Chimaera of Judgement

CHAPTER FIVE: Castling Within The Castle

But there was no Headmistress Sprout. Heads craned this way and that all around the Great Hall from every House table, searching for her flyaway hair and jovial features, but they were nowhere to be found. Most of the other teachers were already seated at the High Table at the top of the room, except for Hagrid, whom had been ferrying the new students across the lake, and Professor Longbottom, whom was at that moment leading said youngsters through the Hall and toward the High Table, in front of which had been placed a short wooden stool.

"What d'you reckon?" Martin Finnigan, a fellow Gryffindor a year below them, hissed across their table.

Rose shrugged. "Dunno. Has she been sacked?"

"Come off it," Lily gasped, eyes rather wider than usual. "She's a good headmistress, they can't have done... can they?"

Hardly daring believe they could, Albus glanced over at Professor Longbottom's usually cheery face to find it was pale and set, which only served to make the pale scars seem deeper and more shadowy; though he hadn't been in her House, Sprout had been something of a mentor to him in his school days. His movements were also a bit rigid as he placed upon the stool an extremely old, fraying wizard's hat. Within moments, a rip near the brim opened wide, and as it had done the past four years, it began singing.

"Good eve, you students new and old,
And welcome to our school,
Where knowledge hums within the walls
And magic is its tool.
At Hogwarts, you will learn the ways
Of wizarding and life,
And perhaps some wisdom throughout
All the toil and strife.

You may be thinking, 'what is this?
Why is this hat's voice ringing?'
The answer's to reveal my lot
Through verses I am singing.
My duty is to size you up,
It always has been so,
And place you in the Houses where
I think you ought to go.

Brave Gryffindors up in their tower,
Daring, bold, and true;
Sharp Ravenclaws across the way,
Their clever minds aren't few;
Good Hufflepuffs, near to the earth,
Display their hearts of gold;
And Slytherins, so sly within
Their dungeon, dank and cold.

It is between these four I must
Deliberate and choose -
But realise, with any House
You surely shall not lose.
Within each common room you'll find
A common understanding,
And bonds so strong they'll help you through
Even the most demanding.

Through work and play, you'll spend the day
With sister and with brother,
Though don't forget, each House should never
Disregard another.
Alas, with this last part, I find
I waste my breath and song -
The Houses stay divided, though our
Tenure has been long.

Perhaps remember this when next
Opposing groups are meeting,
But I digress, and take up time
You could spend better eating.
My job is not to judge or change
The way we treat our kin.
This old hat's tune is sung, so
Let the Sorting now begin!"

As the Sorting Hat took a bow, the students broke into half-hearted applause, clearly still wondering why the seat at the centre of the staff table remained empty. Albus was on point of leaning across to resume this conversation when he saw Professor Longbottom unfurling the scroll containing the list of first-years about to be Sorted.

"Ashmore, Brian!"

A pudgy boy with light-brown hair that stuck up at the back moved toward the stool, shaking like a leaf as he lowered the hat onto his head. For a moment, nothing happened - then, the rip reopened and shouted, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

The table next to theirs exploded with cheers as the boy, faint with relief, ran to join his fellows.

And so the Sorting went, and the students became increasingly and noticeably anxious - what were they going to do without a headmaster or headmistress? Albus tried to catch Hagrid's eye when he edged into the room, but he was already deep in conversation wtih Professor Firenze, the Divination teacher. Eventually, when "Zane, Jasper" became a Gryffindor, Professor Longbottom removed the hat and stool and took his usual seat at the table, and the room waited on pins and needles to find out what was going on. Finally, the ancient and tiny Professor Flitwick sprang to his feet - something only noticeable to the students whom had already been taking Charms for a few years and knew how short he really was.

"Welcome to another wonderful year at Hogwarts!" he began excitedly. "Now, normally we would save these announcements until after we've all feasted, but as I'm sure many of you have noticed, we have quite a few new recruits up here among the staff, and a conspicuously empty seat."

Here he paused to allow the students to murmur for a moment while he beamed around at them good-naturedly. Now he'd mentioned it, Albus noticed there were, in fact, two unfamiliar faces among the familiar ones, and a woman with rather long, curly hair was standing in the corner behind them, watching with rapt attention.

"Barty," Albus began slowly, "isn't that-"

"First of all, we should address the absence of Headmistress Sprout. It pains me to inform you that she is currently in St. Mungo's with multiple lacerations and contusions; unfortunately, she was in Greenhouse Four repotting a Flutterby when Peeves the poltergeist chose the wrong moment to sneak up behind her and drop a jar of bubotuber pus atop her head, and she backed directly into a Snargaluff." Several older students groaned. "I am assured that she should make a full recovery; her boils are already looking quite better, and most of the cuts were healed instantly, though she's still slipping in and out of consciousness."

