This one took absolutely forever to drag out of my head, and I apologize profusely for the longer wait time here. It took me some time to mull over where I wanted the story to go, what repercussions Dumbledore would reasonably face, and who to bring on as professors. Adding to that, we've been making preparations for the arrival of a baby in the coming months, which included moving me out of my cozy office and stuffing my workspace into a corner of the living room.
There has been an adjustment period.
This chapter is a bit longer, and moving forward, I believe things should flow better.
Hopefully.
Chapter Ten: progress
The mood at dinner was tense, the most palpable anticipation Albus had ever witnessed hanging in the air like a fog. He had just spent the better part of two hours escorting Lucius Malfoy and a contingent of school governors through the underground chambers that had housed the Philosopher's Stone and its obstacles, parrying question after question from the Chairman as to why he had seen fit to set up such a clearly dangerous and irresponsible gauntlet.
"Why make each task solvable? Why not make them impossible and actually secure the Stone?"
"Couldn't you have just kept it in your office or in some password-protected room only you were able to access?"
"Did you have to use such a simple method of locking on the door leading to the cerberus?"
"Why all of this in the first place? Surely the Stone was perfectly safe at Gringotts."
"Why would you move it and set up such subpar security measures?"
"A guard or patrol of some sort would have at least ensured the students weren't messing about as they clearly were."
"Albus, what were you hoping to accomplish with all this?"
Lucius seemed especially unwilling to accept Albus's reasoning that he had believed that the stone would genuinely be safer at Hogwarts. Whenever Albus brought it up, Lucius would point out the numerous flaws in his security measures, the bizarrely challenging nature of his warning to the students on the first day of term, and the complete illogicality of taking the Stone from one of the most secure vaults in Gringotts—Albus's protest of the subsequent break-in fell flat at the news that most of the safeguards had been lifted after the Stone had been removed—and hiding it in a school with safety measures meant for the protection of children and not treasure.
Albus could hardly explain his ultimate goal of flushing Tom Riddle out and forcing him to show his hand, with Harry as the trump card to send him skulking away to his hiding place once more if he really was still clinging to the mortal plane. Lucius Malfoy wouldn't concern himself with the moral quandaries of such a course of action, but to hear that his former master might still have been clinging to a shred of life would surely have disastrous consequences.
All of this paled, though, in comparison to the fact that Albus had been caught off-guard. And he was wondering who had engineered it. Could it really have been Severus? Could Albus have so drastically misread the man? What was to be gained from alerting the Ministry? A distraction, while he put some distance between himself and Hogwarts?
It was certainly working.
But to what end would he have taken the Stone? As one of the most brilliant alchemists Albus had met in his life, Severus was most definitely qualified to put the Philosopher's Stone to good use. The question was his motive. Severus knew Albus was the best and surest hope of defeating Lord Voldemort for good, that only he could grasp the greater scope of what was necessary for it to come about. Albus had made a number of decisions that Severus had found utterly without reason, but the Potions master had trusted their necessity.
Albus wouldn't mind Minerva taking a leaf from his book once in a while.
For Severus to simply take the stone and leave, however, was dramatically out-of-character.
He would have to get to the bottom of this.
But first, he needed to get the Ministry off his back.
…
"Boy, Dumbledore's really stepped in it this time, hasn't he?" Tommy asked, folding the paper to peer over it at Turkish. Draped over the smoke lounge's comfiest couch with a cigarette in his mouth, Turkish looked like a filthy rich wizard's hired hand lounging on the expensive furniture between dirty jobs.
In a sense, Tommy supposed, that was exactly what both of them were. Harry had told them to make themselves at home at Grimmauld Place while he was at school, and as he was still paying them for their work (which amounted to little more than bringing in the mail and shooing tourists who still though the Potter Cottage was some photo op on their backpacking trips), they had sold off their illicit gambling den to Charlie, who was now reaping the profits and burning more sausages than ever on his brand-new grill.
"Yeah, I read that when I was having a bite earlier," Turkish said. "He's come a long way from detentions in the Forbidden Forest, hasn't he? Setting up death gauntlets and hiding the bloody Philosopher's Stone?"
"Think he'll finally lose his job over this one?" Tommy asked, and Turkish snorted.
"Nah, slap on the wrist if that," Turkish said. "Half the Board of Governors are old students of his that would sooner kiss his robes than kick him out of that office. Lucius Malfoy'll put on a show, gloat for a bit, but when the time comes to take a vote, it'll fall in Dumbledore's favor, mark my words."
