Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
Master and Apprentice
No matter how many times I saw it, Gringotts never became less impressive. As I approached the polished marble steps leading to the front entrance, my summer cloak swishing around my ankles, I tried to appear more confident than I felt. Nodding to the goblin guards stationed outside, the image of elegant Mrs. Pucey gliding across a ballroom floor filled my mind. Hopefully, I was able to emulate some of her poise.
Flitwick said I had to be performing as soon as I stepped foot into Diagon Alley. For what Lord Flint and Dumbledore wanted us to accomplish, appearances had to be immaculate. As such, I wore matching socks for the occasion.
The floors of Gringotts weren't different from its front steps. But it was quieter indoors. Without the sounds of foot traffic from the alley, all I could hear were the leather soles of my school shoes slapping against the marble and the soft tinkering of goblins at work. It was my first time visiting the bank alone. A fact that irrationally made me feel like I was doing something wrong. Approaching the front desk, I held my arms loosely at my sides. Something I practiced all morning.
Situated on a raised dais, the goblin manning the desk was giving me a better view of his bald head than his face as he sat hunched over his papers. I stood still and silent; waiting to be acknowledged. Another thing Flitwick told me to do. Since inserting myself would be considered rude. Though it was maddening having to wait. Especially since I wasn't allowing myself to fidget.
Finally, the goblin looked up; peering down at me over his long nose. "What is your business?" He asked; judgmental eyes boring into me.
Only then do I move. Digging into my robe pocket, I pulled out a wax-sealed envelope addressed in Flitwick's best penmanship. "My master, Filius Flitwick, wishes this to be delivered to Head Goblin Warwick Igorson".
A dangerous, curious glint sparked in the goblin's eyes. Despite residing mostly in wizarding circles, Flitwick's name was known by many of goblin kind. As one of the few born to a wizard and goblin pairing, Flitwick was used to mild tolerance or contempt. Based on different parties' opinions. But no matter what the goblins thought of him, Flitwick held significant importance. He was the only one of goblin descent to own a wand.
A pudgy hand with long arching fingernails reached over the raised desk and plucked the envelope from me. Eyes never leaving me, the goblin turned the envelope over and traced the wax seal with his thumb bed. "The letter's contents?"
It was a test. Flitwick had warned me something like this may happen. Returning the goblin's gaze with an even stare, I held myself straight and stiff. "Master Flitwick only said to deliver it. He did not share his intentions". It was a way to innocently state I hadn't been nosy. A good apprentice wouldn't disrespect their master's privacy. A good apprentice would do as instructed. Flitwick said that is what I needed to portray.
The goblin's upper lip curled back in a sneer. It reminded me very much of Snape. "Very well. Consider your task complete".
At the dismissal, I bobbed in a short curtsy (one I still felt was entirely stupid) before turning on my heels and making for the exit. At least, Bill hadn't been around to see it. I wonder where his office was? Probably somewhere the general public wasn't allowed. I kept up the well-mannered act as I exited the building and rejoined the streets; feeling eyes on me all the way. Percy would be so proud… Though Fred and George would've laughed themselves sick.
Flitwick lived in a cottage tucked behind a hill. With two oak trees planted on either side of his house, at first glance, it appeared as natural as its surroundings. There was always something strange about imagining a teacher's life outside of school. How they decorate. What their hobbies could be. Was their professional selves different from their casual personas? Honestly, other than Sirius, it was a challenge to imagine any teacher with a life outside of school on mere principle. And Sirius was the only exception because he spent a great deal of his free time sharing our dinner table and asking Mum if the boys could have a sleepover.
Crossing the wards on Flitwick's property, I marched straight for the kitchen door and let myself in. "The letter was delivered without anything to report", I announced; hanging my summer cloak on the coat rack and rolling my shoulders so I could start feeling like myself again.
"Good, good", Flitwick muttered distractedly from where he sat at his kitchen table. A cup of tea was next to his elbow and a charms journal lay opened in front of him.
He had probably been there for a while. If the stacks of used tea cups sitting in the sink were anything to go by. The muscle above my left eye started to throb. There was no question. Flitwick was a talented wizard. A dueling champion, a charms master, and an esteemed Hogwarts professor; Flitwick's resume was impressive. Though he had his shortcomings. Particularly, in the kitchen.
