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At Last
Author: Harry Potter
Date: 01-09-13 18:50
Kingsley had taken so long in deciding whether to allow Harry to have a face-to-face with Peter Pettigrew, Harry had just about concluded that Kingsley had either forgotten or was deliberately stringing him along. He thought the latter more likely. As each day passed Harry was faced with the conundrum of saying nothing more while waiting (not so very) patiently or again bringing the matter to Shacklebolt's attention, once more risking the Minister's wrath in the process.
This morning Harry had been in his cubicle wrapping up some paperwork on a case Amity DeBlieux and he had just closed when a summons to appear in Shacklebolt's office fly in and landed in the middle of his desk. As the summons was for five minutes from then, he'd not wasted any time getting from his cubicle to the Minister of Magic's office. Thankfully, Kingsley had not kept him waiting for long and then had gotten straight to the point, handing Harry a slip of parchment with an address written on it. "You may see Pettigrew tonight starting at
7. You may have until 10. If you need more time than that, too bad."
Hoping he doesn't need three hours or more for questioning Pettigrew, Harry hadn't protested the time limit. He'd simply accepted the parchment with a thank you then promptly left. Knowing how badly Harry's been wanting, perhaps even needing, to speak with Peter Pettigrew, Ginny did not say anything negative about Harry going off after being home for only a short time. The address he'd been given could only be reached from a specific Floo conduit at the Ministry so Harry had returned there, immediately leaving via the required Floo,
arriving at the address a few minutes before 7 pm.
After an initial exchange of stilted pleasantries, during which
Pettigrew stated he wished the Ministry had never found out about him because he much preferred staying at that Muggle house Harry had arranged with its fantastic contraption called the telly. Once ensconced in fairly comfortable room, Peter's minders in a different location to give the two of them the privacy to talk that Harry requested, he'd produced a list of questions he thought would be a good starting off point.
"Now you've had some time, can you tell me anything more about the source of the fear that caused you to seek me out?"
Absentmindedly scratching his nose as he thought for a moment
Pettigrew replied, "Not the actual source, no. I do remember You-Know-Who saying something years back about a spiritual child. Dunno what that meant and he wasn't in a mood then for me to ask."
"Spiritual child?" That was not even in the realm of possibilities that had crossed Harry's mind.
"Let me think... If I remember right, his exact words were 'she's turned out more perfectly than I expected.' I took it he was referring to another of his projects from way back, like the Project 25ers."
"You didn't know about them until he had them make an appearance, did you?"
"No, he never even hinted about any of that."
"When you did find out, did he ever refer to any of them as his
spiritual child?"
"Not that I recall."
By that time Harry was kicking himself for not having thought to check out a pensieve from the Ministry. Nothing he could do about it at that point as he doubts trying to summon one would work so he pressed on. "Okay, so this spiritual child could be someone else or might be a Project 25er. If someone else, would you think the control or connection to this person, this female, was similar to the control he had over the Project 25ers?"
"Dunno. Definitely possible."
"Did he ever reference other experiments you would have asked more about if given the opportunity?"
"He would say things from time to time, hint he had other things brewing but he never filled me in on any. He did once show me a book that aided him with his experiments. It was old, foreign title. German or some other Germanic language if I remember right."
"I know it's been a long time but can you remember anything about the title?"
Pettigrew had shaken his head, "Not really. I think titled translated to something like Old Silver. No, that's not right. Hidden Silver? Hmmm. What is that word? Arcane." He snapped his fingers. "That's it. Arcane Silver."
Harry had quizzed Peter about everything the man could remember about the book. He'd asked him more of the questions from his list, often going off on a tangent line of questioning based on Pettigrew's responses. Before they knew it, one of the minders was sticking his head into the room to announce, "Time's up."
Harry couldn't believe the three hours had gone by that quickly. At least he felt he had something to work with, maybe enough that with some time and research, he'll be able to convince Kingsley to give him another session with Pettigrew, one to which he'd definitely bring a pensieve. Thanking Pettigrew for his time and for putting up with all the questions, Harry took his leave. Once home again, he'd looked in on the sleeping Ginny, their dog passed out on the bed with her, then went to sit and review the questions and answers, putting together a list of information to research, starting with finding out what old tome has a German or Germanic title that translates to Arcane Silver.
