CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Thursday I barely survived lunch. After assigning my Third Year Gryffs their first real homework - Six out-of-date references or outright mistakes in Muggles Among Us, one inch per mistake - and setting Shibley loose in the restricted section of the library, I went to the Room of Requirement and had my first sparring session with Ewart Fairbairn.
Bad enough he kicked my ass. Bad enough he didn't even break a sweat doing it. Bad enough he was smiling the whole time. What made it really bad is that he would not. Shut. Up.
*Wham!* I'd hit the mat and he'd say something like ''Tell your girlfriend that casting Iterum in the middle of a brawl is stupid. If she does it again and survives, I'll kill her myself.
*Wham!* ''Perspicacem? In the time it takes to cast that idiot Transfiguration any halfway competent warlock could cast Stupefy twice. Five times if they do it silently.''
*Wham!* ''Somno? Really? A mentalist who can shut down a man's frontal lobes with a thought wastes time with a childish spell like Somno?''
*Wham!* ''For God's sake Hunter, stop letting yourself get angry. You know I'm right.''
*Wham!* ''That one was just for fun.''
Bastard.
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For kicks I posted my favourite academic joke on the blackboard:
Q - How many history professors does it take to change a light bulb?
A - Just one, but 500 applied for the job.
I don't think the students got the joke but I liked it. It gave the room a nice homey feel.
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Fourth Period Thursdays I had a mixed class of twenty or so Sixth Years, NEWT-level students.
Galilea insisted on calling the tests by their proper name of the Non-Essentials but everyone else in Wizarding Britain called them the Nastily Exhaustings. NEWTs were the exam that determined where you would start in the Ministry or St. Mungo's or one of the other big institutions in the Wizarding World. The great thing about NEWT-level classes was that there was absolutely no one there who didn't want to be. The bad thing is they were a driven lot...
''I understand that you're all worried about your NEWTs next year, so I've prepared study guides based on exams from previous years.''
Twenty-plus heads perked up, like lions hearing the cry of a wounded gazelle.
''Sir?''
''The Department of Magical Education doesn't allow me to post answers from recent NEWTs, but the questions haven't changed much in several decades. I've prepared a study guide for you, and it's on the shelf by my desk - Whoa!''
Half the class leaped to their feet, a black-robed mob trying to push their way forward to get to the guides.
''Sit down! Sit! What are you, eight years old?'' They settled down, looking embarrassed but not taking their eyes off the shelf. ''The guides will still be there at the end of class, and you've got a year to review them.''
I gave them a minute to calm down. ''Good. Now, welcome to Muggle Studies for Sixth Years. I'm Professor Geoffrey Hunter, and before any of you ask I have a PhD and two Masters degrees, which the DME has agreed to recognize as the equivalent of five NEWTs. So yes, I am qualified to teach this class.'' I'd actually felt a bit insulted that it was only five, but Galilea had assured me it was a perfectly respectable offer and that I should save my energy for other battles. ''So have you all had a chance to look at the reading list this year?''
All of my students nodded. ''Good. If it seems a bit light to you, don't worry, it's not. Those are all university-level texts. We'll spend our year working through the Ministry-approved material, and you will come out of this class ready to ace your NEWTs - ''
Or I will skin you all alive for threatening my job.
''But those Muggle textbooks will put the Ministry's information into a new context for you. Not only will you be ready for your NEWTs, you'll understand what it all means. And we'll do field trips so you can all put what you know into action. Before we begin this year, are there any questions about the teaching material?''
Translated from the Academese that last sentence meant: How many of you have actually opened the books? It turned out they all had, which was great. I had a feeling I was going to like my NEWT students.
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I'd already decided to treat my Sixth and Seventh Years like young adults. By Wizarding standards most of them were of age or almost there. Not a lot of point trying to treat them like anything other than what they were. I gave them the standard lecture about being late or missing classes - That I didn't care and and wouldn't be deducting points or marks for attendance, and they didn't need my permission to go to the toilet, but if they missed anything in class it was their own job to catch up.
''I expect you to have your classwork turned in on time, and I expect you to show up on time and ready for all exams. The schedule is posted by the door, I suggest you check it at least once a week in case it changes. There are some group projects in this class. If you cause trouble for the other people in your groups, if you're late with your work, disruptive, or just not pulling your weight, then you're in serious trouble. You're adults, and I expect you to act like it.''
I shrugged and spread my hands. ''And those are the rules. They're the same rules you'll run into at most jobs. Show up for meetings, get your work done on time, cooperate with your colleagues... And that's it. Welcome to the grown-up world.''
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''I'm a long way from an expert, Mr. Scott. But it looks to me like the Green Party depends on voters who could just as easily go for SNP or Labour. If you can convince me otherwise, with a foot by end of school-day Monday on how the Greens can make gains in the next election, you get twenty-five points for Ravenclaw.''
My NEWT kids were out of touch with Muggle daily life, fashions and fads and brief internet memes, but a lot of them got Muggle newspapers and had Muggle family. They knew British politics better than I did.
''And for the next class, I want you all to have a foot comparing page fifty-one of The Philosophy of the Mundane to actual Muggle attitudes towards the supernatural or paranormal. You can use whatever three Muggle texts you want, fiction, non-fiction, or both.''
