Chapter 8
Mr. Weasley
In early December, Charity found Snape in the staff lounge and asked him if he could help her with some potions. He told her he could give her twenty minutes that evening at 20:00. Charity had a bit of trouble navigating the dungeons, where his office was located, and so arrived a few minutes late. After plopping her heavy box onto his desk with a clank, she instinctively pointed her wand to his fireplace and ignited a fire to warm up the cold, grey space. The flame-light flickered and bounced off the collection of jars lining the walls. She tried not to look at their contents.
"What is it you need Professor Burbage?" Snape asked in his most unfriendly tone. Apparently there was to be no tea.
"I am having trouble with a few simple potions," she said, pulling small, corked bottles out of her box. Each of the bottles contained a liquid, which was either clear or muddy brown in color.
"Perhaps you should enroll in my class next term," he said in all seriousness.
"Ha, ha," Charity responded lightly. "These potions are fine – they do exactly what they're supposed to do, but I was hoping you could show me how to make them more attractive."
"Attractive?"
"Yes. I was thinking of a pale pink color with maybe a few sparkles in this clear one, and a translucent blue for this, well, dirt-colored one."
"Why on earth would you want to do that?"
"Oh, I'm giving them as gifts, and as you know, presentation is everything!" Snape responded with a somewhat fierce look, which seemed to indicate that he very much wanted to hurl her out one of his windows. Lucky for Charity, he had none down here in the dungeon.
Taking a more practical tone, she added, "I've tried changing the appearance myself, but every time I add a new element the effect of the potion changes."
"Potions 101, Professor Burbage. Are you sure you don't want to sign up for my class?"he drawled in his deep monotone.
"Well, aren't you the cheeky one. Honestly, Severus, you act as if I don't know the difference between wolfsbane and monkshood."
"There is no diff-" Snape started, but he stopped short when he saw Charity's playful smile.
Afraid that he was truly going to run out of patience with her, Charity switched to an approach that always worked with her father. "Oh please Severus! You're the expert. Will you please, please just show me how to do it?" Whether it was her pleading, bright eyes that did it or just the fact that he wanted her far away from him as soon as possible, she didn't know, but Snape finally agreed to help her.
As he selected various jars and tubes from the shelves of his store cupboard, Charity took the opportunity to ask something she'd been wondering about for a while. "Would these potions have the same effect on Muggles as they do on wizards and witches?" she asked in a way that she hoped sounded offhanded. Snape poked his hooked nose out of the store cupboard.
"Professor Burbage, you're not planning on giving these potions to Muggles are you?" he asked sternly.
She laughed lightly and said, "Oh, heavens no. These are Christmas gifts for my students." Under her breath she added, "No telling what they might do with them, though."
"Students?" Snape said, looking appalled and suspicious at the same time.
"Well, there's only the ten of them after all," Charity explained, and Snape returned to rifle through the cupboard. She took a chance and trudged on, "I wonder, though, what would be the harm if the potions did find themselves in Muggle hands? I mean, it's just a harmless mix to give sparkle to the girls' hair and a deodorizing blend to keep the boys smelling fresh after an active Quidditch workout -- that one's a gift for all of us really."
Snape returned to his desk with an armful of ingredients and said sternly, "The harm would be that the magical world would be exposed if Muggles were suddenly drinking our potions and sparkling around town."
"Oh, I know. I'm not talking about it in the context of how the world is today. I'm thinking more philosophically. I mean, think about it - if potions have the same effect on Muggles as they do on us, then this can be the great unifying factor! This could be the one branch of magic that Muggles and wizards can share in equally."
Snape's forehead creased between his sheets of black hair as he appeared to consider this. He didn't seem to like the idea, but he didn't argue her point either. Instead, he merely said, "It's getting late and I'm sure you'd like to be well rested for your class tomorrow." After a brief pause, he added dryly, "Presentation is everything you know."
