1975

Chapter II - The Slytherin Prefect

Two days later, Frank Longbottom was still working on his evaluations. Abandoned to his work by his friends, who were enjoying the nice weather after days of rain, he rested secure in the knowledge that he would soon have every student written up. Then he'd go and discuss them with Dumbledore.

Most prefects didn't do this. Frank Longbottom was different. He had plans for his students that might have been called idealistic, if they hadn't been so manipulative.

"Julian?"

Julian Tierney put down her book. "My turn?"

"I don't need to say much. Nothing out of order." he said, as she took her place across the table from him. He looked down at the parchment. "Why Julian, by the way?"

"I haven't ever been called by my first name that I can remember," said Julian. "I think I was named Alice after my godmother, but my mother liked my second name a good deal more in the long run."

"And here I thought there'd be some interesting back story... Have you ever broken a rule in your life?"

"Very few," said Julian, smiling.

"Well, don't start messing up now. I plan to recommend you as the next prefect."

Julian's face lit up, but she tried to repress her glee. She couldn't appear too eager.

"Thank you," she said.

"Interesting classmates you have, though. If you're made a prefect, you'll have your hands full. "

"They'll settle down some day." Her tone was unconvincing.

"They might. May I ask you a question? What do you think of Severus Snape?"

"I'd rather not," said Julian, after another pause.

"You'll have to as a prefect."

"It's a scary thought. Do you want my opinion for your evaluation or for what it's worth?"

"For what it's worth," he said, keeping his eyes fixed on hers.

"He's an interesting person," she began slowly. "Very loyal. He would die for his friends, I think."

"And you're one of his friends."

"I'm on friendly terms with him, yes."

When dealing with authority, one didn't claim best-friends status with Severus Snape - especially when one wasn't at all close to him. Severus was generally amicable towards Julian. She worked with him sometimes in Potions, and let him do most of the work. Severus hated to work with other people, so they found this a mutually beneficial relationship.

"You're a lucky girl then," Frank said with a hint of a smirk.

"But if he hates a person," Julian continued, "he really hates them."

"Who does he hate?"

"Remus Lupin." The name came without any consideration, and though it surprised her, she knew it was right. "I don't understand it either. Black and Potter are his rivals, but Lupin is something more...."

"Lupin." Frank rested his hand on his chin.

"Frank?" she said, after it became clear that he was lost in thought.

"Hmmm?"

"Everyone wants to know if there'll be another Old Hogwartians' Weekend this year."

Frank stared at her. Julian generally wasn't interested in these sorts of things. "Yes. There will be. After Christmas. With a ball: fifth year students and up. Does that satisfy you?"

"Yes. May I tell everyone?"

"Certainly. I expect preparations need to be undertaken immediately, if anyone is to be at all ready."

"Exactly," she said.

"Well. You are dismissed. Could you find Alison Howard and drag her in here by the hair if necessary?"

"As you wish." She set off in search of the wayward Alison.

* * * * * * *

Having been found and successfully badgered to turn herself in, Alison was sitting across the table from Frank, trying to look entirely uninterested in what he had to say.

"Alison," he began. "Why did you ignore me yesterday when I called you?"

"I'm very sorry," she said, ruining any illusion of sincerity with a mocking smile. "I thought I'd be right back."

"Really?" he said, his own smile fixed and icy.

"Yes." She was challenging him to do something about her insubordination. She knew there was nothing he could do.

"I see. You are a good student. You're a marvellous Quidditch player. You break rules regularly, serve detentions, and so forth. What can I complain about?"

She laughed.

"Are you planning to keep the Quidditch up?" he asked briskly.

"Unless I get killed going after the Snitch. I still can't believe what a violent game it is."

"I was born in the wizarding world, and I still can't believe it." He did not mention that he would prefer Quidditch without Bludgers. His views were heretical, and to mention them aloud would lose him control over his kids. "And how are you fitting into the wizarding world?"

"By now, I've pretty much fitted in, I think." She remembered with disgust how in her third year she had gone blubbering to the new prefect Frank Longbottom about homesickness. Since then, he seemed sure she was pining away for the Muggle world.

"I'm glad to hear it. Not many Muggle-borns in Slytherin, unfortunately. Do you ever wonder why?"

