A Sea Change

Chapter 8:

Albus Dumbledore could see connections. Bonds, relationships, histories—formed of love, of hatred, of duty, resentment, jealousy, affection, intellectual interest—as clearly as some people saw personal auras. A roomful of people, to him, resembled a lacework of colourful, complicated connections, shifting and bending as people moved about the room, fading or strengthening as people spoke to each other or as new people entered the room, or left it. The lines and bonds stretched out of sight from the people he was with, into the past and the future, to and from people not actually present, or even alive.

They were sometimes simple, sometimes impossibly intricate—always beautiful. He understood the significance of some of the colours and textures, but not all of them, even after all these years.

He appreciated these patterns, as others appreciate fine art. He had his favourites, and drew comfort, amusement, pleasure, or inspiration from many of them. He also saw the implications involved with these connections, and, while not actually able to see the future, Albus could make very reliable predictions based on the patterns. He knew, sometimes even better than the people involved, of personal affinities or enmities, of who would help or hinder another’s work. He could see the clear, empty space surrounding the true loners: those rare individuals who neither created nor caused others to create connections.

Because of this, he knew the difference between a person who wanted to work alone and one who had been ostracised.

A roomful of students had a different aspect than a roomful of adults: the colours were just as bright, the bonds just as strong and easily seen—but there was nearly always a shimmering, mirage-like quality about children’s connections with each other, an indication, Albus thought, of those bonds having never been tested, of the children’s values, hatreds and affections being still in the formative stage.

There were a few exceptions to this, of course: Harry, Hermione and Ron seemed to have formed a permanent bond that glowed reassuringly whenever they were together. It put Albus in mind of the bonds formed by Arthur and Molly Weasley in their school days—so firm and comfortable from the very beginning; or young James Potter and his cronies, back in their school days: so bright, firm, unwavering, both the connections formed by the four friends, and the equally strong one of enmity between them and young Severus. Even in periods of dissension, the connections had never wavered.

And now, among the ones who were left, those old bonds, of love and hatred, still existed, and Albus proposed to place some of those people in close proximity once again. He hoped for a positive outcome, but he had some doubts.

Still, his choices were limited, and after all, he knew those concerned would always do their best.

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Staff meetings at Hogwarts were always held in Dumbledore’s office.  The headmaster Conjured extra chairs, ordered tea and sandwiches, and generally kept things as brief and to-the-point as possible. The faculty attended them, perhaps not gladly, but at least not resentfully, and if a professor allowed his or her attention to wander occasionally, it was not for very long. As meetings went, they were as pleasant, and brief, as possible.

This meeting, however, was different. Rumours had circulated. Resentments had appeared, from the very first day. Students had written home; parents had written the school. After only a month into the 1995-96 school year, there was more unrest and discontent than any of the staff remembered seeing before, even to outright rebellion on the part of some students. And Dumbledore had called this a “special” meeting. He had mentioned the need to increase the workloads of several faculty members—not a good sign.

Professor Umbridge was not at the meeting.

He gazed around the room at his staff, contemplating the pattern he had come to know so well. This group’s friendships, tolerances, affections, resentments—they were a good, competent staff as a whole; they worked together with a minimum of discord, always putting the children’s welfare and education first.

Until this year. That new individual, that alien intelligence who had inspired such frighteningly strong bonds of hatred, repulsiveness, and distrust, was gone, but Albus  was now required to restore order, and in so doing would shift the pattern in the tapestry slightly.

Dumbledore set down his teacup and spoke to the assembled professors, his gentle tone belying the gleam of triumph in his eyes. “In this instance, the most persuasive letters came from our Slytherin parents.”  He smiled. “Even the Ministry pay attention when enough angry, and influential, parents threaten to remove their children to schools where they might receive a better grounding in Defence.”