Fancy Dress or Dress Robes?
Author: Valeria Mockridge
Date: 01-09-13 19:22
Valeria leaned back against the couch in the Slytherin Common Room, trying to ignore her two best friends. Petula was flipping through their History of Magic textbook, trying to find other ideas for who they could dress up as.
"What about Maladora Grymm? That would suit Valeria far too well," the brunette suggested.
"I am not dressing up as a hag, no matter how wicked she was," the blonde retorted.
"Fine, what about some of the medieval ones?" Petula asked.
Anton appeared to ne absorbed in his Astronomy text, and made no interceding comments. He merely eyed the two girls from time to time, amusement glimmering in his eyes.
"I don't know," Valeria said with a shrug. "Some of the medieval stuff could be fun. Anton could go as Merwyn the Malicious, there's Alberta Toothill, the deulist, but who would you go as, Pet?"
"I could go as Ignatia Wildsmith, the witch who invented Floo Powder," the brunette said. "Or Bridget Wenlock, who discovered the magical properties of the number seven."
"I'm not dressing up as some bleeding Medieval wizard, so put it out of your mind," Anton muttered.
"You could always wear dress robes," Petula said, raising an eyebrow. "Or one of those silly Muggle costumes some of the others were tittering about in the Common Commons."
"When were you in the Common Commons?" Valeria asked, giving her cousin an arch look. "I thought we'd agreed not to spend time there."
"I wasn't spending time, I wanted a snack and the others are always carrying around those sweets they get in there," Petula muttered, pouting slightly.
Valeria shook her head and glanced over at Anton before turning her attention back to her Potions reading.
"If only it was still the Pure-Bloods Only Common Room," Anton said wistfully.
"Unfortunately, we can't be so lucky," Valeria commiserated. "So will you dress up to shut Pet up? Or do I need to start looking for new hexes?"
Anton smirked, holding her gaze. "Only if I can be certain that you look as stupid as I do."
"Have you seen those headdresses? Trust me, we're both going to look ridiculous. But she'll be happy and will leave us alone until Christmas," she replied, her eyes sparking with a bit of mischief.
"Are you sure you don't want to be a hag?" he added, shutting his Astronomy book. "You'd look cute in a hooked nose."
"It might be easier to hide how ridiculous I look," Valeria muttered. "And she was evil enough that even Grandmother can't complain." Merope jumped up into her lap, the silver kitten stepping over to knead her paws on Anton's thigh before settling between the two.
Petula grinned, happy they'd made a decision. "Excellent. I'll write Mother and have her check the attics for anything that might be useful." After all, why buy something when odds were that at least one of them had clothing from the right time period in their attics?
(Professor Flint) Transfiguration Today
Author: Roger Bexley
Date: 01-10-13 13:04
Professor Flint sat hunched over his desk, poring over his notes. His robes (of a tweedy sort, and patched at the elbows) were gathered around his shoulders, lending him a very – or so he thought – brooding, scholarly air. His class of first years were assiduous in their studies; he believed that every class should be ended with quiet, reflective study of the texts he had chosen – to put to order the natural cacophony of those young minds. His students had, by and large, succeeded at their early attempts at practical Transfiguration. He had, however, tasked a few of them to practice 'Scribblifors' in their private study hours. Proper magical diction was something that could only be learned, he believed, through persistent repetition.
He stood up as the first of his class filed in (looking as reluctant as lambs led to slaughter, which went unobserved by the professor). He smiled genially, and nodded at a few of them.
Once the group had collected, and seated themselves at their desk, he turned to address the class.
"Good morning, students. I am very glad to see you all looking so bright and cheerful this morning – physical and mental energy are great friends of theoretical study. You may all let loose your boundless enthusiasm for our noble discipline shortly.
