Magical Me
By Publicola

Published: 10-24-12

Hufflepuff Hospitality

Most people would say magical oaths are pretty straightforward. Do what you swear to do, or your magic pays the piper. But reality is not so simple.

If you're bound to tell the truth, but forget an important detail, your magic won't just up and die. It may twinge a bit, but that's all. It's a rather useful barometer of truth-telling, one I'd use more often were it not for the downside.

Perjury is a very bad idea.

No one knew precisely how this sliding scale worked. Some would say magic itself was sentient, that it could adjudicate the severity of an offense. I'd be inclined to agree with them, but for the obvious loophole.

Magical oaths hinge on intent, and intent is subject to mind magic.

There are limitations, of course, but nothing beyond the ken of an Occlumens. I couldn't say the sky was purple, unless I could rationalize that this shade of purple was really just another shade of blue.

So I had no sooner exchanged oaths with Slughorn, than I was convinced that the best way to keep his secret was by persuading Amelia to declare it classified.

Of course, she'd have to be informed first, but I never swore to keep his secret from other individuals, just from 'the public,' however creatively defined. Nor had I sworn to keep those others from taking a pound of flesh for their own.

Slughorn's future was beginning to resemble that of a pin cushion.

"All right," I began as soon as the oaths were completed. "So we can sit here all night while I ask you every question that comes to mind. Or you can save yourself the time and just give me the memories I want. Your choice."

He looked like someone had strangled his puffksein.

"Oh, don't give me that look. You've made your bed. Now it's time to fluff the sheets."

His anxiety had an odd effect on his normal jolly voice, so his words came out in an oddly syncopated lilt. "I thu… I think I'd just like this night to be over?"

I smirked.

A half-hour later, I returned home with more than a few silvery vials.

The next morning I had a few chores before I could resume my pensieve lessons with Flitwick. The diary was still writing when I returned home the previous evening, but now it had finished, so I primed it to recount Riddle's experiences in his first year at Hogwarts. I perused The Daily Prophet over breakfast – there was a brief notice of my kerfuffle with Gwenog Jones in the Society section, though no mention of her use of potions.

There was a note from Amelia Bones waiting for me in my mail-box.

Gilderoy,

I thought you should know what progress has been made on the Black case. Contrary to MLE policy, we only have a summary sheet on file. The full records are marked classified, and kept by the Minister's Office. It appears the order was countersigned by Fudge as acting Head of the Auror Investigative Office.

I'll have Hestia update you further when you meet.

Amelia

So Fudge was in charge of Auror Investigations? Somehow I'm not surprised. It'd certainly explain why the initial inquiry was botched.

Flitwick entered through the Floo, and we moved over to the Floo. "Before we get back to Fifth Year, we have a bit of catching up to do." I briefly recapped the story of how the diary had come into my possession, how I'd arranged to meet with a Gringotts curse-breaker, and how we had learned that the diary was one of Voldemort's horcruxes.

His ghast was well and properly flabbered.

"Here it gets tricky. I made an oath to keep this next bit out of the public eye, so I'll need your word – no, I won't need an oath, I trust you – to not spread this far and wide. Shouldn't be too hard – I'd like to keep a lid on the whole horcruxes thing, and this is part of that. Turns out Riddle was given a leg up on his horcrux studies by his Head of House, and I have proof. Slughorn didn't want it to get out that he had mentored the Dark Lord, so he'll be helping us in exchange for my public silence. 'Course, that public silence didn't extend to protecting him from others in the know... I'll be bringing Amelia into the loop if you feel the need to collaborate. Have fun."

By the time I'd finished speaking, Flitwick's ghast had stabilized and his hackles were raised. With a vengeful part-goblin on his horizon, Slughorn's future was not looking bright.

I continued. "Actually, there is one last thing before we begin. I had an… odd experience yesterday at Slughorn's party, and wondered if you might shed light on it." I withdrew my memory of Gwenog's mental assault and let it fall into the pensieve.

With a quizzical look he nodded and followed in after it.

