Harry Potter fanfic--Student Teacher at Hogwarts
Chapter Fourteen - A Consideration of Differences
July 6, 2001 - Evening
Harry watched in bemusement as Terri Weasley dashed out of the Great Hall, followed by a very concerned Mr. Weasley. Next to him, his godfather shifted back to his human form and started to follow. But then the wizard stopped, shook his head, and sighed.
"Terri told me once that she liked doing things in a big way," said Sirius, an ironic lilt to his voice. He stretched, rubbed his neck, and finally took the chair that Terri Weasley had hastily vacated. Mrs. Weasley joined them, shaking her head.
"Arthur will know what to say," she said, seating herself. Harry allowed himself a smile; he knew Mrs. Weasley was every bit as good with soothing words, if not better. "Still, I do wish that she wasn't quite so..."
"American?" Sirius asked, raising an eyebrow and smiling.
"Please don't get me wrong," Mrs. Weasley continued quickly, "I've come to like her while she's been staying with us, but..." She trailed off, and gestured helplessly.
Ron smiled at his mother. "You can't say she's stuck up, Mum."
"Heavens no!" Mrs. Weasley agreed. "But she is rather, um --"
"I think the phrase you want is `bull in a china shop,'" finished Sirius, his grin widening.
"Yes," Mrs. Weasley agreed, looking relieved.
Are all Americans like that? Harry wondered. He'd heard the stereotypes, of course; who hadn't? He opened his mouth to ask the question -- just as Sirius answered it.
"They aren't all like that -- but a lot more of them are than you'd expect." He picked up a fork and toyed with the remains of his dinner. "I had quite a summer over there; spent some time in Florida, then traveled north to Philadelphia, where I hooked up with Eric the Flute and some other American wizards. I was disguised, of course," he continued, shrugging. Gesturing with his fork, he said, "It was quite a case of culture shock. I visited the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall -- both just a little more than 200 years old, and they treat them like...well...venerable sacred places." He leaned toward Harry, an almost conspiratorial grin on his face. "And what would you say if I told you that I'd traveled about 1200 miles -- in a straight line -- to get from where I was in Florida to Independence Hall?"
"Blimey!" cried Ron, as Harry's brows rose.
Sirius turned to face Mrs. Weasley. "There are a lot of...aspects...of the American character that are hard to understand unless you visit the country. And even then, it's nearly impossible to `get it.' For example..." he pointed to the knocked over wine glass. "I'm quite certain Professor Weasley was not trying to, ah, discomfit Madame Maxime; she was just trying to be helpful, no doubt." He shook his head, his face wearing an expression somewhere between amusement and bewilderment. "The American `arrogance' is not truly arrogance; it's...naivete. Or even cluelessness."
"But why are they like that?" Harry asked meekly.
Sirius snorted. "Why is a puppy dog the way it is?" he returned, grinning. "It's not meanness, or rudeness, it's just -- exuberance. I could write a book about it, if Alexis de Tocqueville hadn't done so already." He dropped his fork onto his plate with a soft clatter. "It would be very funny if it wasn't for the fact that it leads to...what we just saw."
Harry scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I see what you mean," he said, trying to digest the information.
Sirius shook his head. "Not quite," he said, brushing his hair back from his face. "Think about what happened tonight -- then think about it on a national scale. Or an international scale."
Harry's eyes widened as he mentally made the switch from people to countries. "But don't they learn?"
Sirius shrugged. "Two hundred years is a baby in country terms," he pointed out. "I've met wizards older than that!"
Harry pondered his godfather's statement. He turned over the puppy dog analogy in his mind. He'd never owned one himself, of course, but he could remember the German shepherd puppy Dudley's Aunt Margaret had given Dudley for Christmas when he was six. Dudley had naturally given it up out of boredom by the end of February, with the appropriate excuses made to Aunt Margaret. By nature, puppies are playful, open, noisy, naive -- and absolutely fearless. Harry suddenly felt very glad that Voldemort had never gotten a foothold in the US.
The young wizard shook the thought from his mind, and turned from consideration of Terri Weasley's faux pas to what she had said to bring it on. "Hagrid," he began hesitantly, "I know it's probably none of my business, but what Professor Weasley said about...giants and humans...er..." He found himself too tongue-tied to finish.