"Salazar Slytherin, I would think."

"Salazar Slytherin rubbish. Slytherin left this school because he was refused a prerogative over which students would be taught here. It's not as though the general population doesn't have the Slytherin traits."

"The general population?" She was surprised. That was a very Muggle way of putting it. Of course, everyone knew Frank Longbottom was a Muggle lover. . . .

"Muggles," he explained. "I find that a strange word, by the way. Almost derogatory."

"Professor Dumbledore uses it," she pointed out.

"So do we all. But I hope it's on the way out," he said firmly.

"You'd make a lovely social activist." She immediately wondered if he would understand her.

"An activist? No room for activists in the wizarding world, I'm afraid."

"Ah, you're afraid?" She hoped she could anger him a little. She'd never seen him lose that annoying calm, but there had to be a first time.

"Certainly. We could do with some social revolution," he said lightly. "You ought to know that. Some people were very angry when you were sorted into Slytherin after all."

"Yes, I remember my first year."

"The Slytherin parents were outraged," he continued. "Many of them are into the cult of pure blood." He pronounced these last words as though they fouled his mouth. "You do know who they are?"

"Do I want to know?"

"It may help you someday. Three names especially: Wilkes, Avery, and Lestrange."

She resolutely said nothing.

"How can I say this? The apple does not fall far from the tree."

"What have they to do with their parents' prejudices, may I ask? They don't share them."

"I had hoped for that, but I am less and less convinced. You have been accepted by them. But how? It seems to me that you are entering into their view of the world. I heard you a week ago saying something malicious about 'Muggles.' To me, and to others, it feels like you are failing a promise.... There were people happy to see you in Slytherin, you know. Dumbledore, for one. My parents. They sent him a congratulatory note. First Muggle-born Slytherin in ten years. And why?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Slytherin has a reputation. If you're from a non-magical background, Slytherin doesn't want you. Children pick it up very quickly. They hear a snatch of conversation at Flourish and Botts. They learn it on the Hogwarts Express. They're told as they cross the lake, 'Don't pick Slytherin. They hate the non-pure-bloods.' And so, when the Hat says, 'Slytherin?' they say, 'No, not Slytherin. Anything but Slytherin.' Why didn't you say that?"

"I didn't think of it," she said, full of unwilling admiration for his speech. She wondered how long he had rehearsed it.

"No one told you about Slytherin?" He looked surprised.

"Yes. They did. James Potter said that all the damn politicians ended up in Slytherin."

Frank's face lost its serious look as he bit down hard on his lip to stop the laughter. "And your father a Conservative politician! Well, well, perhaps we should recruit more Slytherins from the House of Commons."

"You know a lot about Muggle Britain." Her tone implied it was a character flaw.

" I took Muggle studies."

He had taken Muggle studies. More importantly, he had been born into a prominent Reformer family.

Frank was the younger son of John and Elizabeth Longbottom. Before Frank was born, his father had been the liaison between the Ministry of Magic and the Muggle government for two years. After several frustrating years trying to communicate the experience to his colleagues, he had left the Ministry and began writing his great masterpiece: 'Magical and Muggle Britain: On a Collision Course.' Its thesis now considered conservative among all but fringe lunatics, it had once been political dynamite.

Oddly enough, Frank knew that his father missed those days when he had been universally snubbed. From time to time, he attempted to shake up the populace with another shocking new thesis. It didn't work. He had firmly become John Longbottom the brilliant social analyst. Even those who criticized him made sure to note that though he was theoretically right, 'life didn't practically work that way'.

The problem of having a prominent father was that most people expected him to follow in his footsteps. Frank did take very much after his father. The detailed evaluations were proof enough of his Ravenclaw tendencies. But he had his own, entirely different ambitions. It became a bore trying to explain this to family friends.

The Gryffindor vs. Slytherin Quidditch match the next day offered him another chance to do so. Flavius Bell, a friend of his father's was up at Hogwarts on Ministry business, and had stayed over to watch to the match.

"So, what are you doing after Hogwarts? Poised to be the next John Longbottom?" asked Bell.

"Writing books? No. I can't write anything like him, and I couldn't analyse society to save my life."

"You should come over to the Ministry."