"Today we are about to delve into a branch of Transfiguration which has many practical applications in your day-to-day lives. In our last lesson, some of you learned the spell for changing a fork into a quill, and I trust the rest of you have practiced it enough to have mastered it. But to understand the delicacy of the craft, we must explore the theoretical workings of this powerful and useful line of magic." He paused to draw a formula on the board.
"Understanding this basic concept now will give you a most marked advantage with your future studies." He paused to look at the dazed faces of his class (which he interpreted as amazement), and smiled.
"Transfiguration is a very systematic and exact magical discipline, working best for the scientifically-inclined mind. There are a number of factors the high-minded practitioner must take into account when carrying out Transfiguration spells. The intended transformation (t) is directly influenced by bodyweight (a), viscosity (v), wand power (w), concentration (c) and a fifth variable, which we shall call '(Z)'. Yes, Miss McCourt?"
Sophie put her hand back down, looking sheepish. "Could you rephrase that, Professor?"
"Naturally. In effect, some of you struggled yesterday because you were not aware of the forces at work as you attempted to transform a fork into a quill. If you were aware of your bodyweight – and, I might add, all of you are a trifle undersized, due to your age – you may have compensated for the imbalance by adding more of the variable (c): concentration."
Professor Flint continued, certain that his students had grasped the concept. He explained that wand power (w) counted most when using another's wand, and would not, by and large, prove significant during their schooling (though he thought a practical lesson involving switching wands with a partner might be an enlightening and entertaining experiment). Viscosity (v) added extra difficulty into the equation, and must always be kept in mind when performing transfigurations.
As the class drew to a close, he cleared his throat. "And that brings to end our class this morning. I trust your minds have all been enlightened. I see great things from many of you." He stood up, beaming beatifically, as they filed past, looking tired, and very relieved.
"Very good work, Mr Quigley," he said to one of his favourite students, who seemed rather abashed as he walked past, and gave the professor a queer look. "Miss McCourt, very good to see you taking an active part in discussion. You might be interested in reading the monthly publication Transfiguration Today; Dumbledore himself – that great wizard," he said, tears filling his small, blue eyes, "was an avid reader himself, and had been since his Hogwarts years." He removed his spectacles and dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief. "I hope to see many of you achieve such greatness."
A Different Sort Of Pop Quiz
Author: Majandra
Date: 01-10-13 18:20
Promptly at 10:45, Majandra shut the door through which the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw first years had entered the Lower Years Potions classroom. A quick headcount reveals that Ollie Choate has not yet arrived but before Majandra asks where he might be Emily Murray volunteers, "Ollie Choate became sick during Charms so Professor Flitwick sent him to Madam Pomfrey."
"Thank you, Emily. Three points to Hufflepuff. You don't need to unpack anything today. What you do need to do is split into four roughly equal teams."
Puzzled looks along with a few students scrunching their faces in thought, trying to recall what's listed on the course syllabus for today or what might have been said at the end of class Tuesday greet Majandra as the boys and girls shuffle to gather into their four teams.
"Everyone's set?" The question is met by nods so Majandra waves her wand and four work stations on wheels roll into place across the front of the room. She points to the nearest cluster of students. "Right. You are the Purple team, go stand around your station there. You are the Grey team, there is your station. As you are all girls, you will be the Pink team. And you, you are the Orange."
When each group is at its work station Maj further instructs, "Line up. Each of you first in line will be given a task. When you have correctly completed that task to my satisfaction, you will move to the back of the line and the next person will move on to the next task, and so on." Another wave of her wand reveals the list of tasks. "Whichever team is the first to complete the list to my satisfaction wins. You will each get 10 points for your houses. Second place team receives 6 points each, third place gets 4 points each, and the last team, will earn 2 points each. Any questions?"
When no one asks anything, Majandra says, "All right then, ready... steady... go!"
The four first in line for their teams dash to grab arrowroot for dicing, their teammates urging them on.
