All rights to the Harry Potter setting and characters are owned by J.K. Rowling, Queen of Blood and Fire.
Madhouse lyrics by Zale Dalen, from the soundtrack to Terminal City Ricochet. That movie really doesn't hold up as well as I remembered it, but the soundtrack kicks ass.
CHAPTER TWO
Take A Look At My Madhouse
Two days and much heavy reading later, Neville and I went to Diagon Alley. I caught a train into London, giving me more time to make notes in my copy of A History Of Magic. Bathilda Bagshot would have flunked a 100-level history course at any halfway decent institution, but as a collector of folklore she was clearly first-rate. I filled the margins of A History Of Magic with enough notes to block out the original text on some pages.
My other reason for taking the train was simple exhaustion. House-elves in the rafters and under the bed, talking portraits that claimed to date to the Middle Ages but wore Early Modern clothes, bored poltergeists, lonely ghost-nuns, Hagrid's stable of winged skeletal horses... I needed an escape, and a train through Scotland and England was a perfect chance to rest.
I'd caught up with Neville at his wife's pub, although I'd just missed meeting her, and now stood in a street that simply didn't have room to exist. It was just another impossible thing, the third one that morning. That impossibility was the last thing on my mind at the moment though.
"To borrow an English phrase, what's a Galleon when it's at home then?"
"One Galleon is seventeen Sickles. One Sickle is twenty-nine Knuts. The current exchange rate is five Pounds to the Galleon."
"What? Neville, I'm a history teacher. I'm going to need a calculator if you bring maths into this."
Neville and I stopped by a sweets shop. The window display centred on candy frogs swimming in a chocolate fondue, and the children watching through the window looked as though they'd been hypnotized. Maybe they had. What kind of advertising did magical shops use?
"A small nice flat on Diagon Alley is about one hundred twenty Galleons a month, maybe a bit more. A pint of one of the cheaper brands is three Sickles. You'll find food a little less expensive here than in Muggle Britain. Seventh Year textbooks cost anywhere from nine to fifteen Galleons per. School supplies for a First Year student are, oh, about fifty to sixty Galleons, all things included."
"Thanks. That helps put it into perspective." Five hundred Galleons per month for a junior professor. Not bad at all.
Where Hogsmeade was Britain's home town, Diagon Alley was its High Street. It looked a bit like the touristy areas of London, Victorian style bay-window displays jumbled together with Georgian Chinoiserie awnings and Jacobean brickwork. Gaudy as hell, but nowhere near as bad as the people.
I watched two women walk by wearing long-hooded Jacobean cloaks over dresses straight out of the Victorian Aesthetic movement. But the brilliant colours of the dyes were purely modern. Everyone on the street wore a similar jumble of styles, although the trend seemed to be towards a mix of very early and very late Victorian dress. Younger women all seemed to favour pointed sugar-loaf hats, older preferred bonnets. And Neville wore a dark red short-sleeved robe over his otherwise ordinary jeans and brown sweater.
I took a closer look at the children watching the sweets display. Their robes were made of biased-cut fabrics, a technique popularized in the early Twentieth Century. And while their other clothes seemed out of date, like something from photos of my grandparents, they weren't archaic. I watched as a young mother collected one of her children from the front of the shop. It was hard to be certain without staring, but I thought she was wearing modern-style underwear.
"Neville, how much of this - " Saying 'is an act' would definitely be rude. "How do witches and wizards dress when you're at home?"
"Well, my Muggle-born friends say we're fifty years out of date at best. And some of the old Pureblood families are closer to a century behind the times. We keep the robes and cloaks for dressier occasions."
"Such as being seen on High Street?" This was starting to sound very New York.
Neville waved at someone across the street. I'd noticed he seemed to know a lot of people. "Yes. Diagon Alley is where people go to be seen. If you just want a quiet day out I recommend Hogsmeade, although it doesn't have the full range of shops."
Oh Hell no I wasn't going back to Hogsmeade. Well, maybe the Hogshead. But that was it.
"Well, I'd better get my new wardrobe." People weren't staring, but my jeans sweater blazer combo was drawing glances.
"Madam Malkin's is right across the street," said Neville. "There are better shops, and there are cheaper shops, but Malkin's is a good full-range shop."
IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO
Sports uniforms, formal robes, school uniforms, casual clothes... Neville hadn't been exaggerating when he'd called Malkin's a full-range store. Menswear was at the back, past the school uniforms. Some of the children gawked at me before being corrected by their parents. A few of the parents stared themselves.