"Be a lot of upset parents," Tommy said. "You reckon they'll pull the kids from Hogwarts?"
"If Professor Burbage is still signing up all the muggle-borns' parents for the Daily Prophet like she does," Turkish said. "Two weeks in and you get a special edition of the paper talking about deadly peril and all that? Ship 'em off to Beauxbatons or Australia, America… There are plenty of choices."
"Wonder how our tiny boss is handling the news," Tommy mused, and Turkish smirked, pulling the cig from his mouth and blowing a plume of smoke that billowed toward the ceiling and was whisked out the open window.
"Somehow, I reckon he's involved in all this," he observed.
"I was thinking the same thing," Tommy nodded. "He's a bit scary, you think?"
"He's our boss," Turkish said. "Long as we keep up the work he pays us for, keep being reliable, I'm not too bothered by how spooky he is."
"But he is," Tommy persisted.
"Of course he is," Turkish agreed. "Not the point, though."
"You've got mail!"
They both looked toward the computer sitting on a desk in the corner, the modern device looking almost anachronistic among the antique furniture and ancient walls. After finding out about the floonet (which allowed computers to communicate through the Floo network), Harry had eschewed all notions of owl post and declared that he would be communicating to Tommy and Turkish exclusively through email. The pair had both a desktop unit set up in Number Twelve Grimmauld Place's sitting room and a bulky laptop that they would haul around as needed. Every few days, Harry would send them a small round of instructions to take to Tuglotar or Gringotts or simply update them on the goings-on at Hogwarts.
Turkish sometimes mused that he and Tommy were basically the boy's de facto guardians, which had led to an unnecessarily long discussion about who was the mother and who was the father.
Evidently, Turkish was the mother, as he was the most involved in Harry's affairs, while Tommy was the father just along for the ride and backup.
They sure had some interesting conversations.
"What's our boy want now?" Tommy asked as Turkish took the seat at the computer. A few mouse-clicks later, Turkish snorted.
"He's asking for a suitcase," he said. "Undetectable Extension Charm, Environmental Control Enchantments…alchemy lab?"
"Enterprising young lad, ain't 'e?" Tommy asked.
"I'm sure it's just a coincidence that the Philosopher's Stone's come up missing and our man's after a portable alchemy lab," Turkish said, already clicking away. "Bloody hell, they've got a whole site just for suitcases with Undetectable Extension Charms on 'em."
"Should be easy to find one for him, won't it?" Tommy said, glancing around the room. "We should put a telly in here."
"There's one down the living room," Turkish said without looking up.
"Aye, but I like it in here," Tommy said. "It's cozy, like."
"It does have that nice big window, don't it?" Turkish asked, leaning back in the computer chair with a creak. "Well, we can certainly afford another telly."
They fell silent for a moment before a thought occurred to Tommy.
"Oi, you reckon he could take a bunch of old cans and turn 'em to gold?" he asked. "Melt them down and make a gold block or something?"
"Dunno why he'd want to," Turkish said, "unless he wanted a really ostentatious paperweight."
"If I could have a paperweight made of solid gold, you bet I would," Tommy said with a nod. "Or, hey, like a gold gun. They have those enchanted guns in America."
"And they're as illegal over here for wizards as they are for muggles," Turkish said. "Not to mention, a gun made of solid gold would be impractical."
They fell silent for a moment, Turkish quietly clicking away at the keyboard while Tommy pondered the more practical applications of a Philosopher's Stone.
"Weird kid," he said into the silence.
"…Yeah."
…
"Good morning, all, I'll thank you for tuning in to WNR, that's Wizard News Radio. I am Bedford Staunton here with you for the next three hours. It's Thursday, it's 19 September, and it's precisely noon, which means it's time for your midday news report.
"In a controversial move by the Hogwarts Board of Governors, it was announced this morning that Albus Dumbledore will not receive any sort of punishment for the recently-uncovered "Death Gauntlet" kept on the third-floor corridor of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Board member Elphias Doge had this to say of the outcome:"
"While misguided and, yes, admittedly foolish, Albus Dumbledore's actions did not lead to any loss of life or limb, and he took every measure to ensure the safety of his students from the hazards on the third-floor corridor. The fact that students chose to ignore his warnings is no fault of his, and to punish him for the disobedience of others would be unjust."
"Chairman of the Board Lucius Malfoy, however, expressed a differing opinion during an interview in his Wiltshire Manor:"
"Far from a slap on the wrist, they've opted for a stern wagging of the finger. This latest travesty only proves how dangerous the public's hero-worship of Albus Dumbledore has gotten. Were this any other headmaster, there would have been absolutely no debate and no hesitation to have him removed from his position. But because it's Albus Dumbledore, we're meant to put our blind trust in him?"