Snape worked quickly and smoothly. He precisely measured ingredients and added them to the potions one-by-one, swirling and examining the bottles after each addition. Charity found herself mesmerized while watching his expert hands give just the right dash of this and drop of that. Although not skilled at potions herself, she could see that Snape was truly a master of the art. She couldn't help but be impressed. She didn't even find his arrogance altogether unappealing anymore, now that it seemed to be so well founded.
The following week, Charity brought in a guest speaker to class – Arthur Weasley from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office of the Ministry of Magic. Charlie Weasley had graciously asked his father to get in touch with Charity if he'd be able to help her out with a presentation. Mr. Weasley had four children currently at Hogwarts, all Gryffindors: Fred and George, the two jokers; Ron, who was best friends with Harry Potter; and Ginny, the youngest and only daughter. He also had three older sons, including Charlie, who had already graduated from Hogwarts. Charity had only been a teenager when she'd last seen Mr. Weasley and still couldn't bring herself to call him Arthur rather than Mr. Weasley.
She remembered him as a wonderfully kind man, who had been more fascinated with Muggles than anyone else Charity knew. Strangely, this deep fascination had never seemed to translate into a deep understanding of Muggles. Mr. Weasley was in charge of locating and either setting right or repossessing Muggle objects that had been tampered with magically. Knowing what Muggle objects were and were not supposed to do was essential to his job. He dealt with Muggles on a daily basis, adjusting their memories and sometimes posing as a Muggle to extract the offending objects. Charity thought it would be interesting for the students to learn about a potential Muggle-related career.
"Hello, Mr. Weasley," she greeted him brightly when he entered the classroom ahead of the students.
"Why hello, Miss - oh excuse me it's Professor now – Burbage," he said warmly, shaking her hand. Arthur Weasley was a tall man with thinning hair, which was every bit as red as Charlie's. His manner was not quite as lighthearted as Charity had remembered, and he looked very tired, which made her feel guilty about having him make the trip all the way up here.
"Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to do this," she told him earnestly.
"Not at all, not at all. Turns out I needed to make a trip to Hogwarts anyhow," Mr. Weasley answered kindly.
"How is Charlie? Still studying dragons in Romania?" she asked.
"Oh, yes. Still keeping his poor mum up late at nights worrying," he said humbly, but Charity could see he was immensely proud of his son.
"As long as he's still as quick as he was in his Quidditch days, I'm sure it's the dragons' mums who need to worry."
Mr. Weasley chuckled as he set down his bag on her desk. "Tell that to Molly."
Just then, the students came filing in. "Right then," Charity said, "I'm just going to introduce you, and then the rest of the class is yours."
As Mr. Weasley was about to start his presentation, Professor Umbridge showed up, with that hideous smile plastered to her face, and waddled to the front of the room, handing him a piece of paper. "Don't want to forget this now," she sang in her girlish voice. She then stood sentry at the back of the room to make sure he read it.
"Please bear with me students, while I read this missive from the Ministry of Magic:
"M.O.M. Rules and Regulations 301 Section 12: Re: Muggle Artifacts. Magical tampering with Muggle artifacts is strictly prohibited and any wizard or witch found enchanting, charming, transfiguring or otherwise magically altering common Muggle items will face up to 10 years confinement in Azkaban Prison. It is the official position of M.O.M. that magical peoples are to maintain as little contact as possible with Muggles."
When Mr. Weasley finished, he shot Umbridge an angry look and said, "Doloris, I don't remember ever seeing or approving this last sentence."
"Yes, well, you've been busy in other matters, and the Ministry doesn't wait to improve the rules and regulations," she said cheerily.
He was still glaring at Umbridge when she turned her smile on Charity. Umbridge gave an uncharacteristicly growlish sort of laugh and said, in a voice rather deeper than usual, "I've got a good one for you about two Muggles and a Warlock."