Albus noticed most of the Hufflepuffs were exchanging nervous glances; Sprout had been head of their House before Headmistress McGonagall passed away five years ago. Albus caught Professor Longbottom's eye and saw his mouth was fixed in a frown.

"Therefore, as Deputy Headmaster, I have been asked to step up in rank and take charge until she returns, which I'm sure will be very soon!" And with that, he hopped down and moved into the seat in the middle of the table to, again, unenthusiastic claps, though many Ravenclaws cheered emphatically.

"Poor old girl," Albus heard James's friend Aiden McLaggen whisper several seats down. "Hope Flitwick's up to the job, though."

"I'm sure he will be," a distinguished voice said confidently. Nearly-Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, had drifted over and settled between Lily and Hugo, his elbow partway through the latter's shoulder. Albus noticed Hugo shiver. "As you may remember, Professor Flitwick's enchantments were indispensable in the Battle of Hogwarts, and he's been teaching here since before most of your parents were born. A fine educator."

"-for the new arrivals," the Headmaster was saying. "It goes without saying that my position means it would be wiser to hire a teacher to take classes and stand in as Head of Ravenclaw instead of juggling one too many cauldrons. Therefore, a particularly gifted student of mine has agreed to substitute until I can return my full attentions to the subject of Charms. So, let's give a warm Hogwarts welcome to Professor Weasley!"

"Weasley?" gasped Rose, Lily, James and Hugo at the same time; Barty was beaming, and Albus hissed, "I thought so!"

The curly-haired witch in the corner strode forward, nodding and waving at the cheering Ravenclaw table; then, she winked knowingly toward the Gryffindors, and Albus looked around in time to see Barty returning a wave.

"Your mum's going to be teaching?" Hugo demanded of him. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"She had only just been asked yesterday," said Barty. "Obviously, they haven't even had time to publish a story about Headmistress Sprout in the Daily Prophet yet."

Rose was still aghast. "But- but we saw you on the train! You told us all that pointless garbage and forgot to mention we had a new headmaster!"

He drew himself up importantly. "Well, if you remember that much, you'll appreciate that I had other duties to attend; I am Head Boy, I can't stand around gossiping when there's-"

Headmaster Flitwick was motioning for silence, so they obeyed. "Now, to the other appointments. Some of you may be displeased to learn that, after objections from numerous students and teachers, and a nearly-unanimous vote by the Governors, Professor Nott has been asked to resign as Potions Master." There was an angry murmuring at the Slytherin table; Albus could see Genevieve looked thoroughly depressed. "To that end, we have tempted to our castle someone whose renown in the field of Potions is known throughout the wizarding world. Allow me to introduce the new head of Slytherin House, Professor Dryden!"

The man who stood to hesitant applause gave off every indication of having been a Slytherin, Albus thought. His closely-cropped black hair, piercing dark-blue eyes and large, crooked nose were enough, but he also had a long scar, running across his craggy left cheek from nose to ear. He nodded curtly left, then right, glowering around at them from beneath his heavy brow, then sat and returned to the goblet he'd been drinking from lazily.

"Good luck, Professor!" said Flitwick warmly, though he cleared his throat nervously before continuing. "Also, the staff here at Hogwarts and the Auror Department at the Ministry are rather embarrassed to admit that we simply cannot find Professor Wojcik - his things aren't missing, but he most certainly is. While the Ministry assures us they are now combing countries abroad, education waits for no wizard, and we must reassign his Defence Against The Dark Arts classes. Therefore, please welcome the more-than-capable Professor Peele!"

When Professor Peele rose and gave the clapping students a mild, dignified wave, Albus couldn't help but gape; she had to be the tallest witch he'd ever seen. Of course, she would still be significantly shorter than Hagrid, but she must've been almost seven feet, perhaps because he could see beneath the table that she was wearing high-heeled boots. She wore a sapphire choker and crisp, elaborate royal-blue robes, and her grey hair was piled high in an ornate bun that almost came to a point. She would have come off as very severe if not for the pleasant, composed expression on her sharp features.

"Very well, then," Flitwick called cheerily as the clapping died down. "Now that we've answered those questions, I think we can save the other start-of-term notices for after the feast. Let's eat!"

With a wave of his hand, the plates and tureens in front of them suddenly filled with dishes of all kinds; roast duck, potatoes au gratin, split pea soup, and something Albus didn't recognise but smelled divine. As they ate their way through several courses, they resumed talk of their new teachers.

"This Dryden can't be as bad as Nott was, can he?" Martin managed around a mouthful of bread. "I mean, I still have welts from being struck by curses when I got a question wrong!"

"What about that Professor Peele?" Rose muttered as she pulled a chicken leg onto her plate. "She must get nosebleeds just from getting out of bed in the morning!"

