Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, not to me.
Chapter Thirty-One
If anyone had asked the seventh years what expectations they might be holding concerning their new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, they might have gotten answers ranging anywhere from "completely useless" to "Insane for taking the job," among others. That Thursday, they came to learn that several of them were correct, though none of them were quite prepared for the. By now the seventh years had endured several variations of the doom and gloom warnings about their end of year tests. These had done nothing to dispel any nerves and had in fact only added to their worries. By now Heather had had at least one lesson with Sprout, Slughorn, and Flitwick, leaving only Brindlemore and Maufe, both of whom she would meet today.
Defense Against the Dark Arts was their firs class today, followed by Charms before lunch. Their last lesson, after one of Heather's free periods while Hermione was off taking Arithmancy, would be Transfiguration. She, like the rest of her year, approached both of these new lessons with a mixture of nervous excitement and caution. New professors were always trod lightly around until their character and approach to classroom discipline were discovered.
After breakfast, Heather and Hermione joined the queue outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom with the everyone else who were pursuing an .T. in the subject. This ended up being a rather large number, which was no surprise considering the events of the past few years. By special permission, several of their classmates who had abandoned the subject after fifth year had been allowed to rejoin, citing their fighting in the Battle as more than enough experience to make up for the missing year. When they walked inside, they saw that the usual arrangement of desks had been replaced with a double row of benches arrayed in concentric semi circles around a lone bench. Behind that bench stood a tall blackboard covered with what looked like scribbles. Next to it, and the only other notable thing in the room, was a large cauldron.
Unsure of what to do, Heather and Hermione took a bench together in the front row on the left-hand side of the blackboard, seeing their confusion mirrored on the faces of the rest of the class. Up closer, Heather saw that the scribbles were writing, but she was still too far away to decipher what was written. Something about the varied quality of the writing suggested to her that it was made up of many different handwriting styles.
"Well, this is certainly different," she muttered quietly, now craning her neck to try and peer into the cauldron. It was on the opposite side of the board from her seat, making its contents as impossible to determine as the writing. At a guess, she did not think that whatever was glimmering in the morning light was liquid. The bright gleam was too constant for it to be anything but solid. Perhaps it was metal? But then, what would it be doing in a cauldron?
Hermione silently agreed with a curt nod. She had extracted her copy of their textbook from her school bag and had, for lack of a better place to set it, rested it on her lap. It fluttered in the corner of Heather's vision as Hermione's knees bounced up and down with nervous energy.
They were all seated long before the bell rang and Professor Brindlemore sauntered into the classroom. She was dressed today in long flowing robes of forest green that complimented her auburn hair quite well. The moment she appeared; silence fell instantly. She casually strode around the rows of benches, humming merrily to herself under her breath. When she reached the lone seat facing them all, she stopped and turned to smile at the class. Slowly, her eyes giving nothing away of what was going on behind them, she gazed around.
"I would like to get one thing out of the way before class begins," she said in a deadpan that contrasted strongly with her bright smile. "The betting pool on my job is officially open."
No one spoke. Heather looked at Hermione at a loss for what to do and saw her friend's jaw hanging limply open. Professor Brindlemore didn't break the silence, instead she just waited, though for what no one seemed to have any idea. Finally, from a seat halfway around the front row, Dean raised his hand. "Umm, Professor, what betting pool is that?"
Their new teacher's face broke out into a wide, catlike grin. "Oh, come on now," she replied incredulously. "It hasn't been that long since I was a student here. I was surprised when the younger students didn't know what I was talking about, but I was hoping at least you seventh years would."
When still no one said anything she pressed on, now looking a little crestfallen. "I'm talking about the 'What happens to the new Defense professor' pool. You can't tell me that you all haven't been wondering just what horrible and gruesome fate awaits me this year. You know, the sort that will somehow prevent me from returning to teach next year." She held up a thin hand and began ticking off on her fingers. "Lets see, if memory serves we've had disfigurations, memory losses, a few madmen and supposed death eaters, and of course my personal favorite," she grinned maliciously, "Ministry hag hauled off by centaurs."