"Neville, these clothes are... " I picked up the sleeve of an orange robe. Orange, with green highlights and silver glitter around the sleeve-cuffs. "Words fail me. Really."
"That one is garish even by wizarding standards," said Neville. "I think there's a reason it's been marked down. Maybe further back here... "
We mined through ugly for a good ten minutes, finally breaking through to a vein of merely out of date. Although that one jacket...
"Neville, have you heard of Neo-Victorian fashions? Or steampunk?" They were out of style now, but the looks had been big when I was a student. Jessi had bought a lot of those clothes for me. She'd said I had the right feel for a retro look.
"No. What did you have in mind?"
I showed Neville the jacket. "If we could find more to go with this, I already have some clothes that should match. And they'll match the robes I'll need for the classroom."
"Ah, Teddy Rough. I wore something like that in my Auror days." He must have seen the look on my face. "I'll explain later. We should find a clerk to help."
IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO
A long jacket in warm brown with matching pants, green vest with gold stitching, and an off-white shirt with tab-less collar. Steampunk, Teddy Rough, call it what you will, I looked good. I also looked like an escapee from the set of Dr Who, but when in Diagon Alley...
Neville handed the clerk a business card and told her to send the rest on to Hogwarts, putting the whole thing on my expense account. We left Malkin's with me feeling far less conspicuous.
"On to Gringotts next. It's almost time for your appointment." Neville led the way down Diagon Alley. I trailed along, enjoying the sights. A window-display of an orrery caught my attention, a gleaming brass model of the Solar System with slowly orbiting parts that didn't seem to be connected by gears. Beautiful, but there was no price-tag on it. The other small miracles in the window made it clear that this was the kind of shop where if you had to ask the prices you couldn't afford it.
"Have you thought any about your course syllabus?" Neville asked me.
"Yes. My first thought was to have the students read the standard textbooks out loud, with me laughing maniacally whenever they hit a particularly stupid bit." When Muggles Attack had been pure comedy gold.
"That seems a bit harsh. Particularly for the First Years."
"'Harsh'. Please, I've seen the course load for Potions. But no, I've decided to go with a focus on the Victorian Era, particularly daily life in the UK, for all years. Might be a bit uncomfortable for the Irish students though, I can't believe you still go by those old borders. But anyways, that leads directly into the Postmodern Era up to the Oil Crisis and the end of the Bretton Woods system - "
"I have no idea what you've just said."
"Classes begin in three days. Bring your notepad. The point is there are easily-available age-appropriate materials for Victorian days, and I can assign class projects to bring them up to speed on current affairs." Muggle Studies was now mandatory for all First through Third Years with no immediate Muggle family. I suspected my boss held a political agenda. "That shouldn't make the Pureblood parents too nervous."
"Seems like a sound choice," said Neville. "Here we are. Gringotts."
"Yeah." I took at a look at the building we'd stopped in front of. "This would have to be it."
Four stories of clean white marble, with columns and arches and a grand staircase leading to bronze doors. Classic bank architecture. The sort of building that said the owners loved money like they loved their mothers.
Those bronze doors opened into an entrance hall of dark marble and wood, and another set of bronze doors. Where a Muggle bank might have its logo and motto, the inside doors had a warning:
In accordance with the Treaty of 1999, the management of Gringotts Wizarding Bank reserves the right to assassinate counterfeiters, forgers, and utterers of base coin.
I chuckled as we passed through those doors. "I've decided that I like goblins. Where were these guys during the foreclosure crisis?"
"I'll never know what you're on about, will I?"
Two tiny, skinny creatures in immaculate red and silver livery bowed to us as we entered. A third goblin in a dark red three-piece suit and pointed cap checked his watch. "Professor Longbottom, Professor Hunter, precisely on time. Follow me please."
The little goblin lead us through the front of the bank, past long rows of goblins working at tiny tables. We went up a flight of well-worn marble stairs, past a wall lined with pictures of long-faced pointy-nosed bankers who glared and muttered as we went by. Goblins and wizards had a long history together, very little of it happy. Only two decades ago the Ministry had tried to seize the assets at Gringotts.
We stopped at a panelled door. The goblin knocked briefly, then opened the door and gestured us in.
The office was another old-fashioned space, dark wood walls and thick rugs on hardwood floors. There was a fire, a log burning away in a small stone fireplace. Too small for the Floo Network, I noticed. A human in dark reddish-brown robes with gold trim stood waiting for us. He wore his red hair long, and scars marred his face.
He shook Neville's hand and smiled warmly. "You're looking well. How's Hannah?"
"Too busy, as always. And Fleur?"