One of the challenges of false memories is that they cannot be created out of the cloth. Due to their saturation in ambient magic, memories can only be removed or modified. While in theory there were no limits to what a master Occlumens could modify, my mind was more constrained.

I knew that Dumbledore would sooner or later invade my mind, and I knew I'd need an excuse to start building my defenses.

Upon exiting, Flitwick explained. "I'd say you were the victim of a targeted compulsion-aphrodisiac. I saw her spray perfume before the encounter, but the effect was far too strong for a scent base, and only you were affected. She probably brushed against you earlier in the party to get a sample of hair or dead skin, and produced the effect with a combination of charmed jewelry and potion spray."

"Good grief. How much planning went into this?"

"Quite a bit, though you were most likely a target of opportunity. The effect was too potent for it to have been spur of the moment. Frankly, I'm impressed you're all right; the strength of the compulsion must have been just shy of an Imperius."

"How can that possibly be legal?" I asked in disbelief.

He answered hesitantly. "Well, technically it's not, but it's practically impossible to prove. Certifying potions residue is notoriously hit-or-miss, and memories can't be used to convict ever since it was proven they can be modified. Frankly, even if you could prove it was her, she'd probably claim a pre-existing relationship. Love potions are pretty widely used by couples to… enhance their relationship, so this is one instance where the burden of proof is on the victim."

"Well… well damn. That' s just…" I had no words. I shook myself and forced the conversation back to my script. "Wait, you said… memories can be modified? Really? How does that work?"

At last Flitwick launched into what I needed: an explanation of Occlumency, a summary of the two approaches, and a promise to provide resources for me to develop the skill.

"Good heavens, I can't thank you enough! I'll probably just stick with the first one – constructing an extra mindscape sounds way out of my league. I should be fine with a basic shield."

And there it was: the perfect memory for Dumbledore's scan, no modification necessary. No reason at all to suspect I'd already mastered the more advanced technique, no reason to go trawling for buried memories.

At last we got down to the business of perusing Flitwick's memories, picking up where we left off in Fifth Year.

James and Sirius were now animagi, and it had begun to affect their personalities. James' gait seemed prouder, at times almost regal, while Sirius' demeanor became even more playful, though I noticed he always deferred to James as his alpha. I also noticed that, while Peter had not yet made the transformation, his envious looks towards the others had become more and more pronounced.

For his part, Remus had begun to withdraw into himself following the near-death incident with Snape, trapped in a cycle of shame and self-loathing. It had affected him deeply, and none of his friends knew how to respond, besides simply being there during his transformations. Flitwick told me James had taken to studying with him in the library, but that seemed to have little effect. Sirius just looked lost. He had apologized several times, realizing that Remus' involvement was his fault, but had no notion of how to mend the fractured friendship.

This holding pattern held for the next few months, until a new crisis appeared on the horizon.

The relationship with Sirius and Regulus Black had long been frayed, ever since Sirius was Sorted to Gryffindor against his family's wishes. The presumptive heir became more and more estranged from his parents, while the second son reaped more and more of their affections. However close they might have been as children, the brothers' friendship could hardly survive such a complete reversal.

Sirius' alienation intensified the following summer – absence having failed to make his heart any fonder, the familiar quarters only bred contempt. Every summer thereafter Sirius spent increasing amounts of time with the Potter family, and it was clear he'd begun to treat them as a surrogate family. The few weeks he returned each summer to Grimmauld Place were spent mainly in his room, redecorating it with festive red and gold and posters of bikini-clad girls.

Teenage rebellion never had it so good.

But now he was reaping the consequences. Regulus had come to Hogwarts when the Marauders entered their Third Year, and like most young Slytherins had begun to orbit Snape's coterie by the time he rose to power in their Fourth. Now Regulus was a Third Year himself, and his talent on a broom had won him a slot as the Seeker for the House Quidditch Team. This put him on Snape's radar, if nothing else, but after the events of last November, the Potions prodigy was looking for revenge.