Before Heather could catch herself, she was laughing with the rest of the class, or most of it at least. Even as she wondered whether or not Professor McGonagall had hired a madwoman to teach them, Hermione's hand shot into the air. "Professor?"
Professor Brindlemore looked at her, her head tilting to the side with a knowing smile. "You must be Hermione Granger. Yes, I recognize you from the papers. I've been reading a lot of those trying to catch up. Your reputation proceeds you, Miss Granger. Professor Flitwick told me you'd be the first to raise your hand in this class. Let me guess. You're about to ask me, hopefully as politely as you can, if I'm completely sane?" Hermione's hand fell to rest limply next to her on the bench as her head bobbed up and down once.
Professor Brindlemore laughed quietly to herself. "There's always one. Worry not, Miss Granger, and the rest of you for that matter. I am as mentally together as the rest of you are." When this joke fell flat, she coughed and continued on. "Listen, I know it's probably in poor taste to joke about all this." A few people mutely nodded. Brindlemore lowered herself onto her stool and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "Tell me this though, is whatever horrendous fate that's destined to smite me down going to be any worse because I choose to laugh about it? No, it won't. I've seen a lot since I left school, and I've learned the hard way that you can hide from an unpleasant truth or face it straight up with a laugh and challenge it to do its worst. So, I'll be damned if I'm going to miss out on all the fun of holding a betting pool, especially when I know full well some intrepid young student is going to start one anyway." She craned her neck around to stare at the blackboard. "Just so you know, I think the current favorite is 'abducted by the giant squid,' but I think that's a bit tame. I'm hoping a few of you can come up with a real winner."
As this short speech wrapped up, Heather marveled at the woman's complete unconcern for her future. It could be that she wasn't as all together as she claimed, but no, Heather didn't think so. She'd met her share of madmen and women, and they had always conveyed an undeniable sense of what they were when they spoke. Even after such a short impression, Heather actually believed her, even if she was still wasn't quite believing what she was hearing. The more she heard however, the more she was willing to say she liked this woman at first glance.
Brindlemore stood suddenly, clasped her hands behind her back, and started pacing in front of her bench. "Now, I think that's enough of all that for the time being. As I said, I remember what it was like being you, meeting a new professor and tip toeing around them for the first few lessons. That's why I started with this," She pointing sideways at the blackboard. "It lets me not so much break the ice but shatter it completely. All joking aside, I've heard more than enough about what this year has faced since starting at Hogwarts to realize that most of you could teach this class, some of you already have." She tilted her head towards Heather. "So, with that in mind, I don't think I need to stand up here wasting my highly valuable breath or time warning you what you might face when you leave school. You've already dealt with that and more. You've seen the price of unpreparedness and have had to face more than most witches and wizards twice your age ever will."
She stopped pacing and turned to look at them, her gaze locking with each of theirs in turn. "No matter how foolishly lighthearted and insane some of you might think I am, and you can count our dear Headmistress among your number, I am going to take my responsibility towards you and this school seriously." Professor Brindlemore shrugged as though this condemnation by McGonagall was no real concern and continued on. Heather got the sense she was silently challenging someone to agree with that belief. When no one did she rubbed her hands together excitedly.
"Let's get into it, shall we? Before any of you ask, no I did not fight in the war, though Merlin knows I would have had I been here. After graduating Hogwarts some years ago, no you may not know just how many, I was hired as a cursebreaker in South America and haven't been home since. My employers refused to let me out of my contract to come home and fight, and they were not the sort I really wanted to cross. Two months ago, the job was done and I returned to jolly old Britain. Since then I have spent my newfound free time catching up on everything I missed. If any of you might still be wondering just why our wise headmistress deigned to permit me to teach here, then rest assured that my many years of cursebreaking have provided me with a great deal of expertise I can impart to you all. On the other hand, as you might well believe, I was the only applicant. So, take that as you will."