"Swamped. The Daily Star is terribly understaffed. They need at least two more writers."
The red-haired man smiled at me. I knew all the jokes about British teeth, but this guy looked as though he'd sharpened his canines with a file.
"And this must be Hogwarts's new Muggles Studies professor."
"Bill, let me introduce Professor Geoffrey Hunter. Geoffrey, this is Bill Weasley, Senior Security Auditor for Gringotts."
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Weasley." We shook hands briefly and then Weasley led us over to the chairs in front of his desk. I sat in the chair farthest from the fire. "Senior Security Auditor? I'm surprised you're handling something like this."
Weasley sat down and adjusted his robes. "There were a few strings pulled. The Headmistress called the Ministry, the Ministry called my father, and my father called Gringotts. But it truly isn't as simple as opening a new account. To begin with, a number of our standard banking contract terms require the client to be able to cast spells."
Neatly locking just over 20% of the 'Wizarding' population out of the financial system, leaving them dependent on their families or wealthy patrons. I kept my mouth shut about that.
Bill Weasley went on. "And there are other security matters. Hogwarts has not yet made a formal announcement regarding your status, but there are rumours. Which reminds me, aside from the Star and the Prophet, the Wizarding World Weekly has managed an invitation to tonight's event."
"What? How?" Neville looked genuinely shocked.
"I don't know the Weekly," I said. "Is that a paper?"
"One of the new lot." Neville shook his head. "And short of Wet Witches Watcher it's the worst of them all. Owned by the same people."
"It's pretty awful," said Weasley. "So mind who you talk to tonight. Otherwise the news of Hogwarts's Muggle professor will break next to the Weekly's Witch of the Week."
Today was Tuesday. The plan called for a press conference at Hogwarts late Thursday afternoon, with the new school year starting Friday. In theory that meant the news would break Friday morning, not giving the public time to work themselves into a real frenzy before start of year. In practice I thought it would just mean the panicked hordes would descend on Hogwarts over the weekend, waving lawsuits and angry letters to the editor.
"Geoffrey? Geoffrey?"
"Oh. Sorry, Neville. Just thinking about pitchforks and burning torches."
Weasley laughed, but it wasn't a particularly friendly sound. "You should visit my brother's shop. Pick up a few of his special items."
"That's next on the list," said Neville.
"Good," said Weasley. "On to business. Professor Hunter, Gringotts has borrowed some language from Muggle banking contracts, so that ought to be familiar to you. We've also borrowed some language from the Obliviation clause of your teaching contract... "
IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO
"All right, Geoffrey? You look a bit sour." That was Neville, waiting with his wife Hannah for me to finish getting dressed. Hannah was a lovely woman with brown eyes, blonde hair, and obviously more dress sense than her husband.
I was in no position to snark about Neville's bland robes. I'd failed twice at knotting my tie, the only one I had that went with my new clothes. I untied it and started over.
"I'm feeling a bit of stress, yeah. I'll be Obliviated if Hogwarts decides to let me go, or if I decide not to stay on at the end of the year. I'll be Obliviated if I reveal the existence of Gringotts to a Muggle, or discuss the terms of my surety bond with anyone other than a goblin. And your friend George will Obliviate me if I tell anyone about his new Ministry-approved line of Shield-Charmed underpants. And I've obviously already been Obliviated, because I can't remember how to tie a damn tie!"
I sighed and apologized to Hannah and Neville. He was probably used to my grumpy self, but I wasn't making much of a first impression on my friend's wife. But really, being threatened with a memory-wipe for revealing the existence of special magic underpants? Not the sort of thing to leave you in a good mood.
And I was starting to feel that Teddy Rough had not been the best choice of looks. Any style with the word 'rough' in it is probably not what you want to wear to meet the people ultimately responsible for your paycheque. Wool shirt with leather patches, gold cuff pins, coarse silk vest, heavy denim pants, leather belt with gold buckle, leather boots with far too many gold buckles...
I went at my tie again. "Are you sure this is acceptable for a formal dinner?"
"You'll do fine. I wore similar outfits to dozens of Ministry meetings in my Auror days."
"Great," I muttered. "I'm going to an academic formal dressed like the local equivalent of a SWAT cop."
At least Hannah laughed.
Finally I got my tie right. I straightened my shirt collar and buttoned up my vest. One look in the mirror told me I was wearing way too much brown and tan, but at least it wasn't dark. Hopefully the green and gold tie would add enough colour that I wouldn't blend in with the furniture. As for the rest of me, my mixed Scots-English heritage meant that no one in Britain would give me a second glance. Average height, hazel eyes, neatly trimmed goatee, slightly shaggy brown hair... If you needed an extra to walk through the background of a scene and not be noticed, I was your man.