"I prefer to reserve my criticism until I've taken their classes," Catherine Orchard, another of Albus's fellow fifth-years, said soberly from somewhere on his right. "What if they each turn out to be good teachers? I'd feel awful for having said mean things about them!"

"Where's the fun in that?" Rose whispered to Albus. He snorted.

When at last the desserts had vanished, leaving the plates and goblets sparkling clean, Professor Flitwick stood again.

"I'm betting we're all beginning to feel sleepy from too many helpings of treacle tart by now," he said with a titter, "so I'll try to keep these remaining announcements brief. First-years should take heed that magic is prohibited in the hallways between classes, and that the forest is strictly out-of-bounds to all students. Our caretaker, Mr Urran, has amended his exhaustive list of banned objects - again - and this list can be viewed on the bulletin board in the entrance hall, as well as on the door of his office. Quidditch tryouts are to be held the second week of term; you'll need to contact your Head of House or Madam Chang for more information. And, well, I think that's just about the long and short of it, so - off to bed you go!"

"Come on, we've work to do," said Barty smartly as he stood, smoothing out his robes importantly.

"Oh, right," said Rose, clearing her throat. "Oi, first-years, follow us!"

"I keep forgetting we have to do this stuff," Albus whispered. "What else are we supposed to do?"

Rose shrugged as they reached the doors leading back into the entrance hall. "How should I know? I'm as green as you are, mate."

The two newest prefects continued to herd their charges up the marble staircases, through a tapestry, over a vanishing step, and finally to a painting of a fat lady at the end of a long corridor on the seventh floor. The lady looked up, smiled and said, "Password?"

Albus was drawing a blank; he must have been spacing out when Barty told them. He glanced at Rose helplessly, but she was prepared.

"Remember this, you lot," Rose barked at them importantly. "Gillyweed."

The portrait swung forward to reveal a human-sized hole, and they hurried in ahead of the others. Albus tried not to laugh as he watched their curious, awestruck and nervous faces take in the warmth of the Gryffindor common room, its curving walls, roaring fire and squashy old armchairs. Finally, Rose cleared her throat again and addressed them, gesturing at the staircases behind her.

"It's easy enough; girls up this way, boys up that way. Look for the door with your year on. Now go catch a few winks, you'll need it come morning."

"Angling for Head Girl?" Albus asked her in an undertone as the first-years passed them. Her tone came over a bit offended.

"I was trying to do you a favour. Thought you hated public speaking."

"Well, I do, but... oh, nevermind. G'night."

"Night."

When he reached the fourth door up of the boys' tower, Albus stepped into his dormitory, which he never enjoyed doing for a very simple reason.

"Oh, there's Pallid Potter. Had a good Summer?"

Puerilis Logan laughed at the remark like a moron, as he'd expected.

"Good enough, Ryan," said Albus stiffly. "How was yours?"

"Wicked amazing," he sighed, lounging comfortably on his bed, messy, straw-coloured hair falling into his eyes in that careless way Albus hated. "We went summering up in Scandinavia. Lots of interesting things in Scandinavia."

"One of which wasn't you," he muttered.

"What's that, Potter? You wish you ever did anything interesting? That's okay, I'm sure it'll happen for you someday." Logan guffawed again. "I mean, when you outgrow your father's shadow."

Albus gritted his teeth as he unpacked his pyjamas and pulled off his robes.

"Hey, don't look so down," he said in an overly-sympathetic tone. "Not everybody can take down a Dark wizard, there are other claims to fame. Maybe you'll invent a self-stirring cauldron, or a broom that won't let you fall off at Quidditch tryouts."

"Get stuffed, Macmillan."

Both Macmillan and Logan drew back in mock surprise. "Touchy, touchy! What's got you riled? Perhaps all you need is a good Cheering Charm! Better let me cast it, though - I daresay you can't do one particularly well."

"I can cast a Cheering Charm fine and you know it." He paused, his shirt halfway over his head. "Though I think Logan here failed miserably; could only achieve a brief flash of optimism at best."

For the first time since he'd entered the dormitory, Puerilis looked less than amused. "Hey!"

"Leave off Logan," Ryan snapped, sitting up.

"Leave off me, then." And with that, he yanked the curtains around his four-poster bed shut and tried to blank them, but they kept at it.

"Always so defensive, Albus! Can't even take a poke or two; at least your brother's a laugh. No wonder your only friend in the entire castle is related to you."

"What a git," Logan agreed stupidly.

"Are you sure you weren't supposed to be in Hufflepuff? Cos it's not like you're worthless, you just have the motivation of a flobberworm."

"I'm tring to sleep," he growled, though he knew it was futile.

Ryan laughed. "That's it, Potter. Go to sleep like a lump. You'd get top marks in Sleepology if they offered the course. Too bad it can only be a hobby for-"

"Merlin's beard, will you two berks give it a rest?"

