The Staff Room

THE STAFF ROOM

By A.A.Yarrum

Chapter 1:

Into the breech once more, dear Friends

The glistening circular parquet floor, patterned with oriental rugs, elegant sofas, armchairs, chaise lounges, bureaus, writing desks and occasional tables, formed the base of a tall tower, whose tall walls, scaled up five or six stories. Around the windows hung thick deep blue velvet curtains, streaked with silver threads.  A magnificent stained glass dome crowned the tower, although it was late evening, and no light was getting through. The walls encircling the room were lined with balcony-style verandahs, which ringed right around the room, at various levels above the ground. Behind the carved wooden balustrade were crammed bookcases, and several doors led off to rooms from these elegant mezzanine levels.

On the floor, a large grey Cheshire cat, named Pebbles, who was snoring lazily in the way only a cat can manage, occupied the warm floor before the large fire was gently crackling in the grate, spilling its light and heat outwards onto the large creature.

To the right of Peebles, a sweeping oak staircase led to the balconied levels above them, and it was there that a woman, bedecked in green velvet robes with grey hair in a tight bun and small, square glasses on the end of her nose appeared, cradling a pile of books in her arms.

She descended the stairs into the Staff Common Room, and plonked her tottering pile onto a mahogany side table, at the side of a long, red and gold sofa before the large fireplace. The room was deserted apart from her and the large cat, Peebles, one of her colleagues’ companions.

After fixing the books into a rigid pile, Minerva McGonagall walked to the other side of the room, where there was a large gramophone atop a drinks cabinet. She tapped the copper resonator with her wand, and it sprang into life, playing a quiet piece of Bach, with the harp, violin and harpsichord. Minerva had been sceptical when Albus, her only senior at the school, had placed the enchanted gramophone in the Staff wing, but she had to admit, it was wonderful.

She fixed herself a whisky and coke from the cabinet below, and took it over to the red couch, her favourite spot in the Staff room.

Seldom, if ever, did Minerva ever get to spend an hour or two reading alone, with some quiet music and a drink, but it was another few hours before the Hogwarts Express was due to bring the cartloads of noisy, loud students to fill her life with endless work. So she settled down comfortably in her seat, and began to read the first of the many books she had selected from the school library before any of the students got their dirty, grubby fingers on them.

The music was still playing one hundred and twelve minutes later when a man with greasy black hair and swirling black robes came striding in the entrance, which was cleverly concealed behind a tapestry in the staff room the students knew about.

‘Good evening, Severus,’ said Minerva lazily. ‘Still in your usual bubbly mood, I see.’

It was clearly apparent from the way he banged his suitcase down on the floor that Severus Snape was in anything but a bubbly mood.

‘For you information, Minerva, I have just learned that Potter survived the summer.’

Minerva smiled wryly. Severus’ hatred of both Potters was legendary.

‘And I have recently learned that your dear little protégé Mister Malfoy is once more aboard the train.’

‘At least Draco has some brains,’ snapped Severus.

‘At least Potter has some Quidditch skills,’ retorted Minerva icily. The long running Potter-Malfoy divide was well known throughout the staff quarters. Almost every member of staff except the Headmaster had declared themselves for one of them in the past two years the boys had been attending the school. Of course, the students knew nothing of this divide.

‘I suppose his abysmal broomstick skills are his best quality,’ said Snape, ‘but those really aren’t anything to be proud of.’

‘And poor little Malfoy only had eleven years of training on his mansion grounds before he came here.’

‘At least he has some breeding.’

‘Ha!’ Minerva laughed as Severus stormed across the room to the oak staircase. ‘Welcome back, Snape!’ she called, as he appeared on the first balcony and walked along it, surveying the room.

‘Oh, piss off,’ he shouted down to her on the level below, and shut the door to his bedchamber.

Minerva laughed at the sullen professor, and turned back to her book. Both she and Severus had exactly the same very dry sense of humour, and they were often engaged in heated arguments about schoolwork, which ended with them both laughing at themselves and each other.

The door to the Staff Room The Pupils Knew About opened, and a small giant walked in.

‘That’s me just goin’ down to let in them first years, ma’am,’ said Rubeus Hagrid, the groundskeeper and newly appointed Care of Magical Creatures teacher.

‘Thank you, Hagrid. I will be waiting for the first years in the Entrance Hall.’

‘Right yeh are, now.’

He left her alone, just as an owl fluttered in the window.

Dear Minerva, read the short letter attached to its leg.

Harry Potter, a new Gryffindor Third Year has taken ill and collapsed on the train, as the Dementors were searching us. I thought you might like to know.

See you at the Feast,

Remus Lupin

Minerva perused the letter, wondering how to act. She eventually stood up, and made for the oaken staircase.

