Gryffindor is for the Brave

Chapter One
The Last First Day

“Dad? Dad, I’m leaving!” Minerva gripped her schoolbag’s shoulder strap hard enough to make her knuckles pale as she jogged up the stairs to her father’s study. “Dad!”

“Eh, yes? What?” An elderly wizard with spectacles hovering in midair just above his nose sat at a desk cluttered with parchment in the center of the room. The top of his head was completely bald, but long white hair flew out in all directions from the sides.

Minerva stood in the doorway, still holding on tightly to her bag and shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “I’m leaving for school now. I came to say good-bye.” She bit her lip and squinted in the dimly lit study, illuminated only by candles, with the curtains tightly drawn, as if her father were trying to shut the world away. Her grandfather had used this room when Minerva was very young, and she remembered him keeping it brightly lit and cheerful. Not so her father, whose preference was for dim lighting and shadows in the corners.

He narrowed his eyes and peered in her direction, plucking his glasses out of the air and putting them gently onto the desk. “Minerva? School? Er, is it September already?”

“Yes, Dad. The first. And I’m, um, I’m running late.”

He glanced at a large grandfather clock on the wall, which was fitted with twelve hands and various planetary forms. “You’ve got quite an early Portkey, then. Where are you leaving from, eh? I could walk you ...”

She shifted the bag from one shoulder to the other, squirming. He hadn’t walked her anywhere since she was twelve and didn’t know where the Portkey was. “Dad! I’m Apparating, remember?”

“Apparating?” He coughed, voice raspy with age.

“Yes! I passed my test three weeks ago.” She knew better than to allow accusation to show in her voice, but she couldn’t help the impatience. Only advanced sixth years were permitted to take the test before their seventh year, and only after their coming of age. She’d talked about nothing else all last winter. Trust her father not to remember. She was willing to bet he didn’t remember her being named Head Girl, either, even though she had told him as soon as the letter came last summer.

“Of course.” He sounded vaguely disappointed, then sighed heavily and sat back in his chair. “It must have slipped my mind.” His fingers rubbed deep creases into his forehead, and he turned back to his book.

Minerva took a hesitant half-step forward. “Don’t worry about it, Dad.” The light from the hall sent rays around her back into the study, and her father seemed to cringe away from them as he spoke.

“Why are you leaving so early, then?” He raised his head and squinted again. The light from behind showed on his face, marking the deep worry lines and reflecting off the top of his head.

“I’m going school shopping in Hogsmeade with Julia and Evan. I told you last week.” Minerva fought hard to keep herself calm. Four months, she told herself. Four months before I come home again, and it will be easier then. He’s just absent-minded. He doesn’t mean anything by it. “We agreed to meet at Dervish and Banges. In about ten minutes, so I really do have to go -- drop my trunk off and all --”

“Yes, yes,” Sir William answered somewhat sadly. “I’ll see you at Christmas, my dear.”

“See you then,” she said, adjusting her shoulder bag and nodding. She paused for a second in the doorway, looking at her father, wondering if he’d look up, or say anything more. He had already gone back to work, examining old parchments and making notes. Sighing a little, Minerva turned to go back down the hall. The door closed with a gentle click, and she shook her head from side to side, making her ponytail swing wildly. Leaving, she told herself. Not back 'til Christmas.

It took her two hallways and a stairwell to completely banish her disappointment in her father, and by that time she’d reached her own room. She looked around carefully, taking stock of everything, trying to make sure she wasn’t forgetting anything important. From her cage, a large tawny owl let out a loud squawk. “Yes, we’re going now, Verthandi,” Minerva replied absently, still scanning the room for odds and ends. “I think we’ve got everything,” she said, and took a deep breath, focussing all her energy.

