Chapter 10
OVER THE NEXT MONTH, it felt like an electric circuit had only just been completed.
The first suspicious accident was in a Slytherin Potions Class: A number were injured; no one was punished. Perhaps in revenge, the Gryffindor Quidditch Team found it’s brooms virtually falling apart as they flew. Then the Slytherin Common Room was stained with the smell of dead snakes from Potions Storage, and a full out war began.
Nowhere was safe, minus the Hospital Wing (it seemed the students feared alienating Madam Pomfrey), as it seemed every Lord’s son and daughter wanted to settle scores against rival Families and Half-Bloods and Muggleborns with too much self-respect, and the Gryffindor-Slytherin Rivalry turned violent once again.
But the worst were those four boys from Gryffindor: Despite their reprehensible actions, which everyone seemed to know was their work, they were never caught. Everyone knew their names now, and soon rooms would clear out before them wherever they went. Even Peeves seemed to envy them. Worst of all, they continually targeted Severus, no matter what the boy was doing, as if to prove to the world what Dumbledore’s so-called punishment already had: That they could get away with anything.
Soon they gained a name: The Marauders.
“This idiocy needs to stop!” McGonagall declared over a staff meeting. “We all remember how Minister Leach had to personally intervene to end the infighting here between the Headmaster and the Lord of Governors, and I say we do the same among our students.”
“You’ll never be able to stop this with Slughorn as Head of Slytherin,” Tom said belatedly. “He’s as intentionally useless as Dumbledore, and if one side doesn’t stop, neither will the other.”
“Well, then we’ll find a way to get rid of him!”
Pomona Sprout, Head of Hufflepuff, choked on her tea (betrayal never went well with her House), while her Ravenclaw counterpart Filius Flitwick stopped carving up his lamb chops.
“You do realize what you just said, Minerva?” the half-goblin asked carefully.
“Oh, why not? All Slughorn wants out of his job is whoever he can make friends with in that Club of his! We should at least clip his wings!”
“Now you’re thinking like a Slytherin, Minerva,” Tom said. “Though that Gryffindor courage doesn’t hinder anything either,” he added when she shot a glance his way. “But anyway, I’d best see how Severus is doing.”
“Did anything happen to him?” Sprout asked nervously, wiping drops of tea away with a handkerchief.
“No,” Tom reassured. The rest of the staff had grown to understand Tom as Severus’s father figure. “He’s doing as well as he could be in these circumstances. And it’s those Pureblood Slytherins I’m worried about, not the Marauders: I don’t want him falling in with people who’ll only take advantage of him.” Like Slughorn, he added mentally. “Speaking of which, could you check in on one of your students, McGonagall? Lily Evans; I’m worried that she’s getting closer to those Marauders of yours.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” the Head of Gryffindor said morosely, sitting down with the others. The last month had taken a toll on her; on all of them. It seemed like the students of Hogwarts could only be corralled by people far above their power who were doing their best to do nothing, at least for now.
Just as Tom opened the door, the man they’d been thinking about replacing ambled in, breathless.
“There’s something you all need to see,” Slughorn said, panting while offering a copy of the Prophet.
Tom took it and read the headline:
LEACH RESIGNS! WIZENGAMOT TO ELECT NEW MINISTER.
***
“So you mean to tell me,” Garlock said, finally taking her hands off her face after Tom’s lengthy explanation, “that you double-crossed one of the most powerful wizards of our time, pissing him off to the point that he single-handedly engineered a plot to remove a Minister of Magic, just so he could fire you?!”
Her voice crescendoed suddenly, sending echoes through her Gringotts office.
“Garlock, it’s not as bad as it looks, you don’t-”
“Nothing could look as bad as this! That’s why I’m shouting!”
“I’ve got a plan!”
“Oh, well that’s very reassuring!” Garlock grumbled, putting her head in her hands again. “What is it?”
“I’ve got some backing in Hogwarts,” Tom explained. “Other than the Ministry, anyway. The teachers know me, and most of them trust me by now. That, and Dumbledore’s already sacrificed most of whatever legitimacy he had beforehand. I’m not sure if it’s enough, but if there’s a real threat to me, it’ll come from the Ministry, not Hogwarts.”