Once she had reached the third balcony, she stepped off the staircase and walked briskly along the gently curving balcony, past the bookcases and reading chairs and the statue of Norman the Nimble, until she reached the door of Professor Flitwick, the Charms Teacher.

‘Phillip!’ she shouted, as she rapped on the polished mahogany door, which reflected the orangey glow of the lights on the ground floor below. ‘Phillip!’

The door swung open to reveal a tiny dwarfish man, wearing extravagant robes of deep purple velvet and pink silk.

‘Minerva!’ he cried enthusiastically. ‘Hello! How are we this evening? What can I do for you?’

‘Phillip, I’d like you to welcome the new first years this evenings. Some things have come up that I need to see to.’

‘Certainly, Minerva, certainly,’ said Flitwick, bobbing up and down on the spot. ‘May I enquire as to what is so urgent that it need tear you away from your Headmistresses duties?’

‘Potter fell sick on the train, and I need to speak to some other pupils rather urgently about timetabling as well.’

‘Ah, yes, Miss Granger will be getting her new trinket, methinks.’

‘Yes- I’m sure she’s wise enough.’

‘And you say Potter is sick? I daresay dear Severus is terribly worried.’

‘As you can imagine he is inconsolable,’ said Minerva dryly.

‘See you at the feast,’ said the bouncy, vibrant professor, and shut the door.

Minerva walked back to the oaken stairs, and up a level, to the top, where her bedchamber was.

She unlocked the door by inserting her wand in the keyhole, and walked into the large room.

All the teachers’ apartments were identical: a large sitting room, with a balcony or terrace, and a space off that for a bed. There was a bathroom and a large clothes closet, and a storage space for books and other things.

Minerva’s room was decorated exactly as one might imagine- prim, tidy, organised. There were never any dirty glasses or foul smells- a permanent smell of fresh flowers scented the air. The tables were covered with small ornaments or knick knacks. The fireplace had a tiny fire crackling inside.

She walked over to a chest of drawers, and pulled one open. As always, everything was neatly organised and filed to within an inch of its life. A small gold time turner was wrapped in a sheet of black velvet, it’s thin golden chain glittering in the candlelight. Glancing out the small window to her right, she saw the party of boats on the lake, reflecting the starry heavens of the clear night. She would have to hurry.

The room next door to hers was Poppy Pomfrey, and McGonagall rapped sharply on the door.

‘Yes?’ said the stern matron as she opened the door. She was dressed in a horrendous flowery dress with a baby-blue bow under her collar.

‘Poppy, a pupil was taken ill on the train and will require attention. Will you meet me in my office before the feast to examine him?’

‘Yes,’ said Poppy, not in such a felicitous mood as her dress would suggest. ‘Which pupil, Minerva?’

‘I believe it was Potter, the third year.’

‘I might have known,’ she said, and turned around, shutting the door.

Minerva McGonagall descended the staircase once more into the common room. During her short absence, Pebbles the cat had crawled onto her space on the sofa, and was being stroked by her owner, Edith Sprout. Murray Vector, the Ancient Runes professor, and Cindy Sinistra, the Astronomy professor, were talking animatedly about something or other, while sipping tea from elegant china teacups. Everyone was eagerly awaiting the feast, and they were all suitably attired in dress robes.

‘Minerva,’ said Professor Sinistra, leaping to her feet. She was a tall, graceful African woman, with perfect dark skin and black eyes. She was wearing dress robes of blood red taffeta, offset perfectly by matching nail polish.

‘Cindy?’

‘I need to speak to you about the OWLs – I’ve had no correspondence from the Ministry at all this year.’

‘I’m in a hurry, Cindy, I’ll speak to you at the Feast.’

‘Sure. See you later.’ She sat down and crossed her legs, allowing the long slit up her robes to reveal her perfect black thighs.

‘Slut,’ whispered Minerva under her breath as she hurried out of the room, a small smirk on her face. Minerva, like Severus, was scathing in her descriptions of fellow staff members- although she never criticised another member of the faculty in front of the pupils- that would be unprofessional. And if there was one thing the deputy Headmistress prided herself on, it was her professionalism.

***

‘The man’s insane! He killed thirteen people with a single curse! We don’t know what he’s capable of!’ Little Phillip Flitwick was animatedly discussing the topic of Sirius Blacks’ arrest with the rest of the staff room, who were gathered around the fireplace, for their usual nightcap.

Members of Staff at Hogwarts were very well provided for, with excellent rooms, free food and drink, and a large pay packet on top of that. The workload was great, but could be done quickly, especially during free periods during the day. That was why after each day, when the essays had been filed and house points deducted, the staff could be found in their common room, just like the students, engaged in heated discussions. Often, these discussions reached well into the night.