"But was it necessary?" I asked; walking over to his oven so I could start on dinner. We'd need to eat before the UP meeting tonight. "An owl would have been just as effective". Slowly, I opened the oven door; never knowing what to expect in this house.
"Hmmm", Flitwick hummed as he turned a page in the journal. "Oh. Yes, yes Weasley. Goblins enjoy ceremony and they needed to see you". Opening the oven, my nose was assaulted by a rotting charred smell. "A witch apprenticed to a goblin, even a half-breed, with spark intrigue. Warwick will be more likely to reply in our favor now. If only to have some gossip to tell the others".
"Sir", I complained; taking stock of the charred and yet somehow moist dinner left in the oven.
From his kitchen table, Flitwick looked up from his charms journal; eyebrows raised in question. Probably unsure what I was complaining about. Though his eyebrows lowered once he peered inside the oven. "Ah, yes". He frowned. "I tried heating it up as per your instructions, however; it was rendered inedible".
I cast a wary eye over the blackened lump sitting in the ceramic baking dish. Was it really the pot pie I prepared before leaving two days prior? Poor pie. It never stood a chance. But… why did Flitwick leave it sitting in the oven? Although curious, that is not the question I asked. "How long did you heat it for?"
Flitwick wiggled his mustache as he thought. "I don't know", Flitwick said; sounding miles away. "I magicked the oven to the right temperature, put the pie inside, and then I recalled a rather enticing article about spell work and how it correlates to emotions. I went to find the article and when I returned, the pie was burnt".
Staring at Flitwick, I didn't know what to do or how to feel. It was a difficult lesson to learn. That your role model had faults. But I found myself faced with it a lot this summer. Flitwick, as it turned out, had no culinary skills beyond brewing tea. During the summer months, he lived off tinned cupcakes, and trips to a local wizarding pub. It was bachelor living to an extreme, and I wasn't sure how Flitwick was still alive.
Flicking my wand, I vanished the soiled pot pie before levitating the baking dish to the sink to be washed along with the stack of used teacups. What could I prepare that Flitwick couldn't ruin? Charcuterie and cold sandwiches were always an option, I suppose. And safe too. Since there'd be no cooking required.
Since the start of summer, I'd spent many hours in Flitwick's cottage. And not all my time was spent on studying charms. While I hadn't been asked to do this, it became my mission to keep Flitwick's kitchen in working order and give him options that weren't limited to fish and chips or bangers and mash.
Tonight, I was making pasta with a Bolognese sauce paired with garlic bread. "I've always wondered", Flitwick started as I attacked the oven with a scouring spell before getting the tomatoes, carrots, onion, celery, and other ingredients needed for the sauce. "What effect, if any, do our personalities play in our magical prowess".
Sometimes, I couldn't tell if Flitwick was talking to himself or me. Standing in front of the cutting board; enchanting a kitchen knife to do the dicing, mincing, and chopping for me, it became one of those times.
"And if there is an effect, is it caused through magical means or mundane ones? Perhaps psychological". Flitwick tutted to himself; tapping an index finger on his current page. "The research on this subject matter is scarce. It will make the review of literature difficult to write. However, we will endeavor to do so".
Hearing the use of 'we', I looked up from where I'd set a pot of water to boil and glanced over my shoulder. "A review of literature?"
Blinking as he fully came back to himself, Flitwick's eyes focused on me for the first time since I returned. "Yes, Weasley. Of course, we'll need to review the literature. We cannot present original research without one. It's bad form". Flitwick sounded close to offended. More so than the time Fred, George, and I cursed a classmate's charms book to yell obscenities whenever it was opened.
"But what do you mean about original research?" I pressed; turning back to my properly prepared ingredients. Lovely. Now, where was that saucepan…
"The research project we'll be conducting this year!" Flitwick bristled; annoyed at how slow I was. But this was the first I've heard of a research project. Up until now, Flitwick had me reading different charms books and practicing dueling. It makes me wonder how many conversations Flitwick had in which he forgot that they only occurred in his head.
"I will be exploring how different personality traits correlate with the strength of one's magical core. You, as my apprentice, will aid me. It will be your first opportunity to have your name listed on research". Flitwick nodded as if he was offering me a big opportunity.
And he was. It's just… "We'll be conducting research this year? Even though You-Know-Who is back?"
