Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any member of the Harry Potter universe. They belong to the estimable JK Rowling and I am infinitely grateful for her letting us borrow them to play with a bit.
Chapter Eleven: No Knot Unties Itself
Zivra groaned, burying her face in her arms. Why now? Why here? Why oh why did Dumbledore insist on her teaching this subject? There had to be a way to get around it. Some loophole in his instructions that she could slip through and so teach something else entirely. She leafed through her notes, grabbing a random book from her floor and desperately searching for a phrase that sounded like her orders.
Nothing.
She checked her Minor Histories of Inconsequential Beasts. Perhaps she could get away with teaching the Great Louse Wars of September 8, 1873- September 15, 1873 that had lasted for fourteen entire louse generations. Somehow, she doubted it.
Or shelving units. That was it, an entire week's worth of lessons based on shelving units around the home. Perfect. But not.
Maybe the underground black-market trade in mouse pelts? A big 'X' across that one as well.
There was nothing else for it, she was actually going to have to teach what Dumbledore wanted. Durmstrang had never required such an abominable subject, it wasn't on the history NEWTs- although it might be on the Care of Magical Creatures one. But at Hogwarts, it was apparently required anyway. The history of house elves.
She nearly cried at the thought. She hated house elves.
This was no passing temper either, she wasn't prone to those. She detested house elves, the whole lot of them. She was nauseated by the idea that they cooked her meals and refused them access to her chambers, preferring rather to clean them herself- which was part of the reason they were in such a constant state of untidiness. But rather that than thought of one of those creatures wandering about her private quarters causing Merlin only knew what damage. They were a necessary evil in buildings like the one she was in, but she still avoided them unless she had absolutely no other choice.
She swallowed hard. She couldn't do it. Surely if she told Dumbledore her reasons, he would understand. Yes, she would calmly approach him and explain… well, nix the calmly, that was impossible whenever this particular subject came up, but she could explain in slight hysterics. She could feel her breathing coming faster already. That would be great, hyperventilating in her own quarters, no one around to rescue her. She forced herself to take long deep breaths. The tears prickling the backs of her eyelids weren't helping. Why did it always have to be this way? Would it never stop?
She sighed and put quill to parchment, if she was going to do this, she might as well do it right. No would blame her for presenting a biased history.
Hermione blinked a couple of times. Then she blinked again. She stared at the parchment where she had mechanically been taking notes. Nope, it was still there, in black and beige, the undeniable proof that house elves were the cause of every major catastrophe from the fall of Rome to the JFK assassination to the reason why cranberry juice could not be found in France.
Who knew?
She shook her head. No, this couldn't be right. It had to be wrong, fiction, created by evil monsters. And her poor professor had been duped into believing it. She raised her hand; she was but the first of many.
"Yes Mr. Goyle?" Professor Callistas had not been at Hogwarts long enough to be shocked by this, but the remainder of the class certainly was. In their memory, Gregory Goyle had never raised his hand to ask a question. "Why would the house elves mastermind the Holocaust? They didn't have a reason… did they?"
"You wouldn't think so, no. Ms. Bones?"
"I don't understand, how did they manage to cause the Boer War without alerting any Muggles or wizards as to what they were doing?"
"Oh, they're crafty little creatures, I'll give them that. Ms Granger?"
"How could house elves do any of this when they're bound to a certain wizarding family?"
"I'm afraid you're not giving them their due Ms Granger. Was there something else Ms Granger?"
"Where is the proof of any of this?"
"I think if you'll check your course syllabus, there are many reputable books that cover these exact subjects. Mr. McMillan?"
Hermione quit listening. Her history of magic professor was nuts. Officially, undeniably, call out the men in white coats and get a straight-jacket because you're not sane anymore, nuts.
And she had seemed to be doing so well too. No trying to kill Harry or practicing unforgivables on the associated student body. Not a ministry sycophant. Hermione sighed. Why couldn't they have a normal teacher for once?
Out of morbid curiosity, she checked the syllabus; she would stake her life that none of these books had been on there before today, and for very good reason. The additions were ludicrous. Surely, an established academic would not be getting her information from Elvis went HOME… and other PHENOMENON the MINISTRY doesn't want YOU to KNOW about. Hermione shuddered at the random gratuitous use of capitals.
When class was dismissed, Hermione immediately went to McGonagall's office. If a member of staff was going to teach such vicious lies, then someone needed to know about it. Hermione sat in the proffered chair before beginning, "Professor, I think there's something wrong with Professor Callistas."
She was met with, "What on earth are you talking about?"
So Hermione told her, leaving out nothing. She even showed her the diagram Professor Callistas had had them copy down- complete with fangs, beady red eyes and a machete. By the end, Hermione was shaking all the way to the tip of her SPEW badge.
McGonagall's face showed no reaction to the young girls' words. "Ms. Granger, are you sure of this?" Hermione nodded vehemently. "I shall take this up with the Headmaster, don't you worry." She held out a hand and Hermione gave her Head of House her notes.