“I.e., Abraxas, which we now have no control over.”
“Yes, I know. Well, I don’t know who he wants in the Minister’s seat, but I’m sure we’ll find out soon.”
As if to prove his point, the fireplace roared to life, and out strode Rufus Scrimgeour: He’d aged somewhat since Tom had last seen him, and he looked like he’d been under an immense amount of stress the last few days, which supported the Prophet's speculation that Minister Leach had been unable to perform his duties for about a week before today. Most interestingly was that he was in a plain Muggle suit instead of his Auror robes.
“I thought you’d be off work later,” Tom wondered. “What happened?”
“I told Lord Slytherin that he could stick his offer of Head of the DMLE where the sun doesn’t shine,” Rufus explained. “You can probably guess how that went.”
“Gryffindors,” Tom mumbled.
“Have they chosen anyone for Minister?” Garlock asked, voice still tense but calming down.
“Crouch; the Wizengamot will announce it tomorrow morning.”
Garlock stared at Rufus wide-eyed and Tom froze. Of all the candidates, the Wizengamot had chosen the worst: Bartemieus Crouch Senior was probably the most boorish Mage in the Ministry, Lord of the House of Crouch and Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, with plenty to say about his job’s responsibility. He’d been the same age as Rufus at Hogwarts, and just as outspoken then as he was now; whenever Tom heard him speak then, he thought he sounded like Oswald Mosley. If there was anyone in the Ministry who could be counted on to abuse their power to the best of their ability, it was him.
“Is he planning on doing anything that affects us?” Garlock asked, breaking the silence.
“Yes, unsurprisingly,” Rufus deadpanned. “A friend in the Department of Magical Education told me that he’s going to conduct an investigation of Hogwarts due to ‘recent instability’.”
Tom couldn’t believe his luck. “Well, that’s Hogwarts settled for good, Garlock! If Dumbledore has me fired, or imprisoned, or killed, it’ll be front page news, and knowing how paranoid he is, Crouch will jump at the chance to remove him as Headmaster!” He gave a hoarse laugh: In one of his two mortal enemies’ haste to remove him from power, they had destroyed the other’s chances at doing the same.
“Still, you’d better keep your nose clean,” Rufus added. “That ‘friend’ I mentioned is cozying up with Dumbledore, so he probably knows too.”
“Well, he knows he can’t get rid of me, then,” Tom said. “All I have to do now is make some moves to survive the inspection, and I’m set for at least another few months at least, if not the length of Crouch’s tenure. Interesting feeling, being in the same boat with Dumbledore,” he mused to himself.
“I’m sorry about your job,” Garlock said half-heartedly, ignoring Tom’s joyful attitude.
“Don’t be,” Rufus responded. “I would’ve resigned anyway. I wasn’t going to be the one to turn this country into a police state.” He stood as resolutely as he spoke, near picturesque, like the way he posed in the Prophet during the War against Grindelwald. The memory sparked a realization in Tom.
“Rufus, have you ever considered the Wizengamot?”
The ex-Auror shot him an annoyed look. “Very funny,” he growled, his scarred features contorting in a no-nonsense look that only furthered Tom’s confidence.
“No, really!” Tom protested. “I mean- you’re a former Auror, a war hero, a born administrator, and you already know politics; you’d be perfect! Besides, we could be on a raft without a paddle sooner rather than later if we don’t have someone inside the Ministry, and you’re the best bet.”
“He’s got a point, you know,” Garlock added, looking up from her desk. “The Goblin Council would do anything for a chance of Ministry representation, and anyone who voted for Leach last election is going to be looking for someone else to support. You’d have a sporting chance now, not to mention later, when Crouch inevitably botches something.”
Rufus put his hands in his pockets while a look of deep thought crossed his face. “I’ll consider it,” he decided upon.
“Well, if you need help, just ask,” Garlock offered. “With anything, not just the Wizengamot. I doubt Crouch allowed you your severance package?”