"I've thought about that. My father doesn't think so. He tells me that nothing ever gets done in the Ministry."

"If the Ministry were gone, Frank, even he would miss it."

"Actually," said Frank, lowering his voice, "I had thought of applying to be an Auror."

"An Auror? After what happened to Jim?"

James Longbottom, Frank's older brother, had been an Auror for two short years, before being left for dead by the felons he had been pursuing. Once out of St. Mungo's, James had left his job and was now an American correspondent for The Daily Prophet.

"Well, that's what it's about, isn't it?" said Frank.

"People your age always laugh off death. Hang around my office for a week, and see if you want to be an Auror then." Bell worked for Magical Catastrophes.

"Thank you," said Frank sincerely. "Over Christmas?"

"I suppose you'll also tell me that you are planning to marry next month and bring up a family on your Auror's salary. Romantic lot you young people are." Bell was still smarting over his eldest son's demands for financial support.

"I don't plan to marry for a long time. It's a dangerous career and I wouldn't feel right about putting a family in that position."

"What does your father think of your Auror fervour?"

"He actually thinks it might be a good idea. He's made a career of being open-minded."

"About everything but the Ministry," said Bell. "So, whom do you want me to cheer for today?" Bell was a Hufflepuff.

"Slytherin, of course. We've a really good team this year, so you won't have to suffer the agony of your choice's defeat."

"Really?" said Bell. "Professor McGonagall!" She was sitting a few seats away from Bell, talking with Gryffindor prefect, Laura Hardisty. "Who's going to win today?"

"Gryffindor," said McGonagall, "if they can stop taking penalties."

"They stooge terribly," said Frank. "Last game, they gave up nine penalty shots to Hufflepuff for stooging alone."

"Quiet, Longbottom," said McGonagall. "I believe that Captain Patil has been working with them on that."

"Slytherin hardly ever takes penalties," Frank said proudly. "Except for Bagman. He's a bit of a performer, sometimes, but Avery seems to bring out the best in him."

"Bagman," said Bell thoughtfully. "I know that name."

"His father played for England," said McGonagall. "He was a Gryffindor and a classmate of mine."

"Bagman! The betting scandal!"

"Betting that he would win the game, Bell," said McGonagall sternly. "It was blown completely out of proportion."

"Very well. Who are your other players, Frank?"

"Edmund Avery is the captain and one of the Chasers. The other Chasers are Megan Diggory and Winston Ayleward. Our Beaters are the afore-mentioned Ludovic Bagman and Tristan Wimple. Our talented Keeper is Margaret Baddock, and Alison Howard is our Seeker."

"The same names," said Bell. "When hasn't there been a Diggory playing on a Hogwarts team?"

"And when was the last time a Longbottom was?" said Frank.

"1889," said Dumbledore, taking his place. "Your great-grand uncle Edward, if I recall correctly, Mr. Longbottom. A very exciting match. Ravenclaw lost 230 points to Gryffindor's 250."

"Frank has been extolling his Slytherins to me, Headmaster," said Bell.

"But, Miss Hardisty," said Dumbledore, turning to the Gryffindor prefect. "You surely have a few words to say about your team."

"They're going to win," Laura Hardisty said, her eyes sparkling. "Would you like to bet, Longbottom?"

"No, I don't bet," Frank said. He could never explain why not. It was like the Bludgers. He couldn't rationally explain them, and therefore, he wasn't inclined to like them. Betting didn't make sense, and therefore, he couldn't feel the thrill so many discovered in it. It wasn't the fear of being bloodied up playing Quidditch or losing the bet; it was a revulsion towards waste.

* * * * * * *

Narcissa noted with approval that there was about to be rain. She had a new umbrella, Slytherin colours no less, and Ludo Bagman had boasted that he played better in the rain.

Those first years over there were definitely pointing at her. She smiled a little. She had grown up with people pointing at her and had thoroughly enjoyed it.

Then she had discovered that the pointing and the whispers were not all complimentary. That she was part of a scandal. Born seven months after her parents' marriage. Seven months after the death of her mother's previous husband.

"Narcissa!" She turned around to see her sister-in-law, Alysoun Crouch, with her nephew Barty.

