The Pitfalls of Being an Insufferable Know-it-all

Two

I'm not someone who takes inordinate pleasure in being right, or who relishes a feeling of superiority, but I'll admit it was somewhat gratifying to see the consternation on the faces of my superiors, including the Minister himself, when I revealed the results of our survey. It wasn't so much self-satisfaction at my role at the forefront; it was more to do with rattling them into action, for a change.

Unsurprisingly, they became animated as I described what was happening, all clamouring to register their confusion as to why we were seeing such worrying trends. However, when I explained our working hypothesis—that it may possibly be the result of intensive harvesting by potioneers—the room quietened slightly. I took it to mean they were enthralled. When, further, I outlined what steps might need to be taken to halt the trends we were seeing—the likelihood of introducing quotas and stricter monitoring of certain habitats known to be in danger—it was then they began to look uncomfortable and, yes… dismissive.

And when I suggested they might send an investigative team out to uncover any criminality within certain institutions, that's when they allowed themselves to laugh. Unashamedly.

'Fancy yourself as a whistleblower do you, Granger?' someone called out dryly.

The Secretary for Business then sniffed pompously, saying they could not "hinder the growth of the potion-making industry when it's the source of many jobs and income for the Wizarding world". I hastened to point out that co-operation would mean a solution could be reached without damaging the industry, but I was overrode by one of the Minister's lackeys.

'Out of interest, just how reliable is your… survey?'

I didn't bother dignifying that question with an answer.

When I went on to mention the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers, I was surprised, despite myself, by the mood that came over them. It was one of unease.

'Have you been in touch with the Society?' someone queried. 'You've not… presented this rot to Severus Snape, have you?'

'No,' my manager replied tightly, looking pained at having to admit his responsibility for me, 'she took it to Ridley and Ridley brought it to me.'

Rot? I could hardly contain myself, but I managed not to quite explode with indignation. 'Why shouldn't I?' I replied stoutly. 'He is the President of the Society; it is surely logical we should consult with this organisation over our findings?'

From the looks I received, apparently, I was wrong in this assumption.

'The Society does a lot of good work for this country, Miss Granger. It is one of the most highly-regarded scientific societies in the world and has contributed to many developments that has changed the way we live. I need not remind you of the recent potion created to negate the effects of the Cruciatus curse? Indeed, it has all but rendered the curse useless.'

I felt so frustrated then, because I could sense what was coming next. I just knew what they would say.

'This is just a temporary blip; these things balance themselves out in time. You've read too much into it.'

And that was it; that was me well and truly set aside.

My immediate superior, a man who so often drove me to the edge of madness, clapped a hand on my shoulder and smiled patiently. 'Granger, you don't have to make a crusade out of everything you do, all right?'

I clenched my fists while he shook his head gently.

'Sometimes, there isn't a complicated—'

'My results are accurate and they speak for themselves,' I ground out.

'No doubt, no doubt,' he murmured soothingly, yet completely contradicted himself by wandering out of the chamber along with everyone else. I slapped my folders onto the desk beside me and growled.

It was typical they wanted to brush this under the carpet. It was the publicity they wanted to avoid. They knew if they apportioned any credence to my theories, and word got out, they'd have a mess on their hands. I wondered briefly if, after twenty years in the Ministry, I would also end up more concerned with money and reputation than facing problems head on and dealing with them in the way they needed to. I like to think it hasn't happened, despite the number of years I've given to that place.

Their desire to sweep me under the carpet didn't stop me from ploughing on under my own steam. That's one of the bonuses of being unpopular, I suppose—you're left alone to get on with it.

I started looking at mapping the biggest-known factories and apothecaries in the country in relation to some of the worst affected habitats. Naturally, this was most inconclusive, as what is proximity to a witch or wizard who can Apparate? Still, the exercise wasn't entirely without merit— it showed me it would be nearly impossible for me to narrow down who might be engaging in malpractice. There were far too many companies for me to investigate, and I knew precisely nothing about each and every one of them. In essence, I had nothing to go on. Not an inkling.

I thought that without the backing of the Ministry, I might very well have to forget defining the cause and simply focus on correcting the problem—to come up with some proposals for the future. But, to everyone's surprise, the situation we were in changed rather suddenly, leaving us all, it must be said, a little off-guard.

Because, despite the Ministry's desire to avoid any bad press on the subject of the ecological survey, I feel they misjudged how strongly the public might react when the Daily Prophet caught wind of the story and, in their inimitable style, ran with it. I don't think I counted one single fact that was correct in their pieces, but they certainly had the gist.