Shadows bent and twisted as Minerva appeared quite suddenly on the edge of a long walkway leading up to a beautiful castle. Her trunk stood next to her, with Verthandi’s cage perched on top of it. She looked round herself briskly, pushing her glasses up her nose (why did Apparating always dislodge her glasses?) and surveyed the lane before her. She felt a smile spread over her face. It was wonderful to be home.

The wide, tree-lined road was crowded with students and teachers, nervous parents and excitable pets, all making a great deal of noise. Every few seconds, a group of people would appear, clustered around large, key-shaped piece of metal. Portkeys were the standard way of arriving to Hogwarts, and students -- like the group that had just arrived next to her -- were always pleased when their parents decided they were old enough to come alone. This group of fourth years began laughing and chattering immediately (or perhaps they’d never stopped?) as soon as they were fully materialized, and ran off together to put away their things. Overhead the air was full of trunks and various other personal items, sent flying into windows by older students, whose parents weren’t on hand to cluck disapprovingly. Everything was hectic, busy, and comfortingly familiar to Minerva.

“Wingardium Leviosa!” Her trunk lifted easily off the ground and hovered about half a meter up. She grabbed her nearly empty schoolbag from on top of it, and with a another murmured command, sent the trunk flying up through her dormitory window, barely visible on one of the higher towers on the far side of the castle. It took a second of fierce concentration to make sure the trunk arrived unbattered through the waves of other bags and boxes also hovering and zooming about, but once it was through the window, Minerva relaxed. She’d done the spell enough times to make sure it would land in the proper place, and if it somehow didn’t, the house-elves would attend to it.

Another quick word and Verthandi’s cage was open. “Off you go,” Minerva said cheerfully to her owl, raising her fingers high to indicate that Verthandi had her permission to fly away. “You know where the Owlery is,” she prodded, watching the animal lazily step forward and stretch her wings.

Once the owl slowly and deliberately took off in the direction of her perch, Minerva repeated the flying charm, gesturing with her wand for the cage to follow the trunk. She blinked rapidly, concentrating hard, making the cage dodge gently around the other belongings. Just as she saw it safely through the window, a tap on her shoulder made her jump.

“Minnie! How wonderful to see you!” The speaker was a plump, bubbly girl with curly blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes.

Minerva clenched her teeth at the diminutive of her name before revolving so that she faced the girl and working her face into something like a smile. “Hello, Anona,” she said, very deliberately using her full name, rather than the nickname Nony preferred. Her smile was slightly forced.

“Did you just arrive? We did, took a Portkey in a few minutes ago. How was your summer? Mine was brilliant. I went to Majorca with Mummy and Daddy, and it was wonderful. Oh, I mean, the inspections were simply ridiculous, my goodness, security is so tight on the continent now, totally unreasonable, as if anything’s really going to happen! But what about you? Did you go anywhere fascinating?”

Minerva did her best not to feel bitter or annoyed with Nony. After all, it wasn’t her fault she was born to an old, rich, high-ranking wizarding family, with two of the most lovingly demonstrative parents Minerva had ever encountered. “Hello, Aidan,” she said instead, looking over Nony’s shoulder at a tall, gangly boy with hair of such a dark red it was nearly black. “How was your summer?”

“Oh -- er -- brilliant,” he said, with a wide, somewhat embarrassed smile, as Nony arranged his arm over her own shoulders. “Di -- did you need help with your trunk at all, Minerva?”

“No, I already sent it up,” she said, avoiding his intense gaze. “But thanks anyway.” She pursed her lips.

His head bobbed up and down like a marionette’s. “Yes, well, glad to -- that is --”

Nony cut him off. “Yes, well, we’d best be going. We can’t all send our trunks up with a word!” Her tone was merry, but she put her arm through Aidan’s protectively, and her eyes flashed.

