Chapter Four: In which Professor Fairforest Sticks it to The Man
The village of Hogsmeade was enchanting, with its crammed-together pointy-roofed buildings and colorful storefronts. It was a lot like other tiny Scottish villages, with one main street—the high street—and a surprising number of narrow, twisting back alleys per square mile. Great craggy green mountains tower up on either side, as if the village is held in the arms of a rocky giant. If you're a flatlander like me, this is deeply unsettling.
My first stop was the magical pet shop. McGonagall had told me that I should probably get an owl so I could send messages to her and others in the wizarding world. The pet shop also served as a post office, vet clinic and farrier, so it was populated with students anxiously cradling sick cats and owls, and a gruff-looking Highland farmer with an injured sheepdog.
I could feel all their eyes on me when I came in, and here the barely-whispered word Muggle ripple through the shop. I squared my shoulders and walked briskly up to the counter. "Excuse me," I said. "I'd like to buy an owl for sending messages."
The middle-aged woman behind the counter raised her eyebrows. "Over in that corner," she said. "The Scops are good for local deliveries, but the barn owl there'll be a bit more all-purpose. And we've got a snowy one in if you're wanting something a bit more stylish."
They owls squinted out at me in a sleepy, judgmental way.
"How much for the barn owl?" I asked. I've always liked barn owls. This one looked kind and a little confused.
"Ten galleons for him. Fifteen for the snowy."
"I'll take the barn owl," I said. She handed me the cage. It was heavy, and it rattled as the owl fluttered anxiously. It felt very illegal. What if I wasn't able to take good care of it? What if I got fired and had to give him up? You definitely couldn't own owls outside of the wizarding world.
The woman softened up after I handed over the money. She bustled about, supplying me with various and assorted owl-care things, and offering me a coupon for my first vet visit, and giving instructions on the care and keeping of owls.
"They're a bit like cats," she said. "Let 'em out during the night to hunt and take care of their own business, and they'll come back in the morning. And they run a wonderfully efficient postal service. They can sense magic in people, so they don't really need an address. Make sure to give them a nice treat when they bring you a letter, and pay the postal owls. Hogwarts owls mostly stay in the Owlery, but they like the occasional visit. Oh, and here's some magical mess remover."
All in all, I was out about 30 galleons by the time I was done. I thanked her, and carried the owl outside to have a look at him. He blinked at me sleepily out of dark, fathomless eyes in his heart-shaped face.
"I think I'll call you Jareth," I said. "Like the Goblin King." I wondered anxiously if there was in fact a real goblin king, and this might accidentally invoke him. This was the wizarding world. Anything could happen. (Mercifully, he never did turn up).
The owl hooted with what sounded like satisfaction. I wondered exactly how sentient magical owls were. "I hope you don't mind that I'm a muggle," I said quietly. He cheeped indignantly, as if to say what kind of owl do you take me for?
He seemed to like it when I talked to him. "I've never had an owl before," I said. "I had a dog for a while. His name was Butter Bean, but we just called him Bean. He lived a good long time. I miss him."
It will become apparent to the careful reader that I hadn't really thought my shopping through. I sat outside the pet shop/post office/vet/farrier wondering whether I should take Jareth the Owl back to the castle and come back to do my shopping another day, or just carry him around with me. At that moment, I spotted Hagrid striding across the square, waving cheerfully.
"Yeh've got an owl!" he said, beaming.
I showed him off proudly. "This is Jareth," I said. Hagrid examined him thoughtfully. "Handsome beast, that is," he said. "Clever as they come, too."
"How much…how much do they understand?" I asked.
"Well," he said, sitting down beside me on the bench. "No one really knows for certain. They like secrets, owls do. And bein' an animal they don't think of things in quite the same way. But they're curious. And they love gossip. That's why they like deliverin' the mail. And they know which side their bread's buttered."
"I see," I said, gazing at the owl suspiciously.
"Let him out of the cage and let's have a look at him," he said.
"Won't he fly away?" I asked.
"Not if he likes yeh," he said.
"Well that's comforting," I said, pulling out the hawking gloves I'd bought. Hagrid fished some enormous gloves out of one of his many pockets. I put on one glove, opened the door, and gingerly stuck my hand into the cage. "Come on," I said. The bird stepped onto my arm and I brought him out. He flapped his wings, but then settled back down again. He was heavier than I expected.
"See, what did I tell yeh?" said Hagrid. "What a beauty."
The owl straightened up and fluffed his toasted marshmallow feathers, as if to say why yes, I am.
"They don't really like to be petted, so just let him set there."
So I sat there, looking at this enormous bird the sitting on the end of my arm, his eyes squinting contentedly in his heart-shaped face. "He's fantastic," I said.
"I'll walk up to the castle with yeh and show yeh the Owlery," said Hagrid.
So, after a few minutes we put Jareth back in his cage and made the trek to the Owlery. Its easy to find once you get within smelling distance, since it reeks of bird poop. There are tons of owls, but it isn't overcrowded—they all have their own cozy nesting cubbies. Most of them were napping. A few students were there, sending letters. I gave Jareth a treat and let him investigate his new house, then wrote a note to McGonagall to give his postal skills a test run.
The note read:
Dear Professor McGonagall,
I've found an owl in the village as you suggested. Thank you for inviting me to the Three Broomsticks. I shall certainly attend.
-Professor Fairforest
"Well, I'd best be off," said Hagrid. "Remember, keep his cage in your room and he'll find yeh."
The next morning, I awoke to a fearsome rapping at my bedroom window. I looked out to see not only Jareth, but four other owls hovering outside and making what sounded like owl curses. In my sleep-deprived state, it took me several minutes to wrestle open the heavy window latch and let them in. They flapped in and unceremoniously dropped several surprisingly large parcels on the floor. "How on earth did you carry those?" I asked.