The Ministry was horrified by the uproar caused.

Articles posed to people they should think twice about where the products they buy in an apothecary might have come from. Headlines such as 'Augurey's Killed For Use In Top-Selling Cleaning Solutions' were a feature for several days. It was sensationalism at its best and worst, depending on your point-of-view. When sales suddenly plummeted, the company behind the Mrs Scower brand were forced to defend their practices publicly and launched a complaint to the Ministry immediately. The Ministry who were branded as 'dithering and ineffectual' by certain commentators.

For my own part, despite the advantages public opinion can give to a matter, I was unhappy with the Prophet stoking the fire in such a blatant way. Particularly as the powers-that-be in the Ministry seemed to think it was me who'd purposefully tipped off the paper in a fit of hurt intellectual pride.

In this instance, it was my boss who stood up for me. I think I might have preferred a better defence, however. When one of my colleagues got a bit frazzled over the inflammatory Owls and Howlers we were struggling to keep a lid on, and turned to me hissing, 'Thanks for this, Granger!' The boss stood and announced, 'Granger isn't the leak; that girl lives for rules and procedure!'

Can't say it was something I desired to be shouted across the office. Still… they all seemed to agree with him, though.

There were also figures within the potion-making industry who were understandably offended by the insinuations being bandied about. They looked particularly towards the Most Extraordinary Society for Potioneers for support in their defence. Apart from a few brief comments from Ridley, stating their commitment to fair practice, they'd been notably silent. The Prophet, of course, soon picked up on this silence and their attention moved from the big companies to the professional body, looking to them to take a firmer stance on the matter.

As it happened, I wasn't particularly at ease with the increasing number of calls there was for Severus Snape to return from Norway. And the bloody Ministry, of course, had executed an abrupt u-turn and, for appearance's sake, I felt, also wanted word from Snape. I had an uncomfortable sense people were expecting him to be answerable, which I felt to be plainly absurd. But maybe I also dreaded to an extent the increased possibility of my coming face-to-face with him. I may have prided myself at that time as never allowing myself to be cowed, but I wasn't confident I could hold my own against him.

It seems rather ironic, in hindsight then, that I hoped the hullabaloo would blow over. Not that I wanted to forget the matter, but the publicity was not aiding my fledgling attempts at investigating. Hardly anyone in the potions industry was likely to agree to speak to me willingly—they were far too on their guard. And I had no jurisdiction to demand an audience; not until the Ministry ordered an official investigation and that was something they were resisting for as long as possible.

It was around this time that, while I seemed to be getting nowhere fast, I received a message via an express owl. I was burning the midnight oil in my office, when it arrived, and it turned out to be nothing less than a summons—an immediate summons to Edinburgh. I stared dumbly at the parchment, because despite the signature at the bottom being that of Theobald Ridley, I had an awful premonition as to exactly what I would face on entering the Most Extraordinary Society for Potioneers for a second time. Even with that in mind, I was certainly not going to pass up this opportunity for anything. I collected up as much of my data as I could and I headed straight there.

When Albert led me up the marble staircase and took the passageway on the left, the opposite direction to Ridley's office, I felt myself tense with nervous expectation. I clutched my folders tightly when we came to a halt outside a large oak door bearing the name of Severus Snape.

'I believe you are already acquainted with Severus,' Albert commented with a smile I felt was half pity, half amusement. It did not make me feel any easier.

He opened the door and I walked into a modestly sized, oak-panelled room. The office was empty and I turned to speak to Albert, but he'd already shut the door and ostensibly returned to his post in the entrance hall. There was a desk at the far end of the room, with two chairs in front of it. I crossed over and sat in one, clenching and unclenching my hands in my lap, and wondering if this was a delaying tactic precisely designed to leave me uncomfortable. I chuckled to myself, then; chuckled at my own vanity for conceiving such a thought.

Still, if I remember correctly, I sat there on my own for a good ten minutes. During this time, I managed to establish there were no portraits in the room; there was nothing much on the desk apart from a selection of writing implements; there was a large bookcase; and there was an impressive high-mantled fireplace, within which a fire burned. It was this that caused me to flinch when it abruptly glowed bright green. I sprang involuntarily to my feet, sending some of my parchments to the floor, and watched a familiar figure appear.

