Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.


The Great Teacher Switch!

Chapter Two

There was no way out of this mess.

I could console myself by thinking that at least I wasn't Severus Snape, who might be short a few fingers by lunchtime. And thank the heavens that I wasn't a Potions student today, who would unfortunately have to deal with Hagrid as their Potions instructor, who had only the pieces of his snapped wand and the formal magical education of a third-year.

Despite these reminders, I still did not feel any less unhappy about the whole matter. I defiantly pondered that perhaps there was still a way to get out of this.

It was only five in the morning, and I hadn't slept a wink due to all of the thoughts flowing throughout my brain, and now I was rapidly trying to concoct a plan to convince Albus that I could not take part in his Great Teacher Switch after all.

Granted, my scheme was about as clever as that of any first year's attempts to skip class, but since I was convinced that Albus was actually eleven years old sometimes, I thought perhaps I could fool him.

Albus woke up. I pretended to be asleep still. He didn't rouse me, and I heard him rise to get a shower. When the water started to run, and I was sure he would not be returning to our room until he was done, I snatched my wand off of the nightstand and repeatedly muttered Warming Charms at myself. When I felt certain that my skin felt unusually warm enough, I replaced my wand in its normal resting place and resumed my feigned sleep.

In a few minutes, Albus was back in the bedroom, humming to himself, and then he suddenly stopped. He must have realized that I was still "asleep," which was highly out of the ordinary, because even on the days when I didn't rise before him (which were rare enough), the sound of the shower running would always wake me up. Always.

"Minerva?"

His footsteps approached me, and he laid a hand upon my shoulder, gently shaking me.

"Wh—what?" I asked, fluttering my eyes open. I glanced at the clock, and, instead of flying out of bed like I might be expected to upon oversleeping, I slowly sat up, trying to clutch at my forehead as if I were instinctively reacting to pain. I was no actress, and I was sure that my actions were highly exaggerated, but my husband did not seem to realize.

"Are you all right?" he said, and he reached up to brush my hair away from my eyes, grazing my cheeks and forehead in the process. A look of concern passed over his face, and he put his hand back on my forehead, as if to double-check that the heat radiating from it were actually real.

While I hated lying to Albus, I was also too stubborn to go back from what I had done. I waited impatiently for his response. He straightened up and appeared to study me carefully. He frowned in disapproval. For a moment, I thought he was on to me.

"My dear, I think you have a fever," he said. "Do you feel ill?"

I hadn't actually planned anything beyond this point. I looked into his cool blue eyes and could see the disappointment beneath them. I felt a twang of guilt.

"I know how important today is to you," I said in a voice much smaller than I expected. I wondered if I should apologize right now, before he called me out.

He sighed.

"Minerva, if you're not well… Don't worry about today. I'll tell Poppy to expect you."

My jaw went slack. Even if Albus bought my story—which I was not wholly convinced that he did—there was no way I could fool Poppy Pomfrey. I had not expected this. I thought he would just tell me to stay in bed, not visit the Hospital Wing.

"I—I don't need—" I began to protest, but Albus interrupted.

"You will see her," he said with a tone of finality. His eyes twinkled madly.

He knew. He had to know. I gaped stupidly at him, unsure of what I was supposed to say now.

"Now I have a few announcements to make at breakfast." He put his hand on my shoulder. "I'll tell Poppy not to keep you for a week."

He finished dressing and left. And I still had a whole miserable day ahead of me, starting with Poppy's scolding me for feigning illness.


I hesitantly approached the Hospital Wing. Perhaps if Albus had decided to have everyone on the staff switch places, someone incompetent would attempt to diagnose my nonexistent ailment, potentially relieving me of my temporary duty as Divination instructor. I still didn't know what I was going to do with the students today. I couldn't believe today was actually happening, honestly.

Bracing myself for an examination of shame, I pushed open the door.

"Minerva!"

I barely even got over the threshold when Poppy came bustling toward me, her heels clicking loudly and rapidly across the tile floor.

"Dumbledore told me he thought you caught the flu; now come, come with me."

"This really isn't necessary," I said quickly, as she ushered me toward a crisp, white bed.

"Now don't be ridiculous. This will only take a moment." She all but shoved me into a seated position on an empty bed. To my left was a sleeping fourth-year Hufflepuff, who had been injured in Quidditch practice. To my right was a first-year Gryffindor, who was recovering from some rather unfortunate side-effects of a failed potion, which his friends had dared him to drink.

Madam Pomfrey readied her wand, and I waited for the diagnostic spell that would reveal that I was in perfect health. Suddenly, with an uncharacteristically conniving grin on her face, she pointed her wand at the pocket of my robes and said, "Prior incantato!"

My wand, though stowed away, showed the last spell I had cast. Poppy rolled her eyes.

"Really, Minerva? A Warming Charm? Aren't you more clever than that?"

I wasn't sure if I should play dumb or not. I glared at her and remained silent.

"It would have been awfully convenient for you to fall ill today," she said, giving me a sharp look, "and the Headmaster thought as much. He may be somewhat barmy, but he's not dense, you know."

I merely continued to scowl. There was nothing for me to say. Denial would have solved nothing.

"Don't you—don't you normally take House points for little stunts like this?" Madam Pomfrey pressed.

I mumbled an affirmative response.

"Well—will you do the honors, or shall I fetch Dumbledore to do it for you?"

She can't be serious, I thought. Professors—Heads of House, especially—don't lose House points.

She raised an eyebrow and waited. I mentally swore. She was serious.