Thank God they’re still together, Minerva thought, with a slightly stiff smile as she watched them go off, arms still laced. She couldn’t really feel sorry for Nony for having to actually walk into the castle to drop off her trunk -- the Flying Charm was something first years were expected to know, and though the logistics of sending something so heavy so far and so precisely weren’t always easy, they were well within Minerva’s own capabilities, and probably Nony’s too, if she bothered to practice. But at least she hadn’t broken it off with Aidan over summer holidays. His offers of help tended to be far more frequent and persistent when he didn’t have a protective girlfriend to shoot quelling glances, and he had a way of making Minerva feel uncomfortable, staring at her from across the room.

Minerva slung her nearly empty school bag over one shoulder and walked briskly off the grounds toward the village. It wasn’t really worth the effort to Apparate, she decided, not when it was so close by.

She wanted to enjoy her last few minutes alone, too. She let herself get lost in thoughts and daydreams until she emerged from an alleyway a block away from Dervish and Banges.

Two teenagers stood just outside in quiet conversation. Their height disparity almost made Minerva chuckle to herself when she saw them. Julia FitzPatrick was a petite girl, with light brown hair that seemed constantly tangled around her shoulders. Evan Schraeder was long-limbed and gangly, more than a head taller, even now, while he was slouching to hear her better.

Minerva smiled as she crossed the street toward them, but she felt a twinge as well. In some ways, she would have preferred to do her school shopping alone. She was used to that; she’d been shopping alone in Hogsmeade since she was thirteen. It was more efficient, more relaxing. It allowed her to contemplate the summer, and to prepare herself mentally for a new year. She was happy to see Julia and Evan, of course, and they’d been very nice to even allow her to join them, but it was disconcerting to be around them after being almost completely alone all summer.

She still felt like a stranger around the other two, despite sharing a dorm with Julia for six years and playing on the same Quidditch team as Evan for five. They’d gotten along fine, but then, the three of them had never really spoken until fifth year. Prior to that, Minerva had been mostly a loner, only occasionally meeting to discuss homework with Cera Brighton or Quidditch with Lucy and Andrew. Nony was sociable to everyone and Aidan had nursed an old crush for at least two years, but with the exception of some of the prefects, Minerva rarely spoke to her peers.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like people. She often wished she were better at making friends. But growing up essentially alone had taken its toll, and around people, especially unfamiliar people, she always felt nervous and a little panicky. Her heart would pound, her tongue would catch in her throat, and everything she thought of to say sounded silly and inane in her mind’s ear. Starting around second year, she’d decided it was easier to just avoid most social situations. She spent as little time in the common room as possible, preferring the library, or her bed with the curtains drawn in a stuffy but private little tent. It got lonely, but at least it was consistent.

That was the reason she’d never really struck up a conversation with Julia or Evan before fifth year. Julia was friendly, but had been put off by Minerva’s one-word answers and marked lack of enthusiasm for social contact. Evan, though always polite, held himself apart from the rest of the Quidditch team and rarely spoke much to anyone. It was only when they’d had to work together on something that Julia had learned Evan and Minerva were worth her effort to get to know. Or at least, Julia seemed to think so. Minerva was less sure -- Julia could make friends with just about anyone; why she would hang out with two of the quietest people in the year was unclear.

She was fast approaching the entrance to the shop, and she wasn’t in a good mood for first meetings. Trying to snap herself out of a solitary mindset, Minerva plastered a smile on her face and waved almost cheerfully to her friends. “Hello, Julia. Hello, Evan,” she said formally.

Julia smiled and turned toward her. “Hi, Minerva, good to see you. Congratulations on being named Head Girl! How was your summer?”

Minerva smiled shyly at the simple acknowledgment. I must like them okay, she reflected; I’m happy when they ask me how my summer was, whereas Nony just makes me want to reaffirm my habit of solitude. Evan nodded at her, and she managed to murmur “Fine” in the direction of her shoes. She wished she didn’t feel so uncomfortable whenever she wanted to make a good impression.

“Evan and I Apparated in early and met for breakfast,” Julia explained. Minerva didn’t let herself feel hurt. “We were just talking about our classes. What are you taking this term?”

