so close to where she was walking."
"So tell me about your parents," he said.
"Well, my Mom and Dad married about nine years before I was born. My Mom was the daughter of a society lady in Virginia while my Dad was the son of a military veteran. They met in college, married, moved to a commune, then my Mom went to law school. She's now a trial attorney in Texas while my dad is a senior manager at a wholesale distributor's.
"Do either of your parents come from Wizarding backgrounds?" he asked.
"My Mom is what people in the US call a "Wild Squib," but neither my Mom nor my Dad are involved in the magical world," said the girl.
"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" he asked.
"I have two sisters, Quinn and Veronica," said the girl. "Both of them are younger than I am."
"Does your younger sister Quinn have gray eyes like yours?" he asked.
"Nope," said the girl. "They're brown. So are Ronnie's."
Something told him that the girl's background was dodgy, he thought. There were a lot of little details that weren't adding up, even for a Muggle-born witch born of a disowned Squib parent. He'd have to think about them later.
"So how do you find living at sharing a room with four other girls?" he asked.
"It's a little crowded but I think I can deal with it," she said.
"Have you ever shared a room with other girls before?" he asked.
"I spent several years sharing a bedroom with my younger sister Quinn," the girl replied. "Quinn and I are different people, but we managed."
"Miss Willoughby said that one of the girls in your room moved out," he said.
"She did," said the girl.
An ambiguous answer, he thought. This girl might have made a fine Slytherin. He wondered why she was sorted into his House and not into the House of the Serpents. But then again so very few Muggle-born wizards and witches were sorted into Slytherin these days.
"I don't know what Marietta's reasons are," said the girl, "but I wasn't getting along with her. Marietta is an old friend of Cho's, so her changing rooms doesn't bother me that much. Besides, I like Majda better, at least if we don't re-create the Pole versus Jew thing."
"The Pole versus Jew thing?" he asked.
"My Dad is Jewish, Majda's folks were originally Polish and probably Catholic. They did not get along in the old country," she replied.
More information about the Muggle world he was unaware of, he realized.
"Are both of your parents Jewish?" he asked.
"My father is, my mom's more like a lapsed Methodist," said the girl. "I'm not much of anything."
From his experience with earlier Ravenclaws, Professor Flitwick knew that Methodism was a Christian sect, although he didn't understand the details. Despite the fact that there was still so much about British Muggle society that he didn't understand and that he knew even less about the American Muggle world, he made a decision: this girl probably wasn't a Pure Blood supremacist. He might be wrong, but he could wait to find out later.
"What do you plan to study while you're here, Miss Morgendorffer?" he asked.
"Right now I'm content to take the core studies," the girl replied. "The only thing I do know for sure right now is that I want to get a grip on my magic. I'm told that causing Obscurials is a real bad thing."
Professor Flitwick smiled. He decided that he might enjoy Miss Morgendorffer's deadpan humor.
"I know this is far too early to ask," he said, "but do you have any plans for what you want to do after you graduate from Hogwarts?"
"I plan to go back to—Muggle school, get my GED, then go to college and become a writer," said the girl.
It was clear that this girl was one of those Muggle-born students who still planned to keep a place in the Muggle world. Flitwick wondered if the girl would still be of the same mind six years from now.
-(((O-O)))-
(Daria's POV)
Daria looked at her pocket-watch. It was time. She knocked softly on the Professor's door.
"Come in," he said.
"Good morning, Miss Morgendorffer," said Professor Flitwick, "please take a seat."
She sat down in the chair in front of his desk. This was the first time she'd actually gotten to talk to him for more than a few moments during or after class. He sounded like he was glad to see her. Maybe he was, she thought. It was an unfamiliar thought but a very pleasant one.
She was again struck by the professor's appearance. Professor Flitwick wasn't just short, but tiny, with sharp features and mutton-chop whiskers. He looked a lot like a garden gnome turned academic, despite what she suspected were his goblin features.
"How are you enjoying your first week at Hogwarts?" he asked.
