The Staff Room

THE STAFF ROOM

By A.A.Yarrum

Chapter 2:

Gambling

’No, Mr Diggory, as you well know these security measures have been put in place for a reason, and I am not going to endanger the lives of any students for a bag of dung bombs!’

’But Professor Sprout, surely us prefects should be allowed into the village…’

‘Absolutely not, Cedric,’ snapped the squat witch, as she pruned some Gnominelinas in Greenhouse Seven. ‘Now unless you go away and stop pestering me, I shall be forced to take house points!’

‘Okay, Professor, okay,’ said the exceptionally handsome sixth year, and walked out the greenhouse.

‘Watch where you’re going, Diggory,’ scolded Professor Snape, as he walked headlong into Cedric outside the glass door.

‘Professor, you walked into me!’

‘Enough of this! Ten points from Hufflepuff! Now move along unless you want to make it fifty.’

The tall, dark haired young man moved on, an expression of extreme dislike on his face. Severus didn’t care- he was the one with the power.

‘Non, rien de rien,’ Edith Sprout sang aloud to herself as she watered the plants, skipping around the room to the beat of the music that was playing. ‘Non, je ne regrette rien!’

Severus cleared his throat loudly.

‘Severus!’ she cried, continuing to dance around the room. ‘Car ma vivre, car mes joises, Aujourd’hui, ca commence avec TOI!’ she belted out the last line of her song as she drenched the Flutterby bushes.

‘Quite,’ said the dour professor, in his black robes.

‘What can I do for you?’ she cried. Edith Sprout, like the French singer Edith Piaf, her namesake, was extremely small yet extremely energetic. ‘Would you like a mango?’

‘No, thank you. I…’

‘Go on, I picked them fresh not ten minutes ago! Take one!’ She thrust it into his arms. ‘How about a pear? Or one of these delicious Humperdink Figs?’ She piled some green pears and violently pink figs into his arms.

‘I need some Jubjub Cuttings.’

‘Jubjub?’ she asked. ‘Greenhouse three, the left hand corner beside the sink. Don’t take too much- I need it for the second years.’

‘Thank you, Edith.’ He swept around, his cloak billowing behind him, and walked out of the greenhouse.

‘Severus!’ she called after him. ‘Any news yet on the Prediction.’

‘Not yet,’ said Severus, ‘but Potter’s up with Sybil right now. We should know by this evening.’

‘Adieu!’ she shouted, and burst once more into song.

***

‘Kindly compose an essay, no shorter that five hundred words, explaining how to deal with the Grintulous Curse. You should use your own research on top of what we have learned today… Ah, Headmaster!’

Remus Lupin beamed as Albus Dumbledore walked into the room.

‘Hello there! Enjoying your first day, I hope?’

‘Oh, yes, although these Gryffindor fifth years are rather… buoyant.’

Albus chucked, as he looked around the class. Of course, they would be buoyant, he thought, they’ve the Weasley Twins.

‘Can I speak to you, Remus?’ asked Albus. He looked morose.

‘Um, yes, of course,’ said Remus, and they walked out the large, dusty room.

‘Sirius Black was spotted twenty miles from here this morning,’ said the Headmaster gravely. ‘The Dementors have already doubled their ranks around the castle.

‘Oh.’ Remus didn’t know quite how to react. ‘Okay then.’

‘I just thought you might like to know.’

‘Thank you, Dumbledore, thank you.’

‘Remus- if there’s anything you know- anything at all- please don’t hesitate to tell me. It could be important.’

‘Um…’

‘Yes?’

‘Nothing. I know nothing, Headmaster. Sorry.’’

Dumbledore looked downbeat.

‘Oh, well, we’ll just have to put our faith in the Dementors and the Minister. Goodbye.’ He walked off along the long, wide corridor, pausing to look out the window. Remus considered shouting after him, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

***

‘Silence! Thirty Points from Hufflepuff!’

‘But sir…’

‘Forty! And unless you want to make it one hundred, you’ll sit down and get on with your potions!’

Severus Snape was in his characteristically bad mood. A poor second year Hufflepuff girl was unfortunate to stray across his path- a very good idea.

