Crosswords and Sudokus
This chapter is a little shorter, it's just a filler really. Reviews appreciated!
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Professor McGonagall seemed to love nothing more than showing off photos of the Gryffindor Quidditch team to anyone willing to listen – in this case, Neasa.
On a sunny Tuesday afternoon she had politely accepted a cup of tea and some biscuits in the Deputy Headmistress's office, deciding that it was time she got to know the other staff members. It had almost immediately turned to a chat about Quidditch – a favourite sport of both women – then reminiscing over their schooldays playing the game – then to the Gryffindor team. Professor McGonagall had group photos of the team line-up each year, going back to when she became Head of House.
"That's the year Oliver Wood became captain," she said proudly, pointing to a framed photograph on her wall. "He was an excellent captain – he graduated last year. Now he's reserve Keeper for Puddlemere United!"
The students in the photos wore red and gold uniforms, each with a broad smile on their faces and a broomstick by their side – but the collection ended in 1993.
"Let me show you this one," McGonagall said, ushering Neasa over to the photo from 1991. She pointed at the Seeker, who was by far the shortest and smallest on the team.
"That's Harry Potter," Neasa said, recognising the scar on his forehead. Professor McGonagall nodded proudly.
"The best Seeker I've seen in a long time – except his father, of course – James Potter," she said, her voice full of acclaim. "Harry's the youngest Seeker of the century – he really is the jewel in the crown.
"That Quidditch Cup has stood there for three years now–" she pointed to the Cup on her bookshelf "–I've become so used to seeing it there – and the House Cup too. Slytherin had it for nearly a decade before that."
The Professor added offhandedly, "Slytherin nearly won in 1992 – but because of Harry's services to the school, extra points were awarded to Gryffindor and we won it."
"After Slytherin had won?" Neasa asked.
"Oh, yes – Albus awarded the points at the end-of-term feast – he even changed the decorations to suit."
Professor McGonagall looked at Neasa with a little frown, and said, "I know it sounds unfair when I say it like that – but it's only healthy inter-house competition."
Even so, Neasa wasn't convinced: it still sounded unfair.
0o0o0o
The following afternoon Severus was busy brewing healing potions for the hospital wing in his office; it was a job he always left until the last weeks before term so the potions were at their best.
He'd had yet another restless night. He'd tried going without coffee that morning – which had lasted alright until about midday, and then he nearly fell asleep at his desk. He hated how dependent he'd become on caffeine in recent months – he'd never been like this since before Voldemort's return, and going cold turkey was much harder than he'd imagined. He'd never tell Albus but he hadn't actually gone more than a day without a fix.
As Severus began filling a row of vials with Dreamless Sleep, he heard a soft knock from the open door; he looked up to see Casey standing in the doorway.
"I don't mean to interrupt – do you have that list of Potions supplies I asked for?" she asked. She wore her hair in a delicate plait and Severus became suddenly conscious of how messy his own hair must look.
"It's on my desk," he said, returning to the vials, and then he added, "Would you pass me some parchment for labelling these? – there's an adhesive type in the bottom drawer."
While Casey was busy Severus made an attempt to tidy his hair so at least it looked brushed. When she returned she handed him the adhesive parchment – and then held out a smaller scroll, frayed at the edges from age.
"I don't mean to pry but I couldn't help notice this," she said. "I was wondering if it was some sort of riddle?"
Severus recognised the scroll before he'd opened it: it was the Potions riddle from four years ago.
"I'd forgotten I still had this," he said. "You're right – it is a riddle. In 1991 we were given the job of protecting the Philosopher's Stone – a stone used to make the Elixir of Life. We each put up a separate obstacle for anyone to find the Stone; mine was that riddle."
Casey looked back at the scroll with a frown.
Severus added, "Once you entered the room purple flames would appear in the doorway behind you, and black ones in the one ahead – two different potions would stop the flames from hurting you. The riddle is a clue."
"Can I try and solve it?" Casey asked.
"It depends on knowing the sizes of the bottles – I no longer have them."
She looked disappointed, so Severus said, "However… I can recreate the arrangement."
On the workbench he was using he lined up a row of seven empty vials of different sizes – in the same order as the originals – and Casey stepped up to the table and began working it out.
After reading the scroll again she moved aside two vials back from the row – the ones representing wine – and then moved the respective vials to the left of the wines – two of the poisons. She then moved the seventh bottle – the one for purple flames. That left her with two vials – one twice as big as the other. There was so much concentration etched on her face – Severus felt as if she would snap at him if he made a sound.
"'Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides,'" Casey murmured. "Well the giant is clearly the sixth – the dwarf means this tiny third one…
"It's the dwarf," she said at last.
"It is the dwarf," Severus replied, and Casey clapped her hands and beamed.