I grabbed my semi-formal short-sleeved robe - Brown, of course, with a green lining - and pulled it on. "Ready. So, Apparating. What's that like?"
Neville and Hannah walked over to me, Neville wrapping his wand-arm around his wife's waist. He grabbed my arm with his free hand. "It's something like this."
What's Apparition like? Pressure, and darkness. Crushing darkness from all sides and cold. Crushed down down by all the weight of the world. And release.
And now we were standing in a large empty room, blandly decorated with dark paint and wood panelling. The worn hardwood under my boots felt comfortably solid. I swayed slightly as Neville held my arm.
"Feeling ill at all?" Hannah looked concerned.
"No. Just dizzy. That is not a pleasant way to travel." I shook my head and took deep breaths.
A series of sharp cracking noises rang out, and three people Apparated in. Deputy Headmaster Theobrosan to one side, and the Headmistress and Professor Isgar arm in arm on the other. None of them looked off balance.
Thank God Grimward was wearing somewhat modest ivory and green robes. It's never a good idea to lust after your boss and a colleague's girlfriend at the same time. Particularly not when those are the same woman.
She looked me up and down. "A bold choice. I approve. And how was your first little jaunt, Professor?"
"He did extremely well," said Neville. "Not sick at all."
He turned back to me. "Most people vomit after their first Apparation."
"Great. Thanks for the warning."
"Excellent," said the Headmistress. "Professor, do you remember your briefings?"
"If anyone wants to talk Wizarding politics, smile pretty and act dumb. If anyone wants to talk Muggle politics, bore them with a treatise on the evolution of the Westminster Model under Queen Victoria. And whatever I do, don't talk about the war." Several important members of the Board of Governors had managed to pick the wrong side of both Wizarding Wars.
"Yes. And for goodness sake Professor Hunter, stop frowning. This is a party. I require you to enjoy yourself."
I followed the others out of the Apparation Room. The Ministry of Magic's facilities under Whitehall had been built to impress the population, and their main atrium showed it. Huge brick arches supported a brilliant blue ceiling covered with shifting gold emblems. Dark well-polished wood panels covered the walls, and the hardwood floor gleamed with layers of ancient wood stain. Gilded brick fireplaces lined the walls, and every minute or so a wizard or witch would emerge from a whoosh of brilliant green flame. I looked away from the emerald fire to the other end of the atrium. I could see a few people leaving the atrium through a set of golden doors at the far end from us.
"Oh good," said Hannah. "We're here before the mob. Lets go."
In the centre of the floor stood a simple fountain, where water spilled down over names engraved in a dark marble block. I'd skimmed two books on the First and Second Wars, and knew I was in the company of people with family or friends named on that cenotaph. We passed the fountain without comment.
As we passed through the golden doors I heard the Floo Network flaring behind us. The main body of guests were arriving. Hannah Longbottom picked up the pace towards the elevators - Lifts, sorry.
"I get enough of crowds at work, thank you." Hannah led us towards an open lift with a waiting attendant.
The lift had that air of shabby wealth you find at old institutions. The wood and brass fittings were worn down by decades of use, the golden safety ropes hanging from the ceiling slightly frayed from thousands of hands. I could see Hannah's point about not wanting to wait around for the rest of the guests to crowd in. The lift was packed with six of us plus the attendant.
Headmistress Grimward and Professor Theobrosan were there as official representatives of Hogwarts. Professor Isgar was there as the Headmistress's guest. Professor Neville Longbottom was a war hero, and his wife was no slouch in that bit of history as well. Tonight it fell to me to play the role of Official Conversation Piece, giving the other guests something to whisper about.
While the Head Teacher and the Board of Governors controlled Hogwarts, the Department of Magical Education controlled the examinations system. Hogwarts and the DME held different ideas about what academic standards were needed for various levels, and the DME longed to seize Hogwarts's purse-strings from the Board. Formal events like tonight were intended to bring all sides together in an atmosphere of cooperation and collegiality, opening the way for an open and respectful working relationship.
Two years ago a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor had Hexed the DME Head over after-dinner drinks. The DADA professor retired soon after, citing 'personal reasons', but the DME Head still held a grudge.
The lift vomited us out into a lobby, part of the Ministry's facilities for formal events and announcements. The lobby décor...
Icing-sugar white walls with glittering pink trim, gleaming pink and green marble pillars, a ceiling of ice-green above matching carpet, paintings of cherubs and unicorns gambolling in forests, all lit by glowing wisps circling the pillars and a translucent Ministry M shining below the ceiling.