Page 51 was the first page in that nasty screed I'd turned to on my first day at Hogwarts. It was an extended rant on why Muggles not only didn't believe in magic, they didn't want to believe and would actively deny the evidence of their senses. The point to the assignment wasn't to convince them that Philosophy of the Mundane was wrong. The point was to get them looking at how Muggles actually thought compared to how the Ministry thought Muggles thought. Next week I'd assign my students to find out just how hard the Ministry worked to force Muggles to ignore the evidence of magic.
I looked at the clock. Fifteen minutes before the end of class, and there were fifteen minutes between classes. Half an hour would give me just enough time for tea. ''Any questions?''
The 'Claw stuck his hand in the air. I sighed. ''Mr. Scott, in higher education when your professor glances at the clock and asks if there are any question, it means that he's ready to let you go early.'' My stomach growled loudly. ''Now, are there any questions?''
The two kids sitting by Scotty had to hold his arms down
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Thursday Fifth Period - Dance, mixed Second Years. I hurt too much to do anything energetic, so I had the kids pair off to practice not stomping on their partner's toes. Sixteen pairs of giggling, blushing, tripping-over-own-feet kids who couldn't meet each others eyes and who I had to keep reminding to breath. I left class wanting to hug each one of them and tell them all they would be okay, but figured I was in enough trouble with their parents already.
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My quarters were getting a little cramped. I'd made some space by stacking my boxes literally up to the rafters, and I'd properly hung my bulletin board instead of leaving it leaning against a wall. But I'd had the House-Elves bring in privacy screens around my bed, and set some other screens up around a chair and little reading table for Shibley, and that didn't leave a lot of room for my own table and chairs. Hopefully that place off Diagon Alley Neville had told me about was bigger than this room.
'Sitting' across the table from me was Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, or of Maimsey-at-Portontown depending on whether you preferred the Early Modern English or Mangled Anglo-French form. And speaking of forms... Under his bloody and shredded hip-length doublet, Sir Nicholas looked like roadkill.
''I'm certain the headsman was smashed,'' he said. ''The fellow could barely stand upright, don't you know?'' His form shifted as his seeming changed. Now he wore a '70s Era leisure suit with popped collar. ''What do you think? Is this appropriate for being seen?''
''In my opinion, stick with the ruff.'' Under that collar I could still see a great jagged cut across Sir Nicholas' neck. Apparently he could never entirely hide the marks of his death. ''I think the students will be disappointed if you don't look old-fashioned.''
He humphed, but changed his appearance back to the familiar doublet and ruff. ''I'm terribly sorry, but one did not wear such foolish things in my life.''
''Try telling that to the kids. They get their history from Famous Wizard Cards. And speaking of your life...''
''You fancy to ask about my botched execution, I suppose.'' He leaned forward and sniffed the air above the plate of cheese I'd provided. Ancient cheddar, blue Stiltons and Sticheltons, and a goat cheese that should have been shipped with a biohazard label. Ghosts liked strong scents, and I refused to have spoiled foods in my room. ''I don't know why. There's hardly anything left to say on the matter.''
''Actually, I was wondering about your role at court.''
The frown dropped from his face. ''Ah. One sees. I was there on behalf of the Wizengamot, naturally. A cousin of the king you know. Through the Ghents, but not through those byblows the Gaunts of course.''
''A man of some standing,'' I said. And just a bit of a snob.
''Oh, hardly any.'' He pretended to wave the matter aside. ''Well I say, of course Mimsy-Porpington was a very old patch of land, been in the family some few generations. Knighted for a small favour I paid the king at Bosworth Field.''
''Servant to King Henry and the Wizengamot. A position of some importance.''
''Not at all, not at all. A simple matter of keeping one's eyes open and mouth shut, sending off an owl or two at night to the Wizengamot. And of course keeping His Majesty safe from all forms of magical harm. Hardly anything to it.''
''Court wizard doesn't seem like 'hardly anything'.''
''My duties were mere trivialities. More a matter of not doing magic, really. Making it known that I could do such, of course, and would come down most harshly on others who tried any chicanery in His Majesty's presence.''
''Were such attempts common?''
''No. We loyal wizards and witches kept the king safe. With myself and the Lady Grieve at hand, his well-being was assured.''
What?
''I'm terribly sorry but Professor Hunter, are you absolutely all right? You look a bit startled.''
''Sorry, it's just...'' How can you not see it? ''I'm a historian. To my knowledge there's no record of one wizard or witch at King Henry's court, let alone two.''
''The Wizengamot saw that there would be no records of my presence. And as for the lovely Lady - '' Sir Nicholas leaned forward in his chair, speaking in hushed tones. ''Her magic was very weak, you understand. She was at court on behalf of the Wizards Council, entirely in secret in her case, but one thought perhaps they'd sent her there to have her out of the way.''
''The Council and the Wizengamot both had observers at the court?''
''But of course. Always. Until they merged into the Ministry under King William. Politics, don't you know. I was never terribly interested in such matters.''
Oh you poor stupid Gryff.