His approach was subtle, so much so that Sirius didn't even notice until Peter idly mentioned it to him. Regulus had long sought a surrogate for his absent older brother, and Snape more than fit the bill. Regulus began to openly read anti-Muggle literature, books on the Dark Arts, and newspaper articles on the Dark Lord's deeds. For his part, Snape seemed to go out of his way to include Regulus in his inner circle.

At length Snape made his move. He could not speak of the werewolf, thanks to his life-debt, but he could share a carefully edited story of how Sirius had tried to kill Snape earlier that year, but the incident was covered up due to 'House politics.' That prompted Regulus to write home to his mother, with a tale of how Sirius had thrown around the family name to shirk responsibility for crimes against a Slytherin. Walpurga predictably responded with a Howler in the Great Hall.

Regulus had told them how Sirius had abused the family name.

Sirius Black was not to return home for the summer.

His name had been blasted off the family tapestry.

They had written him out of their will; Regulus now stood in his place.

They considered him unworthy of the family legacy, and would petition Arcturus, the Black patriarch, to disinherit him.

Sirius Black was no longer considered their son.

Even before the final words echoed down the length of the chamber, Sirius had begun to flee, his fellow Marauders in hot pursuit. The doors were blocked, however, by an equally distraught Regulus.

"Siri, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I had no idea they would …"

"Get out of my way." Sirius ground out between his teeth, and tried to push the younger boy away.

"Brother…"

"Shut up! Depulso!" Regulus caught the hex in his midsection and was knocked back a few feet. As the younger boy lay sprawled on the floor, Sirius stepped past him, only pausing to deliver his final crushing words. "If I am not their son, you are not my brother. Never speak to me again." With that, he was gone.

The younger boy's expression was evidence enough. He might have guessed his parents would be upset, but he'd clearly been blindsided by the ferocity of their response. But Sirius did not bear witness to his brother's heartbreak and horror: the brothers would never speak again.

On the far side of the Hall, watching all, Snape's expression was one of unmistakable triumph. Revenge was sweet indeed.

Flitwick and I took a short lunch together, discussing some of the Charms lessons he had covered.

"Terribly sorry to cut this short, but I have an appointment this afternoon."

"Oh?" Flitwick prompted.

"I'm meeting with a few folks whose kids are at Hogwarts, see if they'd like to be more involved. Sort of a 'Moms in Touch' PTA type thing.

"Ah. Who is it you're meeting?"

"Mrs. Abbott and Finch-Fletchley for now. They'll probably organize any other parents that express interest."

"Finch-Fletchley… that's Justin's mother, correct?" I nodded. He ruminated for another moment. "Given what Dumbledore's been up to, I can see the up-side. Just tread carefully: you don't want to tip your hand too soon by getting on the wrong side of a family like the Weasleys. But let me know how it goes; I might want to tag along next time you meet." His voice rose at the end, to clarify it was a question.

"Of course! I was originally thinking it'd be a good way to get others involved, maybe bring to light some of Dumbledore's more questionable decisions, but with enough faculty support we might have real influence. I met Professor Vector last night at the Slug Club; if you know others who might be interested, feel free to spread the word."

"Hmm… Septima would be a welcome addition. I doubt Minerva or Sibyl would go for it – Severus is a definite 'no' – I suspect Hagrid would object to any criticism of the Headmaster, but we can check if he's amenable later. I'll get in touch with Pomona this afternoon, and see if she'd help."

"That sounds great."

"Meet again this evening to finish Fifth Year?"

"Sure. I'll Floo you once we're done."

"Excellent. Well, I'll catch you later." A few moments later Flitwick disappeared with an impressive 'whoosh.'

"Sugar and milk?"

"Certainly, thank you."

"It was so good of you to write us, Mr. Lockhart. We rarely hear anything from the Hogwarts staff, and to know that you'll be around to keep us informed… well, I assure you we appreciate it. Why, Jackie here was telling me earlier – well, why don't you say it dear?"