"God," I said. "It's like Puddifoot's on a higher budget."
The Headmistress shushed me, but she didn't argue. This was money without taste or restraint, formal décor as seen through the eyes of a rabid tweenaged girl.
We presented our invitations to the thug outside the lift. His footman's uniform fit him like a glove, but I'd been to enough formal events to recognize security when I saw it. With our bona fides presented he bowed us over to the other guests, already starting to queue up by the main doors.
"Is the dining hall like this?"
"Not at all," said the Headmistress. "The hall was built under the supervision of Bergholt Stuttley Johnson himself, and is quite lovely. It was originally intended as an interrogation chamber. I should warn you, do not under any circumstances approach the ornamental fountain."
I chuckled politely while adding that to my long mental list of Wizarding In-Jokes.
Another thick-necked footman greeted us as we approached the queues. Neville turned to me. "Any questions before we part company, Geoffrey?"
"Nah, the etiquette hasn't changed much in nearly a century and a half. And if I screw up I'll just play the Ignorant Foreigner card."
I'd met Madeleine Jessica Gagnon at a formal dinner. It took us three seconds to fall in love and three years to realize it was just lust.
The footmen led us away to our respective places in the lines. As the highest-ranking woman at this event the Headmistress would sit at one end of the table with our host, the Head of the Department of Magical Education. The Regent of the Board of Governors would sit at the other end with our hostess, the Head's wife. The other professors were likewise fairly high-ranking in their own rights, and would be seated near the ends of the table. Hannah and I were to be banished to the middle of the table, although Hannah would be closer to the end than me. There were some differences from Muggle etiquette but for the most part it was all familiar to me.
We'd back-and-forthed for half an hour at Hogwarts over my academic ranking. The school didn't have an exact equivalent to a PhD and dual Masters, but we'd finally straightened that out. Then we'd gotten into a furious exchange of owls and Floo Network messages with the Ministry over order of precedence. The result of nearly two hours of argument was that I would be seated with the few Office Assistants (Junior Grade) well-connected enough to be sent to an event like this.
As I'd been told to expect there were two queues, one for each sex. In the men's - Wizards - line I found myself standing between, judging by their clothes, a rich kid and a civil servant. I'd expected some social snobbery at tonight's event, but the rich kid looked at me like I was something headless the cat had dumped on his pillow. He turned away from me without a word. The older man, the one I took to be some sort of civil servant, looked at me nervously and then looked at the rich kid. Then he studied his boots intently, not speaking to me.
It wasn't my clothes. Neville or the Headmistress would have said something. Word had obviously gotten out that the new Hogwarts professor was a Muggle.
To hell with it. If the people weren't going to talk to me, I'd take the time to study them. Between the ones already in line and the guests pouring in from the lifts, I could see that my clothes really had been a bold choice. Neville wore the scholarly black robes preferred at Hogwarts, but for the most part wizards and witches liked bright colours. I'd known this, but hadn't anticipated just how vivid this group would be. There was a wizard in a sky-blue cloak over peach-coloured robes, a witch in leaf-green robes with gold trim, one old-fashioned gentleman wearing a bright red pointy cap and scarlet robes trimmed with white fur, a witch wrapped in a truly amazing full great-kilt in blue and bronze tartan...
The footmen showed the last arrivals to their places in line, just in time for the doors to the dining hall to swing open. I ignored the arrival of Grimward and the Head of the DME, instead watching the witches' queue as it moved forward. If I'd counted the number of guests properly, I'd be seated between a redhead in green silk and a brunette in translucent layers of pink and white gauze. Who cared if the men didn't want to talk to me?
The queues came together just before the doors to the dining hall, and I found myself paired with the redheaded witch. A footman bowed politely and introduced me to Jezebel Rosier.
Her eyebrows went up when she heard my full name. ''Puttock?''
''I don't use my middle name often.'' The footman guided us through the door, where a butler waited to announce us to the assembled guests.
''I can see why,'' my companion said. But she said it lightly, and she was smiling. The evening was looking up. We stepped into the dining hall and the butler announced Doctor Geoffrey Puttock Hunter, Professor at Hogwarts, and Jezebel Rosier of the Most Ancient House of Rosier.
And there, at the top of the grand stairway, I froze.
Take a look at my madhouse
The hall was lit by hundreds of candles.
My own little cell
Hundreds of candles, burning bright as they drifted above the table.
Take a look at my madhouse
Hundreds of burning flames, floating above the guests.
It's my own living hell.