The Fudge Man
I wasn’t really sure what to think at the word ‘inspection’, but I hadn’t thought it meant the Ministry of Magic’s Prime Minister striding into what (whether I openly admit to it or not) is technically my very large and school-oriented home like it’s his for the taking. It’s not that I hate the man on sight, it’s just that... he’s a politician, first and foremost, and also pompous and a little arrogant and I dislike that he’s in my house.
I half-hide behind a stone pillar to do a bit of eavesdropping for myself when Dumbledore comes striding out of his private stairwell to greet the newest arrivals, a minor tick of his eyes all but yelling ‘Hide!' to me while not looking at me at all and hide I do, phasing straight into the newly-hollow stone pillar that Dumbledore soon walks his visitors by. Behind their backs, Moody’s smirking at me with approval and I finger wave mischievously back before scowling at the small, squat woman at his side.
Now this woman? This woman I can hate on sight, mostly because I abhor the color pink. And she is. Pink, that is. Her chubby, oddly toad-like face is pink, as is her hat, jewelry, robes and the smart skirt suit beneath them. It’s extreme in the worst possible way. Also? The more I look at her, the more toad-like she seems. All she's missing is a whip-like tongue and Kermit coloring, and just her proximity has some off-tuned energy buzzing in my skull and rattling my teeth.
“Cornelius!" Dumbledore exclaims. "I hadn’t expected you until tomorrow or the next day? But it’s perfect timing. I was just coming down for some tea in the professor’s lounge.”
“Albus!” The man greets back, and there seems to be a streak of something layered atop his very skin. Jovial ambition? Ambitious joviality? One of the two, really, and I’m not sure I care which, so long as it’s him in charge and not the pink monstrosity in his wake with the pink quill and pink clipboard. This woman needs fashion help, STAT and I’m halfway wondering who I can set on her to effectively manage that unfortunate task when their conversation begins seeping into my ears again. “—must insist, but you know how it is. I only need to meet her, ask a few questions, have her fully scanned—“
Uh oh. Scanning? So... that’s a hard, major no? I’ll even try to be polite. (I don't manage it.) Hell no, squashy pin-striped Fudge-man, just no, nuh-uh, and also a world of NOPE.
But Dumbledore’s gained a thoughtful expression, biding his time, maybe, and it’s an actual help because the clock tower rings out just then and suddenly there’s students, ghosts, one poltergeist (that has so far only fled in fear from me) and a mass of quidditch players, fresh from the practice fields and covered in half-frozen mud, none of whom seem to notice or care there’s actual adults getting forcibly swept along in their wake, all the way down the hall and out of sight with a slightly grinning Moody hobbling happily along behind them.
But there’s no way to avoid this meeting forever, I know, but I wish I had even a little idea on the specifics of why— oh. The castle provides yet again, my sight blurring into a gentle vision. Instant replay?
“Fatemakers, honestly, who expects us to believe that?” Fudge is demanding, huddled under his fur-lined, pinstriped cloak as he, Moody and the pink toad shuffle along with him up the path to the castle amid the flurries coming down.
“Well, sir,” the pink one squeaks in such a fake, simpering way I’m a little disgusted on behalf of women everywhere, “there have been some on record—“
“Bah!” The man huffs, head shaking again. “A load of— no, really. What could anyone gain by claiming such a thing? If that were true, wouldn't they have been secretive about it? Surely they’d get more done without being so open about it all.”
And yes, obviously, but it’s his office who’d invaded en masse and demanded transparency, so...
“Oh, she was,” Moody insists, leaning heavily on a tall walking staff and sporting a somewhat new-looking fake leg and shoe, usefully hollowed out and currently packed with various weapons, foe-divining devices, and an extra flask. A very useful leg; I approve. “Dumbledore and the staff were in on it, but few others until Penumbra had his tantrum at the Ministry. Even then, though, it was a quiet issue until that fake healer from St. Mungo’s showed, killed the man—“
“Exactly!” Fudge gripes, gloveless hands thrown up in frustration, then quickly reeled back in. “If she’s such a fate-fixer, how did she even let that happen, eh? So unless she can prove it--”
And the vision dims away as they stride inside to be greeted by Dumbledore ten minutes ago. Well... huh. I suppose I’ll just make myself inconveniently yet honestly scarce, so while the Headmaster is leading them up several staircases, ‘She does enjoy her time on the astronomy tower,’ Dumbledore confides seriously, I suppose I’ll go (hide) check on the pair I'd just left.