(Ailbe: Snodgrass Manor) The Snodgrass Epidemic
Author: Roisin Rae McCray
Date: 01-11-13 05:00
Ailbe McCray walked along the streets. It was the first time he had left the estate since the murder of his brother. It was known he had hated journalists above everything and so in the past few months, he kept himself inside the Manor. Normally he would leave dear Cleona to take care of matters on his behalf. But this time called for him to leave his warm home - this time the Snodgrasses were involved. He hadn't the mind and heart to send his wife into the line of fire. The McCrays and Snodgrasses were firm rivals, dating back to an ancient feud. A feud that was forgotten. No matter, that was then and this was now - the Snodgrasses remain in Slytherin and as it seemed more recently, Ravenclaw. He could even remember his own schooldays, the little plans he would start in attempts to rid the world of Snodgrasses. And he knew for a fact that his enemy Snodgrass at the time plotted the same thing. Each generation on either side were raised to be hostile, that is, if it was necessary. And his plots as a child were just that; the enemies were always volatile toward everyone. And Ailbe was going to do his best to help their victims.
As he walked up to the front door he felt himself grumbling. He was about to knock on the door to his enemies' home. After he knocked once, he took out his pocket watch. By Merlin, he thought, I'll be late for tea with Cleona if this takes longer than it needs to.
Just as he was about to turn around the door opened. He looked down to the small House Elf; it was clearly treated poorly unlike the Elves in McCray service. This was yet another way to correctly state the McCrays were better than the Snodgrasses. While Ailbe did feel proud of this fact, he also felt sorry for the little creature. Simply because they are different and serve us, does it mean that we have the right to abuse them? He thought to himself. A question to be answered for another day.
"Is your master here?" Ailbe asked.
"Right this way, sir." The small creature replied, leading him into the estate.
It would be the first time he had entered the home of the enemy and he was happy with what he saw. It mus much smaller than his own McCray Manor and it was less luxurious in design. He knew full well that the Snodgrasses openly displayed their wealth which was a little less than to rival the McCrays. And yet their home seemed barren to him; while they flaunted their wealth publicly they kept their home absent of the riches they claimed to have. As the Elf led him throughout the estate he couldn't help but constantly think: Ha! Mine is better! A grand majority of his mind wanted to assume that they had lied and really were not as wealthy as they claimed. And yet he couldn't help but acknowledge the simple fact that they donated their funds to certain causes without discretion.
He was led into a small room made out to be a study. There a burlish looking man sat behind a quaint desk. The man looked up once and seemed to recognize Ailbe who took a few moments to realize the man's name. Charles it was: Charles Snodgrass and his Slytherin rival whilst attending Hogwarts. He felt sickened that a smile made it on the Snodgrass' face - clearly it was false for appearances sake as it always with the enemy.
"Ailbe." Charles spoke as he stood up and offered his counterpart his hand. "Ailbe McCray."
"Yes, you just said that." Ailbe replied. He was only in the Snodgrass presence for a few moments and already he was sick to his stomach. Reluctantly he took Charles' hand.
"What can I do for you?" Charles asked, sitting back down and ushering the moment's companion to the chair across from him.
Ailbe remained silent as he took the seat. He crossed his legs and neatly folded his hands on his lap, as he had often seen his mother do as a child. He was more like her than his father when it came to dealing with important matters. He huffed as he adjusted his coat before leaning back into the cushions. He opened his mouth to speak:
"I have heard something of a troublesome matter."
"Really, of what sort?" The Snodgrass asked as he leaned back in his chair. "And I assume that it was in fact Mr. Oswin who told you?"
"Naturally. Now onto the more pressing matters." Ailbe paused for a moment. What if he made matters worse by telling him of the matter? It certainly wouldn't do any good, should the Snodgrass becomes angry at the words. Nevertheless it must be done. "I hear that your eldest boy - Walter if I remember correctly - has been acting with certain indiscretions."
As soon as the words left Ailbe's mouth, he caught a glimpse of anger spring into the Snodgrass' eyes. Charles stood.
"If I remember you only have a daughter and a niece, not a son or a nephew. Walter is my son, Ailbe. You're here on behalf of my son when you have no need to be. I will take care of the dealings surrounding my family whose dealings are no concern of yours. Now please leave my manor."
