The Winning Card
It would be one of those tranquil and pleasant Thursday mornings, filled with blissful awareness of the end of the week somewhere back in everyone's mind. There was a fruity smell in the air and white smoke whirling between the rays of light beaming through a large baroque–like window. Something whirred suddenly and Amary was forcibly snapped out of their trance, reminding them that nothing would be tranquil or pleasant about this specific day.
“-of course, therefore…” The old man before them let the rest of the sentence hang in the smoke-filled air. There was a slightly awkward silence for a few seconds, but then the wizard started quietly laughing into his long and ancient beard. “I see that you have taken interest in my trinket collection,” he said, amused.
“It’s rather impressive,” Amary smiled. “My apologies, Albus, I was distracted for a moment. You were saying?”
Albus paused for another moment, sighed, and then looked them in the eyes. Whatever he was searching for, he found because he continued, rather straightforwardly now. “I haven’t chosen you only for your expertise in Ancient Runes, Amary, but also for your exceptional and rather useful ability.” His eyes were twinkling like mad now and Amary tried to not feel too annoyed at the fact. They were miserably failing.
“You want me to, what, transform into Ronald Weasley and stalk the boy?” they said, voice raising at the end of the sentence. “What exactly do you need me for?”
The look he was giving them now was positively mischievous and Amary wondered what are the chances of them surviving this whole ordeal. “I want you to, from time to time, of course, infiltrate the student body and keep an eye on the boy. I understand that my request is unprecedented, but I think you have heard about the remarkable skill the boy has shown to find himself in horribly dangerous situations?” Amary nodded while at least a dozen reports from the Daily Prophet flashed in their mind at once.
“Of course, but what’s so different now? You know I will do it, Albus,” they added hastily when the twinkle started dying out, “but I want to understand. You could have asked anytime in the past few years.” Amary tried to smooth out any tension in their face, but they were rather disgruntled. After months and months of trying, the young mage was finally accepted to TOMHLR (Translators of magical hieroglyphs, logograms and runes) and was to move to Norway in a few weeks to begin their work on Vetteland rune stone inscriptions. Their plan was, however, put to a halt when they received a plain letter with a crimson red wax seal - a job offer from Albus flipping Dumbledore.
“Although we have taken several precautions already,” he winked conspiratorially at the portraits on the wall, but his eyes looked somberly at Amary for a moment, “the most danger Harry faces is, unfortunately, in hidden corridors and dark abandoned classrooms in the… dungeons.” The hidden meaning of these words slowly dawned on the younger mage. Dumbledore is afraid of Harry Potter being attacked by Slytherin students.
What have I gotten myself into? “Also,” he said with a hint of disdain most people never heard from the Warlock, “The vacant position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was so helpfully filled by the ministry.”
Amary was suddenly filled with dread by this statement. “Who?” she asked, preparing for the blow.
“Dolores Umbridge.”
Well.
Fuck me, then.
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With a heavy sigh, Amary carefully laid down what would hopefully be the last part of their lesson plans for the fifth-year students. After the sudden death of Professor Babbling, who obviously had not thought of organising her paperwork before she decided to go swimming in shark–infested waters without her wand, the now former Ancient Runes professor's quarters were left in absolute chaos. The surprisingly tasteful furniture was drowning (Amary chuckled) in scribbled notes, copies of various runic transcripts and books. Babbling’s syllabus for the Hogwarts students was bound to be there somewhere, but after days of searching Amary had simply given up on them.
“Accio Babbling’s lesson plans,” they tried for the hundredth time and for the hundredth time, only anticipated silence greeted the summoning spell.
Well, this is just splendid.
Frustrated, they sank onto the deep green sofa situated against a wall that faced the only window in the room. The weather was positively horrid – the sun was shining on the infuriatingly blue sky, the temperature climbing up to almost 26 degrees. Amary’s clothes were positively drenched. Before their eyes could melt because of the stupid fucking ball of fire, they took in their surroundings once more.