Caspian Lewis had finally shown up. Not that Albus was exactly best pals with Caspian, but he at least couldn't stand Macmillan and Logan's incessant bile. Also, he had top marks in most of their classes and was especially gifted at counterjinxes, so he made an easy job of keeping order in the dormitory.

"Sorry, Lewis," Ryan said courteously. "Only having a bit of fun is all."

"Well, have it in the morning when I've slept; I was up at five this morning when my inept uncle blew up some potion of his, and the whole day's been a mess since." One of the other two must have opened their mouth, as he said, "Can it - just go to sleep, will you?"

He could barely see Caspian's shadow move to his bed, wriggle out of his robes and immediately crash. After a few moments, Macmillan and Logan slowly did the same. It seemed like a long time after that the door opened again, and he heard one more person cross to their bunk, undress and climb in; that must've been Wayne Elphinstone. He was perpetually stand-offish, so Albus hadn't been expecting a hello of any sort, but he couldn't help but feel yet lonelier. Why did he have to be stuck in this room with four people that so obviously disliked him?

For a long time, he stared at the canopy above him and thought over all the loops he'd been thrown for over the course of a single day. Hogwarts was breaking in three professors this year. He'd have taken replacement fifth-year Gryffindors over replacement teachers any day. Besides, he'd liked Professor Wojcik; he wasn't brilliant at his subject, and he stuttered rather a lot, but at least he was an agreeable chap whom tended to overlook tardiness. Somehow, he didn't think Peele would be that lax. Barty's mum would, of course, be great to have as a teacher since he already knew her; she could be uppity at times, but mostly she was kind-hearted. As for Dryden - perhaps Catherine had the right idea after all. Martin, too - he couldn't be worse than Nott.

Headmistress Sprout was in the hospital. It was impossible, she'd always been there, buoyant and engaging and so ready to help a troubled student! Sure, James had been at school when McGonagall left the mortal coil, and she'd been one of his father's favourite teachers in his youth, but Albus hadn't known her well personally. From the day he'd come to Hogwarts four years ago, this was the first time any of the staff had been seriously ill or injured - of course, the Defence teachers were consistent only in that nearly every year they quit or got the sack, but it was usually their own fault. He hoped Sprout would be back soon, at least for Professor Longbottom's sake.

His mind still on heads of the school, it drifted toward Albus Dumbledore, and the painting now hanging in the guest room of his house. Was there a painting of Headmistress McGonagall somewhere? Would there be one made of Sprout if she didn't recover? It all seemed to upset his stomach, and the puddings inside did a flip-flop or two. He rolled over and tried to drift off.

But he couldn't. Other things kept popping into his mind: how he'd been chosen as prefect even though he could think of at least two better candidates among his fellow fifth-years; the way those Gryffindors had mistreated that ragged Slytherin girl, and how confused he felt by feeling sorry for her; the part where he felt confused because she was a Slytherin, which was somewhat justified by how every other Slytherin he'd ever met had behaved; whether or not Peeves should be allowed to wreak havok unchecked now he'd nearly snuffed the Headmistress; and, despite his insistences to Rose, a renewed temptation to try for the House Quidditch team. Not that he wanted to be some great sports hero, but perhaps if he could be seen giving back to the House in some way, perhaps by catching that tricky Golden Snitch a few times, people would stop looking down on him as the lesser of the three Potter siblings. James was pretty much the star of the team and one of the most popular kids in the castle, and Lily was known for her near-perfect marks and (though he couldn't imagine why) was considered extremely likeable. That left him looking pitifully average in every way; he felt scarcely better off than a Squib.

An indignant old favourite cropped up again; what was so wrong with being friends with your cousin? Everybody whom liked to pick on him (the list grew ever longer) weeded out this tidbit as if the juiciest, though Albus couldn't figure out why that was. He and Rose squabbled over stupid things, and they didn't always see eye to eye because they were two different people, but they were mates through and through; if it were that horrible, the Wizengamot would have ruled it punishable by law. Did other people get on so poorly with their families that this concept was purely alien to them?

Conceding defeat, he threw back the covers in frustration and crossed to a window, staring out over the moonlit grounds as he poured himself some water from the pitcher on the sill. Light was coming from the window of Hagrid's little cabin by the edge of the Forest; he wished he were down there, too, taking tea and laughing at the gamekeeper's stories. Then, just when he was debating going down to the common room and staring into the fire until he passed out, he heard a muttering;

"No... too many hinkypunks... not enough toothpaste for all of them... I'm a cheeky sugar quill..."

"Damn," he breathed; he'd taken too long to fall asleep, and Wayne was talking in his sleep again. Logan's snores he could handle, but Wayne's babblings were always so bizarre that he found it almost impossible to escape to dreamland. He returned to his four-poster, covered his head with his pillow, and prayed he would find relief soon.

END Chapter Five