“Standard requirements, mostly,” Minerva answered as they entered the shop. “Curses and Countercurses; Advanced Charms and Enchantments; Potions, with emphasis on poisons and antidotes; Advanced Transfiguration; and A Modern History of Magic. Then for electives I’ve got Divination and Intermediate Herbology, since they’ll be on the N.E.W.T.s, and Ancient Runes, which is just for fun.”

Julia rolled her eyes. “Ancient Runes for ‘fun,’ she says.” Minerva blushed, and Julia, seeing her, grinned and moved on. “I’ve got just the same, except I’m taking Care of Magical Creatures instead of Runes, and they put me in Advanced Herbology.”

“Oh,” said Minerva, unsure of how to answer. “You like biomagy, then?”

“Love it,” Julia said offhandedly, still smiling. “I’d like to be a mediwitch, if I could train at Aesklepia after Hogwarts.”

Minerva nodded, and there was an awkward pause. She wasn’t really sure she wanted to share her own private dream of teaching. Probably they’d laugh at her. “I’m playing Quidditch too,” she finally mentioned, too loudly. “What about you, Evan?” Like everything else she’d thought of in the last thirty seconds, it was silly, but it was the best she could come up with.

He paused for a second, then nodded deliberately. “Yes, I hope so.”

She faltered. Had that really been an acceptable comment? “Oh, that’s -- good,” she said. “You were -- good -- last year.” She hated herself for sounding as if she meant something different. He had been good, relatively speaking. No one on the Gryffindor team was especially good. While Evan was a fairly competent Seeker, Ravenclaw’s and Slytherin’s were downright brilliant, and even Hufflepuff had a relatively strong player this year. Not that she was one to talk. Minerva felt a blush creep over her cheeks, admitting to herself that she was only on the team because they were a few recruits short at the tryouts for the last few years, and captains had to call their friends in to try out so Gryffindor could even have sufficient players. If anyone better came along, Minerva would be off the team faster than you could say “drop the Quaffle.”

Hoping they wouldn’t notice her social incompetence, Minerva deliberately transferred all her attention to picking over a display of parchment and quills, letting the others walk away if they wanted. She relaxed her mind, enjoying picking out quills and ink. Three canisters of black, and one of red for contrast. She saw one of a rich, majestic purple that sparkled beautifully, but she knew she’d never use it. Four rolls of parchment came off the shelves, since she wasn’t sure when the next Hogsmeade weekend would be. By the time she’d selected a magical eraser charmed to erase ink without smudging or getting smaller, Julia and Evan had moved to a different part of the shop.

Minerva smiled in mild relief. It could be so stressful and uncomfortable, being around other people. She wandered distractedly through the store, looking over measuring scales, potion ingredients, Arithmantic tables and broomsticks, letting herself relax and not thinking about anything in particular, pleased to be free of having to think of something to say that others would understand and relate to.

But after the first relief wore off, she began feeling dubious. What was she supposed to do now? Should she look for them? Did they wander off because they didn’t want to shop with her, or did they just want to look at school bags instead of parchment? Was she supposed to go find them? Meet them at the counter? After how long? Why hadn’t they made an emergency meeting time? What if she waited for an hour and then found out they’d gone to the Hog’s Head without her? But if they went to that kind of place, did she want them as friends anyway?

Minerva froze in the aisle and bit her lip, hard. She heard Julia’s voice, high-pitched and whispery, several aisles over, and walked, quick and panicky, until she saw them bending over cauldrons. Her steps very suddenly slowed, and she peered over at them shyly, from the end of the row. They seemed to be having a very nice conversation about cauldrons. Probably she should leave them alone. Probably she was interrupting something, and she should just go back to the broomsticks and parchment.