‘Professor Snape?’ a trembling first year crawled into his dungeon. Obviously, the news of his less-than-favourable treatment of the other first year class this morning had spread.

‘What is it?’ he snapped, causing the child to flinch.

‘Professor McGonagall asked me to give this to you.’

He extended a trembling hand, with a small square of folded parchment.

Severus snatched it off him, and unfolded it.

My esteemed colleague, it read,

The extremely talented Sybil Trelawney has graced us with her prediction. Mister Harry Potter, of Gryffindor Third Year fame, is predicted to die within the year. Everyone is waiting on tenterhooks to see if it will come true, as Sybil’s predictions have a habit of doing.

If I do not see you at the inevitable funeral, I will see you in the staff room,

Yours,

Minerva

Severus allowed himself a small smirk at this news. Another twenty galleons were heading his way.

‘Are you still here?’ he snapped at the unfortunate first year, which trembled violently.

‘Uh... uh… uh,’ squirmed the dwarfish creature, like a rabbit in headlights.

‘Get out!’ he shouted. The small one shot at lightning speed from the room. Severus permitted himself a small smile, before folding the note up, and placed it in his robe pocket.

***

‘I was sure it was going to be Malfoy,’ said Edith Sprout that evening in the teachers’ wing.

‘Well, Edith, you know Sybil. I’d be surprised if Potter was dead before he turned eighty,’ she said matter of factly as she pored some red wine from the bottle into Edith’s glass. To celebrate Sybil’s prediction, the staff ahd congregated in their sitting room, and had had a nice drink. However, as the clock struck eleven, six empty wine bottles lay at the fireside, soon to be joined by the seventh.

The members of staff were engaged in a discussion about the latest trend of girl students ornamenting their hair with large, glass butterflies, snakes and flowers.

‘I quite like it,’ said Cindy Sinistra, toying with her own lustrous black hair. ‘I think it suits some of them.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Minerva, scolding. ‘It’s horrific. Why must they insist on adorning themselves with the latest fashions? I’ll never understand it.’

‘The young are always faced with the same dilemma,’ said Severus, replacing his glass on the arm of his seat, ‘of how to conform and rebel at the same time. They do this by showing contempt for us and copying each other.’

Everyone laughed at this- how very like Severus, thought Minerva, to come up with such an outlook.

Just then, the door opened, and Sybil Trelawney walked in, her assortment of bangles, chains and icons jingling.

‘Sybil,’ said Cindy, leaping to her feet. Of all the staff, Cindy had had the most to drink.

‘Yes, my dear?’ asked the mystic.

‘Is it true?’ cried the raven-haired Astronomy Professor. ‘Is Potter… doomed?’

At this, the rest of the group sniggered. Severus brought his hand up to cover his face, although his shoulders were shaking, betraying his laughter.

‘Alas, my dear, it is true. Mr Potter will not be with us for very long.’ She looked sorrowfully at Cindy, ignoring Minerva’s small, polite laugh.

‘How can it be?’ said Cindy. Minerva had to hand it to Cindy- for all she might flirt with teachers and students; she was very, very funny, and a great actress. ‘How long do you give him?’

‘He will leave us before the year is out!’ she said, in barely more than a whisper. ‘The spectre of death, the horrendous evils that have pursued him so vigorously, are even as we speak gathering their forces, and when they reach us, they shall be unstoppable.’

Edith Sprout could take it no longer. She burst into peals of laughter, rolling about in her seat, unable to stop laughing. Soon, a few other members of staff were joining her, and before half a minute was past, everyone was howling.

‘I think that, had you seen what I had seen, you wouldn’t be laughing with quite so much force!’ Sybil Trelawney stood glowering at them all.

‘Oh, Sybil,’ said McGonagall, brushing away a tear.

‘You may laugh now, Minerva,’ said Sybil, with a manic glint in her eye, ‘but soon, when all the mysterious portents of the Fates reveal themselves, your mouth will be most ungraciously shut!’