No one appeared able to catch up with what they were hearing. Professor Brindlemore had been right about one thing, the ice was certainly shattered. A few of them had recovered control of their facial muscles and were now staring avidly at the witch while several others were sitting back, looking uncertain. Heather's mouth was still hanging slack and she made a determined effort to snap it closed and keep it that way.
After pausing a moment to let this digest, their teacher sat back down on her bench. "Now, when it came to my other classes I left it at that and started talking about tests and homework and all that lovely stuff. But you lot are seventh years. This is it, your last year here. You don't need me standing up here blathering my pretty little head off. As far as I'm concerned, you all have more than earned an 'Outstanding' N.E.W.T. mark. The last thing I think you need is me coming in here and trying to teach you which end of the wand to hold. It's the not pointy end, by the way." She added with a wink, eliciting scattered laughter.
Beside Heather, Hermione balked at this pronouncement. Her textbook, which had been held in a white knuckled death grip until now, slid to the floor where it landed with a loud thump. Professor Brindlemore turned towards the noise and smiled at the aghast Hermione. "Now now, Miss Granger, worry not. There will still be plenty of homework and tests and all those wonderful things that I know you students love deep, ahem, very deep down. After all, I do have to prove to the headmistress that I'm teaching you something, or else I don't get paid. All I'm trying to say is that I don't feel like I need to keep your noses pressed into a textbook, covering things you already know and have been forced to learn the hard way."
"So…what are you going to teach us?" Hannah Abbott asked from the second row.
Brindlemore settled back onto her stool and met Hannah's gaze with a shrug. "You tell me. What do you want to know? What do you think you need to review? Where can I help you get stronger?" A bolt of lightening racked through Heather's spine at the choice of words that took a long while to completely wear off. When it did, she realized that no one had spoken in what could have been minutes for all she knew.
Everyone was looking at their neighbors like they were scared of being the first to speak. When no one raised a hand, Professor Brindlemore let out a long sigh. "I know, I know, you're all so lost in my charm and poise that I've robbed you of speech." More seriously she continued, "Come on now, after everything you've seen you can't possibly still be scared of a mere professor. Ask me anything!"
Michael Corner, who was seated on the bench directly behind Heather, raised a hesitant hand. "So how does one enter this betting pool?" he asked, his voicing sounding louder than it actually was in the still air.
Professor Brindlemore sprang to her feet in a rush. "Aha! An intelligent question!" she exclaimed, gesturing at Michael with one hand while the other pointed at the blackboard. "After class, write your bet on the blackboard along with your name and year. The cost to enter is fifteen sickles, winner take all. Just remember that if multiple people have the same winning answer the pot gets divided between them all. So, be sure to be creatively gruesome," she added with another exaggerated wink. "Now, who else has a question?" she asked, encompassing the whole class with her outstretched arms.
Heather, feeling emboldened, raised her hand. "Professor, you said you were a cursebreaker?"
"Yes, Miss Potter," Professor Brindlemore replied. "I think I did say something about that. I'm glad you were listening, continue."
"Well, I was just wondering if you used to work for Gringotts. I have a friend whose brother works there and I was curious if you knew him."
"And, would this friend's brother be a certain Bill Weasley?" Brindlemore replied knowingly. At Heather's nod she continued, "I knew him to speak to at school here but no, we didn't work together. After graduation, Gringotts was among several establishments that wished to hire my exceptional services, but I turned them down. Instead I went to work for a group in South America that helped local wizarding governments rediscover their historical origins." She held up a wagging finger. "Now, before you all get it in your heads that I spent my time down there outrunning giant boulders down stone corridors and fighting enchanted skeletons, I should go ahead and tell you that most of my days were spent dealing with such unspeakable horrors as damp tents and fending off more bugs than I ever knew existed."
