THE SUBSTITUTE, Chapter Three
**
"Crikey," Steve Irwin said again, and Minerva supposed she couldn't blame him. If you didn't grow up immersed in the wizarding culture, it would be rather overwhelming; she'd seen it time and again among her Muggle-born Gryffindors.
There were differences, of course. In the students' case, they mostly stayed quiet until they got into the swing of things. Steve Irwin, however, seemed determined to jump in feet-first.
"A snack?" he was saying now to dumpy little pink-smocked Chloë Ipswich, who ran the Hogwarts Express concession cart. "Don't mind if I do. Minerva, can I treat you to anything?"
He was already out of his seat and over by the pushcart, closely examining a box of Chocolate Frogs. Minerva hesitated, then shrugged.
"A small gillywater, please, Chloë," she requested. "And whatever Mr. Irwin would like. You may bill the school."
Irwin poked through the assortment of sweets, finally buying a bottle of butterbeer and – with an intent look of curiosity on his face – a pair of Frogs. As Chloë backed the cart out of their car and into the corridor, Minerva uncapped the gardenia-fragrant gillywater, took a sip, and watched him unwrap one of them. It hesitated – they were all the same, Chocolate Frogs – croaked once, and made its customary curious mechanical leap out of the box. Irwin, though obviously startled, caught it with a deft, instinctive grab and returned it gently to his palm.
"Blimey," he muttered, lowering his face until he and the Frog were eyeball-to eyeball. "It moves." A quick assessing glance in Minerva's direction. "Is it alive?"
"Just an enchantment," she assured him, watching with thinly disguised amusement as he turned his disbelieving gaze back to the little chocolate animal in his palm. "The students like to eat them while they're still wriggling, little barbarians that they are. Yours is losing its steam, though – see? If you don't eat it soon, it'll start to melt."
"Oi. Wicked."
His next move came as a surprise to Minerva; rather than eating it, he tipped the weakening Frog gently back into its box and grinned self-deprecatingly at her, the beginnings of a flush riding his cheeks. "Can't do it to the little tyke," he explained. "Once I've seen it move, I can't think of it as food. Not much of a sushi eater, either."
Setting the Frogs aside, he uncapped a bottle of butterbeer with a twist of his wrist. Minerva caught a quick glimpse of gold on his left hand.
"You have a family, Mr. Irwin?" she inquired. He nodded.
"Got a dog, a wife, and a baby girl. Pretty much in that order." He took a cautious sip of the butterbeer, hummed in half-startled approval, and took another swig. "We own the Australia Zoo, Terri and I. She stayed behind with Suey – that's the dog – and Bindi – that's the baby – to keep the place running." He patted the python case on the seat next to him. "Brought my mate Bondo here to remind me of home. Would've brought Terri, too – mostly we go everywhere together – but we've cut back on travelling a bit, now that me dad's retired. Besides, we do lots of crocodile rescues around Queensland, and somebody's got to keep the team together."
"It must be difficult to leave them," Minerva commented. Irwin shrugged.
"Not like I'm really leaving," he said. "Albus said something about travelling by fire? We're having a fireplace installed; soon as the mortar's dry, he says I'll be able to pop back home a couple of times a week. Getting all kinds of flak over the fireplace, of course. Not like you can explain that sort of thing to the blokes, now, is it?"
He's hooking up to the Floo Network? No wonder Fudge had his knickers in a knot.
"I suppose not," Minerva said politely, and lapsed into silence. Across from her, Irwin took out his Newt Scamander text and opened it to a dog-eared page near the middle.
"Interesting stuff here," he said at length. "Have to admit that I didn't believe half of it until I saw you shrink that trunk. Now, I'm having to rethink things a bit." He withdrew a stack of tea-stained parchment from the inside back cover of the book and shuffled through it. Minerva recognised Hagrid's handwriting on the pages.
"The curriculum, I presume?" she asked.
"Something like that. Bit spotty in places." He frowned and rifled through the textbook again. "He's got a ton of notes about some kind of animal called a Skrewt, which isn't even in the book. S'posed to be raising 'em with the fourth-years. Know anything about that?"
Minerva shuddered.
"Yes," she said shortly. "Avoid them at all costs. The Skrewts, that is, not the fourth-years."
Irwin perked up. "Dangerous, are they?"
"Rather." Minerva finished her gillywater and absently Transfigured the empty bottle into a sparrow finch – then, as she caught the hungry look in Bondo's yellow eyes through the side of his carrier, into a potted geranium. "But then, the word is that you specialise in that sort of thing."
He flushed with pleasure. "All my life. Always been a bit of a thrill-seeker, ever since I was a little tyke." He patted the python bag again. "But it's more than that, 'specially with the crocs. I'm out to help them. I'm a conservationist."
His earnestly homely face, combined with what was obvious sincerity and that ludicrous, ludicrous accent, made for an oddly appealing package. He's like a cartoon of himself, Minerva thought – and then, in the next breath: oh, Severus is going to loathe him.
It really didn't bear thinking about.
**
The walk up from Hogsmeade was a nightmare.
If she'd thought he was fidgety before, on the train! Minerva watched, alarmed, as her companion went down on his knees on the path, next to a half-rotten log.
"Fascinating," he murmured, rolling the log over and inspecting the resident wildlife underneath it with what she was beginning to accept as his customary sangfroid. "'Ello there, mates. Nice little ecosystem you've got yourselves here, what? Getting ready for summer?" He beamed up at Minerva. "Never been here in the spring before. Though we did do a bit of a piece on badgers once, one summer. Beautiful place."
"Yes, well. The grounds are quite lovely," Minerva said tightly. "Once we get to them."
Irwin didn't take the hint. He had grasped a slender green snake by the tail and was winding it carelessly round his wrist, despite its intent efforts to bite him.
"G'day, mate," he murmured. "Out a little early this year, aren't you? Little garden snake, that's all you are – that's right, you're beautiful."
The snake hissed. Minerva sighed.
"Professor Irwin," she said. "I don't wish to hurry you, but we're rapidly approaching the dinner hour, and Albus wished to introduce you to the students tonight while they're all gathered together. There'll be ample time for you to explore the grounds later."
"Sorry," he said, carefully setting down the irritated snake and gently rolling the log back to its original position. "I get a little carried away. Just kick me a sharp one if I start to babble."
Minerva, though tempted, declined.
But then they were through the gates, and the path crested – there, there was the castle, as big and grand as a sleeping stone dragon, with the grounds spread out in a long slow slope on either side. The lake shimmered as though afire in the setting sun; as they approached the castle, a dark shape bobbed to the surface of the water and extended a friendly tentacle in their direction.
Steve Irwin stopped in his tracks.
"What's that?" he asked, and Minerva shut her eyes as if in pain.
"It's the guardian of the lake," she said shortly. "The Giant Squid. Very ancient, very powerful, very valua—Professor?"
He had unhooked the python carrier from his shoulder and set it down in the path. Now, he was walking toward the lake.
"Professor? Professor!" Minerva raised her voice. "Professor, dinner begins in twenty minutes! There are merpeople in that lake, and they're not friendly! Do you hear me?"
A splash was her only answer.
This couldn't possibly get worse, she thought, then could have kicked herself for even thinking that when a familiar voice floated over her shoulder.
"Have a nice Saturday, Minerva?"
A highly amused Severus Snape was standing behind her.
**