Jacqueline Finch-Fletchley set down her saucer primly. "Of course. I was telling Mrs. Abbott how… appalled I was to find that there was no parent support from the staff. After the first meeting – which was mostly show-and-tell, you know, for the child, very little for us adults – they whisked my dear Justin off to that, that Diagon Alley, don't even give us the courtesy of an invitation, and disapp.. disapp…"

"Disapparate." Mrs. Abbott prompted helpfully.

"Disappear," Mrs. Finch-Fltechley finished with a sideways glance, "without so much as a by-your-leave. Not a word about finances, or anything. I had to learn about the Scholarship from a pamphlet they gave Justin!"

I was pretty sure a word in there was capitalized. "Scholarship?"

"Yes, the Evans Scholarship for Muggle-born Students. Apparently the school pays up to 75% of the cost of tuition for all children from… non-magical families. Hardly seemed to matter, though. Didn't appear that they'd take 'no' for an answer, regardless. It was only Justin's determination to see his friends over the summer that put me in contact with Mrs. Abbott here, and she has been very helpful." She finished a bit more warmly towards her companion than her earlier words would indicate.

Though my thoughts were still in orbit around the 'Evans Scholarship,' I smiled and nodded. "I'm certainly glad you found someone to answer what the staff left unanswered, though I hope… well, I hope that can be one of the functions of whatever this is we decide to organize. Parents, particularly muggle par—"

"Non-magical." Mrs. Finch-Fletchley said firmly.

"Non-magical," I corrected. "Such parents are left in the dark, and I cannot help but feel it may be intentional by the staff."

"Oh?" Mrs. Abbott leaned forward.

"Indeed." I said somberly. "I'm honestly not sure where to begin. I've been meeting with Filius Flitwick – the Charms Instructor," I explained for Mrs. Finch-Fletchley, "and he's been helping me prepare my lessons. I must confess, after a week of working with him, it's clear to me how utterly unqualified I was for this position."

At their reassuring murmurs I pressed the point. "No, it's the truth. My exploits, such as they are, have been in the bestiary, but have left me rather ill-equipped for exploits in a school. Unfortunately, my employment contract was quite binding, so I'm afraid Hogwarts is rather stuck with me for the next year. Rest assured, I shall do my best to overcome my inexperience, though I understand few of my predecessors displayed such… moral fiber."

Now Mrs. Finch-Fletchley leaned forward as I took a deep breath. "It seems… well, Flitwick assures me, that of my last ten predecessors, six were hopeless teachers, three actually attacked students, and one… ah, that one was a pedophile." Both women paled. "Obviously this isn't widely known. I learned it myself only after Flitwick ambushed me." They gasped, I grinned reassuringly. "He wished to ensure that I wouldn't rank among the dangerous ones. He instituted the policy after it became clear that the Headmaster's hiring practices would not… alter when it alteration found."

"…nor bend with the remover to remove," Mrs. Finch-Flechley inserted in the momentary silence. "You know Shakespeare?"

I smiled roguishly. "I was muggle-born myself. I've try to keep my roots."

Mrs. Abbott shook her head impatiently. "Yes, yes, this is all very fascinating, but back to what you were saying, how is it possible…?" Her voice rose dangerously.

"I honestly can't say, though I imagine the Headmaster's political allies helped keep it out of the papers. But that hardly explains all of it. Did you know, for instance, that the Headmaster announced at the beginning of last year, and I quote, that 'the third floor corridor is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death'? Can you imagine? He said that, to a Hall full of children."

The two women were literally speechless.

"What's so curious about this is that none of those children thought to write home to their parents about it. I can't imagine such a thing was coincidence. Perhaps there was a mail-ward, or some other device Dumbledore used to keep news from leaving the castle. Certainly it's not the only thing he kept a tight lid on. In this matter he did contact Law Enforcement, but his report was incomplete. It seems my most recent predecessor was an unmarked servant of… You-Know-Who." I self-censored to spare them the horror of the name. "Dumbledore had apparently hidden within that third floor corridor an artifact of considerable power, one that could be used in some sort of necromantic rite, to restore or resurrect the fallen Dark Lord."