"Oh, well, wonderful. You'll have to tell me that one at dinner tonight," Charity said, forcing a smile onto her own face and leading Umbridge to the door. When she turned back to Mr. Weasley, he was giving her a confused look. She waved her hand as if to say 'I'll explain later.' Aloud she said, "Please continue, Mr. Weasley."
"Yes, well, now that we have that out of the way," he said as he pulled out a cork board and a box of small golden thumb tacks. "Lack of magical powers is far from debilitating to Muggles. On the contrary – it forces them to use their brainpower to figure out how to do many of the things that we take for granted. For example," he said, holding up the bulletin board and looking at the class as if he expected them to break out into applause. Instead, the class merely stared blankly at him and the board.
"Can anyone tell me what this is?" Mr. Weasley asked.
Everyone's hand shot into the air, and Mr. Weasley, looking slightly crestfallen, called on Megan Shippers in the front row. "It's a memo board, Mr. Weasley," she told him.
"Yes, yes, quite right. Have you all used one then?" he asked. As his eyes moved around the room, they landed on the large bulletin board on the side wall. "Ah ha!" he exclaimed. "Of course, Miss er, Professor Burbage has you all under Muggle Rules, doesn't she?"
"We have them in our common room, too," added Charles.
"Yeah," said Nigel, "I got this from the Gryffindor board." He held up a torn square of paper.
Mr. Weasley took the paper from him, and began reading, "Gallons of Galleons! Pocket money failing to keep pace with your outgoings? Like to earn a little extra gold? Contact Fred and Ge1—" He suddenly stopped reading and quickly folded the paper with an, "Oh, dear," and handed it back to Nigel, saying only, "Let's not mention this to Mrs. Weasley if ever you should happen to meet her, hmm?
"Alright," Mr. Weasley continued, "so you all know how Muggles make their papers, photographs, etc. stick to the board, then?"
"Yeah, those little gold things," said Charles, pointing to the box of thumb tacks.
"Exactly. They are kind of like little nails that sink into the soft cork – but they are totally removable." Mr. Weasley picked up another piece of paper from Charity's desk and stuck it to the board with a thumbtack. He turned to make sure everyone had seen, then removed the tack and the paper, and turned again to the class, shaking his head in wonder that any human had ever been so supremely clever as to think of such a thing.
"So you see, Muggles have come up with inventions that even we wizards and witches find quite useful.
"I have another box of tacks here," he said, producing another small box filled with golden thumbtacks from his pocket. There were a few low groans from the students, possibly in anticipation of another forty-five minutes of tacking paper onto the board. The students perked up with considerably more interest when Mr. Weasley said, "But these tacks have been enchanted. It is my job to disenchant them. Actually, in this case, we're simply going to destroy them. Before I do, I want to demonstrate why it is that we should never ever magically tamper with common Muggle items." Now the students sat up straight and paid rapt attention.
"Before I open them, Professor Burbage, may I have your permission to magic a piece of glass in your doorway?"
"Certainly," she answered.
Mr. Weasley walked toward the doorway and grabbed the life-sized cardboard cutout of The Beatles, which Charity had propped in the corner of the room. He placed the cutout just outside the doorway, facing in, so that the musicians jauntily smirked toward the class. He stepped back into the room, held out his wand, and muttered a command. The doorway filled in with glass, which you could hardly even tell was there.
"Right then, if I may ask all of you to take cover under your desks," Mr. Weasley said. Even Charity was taken aback by this request, but they all complied, squatting onto the floor with their faces peeking out to see what was going to happen. Thank goodness little Emma Watson thought to jump up and pull Bnickel's cage under cover with her. Bnickel seemed impervious to the impending danger as he lay quite comfortably in the corner of his cage with his one white paw casually crossed over the front black one. Meanwhile, Mr. Weasley crouched under Charity's desk, reached his hands up to the surface, and opened the box.