"Malfoy went on to commend Albus Dumbledore for his past services to the wizarding world—his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald and indispensable help against You-Know-Who is undeniable—but cautions the citizens of our world not to forget that he is a human being and perfectly fallible."
"We must never become so complacent in letting someone else take care of our problems that we forget to rely on ourselves, and it is crucial that we do not let anyone's past triumphs stop us from being critical of present mistakes. We've become so enamored by Albus Dumbledore and this imagined light shining off of him that we've let it blind us to his faults, which are many and can have dreadful consequences if left unchecked."
"A passionate and well-spoken sentiment from the Chairman of the Hogwarts Board of Directors. Stay with WNR as we continue to bring you the fallout of this unprecedented development."
"Who knew Lucius Malfoy had such a way with words?" George asked.
"Slytherins are either silver-tongued or monosyllabic," Fred said. "The good ones, at least."
"Not surprising Dumbledore got off, though," Daphne said, looking up from an issue of Witch Weekly. "Way too many connections."
"Couldn't Cornelius Fudge have just…fired him?" Bella asked with a shrug. "I mean, after all he did."
"None of it was technically illegal," Hermione finally spoke without even looking up from her book. "According to the letter of the law, Hogwarts and its headmaster are allowed to host up to Class-4 creatures and semi-sentient plants. The rest of the security measures were latent and only posed a danger if the students broke the rules and engaged them. The only thing Professor Dumbledore was guilty of was underestimating how foolhardy the average student is."
She gave a pointed look to Fred and George, who pretended to be quite interested in a quidditch catalogue they had been previously ignoring.
"So he got off on a technicality," Daphne said, and Hermione nodded. "Typical Dumbledore."
"I hear there are a lot of unhappy parents, though," Bella said. "One of the former headmasters shows up for poker night in that painting of the bar over the mantle. He says Dumbledore's office was flooded with withdrawal letters. He's gotten seventeen Howlers this week alone."
"And all that's pressure on Cornelius Fudge," Daphne said. "Can't have the future of the magical world electing to go elsewhere for their schooling, after all. Most of the time, they end up staying there."
"It's not a fun time to be Albus Dumbledore," Fred concluded.
"Speaking of not fun," George said with a nod toward the entrance to the boys' dormitories. Draco Malfoy was emerging with his two toadies right behind, as usual. The only difference today (and for the past several days) was the bright pink shade of his hair. Crabbe and Goyle sported similarly luridly-colored locks, Crabbe with an electric blue mop and Goyle a deep fuchsia pudding-bowl cut. They shot a trio of glares at the group near the fireplace, and Hermione saw Fred and George staring blithely back, George even wiggling his fingers in a wave.
"What ever happened with them?" Bella asked quietly.
"Nothing much at all," George said.
"We calmly explained that we would like him to leave Hermione alone – "
"And made it clear what would happen if he didn't."
"We may have left them with a little reminder of our…ultimatum."
"Perfectly reversible," George insisted.
"If you know the right charm," Fred added with a smirk.
"Is that from the infamous Weasley spellbook?" Hermione asked, and Fred winked at her.
"Oh, that reminds me," he said, reaching down by his feet and producing a flat rectangular package wrapped in bright lavender paper with a yellow bow. "Happy birthday."
"Oh!" Hermione gasped. "Fred, you didn't – "
"Yes I did," Fred said, brandishing the package at her. "Anyway, it's from both of us."
Hermione knew better than to try to out-stubborn a Weasley, so she accepted the offered present with only the smallest of pouts. Ripping the paper, she grew intrigued when she saw the leather cover of an obviously old book. There was no title, only an ornate 'W' embossed on the cover. She opened it and saw a neatly handwritten title on the inside:
The Mischief-Maker's Omnibus
"This is…?"
"Compiled by Diedrich Weasley in 1804, containing spells that go back about five-hundred years," Fred said.
"Mum was happy to get rid of it," George said.
"As if we don't already have the good ones memorized," Fred smirked.
"You two didn't have to give me a family heirloom," Hermione said, feeling a lump in throat at the touching display. She looked up to see the twins both looking a bit discomfited at her emotional display.
"It was just collecting dust on a shelf in our sitting room," Fred assured her in a mutter.
"If you'd given us more than three days' notice, we might have sprung for something else," George added with cross expression, and Hermione rolled her eyes.