"Are there any stories you can tell us, Professor?" asked Pavarti, leaning forward eagerly.
Professor Brindlemore smiled widely. "Why of course there are, Miss…"
"Patil."
"Ahh yes, Miss Patil. If there's one thing that we adventurous types have it's an unending supply of stories. The real question is, how many of my stories are true?" She tapped her nose with a finger. "I'll leave that up to you to decide."
It was truly a lesson unlike any other they had experienced before. To Heather it felt more like dinner around the table of Grimmauld Place during the Order's occupation of the house. After the initial hesitancy wore off conversation and questions flowed freely. Professor Brindlemore told story after story, the longest of which had her trapped in a temple buried in the mountains of Peru, filled with inferi and a pack of cursed dogs, all of which she fended off all while dealing with a bad, and highly personal, bout of rashes. If there was any comparison to be drawn between Professor Brindlemore and their previous teachers, Heather supposed the closest would have to be Lockhart. He too had spent hours regaling them with his adventures. The difference was that even though his stories had also sounded ridiculously impossible, there was something about Professor Brindlemore that he had lacked. It wasn't something Heather could put a finger on beyond a quality of genuineness Lockhart had never possessed. It wouldn't have surprised Heather midway through the lesson to discover that they were camping in the woods somewhere, with a large campfire between where they and Brindlemore was sitting.
Alone among her fellows, Hermione seemed to be unhappy with how the class proceeded. She refused to ask questions and appeared more skeptical of Brindlemore's stories than anyone else. When there were only a few minutes left before the bell, once the last tale had wound down and they were all chattering amongst themselves, she raised her hand. "Excuse me, professor," she asked loudly. "I was wondering, what made you want to apply for this job?"
Heather eyed her friend cautiously without turning her head. Dean was openly gazing back and forth between Hermione and the teacher, wondering at her nerve.
"And why would you want to know such a thing, Miss Granger?" Professor Brindlemore asked, her smile of polite complacency returning.
"Well," Hermione replied slowly, and Heather could now see that her cheeks were flushed pink, "It's just that after such an exciting career as a cursebreaker, isn't teaching here at Hogwarts a bit dull by comparison?" Heather groaned quietly, reading the real question lurking in the shadows. More plainly what Hermione wanted to know was 'What in Merlin's name caused us to get landed with you?'
If Professor Brindlemore read into Hermione's question what Heather had, she made no sign of it. "You know, you're the first student to ask me that, Miss Granger. Five points to Gryffindor for asking what I consider to be the most intelligent question of any of my classes so far. It's always good to know the intentions of those in authority above you, well done." Her polite smile gave way to an impish smirk. "If you must know, I took this job on a dare."
"A what?" blurted Seamus loudly.
Professor Brindlemore nodded fervently. "You heard me, Mister Finnegan. When I came back to the country I stayed with a friend of mine. She, her names Shireen, lovely girl, fantastic baker, well she was reading the morning paper when McGonagall's advert for the Defense job showed up. 'You wouldn't last the year, no chance' she told me. Now, you lot haven't known me long enough to be aware of this but I can't refuse a good challenge. So, I applied and here we are."
The bell rang, startling the awed class back to reality. "Before you go, for next lesson I want each of you to write me one roll of parchment on the proper theory and tactics for fighting groups of inferi. Bonus points to the most creative ideas. Also, betting closes Friday at end of lessons." She waved her hand and the door swung open. "Get going now, I've got another class of pupils to astound."
Hermione was the first person out the door, which was a considerable feat considering she and Heather had been sitting on the far side of the classroom. Heather stuck around just long enough to write her bet on the board and drop her entry fee in the cauldron before racing after her. Now sprinting, she caught up with Hermione halfway along the corridor just before she started to climb the stairs. "She's something else," Heather gasped, clutching at a stitch in her side.
