Rumored Nervous Breakdown

This morning is the first day I am facing a classroom full of students. Developing rapport in the classroom is difficult enough under normal circumstances; however, a teacher returning from controversial circumstances is another issue all together.

As I am walking into the classroom, I find that my heart is in my throat, and my stomach is in complete knots. I know that I have to remain completely in control of myself as I reassert my presence in the classroom.

"Students are like wild animals, because they can sense fear from a distance; they take absolute advantage of the situation."

Before I reach the threshold of the classroom, I can hear my name mentioned several times along with a great deal of sniggering from the children. As I greet the class, the commentary stops suddenly, but the expressions on the students' faces suggest they have plenty to say about my character; however, I cannot allow this to stop me from delivering a quality lesson to my charges.

Charity Burbage was a competent teacher, but she lacked any experience in the Muggle world. I looked at the material she was using, and I noticed a tendency to follow the current textbooks having information that is twenty to thirty years out of date. Although I cover what is needed for the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, I manage to slip in information containing basic survival skills to prevent any misunderstanding while living around Muggles.

Since I have third years this morning, I decided on a hands-on activity using a telephone. I know the Floo network and letters by owl are a common means of communication, but I have learned from one disastrous phone call from Arthur Weasley made to me when I was at my parents' house during Christmas several years ago, the skill is not normally taught.

I have the students put their books away before I even announce the lesson. I suddenly hear sighs of relief from the students. Before I left at Christmas, I was hearing constant complaints from the students on being forced to copy down material from the textbook. They seem to be wand-shy about Dolores's "cookie cutter" lesson plans. The loathing of the learning process from the written word only is spilling over into other content areas. I am like Remus; I believe in a practical approach to learning. I pull out two cordless telephones I had stashed in my office before Christmas, and I go through the motions of appropriate conversational techniques while using a telephone. After my demonstration, I have the students divide into pairs and pretend to make phone calls to each other using some predetermined topics I have randomly assigned to them.

The room is full of activity and laughter as the students enjoy their role playing game for the next ninety minutes of the classroom period. I decide to call the lesson to an end before the bell rings. For homework, I assign them the task of imagining several other skills they would need to survive without magic for a day. They must consider transportation, money, food, and shelter. I emphasize this is not found in the textbook, and I expect ideas coming from their own imaginations.

My next class is also a group of third years. This group is made up of Slytherins, but they give me little trouble. Many of them greet me as they walk through the door, and there are no comments made about me when taking their assigned seats. They seem to be enjoying the lesson like the previous class. I am beginning to wonder if the heads of house had a discussion with their students about appropriate classroom behavior towards my return. For some reason, I feel a bit angry that they have not allowed me to tackle the relationships with my students on my own.

I mange to make it through lunch at the Staff Table without fanfare or embarrassment, and I return to my classroom to find a book and letter on my office desk. It is obvious that Dolores has opened them, because the paper is poorly rewrapped around it.

The book is titled, Wizarding Tort Law Statutes. I do not have to look at the card or inscription to see who sent it. I know that it is from Rupert. I have a suspicion this was to annoy Dolores and remind her about what is going on with the Prophet and remind her that she may be next. I have decided to keep it with me and resolve to be reading the book when in her presence.

Dolores has called a staff meeting before dinner. I find that the more she tries to micro manage through these events, the more she drives the staff closer to open rebellion. We are all tired of her games; however, we are powerless to stop her without risking serious punishment.

When I arrive in the staff room, I notice that I am the first one there, so I pull out my book and proceed to take notes on various pages. I don't know how my father can do this day in and day out. I am so deep into thought, I have not noticed that the others have arrived.

"Writing a letter to your precious Rupert, I take it?" Severus inquires, making an attempt to read from the pad of paper sitting on my lap.

"No, Severus, I am writing the lost and found section of the Prophet," I say while my voice drips with sarcasm. Severus looks a little befuddled by my reply. "Some village has probably lost their idiot, and I want to put in an ad to let them know I have found you."