"I've already apologized for not telling you my birthday sooner," she huffed. "Multiple times, I believe. I've never had friends to celebrate a birthday with before."
"Well, get used to it, gorgeous," Bella said with a wry smile, tossing a present in Hermione's direction. "It's a lip gloss collection. Just give it a try before you turn up your nose."
"Well, thank you," Hermione said, tearing the wrapping paper to see that it was indeed a collection of lip gloss in bright purple packaging declaring it to be 'The Preteen Witch's New Best Friend!'. Well…she supposed it wouldn't hurt to embrace her femininity a little more as she edged closer to her awkward teenage years. She glanced over to see if Daphne had anything for her, only to see her blonde friend had slipped away during the proceedings. "Where's – "
"I'm baaack," Daphne sang in a voice that spelled doom for Hermione. Whenever Daphne got that impish tone, it meant that some background scheme she'd been cooking up had finally come to fruition. To have that directed at her was a terrifying thing for Hermione.
"That is a big basket," George observed as Daphne resumed her seat and placed a massive wicker basket on the low table in front of the couch. From within, a low whining growl could be heard.
"Sounds like there's an ill-tempered cat in there," Hermione pointed out.
"There is!" Daphne said, sounding pleased that she had guessed correctly. She gently nudged the basket in front of Hermione with a great flourish. "Happy birthday!"
Glancing at her with an expression that had to be pure skepticism, Hermione turned her gaze to the basket, which was still filling the air with angry cat noises. With great trepidation, she reached out and flung the lid open.
Inside was the absolute most majestic creature Hermione had ever lain eyes on. Daphne's gift was a massive ginger-colored cat with a flat face, scruffy fur, and a bottlebrush tail that curled out of the basket as she raised the lid. It hopped out as soon as it was able, landing on a set of bandy legs and surveying its surroundings.
"His name is Crookshanks," Daphne announced. "You told me you always wanted a cat."
"Is that what that's supposed to be?" Fred asked quietly.
"Looks like they didn't finish inflating its face," George observed.
"I think he's handsome," Bella cooed, looking down as the cat nudged against her hand. "Oh, hello, Crookshanks!"
"You bought me a cat?" Hermione asked. "How did you get it here?"
"Owl post," Daphne said as though it were the most natural thought.
"You shipped an entire cat in the mail?" Fred asked.
"I could imagine a toad," George said.
"Maybe a kitten," Fred added.
"But this beast?" George looked down distastefully as Crookshanks butted his head against the boy's knee, making that same dissatisfied yowl as before. "Oi, shove off, cat."
"Don't be mean to him," Hermione insisted, reaching out toward the cat. "Come here, Crookshanks."
The cat padded over to her, bottlebrush tail swaying and twitching as he fixed wide yellow eyes on Hermione. He nuzzled into her hand, and Hermione looked up at Daphne with a wide grin.
"I love him."
…
Classes had been cancelled for the week, in light of the fact that two teachers had gone missing (popular theory was that Snape and Quirrell had run off with the stone and were having some wacky adventure together) and two others had resigned in protest to Albus Dumbledore's "callous disregard for the students in his care". In addition to Defense Against the Dark Arts and Potions, the school was without a professor for Muggle Studies and Arithmancy.
"Why couldn't Professor Sinistra walk out?" Fred grumbled, following in Hermione's wake as she meandered through the library. At his heels, Crookshanks prowled silently, occasionally batting a paw underneath a shelf. "Not like Astronomy is even useful."
"I just wish we didn't have to go to class at midnight," Hermione agreed. "I'm so tired every Thursday, I can barely stay awake in Transfiguration."
"That must be torture," Fred said with a grin in his voice. "Your favorite class."
"I just really respect Professor McGonagall, it feels like I should give her my full waking attention," Hermione said. "I've actually considered skipping Astronomy so I wouldn't be all groggy at least once."
"Skipping a class?" Fred asked, sounding scandalized. "Say it isn't so."
"Supposedly half the school skips History of Magic," Hermione said.
"Of course they do," Fred said. "Binns doesn't take attendance, barely even knows the students are there. And he hasn't changed his syllabus in two-hundred years, so if you care about passing the class, all you have to do is go to the Ravenclaws and figure out the weeks he gives tests and what they're on."
"Why have they never replaced him?" Hermione asked, jumping when a new voice responded to her.
"That's a logical question," Harry Potter said, rounding the end of the shelf they Hermione was perusing with an open book in his palm. "We don't ask those around here."
"Of course, how silly of me," Hermione said with a smile. "Hello, Harry."