He fingered the stack of parchments in front of him on his desk. “The first complaints came to me, but I informed all interested parents that I had not, in fact, hired Ms Umbridge. Many parents then sent me copies of their letters to the Ministry,” he murmured. “Their arguments are most interesting, quite diverse, and in many cases irrefutable. Their charges are occasionally disturbing, and I can certainly understand why parents complained, if half these accusations are true. Madame Pomfrey can attest to certain unhealable scars and wounds, on children’s hands, that back up many of these parents’ complaints.”

The headmaster sat back in his chair, beamed at his staff, and folded his hands on the edge of his massive desk. “For whatever reason, I have been notified by the Ministry that Professor Umbridge is urgently needed back at the London offices, and we are to replace her as best we can at short notice. Her Ministry duties must be taken up no later than tomorrow, it seems. I have therefore placed a carriage at her disposal to take her outside Hogwarts grounds so that she can Apparate back this afternoon.”

There was a rustle of robes, a settling back in chairs, a collective sigh of relief, a general murmur of approval, and Professor McGonagall spoke. “Well, I am certainly not sorry she has left. Her very presence here was an insult to our students, as we could all see. I had heard rumours from some of the students of what went on in her classes,” she said. “Of course the children don’t tell us everything, but it was obvious that Umbridge was not a proper teacher. The parents were perfectly right to be outraged.”

She looked quizzically at Dumbledore for a moment, and continued. “Have you any idea where we can find a replacement, though? As you say, this is very sudden.”

Madame Hooch looked up from her notes; she always brought quill and parchment to meetings, ostensibly to write down anything she needed to remember, but more often to scribble Quidditch plays when her attention lagged. She had little patience for sitting solemnly in staff meetings. “Have you any idea what young Lupin is doing these days? The children worked very well for him, and he was quite competent, as I recall.”

Snape, sitting a little apart, spoke softly. “Alastor Moody would not be incompetent, if he can be spared from—his other duties.”

Dumbledore nodded with approval at both suggestions. “Professor Lupin is currently working at Folberg School in Norway. I would have liked very much to ask him back, but I’m afraid he is not available.”

 He looked around the room at his staff, all of whom were quietly poised, listening. “I have spoken to Alastor. He is willing to help, but can only give us a limited amount of his time. It is rather an awkward situation, to be sure, but I do have a solution to propose. It will involve sacrifices on the part of two of our staff, but we need to move quickly, and we need the most effective Defence classes possible, in these ominous times.”

He looked earnestly around the room, allowing his glance to rest briefly at each of his staff members. “I am most fortunate to have gathered such a superior group of instructors over the years; I may say that I am very grateful for each of you. Your expertise, your loyalty, and your ability to work with students of all backgrounds and abilities has always been a source of satisfaction to me, as I hope you know.”

He pointed his wand at a tray of lemon tarts, causing it to float slowly among the staff members, pausing to allow people to help themselves.

“Severus, you are our best-grounded resource in the history and practice of the Dark Arts, but your experience has been mainly with the academic side, plus concealment and deception charms. I would like to propose a jointly-taught course: theory of the Dark Arts, taught by you, alternating weekly with practical exercises in Defence conducted by Alastor Moody. I realise that this will be an extra burden on you, with your Potions duties; perhaps we can hand your first- and second-year Potions students to Professor Sprout, who is quite gifted in botanical preparations.

 “We will eventually need a new person on staff, of course: it would be unfair of me to propose this as a permanent solution. However, in the short term, it will have one advantage. We will not draw the attention of the Ministry by importing an unknown or suspicious new face into the school. I believe the Muggle term for what we need is ‘a low profile.’”

Madame Sprout looked up anxiously. She was a bit nervous of Snape, and had no wish to incur his contempt. “I would be glad to help, Headmaster, if Professor Snape approves. If I might have access to his lesson plans for the younger children, I think I can rearrange my schedule to accommodate them.” She looked hesitantly over to the corner where Snape sat; he nodded to her impassively, briefly, and returned his attention to Dumbledore. His reply was so soft that people across the room had to strain to hear, but all detected a certain amount of satisfaction in his demeanour.