He is looking back at me with an odd unreadable expression on his face. I cannot tell if he is amused or annoyed.

Dolores is making her grand entrance in all her glory. I wonder which teacher or student she has psychologically scarred now. I have a feeling it is Trelawney, because the poor woman seems to have completely fallen apart. During my 'duty' last night, I found her wandering around the hallways mumbling incoherently and smelling of cooking sherry. I attempted to talk to her, but she looked straight through me.

"I am developing a whole new curriculum based on some new textbooks approved by the Ministry last night," she announces, handing out textbooks to each teacher according to the content area they teach. "I have worked hard to make sure each book contains solid information that is useful and practical."

I open my new textbook, and I really have a hard time containing my laughter. A slight snigger erupts from my body; I hide it with a fake sneeze.

The book contains pictures that are years out of date. I thumb through to find pictures of automobiles from the beginning of the last century, fashions from the nineteen-fifties, and an old-fashioned crank telephone from the same general era as the automobile.

"The only thing this is really lacking is the picture with a Muggle dressed in a loin cloth made of animal skins and carrying a club."

"Eleanor, are you taking exception to the approved curriculum?" Dolores asks with irritation. She moves from her position by the boggart-infested wardrobe to stand in front of my chair. Her face is developing the color of her cardigan, but the shade is turning redder by the second.

I quickly attempt to compose myself, but I having problems with the amused tone in my voice as I say, "Not exception, Dolores. Just absolute amusement to the contents of the new Muggle Studies text you have approved. This is an insult to the students' intelligence."

"I believe I did not ask for your opinion. This is the only information our students truly need; the experts at the Ministry have carefully developed this material."

"I am glad I am only here until the end of the term, because I would be too embarrassed to use this rubbish," I exclaim.

Minerva decides to redirect our argument by saying, "What this lacks is practical exercises for our students to do. How are they to learn this from a textbook? I take it the ability will suddenly appear during their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s?" she asks irritably.

We don't seem to be making any headway, so I decide to shut my mouth before I start something I cannot finish. Minerva realizes she cannot get through Dolores's thick skull.

"I would have better luck convincing lemmings not to jump off of a cliff before getting Dolores to understand reason."

"Why did they change the herbology textbook?" Pomona uncharacteristically interjects. "There are only descriptions of the plants and no instructions on their care. Wasn't someone killed at St. Mungo's because of an inability to recognize two completely different plants?"

Flitwick has a nasty scowl on his face, and I hear him mumble, "This Charms textbook is setting the school back at least two millennia."

Severus cannot hold himself out of a good argument and chimes in with, "I believe it will take some getting used to for use in the classroom. I think it would be helpful for us to have time to read your new texts." He has some twisted smirk on his face as he catches Dolores's attention.

She gushes, "I see one of us is able to appreciate the hard work our Ministry has done for our children."

"I think Severus needs a scouring charm to get the brown off of his nose from kissing Dolores's arse."

Dolores seems to have finished with the latest insult on the world of education, and she ends the meeting mercifully quickly. As I pack up my things to leave, she steps in front of me and says, "I am warning you that your attitude needs to be in check."

"What are you going to do now that the Prophet can no longer be a vehicle to damage my reputation?"

"I have other ways of taking care of those trying to endanger the peace in our world." Dolores tries standing on her tip-toes to look me in the eye; however, I refuse to pay attention to her gaze, and I leave for the Great Hall for dinner.

Today is Saturday, and my meeting with Rupert this afternoon. I am hoping that he can tell me more about what is happening with the court case. I have learned from my father to be patient with the legal process, because it can take years to bring something to trial. I find myself looking forward to his visits, even though he can be completely annoying in how he seems to moon over me every second of our meetings.

Before I go down to greet him, I decide to make a run by my office to see what has been moved or removed by Dolores. The only change is a thin book sitting on my desktop without a card. I open the plain paper wrapping to reveal a book of poetry by Edgar Allen Poe. More specifically, it is a richly bound copy of "The Raven." One of the verses marked catches my eye and causes the hair to stand up on my neck. The poem seems to be about a man upset about losing his love named, "Lenore." I find it eerie how her name sounds similar to my own. I am the namesake of my grandmother, Eleanor Howard; however, the family called her, Lenore.