“Potions class, please,” I whisper and even from inside the slender pillar, a skinny door creaks open to let me stumble clumsily out into the potions classroom with a huff, then freeze as the skinny door shuts behind me.
Snape and Lupin also freeze from where they seem to have been caught mid-duel, singed and smoking pages from near-incinerated books still raining down, as well as some destroyed and smoking book covers. Lupin’s robes are also scorched from right sleeve to right hip while Snape’s robes seem to be covered in something noxious-smelling that might also be eating through the stone of the floor by his desk. Chunks of a stone pillar are missing while the lantern of another pillar is warped and in pieces under a lab station and it's oil is sprayed over a pile of newly broken lab stools across the room by the office door. Seriously, what the fuck?
“Oh,” I sigh, my voice as flat as I can manage it to keep from snarling at them both. “So sorry to just barge in. By all means, carry on. Don’t mind me at all on this lovely full moon day when the Ministry's come to visit and currently only three floors above us.” But I don’t move more than my narrowed eyes and judgmental eyebrows while both men seem to calm their breathing and explosive anger while they weigh the benefits and risks of ignoring my obviously unhappy presence and reminders that there are more important things happening than whatever argument had sparked a fucking duel.
Wisely, they lower their wands in unison, then both jerk a reluctant nod to each other of what I’m assuming is a ‘cease fire’ and in equal silence, begin cleaning up the room, repairing lab stations and stools, bookshelves and ingredient bottles, all with the sullen, guilty air of children caught fighting in the mud five minutes before formal company is set to arrive. I let them carry on, no intention of helping, but begin filling in with the castle news when they’re approaching the end of the repairs.
“So... I got the impression Dumbledore wants me to stay hidden because apparently Fudge has questions he already intends to disbelieve the answers to because he doesn’t know the difference between a fatemaker and an oracle. And there’s a clipboard and quill-carrying toad with him that's apparently been enlarged and given shoes and clothing just before something that must be pure evil vomited pink all over her. I can’t tell if I’m more terrified or disturbed because that’s a level of pink that is very concern-worthy and poor Moody has to put up with the both of them," I report, agitated. "Which might explain both the spare weapons and the extra flask hidden in his new fake leg. Once they’re gone, I’m sending Moody a poetically-worded sympathy card if either of you would like to sign it.”
Snape snorts his reluctant amusement, but almost silently when he turns away, but Lupin, his wolf happily riding side-seat right now, hears it perfectly and has Lupin gaping at Snape’s obvious show of human reaction before he turns to me to gape a little more, presumably because I’m the one that inspired it. (I’m pretty sure his wolf shakes Lupin out of it, likely uninterested in foolish human oddities and squabbles that aren’t genuinely food, fun or fight-related.
The castle shows me that Dumbledore’s been joined by Flitwick, who’s suddenly-tender right ankle requires him to move at only half his usual speed while he and Dumbledore share actual school news that obviously takes priority over a mere Prime Minister who’s happily distracted by the trophy room (There’s a trophy room? How have I not seen it?) and all the shiny awards within that he and Moody begin happily chatting over while the toad continually clears her throat again and again to the point of rudeness but has yet to be recognized and begins looking a little vexed, her plump face reddening more by the minute and now clashing terribly with her hat and robes.
“Oh, and they want me ‘scanned’,” I add, pulling a face while both Snape and Lupin let out similar rumble (Snape’s unhappy sound) growls (Lupin’s actual unhappy growl) over that possibility. “I’m mostly thinking ‘any day but today’. So... Comments? Suggestions?”
“What sort of scan?” Snape asks, now sprinkling milk powder onto and into the acidic holes still burning their way through the flooring.