‘Until that day comes, however, I shall continue to exercise my authority as deputy Headmistress, and in that role I must insist that you refrain from worrying the students with such ridiculous predictions.’ Minerva’s tone was icy as she surveyed the clairvoyant with a cold, cat-like stare.

Sybil delicately rearranged her diaphanous shawl, and made for the oak staircase, which led directly to her rooms on the first half landing.

As soon as they heard her door snap shut, everyone burst into torrents of unmitigated laughter.

***

A soft knock on Dumbledore’s door aroused his attentions from the copy of Notes on Trans substantial Transfigurations he had been reading.

‘Albus?’ said Minerva, as she opened the door.

‘Minerva!’ he said, his eyes lighting up as they always did when he was offered human attention. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I’ve been having some problems from the OWL Board- are we supposed to be teaching them transfiguration theory, or just practise.’

‘Oh the OWL Board know nothing,’ said Albus, waving his hands. ‘I leave it up to your professional opinion.’

‘Thank you,’ said Minerva gracefully. Normally at this point, she would have left, but the curiosity, so closely associated with cats, rooted her to the spot.

‘Yes?’ said the headmaster after a few minutes of silence. ‘Is there anything else?’

‘I was wondering, Dumbledore, just how safe the castle is from Black?’

‘Ah, yes, that’s been the topic of many discussions in the castle this week, I imagine.’ He paused, looking at his pet phoenix, Fawkes, as the scarlet bird moulted several more feathers.

‘Minerva, may I be brutally frank with you?’

‘If you want, Dumbledore,’ she said, worrying slightly.

‘We are absolutely undefended.’ As he sat before her, Minerva saw for the first time in her life an old, vulnerable man. ‘Part of the reason Remus had been appointed to the faculty is that he is the only man alive who knows Black well.’

‘I don’t think anyone could say they knew Black- after what he did.’ Minerva’s lips thinned in disgust. It would be many years before her lips would stop thinning at the mention of Black’s name, even after his innocence had been proven before a Council of Magical Law.

‘That may very well be the case, Minerva, it may indeed, but as it stands, Remus has told me that, along with James…’

At the mention of her former pupil’s name, Minerva crossed herself. It was unusual for a graduated witch to show any religious incline, but whenever James, Lily or Peter was mentioned, along with countless others, Minerva crossed herself. It was one of the small remnants still remaining from her Muggle heritage.

Dumbledore’s eyes flicked up to her for a moment, before he continued.

‘Along with James, Black studied every inch of the Hogwarts grounds. Remus say’s he knows the castle better than Filch.’

‘I refuse to believe that,’ said Minerva haughtily. ‘Argus knows every secret passage in and out of this castle. He can only be rivalled by the Weasley boys.’

At this, Dumbledore’s eyes flashed blue.

‘I’ve had an idea,’ he pronounced triumphantly.

‘Oh, do tell,’ said Minerva, rolling her eyes. ‘Another wonderful brainwave from Albus Dumbledore. What can it be this time? Magic Mirrors that hide stones? Marmite that can record conversations?’

‘Oh, yea of little faith,’ said the old man, shaking his head and smiling wildly. ‘My proposal is this: We talk to Fred and George Weasley.’

He looked with violently twinkling blue eyes at Minerva, who sat, speechless. It took a few moments for her to finally regain her voice.

‘No, Albus! Absolutely not! Consult Fred and George Weasley? Are you mad? Have you taken leave of your senses?’

‘You said it yourself, Minerva,’ said the old man smugly. ‘They know the castle as well as, if not better, than Filch.’

‘But… You can’t… It’s just… Fred and George Weasley! Are you taking narcotics?’

‘I assure you there are no illegal drugs in my bloodstream, unless one counts inspired genius.’ He sat back in his chair, looking pleased.

‘Inspired genius? Asking Fred and George Weasley for help, Albus, is not inspired genius, rather monumental stupidity.’

‘Hush, hush, Minerva,’ he said, infuriating the Transfiguration Professor. ‘It might help. It might.’

Minerva sighed in resignation- it would now be impossible to change Albus’ mind.

‘At least allow me to sit in on your interview.’