She hung her head and turned away, knowing she was being immature but unable to stop herself. It was stupid, what she was doing. Childish. Evan and Julia wouldn’t want to spend time with someone so childish. Time to leave --

“Minerva!” Julia’s voice rang out in the shop. Minerva’ s head snapped up in dread and relief. “Come and look at the cauldrons,” Julia suggested, as if nothing had happened. “I like this one, but Evan says it’s frivolous.”

Minerva walked forward quickly but hesitantly. The cauldron in question was definitely sturdy and well-made, but it was bigger than a student, even a seventh year, was likely to need, and the metals were forged together in spirally intertwining patterns more for decoration than better potion-brewing. Minerva gave this assessment in a shy, humble voice, and blushed when Julia nodded in agreement.

“You’re right, of course, and what’s worse, I know it. I’ll get a small one.” She put it back and selected a more modest cauldron. “I’ve got to get a new telescope, too, and Evan needs some phials. I think they’re this way.”

As the morning passed, Minerva lost some of her discomfort, but she remained hesitant in conversation. While Julia was always friendly, and Evan remained cordial, she didn’t feel that she knew them well, and Quidditch and schoolwork -- the two things she felt she could talk about without sounding too foolish -- only went so far in conversation.

They spent over two hours in Dervish and Banges, mostly because of Julia, who flitted from one thing to another like a human hummingbird, getting excited about things like new books on biomagy and different colors of ink. When Evan asked why she needed a special pot charmed to change your ink depending on your mood, she said it would reflect her emotions well, and help her observational skills. Evan and Minerva, who had both found everything they needed within the first forty-five minutes, trailed after their enthusiastic friend, occasionally offering meek questions about the usefulness of various items. Despite their efforts, Julia’s purchases totaled more than the other two’s combined and would barely fit in her bag.

Clutching bulging schoolbags, they walked down High Street toward the center of town. Minerva was beginning to get hungry, but Julia pointed out Gladrags, and before they passed it, had to run inside and browse the racks of robes, belts, and accessories. She bought a new cloak and a small brooch to pin on while Evan and Minerva made strained conversation near the door. When she couldn’t think of anything to say, Minerva examined some barrettes, which would change size depending on how much hair you wanted them to hold.

They might have gone into another shop, but Julia was hungry too, so all three teenagers headed toward the Three Broomsticks. Like most of downtown, it was crowded with Hogwarts students, but they found a table near the back next to a window.

They ordered sandwiches and butterbeer from a harried looking waitress, who clacked her nails together impatiently and wouldn’t write anything down. When she was gone, all three relaxed a little, and let the early afternoon sun warm their faces.

“It’s so pretty out,” Julia said, reflectively. “Peaceful.” Her face twisted. Looks aside, it wasn’t really peaceful out, and they all knew it.

Minerva had allowed herself to forget the political troubles plaguing Europe over the summer. Her father, as a translator of ancient documents, saw no need to subscribe to a modern newspaper like The Eagle Quill. Now, Nony’s offhand complaint came back to her. Security so tight on the continent? “What’s been going on?” she asked, slightly apprehensive about what she might hear.

“The Ministry has not been releasing much,” Evan answered. “Grindelwald,” he took a deep breath, “is supposedly only a very vocal minority in Switzerland. According to our government, he does not have any power, and his experiments with the barriers have been unsuccessful.”

“That’s the Quill’s story, anyway,” Julia clarified. “The rumors are different.”

“Rumors?”

Evan shot Julia a reproachful look and spoke with offhand frustration. “Nothing has been confirmed. Supposedly there is some sort of Muggle equivalent to Grindelwald. Someone who is trying to gather power and break the barriers from the other side.”

“Or who already has power. I heard there’s a Muggle war going on right now.” Julia did her best to sound grave and ominous, but she looked so young and pert, the result was almost comical.

Minerva raised her eyebrows. “Really? I had no idea.” She furrowed her brow. “That’s not good. But could we even do anything about it? Won’t the barriers prevent that? They ensure no contact either way, so it won’t affect us, either.”