Mrs. Abbot's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. "This was Quirrell? Merlin, you think you know someone! He was in Ravenclaw two years below me. I helped him once when his classmates were teasing him – and all this time he was working on You-Know-Who's behalf?"

"I imagine that came some time later." I said dryly.

She didn't seem to hear, so caught up was she in her recollections.

Mrs. Finch-Fletchley seemed torn between silently taking another sip of tea or contributing what was on her mind. She chose to set down the tea. "I… I'm not sure if it's related, but one of Justin's letters did mention… well, it seems at the End of Year Feast Harry Potter and some of his Gryffindor house-mates received a significant number of house-points, even though it was never clarified exactly why those points were given. Justin thought it was just favoritism by the staff to make sure the Boy-Who-Lived won the House Cup, but from what you're telling us—"

"Wait, the Boy-Who-Lived was involved in this fiasco?" Mrs. Abbot interjected.

"Indeed, it was Harry Potter who ensured that Quirrel's plans did not succeed."

That rocked them on their heels.

Mrs. Finch-Fletchley sighed heavily, picked up her tea, and looked at me expectantly. "So. The staff is incompetent, and tried to keep us in the dark to hide their incompetence. The Headmaster has either laid plans within plans, or his mind is utter mush, which leaves a first year boy as the only responsible adult in the whole bloody school." Mrs. Abbott seemed more shocked by her posh friend's swearing than anything I had yet said. "Now tell me why I shouldn't have Justin transferred to Eton, or for that matter St. Trinian's, since even that seems preferable to the Hogwarts you've described for us."

I quirked an eyebrow.

Mrs. Finch-Fletchley quirked one of her own right back at me.

I blinked first. Damn. "Unfortunately…"

"Of course. It gets worse?" I'm still not sure how she managed to convey such... belligerent resignation.

I looked at Mrs. Abbott, who seemed to enjoy our back-and-forth. "Oh no, I'm not going to ennervate you, keep talking."

I sighed. "Yes, it gets worse. First, I'm not familiar with the Hogwarts Charter or Ministry law, but I'm reasonably sure that they treated you during that first visit as though you had no choice for the simple reason that you, in fact, didn't. Magic can do all kinds of things, you know. It can let a person disappear from one place and reappear in another. It can make you change your mind and send your son to school. It could make you forget you had a child at all, if you become too much of a nuisance to them. Given the general attitude towards muggles," I emphasized the word deliberately, "I wouldn't be surprised that that were a regular occurrence."

Mrs. Finch-Fletchley was practically hyperventilating by the time I'd finished. "No one told us…" She couldn't finish.

"Of course they wouldn't. The Ministry has a whole department set up to handle memory wipes. They call 'em Obliviations. Usually it's to hide evidence of magic around people who aren't in the know, but I know a few folks who use it for more… nefarious purposes."

I didn't mention the fact that until two weeks ago I was one of those folks.

"So I'm not sure you ever had a choice, though they may have pretended you did for the sake of your child. But you should know that's not the only thing magic can do to you. Sure they can erase your memories, and who knows what horrible things that can hide. But even if your memories were safe, your mind might not be. Some wizards are capable of reading your thoughts at a glance. It's called Legilimency, and I am told at least two members of the staff are casual practitioners."

Now Mrs. Abbott leaned forward, more than a little pale herself. "No, you can't be serious!" She paused. "Safe to say the Headmaster is one, I assume? But who is the other? I wouldn't think—"

"Professor Snape." I answered.

If anything she grew almost as pale as Mrs. Finch-Fletchley. "No! Hannah's mentioned a few things about him—"

"Justin too." Mrs. Finch-Fletchley piped in.

"But that was… too much, I could hardly believe, but this! This… you mean she might have been serious?" She sounded horrified at the very thought.

"Mrs. Abbott," I derailed her train of thought. "I've also heard such stories about Professor Snape. Because I lack first-hand experience, I will for now give him the benefit of the doubt. But I assure you, if the reality is but a fraction of what horrors I've been told, I will make it my mission to drive him from Hogwarts before the year is out."