“No idea,” I confess. “But the wording was along the lines of ‘meet the girl, ask a few questions, have her fully scanned’, blah blah,” I finish, finally giving in and magicking all the books back together, pages darting away in every direction to rejoin their respective covers that pretty much regrow the missing chunks before flapping themselves up to the overhead shelves and resettling in their original places.
Snape pauses in thought, then stands to trade out powder for some generic ‘insta fix’ solution that’s pretty useful in a lab where newbie and/or inattentive students burn holes into everything, themselves sometimes included, on a daily basis.
“If it’s purely mental scanning," Snape offers, "it will likely be Moody. And you trust Moody.”
“I do,” I agree, nodding. “And if it were only him who came along, I wouldn’t be hiding. I still wouldn't agree to anyone scanning me, but I wouldn’t hide. Fudge is about as intimidating as a chocolate frog.”
“So it’s the pink woman, then?” Lupin pipes in, cautious in his wording but Snape’s lips still thin as if on reflex, but lets him speak.
“Woman, toad, po-tay-toe, po-tah-toe, but yes, just looking at her has both sets of my hackles rising. And I don’t think it’s just the pink, hideous though it is.”
“If she’s following after Fudge, it's likely Delores Umbridge,” Lupin offers, his wand now sucking up a sizable pile of stone dust from the floor before pointing his wand at the damaged pillar, sticky stone spraying out to repair the missing chunks. “And she gets a great many hackles rising.”
“Is she a reader?” I ask seriously, though I doubt it, personally. It didn't show on her aura, but it's not unheard of, especially for those well-practiced in hiding it. The still-present buzzing in my brain tells me she's hiding plenty, but not necessarily psychic abilities.
Lupin’s face clouds for a moment as he smoothes the stone over to look nearly like new. “Not that I’m aware of, but it’s possible the pink is some sort of camouflage that’s hiding a weapon of some kind.”
I grin, nodding. “She does look like the type.”
“So you intend to hide in here all night?” Snape demands, looking unimpressed.
I huff and roll my eyes. "Pfffshhh. Of course not, don’t be silly.”
When I say nothing more, he gives me a dead stare. “Just until they leave, then?” He says flatly
“Yeah, pretty much,” I admit shamelessly. “Or I could go see Hagrid, check on his newest pet.”
Lupin leans around the pillar with an uneasy frown. “What new pet?”
“No idea, but he’s always got a new one and it’s a safe bet it’s probably a risky one.”
Snape turns away to hide his smirk. (It’s usually Snape I commiserate with over Hagrid’s somewhat hazardous eccentricities.)
The whole room groans suddenly, stone grating, windows creaking, door lock clanking shut and that’s when I hear them, holy crap, sneaky, unless you count Moody’s elevated volume.
“—if she’s not here either, then, perhaps we come back when we’d first intended—“
I share a microsecond of wide-eyed worry with Snape first, then Lupin when Moody’s voice sounds from right outside one of the skinny windows near the ceiling— then the castle makes up its mind for us, little window on the lantern opening, ring pulling up, then the soft sound clanking in the office and (hurry, hurry, hurry, dammit!) then I’m yanking Lupin with me while Snape opens the office door, shoves us ahead of him onto the stairs and then we’re descending, hidden from all.
Lupin stops on the steps just below me, peeking over the unguarded edge and down into the well, eyes widening with worry at the sizable drop. “Where—“
He goes silent and even more nervously wide-eyed when, just over Snape’s head, the office door bursts open and the pink toad marches in. She squints around the room suspiciously, Fudge following in her wake with a frown, both now all but standing on Snape's head, or would be if not for the one-way, see-through, magic floor.
“Well, that’s unfortunate,” Dumbledore sighs, eyes skipping around the room, now openly curious himself. “I thought for sure they’d be here.”
“After class hours?” Umbridge asks, frowning fake-disapproval and scribbling onto her clipboard. “Highly unseemly,” she mutters gleefully, scribbling more, then huffs at the empty room, turns and departs the office for the classroom again. “And the odor here! Just because it’s a potions classroom—“ she complains while Fudge and Dumbledore rejoin her.