The quarters were not large by any means, but that suited the young mage just fine – the room even had the potential to be cosy, were it not for this blasted sunny weather. The walls were a calming shade of beige which contrasted nicely with the dark-wooded chairs and massive desk that was situated in front of the window. On the right side of the sofa, there was a huge hearth that would, unfortunately, not be used for a few more months. Were it not for the avalanche of papers, it would be a very nice place indeed.
After lazily categorizing some of the scattered notes and translations, they finally decided to go on a walk to stretch their soon-to-be sore limbs.
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“… and then the Elder Futhark, I guess, but wouldn’t that be too soon? No, no, we need to proceed quickly, the N.E.W.T,s-“ their quiet ramblings were suddenly interrupted by an irritated voice.
“I see that your ability to think quietly has not improved over years, Professor Rooks.”
Amary turned around and found themselves in front of the one and only Hogwarts Potions Master. Trying to remain calm, years of absolutely dreadful time spent in the Potions classroom flying through their head (like every time they had to face the man), Amary smiled.
“I will take that as a compliment,” they said carefully.
“I fail to see how my comment could be taken as such,” he sneered derisively. Amary giggled in their head and crossed out “derisive sneer” in their mental Interaction with Severus Snape Bingo card.
“You just admitted I am capable of thinking,” they pointed out with a grin. The Potions Master coughed suddenly, and the younger mage was almost sure they heard a snort at the beginning of the coughing fit. “I am surprised you recognised me.”
He regarded them with a neutral face for a few seconds that seemed like an eternity, making Amary slightly uncomfortable before they finally understood. “Ah,” they breathed out. Of course, it’s me, who the fuck else would be in here muttering about Runes in August. “Made me feel stupid” successfully crossed out now, the Ancient Runes professor smiled self-consciously. “You can rescind your previous assumption about me being capable of thinking, then.”
The joke, however, fell flat. “I was under the assumption that you are supposed to follow the curriculum established by Professor Babbling,” Snape said coldly. Amary shrugged.
“Yes, but unfortunately for me, I am unable to find her lesson plans.”
“That would be because I have them in my possession.”
The Ancient Runes professor blinked slowly. After a slight pause, they managed to croak out: “Why?”
The Potions Master smirked, and with evil glee dancing in his eyes proceeded to ignore them completely. Turning on his heel, robes flying around him dramatically, he stalked down the hallway.
The silly robe thing, Amary thought with a delighted smirk of their own, before hurriedly stumbling after him, ecstatic at the prospect of acquiring the blasted witch's lesson plan at last.
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“I see that you have decided to change your hair colour once again,” Snape pointed out mockingly while searching for the syllabus. Amary ran their fingers through their now bright yellow hair.
Made fun of the fact I am metamorphmagi, the Ancient Runes professor sighed in their head, resigned. It has been a few years since someone ridiculed them because of their ability, and even longer (since graduating and getting away from the Potions classroom, incidentally) since it was a common occurrence. I guess I will have to get used to it, they groaned mentally.
“I haven’t been this excited since I received an E at Potions N.E.W.T.s,” they said faintly. “I looked for the blasted thing for days.”
“If you know what’s good for you, you won't mention your Potions skills in my presence ever again,” he drawled out, shoving the syllabus into Amary’s hands.
Fucking finally, they thought with glee, holding the cursed papers as if they were the long-lost final part of Vetteland rune stone inscriptions. “Thank you so much, Professor Snape.” Feeling exceptionally foolish and courageous, Amary asked with what they considered only a slightly trembling voice: “I was wondering if you would have me for a cup of tea? I don’t have a kettle,” they smiled, hoping to stay longer in the pleasurably cold dungeons. Snape looked at them with a blank face. They stood for a while in a very long, very uncomfortable silence.
“No,” he said simply. “Get out.”
“BINGO!” Amary shouted and ran.