“Unless Grindelwald really has been able to break through,” Julia reminded her.

Evan began to laugh. “Julia, be sensible. I love fantastic stories too, but you know that is ridiculous. No one can break the barriers, except in ‘WonderWizard’ comic books.”

“What if you could, though?” Julia asked earnestly. “I mean, just consider...”

“Theoretically it is not impossible. But it took hundreds of wizards working across the continent for days at a time to get the barriers up in the first place; they have stood for almost two hundred years. Some mad wizard in the Alps is not going to just topple them everywhere overnight.”

Julia began to answer heatedly that she said nothing about “overnight,” and anyway what about help from sources they weren’t privy to, but Minerva interrupted.

“How do you two know all this?” she asked, a little in awe. Even when she was keeping track of the news, it never seemed to state this kind of thing. Stories about the continent were few and far between, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d read the word “Muggle” in any paper of repute. She could never have put all this together.

“Piecing together articles, and rumors from various sources, friends of the family have told stories -- that kind of thing,” Evan answered. He was much more enthusiastic about the conversation than Minerva had seen him all day; politics and journalism evidently fascinated him. Though he spoke formally, his pale green eyes were bright and interested.

“I hear things from my family, too,” Julia added. “I’ve got a sister studying at Beauxbatons, and another working in Germany, so we get lots of international news.”

“Right, I’d forgotten,” Minerva said, a little embarrassed. She knew Julia had mentioned her sisters before, in her few letters over the summer. “Do you really think Grindelwald could get through?”

Julia shrugged. “I don’t really know, of course. The barriers aren’t exactly fragile, and I don’t know how powerful he really is.” Her voice hardened. “But the rest of Europe is taking it a lot more seriously than Britain is, I know that much. And that makes me worried on a couple of levels.”

“Why shouldn’t the continent deal with it?” Minerva asked. “If there are going to be holes in the barriers, I definitely don’t want them here.”

“That’s why we should be taking it seriously,” Julia replied, frustrated. “If security is lax, we won’t be able to stop these theoretical holes from forming or spreading.”

“And if we are the weak link, he might just as well conclude that Britain is a good place to work on whatever it is he is doing,” Evan added. “I do not think he could really break anything so powerful, but no matter what he is planning, I would prefer he kept it off our soil.”

It was disturbingly logical, Minerva reflected. The whole business made her unhappy. Magic was her forte, not puzzles, and definitely not anything involving Muggles or wars or the barriers. She was saved from responding by the arrival of their food, and the table became quiet for a time as they ate reflectively.

When they began conversing again, the topics were light, and they spent the rest of the afternoon shopping and chatting, without mentioning anything of substance. Minerva would have liked to learn more about Grindelwald and his real position in Switzerland, but the other two seemed determined to keep things on a superficial level, and she wasn’t sure how to bring it up, or what the gain would be if she did.

As the sun began to sink behind the trees to the west, the small group began to walk back to Hogwarts. Julia was nearly drowning under all her bags and boxes, but refused to let Evan or Minerva help her carry anything.

“I need to learn not to buy so much,” she said, laughing. Before they were halfway there, however, she made all her belongings circle her head just above eye level so she could have her hands free.

That night, the Great Hall was crowded with students and teachers. Minerva, Evan, and Julia slipped in and took seats towards the middle of the Gryffindor table. The first twenty seats were marked off for the first years Professor Paideia would bring in within minutes.

The rest of the staff sat at a large, noble looking table in front. Professor Dippet, the headmaster, was easily the oldest in the room. Every inch of skin was covered with wrinkles, even his bald skull. The skin under his eyes was dark and dry, gathered into puffy bags. The seat on his right was empty; Paideia would sit there after the Sorting.