Hagrid, who had been uncharacteristically silent until now, raised an eyebrow. "Aye?" he asked.
"It...seemed to really upset Madame Maxime," he continued slowly, wishing the half-giant would just figure out what he was trying to ask already.
Hagrid shook his head. "Aye," he agreed. "And I can' fer the life of me figure out why! Unless there's some strange Frenchy rule against using magic fer havin' children --"
"Then Terri was right?" Ron jumped in. Harry exchanged a look with his friend. Apparently he'd been wondering exactly the same thing.
It was Hagrid's turn to snort. "O' course she was!" he said, waving his hand dismissively. He looked from one boy wizard to the other in dismay. "Mebbe I should start givin' you lads extra work. Yer average giant is twenty feet tall!" he exclaimed, hitting the table for emphasis. Ron and Harry blinked while the dishes jumped. "O' course, me mum was on'y 'bout fourteen feet, but...ah, never mind. Look lads, it'd be like tryin' ter cross a merperson with a centaur. Different species. Wit'out magic, it just plain wouldn' work."
Harry looked meekly at Hagrid. He was dying to ask the next logical question; maybe some of Professor Weasley's American "rudeness" had rubbed off on him. More likely, his own natural curiosity had simply kicked into overdrive. Feeling his cheeks begin to grow warm, he began, "Then you're -- "
"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, apparently shocked at the boy's lapse in manners.
To Harry's surprise, Hagrid grinned. "'S okay, let 'im ask. How's he supposed ter learn?" The half-giant suddenly had the full attention of the table. Harry could tell that even his godfather hadn't heard everything about this. Hagrid carefully picked up his train of thought. "My father and my mother did a service fer a great wizard. This wizard was a researcher -- went out in th' woods and th' fields a lot, which is how he'd, er, got the problem that me parents helped him wit' in the first place."
"Now Friedwulfa -- that's me mother -- had been taken in by Gain Hagrid -- that's me father. And by the time they'd 'elped this other wizard -- Priores, I think his name was -- they'd, well, taken a fancy ter each other." Hagrid grinned, looking for a moment like a child remembering a favorite fairy tale. "An' they were both afeared to admit it. But Priores could see it. An' he was so grateful for the service they had given 'im that 'e offered" here Hagrid's grin widened "to grant 'em a wish or two."
"A wish?" Harry's jaw dropped. "You mean, he could really grant wishes?"
Sirius snorted. "If wizards really could grant wishes, Harry, you wouldn't be living with the Dursleys right now," he pointed out.
Hagrid nodded. "Not a wish in the sense yer thinkin', Harry. Me mother -- er, here it gets delicate." He sighed. "She didn't think my father could ever love her, and even if he did...well, she got the sense that he wanted a family. Something, as a giantess, that she couldn't give him."
"So that's what she wished for?" Harry asked.
"Aye," said Hagrid, "once she figured out that me father was serious when he proposed to 'er!" He chortled, obviously remembering that part of the story in more detail than he related. "Now they never told me jist how it was managed," the half-giant confessed, "only that it had taken quite a bit o' work on Priores' part ter come up with the spell -- and, if they hadn't both fervently wanted a child, the spell wouldn't work." He smiled, then thumped his chest. "As yer can see, it did work."
"Which meant that you were very much a wanted child," said Mrs. Weasley. With a smile, she ruffled Ron's hair, despite his weak effort to fend off her hand.
"But if that's true," Harry wondered aloud, "why would Madame Maxime get so upset? After all, it would mean she was as much a wanted child as you were. That's a good thing, isn't it?"
Hagrid frowned, and furrowed his brow. "That's what I couldn' figure," he continued. Then he met Harry's gaze, a twinkle in his eyes. "An' why would a young lad deny he's a wizard?"
Hagrid's question took Harry back four years, to when the half-giant had first entered his life. He'd literally busted down the door to the cabin where Harry, his aunt and uncle, and his cousin were staying, to deliver Harry's letter of admission to Hogwarts -- the very letter that Uncle Vernon had been trying to prevent Harry from receiving in the first place. Harry's memory brought Hagrid's words up as clearly as if he had just spoken them again: "Yer a wizard, Harry." Harry had responded with shocked denial -- until he went with Hagrid to The Leaky Cauldron, and Diagon Alley, thus entering the world to which he truly belonged.
How would Harry have reacted, he suddenly wondered, if he had been much older when he learned he was a wizard...say, Madame Maxime's age? He knew, or at least guessed, that the older a person grew -- muggle or wizard -- the more set they became in their ways and opinions. He guessed this from observing his own muggle relatives, and Cornelius Fudge, among others. He knew this didn't have to happen -- Professor Dumbledore seemed to keep an open mind despite his age. So...if Madame Maxime had been told all her life that giants were evil...what did it mean to hear that her mother and father, one of whom was a giant, had willingly joined to create her?
Harry shook his head to clear it; this was too much to consider at the moment, and besides, it wasn't really his business. Instead, he met Hagrid's eyes and answered the half-giant's question. "I guess I just didn't know any better," he said, smiling.
Mrs. Weasley sighed. "Well, if what you were saying is true, Sirius," she said, clearly still thinking about the earlier topic of conversation, "Terri doesn't know any better. But heavens, if she's going to be teaching here at Hogwarts next term...!" She shook her head and tutted, anticipating a disaster.
"Oh, I think you'll find she can manage herself a lot better than you're giving her credit for." Sirius raised an eyebrow at Mrs. Weasley. The witch looked surprised and covered her mouth. Her face colored. Even so, Harry sensed that his godfather hadn't meant his statement as a double entendre -- rather, he thought Sirius was referring to something else.
"S-she did seem to handle that situation in the alley with the Deatheaters," Harry put in, remembering the discussion earlier in the evening.
"Among others," Sirius added. There was no doubt about it -- Mrs. Weasley was definitely turning red. What was that about? Had she and Terri been involved in some sort of -- "situation," as Sirius put it?
Mrs. Weasley sighed. "You have a point," she conceded. "But being in a fight is very different from handling a class full of students! British students, I might add," she continued, "not American ones. They'll be expecting --"
"T'take advantage of 'er, I don' doubt," Hagrid suddenly cut in. "An' I'm guessin' that'd be no differen' here or across the pond."
"But she has NO experience in the classroom!" Mrs. Weasley protested.
"Aye," Hagrid agreed. "But 'er friend Deidre does, and she'll be helpin'. An' so will th' rest of us 'ere who do have experience."
Harry and Ron both shifted a bit uncomfortably in their seats, and exchanged a look. Somehow, Harry didn't think they should really be listening to a conversation involving the manners and teaching ability of their future potions instructor. True, they had discussed such matters among themselves about their teachers -- most notably their current potions master, Professor Snape -- but hearing adults talking about it felt strangely like intruding. He knew he'd never want any adults -- well, maybe only certain adults, Harry amended, remembering his godfather's opinion of Snape -- overhearing what he, Ron, and Hermione said among themselves about their professors. If he didn't know any better, he'd think he was wearing his father's invisibility cloak -- then a jab in his pocket as he shifted position reminded him that he was carrying something similar. Did the Don't View Disk make some people forget that he was there? It seemed unlikely, and yet...
Just then the door to the Great Hall opened, and Professor McGonagall breezed in, a strained but satisfied look on her face. "Mr. Lupin is fine," she said at once, anticipating almost everyone's first question. Then, "Heavens, where is everyone?"
"I think my doggy breath scared them away," Sirius answered. At McGonagall's scowl, he held up his hands. "Peace, Professor. Please, I need to know more than just that he's fine." He met McGonagall's gaze with pleading eyes.
The transfiguration teacher rolled her eyes, but made no other protest. "He'd transformed partway after Madame Pomfrey cancelled the experimental potion in his system," she explained. "After I took him outside, he changed most of the rest of the way...his hands didn't quite make it all the way to paws."
"Some werewolfs is like that," Hagrid observed.
"He did keep his mind," McGonagall continued, holding up a set of straps. Sirius and Harry both sighed in relief. Hagrid held out his hand for the straps; after a moment of hesitation, McGonagall handed them over.
"Where is he?" Sirius all but demanded.
McGonagall held her hand up. "First tell me, where is everyone else?"
Sirius slumped; she had, after all, told him what he wanted to know, so she was well within her rights to hold back the rest for now -- she had him there. But Harry caught a gleam in his godfather's eyes, and wondered what he'd say. The answer wasn't long in coming. "Um. Your new potions instructor managed to unintentionally offend Madame Maxime. Professor Dumbledore stepped in and took Maxime to a neutral corner. Terri Weasley, in true professorial fashion, summed up the story so far and dashed off to a different neutral corner. Arthur Weasley followed her; I think he wanted to get the footnotes."
Professor McGonagall furrowed her brow and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I should know better than to expect a straight answer from you, Mr. Black," she sighed.
"But it's the truth," Sirius insisted, talking over Harry's and Ron's chuckles. He looked around the table for support, and met with reluctant nods.
McGonagall glanced at the nodding heads, then focused on Sirius. Her lips thinned. Harry winced in anticipation of what what coming; he knew that expression all too well. Apparently, so did Sirius...his expression faltered. For just a second, Harry imagined his godfather twenty years younger, facing a housemother who has just caught him in the act. "Very well," the professor said to her former student. "I only hope, Mr. Black, that it will not be necessary to send the house elves looking for --"
Just then the doors to the Great Hall opened again. Harry hoped it would be Mr. Weasley with his cousin, but a quick glance at the comparative heights of the two figures at the door dashed those hopes. Professor Dumbledore escorted an apologetic-looking Madame Maxime back into the room. Her stiff posture indicated that she was much more in control of herself than earlier. Harry could not be certain, but he thought he saw a hint of -- defiance? -- in her eyes. Harry was so focused on the two heads of schools that he barely noticed his godfather turning back into a dog. The boy wizard could only guess what had passed between Maxime and Dumbledore, but it surely had not been pleasant.
"I am zorry for my outburst earlier," Madame Maxime said to the people at the table, her accent much less thick than it had been when she was upset. "I zimply thought zhat everyone knew zhat
Harry wisely kept his mouth shut -- Hagrid may have told him that Terri was right, but he knew better than to risk starting World War Three. Hagrid himself started to open his mouth, but closed it again at a quelling look from Professor Dumbledore. The half-giant hesitated for a moment, then said, "Er...'t's unnerstandable," and smiled.
The room relaxed perceptibly as the people sitting around the table seemed to let out their breath and nod. The instruments playing chamber music settled into a languid waltz. "Well, now that that's settled --" Professor Dumbledore withdrew his wand from his robes as he spoke. With a wave, the buffet was moved from the center of the room to one side. The two empty tables and remaining empty chairs in the room disappeared. Taking this in, Hagrid dropped the set of straps he'd been holding onto the floor next to his chair. He stood up and asked Madame Maxime to dance. Smiling, she took his hand, and the two went to the center of the room, waltzing slowly to the music.
Professor Dumbledore settled into one of the vacated chairs with a conspiratorial smile. "It's not often that either of them get a dance floor entirely to themselves," he said. Then he looked around the hall in concern, seemingly noticing who was -- and wasn't -- in the room for the first time. An expression crossed his face so fast that Harry couldn't clearly make it out. "Well, first things first." Turning to Professor McGonagall, he said softly, so as not to be overheard by the dancers, "I take it Mr. Lupin is well and has control of his mind?"
Startled for a moment, she nodded. "He has completed his transformation, and is spending the night in an empty bedroom in Gryffindor Tower."
"I see. And our other absent friends?" An awkward silence stretched after Dumbledore's question. Finally, Harry took a deep breath and spoke up, causing those sitting around him to start in mild surprise. He gave a rather more respectful account of the events than had been given by Sirius.
"Oh dear," Dumbledore said, almost to himself, when Harry finished. He shook his head sadly. "Well, it is better that something like this happen now rather than later."
"P-Professor?" Ron asked. When Dumbledore turned to face the young wizard, Ron looked down for a moment, as if gathering his courage. Looking back up, he continued, "You haven't changed your mind about Ter--Professor Weasley, have you?"
Harry looked at Ron, and nodded, including himself in the question. Please don't fire her, Harry thought, I don't think I could stand having Snape for Potions this term -- not after getting my hopes up!
Dumbledore looked thoughtfully for a moment at Ron, as if trying to figure out what he meant. Then his eyes widened. "Oh heavens no!" he insisted, shaking his head. "Whatever gave you that idea?" With a twinkle in his eyes, he added, "Normally, I would not permit any student to be privy to the process that goes into choosing to hire -- or dismiss -- any teacher. But I will tell you this, Weasley: if I fired staff members for committing social faux pas, I'm afraid I'd have to start with myself."
Harry and Ron relaxed visibly at this news, while Dumbledore withdrew his pocket watch from his robes. He frowned as he consulted the device, then turned to McGonagall, who was standing nearby. "Give it another quarter of an hour, Minerva; if Arthur doesn't return with Professor Weasley by then, we'd best send out Dobby to find her -- he already knows what she looks like."
Snuffles barked softly at that comment; Harry, who was sitting next to him, started. For a second, the boy wizard felt several sets of eyes on him, as if his overly tense reactions were being noted. But that lasted only for a second; the big black dog had drawn attention not just by barking, but by walking over to the headmaster, putting his front paws in the old wizard's lap, and wagging his tail. It was clear to anyone who knew Snuffles' true nature that he was volunteering to look for the missing witch.
Dumbledore shook his head at the Animagi, a gentle but firm expression on his face. "Harry doesn't get to see you enough as it is, in either form," he whispered, glancing up to make sure Hagrid and Madame Maxime were still far enough away not to hear him over the music. "And once the Order of the Phoenix is fully activated, that will only get worse, not better." Easing the paws off his lap, he added, "Enjoy the time you have now. Indeed, if you give me a few minutes, I believe I can extend that into tomorrow. That is, if young Potter here would not mind staying at Hogwarts overnight?"
Harry looked from his godfather to Dumbledore and beamed. With the possible exception of the Burrow, he couldn't think of anywhere he'd rather spend the night.
* * * * * * *
Terri dashed blindly from the Great Hall, not watching where she went, nor how many corridors or stairways crossed her path. Several minutes passed before she realized the stupidity of her actions. Hogwarts, A History listed the number of stairways in the castle (144) among other trivia, but it contained no real floor plan. With a chill, the young witch remembered a trip to California some years previous. when she took a tour of the Winchester House. The guide had urged the group to stay together at the start of the 160-room tour -- because it could literally take hours to find anyone that became lost. Looking at her dark, chilly surroundings in dismay, she thought, If a Muggle could do that, Hogwarts must be worse -- it was built by four wizards!
Don't panic, she told herself sternly. Taking several deep, steadying breaths, she forced herself to think. She needed to figure out where she was. If it was too dark to tell, well, she could solve that problem. Raising her right hand, she extended her pinky, focused, and whispered "Lumos." A beam of light emerged. Okay, now what? she thought. While one part of her brain randomly noted that it might be useful to learn a lot more spells sans wand -- and not matched to any particular finger, as Gavin had been nudging her to do -- another part dealt with the more immediate issue of trying to figure out her location in the castle.
It took another minute of circling the area for Terri to orient herself -- but when she did, she chortled. She'd gone to the dungeons, and now stood directly outside the classroom in which Snape had administered her test. She shook her head at the irony. Like a criminal returning to the scene of the crime, she thought, shuddering. What a fraud I am! Can't even get through a simple party without ruffling feathers left and right; what makes me think I can teach over here? She wondered painfully if being fired before teaching any classes at all would set a new record.
"Berry merry Terri!" came a singsong voice Terri was beginning to know and hate all too well. Peeves popped into existence in the air above and in front of Terri, the only colorful thing in this colorless area.
At least he's not holding anything to throw at me, she thought. Remembering that that could change instantly, she drew her wand. "Shove off, Peeves," she said. Her voice echoed down the hallway.
The poltergeist stuck his tongue out at her. "Not going anywhere!" Then he tilted his head, looking at her thoughtfully for a second. "Losty wosty, Terri werry?" he asked. Then, most infuriatingly, he giggled. "Wrong way Weasley! Wrong way Weasley!" He bounced up and down as he said it, as if thinking it was the best joke he'd heard all day. "Follow me, Terri werry, I'll get you unlost!"
"Sure, like I'm fool enough to trust a poltergeist!" Terri shouted, louder than before. "Just go away, Peeves!"
"Oh you're no fun anymore!" Peeves ended his silliness with a very loud rasberry and popped out as suddenly as he'd popped in. Terri sighed in relief. So preoccupied had she been with the whimsical spirit that she didn't hear the footsteps approaching.
"Terri? Terri!" It was Arthur Weasley.
"O-over here," Terri hesitantly replied. The footsteps came closer, until the young witch saw her cousin, holding aloft a lumos-lit wand.
"Ah, there you are." Mr. Weasley smiled, then held out his hand to her. "Come along, then. We were afraid you might get lost."
Terri looked down at his hand, then back to his smiling, open face, and sighed. "Yeah, I guess I'd better go face the music."
Mr. Weasley lowered his brows and frowned, clearly puzzled. "`Face the music'? Whatever do you mean?"
Terri rolled her eyes and took a quick glance at her surroundings before answering. Even the light from her cousin's wand couldn't dispel the heaviness of the cold gray stone. Its oppressiveness suited her mood. "`Face the music' is an expression used when..."
"I know what `face the music' means!" It was Mr. Weasley's turn to roll his eyes. "I just don't know what, eh, `music' you think you're going to be facing."
"Isn't it obvious?" Terri shrugged, her hands and arms in an open gesture. "There's no way the headmaster will keep a teacher who--"
"Stands up for the truth?" Mr. Weasley finished. Terri dropped her gaze to the floor, embarrassed. "I can't speak for the headmaster, of course, but if I were in his robes I'd treasure that sort of teacher like a precious jewel. It's a quality that's far too rare these days." Terri couldn't be sure, but she thought she might have heard her cousin add "especially at the Ministry" under his breath.
Terri met her cousin's eyes once more. "But what if it costs him an alliance? One he really needs?" I want to be an asset, not a liability, dang it! she thought
Mr. Weasley shook his head. "Never underestimate Professor Dumbledore," he said. "You haven't cost him his alliance with Madame Maxime...and Beauxbatons. You can put that worry out of your head. Now, let's get back to the Great Hall."
Oh sure, THIS time I haven't, Terri thought, as she began walking with the fatherly wizard. She sighed in frustration as their footsteps echoed down the corridor. "She's not the only one I managed to offend tonight, she's just the most obvious. I can't seem to avoid putting my foot in things. I should tell Dumbledore I've changed my mind, I can't --"
"Hold it right there." Mr. Weasley tapped Terri on the shoulder; they stopped short, turning to face each other. "`I can't' are two of the most fatal words in the English language. I always thought you Yankees were forbidden to use them; doesn't `American' end with `I can'?"
Terri smiled -- and snorted. At her cousin's searching look, she said, "Oh yes. In my case, it's more like `I can offend everyone in sight.'"
Mr. Weasley frowned thoughtfully, then shrugged. "It is always a good idea to play to your strengths," he deadpanned.
Terri snorted again. Great. Maybe they should sign me up on the other side; I'll insult all the Deatheaters and get them to leave Voldemort. When she looked at Mr. Weasley, he was shaking his head, a faintly amused smile forming on his face. And he thinks this is funny?!
Half to himself, Mr. Weasley whispered, "You remind me so much of..." he trailed off. "Well. We do need to go back to the Great Hall; let me tell you a story on the way."
"Okay," Terri said, her glum mood coming out in her voice.
"I think you'll like this one," Mr. Weasley insisted, misinterpreting her tone of voice. He took a deep breath, looked thoughtful for a moment, then began. "Right. I was starting my third year at Hogwarts, so it must have been -- how many years ago?" He furrowed his brow for a couple of seconds, then made a dismissive gesture. "Well, that's not important. I was very excited about it, because it meant I'd be starting up with Muggle Studies." He grinned, and became more animated. "I grew up in Hogsmeade, you see, so I really didn't have any contact with Muggles -- read everything I could get my hands on about them, though." His eyes shone. "And now I'd finally begin my formal study! I thought surely my teacher knew all sorts of things about Muggles that I'd never heard of before -- just how did they cope without magic? I even dared to hope that I'd get a Muggle-born teacher who could explain it all from actual experience!"
"And did you?" asked Terri, growing interested despite herself.
"Alas, no." His expression clouded. "In fact, he was a pureblood. And I remember quite clearly his opening lecture: `This year you will all begin learning what it is like to live without magic, and how Muggles cope with the lack of this gift. You will learn how they cook, how they stay informed of news, how they communicate with each other, and especially the non-magically-powered ways they use to get around: trains, yes, but also boats, automobiles, aerocars..."
"Aerocars?!" Terri exclaimed.
"Yes." Mr. Weasley nodded, a faint smile on his face. "And that's about how I reacted, too. `Is there something wrong, Mr. Weasley?' the teacher asked at my outburst. Well, after a bit of stuttering, and the teacher's, ah, impatient insistence, I finally said that I thought he must have meant `aeroplane,' not `aerocar.' He insisted that, no, he meant `aerocar,' and that I was in error." Mr. Weasley's smile widened. "Godric must have had his hand on my shoulder that day, because I insisted that no, he must have meant `aeroplane,' because I was fairly sure there was no such thing as an `aerocar' -- Muggles didn't have the magic to make automobiles fly."
"That must have made him upset," Terri observed.
"Yes indeed," Mr. Weasley agreed, shaking his head. "He immediately took 25 points from Gryffindor and awarded me a detention." A bit distractedly, he added, "I think I shall remember the exact shade of reddish-purple his face turned for as long as I live." Turning back to Terri, he continued, "Naturally I was horrified. Here I was, the first day of a class I had been looking forward to for years, and I'd committed a major disaster in the first five minutes."
"Oh my. What did you do?" Terri asked sympathetically. She could easily see that her cousin was trying to cheer her up with a story about a time he'd committed a worse faux pas, but she sensed there was more to it than that.
"I don't remember how I got through the rest of the class," Mr. Weasley sighed. "But somehow I did. When I got word that very day at lunch that I'd be serving detention that evening, I felt relieved -- I thought, as long as it wasn't with this teacher, I'd be fine." He paused, again smiling in amusement. "I learned to be careful for what I wish. It wasn't with my Muggle Studies teacher, all right. No, I'd be serving my detention with the headmaster -- Professor Dumbledore."
"Oh." Terri looked at him, not quite certain she'd grasped the problem.
Mr. Weasley seemed to understand. "Picture a 13-year-old boy, eager to excel, having just lost 25 points for his house in the subject he figured he'd do best, having to serve a detention with the head of the school. Professor Dumbledore had been promoted fairly recently at that time, and he was -- well, he was breaking a sort of unspoken tradition: headmasters do not request students to serve detention under them."
"So -- you felt as if he was singling you out?" Terri asked.
Mr. Weasley nodded. "Oh yes, but it was much more than that!" He looked embarrassed. "I was in awe of Professor Dumbledore -- it hadn't been, what? More than 20 years since he'd defeated Grindelwald?" He shook his head. "And truth to tell, I was a bit afraid of him." He blushed. "I never was very good at Transfiguration, you see, and that was what he taught before taking on the post of headmaster, so --"
"So you thought he'd have it in for you from the start?" Terri prompted.
"Exactly," Mr. Weasley agreed, raising his finger while he made the point. With an ironic smile, he added, "Of course, at the tender age of 13, I hadn't yet learned that things often don't turn out the way you expect them to."
"So...what happened? What did you have to do?" Terri asked.
Mr. Weasley looked thoughtful for a moment. "You've been in Dumbledore's office, yes?" At Terri's nod, he continued, "Then you've seen his book collection -- or, more precisely, as I learned that day, the merest fraction of his book collection."
Terri's eyes widened. She had indeed seen the headmaster's book collection; had she not been so nervous and busy during her interview, she would have lusted after it most eagerly. Now, to be told that it was "the merest fraction of his book collection"...!
"Hard to believe, I know, but true," said Mr. Weasley, reading her thoughts. "And my detention task...was to dust his book collection. All of it. Or as much of it as I could finish in two hours." The older wizard shook his head. "I lost track of the number of different languages in which those books were written. But anyway," he said, returning to the main topic, "Professor Dumbledore was there the whole time. After watching me for a while, he asked me a question."
"Whether you understood why you were serving detention?" Terri guessed.
"No, that came later," Mr. Weasley said, making a dismissive gesture. "He said that, as headmaster and a former Gryffindor, he wanted to make sure that we were learning the things that were important to our house." Mr. Weasley took a deep breath, giving his next words extra weight. "So he asked me, `Mr. Weasley, please tell me what it means to be a Gryffindor.'"
by Terri Wells
giants and humans...but I waz miztaken. I should not have been zo...emphatic. It wasn't...necessaire."