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

I put the book down and realize I am running late to meet Rupert. I shake off my chill to walk down to the Entrance Hall and find Rupert waiting patiently for me. We are going to meet in my office again, but I would rather move somewhere without a draft. It is so chilly in the room even Daisy is wearing a coat.

"Rupert, thanks for the books. I have been making an effort to read them; however, I must ask why you sent me such morbid poetry?" I inquire while charming more warmth out of the fireplace.

"I just sent you the legal statute book. I didn't send anything else. I did not know you liked poetry at all. Maybe, it is from someone you are seeing."

A slight cloud of emotion drifts quickly over his face, and I wonder if there is a sense of jealousy there.

"Rupert, I am not seeing anyone right now. Let's get onto another topic like my law suit."

I find out that we are still in preliminary motions with the editors of the Prophet. They are trying to worm their way out of the suit by dragging out the scheduling of the trial. The paper is constantly asking for a continuance. Rupert told me that this is normal when dealing with the publication and to be patient.

"When everyone is finished playing with my life, I would like it back."

We discuss how Dolores is behaving, and my concerns about escalation the closer we get to trial with the Prophet. I decide to broach the subject of how to handle Dolores when the opportunity presents itself. I know that the evidence is safer behind that painting than in the hands of another, but he disagrees with me. He is worried that someone else will find it. He is a bit upset about the fact I seem to be dragging my feet. I remind him that my ability to retrieve it difficult. My ability to conceal them is complicated by daily "rearrangement" of my possessions.

I am finding his stubbornness to be quite irritating. I see that he has a distinct lack of common sense when dealing with practical matters. He is probably a brilliant lawyer and quite intelligent, but I think he lacks some ability to process the potential moves that can be made by an opponent. I am giving him a copy of that report I have written on Dolores, so he can understand how she thinks.

Rupert and I go around in circles about Dolores, and it ends several frustrating hours later. I am a bit put out by his inability to look for potential behaviors. He seems to stay focused on concrete evidence to decide his next move.

Rupert and I call it a day after dinner, and we say an amicable farewell, but there is definitely a clear strain in our relationship. As he walks away, Severus appears at my shoulder.

"Lover's quarrel, I take it?" he inquires. "I told you he is a bit under your standards."

"Shut it, Severus!" I storm off in another direction.

My mood is already poor, but it gets worse as I walk back to my room. I missed the Quidditch game between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. Apparently, Gryffindor went down in flames 230 to 240. It seems that my former house managed to save face by Ginny Weasley catching the Snitch.

Sunday is just as cold and drafty as Saturday, and I resolve to stay in my quarters where I know I will be warm. I curl up with Daisy on the sofa to go over my notes from the Tort Statutes book sent to me by Rupert. I just cannot get the poetry book out of my mind, so I bundle up and make a run to my office.

As I walk through the door, I find the room completely destroyed. Graded papers, files, and books litter the floor. I notice the last final flicker of emerald flames coming from my fireplace. I know there is nothing incriminating here, but it is a reminder Dolores is searching in earnest to find those papers. I think it is odd that someone would Floo out from my fireplace. I would expect Dolores to use the one in her office. I have a feeling she is having someone from outside the school to search through my possessions, because it would be foolish to use the Floo system to move from room to room. Dolores has carte blanche to come into classrooms and personal spaces. Why would she leave from my fireplace? This makes absolutely no sense.

As I start to put my office back together, I have a bit of concern about my book of poetry, and I have no idea why. Maybe because I find it very personal, and I don't want Dolores digging any further into my life. There is no dedication in the book, but many of the passages are highlighted to have special meaning to me.

The book is located under the center desk drawer that is lying across the room. Although I find the poem morbid and eerie, it is something sent just for me to catch my attention. As I open the cover, there are no ripped or soiled pages; it seems to have slipped through Dolores's dragnet unscathed.