"Happy birthday," he wished her, and Hermione's heart gave a pleasant thud at the fact that he had thought of her.
"How did you – "
"Your friend Daphne," Harry said with an amused sound. "Jumped me the other day, told me I should get you a birthday present."
"Oh," Hermione said, feeling a small pang of disappointment that he somehow hadn't intuitively known it was her birthday and gone out of his way to get her a gift. "Sorry about her."
"Don't be," Harry said with a shake of his head as he dug around in his bag. "I would have gotten you something anyway, if I knew it was your birthday."
He produced a small zip-up case and passed it to her. Unzipping it, Hermione discovered that it was filled with half a dozen CDs as well as a portable CD player and headphones.
"It's an Edison Electronics player," Harry said. "It'll work here at Hogwarts."
"Oh…Harry, wow," Hermione said, feeling a smile stretch her lips. Thumbing through the selection, she found each to be a mix CD labeled with a different genre. She'd never been a music buff—Mum and Dad were fans of classical, a style of music she found tolerable at best—and she had voiced to Harry during their library trip that she had no idea where to even start to find her own tastes.
Harry had set her up with a fine litmus test.
"Quite a spread," Fred said over her shoulder, and Hermione jumped; she'd forgotten he was there. "Are these all muggle bands?"
"They are," Harry said. "Meticulously curated, sorted by genre. Rock, Grunge, New Wave, Punk-Rock, Oldies, and Pop. Just to get you started."
"I'll have no trouble picking a favorite with such a wonderful selection," Hermione said. "Thank you, Harry."
"Whatever happened with your parents?" Harry asked with his usual tactic of abruptly changing the subject when he felt the previous one was closed. He was not one to segue. "They were ready to pull you out, weren't they?"
The day after the scandal with the Evening Prophet article, Hermione (along with most of the muggle-born population) had received a rather concerned letter from her parents demanding that she withdraw and come home to seek a safer education alternative. After a brief but intense panic attack—she still felt a stab of fear remembering the words—she had withdrawn to a corner of the Slytherin common room and written a three-page rebuttal to the letter, citing no less than seven times the fact that she had friends for the very first time ever and was not keen to leave them behind. Mum and Dad had gotten the letter later that very same day.
She was only later told that they had gotten similar correspondence from Fred, George, Daphne, and Bella.
"Oh, they saw reason eventually," Hermione said with a grin back at Fred. "I told them I wasn't a troublemaker and so had never even set foot in the third-floor corridor."
"That's good news," Harry said. "I…enjoy our library trips. I would hate to see that come to an end."
Oh…that was rather surprising. Harry Potter rather famously abhorred the company of others. To hear that she was one of the few people he could tolerate for any stretch of time was…actually flattering.
"In any case, you two seem to be on a mission, so I'll leave you to it," Harry went on. "Happy birthday. Fred, nice seeing you."
"See ya, Harry," Fred said as Harry made his way past them, pausing briefly to pat Crookshanks on the head. When he was out of sight, Fred shuddered. "He's a nice enough bloke, but he gives me the shivers. Something weird about him."
"There's something weird about you," Hermione shot back at him. "I quite like both of you, though."
"Fond of weirdness?" Fred asked as they resumed their slow stroll through the stacks of books.
"I've spent plenty of time in the company of 'normal' kids," Hermione said in lofty tones. "I found them uninspiring and unpleasant."
"Muggle children always smell like ketchup to me," Fred said with a distasteful sneer. "Ever notice that? Like ketchup and feet."
"That's disgusting."
"I know."
…
On Friday, an announcement went up on the bulletin board in every common room, and the Prefects were instructed to inform as many students as they could that Dumbledore would be giving a short speech at dinner on Saturday. Speculation ran rampant as to what it could possibly have been, though Ron had a feeling he would just be announcing the new professors.
Anything major would have been in the Prophet already, he was sure.
"I hope it's a feast," he said as he and Neville played a game of chess in the common room. "Could do for a good feast again."
"A feast just for announcing some new teachers?" Neville asked.
"Maybe a sendoff for the students that are being pulled out of school?" Ron suggested, nodding toward the fireplace. Surrounded by well-meaning Hufflepuffs (and several Ravenclaw refugees), Justin Finch-Fletchley was morosely studying the letter he'd gotten from his parents, demanding he come home immediately and brooking absolutely no denial. He wasn't the only one—half of the Ravenclaw first-years hadn't lasted the first two weeks, and plenty of students from the upper years were starting to disappear as their parents witnessed Dumbledore's recklessness and the Board of Governors' indifference.