‘Of course,’ said Albus. ‘No meeting with the Weasley Twins would be complete without you.’ He looked at her mischievously.

‘Shut up,’ she said, trying not to smile. ‘I’ll go fetch them from the Common Room, shall I?’

She turned, and exited the office.

‘Where are Fred and George Weasley?’ The Head of Gryffindor House demanded of the occupants of the common room, after she had been unable to find the two rapscallions. The entire room remained in silence. Nobody moved. Minerva’s years of experience when dealing with teenagers had taught her to read facial expressions excellently.

‘I can tell you all know where they are,’ she said. ‘And if I find that you are holding information back from me, I shall subject you to two month’s worth of detentions.’

Nobody moved a muscle.

‘With Snape.’

Still no response.

‘Three months!’

Nobody dared to even blink. The entire room was completely still.

‘Very well. You will all report to my office after dinner for your orders.’

She turned, and left was about to climb back out the portrait hole when a voice shouted out.

‘Try the dungeons!’

‘Who said that?’ she snapped, whirling round.

Nobody said anything. They were all too afraid.

‘If they’re not there, I’ll make it four months!’ She turned, and briskly made her way down the corridor towards the dungeons.

She found Fred and George Weasley in Dungeon Four, stealing ingredients from the store.

‘Get to the Headmaster’s office,’ she said. ‘I’ve had enough of you two! Are you ever doing anything trustworthy?’

Once inside the office, she explained what had happened to Dumbledore.

‘These two were stealing ingredients from the store cupboard in Dungeon four! Kettleweather leaves, Scorpion tail powder, Bezoars and Powdered rattlesnake tooth!’

‘A love potion, I assume,’ said Dumbledore knowledgably.

‘I pity the poor girl they make drink it. Although I suppose they probably plan to play Cupid and set someone else up… again. I feel so sorry for your poor mother. She’ll be getting another letter home about you two.’

‘Perhaps not, Minerva,’ said Albus. ‘Unless they help us.’

‘How can we help you?’ asked Fred (or perhaps it was George- Minerva could never tell).

‘We’re upgrading the castle’s defences,’ said Albus, ‘and you two can probably help us fill in the little holes.’

‘What’s in it for us?’

‘A three week amnesty,’ said Dumbledore.

‘What do you mean, amnesty,’ asked George shrewdly.

‘If you help us seal up the holes in the castles defences, you can do whatever you want, within reason, and we won’t send letters home or issue detentions. What do you think?’

They paused, before glancing at each other. Minerva just knew they had some kind of connection allowing them to communicate to each other without anyone else knowing. It was the only way to explain how they both had exactly the same explanation and completely corroborating evidence whenever questioned.

‘We’ll need an office,’ said Fred.

‘And an assistant.’

‘And we’ll need some kind of pay. How about thirty Galleons a week?’

‘Plus expenses…’

‘Hang on, hang on, hang on,’ said Dumbledore, holding up a hand to stem the flood of requests… or, rather, demands. ‘I can’t give you all that.’

‘Okay,’ said George, standing up. ‘No sale. Come on, Fred, maybe there’s a secret tunnel we can escape through.’

‘Okay, okay, okay,’ said Dumbledore, retracing his steps. ‘You can have all that, but nothing else. Will you help us?’

‘Okay,’ said Fred. ‘Have your people speak to our people and they’ll fix something up.’

Dumbledore chuckled. He’d never encountered a pair like Fred and George Weasley, who could change the situation around so they always came out on top. He was perfectly confident that, of all his students, those would go furthest.

‘Have you two ever thought about going into business?’ he asked them, as they stood at the door. ‘You could run a joke shop or the like.’

‘I can picture it now,’ said Minerva huffily. ‘Weasleys Wizard Wheezes! Full of childish pranks and joke books. It’d be a public health hazard- not unlike you two!’

‘Aw, shucks, professor,’ said George. ‘That’s the biggest compliment anyone’s ever given us.’

‘If I didn’t know better,’ said Fred, ‘I’d say you were flirting with us!’