 “What you are suggesting will certainly involve some extra work, but it should be possible. Some rescheduling must of course be done, but Dark Arts, as you say, is a subject I feel quite comfortable with.” The corner of his mouth twitched in what his colleagues had come to recognise as a smile.

Albus favoured them both with a beaming smile in return, and nodded gratefully to the two of them. “Thank you both; I cannot tell you how grateful I am for your understanding in this matter. And I have a further suggestion: we have a student here, a bright, hardworking young man, who has made a special effort in Defence charms and spells. You all know the circumstances surrounding Harry Potter’s work in the TriWizard Tournament last year. As a result of his hard work, and considerable help from several quarters, he has become somewhat of an expert.

“I would like to propose that we use young Potter as an extra tutor in Defence, for those students who lag behind, as well as those who show sufficient promise that they may benefit from extra attention. This will allow you, Severus, and Alastor, a bit more planning time, and put Harry’s talents to use.”

There was, Albus noticed, a small but definite darkening in the bands of colour visible around Severus, even though Harry was nowhere near. The corner of Severus’s mouth twitched again, but this time no-one could mistake his expression for a smile.

“Headmaster, I am aware of young Potter’s abilities in defensive spells and charms; no doubt he could make himself useful as an extra tutor. But do you think he will be willing to address the questions of all the students? I have found Potter to be, shall we say, overly loyal to his own circle of friends, and rather… rude and antagonistic where others are concerned, not unlike his father at Harry’s age. I question the value such a tutor will have to students from other houses than Gryffindor.”

There was a murmur from a few of the other instructors; there might have been a whisper of “not unlike yourself, Severus,” from Professor McGonagall—but it was said softly enough that Albus found it possible to ignore it.

Dumbledore considered, or appeared to consider, Severus’s words before replying. When he did speak, it was with soft assurance that he was doing the right thing: “I believe, Severus, that because he will be working for you and Moody, Harry will be most conscientious in his dealings with all the students. I feel that he will be most reluctant to give you any cause for complaint.”

He smiled gently and pointed his wand at the teapot, which obediently floated from cup to cup, refilling, followed again by the tray of lemon tarts.

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A letter from the brass bowl, 7 October

Dear Snuffles, This is going to be the busiest, and weirdest year ever. All the professors are on about O.W.L.s as you might have guessed, but we now have a new DADA class arrangement! The spy (you know who) is out; I think some of the Slytherin parents especially got really shirty about their kids not getting proper training. So Professor Moody is back, the real one, I mean, teaching us practical defence, and Professor Snape is giving us theory. Alternate weeks, they say. So far, I already know everything Professor Moody’s shown us.

To be honest, I thought the Theory part would be horrible, but it’s actually interesting, in a creepy kind of way. Just now I’m supposed to be looking up at least ten spells that use human blood in them and what they do, and extra points if we find one nobody else has found.

But here’s the weird part: they know that you were helping me, last year, writing each day with new spells and stuff I could use in the Tournament, and they know Ron and Hermione helped me practice them all. So Snape and Moody are both going to send me all the people who have trouble with the lessons and I’m supposed to tutor them. So far it’s only been little kids, but anyone can come who wants to.

If I get stuck, can I write and ask for help? I mean, sixth and seventh-years are already supposed to know lots of this stuff. Especially the theory part: I don’t know any more than anybody else in that! And I really don’t want to do anything stupid in front of Snape.

I know tomorrow’s the full moon. I hate to miss it. Tell Remus and Andie hello for me.

Cheers,   Harry

P.S: Oh, I almost forgot. Professor Moody wants to talk to you, but he says he won’t write just now. He got your letter, though. He says, can you meet him at the place where you were when he saw you last, next Saturday morning, at about nine?