One of the packages had a note attached:
Dear Professor Fairforest,
Please find your order of muggle books attached (list enclosed). It's such a relief to stock books that don't vanish, bite you, explode, or simper (however, do not hesitate to contact us again if you require such items). Thank you for your business.
Madame Villanelle
Flourish and Blotts, Bookseller
Diagon Alley
I paid the disgruntled-looking owls. "I'm sorry," I said. "I thought they would come by truck, or at the very least by covered wagon, or I wouldn't have ordered so many all at once. You can stay and rest a bit if you need to."
The owls accepted a drink of water from the enchanted pitcher and goblet that seemed to refill automatically. The booksellers' owls then fluttered off. Jareth had left McGonagall's reply on the table.
Dear Professor Fairforest,
I successfully received your message. He is an excellent owl. See you on Friday.
Professor Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
I swear that bird was reading the note over my shoulder. He ruffled his feathers and preened. "I think you have a bit of an ego problem, bird," I said, giving him a treat.
After I had gotten dressed, and ready, I surveyed my outfit in the mirror with some anxiety. I was observing Snape's class today, and while I didn't much care what Snape thought of me, it always feels better to be well-dressed when you're faced with a hostile audience. Most of the work clothing I had brought was as professional as I could stand, given that I had packed for a snooty Scottish boarding school. But here, among the bejeweled robes, big hats and fluttering black gowns, it just made me look like a plain, uninteresting muggle. I would have to do some serious re-thinking of my wardrobe. I settled on the most Dark Academia of my outfit options and decided that it would have to do.
I tried to stave off my growing sense of dread as I wound down the eighty five back staircases to the dungeons, where the Potions classroom is. I'm told that Dumbledore has repeatedly offered Snape a room with more natural light, and he has refused. I got there early. This might have been a mistake, as it meant that I was alone with Snape.
"Greetings, Professor," said Snape, his voice oozing disdain. It was impressive, really, just how much disdain he managed to cram into his whole existence. His black robes flapped dismally in a chill wind. God knows where the wind came from, since we were down in the dungeons. I suspected him of having produced it himself.
"Thank you for letting me sit in on your class," I said, setting my bag down on a seat.
"Don't sit there," he snapped. "The Slytherins sit there, and they will find you objectionable. Sit in that corner over there."
He pointed to a dark corner where a single rickety desk was crammed. Water was dripping down onto the paving stones. I'm pretty sure moss was growing in the cracks.
I took a deep breath, and took my seat. I contemplated getting out my umbrella to make a point, and decided to strategically scooch the desk out of the way of the water. I wondered if getting one of those big pointy wide-brimmed hats would be considered cultural appropriation. It would come in useful during times like these.
Snape continued stalking about the room, setting up materials. "Dumbledore has informed me that you have started a Muggle library. I can't imagine why you would want to fill the students' heads with such rubbish."
I was speechless. I cast about for a good comeback, but none presented itself. Finally I said "you were in Slytherin, weren't you?"
He swooshed by in his black cloak. "I am head of Slytherin house."
"How enlightening," I said. It wasn't great, but it would have to do.
We fell into an icy silence. Somehow, the water managed to drip on me. It seemed like years before the students begin to file in.
When they finally did, the situation did not improve. I sat and watched as he bullied the Gryffindors (and some of the more inept Slytherins) as he set about teaching them how to make a Shrinking Solution. His teaching practices were shocking, and the things he said to the students were cruel. I gritted my teeth, telling myself to keep my head down and not burn bridges. But when he threatened to feed a potion to a student's pet as punishment for not brewing the potion correctly, I stood up. At the same time, the student next to him—a skinny kid with glasses-got up and stood in front of Snape.
"We've never made this potion before," he said. "Why would you punish us for not getting it right the first time?"
"Yes," I said, but no one heard me.
"You dare question me in my own classroom, Potter?" he demanded.
Potter. For some reason the name sounded vaguely familiar. At this point I decided to intervene, and was stumbling through the maze of desks to get to them.
"I do," said the small boy named Potter, blocking his way to the desks. "You've no right to hurt Trevor" (at this point I wasn't really sure if Trevor was the student or the toad).
Snape drew out his wand and aimed it threateningly at him. "Out of my way," he growled "or I'll make you wish you'd never been born"
I cleared the last few desks and jumped in front of the boy. "Don't you dare touch him" I hissed.
Snape stepped forward, his beady black eyes boring into mine. "Oh really. And what are you going to do about it, muggle?"
To which I punched him in the face.
Looking back on it, kicking him in the groin probably would have been more strategic, but I wasn't really thinking at this point. I stared in shock as he staggered backwards, clutching his nose.
"Class is over, kids," I said. "Y'all get out of here before he tries to turn you into toads or something."
The kids didn't move. They were not particularly obedient.
I don't know what came over me, but I was burning with rage and utterly without fear. I stalked towards Snape. "If you dare to hurt them again, Severus, I will find you, and I will end you."
His mouth opened, and I thought he was going to A) kill me instantly B) shout various and assorted threats, probably about getting me fired. But instead, he stared at me with his mouth open. His face turned an ashy white. Then, I saw tears begin to roll down his cheeks. He turned and fled from the room.
I leaned against the wall and found my hands were shaking. "I am so gonna get fired for this."
Hearing noise from the sea of children, I turned to find them staring at me with absolutely enormous eyes. Somewhere, deep in the background, I heard a soft, high-pitched "my father will hear about this."
"That was brilliant, Professor," said the skinny kid who'd stood up to Snape.
"Thanks," I said. "You've got guts, kid."
He gave a small, nervous smile. "Thanks."
"What's your name?"
He looked at me as if this was an absolutely insane question to be asking him.
"I'm Harry Potter," he said.