At first nothing happened, but Mr. Weasley quietly announced, "Wait for it, wait for it." Charity thought she could just make out the sound of a tiny trumpet playing a military march. The classroom became deathly silent, straining to hear. Peeking from under the desks, they could see the tacks beginning to rise out of the box and line up neatly in little rows, like a military formation. The trumpet sound had been gradually rising and was now quite loud. Suddenly, at a command from the trumpet, the front row of enchanted tacks flipped so that their pointy ends were directed at what looked like an open doorway. At another sharp blast, they hurtled through the air towards George and Ringo, but were stopped by the glass. Their pins were savagely mangled by the collision, and they fell to the ground.
Another blast of the trumpet and the next row shot out and met the same fate. One by one, each row of tacks hurtled to their doom until every one of them was lying motionless on the floor, just inside the doorway. The trumpets were silenced.
Mr. Weasley rose breathlessly from underneath the desk and said, "So, you can see why we in the Department for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts couldn't risk those tiny, war mongering devils finding their way into a Muggle school."
The students nodded in silent agreement as they climbed out from the trenches. Mr. Weasley leaned casually on the front of Charity's desk and said, "For the rest of the time, I'd like to answer any questions that you have for me."
Charlie Whitney's hand shot into the air. At a nod from Mr. Weasley he said, "Did you really enchant a flying car that made it all the way from London to Hogwarts?"
A wistful smile fell over Mr. Weasley's face, and he answered, "Ah yes, …oh, but…well, if you've heard the whole story you'll know it didn't turn out so well, so really it's another good example of why we shouldn't mess with ordinary objects. Next question please," he said hurriedly, looking around eagerly for another raised hand.
"Do you ever get calls about enchanted Muggle pets?"
"Do you ever have to work with Professor Umbridge?
"What's the funniest prank Fred and George ever pulled at home?"
Mr. Weasley answered the questions quickly and courteously, and then the bell rang. Poor Lucas Snively crashed into the glass in the doorway on his way out, and Mr. Weasley apologized profusely for forgetting to remove it.
After the students and Mr. Weasley had departed, Charity pulled out a small square of paper which she had found stuck under the desk where she'd sheltered from the renegade tacks. It was old and delicate, but she could make out the faded printing, which simply said:
Earl Grey
Topic: Mary II – Ruler or Wife?
What was remarkable about this scrap of paper was its similarity to another scrap of paper she had found recently. When she'd returned the cookbook to the library after the baking field trip, a small square of yellowed paper had fallen out. She'd admired the pretty writing and kept it. She was currently using it as a bookmark in her Muggle Social Studies text. She pulled that old scrap out now to compare it with the new one. It read, again in very faded writing:
Darjeeling
Topic: Knitting
The handwriting was different, but the format was exactly the same. What did this mean? For now, it meant that Charity had two interesting bookmarks.
Charity had arranged to have a basket of fruit sent to Mr. Weasley as a 'Thank You' for his visit. Unfortunately, it had to double as a 'Get Well' gift. A few days after his classroom presentation, Arthur Weasley was attacked at the Ministry of Magic! Charity found out about it when Professor McGonagall called her into her office. Charity was grading papers when McGonagall's fiery face had appeared in her fireplace. McGonagall simply said, "A word in my office Professor Burbage," and disappeared.
Charity set down her pen, walked to the fireplace, and sprinkled floo powder into the flames. Within moments, she was stepping out of a different fireplace and into McGonagall's office, where she found the elderly Deputy Headmistress pacing near her desk.
"Yes, Minerva?" Charity asked.
Without hesitation, McGonagall said, "After electricity, Professor Burbage, what do you consider the most amazing modern Muggle invention?"
Charity was caught off guard by the question, but understood and answered, "Duct tape."
"Sing me the Preppy fight song," McGonagall then abruptly requested.