"Professor?" she asked as she left.
"Yes Ms. Granger?"
"It's not… it's not true is it?"
"What do you think Ms. Granger?"
Hermione stared at McGonagall for a long moment before shaking her head. "It can't be."
"Sometimes, our own beliefs are our best proof. Have a good day Ms. Granger."
Hermione left, but unease had already settled in the pit of her stomach. And she had a feeling it would not be going away anytime soon.
"Albus, have you any idea of what tripe that new history professor of yours has been unloading on the sixth years?"
"Well no, Minerva, not being a sixth year myself, I'd rather think I haven't."
She rolled her eyes. "You know exactly what I mean."
"And what exactly is your meaning?"
"This!" She shoved the parchment she was carrying under his nose. "This rotten excuse for academia she's been preaching about house elves."
Dumbledore examined the parchment for a while before replying. "I see she's left off the Gujarati text, it is quite informative on this subject."
"Albus!"
"What? You and I are both perfectly aware that there are varied opinions about the nature of house elves. Simply because Zivra's views are a bit to the side of the mainstream…"
"A bit?" Minerva riffled through the papers to the diagram. She stabbed a long finger down onto it. "He's holding a machete for Merlin's sake!"
She saw the twinkle in his eyes as he answered, "I rather thought it was a meat cleaver, a rather common instrument for a house elf working in the gardens." She spluttered in return, at a loss for words. Dumbledore smiled at her. "I will discuss Professor Callistas' views with her if it would ease your mind Minerva. Perhaps it would be better for us all if she presented a less… colourful account."
She sniffed the air, a look of superiority on her face. "See that you do."
"You asked to see me Headmaster?"
Dumbledore looked up, "Ah yes, do come in, lemon drop?"
"No thank you." Callistas waved his offer aside. They sat in silence for a moment before she broke it, "Is there a problem?"
Dumbledore sighed, "I'm afraid there is." He slid Hermione Granger's notes across the desk toward her. "Do these look familiar?"
"No." At his raised eyebrow she clarified, "I mean to say, I recognise the subject matter from the class I taught today, but if you are asking me to whom they belong, I must say I have no idea."
"It is precisely the subject matter I wish to discuss with you Professor."
"Now Headmaster," she started in a huff, "it was you decision for me to teach this topic, I had no desire to do so, whatsoever. If you're going to take me to task over it, perhaps you should pass judgement on yourself first."
Dumbledore regarded her calmly from beneath lowered brows. "It is not the subject itself that has given me pause, but rather the way in which it is being presented. Professor, are you familiar with the term 'professional detachment'?"
The woman across from him looked sullen. "Yes."
"Have you considered practising it?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"I asked you if you had considered practising professional detachment in your teaching."
Her back was ramrod straight, and Dumbledore thought he saw her teeth clench. "I apologise Headmaster."
When she didn't continue, he was forced to sigh. "Is that all you have to say for yourself?"
"What more is there? I fully understand that you are disappointed by some fault in my teaching method, and I apologise for your having to become involved without it resolving itself naturally. Now if you don't mind, I have some work to get done before the meeting this evening." She stood to leave.
"Sit down Professor." His voice brokered no argument, and so she sat. He considered her over his spectacles for a long minute. "When I hired you, I was told you were the best teacher in your field. Nothing before this day has led me to believe otherwise. Is there something, perhaps about this subject in particular? Something that you may wish to speak to me about?"
Callistas' face was impassive. "No."
"Something else then?"
"No."
Dumbledore sighed, "I cannot force confessions from you. You are free to leave."
She stood and was nearly gone before his voice stopped her again. "Oh, and Professor?"
"Yes?"
"I expect you to cover this topic with your class again, in a more partial way this time."
She bowed her head, "Yes Headmaster."
Beneath her cool exterior, Zivra was fuming. It was hours later, the end of a staff meeting, and she was gouging strips from the arms of her chair with her fingernails. Despite knowing she was in the wrong, she was ready to take everyone in the room to task over it. It wasn't her fault she had had bad experiences with house elves and therefore hated them with the fiery and intense passion of a thousand burning suns.
It wasn't her fault that the mere thought of them made her want to cry, nevertheless speaking of them...
It wasn't her fault…
She had been staring into space for an uncertain amount of time before she realised the staff meeting was over, and that Severus Snape was making every effort to get her attention short of tipping her out of her chair. And he looked ready to resort to that.
"May I help you?" she asked.
"Ah, I see you are still in the land of the living," the man next to her said. "In that case, would you care to accompany me to my laboratory I have some tests I would like to run about this… problem of yours."
Zivra wondered at his evasion, but looked up to noticed the Defence professor hovering behind his right shoulder. She raised an eyebrow at him.
He glanced over his shoulder before rolling his eyes, "My…assistant."
Zivra suppressed a smile as she followed him from the room, tailed by the Defense teacher.