"There's a lot of people leaving our world, aren't there?" Neville asked.
"Loads," Ron said. "Dad says if this keeps up, everything's gonna crash, and soon."
"Gran keeps telling me not to listen to the 'Ministry shills' and trust Dumbledore," Neville told him. "She's cancelled her subscription to the Daily Prophet. Again."
"She still telling you ask Dumbledore to be Sorted again?" Ron asked.
"Not in the last letter, at least," Neville said. "As if I'd want to be in Gryffindor over Hufflepuff. Everyone's really nice here."
"And the common room's right near the kitchens," Ron said. "Who wouldn't want that?"
"Oi, Ron," Gabriel Truman said, strolling up to the pair. His Prefect badge gleamed from his shirt, and he reminded Ron strongly of Percy as he made sure to puff out his chest so it was perfectly visible. Jerking his thumb over his shoulder, he gestured toward the door. "Someone to see you out there."
"Who?" Ron asked, already climbing to his feet.
"One of the new professors," Gabriel said. "I guess he wanted a word with you before he started."
"How am I already in trouble?" Ron asked, glancing back at Neville. "Save my seat?"
"I'll try, but if Susan Bones comes over, I can't say no to her," Neville said with a helpless shrug.
"Wuss," Ron shot over his shoulder as he headed for the door. Out in the corridor, the mingling aromas of the night's dinner was wafting from the kitchens, filling the air with the delectable scent of perfectly-prepared food.
But for once, Ron was distracted from thoughts of the coming meal. Because out in the corridor stood a tall, leonine man with a rugged face bearing the beginnings of a stubble, framed by long locks of graying ginger hair. He stood with his back to Ron, but when he heard the creak of the door, Arthur Weasley turned and fixed his youngest son with a wide smile.
"Ronald," he said in a rumble of a voice. "My son."
"Dad?" Ron gasped. Unable to think of what else to do, he threw himself forward and squeezed his father as tightly as he was able. The familiar scent of Dad's cologne flooded his senses as his arms wrapped him in a firm hug. A chuckle deep and warm ran through him, shaking Ron. "What are you doing here?"
"Reporting for my new job, as it were," Dad said, extricating Ron from his grip. "It seems due to some drama that I'll have no part of, Hogwarts has found itself lacking a Muggle Studies professor. Dumbledore, he dropped me a line. Probably heard of my quite famous expertise in all things muggle."
"Quite famous," Ron laughed, and Dad winked at him, still smiling widely.
"Of course, quite famous," he snickered. "How many wizards do you know that have a rubber duck collection?"
"Not enough," Ron said.
"Damn right," Dad insisted with a glance back at the common room door. "I hope I haven't pulled you from some sort of cherished childhood memory, but I didn't want you to find out that I'd be joining the staff at the feast. I thought I'd give you some forewarning so you didn't pull that ridiculous gobsmacked expression you've been known to give out."
"I have no such expression," Ron said, and Dad chuckled.
"Runs in the family, dear boy," he said. "I'm off to tell Fred and George after this. Word is, they've got a couple of lady friends. How have you been doing?"
"I have Neville," Ron shrugged.
"Nothing wrong with focusing on a good friendship," Dad insisted. "That's what Hufflepuff is about, isn't it? Making friends, forming bonds, eating food. Right up your alley, I'd say."
"Still no Gryffindor," Ron muttered, and Dad rolled his eyes.
"Do you know how much…what house you were in matters after you're done in Hogwarts?" he asked. Ron shook his head, prompting that all-knowing look only Dad could manage. "Not a whistle. There's no personality profile or…box to check off on job applications. They just don't care, Ronald. Enjoy your friendships, enjoy your education, and know that no matter what you do, so long as you graduate, your old dad is damn proud of you."
"What if I don't graduate?" Ron asked with a small smile.
"Well," Dad said with another wink, "there's more to life than grades, isn't there?"
Dad stuck around to talk for a short while, sending Ron back to his common room not long before curfew. Slipping past a chattering Neville and Susan (who Ron wasn't too terribly upset to see had taken over his chair), Ron made his way to the first-year dormitory and climbed into bed.
Staring up at his four-poster's hangings, he couldn't help but feel lighter than ever after his talk with Dad. Mum was…well, Mum was alright, but it was painfully obvious that she had been waiting for Ginny—for a daughter—for many years. The moment she'd gotten that coveted girl in the family, her sons had rather taken a backseat in her mind, even if she would never admit it. Dad had picked up the parental slack, had happily paid out all the attention and emotional support his sons had needed and lacked from their mother.