Admittedly, giving Snape the benefit of the doubt would mostly be a ploy to avert Dumbledore's suspicions. I play the blind trusting fool, he doesn't realize I'm gaining political traction until it's too late. But despite all that… I really don't know what to do with Snape. On the one hand, he's a horrible person and a horrible potions instructor – this much is obvious, at least according to Flitwick and Rowling, respectively. And it must be said that he is just as much a minion of Dumbledore as he ever was of Voldemort. But then… he seemed to hold Dumbledore in such delicious contempt, and who knows how useful that might be?

I took a deep breath. "No, whatever my suspicions I will give the staff a sporting chance. But if Hogwarts is as moribund as you and I suspect, then the only possible end that would satisfy me is not reform but revolution, complete and wholesale. I hardly dare keep such responsibility in my own hands, so I hope to involve as many others in this venture as I can. To be honest, that's why I wrote the letter in the first place. I had some idea of how broken things were, and the past week has only brought more issues to light. Will you assist me?"

In that moment Ms. Annabeth Abbott and Ms. Jacqueline Finch-Fletchley seemed to forget their staid existence as middle-class middle-aged mothers of middling children, as they remembered fondly their rebellious youths, so many lifetimes ago.

I don't say that because I'm suddenly a third-person omniscient narrator.

I don't even say that because I used Legilimency to follow their responses.

No, I say that because they both giggled.

Simultaneously.

It was… disconcerting.

It was also evidently a bonding moment, as the two women looked at each other with wide disbelieving eyes – as though to ask the other, 'where did that come from?' – only to let loose another pair of giggles at their synchronous responses.

I cleared my throat.

Both women seemed to jolt in their seats, probably forgetting that I was present. And had been observing them. Awkwardly.

"So." I paused, not really sure what to say. Oh well, let's wrap it up. "Flitwick's already expressed interest in meeting with our group, however many families we gather, and he'll probably check with some of the other staff as well. Don't worry – he'll keep the invitations for only the competent members of staff, if I know him."

I smiled. "He had a few ideas as well. First, I think we should keep all this, what I've told you, to ourselves for now. Muggle generals call it 'stealing a march'; chess-players call it 'taking a tempo.' As long as they don't know what we're doing, they can't respond to it. This also means we should avoid anyone who'd blab on this group to the Headmaster or his supporters, like the Weasleys. Frankly, we should also avoid suspected… erm, Dark families if we can. Malfoy's on the Board of Governors, and I know he and the Headmaster had been jostling for control of the school for a while now. He'd probably oppose reform just as much as Dumbledore would – he's after power, not progress, and if he knows of our plans he and others could just as easily act against us."

Mrs. Finch-Fletchley asked, "But between the two of them, what hope do we have?"

"Well, if they waste their ammo on each other, they'll be weakened in a fight against us, right?"

Mrs. Abbott cut in, "Wait… 'ammo'?"

"Sorry, muggle term. How about this: if they curse each other, they won't be ready to shield against us?"

"Better. Thanks."

"No problem. You see the idea?"

Mrs. Finch-Fletchley nodded. "Of course, though I still don't think it's enough. We should put out feelers for allies among the Governors, maybe get our people in the Ministry as well. With Dumbledore as Headmaster and Malfoy on the Board, we need people with comparable influence if we intend to make any sort of headway."

I thought for a moment. "You're right, but working with the Ministry and Governors would be too risky, at least for now. I might have an inroad to the Ministry already, but that'll be our long game. For now, we focus on parents and teachers and keep flying under the radar." As soon as I finished saying it I knew Mrs. Abbott wouldn't have been able to follow.

"What?"

"Imagine a muggle Hominem Revelio, and trying to avoid being detected by it."

"But how—?"

"Just use your imagination."

"Oh. Right then."

A/N: Thanks again to my reviewers. Many of you have helped me develop the future of this story, and I greatly appreciate the feedback. You can read my responses to selected reviews on my forum. You can find the link on my profile, or type in:

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