On Dippet’s left sat Dumbledore, easily Minerva’s favorite teacher. His auburn hair and beard were threaded with white at the temples and chin, but he looked around at the students, smiling. Minerva caught his eye and smiled shyly. She’d missed him. Next to him sat Professor Schwartz, who would be Minerva’s Curses and Countercurses teacher. Beside Dumbledore, he looked young and vibrant in robes of deep green. Of the two, though Schwartz was obviously intelligent and driven, Dumbledore looked the kinder. On Schwartz’s other side sat Professor Knapp, and at the far end was Binns, looking wrinkled as a prune and far more disgruntled.

On the opposite end, Professor Trinegal was discussing something calmly with Professor Anadendras. Together, they were Minerva’s least favorite teachers. Trinegal was permanently sour, and seemed to suck all the life from her subject, Arithmancy. Anadendras, the Herbology professor, had maintained a long-running feud with Minerva since the latter’s third year, the only other year she’d bothered with Herbology. Professor Shirley sat next to her, looking at the door expectantly. At the very edge of the table sat a new teacher Minerva hadn’t seen before. She was a young woman with a petite figure, butter-yellow curls, and wide, vacant blue eyes.

Either Charms or Divination, Minerva thought. Smythe and Canthada both retired at the end of last year. I wonder where the other new teacher is? Someone will give him hell if he’s late for opening feast.

Her thoughts were interrupted as Professor Paideia marched into the room importantly, carrying a stool with an old hat perched precariously on top. Behind him came a gaggle of first years, talking and laughing amongst themselves. The children, who had for the most part known each other since infancy and been to visit older brothers and sisters at Hogwarts several times over the years, showed no awe at the Great Hall itself, and only the minimum respect for the older students. They chattered gaily and a little nervously in whispers, punctuating sentences with high-pitched giggles. Minerva, listening closely, could hear the particulars of conversations, too soft for Dippet to understand.

“Ooh, there’s the ceiling -- enchanted, you know -- saw it when I was four --”

“He’s got the hat!”

“What do you mean he’s got the hat, of course he’s got the hat --”

“Those are the tables, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, Slytherin, and uck, Hufflepuff --”

“Blimey, could you imagine winding up in Hufflepuff?”

“With all the Mudbloods!”

“Or Gryffindor -- yuck --”

“They put all the dumb ones in Gryffindor -- bravery, no brain --”

“If I’m not in Ravenclaw, my parents will have a fit -- their old house, you know --”

“My family’s been in Slytherin for seven generations --”

“Slytherin’ll take anyone these days -- like that halfblood who’s Head Boy --”

“And the Head Girl’s in Gryffindor, who let that happen?”

“I heard she’s not even pure-blood!”

“What’s reputation count for anymore?”

The speaker was a particularly small boy with messy brown curls and rich black robes. He spoke just loudly enough to earn a glare from Paideia for that remark, but merely stared back insolently. Minerva fingered her Head Girl badge angrily. No, she wasn’t pureblood, yes, she was in Gryffindor, but could this annoying boy turn into a cat by thinking about it?

Paideia set the stool up on the dais in the front of the hall. There was a long pause and many pokes and nudges before the first years became silent, and the hat began its annual song.

“Oh, here at Hogwarts, we have houses four
Ravenclaw, Slytherin, and Gryffindor
Don’t forget Hufflepuff
I’ll show all the stuff,
I am the sorting hat!

Ravenclaw is the cleverest of all
Those that hear the library’s fateful call
Philosophers and
The best students of the land
Oh that is Ravenclaw!

Slytherin is the purest of them here
And the most ambitious, far or near
They’ll do anything
To get in with the king,
Yes, that is Slytherin!

Gryffindor’s where all the bravest will go
All their courage can handle any foe
Adventures they’ll take
Fight for what’s at stake
For that is Gryffindor!

Hufflepuff is for the loyal and true
They’re the best ones if you’re feeling blue
Be the best you can
Their motto to a man
Well, that is Hufflepuff!”

Julia rolled her eyes.

“Ahern, Maura!”