"It's interesting," she told him, "And quite a change from my old school."
And it was. She actually was enjoying it, except for the school's confusing layout. The school codes were tighter and more structured than Highland, but it looked like most of the kids were there to learn.
His questions about her earlier education gave her food for thought. How were British wizarding children educated? Most of the wizarding children she'd met back in Highland had put in time at the public schools and she'd assumed that was the case everywhere. It looked like she was probably wrong.
He was amused to hear the story about her flea market wand, but not cruelly or condescendingly amused, which earned him more points in his favor. He also showed an interest in her family and what her parents did for a living, even though she doubted that he'd ever teach Quinn or Veronica, let alone meet them.
His questions about her dorm were also revealing. Was there something more to Edgecombe's desire to swap rooms? She knew that she and Edgecombe didn't like each other that much, but was Edgecombe's action symptomatic of something else? She didn't know.
He seemed a bit baffled by her brief discourse about her and Majda. She was beginning to suspect that if she knew next to zilch about wizarding history and culture, all too many wizards and witches knew as little or less about Muggle society.
This did not strike her as a good thing. As Mrs. Wise had said once or twice about some Highlander's provincialism, these people might need to get out more often.
Still, she was coming to believe that she could like and trust this…well, she wasn't sure she could call him a man, she could trust this guy.
Her head started feeling strange. It was something that had occurred when she was much younger, but it was stronger here than it had ever been back in the US.
"Do you have any questions, Miss Morgendorffer?" he asked.
His walls weren't just covered with bookshelves, there were also a couple of framed documents hanging on the walls. Something told her that they might be something more than his teaching certificate or some Wizarding award for academic achievement
"Yes, sir," said Daria. "Pardon my curiosity, but what are those two documents over there?"
"My dueling awards," Professor Flitwick replied. "I used to be a professional duelist before I turned to teaching. I I was a three-time winner in the All-European Wizarding Duelists' Competition. I made it to the finals a few other times.
A nice guy, competent, and a bad-ass, thought Daria. I'm impressed. Despite the fact that she wanted so much to believe him and that she thought that he was telling the truth, she told herself to research his claim.
The thought of studying under someone like the British Wizarding World's equivalent of Yoda pleased her, although she hoped that Professor Flitwick wouldn't make her do the sort of physical training that Yoda put his apprentices through.
That thing in her head was still there. To her dismay, it was even stronger than before. It wasn't a headache; it was like there was something inside her, something inside her head, something that wanted to come out, something that wanted to come out bad.
Professor Flitwick saw her expression and body language and looked concerned.
"Miss Morgendorffer, are you all right?" he said.
Daria glanced back at him, feeling embarrassed. "I'm not sure, sir," she replied.
"Can you stand?" he said. "Should I send for Madam Pomfrey?"
Then it happened. She felt her jaw drop and felther lungs take a deep breath and then—
Dang!
-(((O-O)))—
She came back to herself a little later. She felt better, although she felt embarrassed by her temporary loss of control. Whatever-it-was had cleared up, she wasn't making faces, but she suspected that something had just happened and that some time had just passed. How much?
"Your pardon, Professor, what just happened?" she said. "I hope I didn't start cussing or anything. If I did, I apologize." Please, God, please don't let it be something like Tourette's syndrome, she told herself.
To her surprise, Professor Flitwick didn't look like he needed to call in Madam Pomfrey. As a matter of fact, he looked a little awed. "Miss Morgendorffer, you just prophesied," he said.
"Oh, boy," Daria replied with a lack of enthusiasm.
-(((O-O)))—
Author's note: Daria's prophecy would have made Britain's Ministry of Defense very unhappy. She unintentionally gave away the start of the air war against Saddam Hussein's Iraq during 1990's Operation Desert Storm. However, since only she and Professor Flitwick were present in his office when she made the prophecy, and since Professor Flitwick doesn't pay close attention to Muggle affairs, no harm was done to Her Majesty's armed forces.