Flitwick's face softened; returning to a countenance I usually associated with him. However; his eyes hardened. "Of course, Weasley. There isn't a better time. We cannot live our lives in fear. To do so would mean that we've already decided You-Know-Who has won". Determinedly, Flitwick nodded his head. "Yes, yes. No matter the strife that may lie ahead, we will go on as we please. I refuse to give our enemies the satisfaction of us denying ourselves".
Reflecting on Flitwick's stance, I focused on cooking; finding the saucepan and setting the aromatics to simmer. It made sense; striking a chord I wanted to agree with. However, there was worry too. Flitwick's stance could also be misconstrued by those who would refuse to see the danger and deny everything until it was too late.
"Naturally", Flitwick continued as I moved to fetch the meat from the icebox. "Your NEWT exams take priority. Though I suspect giving ample attention to our research should not be taxing for you".
The reminder had my fingers twitching as it snapped me out of my thoughts. Which might have been Flitwick's intention all along. Groaning loudly as if just given a detention, I flicked my wand to add more ingredients to the saucepan. "This year is already shaping up to be a nightmare".
"And you'll be made stronger from it!" Flitwick insisted.
United Party meetings have become bimonthly affairs. One for all party members and another one for the more secretive ongoings. We were having the latter of those meetings tonight. In Lord Flint's dining hall, Fred, George, Adrian, and I sat behind our parents who got to sit at the table. As the youngest and most recent additions to the inner circle, this felt appropriate. Besides, since we were still students, there wasn't much we could contribute. Except for Adrian, that is.
Lord Flint stood at the head of the table. Marcus and Percy were seated on his left and right respectively. It was something Lord Flint insisted on at every meeting. "Things are progressing as expected with the court", he announced; rubbing his hands together eagerly. Next to him, Percy studiously took down the minutes. "Both defense teams are scrambling to come up with a convincing argument. Or so my sources expressed".
No one else seemed as excited by these prospects as Lord Flint. Not that he was dissuaded in the slightest. "Nevertheless, it is imperative that public personas are adhered to. As the court dates draw closer, the press will be looking for things to send to the printers. Whether or not they possess journalistic merit". Lord Flint's eyes darted to where Sirius sat slouched at the table with Lupin by his side. "That means they better not catch you, Lord Black, in any actions unbefitting of a teacher or a parent".
Sirius scowled. "What do you think I do in my free time?" He challenged; ignoring the ill-amused expression on McGonagall's face. She was new to UP. She and Snape. They had come aboard with Dumbledore's insistence and Lord Flint couldn't refuse. Not when McGonagall's status as headmistress placed Hogwarts under UP's influence. Or when Dumbledore revealed Snape's… let's call it insight into the Dark Lord's plans. Both were too great of an asset to be rejected.
Lord Flint moved on. He was good about that. Never seceding the floor when it was likely we'd use it to become off-topic. "Adrian", Lord Flint turned his attention to our little corner of the room. Next to me, Adrian straightened his spine as the hand he had on my knee squeezed. "I understand this summer has been a trial, but you'll need to-"
"I'll remain out of sight until September First", Adrian promised; interrupting Lord Flint to do so. It wasn't like him. Adrian generally allowed people to finish their sentences. But he was bored. All summer, Adrian had been confined to his home, UP meetings, and the occasional visit to the Burrow or Sirius' house. There were no shopping trips to Diagon Alley. Or summer quidditch games for him to partake in. The lack of freedom was starting to get to him. But unfortunately, this was needed. The attention needed to remain on the ministry through the pressure Harry's and Sirius' lawsuits were putting on them. An article popping up about the redemption or condemnation of Regulus Black would do the exact opposite.
"Good", Lord Flint accepted with a nod of his head. "Professor Flitwick", Lord Flint asked as I placed a hand on top of Adrian's. His skin felt cold to my touch. But it was as familiar as the little scar on the back of his knuckles. "How has your assignment faired?"
From where we sat, Flitwick's short stature was barely visible. Though his answer was easily heard; squeaky voice and all. "We have just started. I made my request for a meeting today and now we await Warwick's response".
Lord Flint frowned. It wasn't an unhappy frown. More of the 'I'm thinking' variety. "Your letter caused a stir", Bill announced. His eyes were on Flitwick from where he sat next to Mum. Though he held the attention of all. "Having Holly deliver your letter caused the goblins to gossip all day about the witch willing to place herself lower than a half-goblin". Twisting his chair, Bill offered me a teasing smile. "They were impressed by your manners, Holly".