Ailbe huffed as he stood, trying to push down his anger. He couldn't even touch up on the subject without infuriating the man. I guess I'll have to deal with this myself then. He thought to himself as he moved out of the study. He left Snodgrass Manor without the knowledge that upon his departure, Charles called for a House Elf. He gave the creature two simple words to form a command:
"Follow them."
Adelaide
Author: Nathaniel Ross
Date: 01-11-13 13:54
Your love's put me at the top of world…
"And that was Top of the World by The Carpenters. More music to come after the five o'clock news with Richard Fairbrother…"
With a sigh, Nate turned down the Muggle radio, and looked down at his empty tea cup, tempted to make a pause in his work to go and refill it. Sometimes his hand would still go to his pockets in search for his wand, so he could serve himself with more tea, but after so many attempts, Nate was finally used to the 'no wands' policy imposed at the Muggle Liaison Office.
He took his teacup in his hand, and, remembering old habits from his Divination classes, he tried to make a reading of the tea leaves. That little round shape on the corner looked a lot like a heart. And what was that right in the center? The letter 'J'?
Furiously, Nate shook the cup, unsettling the black leaves, rearranging the shapes. Now, they resembled something that looked a lot like an 'A'. He could not recall very well what happened during the last weekend at Hogsmeade, but for some reason Jenny Gabble had given him a kiss. She had also written him a letter, telling him about her week at Hogwarts, and asking him numerous questions about his job and his life.
Nate, who had never exchanged letters with any witches outside his family, was quite surprised by this. He still hadn't replied to Jenny yet, but he knew soon he must do so, to avoid seeming rude. Didn't Tim mention once that his sister was a very quiet girl without many friends? Perhaps she just wanted someone to write to outside her family.
After refilling his cup of tea, Nate went back to his desk, quickly glancing at the cuckoo clock that was one of Mr. Higgins' most beloved Muggle artifacts. Ha, Mr. Ross, he would say, the way the little bird moves and sings…Don't you think the Muggles captured its sound and movement perfectly? We couldn't have done better ourselves. Just marvelous..
There was still one hour to go home.
"Mr. Ross? Sorry to interrupt but they said to come to you…" Nate turned his head to see who was talking. "Nathaniel? You're Mr. Ross?! EW! Gross."
"Glad to see you too, Adelaide…" he replied.
In front of him was his house and year colleague, Adelaide Adams. Like him, she had been a prefect, and at times they used to hang out. There had been no rivalry between the two of them while they were at Hogwarts, and so he did not understand her reaction towards his person.
Adelaide heavily dropped a large bundle of files on his desk, and he took the change to study her. She hadn't changed much since the last time he saw her, although her brown hair was longer and the office clothes she was wearing, alongside her high heels, made her seem older, and in a surprising way, attractive.
"I work in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. It seems those files belong to your department and they were sent to ours by mistake. My chief told me to bring these to you," she pointed to the large volume of files. "I thought for a moment you were the head of the department…I wanted to cause a good impression. Instead here you are, just a mere assistant, like me. I should have guessed. You see, the environment at Magical Accidents and Catastrophes is very…well catastrophic. I want something more relaxing."
Adelaide glanced at Nate's cup of tea and to the radio with disdain, as if trying to prove a point. He quickly defended himself:
"It's not what it seems. We work very hard."
"It doesn't matter anyway. Just to think that I pictured you as this attractive chief…eww!"
"Wait…you were thinking of seducing me to get a position here?"
"Yes. I mean no. I thought Mr. Ross was someone else. Seducing you? Gross."
"Thank you. That was very nice of you."
"This is the working world, Nathaniel. Not school," she said with a superior look. "And for the record I still have a vivid image of your face covered with boils. So I would never try to seduce you, not in a million years. Make sure you take care of those files, will you? Have a good day."
Adelaide turned around and walked away from the office, her heels making an annoying 'clacking' sound on the wooden floor as her long brown hair waved with each step she took.
