Chapter IV: The Midnight Duel
Silvanus Kettleburn tossed aside yesterday's copy of The Daily Prophet onto the coffee table beside him. 'GRINGOTT'S BREAK-IN LATEST' was the headline, but there was precious little new information in the leading article.
Instantly, an elderly, quite doddery House-elf popped into being, snaffled up the discarded paper, and gave a low bow.
"Thank you, Digby," Professor Kettleburn smiled, saluting him with his remaining hand. Digby smiled and popped out of existence, not forgetting to snatch Professor Flitwick's favourite tea-cup, which lay beside it containing only dregs, momentarily before disapparating.
Moments later, Flitwick himself tumbled out of the fireplace at high speed in a roly-poly, landing squarely at Kettleburn's prosthetic feet.
"Oh, my. Hello, old chap," Flitwick smiled through a soot-smeared face.
"I see the Hogwarts private flue network still isn't fixed yet, Filius," Kettleburn said, helping the part-Goblin head of Ravenclaw to his feet, and assisted in dusting the ash from his robes, his mighty hand nearly bowling the professor clean over.
"Indeed, better to simply walk next time, eh? Dash it all—where's my tea?" Filius scanned the coffee table. "I was hoping to get a reading from it from Sybill."
"Digby took it a few seconds ago. If you take the flue to the kitchens, you could probably retrieve it before it gets tossed away."
Flitwick took a nervous look at the fireplace. "No, no, never-mind," he sighed. "Not worth the risk taking another trip. I just wanted to get a reading."
"What for?"
"Well, I heard that Gryffindor have an ace up their wizard's sleeve," Flitwick said, tapping his nose. "The new boy—Potter—apparently has a knack for the old Quidditch. Minerva took Oliver Wood out of my class for a word yesterday, and when he came back, he was grinning from ear to ear. Merlin's beard: the boy's going to be the youngest seeker in one hundred years! Of course, nobody's seen Potter play yet, so I was hoping some divination might help me—tactics-wise, you know—get a 'one-up' when they play Ravenclaw."
"Ah, insider information," Kettleburn winked. "I didn't know you put much stock in Trelawney's predictions."
"Didn't she predict you'd lose your leg when you bought those twelve Nifflers?" Flitwick asked.
"She predicted I'd lose the right leg," Kettleburn replied. He patted his prosthetic leg: the left one. "Boy, did she get that one wrong."
"Even so," Flitwick continued, "this new Gryffindor seeker business has put my wand on edge. I thought Slytherin were the team to beat for the House Cup this year, but this is a totally different cauldron of frogs."
They could hear stomping feet approaching from the corridor. Filch tramped in with a face like thunder, followed by the prowling Mrs. Norris. The pair were covered in chalk dust.
"Heavens, man: you look like a ghost!" Flitwick squeaked. "Peeves, again?"
"No, not this time" growled Filch. "He hasn't been able to 'chalk' me since you charmed the supply cupboards to stop 'im raiding 'em."
"Then why in Merlin's name are you as grey as ash?" Flitwick asked.
'Twas a coupla those 'orrible students broke into the trophy room at midnight, and I've been dusting the area for clues."
"Night-prowlers, eh? I thought I heard Peeves sound the alarm," Kettleburn mused. "Students out of bed! Students out of bed!" he made a fairly accurate impression of Peeves' shrill cry. "I could hear him all the way from my quarters."
Filch grumbled, and slunk away to one of the basins to wash off the chalk. Flitwick wondered how the man managed to wash the dust off, but not the accumulated grease and grime that mottled his ruddy face. Then another thought struck him.
Turning to Kettleburn, he said: "Silvanus, your room is fairly close to the charms corridor, is it not?"
"Yes," Kettleburn said, standing up to make his way to the next class. He paused. "Wait, you don't mean…?"
"Perhaps," Flitwick scratched his nose with the tip of his wand.
Kettleburn looked thoughtfully into the fire. After a moment, he said: "I wouldn't worry. I don't think any of the students know about …that, yet."
"Perhaps I should go and add a few charms to the lock. You know, to be safe. After all, any student could wander up to that door, say 'Alohomora', and suddenly be face-to-face-to-face-to-face with the three heads of Fluffy."
Professor Flitwick bustled out the staffroom door at a pace, just as Professor McGonagall entered. He didn't even notice the long, thin, broom-shaped package she wielded clutched under one arm. She sat down at a desk, withdrew a quill, and scrawled a name on an envelope, before dashing out a note.
Kettleburn greeted her on his way out, but couldn't help notice the first line of the note said "DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE" and that the envelope was addressed to Harry Potter.