Hermione, who was walking a good deal faster than Heather would prefer at the moment, fumed. "Different!" she exclaimed, giving Heather a blistering sideways look. "I don't know what McGonagall was thinking, hiring someone like that to teach us. Especially in this year of all years!" Chuckles broke out behind them, making Heather realize for the first time that others in their class had caught up, presumably to listen in on Hermione's tirade.
"Well, it's not like she had all that much choice," reasoned Heather patiently. "I mean, she was the only one to apply. She said so herself. Just be thankful that we didn't end up with someone worse, like Lockhart.
This argument did little to halt Hermione's head of steam. "Be that as it may. It is still highly irresponsible to hire someone who isn't even going to actively teach us, especially considering our upcoming N.E.W.T.'s."
A familiar, tall presence appeared in Heather's blind spot, making his arrival known by interjecting himself into this conversation. "Well, it's like Heather said, Hermione. She could be a lot worse. Think about it, we could have been seventh years when we did have Lockhart or Umbridge as our teacher, then where would we have been?" Neville asked.
"Probably about the same," argued Hermione hotly. Heather strongly disagreed with this but chose to keep her mouth shut. It wouldn't help matters to admit that, on first glance, she actually thought she was going to enjoy having Brindlemore as an instructor. Best to let Neville try and calm Hermione down.
"Then if worst comes to worst, Heather can always teach us again." he suggested. Heather felt a flutter in her spine at this and she quickly ensured that her face was not visible to Neville. Even as he continued speaking, she resolved to find the time to sort him out in her mind. "They all passed their N.E.W.T.s, and so will we." Neville concluded.
Heather knew it was going to be a long time before Hermione was going to let her indignation go, and so she settled in for a tense Charms class. "The more things change," she muttered to Neville as they entered Flitwick's classroom before joining Hermione at their table. She'd come around, Heather knew, she always did. Hermione's sense of right and wrong, particularly when it came to their education, was probably the only part of her that hadn't been shaken during the war, if in fact anything could shake it. In a way, it was almost reassuring to see that something could survive the carnage they'd faced so unscathed.
"She's going to teach us," Heather added in one last attempt to bring her friend around. "She isn't going to waste our time, she said so."
"You know, if you'd like Hermione," Seamus added with a snicker from where he was seated nearby, "you can always write two rolls of parchment for her, if you feel like that'll make up for all the indecency." Everyone around them laughed, even Hermione grinned despite herself. It felt good.
After Charms was finished Heather spent her free period safely ensconced in her dormitory while Lavender was off in Divination. It was refreshing to have some solitude, and she was regretful to leave the safety and come downstairs for Transfiguration.
In their new professor, Hermione found her exact counter to Professor Brindlemore's devil may care teaching style. Professor Xavier Maufe, who after his introduction at the feast was presumed to be a carbon copy of Professor McGonagall, did not disappoint. He had not dispensed with desks for their first lesson. In fact, a cursory inspection of the room showed that nothing had moved since his taking over of the classroom. In the same way it had when Brindlemore had entered, silence fell at the sight of Maufe, who was wearing the same patched black robes he had been wearing at the feast.
In a slow, measured voice he called out the roll. As each person answered, his eyes would flick upwards to find them. It was a rather unsettling few minutes. When he was done, he replaced the parchment carefully on his desk and clasped his hands firmly in the small of his back with his elbows jutting out. "I have been informed by the Headmistress that you, as seventh years, are well on your way to being prepared for your examinations. This is despite the…unforeseen disruptions that your educations have suffered. Therefore, I should not have to tell you of the exact and demanding nature that this year's coursework will entail. Nor should I be required to spell out that I expect you all to maintain the same high standards that you would have if Professor McGonagall still taught this class." Even though they had all heard this same speech many times by now, Maufe's rendition held them with rapt attention.