The Immoral Life of a Hogwarts Professor
Author: Marzipan
Date: 01-11-13 17:24
Marzi had been in her quarters for the last hour, reading picture books to Carter and Vallon, when Weston arrived home from work. He had told his wife all about his first meeting with his grandmother, Redberga Fawley, and been much enthusiastic about it, despite the fact that she had not been the grandmother of his imagination. Even with his mother's own description of the elderly witch, Weston had pictured in his mind a plump, jolly woman who pinched cheeks and baked pies. The real Redberga was skinny and all sharp angles––and sharp tongued. But, she had shown an interest in Weston and his family, which was more than anyone could have hoped for.
Marzi was happy for Weston, though she hoped that Redberga wouldn't disappoint him in the end.
She looked up at him from her position on the floor and smiled. "Welcome home."
Carter exclaimed, "Bah!", and winked both of his hands at Weston.
Vallon giggled.
Weston forced a smile on his face and set his briefcase and a copy of the Evening Prophet on the side table near the door. Then he knelt on the floor and tickled Carter and Vallon. The boys shrieked and kicked their legs and tried to use their tiny hands to force Weston's wriggling fingers from their bellies.
Marzi kept the smile on her face, though it had faded slightly when she'd realized that something was bothering Weston. She waited for Weston to finish his tickling attack on the boys and then asked, "What's wrong?"
Weston scooped Vallon up, stood, and gently slung him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Vallon giggled wildly. Weston crossed to the small side table and picked up the newspaper. He handed it Marzi, and then exchanged Vallon for Carter.
"I saw it on my way out of the office," Weston said. "It's ludicrous. I don't know why she thinks she has a story."
It didn't take Marzi long to find out who the she was.
Murder by Association, Incest: The Immoral Life of a Hogwarts Professor by Rita Skeeter.
Herbology professor Marzipan FitzRoy Ravenscroft is not at all what she seems. The daughter of Percival FitzRoy, erstwhile student at Hogwarts and professor of Ancient Runes at Sydney's School of Wizardry until his untimely death (the circumstances of which to be accounted in full later in the article), and Georgia FitzRoy of South Kensington, married her brother in a double ceremony with their cousins in 2003.
Marzi looked up at Weston, unable to mask the horror she felt.
Weston looked surprisingly calm. He put Carter down and knelt onto the floor again. "She thinks she's being clever, twisting the truth like that, but everybody knows the real story."
"Perfect strangers don't," Marzi said, "and most of my students and their parents know nothing about our personal lives beyond the fact that we are married and have two sons."
Although Professor Ravenscroft was hired before her marriage to Weston Ravenscroft, Ministry of Magic employee, Albus Dumbledore chose to keep her on staff, despite the inappropriate nature of her nuptials. This reporter once again questions why Dumbledore would allow a person of dubious morals to teach impressionable young minds.
The article eventually turned to the story of Marzi's father, and how he had killed another boy in self defense when a student at Hogwarts, and how that act had ultimately led to his own death and the suicide of Weston's father.
It is clear that Professor Ravenscroft comes from bad stock, and that her family's troubles have no doubt made a lasting impression on her––for the worse. I fear for the children she instructs daily, for their moral sensitivities and for their lives.
Marzi put down the paper. "My dad wasn't a murderer."
"I know that, Marzi."
"Just because he killed someone, in self-defense, doesn't mean that I'm going to kill somebody."
"I know. Everybody knows that. That was never an issue, and it isn't one now," Weston said, pausing to look at Vallon, who had found his nesting doll and promptly put it in his mouth. "Frankly, I think she took a giant leap with that part of the article."
Marzi was surprised Rita Skeeter had thought her worthy of an investigation, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized that her life had taken a few strange turns over the years. Skeeter had twisted everything just so, making those turns seem bigger and worse than they had been.
"I'm afraid about what will happen next," Marzi admitted. "For me and for you. What will your colleagues at the Ministry think about you marrying your sister?"
"Let them think what they will. We went down that road," said Weston. "We're not related. We just happen to share family members."
Marzi frowned and watched her boys play. Vallon sucked on his doll like a lollipop, and Carter used two of the picture books like skis, but with his hands rather than his feet.
"I guess we will see what tomorrow brings," Marzi finally said. It was all she could do.