Fred snorted as George jostled me with his elbow. "What manners?" Fred asked.
"Just this morning, Holly was eating breakfast with her elbows on the table", George continued.
"And she always laughs when Ron manages to stumble on the stairs. It's unsightly, really".
Glaring at my fellow triplets, I tried to ignore the other occupants in the room. "I only laughed because you two cast a slippery charm on the bottom of Ron's socks. He looked like a bloke trying to learn how to ice skate".
Besides me, Adrian shook his head; doing his utmost best not to comment. Meanwhile, Mum whipped around in her chair as Dad tried not to laugh. "Fred and George Weasley! You are not to use magic on your brother". If she was embarrassed to have this conversation in front of an audience, Mum didn't show it.
"Ah, come on Mum", Fred complained.
"What good is it to have so many siblings if we can't practice spell work on them?" George asked; sounding much more innocent than he looked.
"Besides, it's not like we can practice Magic on Holly or Ginny", Fred continued. "Holly fights back and Ginny plays dirty".
"Ron is our only option".
Mum was starting to look a little red as she puffed up indignantly. "Are you writing this down?" I called across the room before Mum could say anything else.
As the only person with a quill, heads turned in Percy's direction. Looking up from his minutes, Percy formally stated, "Accuracy is important".
Except there was nothing important about discussing Ron slipping down the stairs. "So, you're just going to write down everything anyone says?" Even Zabini, in his role as secretary, doesn't do that. In fact, he had gotten rather good at excluding anything that made us sound like idiots.
At Percy's confident confirmation, Fred grinned. "Well, in that case, Percy has big ears".
"Fred!" Mum scolded as a few tittering chuckles littered throughout the room.
"And he likes to put honey on a cheese sandwich. Which is just weird".
"George!" Mum warned. For the first time since the meeting started, Percy's quill was still as he scowled at us.
"Now now, Children. This is hardly the place", Lord Flint smoothly redirected. "Bill, see if you can slip into conversation that the witch apprenticing under Professor Flitwick is your sister. The more connections we can make to the goblins, the more avenues we may be able to explore. And lastly", Lord Flint's eyes landed on Snape. Snape, who occupied the very end of the table. Sitting with his arms crossed and looking pained to be here. "Professor Snape, any news?"
There was no need to ask directly what Snape might have to report. He was the only one with eyes and ears on the Death Eaters, You-Know-Who, and their movements. With a wary eye, Snape unfolded his arms and glanced around the room. Aware he had many on the edge of their seats. But Snape didn't like discussing his hard-earned information. He did so only at Dumbledore's request. "The Dark Lord has an interest in the Department of Mysteries. There is a prophecy in its vaults that the Dark Lord believes will tell him how to claim victory".
Gone from the room was the light-hearted air Fred and George had caused. In its place was the looming doom we all felt whenever we slowed down to think about the approaching threat. As such, Adrian turned over his hand so our palms could touch and our fingers could interlace.
"This prophecy", Snape continued; drawing out each word like he was instructing a first-year to brew the boil cure potion. "Was made about the Dark Lord himself and Potter". Snape spat out Harry's last name like it was a bad word; making Sirius jerk with irritation.
Worry lines clearly evident on her face, McGonagall said, "Which means only Potter or You-Know-Who will be able to retrieve the prophecy. She sent a concerned stare in Lord Flint's direction. "You're not planning on sending Potter-"
"No", Sirius interrupted with a furious shake of his head; sending his wild mane in all directions. "Harry's fifteen. He's not stepping foot in the Department of Mysteries. I won't-"
Lord Flint cut him up with a raised hand. "We will not be using Harry to get the prophecy. There is no need. Prophecies are nonsense. However, this does present the United Party with a unique opportunity". Lord Flint paused as he allowed everyone to think and process. Personally, I think he just likes to build suspense. "If Harry does not retrieve the prophecy, then the Dark Lord must. Giving us the chance to expose him to the world. And that is what I believe our next step should be. If the ministry is found at fault for their mistakes against Harry and Lord Black, reporting that the Dark Lord has returned will be the final nail in the coffin. So to speak".
Murmurs of side discussions grew as Lord Flint presented his plan. Though Lord Flint seemed unbothered. "For this to work, we'll need to find a way to summon ministry officials and the press to the ministry when the Dark Lord strikes. Professor Snape, I trust you will keep the United Party informed of his movements".