Just before I close the book, I see another passage staring at me from the page:

Prophet!' said I, 'thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, 'Nevermore.'

I am a bit mystified about why someone would choose to send me a poem about a dead person named Lenore. The death of the character could be seen as a warning about the danger that I face right now; however, the narrator is torturing himself about his dead lover. He misses her desperately. The setting takes place on a stormy late December night. Just like the day I disappeared from the school. Everyone thought I was dead, and the news devastated many people. Did he mourn my so-called passing to the point of torture? Why doesn't he come out and tell me?

When I walk back to my room, I start to realize that I could easily compare Dolores to that horrible raven in the poem. She is often harbinger of bad news, and her presence only brings hurt and confusion. Like the raven in the poem, she can have her vocabulary boiled down to one word, in her case: 'order.' Whenever Dolores is confronted by a situation or question, she seems to always default to her version of reality or 'order.' During important meetings when I worked at the Ministry, Dolores would constantly scream the words, "I will have order." She did this when events were not going her way. This present hits me on so many levels. The person sending this must carefully analyze the thoughts and actions of others, and I find this admirable skill.

I finally settle down on the sofa next to a very sleepy Daisy; I cast aside the law book and my notes to pick up the poetry book. I need to find the solution in order to unmask the sender.

This Monday morning finds the school in a bit of an uproar. The students in my first class all have a copy to the Quibbler in their hands as they walk in. Curiosity takes over my urge to call the class to order for the start of the lesson. I ask Amy Booth if I could have her copy to look at.

The front page has a picture of a sheepish Harry Potter with a headline reading: Harry Potter Speaks Out At Last: The Truth About He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named And The Night I Saw Him Return.

"Dolores must be livid! How long will it take until Educational Decree Number Twenty-Seven is put on the wall?"

Amy waits for me to confiscate the paper; however, I just hand it back to her. I calmly ask them to put them away to start the lesson. I have a feeling there will be a brief meeting about the latest decree.

The signs go up shortly before lunch. During lunch, there is an air of relief and happiness moving through the staff. I see smiles for the first time amongst us, but we do not discuss this latest turn of events, because Dolores has been staring us down for the past twenty minutes. She is normally shoveling food into her mouth non-stop during lunch, but she has not touched a thing.

The staff room this afternoon is being used for yet another one of Dolores's meetings. This time, I look forward to finding out how furious our little princess is over this one.

Dolores enters the room with the subtlety of an exploding cauldron. Her face is a nasty shade of purple, she is out of breath, and her hands have many small cuts on them. It is obvious she has been searching the students during the day looking for the paper. She even had Filch stopping students at random. To top it all off, she even searched some of the classrooms and teachers' desks. I have a feeling my office has been redecorated.

Dolores has not told us anything we did not expect. She expresses disappointment that we did not take more of an initiative to look for any copies of the Quibbler.

Minerva has decided to spring to our defense by saying, "We thought we would be in trouble for violating Decree Twenty-Six; it states we are not allowed to talk about the subjects we don't teach. I teach Transfiguration, so I would not be discussing a gossip magazine.

"Fallen on our own sword, Dolores? Your stupid decrees are backfiring and being used against you? What will Twenty-Eight contain? Could it be a rule against breathing without permission?"

Dolores breaks up the meeting, and we all want to get out of here as quickly as possible. But, she steps in my way before I can leave the door.

"Don't you dare try pulling the same stunt as Potter, Eleanor. You will regret ever speaking to anyone from the press."

"Do I detect a hint of fear, Dolores? I know you cannot stand anything that is not in 'order,'" I state pointedly. "By the way, the next time you move my possessions, take a moment to dust underneath where they were sitting." I walk away from her to join the others for dinner.

While I am on my way to dinner, I can see the edges of Dolores's empire crumbling at her feet. I am in fear for us all as she realizes she is losing control. By what means will she use to hold everything together?