Minerva bit her lip gently as she reflected it was probably the last Sorting she’d ever see. Well, at least she wouldn’t have to listen to the hat anymore. She glanced back idly at the staff table, wondering again where the last teacher was. Never in all Minerva’s seven years had a teacher missed the opening feast. Even Binns, who refused to attend any other events, came to the opening feast.

She felt a poke on her arm, and realized everyone in the Great Hall was standing. The first years were taking their places at the front of the four tables. Minerva caught Tom Riddle’s eye across the room as the obnoxious boy who’d passed earlier took a seat next to him. He gave her a wry smile. Minerva felt the corners of her mouth twitch as she sat down again.

Dippet, leading heavily on the table with one hand, cleared his throat. The rest of the staff sat down quietly, except Paideia, who stood behind Dippet like an honor guard. His piercing blue eyes dared anyone to notice. Behind the wizened headmaster, he looked like a king, strong and sure, his white hair and beard neatly trimmed.

“If you please,” Dippet began, then launched into a coughing fit. He held an old handkerchief up to his face for several seconds before trying again. “I would like to remind our students” -- another cough -- “of a few rules” -- he took a deep, raspy breath -- “Forbidden Forest -- off limits -- Hogsmeade -- requires signed” -- he breathed in and out several times -- “form for all below -- sixth year -- off limits -- first and second -- years.” For a second it seemed as if he were about to sit down, but then he sucked in more air and continued. “We have many -- new -- challenges -- this year,” he managed. “Must take this chance --” he coughed again, this time for several minutes. “Be on best behavior,” he gasped, before collapsing into his chair.

Paideia, realizing Dippet wasn’t going to go on, gestured for the students to begin eating.

“Ptolemy’s moonstone, what a bloody cop-out,” Julia said, scowling at the boiled potatoes that had appeared before her.

Minerva furrowed her brow, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Dippet. Talking about that ‘new challenges’ stuff. Either let us live in ignorance and denial of everything that’s going on on the continent, or face up and tell us what he knows. But for Merlin’s sake, don’t bring up ‘new challenges’ and leave it at that.”

“He was trying to have it both ways,” Evan nodded from the other side of the table.

“Of course he was. And it was stupid.” Julia paused for a second. “Probably Paideia put him up to it.”

“Paideia --?” Minerva repeated dumbly.

“Yeah, Dippet wouldn’t have said something like that on his own,” Julia said. “He’s happy thinking it’s all the continent’s problem. Paideia must’ve said he couldn’t just let it go.”

“So why didn’t he elaborate?” Evan asked. “Just squeamish?”

Julia’s eyes narrowed. “No, I’d be willing to bet that was Paideia too,” she answered. “Probably realized it wouldn’t do to scare the first years if Mummy and Daddy somehow forgot to bring it up. So he took the path of least resistance. Maybe he even had a whole speech planned out, but Dippet coughed too much.” She giggled, but then her contempt became clear on her face again.

Minerva blinked. She wasn’t used to these disparaging remarks on teachers. She had a lot of respect for Professor Paideia, even if he could be a little officious. “Maybe he was compromising,” she said, not too convincingly, not even sure herself whether she was referring to Dippet or Paideia.

Evan snorted. “Well, it was not very well done, whatever he was doing,” he said. “Pass the sprouts, please.”

That night, as Minerva undressed carefully and crawled between the comfortingly warm sheets of her four-poster, she thought about what Evan and Julia had said. It hadn’t occurred to her, but she did see how it could seem that whomever had decided what Dippet was to say had rather bungled it. Criticizing teachers certainly didn’t come naturally, but once the idea was planted, she couldn’t seem to get rid of it. At the very least, she reflected, they could have made a less obvious job of it.

The worry kept her awake until she realized that maybe Dippet had had a longer speech planned (she still couldn’t really see anyone else writing it for him) but his health unexpectedly wouldn’t let him finish. It was all an accident, she decided. She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep peacefully.