"As for myself, I graduated Hogwarts with an 'Outstanding' N.E.W.T. mark in Transfiguration, and have been working to advance the bounds of that branch of magic ever since. My work has been varied and…interrupted recently, which is why I am here. To teach as well as to continue my own progress in a safe, solid environment." He blinked once and his head shuddered momentarily.
"Did McGonagall and Snape have a baby, and no one told us?" asked someone in the back of the classroom, just loud enough for it to be heard several rows away.
Thankfully it appeared not to have reached the teacher's desk. Professor Maufe extracted his wand from a pocket of his robes and waved it in a wide arc. In front of each of them appeared a large, fluffy feather duster. "You should have each mastered transfiguring this into a ferret during your previous year here. As practice and to get you back up to speed, you will each complete the task before class has ended. Begin." With that, he turned back to his desk and sat in the hardback chair behind it. He did not look away from the class until the first person, Hermione, was shuffling in her bag.
Heather summoned her wand from its resting place strapped to her arm and gazed at the feather duster now laying before her. Beside her, Hermione was already at work, moving her wand over her own duster in complicated movements. It was already beginning to ripple with the effects of Hermione's spell when Heather returned her attention to her own work. Pushing back her sleeves, she set to it, eager that she should not be the last to complete the transformation. Every indication pointed to Maufe not being one to get on the wrong side of.
With ten minutes left in the lesson, Maufe rose again and began prowling the rows, examining their progress. To her relief, Heather's feather duster had finally changed into a ferret a few minutes ago, though its markings still strongly resembling that of the duster's feathers. As she lowered her wand from a final attempt to correct this, the ferret let out a squeal and took off, quickly becoming lost in the myriad of robes and table legs.
"No work, Miss Potter?" asked Professor Maufe when he reached them and caught her still half under her desk, searching in vane for the lost creature.
"It ran off, sir," she sat up and said quietly, feeling the sniggering looks of her classmates on her.
With a sigh, Maufe raised his wand and wordlessly summoned the ferret back and set it on the desk. Raising a single eyebrow, he examined her work. "Very well, Miss Potter. At least your grasp on the magic was better than your grasp of the ferret." Turning, he looked down at Hermione's unquestionably perfect transfiguration. Was it Heather's imagination or did his lip curve into a tiny smile. "You are Miss Granger, correct?" he asked, lifting the ferret to examine it closer.
"Yes, sir" Hermione replied a little nervously.
"Excellent work," Professor Maufe said, replacing the ferret on the desk. "Ten points to Gryffindor."
As Hermione's face broke out in a satisfied grin, Professor Maufe moved off to the next table, where Susan and Daphne were sitting together. Both of them had achieved similar results to Heather, except for the fact that the head of Susan's ferret had somehow turned blue and she had not been able to correct it.
"Is this the best you were able to do?" Maufe asked, with the faintest hint of derision in his voice as he stared down at Daphne, momentarily ignoring Susan's ferret.
"Yes, sir," replied Daphne quietly, looking hesitantly up at him.
"Well, it is only the first lesson. In time I expect you to improve." Professor Maufe said. He wordlessly took in Susan's blue-headed ferret without comment and moved on, leaving a dead eyed Daphne in his wake.
It was a subdued class that rose to leave when the class was over. Only Hermione had received any word of praise and more than just Daphne had earned a reprimand for not doing well enough. Blaise and Ernie had even lost five points each for how poor their work had been, though Heather had not been able to tell any great difference in their results and Susan's. Maybe it had been due to Ernie's ferret trying to take a bite out of Maufe when he picked it up. Once free of the classroom, it did not take long for Ernie to begin loudly complaining.
"I can't believe that's who we have to teach us this year, I mean, McGonagall was strict, of course. But she never took points on the first day of class." There was scattered agreement to this.
Heather kept her opinion to herself this time. While she also believed that Maufe had been enormously unfair to most of the class, it would earn her no points with them to agree loudly. After Hermione she had gotten the closest thing to praise for her work. No, best to remain quiet until the situation improved, if it ever would.