“It was for ‘Seditious Activity’, so no,” Rufus explained. “You know, for everything that’s been said about Goblins, you’re quite generous,” he added.
“Well, for everything that’s been said about Gryffindors, I’d have expected you to jump at the chance for election, but I stand corrected,” Garlock shot back.
Tom snorted as Rufus gave a humbled “Well . . .” The latter made his goodbyes soon after, and Tom followed suit.
“Just don’t get fired,” Garlock advised. “Or arrested. Or murdered.”
“I’ll try my best,” Tom reassured. He just had to hope that it was enough.
Again.
***
The staff all read Crouch’s opening speech the next day at dinner: He called for unity between all sides of the Wizengamot, elected or otherwise. The fact that House Elves having no way of representing themselves, Goblins and Centaurs being considered beasts, and Giants being forced onto reservations might have adverse effects towards unity didn’t seem to cross anyone’s mind.
“Ugh,” Sprout sighed at an envelope, interrupting everyone from their musings about the speech.
“What is it?” McGonagall asked from across the table.
“Rent came today. I swear, it gets harder and harder to get bills in on time with this job’s salary!” the Herbology Professor complained, throwing the letter down at the table as Flitwick nodded his head in agreement.
“Have you tried asking the Headmaster for a raise? I could, you know,” McGonagall offered.
“Thank you, but no,” Sprout declined. “It’d have to go through the Board of Governors for approval, and there’s no way they’ll accept a five-hundred-a-month increase for a lowly Herbology Professor. Makes me wonder if they think of anything other than money at times.”
McGonagall muttered something dangerously close to ‘Self-righteous bastards’, causing Tom to remember how much she’d fought for her own job, and to wonder how the news of a Ministry inspection of Hogwarts might affect her. “How much does Herbology pay, anyway?” he thought aloud, trying to mentally change the subject as he skimmed a Goblin political journal Garlock loaned him.
“Well I don’t know, how much does DA?”
“Five thousand a month, why?”
“Five thousand a-” Flitwick exclaimed before he could stop himself. “What’s the thinking behind that, then?”
“That people who can feed themselves work better, I presume! What do they pay you?”
Soon enough, everyone was comparing salaries as if they were insurance details, and they found that there was one common denominator: Everyone was paid differently, despite working effectively the same hours in effectively the same job.
“Something has to be done about this!” McGonagall declared after the fact. “They sit on piles of money while we hardly pay rent? I won’t stand for this!”
There was a near uproar of common outrage among the other staff before the door opened and Slughorn entered the room, wearing a ridiculously over-decorated suit that made him look like he’d been possessed by a Niffler.
“Sorry everyone!” the Head of Slytherin apologized. “Just realized that I left my personal bottle of Brandy here. Why all the long faces?” he asked suddenly, blissfully unaware of the tension in the room. “You look like you’ve seen Slytherin’s monster!”
“Professor Slughorn,” McGonagall asked, grimace masked by a cruel smile, “how much do you make a month?”
“Why do you ask?” Slughorn asked back carefully, cheerful expression quickly replaced by confusion.
“Just wondering.”
“Well, I’m sorry Minerva,” the old miser replied, chest rising to meet his much taller questioner, “but that’s a little too personal to answer right now. Though if you want, I could ask for a raise on your behalf! I’m having a meeting with a couple of the school governors in a few moments.”
McGonagall’s expression turned near murderous for a moment before becoming more resolute. “No . Thank you,” she said firmly.
“Well, in that case I’ll be on my way,” the Potions Master said, cheerfully unnerved.
“That is why I want him gone,” McGonagall spat when the man left, before leaving herself and slamming the door behind her.
The rest of the staff sat there in silence as the remaining day turned to night, until Sprout spoke up.
“So I guess it’s settled then,” she said resolutely, crossing her arms.
“McGonagall did make a good point,” Flitwick commented.
“Then I guess we’d best start acting on it,” Tom advised.
They all made their goodbyes, all subconsciously agreeing on one point:
Slughorn had to go.