"I couldn't miss the game," Alysoun was saying. "Especially as Gryffindor's playing."

"Gryffindor's going to lose," Barty Crouch Jr. sternly told his mother.

"Really? I was hoping you'd like the umbrella, Narcissa," said Alysoun. "It's very pretty. I found it at Gladrags in London. They've a whole new set of Hogwarts apparel. I considered buying something Gryffindor to wear here, but I quickly realized I would be murdered. By the way, I asked your Head of House for permission to take you and Barty to Hogsmeade after the game. Narcissa, you need a new dress, right, after that accident with the permanent ink?"

She did need a new dress. After spending eight hours looking for the perfect outfit in August, Lydia Stebbins had knocked a bottle of permanent invisible ink onto the robes their first day back at Hogwarts.

"It should disappear in a second, Narcissa," said Lydia regretfully, looking at the empty bottle: a birthday present from her prank-loving brother Mark. "But be careful. It's only invisible until you pour water on it." Narcissa, who had already taken a wet cloth to the dress, howled.

Narcissa's good point was that she never bore grudges for long. Lydia Stebbins was nearly killed that night. But Narcissa soon forgave and the two went back to being best friends.

"I asked your brother if he could make it down today," said Alysoun, "but he's really overworked."

Nonsense, thought Narcissa. He stayed at the office because he likes his work better than Quidditch. Or seeing his son and his sister. Aloud, she said, "That's too bad."

* * * * * * *

Evan Rosier clutched the seat in front of him.

"It's just a game," said Ken. "You look like you're going to be sick."

"If Slytherin loses," said Evan, "do you know how many points we'll be behind? Do you plan to catch us up? We aren't all Julian Tierneys, entitled to a supply of points every day. Can you imagine the cold shoulder we'd get if we lost another stock of them, like last week?"

"Slytherin's not going to lose," said Severus calmly. "Lockhart's playing for Gryffindor."

"What?"

"Hanrahan broke his leg this morning, falling down a staircase. He says he was pushed down by a Slytherin, but he's very vague about the details," Severus smirked. "So they're playing their reserve Seeker. Gilderoy Lockhart. Your brother just told me, Ken."

"What if Gilderoy Lockhart's good?" asked Evan naively.

"I don't think I even need to answer that," said Severus. "Where're Rolly and Rodolphus? Still sick with the hacking cough?"

"They wanted to come," said Ken. "But Madam Pomfrey confined them to the hospital wing. She said that if it had been a school day, they would be begging to lie around. She also said we should check in immediately if we even began to have a ticklish feeling in our throats. Apparently, they've got it pretty severe. Oh, look what Black and Lupin are carrying. 'Potter for President'. President of what?"

"American," said Evan. "Very American. Probably watching Quodpot."

"Quodpot's an interesting game," said Ken. "Strange, but interesting."

"I prefer Shuntbumps," said Evan.

* * * * * * *

Captain Edmund Avery gathered his team around him.

"Today will be a great Slytherin victory." Avery believed in the power of positive thinking. "I have no doubt that when we take to the skies, we will OWN this game! It'll be a nice clean game on our side, with every penalty taken by Gryffindor. Is there anything else to say?"

"Yes," said Ludo Bagman. "What score are we aiming for?"

"We're going to win," said Avery, confused.

"Right, but we're playing against that git Lockhart. He couldn't catch a Snitch if it flew into his mouth. So Alison should take her time until we've got the score we need to put us ahead in the House points."

"That's tempting fate, Ludo," said Alison as she pulled on her Seeker's gloves.

"Tempting fate isn't all that bad an idea," said Avery after a second's consideration. "He really is dreadful. Trust me. We've had spies observing the reserve players. The only reason he's got the position is Hanrahan didn't want someone in the wings who might replace him one day."

"Go for it then," said Margaret Baddock.

"Right. How many points?"

"310," spat out Ludo. "I calculated it a few weeks ago, just in case Lockhart was to play."

"310," said Avery. "There's no harm trying. By the way. . . ." He looked about sternly. "Does anyone know how Hanrahan broke his leg?"

"Falling down the staircase?" suggested Ludo.

"No, was there any. . . pushing?"

No one could or perhaps would answer Avery's question.

"Good luck then!" He shook hands all around.