At this, Dumbledore burst into laughter. Minerva just stood, speechless.

‘We’ll be heading back to the common room now,’ said George, and they dashed from the room, leaving Minerva with the uproariously laughing Dumbledore.

She stood, surveying her superior with distinct distaste.

‘Do all men have the same abysmal sense of humour?’ she snapped as her farewell, and made for the door.

***

‘Well,’ said Severus, as he entered the staffroom that evening. The usual crowd had congregated around the fireside- Minerva, Edith, Cindy, Remus, Phillip, and Murray. Sybil Trelawney, Lilith Pince, Poppy Pomfrey, and Argus Filch chose not to sit by the fire with the rest of the professors in the evening. Hagrid lived in his small cottage on the grounds, so his attendance would be impractical.

‘I quit. I’m fed up with telling the same people the same things year in and year out.’

He sat down in his armchair, and a loud farting noise emitted from it. His face contorted into an expression both of disgust and surprise.

All the others burst into laughter.

‘Oh, oh,’ said Edith, wiping away a tear.

‘Severus, you should see your face,’ agreed Minerva, breathing heavily.

‘What on earth was that?’ asked the Slytherin head, who, despite what the students thought of him, often saw the funny side of things, and, as a complete paradox to his popular image among the pupils, very rarely, if ever, showed any kind of negative emotions. Severus Snape was very hard to provoke.

‘It’s a fart machine,’ said Cynthia. ‘I confiscated it from the Johnson girl last night. Brilliant, isn’t it?’

‘Uproarious,’ said the greasy haired man in sarcastic agreement.

There was a pause, while they all waited for someone to volunteer the next topic of conversation.

‘Um, Albus wanted me to mention something to you all,’ said Minerva, gritting her teeth and resigning herself to her fate. This was not going to be easy.

‘What?’ asked Remus.

‘You all know that Sirius Black is hell bent on infiltrating the castle…’

‘Him again?’ said Phillip. ‘The Dementors will catch him before he sets foot in the castle.’

‘Albus is dubious,’ said Minerva.

‘Well, he needn’t be,’ said Phillip huffily. ‘I have absolute confidence in the Dementors.’

‘Phillip, you may wish to put your life and the lives of countless children in the scabbed hands of those… things, that would as soon kill you as Sirius Black, but Albus is less assured…’

‘Not in all respects,’ he said, casting a dirty look at Remus. Everyone gasped as they realised what he was referring to.

‘Phillip,’ said Cynthia warningly, trying to console the situation before it got out of hand, but Minerva would have none of it.

‘Phillip, one of the fundamental workplace ideas you have yet to grasp is that someone else is in charge, not you. It is not your job to appoint and dismiss staff, despite your opinions on the subject,’ she paused, before adding more quietly but with no less gusto, ‘however misguided they may be.’

‘Albus is in charge of this castle,’ she continued, her voice back to it’s usual level, ‘and it is his prerogative to decide who holds what position. We all serve at his pleasure, something you have yet to grasp. It is also his responsibility to maintain adequate defences around the castle, and it will be his neck that is cut when he fails to do so. He has assessed the risk, and deemed it appropriate that extra security measures should be taken. The Headmaster of this school is Albus Dumbledore, and no one else. He will make his decisions according to his conscience, and can expect the complete support of his staff. Should he ask you for advice, and then you should readily give it, with no clandestine motive. But otherwise, I think it wise that we all accept the decisions made by Albus, am I not correct?’

She looked around at the circle of teachers, all looking at her with expressions of astonishment. Minerva was fierce in her defence of the Headmaster, and felt every attack on him as a personal attack against herself, which perhaps had grown into her greatest weakness.

‘As for the new security measures, with the aid of the ghosts, a teacher will have to patrol the castle every night. The system will work in a rota, which may be determined by yourselves. Everyone must participate equally in the rota. It will start on Monday night. Any questions?’

Nobody moved a muscle. The atmosphere had changed completely.

‘No? Then excuse me.’

Minerva stood up and made for the staircase. Once in her room, she sat down at the desk, and took out the pile of fifth year essays that had to be marked.