It was extraordinary to watch – he'd never heard of another witch or wizard using logic in this way – for most magical folk this riddle would be nearly impossible, except of course people like Hermione Granger.
"You just have to use the process of elimination," Casey said. "As Holmes said – 'Once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable–'"
"'–must be the truth,'" Severus finished.
Casey looked at him in surprise, and asked with a smile, "You read Holmes and Watson, Professor?"
"I read them as a boy – I'm half-blood, so I had a Muggle education before Hogwarts."
"Which is your favourite?"
"The Hound of the Baskervilles."
"A Study in Scarlett," Casey replied. She looked back to the line of vials and said – "It's an excellently written riddle, Professor."
"I was certainly proud of it," he said modestly, a smile tugging on his lips.
Casey left the scroll on the table. She cast a glance at the vials of Dreamless Sleep and asked – "Do you want me to label these for you?"
"If you're not busy – I have a long list of potions to brew."
Before Severus even told her what to write on the labels she was already scribbling – so he started cleaning out the empty cauldron and prepared the ingredients for Pepperup Potions.
When the cauldron was on a steady flame he said, "I notice you frequently fill out the crossword in your Irish newspaper, Miss Casey. I would recommend taking out a subscription for the Daily Prophet. They do an excellent daily one."
Casey's face lit up in a wide smile.
"Thank you! The Irish crossword is always a bit repetitive – a good crossword has–"
"Variety?"
"Variety. But – in fairness – they do a fine weekend Sudoku."
"Your paper does Sudoku?" Severus asked. "You couldn't spare me a copy of it? – only I used to love Sudokus but the Prophet stopped printing them long ago."
"Of course, Professor – I'll see you Sunday morning," Casey said.
Severus's next words slipped out: "I look forward to it, Miss Casey."
At first he wished he could he could take it back – it sounded far too forward – but Casey gave a small chuckle and said, "So do I."
0o0o0o
The next two weeks until the start of September sped past – Neasa spent most of it trying to learn her way around the castle. She started by memorising the route to the Professors' offices and the classrooms, and to the essential locations like lavatories and the Owlery.
From Professor Snape she had heard all about the infamous new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, Dolores Umbridge, who had been selected by the Ministry when Dumbledore was unable to find a Professor for the job. Umbridge had already settled in her belongings into her office but had decided to remain at the Ministry for a while longer. When she did arrive in late August Neasa witnessed a cold meeting between her and Dumbledore, who treated the woman with respect but with little actual friendliness.
Neasa quickly decided that she would never – ever – ask Umbridge for fashion advice – or office décor tips for that matter. Not only that but she swore to herself to never willingly start a conversation with the woman – for their first chat went just brilliantly.
"So you grew up in Belfast, I take it?" Umbridge asked. Neasa had tried to be polite to her and had invited her to lunch at the staff table – but was now regretting that decision.
"Derry, actually," she said, trying not to take offence.
"I don't know Derry," Umbridge mused.
"You'll know it as Londonderry–"
"Londonderry – of course – why didn't you say that from the start? Yes, I've heard of it – and what did your family do? I know a few people in the Irish Ministry – I might know of them."
"You won't. My parents are both Muggles," Neasa said.
The change in Umbridge's demeanour was immediate – and comical, on some level. She first grimaced sharply, and then shifted uncomfortably in her chair, inching away from Neasa. For a minute she seemed completely unable to speak.
At last she cleared her throat delicately and asked, "Muggleborn, are you?"
"Well I'm not adopted," Neasa said bluntly.
Umbridge muttered something under her breath that sounded like – "I'm not surprised you're just a secretary."
"Muggles and Muggleborns are just as good as anyone else," Neasa said defensively. "We're not better than Muggles just because we have magic–"
"It is precisely for that reason that we're superior to them, Miss Casey, and the sooner you accept that, the better," Umbridge said simply.
The exchange made Neasa so angry she nearly shouted at Professor Snape that afternoon when he asked her for a copy of the weekend Sudoku.
"Take the damn thing," she snapped, pushing the newspaper across the coffee table; she instantly regretted it when Snape widened his eyes at her.
"What's wrong with you?" he asked.
"Professor Umbridge," Neasa huffed. "She insulted Muggleborns right to my face – I guessed her politics before I met her, but I wasn't expecting her to be so – upfront – about it."
"So don't let her bother you," Snape replied plainly. "She'll be gone at the end of the year anyway – not one Defence Professor stays for more than one term."
"I still shouldn't have to put up with it."
"No – you shouldn't," Snape said. After a pause, he added, "Some of the best people I've known were Muggleborn. Some of our smartest students are Muggleborn. What does her opinion really matter?"
Neasa folded her arms – she knew Snape was right, but there was something unnerving about Umbridge behind that sweet smile and those decorative plates. That woman could wield serious power if she chose to – and to a Muggleborn, and everything else that Neasa was, a woman like that was no empty threat.
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