Any semblance of greeting I had prepared evaporated at the most ferocious glare I have ever had the misfortune to receive. I sank weakly into my chair, firmly telling myself I wasn't yet cowed. As he slapped down a pile of newspapers onto the desk with a thud, I forced myself to look unmoved.

He did not sit; he simply stared at me. Must have been five or six years since I'd last clapped eyes on him, but right then it felt like it might only have been yesterday.

'I thought the days of you inconveniencing me were over, Miss Granger,' he began softly, shrugging off his cloak. He moved across the room to hang it on the back of the door as he spoke. 'Days of you setting fire to me; sabotaging my lessons; stealing from me; breaking rules… I should have known you were merely warming up.'

I wasn't sure I entirely agreed with this assessment, but there was something warming up; my face. I surreptitiously raised a hand to press my fingers into my cheeks, as if to rid myself of colour before he noticed.

'Because now,' he continued, his voice strengthening in volume, 'I find myself being forced to abandon an important and costly research venture, to Portkey hundreds of miles, to deal with this… mess.'

He was back behind his desk, and while I wanted to speak, I instinctively knew he wasn't finished. 'Your mess,' he added darkly, picking up successive copies of the Daily Prophet and glancing at each of them cursorily.

'"Careless Potioneers destroying our natural heritage",' he read out flatly. '"Augurey's facing extinction in this country. The Most Extraordinary Society for Potioneers… shilly-shallies while the industry plunges into crisis".'

He rifled through more of the papers. 'Ah, listen to this; "Severus Snape has been gallivanting around Norway for the last two months, conveniently unable to comment on this matter. One must wonder what he has to hide".'

My cheeks burned freely now.

'Oh, and my personal favourite,' he continued derisively. '"Our top potioneers are currently working in Norway; clearly, depleting our own natural resources is not enough for them. Perhaps we should consider warning our Norwegian friends to… lock up their Augureys".'

He voice trailed off but the disdain remained in the air like a dense fog. He sat down and folded his arms, his expression as unreadable as I always remembered it as being.

'I must say, I'm struggling to understand how it is that I am suddenly accountable for anyone and everyone who decides to practice brewing, or deal in ingredients. Indeed, my understanding of my role in this Society appears to differ greatly to what you believe it to be. Because it is to you, Miss Granger, I believe I owe my thanks for the situation I now find myself in.'

And then he smiled. It was an approximation of such, anyway; an ironic quirking of the lips that unnerved me rather more than any of his words had done.

Honestly, I hardly knew where to begin. My mind was uncomfortably blank; not a position I ordinarily found myself in. I smoothed my hands, my admittedly sweaty hands, on my robes and urged my faculties to resume normal service. 'I, ah, regret that you've been drawn into the matter in such a way—I assure you it was not my intention. If you'll allow me to say, it is the Daily Prophet that has turned this situation into what it is.'

'You deny any responsibility for turning a well-respected industry and profession, overnight, into one now associated with single-minded profiteering, negligence, and apathy to the environment it operates in?'

I shifted in my chair. 'Yes, I do actually. When I contacted this Society, it was not to bandy around accusations of negligence. I'd hoped to discuss the possibility that it was perhaps simply a matter of education that—'

He interrupted with a threatening hiss. 'Are you implying that we, those of us who choose to make the study of potions our life's work, are oblivious to the effect we have and the duty we have to our natural resources?'

'No…' I took a steadying breath, summoning the courage, or recklessness, to continue. 'But can you speak for everyone? The average apothecary in the street, for arguments sake? The management behind Mrs Scower?'

He flicked the pile of newspapers before him. 'Apparently. Why else am I now forced to explain myself to a bunch of idle busybodies who wouldn't know what to do with a cauldron if it came up and bit them?'

I frowned in confusion and he raised his eyebrows. 'Oh, were you not aware I've been asked to appear before the Ministry tomorrow afternoon?'

'No…'

'I'm warning you now, Granger; I'll not be made a scapegoat—do you understand?'

I nearly said, 'Yes, sir.' Instead I simply nodded. Privately, I rather thought they'd find someone else to be a scapegoat before they would him. I felt many of the politicians were actually a bit afraid of him.

'There needn't be any scapegoats,' I argued. 'All I am looking for is an informed opinion. No one will talk to me now that the Prophet has waded in with its bloody size nines. There has to be some sort of agreed consensus, otherwise the issues we have will only get worse. If we can allay the concerns of the public and work to ensure these problems don't become worse, then the job will be done.'

I was rather pleased with this little speech, it must be said. He, on the other hand, looked as far away from pleased as a person could possibly get.

'Look, Miss Granger; anyone may practice potion-making. Anyone may set up as an apothecary. Anyone may get into trading ingredients. And many do.'

He was pointing out the unlikely chance of me discovering a person or persons responsible for the problems we faced. 'I'm only interested in establishing a cause so that we might put a stop to it. And I'm sure you'd rather be a part of that… Unless you'd prefer to let the bigwigs at the Ministry decide the plan of action?'

His jaw tightened and the fact he had no rejoinder let me know I had him swayed. I tried not to swell with pride when he begrudgingly bade me to return the following morning to give him a full and comprehensive account of the details. The feeling of triumph I left with seems absolutely ridiculous now. I always knew he wasn't a stupid man, yet I had enough vanity to congratulate myself it was on my wit alone that I secured his co-operation.

Actually, I suppose it was somewhat comforting to know I was still capable of being naïve, even after coming through a war.

When I returned to Edinburgh the next morning, to the Society, I was in for a couple of surprises. The first was particularly unwelcome. I arrived into a crowd of witches and wizards who stood outside the building chanting raucously 'Save our Augureys!' at the top of their lungs.

I watched in horror, unable to disagree with the sentiment, of course, but I didn't agree with its application in this context. I thought they'd be better served protesting at the Ministry, where the true inaction lay, in my opinion.

'What's going on?' I asked someone at the edge of the crowd.

'We want to know what they're going to do about our Augureys,' the witch declared doughtily, nodding her head at the Society. 'We want to know who has been killing our Augureys!'

'Snape's back,' someone else butted in. 'We want him to do something because this can't go on.'

I frowned. 'But what do you think he can do?'

Before I could get a reply, a voice rose up shouting that the Aurors were coming. I used the moment of confusion to push through the crowd and in through the doors. Albert stood on the inside, his wand in hand.

'Are you all right, Miss?' he queried.

'Er, yes,' I replied. 'Is, ah, Mr Snape, here?'

With the crowd still audible, I half hoped he wouldn't be. My luck wasn't to be borne, however, and I was told he awaited me in his office. The door was ajar when I reached it, so I knocked and stuck my head straight in. He was standing at the window and I thought for a moment he was watching the crowd, until I realised they weren't visible from this side of the building.

'The, ah, Aurors are dispersing them,' I ventured, closing the door behind me.

'They've been there for nearly an hour,' he said furiously. 'Half of Muggle Edinburgh is now wondering what the hell an Augurey is.'

He spun round, making for his chair. To my mind, his expression was as black as his robes. I wasn't inspired; no, indeed, I rather felt my stomach sink into the floorboards.

'Sit,' he instructed curtly.

I clenched my jaw and complied.

'I'd offer you tea…' he said next, 'but the house-elf has her day off today.'

A pointed barb, to be sure. I stilled, and I hesitate to admit it, but I think Severus Snape very nearly succeeded in making me feel… guilt for my house-elf reform. It couldn't be borne. 'Good for her,' I commented stubbornly.

His lip curled but I ignored him, clearing my throat and deciding it would be prudent just to get down to business. 'Shall I give you a run-down of the facts?' I enquired, and for my sins, relishing this opportunity to preach. 'I have the endangered areas in question mapped—'

I broke off abruptly at the firm shake of his head and clutched my parchments tighter. 'I'm sorry, I thought you wanted the details we'd—'

His eyes suddenly gleamed, and for a precarious moment I thought he might even laugh. 'Oh, come now, Miss Granger,' he murmured delicately. 'You don't think I could fail to have already noticed these trends you've identified?'

I just stared blankly. This was to be my second surprise.

He leaned back in his chair languidly, and it was his infuriatingly collected manner which ruffled me the most. 'I've been brewing potions for the best part of thirty years, and neither am I one for cosseting myself within my ivory tower, so I'm sure I could give you a far better analysis of the changing distribution of fairy spots over the past few decades, than anything your counting exercise could provide.'

I blinked blearily through the scorn he positively radiated. 'You're… telling me you were aware of what's been happening; have been for some time?'

'Pre-cise-ly,' he over-enunciated; no doubt enjoying immensely my being wrong-footed.

I can't say I enjoyed being made to feel two feet high; who would? And actually, though it has been said, I don't think it's fair to say this was me sampling my own medicine. I have certainly never learned to be so utterly superior and dismissive that a person ends up feeling impressed despite themselves.

'You can't be the only one…'

He nodded. 'Some of my colleagues have registered their private concerns, but many of them are unaware of the bigger picture.'

I let my jaw fall open in outrage. 'Why has nothing been said? Why has nothing been done? The time that has been wasted—'

'Yes, quite, Miss Granger,' he interrupted swiftly, finally looking animated. 'We just decided to ignore our observations and carry on under the maxim of 'Augurey's have lasted this long; what's there to worry about?' That,' he spat, 'is the quality of intelligence that has sustained potion-making through centuries of progress and development.'

I clamped my mouth shut and frowned, not enjoying his sarcasm in the least.

'Why do you think nothing was said? Funnily enough, like you, we did not want the Prophet, or the Ministry, or the bloody tree-hugging brigade interfering whilst we tried to establish the facts. Any chance of catching those responsible red-handed, whether they are a part of the potions industry or not, are now surely nil.'

'You intended to catch them? How could you punish them without involvement from the Aurors?'

He smirked at me knowingly. 'Our charter is not without significant weight, Miss Granger. The original copy, set down hundreds of years ago, hangs in the Reading Room, should you care to examine it.' His eyes glinted. 'We have modified it over the years, of course, but it's essence remains the same. We do not confer it lightly upon those who wish to become associated with us here. And so, you may imagine we do not appreciate it when one of our number decides they are above such codes of ethics and practice as those we utilise.'

At this point, I found it necessary to remind myself that I wasn't a brewer guilty of breaking the rules. He got up and crossed the room to a large wooden chest. I twisted round in my chair to follow his progress and he took out a folder, glancing through it casually.

'The name George Cresswell ring a bell?' he asked.

I considered for a moment. 'Actually, didn't he—'

'Yes,' he interrupted dispassionately, while I scowled to myself. 'He worked on the original method for Skele-gro in the early days of his career. Three years ago, word reached my ear that he was involved up to his neck in the trafficking of illegally obtained Ashwinder eggs. I looked into it, didn't like what I saw, and now… he shall never brew professionally in this country again.'

He carried on flicking through his parchments, whilst I allowed my imagination to run wild on the ominious fate of George Cresswell.

'Thaddeus Jones,' he continued, 'and this was before my time, really, was stripped of his membership to the Society when caught heading up a scam on the continent. It involved peddling a newly-discovered, supposedly more potent sub-species of ragwort, indigenous only to the north of England. The Society was contacted when a series of unexplained potion-making incidents occurred with only one common denominator—Jones's ragwort. Investigation proved Jones had contaminated the plants with a cocktail of Strengthening solutions.'

He closed the folder and returned to his chair. 'There's plenty more where they came from. So you see, we are neither ignorant nor idle when it comes to the inevitable wide-boy that wanders into our midst.'

'But do you not think criminal activity such as this should be reported?'

His expression turned impatient, but I think he expected me to take such a line on the matter. I've no doubt I can be very predictable at times.

'What—so they can simply be fined?'

'Their reputations would still be discredited.'

'There needs to be trust in an industry such as this, Miss Granger. No one would buy potions if they thought they could not trust their provenance, and there only has to be one element of doubt. If we made every transgression we came across public we—'

'And what if it is in the public interest?' I argued briskly.

He scoffed dismissively. 'The public? So they can blow everything out of proportion? Things they don't understand, or how about tar us all with the same brush?' He folded his arms across his chest. 'I mean, this really is novel, I must say—being preached to about transparency from a minion of that vaunted beacon of truth, also known as the Ministry.'

I resisted the urge to groan aloud with aggravation. 'All right; I'm not going to argue with you. The Ministry chooses not to involve itself in these matters, therefore, how you operate is entirely your prerogative.'

'So… relieved to have your approval.'

His sarcasm, while not unfamiliar to me, nevertheless made my insides quail with embarrassment.

'But what do you intend in this situation?' I held up my scroll and waggled it. 'You may not like it, but the public are involved this time and they will want answers.'

My scroll of parchment was unceremoniously snatched from me, and the accompanying glare I received seemed to curse my effrontery for daring to brandish it at him in the first place. I swallowed down my indignation as he unrolled the parchment and began reading.

I crossed my legs and arranged my robes casually, schooling my expression into one, I hoped, of refinement and ease. Whilst inwardly, as I watched his expression go from scowl to sneer and back again, I wanted to spontaneously combust out of all existence.

I still don't think I was cowed, though.

AN: Thanks for reading : )