It was no surprise that the Weasley boys unequivocally preferred their father.
He hadn't missed the implication that he'd been Dad's first visit among his sons. It wasn't in Dad to play favorites or be so unfeeling as to rank his sons (that behavior was best left to Mum), but it still felt nice to know he'd merited the first stop.
Dad as a professor. It was a strange thing to imagine, but Muggle Studies suited him perfectly. Ron knew one thing for certain. When third year rolled around, he would definitely be taking the class.
…
Fred had never seen the Great Hall so empty during a feast, except maybe during Christmas and Easter, when a lot Hogwarts students went home to their families. It wasn't even Halloween yet, however, and there were noticeably large sections of empty seats at the house tables. The Ravenclaw table looked positively abandoned; indeed several of their number had simply migrated to the Hufflepuff table to sit with the friends they had made while unable to access their common room.
"Bit sad, innit?" he asked George, who shook his head.
"Tragic," he agreed. "Least we get Dad as a teacher, that's alright."
"Oh, don't try to play it off all cool," Daphne smirked.
"Like you two weren't grinning from ear to ear when you came back earlier," Hermione said with a smile up at Fred. "I think it's rather sweet you're so close to your dad."
"Oi, it's not 'sweet'," Fred insisted.
"We're tough and rugged men," George agreed.
"We just respect our father because he's very manly and…"
"Tough," George finished for Fred, who felt his ears heating up at the smile Hermione was giving him.
"You two are adorable," she said fondly. Fred was sure his ears would melt off over how warm they seemed. Seemingly oblivious to the effect she was having on him, Hermione glanced toward the staff table as the teachers filed out of the room behind it, having probably just finished some last-minute powwow over the proceedings.
"Oh, there they are," she said. They all craned to get a look, as did nearly all the other students present. Fred saw Dad, who gave the assembly a cheery wave. Behind him were three others, two of whom Fred recognized.
"Is that Amelia Bones?" George said in his ear. Directly behind Dad, a woman with a powerful square jaw and flowing copper-colored hair was surveying the students with a critical eye.
"Sure is," Fred said.
"Bones?" Hermione asked. "Like Susan Bones, from Hufflepuff?"
"That's her aunt," Daphne said. "And also the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. When Fudge resigns or gets sacked, she's pretty much a shoe-in for Minister."
"Which is bad news for the one behind her," George said. "Blimey, Bones and Umbridge, coworkers to the end."
"Oh, ew, I didn't notice her," Bella said with a sneer. "Dolores Umbridge."
Fred could tell Hermione was getting a little frustrated at how many names were being thrown around that she didn't know. Clearly, though she'd brushed up extensively on the culture and history of the wizarding world, she was a little spotty on modern politics.
"Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic," he told her. "Pretty much the second-most-powerful position in the Ministry. If Cornelius Fudge is top of the food chain, she's the bird that picks bugs and stuff off his fur."
"Charming," Hermione said. Dolores Umbridge was short and squat and reminded Fred unfavorably of the old pictures he'd seen of Aunt Muriel when she had been merely old instead of ancient. Dressed in a relentlessly pink outfit complete with a mauve cardigan and even a pink boater with a black bow in it, Fred imagined she smelled strongly of old flower-scented perfume. There was a smile on her face, but it gave him shivers to look at.
"Who's that last woman?" Daphne asked. "I've never seen her before."
"Neither have I," Fred said while George shook his head.
"She looks…vaguely familiar, but I've no idea where from," Bella admitted.
The stranger had sleek, straight brown hair that spilled over her shoulders and pale skin like a doll's. Even from a distance, Fred could tell that she was the sort of classy, good-looking older woman plenty of students would fancy.
George was certainly already drooling over her.
"Not bad-looking, though, is she?" he asked, and Fred only snorted.
All of the new staff members took their seats, and Fred immediately noticed Amelia Bones striking up a conversation with Dad. The two seemed to be friendly with each other—which rang true to what Fred remembered from the various anecdotes Dad brought home from the office—as Dad gave a little chuckle and shook his head at something Amelia had said. The unknown woman sat next to Professor McGonagall and chattered at her (it seemed to be a one-sided conversation, though only because Professor McGonagall was happy just to listen and not snubbing the woman) while Dolores Umbridge sat primly next to Professor Flitwick and proceeded to ignore him.
Professor Flitwick didn't appear upset by this treatment and even looked relieved not to have to engage with her.