‘But really, Phillip, even you can’t condone having those…’ Edith Sprout paused, searching for the word with which to describe the Dementors, ‘those… things crawling around the castle at all times of the day and night. You can see their effects on the students already.’

‘Don’t be stupid, Edith, of course I hate the beasts, but surely it’s better that than having a mass murderer running around.’

McGonagall leaned over to Remus Lupin, the new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, and mumbled something quietly to him.

He chortled, and nodded his head in agreement. ‘I’m sure we’re all thinking the same thing,’ he said back to her.

The door to the teachers’ wing opened, and Dumbledore walked through.

‘Still up?’ he exclaimed, rubbing his hands together with glee. ‘How wonderful!’

‘Hello, Albus,’ said McGonagall, as the ancient wizard sat down. The old man commanded the utmost respect of everyone in the room, but sometimes Minerva found him hard to bear, with his eccentricities and ridiculous quirks- especially late at night when she had a whole week ahead of her.

‘I’m glad we’re all here,’ he said, fiddling with the end of his brilliant white beard absent-mindedly. ‘I was speaking with Ludo Bagman, of the Department of Magical Games and Sports this morning.’

‘Really?’ asked Cindy. ‘What was old Ludo saying?’

‘You’ve met Ludo, Cindy?’ asked Minerva.

‘Well, that’s one way of putting it.’ She flashed her eyes wickedly, and a few of the other staff giggled.

‘And there was I thinking you only liked two kinds of men,’ hit back Minerva acerbically. ‘The kind with muscles and the kind without.’

‘Anyway,’ said Dumbledore, bringing the conversation back to earth. ‘Ludo and his opposite numbers abroad have agreed that next year the Triwizard Tournament will once again be held.’

‘Oh, Albus!’ Phillip Flitwick was beside himself. ‘Oh, what wonderful news! Where will it be, Dumbledore, do tell! Do!’

Severus and Minerva exchanged exactly the same catty look, and both knew that they were thinking the same spot- What a Drama Queen!

‘It will be here, at Hogwarts.’

‘Oh, I feel rather faint,’ said Flitwick, and he collapsed back into his armchair. Severus rolled his eyes.

‘I suppose this decision has been taken without any thought to safety,’ said Severus, his usual pessimistic self. ‘Or about the practicalities of such an event.’

‘What about the impact on education?’ said Minerva. ‘Surely, Albus, this is ridiculous. We can’t run the castle and stage an international tournament!’

‘Oh, don’t be so happy, please,’ said Edith. ‘The Triwizard Tournament has come back to Hogwarts. I always knew it would.’

‘You and Sibyll both,’ said Minerva, replacing her glass of whisky and coke on the side table.

‘Oh, that reminds me!’ cried Murray Vector. ‘We haven’t put our bets on her death predictions. Who will it be this year?’

‘You put bets on Sibyll’s predictions?’ asked Albus incredulously. ‘Isn’t that rather unprofessional. How do you even know she’ll predict something that macabre?’

‘Don’t be so naïve, Albus,’ said Minerva, as she rustled through her handbag, looking for her purse. ‘I’ll put five Galleons on…’ She paused, examining the possibilities. ‘Potter.’

‘Five on Pansy Parkinson,’ said Cindy.

‘Eight Galleons and three Sickles on the Malfoy boy.’ Edith laid her money on the table.

‘Fifteen on Potter,’ said Severus Snape coolly, adding the handful of coins on the mound of gold and silver.

‘Fifteen?’ exclaimed Murray Vector. ‘Minerva, do you want to raise yours?’

‘Oh, I feel a fight coming on,’ said Flitwick in his high-pitched voice.

‘Is that a challenge, Severus?’ she eyed him beadily- he could remember what it had felt like twenty five years ago when he had been a student who hadn’t handed in his homework. That scrutinizing expression still gave him the same butterflies.

‘Naturally.’ His tone betrayed nothing of his insides, rather that of quiet, cool contempt.

‘Very well.’ She threw ten more Galleons onto the table.

‘Oh, she’s risen to the occasion!’ Phillip gyrated in the seat.

Dumbledore chuckled to himself.

‘You do this every year?’

‘Absolutely,’ said Murray Vector, sweeping the money into a extravagantly jewelled tin.

‘And what does the successful predictor win?’

‘All the money, of course. Although, if Sibyll’s prediction came true within the year, then they have to use it to send a bouquet to the deceased’s funeral.’

‘That is macabre,’ said Dumbledore.

‘Yes,’ said Cindy dramatically, ‘but we, fine sir, are teachers!’

End of Chapter

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