"Ten points from Gryffindor," I said through gritted teeth.

She looked satisfied. I did not know why she took so much pleasure in my punishing myself, but I gladly obeyed when she told me to run along to breakfast. The students beside me must have awakened at some point during our conversation, because they both looked utterly bewildered. As I walked out the door, I could hear Poppy say to them, "Your friends will have an even stranger day ahead of them…"

I was almost certainly one of the last to arrive at the Great Hall. Albus must have already announced the details of his Great Teacher Switch. The place was buzzing with excited chatter, much more so than the mornings typically brought. Students seemed eager to see their teachers outside of their comfort zones, and nearly all of them were on board with the idea. As I walked past the Gryffindor table, I overheard some of my lions place bets on whether or not Snape would die outside in the sunlight.

Somehow, the students' excitement was enough to render them oblivious to the chaos unfolding at the staff table.

"I haven't brewed a potion in decades—"

"Filius, for the seventh years' lesson, show me the proper wand movement again—"

"—and I can't jus' stop a potion from hurtin' someone with pure strength like I can with magical creatures—"

"So I flick my wrist like this?"

"No, no! You must keep your wrist steady!"

"Oh! Sorry!"

My eyes darted from colleague to colleague, watching them all spiral into a panic as they hoped to master spells and memorize facts that they hadn't needed since their days as students. Hagrid was talking Snape's ear off, desperately trying to learn as much as he could before the first hour, while simultaneously growing more and more afraid of the Potions Master's increasing impatience. Professor Sprout, though typically a confident and skilled witch, struggled to perform a NEWT-level Charm due to her nervous trembling, and consistently failed when practicing for Professor Flitwick.

Then there was the rest of the staff, valiantly engaging in individual pursuits of the knowledge they needed. Remus Lupin furiously scanned the pages of a thick textbook; Aurora Sinistra, to my great relief, successfully completed transformations of her silverware into everything from pincushions to furniture to live animals (all on the table). Professor Trelawney, who I was surprised to see reading a guide to Defense, suddenly snapped her neck up and began to speak in a strange voice, seemingly making an actual prophecy. I couldn't understand a word she said amid all the noise surrounding her.

The only person wholly unfazed was, of course, Albus Dumbledore.

"I see you are feeling better already," he said when I reached my chair, seemingly unaware of his faculty's hysteria.

"As I am sure you expected," I replied tersely.

"Indeed." His voice was calm and level, and not the least bit triumphant or angry. "You know—" he began after some time had passed, "it won't be so bad. There are only three sections of Divination today, after all."

I sighed.

"I know. But despite all the reassurances I grant myself, I can't help but feel that this whole idea is a big mistake. There is going to be some catastrophe today. I know there will be."

For a moment, Albus looked pensive. His eyes were aglow with deep thought, as if he were seriously considering what I had just shared with him. Of course, any agreement with my worries was not what was on his mind.

"You did go to find your Inner Eye last night!" he exclaimed.

I threw him a stern look.

"Let's be serious now, Albus," I said brusquely, feeling the heat rise in my face. I had quickly grown annoyed. "Today is a recipe for disaster. Look at everyone! They've all gone to pieces!"

"I see no reason to be so concerned—"

Suddenly, some silverware clattered loudly against a breakfast plate as Severus Snape threw down his fork and rose to his full height. The pure coldness in his eyes was so intense that I thought icicles might shoot out of them at the victim of his discontent.

"Do not—for one moment—falsely believe—that you can even compare potions brewing to cooking! And if your potions work is anything like your cooking—"

The entire table almost flipped over, taking a few jugs of pumpkin juice and several of his colleagues' breakfasts with it, as Hagrid bumped the table when he, too, stood, towering over Snape.

"I can cook jus' fine!" he roared indignantly. He stormed out of the Great Hall, knocking his extra large chair over in the process, and did not refrain from muttering a few colorful, offensive names about Snape.

For once, the Great Hall was silent. The Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables looked like a convention of ghosts, their faces so pale from shock and fright. The Slytherin table shot dirty looks at Hagrid until they saw him out the doors, and a mixture of confusion and curiosity overtook the Gryffindor table. At the staff table, everyone had stopped what he or she was doing. Professor Sprout left Flitwick suspended upside-down in midair, while the a pig, only half-transformed from an armadillo, began to eat happily from Aurora Sinistra's plate.

Nobody moved for what must have been five minutes. Finally, a visibly shaking Severus stalked away, ignoring all of the eyes that followed him as his robes billowed past.

"Can you let me down, Pomona?" a squeaky voice broke the silence.

Sprout apologetically returned Flitwick to his seat. Slowly, the chatter resumed.

"No cause for concern, Albus?" I said pointedly.

"Perhaps there are some flaws in my plan," he reluctantly admitted. "Maybe next time, we should—"

"No 'next time'! Are you insane? If none of my disgruntled colleagues kills you after today, do not be surprised if I do!"

Albus looked just a bit frightened.

"I swear, if you don't even acknowledge that this event is just asking for trouble, I… I don't know what I'll do. But do not for one minute believe that you are immune to the consequences of your creation. You may be a mere spectator in this whole debacle, but you will be responsible for cleaning up whatever messes arise from it. Mark my words, Albus Dumbledore."

In a huff, I strode quickly out of the Great Hall. Prepared or not, a very long day awaited me.


A/N: Apparently I got a little verbose and this is turning out longer than I expected. There will be (at least) one more chapter. We'll see what happens. Thank you very much for reading, and an extra special thanks out to all my reviewers! You rock!