Professor Dumbledore then rounded the table to stand at his podium, raising a hand to call for silence.
"Thank you all for coming tonight," he said. "After I give a few short announcements, we will be serving a Welcome Feast in order to greet our four new professors to Hogwarts."
A pleased mutter went among the students. Another feast? So soon after the start of term? Fred was looking forward to some more of that pumpkin and cream cheese pie they had served before.
"First, as I'm sure you've noticed, there has been no small amount of controversy over decisions made regarding the third-floor corridor on the right side," Professor Dumbledore said. "Let me assure you, the safety of our students has always been the utmost priority to Hogwarts School."
A murmur ran through the room at that statement, and it was apparent that several present did not believe that statement, no matter how earnestly it had been delivered.
"Next, due to circumstances outside of our control here at Hogwarts, several staff members have needed to be replaced," the headmaster went on. "Rest assured, we have selected only the finest candidates, and your education is in good hands. Allow me to introduce:"
"Professor Dolores Umbridge, who will be taking over as your Arithmancy professor."
A polite smattering of applause greeted this introduction, and Professor Umbridge inclined her head in a cordial greeting.
"Professor Amelia Bones, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor."
A slightly more enthusiastic welcome greeted Madame Bones, who raised her hand in a subdued wave and even smiled at her future pupils.
"Professor Andromeda Tonks, who has kindly agreed to take over Potions."
A raucous round of applause went up, and Andromeda Tonks visibly snickered at the fact that most of it was from the male population of the school.
"Ooooh," Daphne said quietly. "That's Draco Malfoy's aunt."
"But she seems so nice," Hermione said.
"Estranged aunt," Daphne corrected herself.
"That makes more sense," Hermione nodded.
"And finally, Professor Arthur Weasley, who will be teaching Muggle Studies for the foreseeable future."
Not quite as enthusiastic as Andromeda Tonks's greeting, a roaring of applause still greeted Dad, who had a winning smile on his face as he raised a hand in a polite greeting.
"Your dad's a bit of a looker, isn't he?" Daphne pointed out.
"I don't ever want to hear you say that again," Fred insisted.
…
Albus was not having the ideal week.
For starters, he hadn't managed to locate replacements for all of the teaching positions in Hogwarts within the time allotted by the Ministry, allowing Cornelius to interfere with his staffing choices. Arthur and Andromeda were exactly the sort of professors he preferred, with their utter disinterest in politics and general trust in his methods.
Amelia Bones—while competent and sure to bring plenty to the role of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor—was politically savvy, opinionated, and worst of all in a position to make things quite difficult for him should she investigate her new place of employment. Albus was sure that that was the Minister's intention, in fact.
Dolores Umbridge was quite simply the worst sort of person to entrust with the care of children in any capacity. At the very least, she could likely do little harm teaching Arithmancy.
In addition to his staffing woes, however, Albus was also dealing with more mess associated with Harry Potter, who was proving bound and determined to trouble him at least once a week.
Harry, it seemed, was attempting to expand his assets, and while Albus wasn't privy to the finer details, it was apparent that he had discovered his association with the Sleekeazy Haircare Corporation and was now expanding his investment portfolio. In addition to his now controlling interest in his grandfather's company, he had bought shares in Nimbus Broom Manufacturing, and now it looked like he had his sights set on America's bustling magical economy. One of their flying car makers had already had shares bought up by him, and he was using all of that revenue to attempt to purchase a home in one of the flying cities across the pond.
The only snag that he was about to run into was his lack of a passport or green card, meaning he was unable to set foot on foreign soil magic or muggle. And while Harry's duly-appointed regents could spend his money on whatever he deemed suitable, actual legal matters were still in the wheelhouse of his guardians, the Dursleys. This was good news for Albus, as they were effectively a blockade, keeping Harry from venturing out of Albus's carefully-crafted influence over his development.
There was simply the matter of explaining this to Harry.
And amidst all of this insanity (Cornelius had even spoken of an investigation into last year's incident with Patricia Rakepick), to have to once again call Harry to his office and explain yet another thing he could not do was not Albus's idea of an enjoyable time.
At the very least, this would likely be the last of Harry's attempts to buck control. The law was the law, and that was that.
Even Harry would have to see sense eventually.
Arthur Weasley is a lot of fun to write. While most characters just coalesce in my head, I adapted Arthur directly from the mannerisms and speech patterns of Bill Nighy's portrayal of James Lake in the 2013 film, About Time. It seemed too perfect a match in my head and simply would not leave once the association was made.
Feedback is always appreciated.