"P is for the pounding that we are going to give you
R is for the rings we are going to run around you
E is for the –"
"That's enough," said McGonagall as she rubbed her forehead. "Please stop." Charity recognized the questions as a safeguard that Dumbledore had put in place so that staff members could be sure they were not speaking to an impostor. Each staff member had specific security questions that presumably only they could answer. After Barty Crouch Jr. had masqueraded as Alastor Moody all last school year, one really couldn't be too careful. Charity thought this was likely a test to make sure she was taking the security measure seriously, and so responded with a question to McGonagall:
"What famous spell did your father's cousin's wife's aunt develop?"
"It was my mother's uncle's sister, and it was the Engorgement Charm."
"It wasn't the Furnunculus?"
"No," McGonagall said impatiently. "I think we've firmly established our identities, Professor Burbage, now please have a seat."
McGonagall crossed around to the back of her desk and sat at the edge of her chair with her elbows on the desk and her hands clasped tightly together. She looked very intently at Charity, her eyes flicking back and forth in their square-rimmed frames as she said evenly, "Last night, Arthur Weasley was attacked and nearly killed."
"What?" Charity exclaimed. Her face could have given away nothing but genuine shock, and McGonagall relaxed her gaze. "But I just saw him here last week!" Charity continued.
"Yes, I know. That's why I wanted to speak to you. Do you know of anyone else who spoke with him while he was here at Hogwarts?"
"Um. Professor Umbridge," Charity answered, and McGonagall's eyes opened a bit wider while her thin lips remained pressed tightly together. "She came in during his presentation and asked him to read a passage from the Ministry by-laws concerning Muggle Artifacts."
McGonagall's eyes resumed their normal size, and she asked, "Was that all?"
"Yes. Although there did seem to be tension between the two of them."
"I see. Did Arthur tell you about anybody else that he would be meeting with while in the area."
"No…" Charity just then remembered something that had struck her as odd at the time, "but when I was passing by a window on the second floor, I saw him walking with Professor Snape towards Professor Hagrid's cabin." McGonagall did not seem to be the least bit phased by this information and merely sat silent with her own thoughts. Charity had the distinct impression that McGonagall was acting in an official capacity for something, but most definitely not as Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts.
"Professor Burbage," McGonagall finally said, "did Arthur tell you anything, anything at all, about any of his…er...recent activities?"
Charity searched her mind, but only came up with, "Just his job and his family. Oh wait, Professor Umbridge said something about him being busy with 'other activities' but I didn't know what she was talking about."
McGonagall seemed interested in this information. "She did, did she? Well thank you Professor Burbage –"
It seemed she was about to be dismissed, so Charity blurted out, "Is he going to be alright?" She was half afraid to hear the answer.
"It appears he's through the worst of it and, God willing, will make a full recovery."
"Thank goodness," Charity sighed with relief. "But how was he attacked? Where was he?"
McGonagall peered at Charity through narrowed eyes, apparently deciding how much to tell her. "It was in the middle of the night at the Ministry of –" she started slowly, but was cut off by a loud whoosh from her fireplace. Umbridge tripped over the grate in her haste to get out and nearly tumbled onto Charity.
"Oh dear," Professor Umbridge giggled falsely, "I hope I'm not interrupting anything, but it looked like you two girls were having a little party and I didn't want to miss out."
"Monitoring the floo network, are you, Doloris?" McGonagall stated coldly. Umbridge only responded with her sickly sweet smile. "Well, I'm afraid you have missed the party, Professor Burbage was just leaving." McGonagall finished tersely and ushered Charity to the fireplace. McGonagall's tone left no doubt that Umbridge would be re-entering the fireplace herself in a few short minutes.
Over the next few days, Charity tried to find out what she could about the mysterious attack of Arthur Weasley. Nothing appeared in the Prophet, and the professors she asked either truly didn't know anything or were being very tight lipped. She considered sending an owl to Charlie, but decided it was too private a matter. She could only assume that the Ministry would handle the case properly and make sure no more such accidents occurred. She had to be satisfied just knowing that Mr. Weasley was going to be okay.
1 Text taken from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix