Chapter Four - Introductions

July 2, 2001 4:30 PM - 6:00 PM

"Wha...?" Terri's jaw dropped, and stayed open. This wasn't possible; her father had TOLD her that all of her relatives on his side were Muggles, that he didn't have all that many living relatives anyway, and that she was certainly the first person on either side of the family to show any sign of magical talent whatsoever. And her dad certainly didn't speak in the smooth British tones of the man standing in front of her!

"I told you she'd be surprised." Deidre grinned, and gave Terri's shoulder a squeeze. That broke the spell.

"This isn't possible," she got out, in a voice that sounded almost normal. "My dad's a Muggle; he said all his family's Muggles..." she trailed off, still amazed.

"Oh, that." Arthur Weasley lowered his hand, and frowned. His eyes looked into the distance for a moment. "Yes, I suppose Edward would do that." He returned his attention to Terri, who was still trying to figure out how Mr. Weasley knew her father's name. "Please, if you'll have a seat, I think I can straighten all this out for you."

He gestured to a six foot long table set up in the middle of the hall and covered with a white tablecloth. As Deidre guided her over to the table, she noticed a couple of small platters heaped with pastries and tea sandwiches; a large teapot, and three china cups and saucers (two used); three small plates (again, two used); and a large leatherbound book, of the sort commonly used for photo albums. After settling her into the chair (and why were school chairs in cafeterias always so uncomfortable?), Deidre poured Terri a cup of tea. Terri looked up into the face of her still-grinning roommate.

"You," she said, slowly and distinctly, "are enjoying this entirely too much."

Deidre's grin widened. "Ha! Think of it as revenge for telling me about witches and wizards. Now listen to what the nice man has to say, okay?" She refilled her own teacup, held the pot speculatively over Mr. Weasley's cup, then set it back in its place when he waved it away. She sat down herself, eyes focused on Terri, as if in anticipation of an excellent show.

Mr. Weasley picked up the book somewhat hesitantly. "I brought this along, because I thought you might want to see...I mean, we've been out of touch--Edward's choice, really, and I can't say as I blame him..." He pursed his lips, then looked at Terri. "Have you ever seen pictures of your father when he was -- younger?"

"I've seen Dad's wedding pictures," Terri replied. So I was right, that is a photo album. "He looked...rather different then." She took a careful sip of tea to hide an amused smile. Her father had been less than 20 when he and her mother had married; tall and skinny, he'd looked rather like a red-headed version of Bowser from the retro singing group Sha Na Na. She was quite certain he'd more than doubled his weight since then.

"We all looked rather different then," Mr. Weasley conceded ruefully. "Well, then, you should be able to recognize him here..." He handed her the book.

It was a wizardly photo album, of course, which meant the pictures moved. They looked like they were from a family gathering...a wedding? No, an anniversary; there was the cake. Arthur Weasley's parents, from the look of it...and everyone having a great time. Several adults dancing; one getting a glass of wine spilled over his head...her dad wasn't on the first page, nor the second, nor the third. But she stopped dead at a group shot on the fourth.

"Ah, there. Do you see him? In the back, second from the left..." She DID see him. The man next to him--Arthur Weasley himself, unless she was mistaken--was covering his mouth in an effort to keep from cracking up, and failing miserably. From her father's expression and hand gestures, Terri guessed that he'd just gotten to the punchline of a particularly involved joke. Dad always was a pistol at parties, she reflected, and rolled her eyes.

She paged through, and saw more pictures--Dad dancing, offering congratulations, Dad with...Grandma? She wasn't sure, he'd said both his parents had died before she was born...even a shot of Dad with her mother -- well, her mom and dad must only have been engaged at the time. She noticed that her mom looked distinctly uncomfortable in the photo, and rubbed her chin thoughtfully.

"Is that why Dad never told me? Because Mom didn't want me to know?" she asked, pointing to the photo.

"Not entirely," Arthur replied. He glanced down at the picture; from his angle, the couple would be upside down. He drummed his fingers on top of the page with the air of someone trying to find the right words. "Errr...your father is a Squib. Do you know what that means?"

"Erm...I've heard the word. It's like the opposite of a mud--er, a Muggle-born wizard, right?" She saw his face darken as she started to say `mudblood,' and caught herself just in time. Oops, I've got to remember that's an insult over here. She helped herself to a couple of finger sandwiches, firmly resolved that she'd have to learn the customs and the language if she expected to last. If she got the position...

"Sort of. A Squib is someone born into a wizarding family but unable to do magic." Mr. Weasley gestured again to the picture. "Your dad liked to be the center of attention, and he was quite ambitious, too; but he knew he wouldn't get as far as he wanted to in a world where he'd be, effectively, err..." He shrugged and let his hand drop.

Terri nodded. This sounded like the dad she knew, all right. "So he married a Muggle woman, turned his back on the wizardly world, and hoped like hell--pardon me--that I wouldn't turn out to have the talent." Lovely, Terri thought, did you want to determine my future for me, Dad? She took a furious bite out of one of the tea sandwiches. It was a cucumber sandwich, and crunched in a most satisfying manner.

"I think he wanted to forget it was possible that you would," said Mr. Weasley gently.

"But why--" she stopped, wiped her mouth, swallowed hard, and washed it down with some tea. "Why, after I got my letter from Salem, didn't he tell me about all of you THEN?" Terri asked, gesturing at the open photo album.

Mr. Weasley took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I don't read minds," he confessed. "But I think he was scared."

"Scared? Of me?" Terri scoffed.

"No. Scared for you." Their eyes met, and Mr. Weasley's brows drew down. "We'd sent him owls periodically, trying to keep in touch -- and not too long after you were born, we sent him one about...You-know-who." It took Terri a moment to understand he was referring to Lord Voldemort; Deidre still looked somewhat blank.

"He wouldn't tell me who You-know-who was," Deidre said peevishly, glaring at Mr. Weasley.

"Later," said Terri, waving off her friend as one would wave off a mosquito. "So he knew about...all that?"

Mr. Weasley nodded. "And with your mother being a Muggle...well, he had good reason to make sure you wouldn't develop any curiosity about your cousins across the pond, don't you think?" He raised his eyebrows at her, posing the question with his face as well as his words.

And I just bet this man is a father, too, she thought sourly. Too protective of their daughters, the whole lot of them. But she had to admit he had a point. And given what she'd heard later about Lord Voldemort's reign of terror...well, she supposed her dad would have done a lot more to protect her from that, if the Dark Mage had made it to America. She chuckled, and held out her hand.

"Well, he only succeeded in delaying my curiosity a couple of decades," she said. Mr. Weasley grinned, and shook her hand. "And from the looks of it, I've got a lot of catching up to do!"

Indeed she did. She'd guessed right about Mr. Weasley; he cheerfully took his wallet out from a pocket in his robes and showed her pictures of his wife and all seven (!) of their children -- four of whom, if she got the position, she would be teaching. Terri naturally had a ton of questions, which he did his best to answer. Arthur, as he asked her to call him, had some of his own. He'd never been to the US, though he'd contemplated moving there once or twice. "For professional reasons," he explained. "I've heard how busy the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office is in the States, so I thought there might be some room for advancement...but, well," he looked a bit shy, "Molly and I thought it'd be best not to take the kids out of school; and when You-Know-Who built up his power...we decided to stay and fight." Here he looked Terri right in the eyes, and she smiled. After all, she thought, it's not only Americans who believe their way of life is worth fighting for.

"You keep talking about this You-Know-Who," Deidre cut in, her voice dripping with irritation. "I don't know who; I wish you'd tell me who You-Know-Who IS!"

"Lord Voldemort," Terri replied automatically. Arthur winced.

Noticing his reaction, Deidre's eyes widened.

"Oh come on, was he that bad? I mean, how can you wince from someone just saying someone's NAME?!"

Terri rolled her eyes--not for the first time--at her friend's utter lack of tact. But at least she had a counterexample. Facing Deidre directly, she said, "Adolf Hitler." Deidre flinched.

"Okay, okay, point made," she said, holding up her hands in surrender. "But I'll be he didn't march six million wizards off to concentration camps!"

"I'm not sure there are six million wizards and witches in the entire world," Arthur said thoughtfully. "And if there aren't, the Dark Lord is one of the reasons why."

Having lived through those times, Arthur told Deidre what it was like in the UK during Voldemort's rise to power. She listened wide-eyed in horrified fascination. So did Terri. While Arthur's account matched much of what she'd heard from Gavin, her old teacher had left England at the beginning of the worst time of Voldemort's reign. Arthur -- and his family -- had stayed for the entire time. They'd lost close friends, and other family members. He paused in telling his story long enough to close the photo album. "It was...a little hard for me to take this out again," he confessed. "About half of the people in this album aren't alive anymore."

Terri looked down at the closed album. And now he's back, she thought. She wouldn't take back a single word she'd said in the interview upstairs...but she wondered, yet again, what she'd gotten herself into.

Arthur quickly pulled himself back together. "Well, now," he said, with a nod to Deidre, "you can consider that at least a partial payment for answering all my Muggle questions!" He turned to Terri and admitted, "Molly and the kids think I'm daft, because I'm so interested in Muggles and the way they do things, but--"

"Sorry to interrupt," said a voice from the doorway. Terri turned, and saw Professor Dumbledore with a pale black-haired man she'd never seen before. Gesturing to the stranger, he continued, "Miss Weasley, may I present Professor Severus Snape, our Potions Master."

Terri stiffened at the name. She recognized it...from the Hogwarts stories told to her in Florida by a certain other dark-haired wizard of her acquaintance. He and Snape had gone to school together, and about the most complimentary thing he'd called Snape was "greasy-haired git." From the looks of the professor's hair, that much at least had not changed. She sincerely hoped that wasn't true of his personality, but rather suspected otherwise. She stood up, nearly knocking over her chair. The clumsy act clearly didn't endear her to Professor Snape, who looked down his hawkish nose at her with both disapproval and impatience.

She decided to brazen it out; what else could she do? Taking a deep breath, she walked over to the potions master and held out her hand. "I'm pleased to meet you, Professor Snape," she said politely.

Snape glanced briefly from the table to her face, but did not take her hand. "I sincerely hope that you are less clumsy with potions than you are with chairs, Miss Weasley," he said in a silky but nasal voice that cut her to the bone.

Terri opened her mouth to protest, but Dumbledore cut in just then. "Perhaps you'd like to continue the interview in your office," he said. It was not a question, and Dumbledore's tone brooked no argument -- but she had the strangest feeling that he was addressing both of them, even when he said "your office."

Snape's lips curled into a predatory smile. "Nothing would please me more, Headmaster," he said.

Terri schooled her face into a mask, and managed a Mona Lisa smile of her own. Inside, though, she knew what Daniel must have felt shortly before being thrown to the lions -- or would have felt, without his leap of faith. Lord and Lady, help me, she thought.

"Very good." Dumbledore nodded at both of them. Terri found reassurance in his twinkling blue eyes. "I'll join you later. But now --" he turned to Deidre and Mr. Weasley. "I believe I'll have a spot of tea." So saying, he joined the two at the table, while Terri followed the imposing Potions Master to the dungeons.

"The brewing of potions is a subtle art, Miss Weasley," said Snape as they traveled down a dank staircase. "It is not as dramatic as Transfiguration, nor does it call for the wand-waving one often sees for Charms." He paused at the bottom, and turned to face her. "For that reason, perhaps, it, and its practitioners, are frequently...underestimated."

Snape's glower told Terri exactly what he thought of those who dared to underestimate the art or its artists. My, we wouldn't be bitter now, would we? she wondered sarcastically. Aloud, she said, "I'm quite aware of the dangers inherent in that attitude, Professor." And I've got the scars to prove it, she thought.

"Really?" Snape said, one eyebrow raised. Clearly, he didn't believe her, or didn't want her to think he believed her. "I would advise you, then, to keep those dangers in mind." So saying, he turned and walked down the torchlit corridor while Terri followed in his wake.

They passed several dark, windowless classrooms before arriving at Snape's office. Terri's nose wrinkled at the aroma, composed of a certain mustiness with a patent chemical undertone. The potions master settled behind his desk, and gestured to a chair. Terri sat. She spared the unlabeled jars full of once-living items a quick glance before Snape's voice drew her attention.

"Teaching potions is a rare privilege," he said coldly. "Not many instructors possess the comprehensive knowledge of the field -- and fewer still are capable of passing along that knowledge to the sorts of dunderheaded students who mistake potions brewing for home economics." He glared at Terri, and leaned forward. "I doubt you are a member of that rare breed, Miss Weasley -- but desperate times call for desperate measures." Terri saw his hand start to move toward a small book on his desk, then stop abruptly. She couldn't make out the title; only that it was red, and about the size of a mini-cassette recorder. "For the sake of my students," he continued, "I mean to make certain that you are at least familiar enough with the field, for example,--" he reached up to some shelves behind his desk and took down one of the unlabeled jars "to recognize such...common potion ingredients as this one."

"Crocodile brain," Terri replied, barely glancing at the jar's contents. "Useful for potions meant to induce suspended animation." And hardly as common as you imply, Terri thought.

For the next hour, the potions master made Terri identify the contents of the unlabeled jars in his office, along with their uses. She missed two; both times, Snape responded with a sneering grin and a withering comment on her ability. The first time, she tried to point out that the coloring was wrong.

"The last time I saw preserved dragon's intestines, it was green, not grey," Terri said, tapping the jar with her forefinger. "These look improperly preserved."

Snape's brows knit together; a stormcloud seemed to form on his face. "They are not improperly preserved, Miss Weasley, since I bottled them myself. And even if they were," he continued, "you should be able to recognize them regardless of their state of decomposition."

Terri's mouth dropped open. "But--"

"But what?" Snape snapped. He walked around his desk and loomed over her. She started to stand up, but he leaned into her, his glare practically pinning her to her seat. "Perhaps a...lesser standard is acceptable where you come from," he continued silkily. "However, you must do better if you plan to teach at Hogwarts...even under the terms arranged by the headmaster to...accomodate your doctoral project."

Terms? What terms? Terri wondered. She did not recall Professor Dumbledore discussing any particular special terms with her, and had assumed that the issue would come up when she was approved by Professor Snape -- though that was beginning to look more and more like an "if" rather than a "when."

The second mistake also involved dragons. She mistook dragon hide from a Common Welsh Green for dragon hide from an Appalachian Green Widesnout. By this time, she had been putting up with Snape's oh-so-superior attitude for an hour, and had had quite enough of holding her tongue. He'd never approve me anyway, she thought, so why should I put up with this any longer?

"You know," she said, throwing caution -- and, she figured, her chances of pursuing a doctoral project at Hogwarts -- to the winds, "this is as easy as mistaking fur from a full-sized black poodle for fur from a miniature black poodle...not that I'd expect someone like you to know anything about poodles."

Snape froze, then locked eyes with her. He opened his mouth, closed it, and slowly began turning red. Oh my, she realized, he really DOESN'T know what a poodle is...and he doesn't even know whether to be insulted!

"Be that as it may, Miss Weasley," Snape ground out, "you should clearly have been able to tell that this piece of dragon hide--" he slapped the top of the jar "was from a Common Welsh Green, purely from the evidence of your situation."

Terri stood up, hands on hips, and snorted. "What evidence, pray tell?"

Snape recoiled as if slapped. "The evidence of geography -- or do they not teach that where you come from?" Again, he leaned forward -- but it was from the other side of his desk, and Terri did not back down. "This is the United Kingdom, not the United States," Snape informed her. "Since it is far easier to find Common Welsh Greens than Appalachian Widesnouts here, you should have logically concluded--"

"That you got the dragonhide from the same source you got the crocodile brain," she interrupted. "Or did you not know that BOTH of those are native to the United States?!"

"Point to Miss Weasley," said a soft voice from the doorway. Snape looked up, and Terri spun, nearly catching her robes on the chair. Professor Dumbledore stood in the office doorway. Terri would have sworn he wasn't there a second ago...but he appeared to have been standing there for some time. He locked eyes with Snape, and frowned. "That will do, Severus." He sighed, and moved to Snape's desk. "Did you hear nothing of the speech I made at the Leaving Feast? I don't usually give fancy speeches just to hear myself talk."

Professor Snape lowered his head a fraction of an inch...and broke the gaze. Terri supposed that it was as close as the potions master ever came to looking embarrassed...or ashamed. "I heard it, Headmaster," he said quietly. He lifted his head again, one hand clenching into a fist. "But there ARE limits. My students --"

"Will still see you once a month, as we agreed, so you may check on their progress," Dumbledore insisted. He shook his head, and the corners of his mouth twitched. "Severus, do you trust me so little as to believe I would bring in a candidate who could not do the job?"

Terri edged sideways away from the desk, hoping to make a discreet exit from the office. Though the two wizards were talking about her, they seemed to have forgotten she was there...which made her feel unpleasantly as if she were eavesdropping. There--don't bump the shelves--just a little further--then through the doorway--

"Miss Weasley!" Snape's exclamation startled Terri into bumping her left hip very hard against one of the solid oak bookshelves. In truth, the spot that connected with the shelves was slightly below her left hip...and, from the feel of it, was not entirely flesh. Tell me that crunch was bone, she thought, or the shelf itself--anything but-- "Have you any teaching experience?" Snape asked briskly.

Terri swallowed. "I've trained other editors at my workplace," she said. "I've also taught a number of subjects in more informal settings--to all ages."

"Who was your potions instructor?" Snape persisted.

Gad, didn't he read my curriculum vitae? Terri wondered. On the other hand, at least he's now asking the kinds of questions I expected him to ask. "Gavin Bones," Terri replied. "Currently Professor of Charms at Salem."

Snape's eyes widened, and Dumbledore smiled. "You do remember his father, yes?" he said to Snape.

"Of course I do," Snape said, clipping each word. He took a deep breath, let it out, and slowly unclenched his fist. Turning to Terri, he said, "I still want to test your knowledge of potions...and your teaching ability." He spared a glance to the headmaster, who had pointedly taken out a large pocket-watch. "I assume you would be willing to take a three-hour practical tomorrow morning, yes?" The nasty smile began to creep back onto his face.

But it was Terri's turn to give Snape a predatory grin. I always do my best work in the morning--and jet lag be damned, she thought. Aloud, she said, "Bring it on."