Finally, only Moody’s left in the doorway, smirking at us all hiding on the stairs, rolls both his eyes, then backs out, the office door closing firmly behind him.
“It’s official,” I mutter, trying to mentally wave the buzzing in my brain off and away and gone, glad when the sensation finally begins to ebb. “She needs to be color-blinded. The pink has totally gone to her head. And what the hell should a potions classroom smell like in her odious opinion?” I hiss, newly grumpy at her judgment of anything castle-related, like she's even allowed an opinion.
Snape’s stare is flat, but amused. “Pink. Grapefruit,” he grinds out in near silence, then pauses and ticks another look at me from the corner of his eye. “...Obviously.”
I snort softly, my teeth pinching my lips together and now halfway to a giggle fit that will help no one (but has already improved my mood a little), so I peer over the edge of the well, still smiling. “Well, can always grab a silver banded cauldron while we’re here,” I suggest, then begin the swirly trek downward, sliding past Lupin easily to lead the way.
“You... keep supplies down here?” Lupin asks, his wolf eyes shimmering in the low light.
“Ehhh,” I say, nod-shaking my head and waggle my hand side to side because that's not quite true? “Supplies are kept down here... Sometimes.”
Nothing more is said until we reach the bottom, but our arrival has a wisp of a breeze tickling past the cloth still covering the leftmost painting in the foyer, but it’s not until I approach that I hear a hushed giggle and remember this one perfectly. My breath catches when I catch the barest scent that's still as familiar as my own, still as comforting--
“Cauldron?” Snape inquires quietly behind me, like he’s sensing my struggle and I jerk a nod and turn for my hallway, ignoring the faint twin ‘awww’ sounds of disappointment from beneath the sheet.
Lupin’s close on our heels as we stride down the hall, his eyes wide and amazed and swiveling everywhere almost the same way Snape's had on his first visit. Based on his wordless exclamation, I’m fairly sure Lupin gets sidetracked in the bedroom and it’s watery ceiling that currently looks a bit like a shaken snow globe.
“Should he be—“ Snape begins to ask, already peering back down the now empty hallway with a concerned and annoyed frown but I shake my head, smiling.
“Nahh. He’s fine. You have to admit, the first view’s pretty stunning, even in winter. Won't hurt to let him look.”
The cauldron collection is a true collection and much like the ingredient cabinet, the build-in bookshelves in the far back of the lab hold their own secrets. A book pushed forward here, another tugged outward there—
Snape smirks, amused at the long row that pops straight out of that skinny shelf to stretch half the length of the room to show the fifty or more assorted cauldrons that range from teacup sized to hearth sized and one that I've only ever used once— to steam roast a bull for a slaughter moon festival. (Everyone loved it.) Thankfully, that only enlarges once ingredients are added.
“Is there anywhere down here that you don’t have hidden caches?” He demands, wandering down the row to find seven different sizes of silver-banded pewter and plucks up a large and a medium, weighing them in consideration while also eyeing the gold-banded cauldrons in the next section.
“If I say no, would you spend the next decade searching for the others?” I counter, because I could see him doing just that, actually. “May as well just grab one of each,” I tell him, waving at the shelves. “They’re just going to waste down here, really.”
“This is... amazing,” Lupin declares from the doorway, eyes huge with awe as he takes in the room, the bookshelves, the dozens of instruments settled on tables scattered throughout and the huge desks, the mirrored ceiling— that has him pausing. “Also a little disturbing,” he adds, seeing one camera pointed at a prefect bathroom entry.
“If you see any that definitely cross a boundary, go ahead and snuff it,” I say with a lazy wave of hand upward. “There shouldn’t be any, but if some of them are rotating locations, I might’ve missed them before.”
I can feel Lupin’s eyes on my back, but the gaze feels curious rather than judging or hostile, so I ignore it for now, settling into the chair behind my old desk that feels both too large and too small and begin idly shuffling through the side drawers to see what’s left over and it’s not much but—. I smirk as I pull out the bottle, red fire sloshing within easily viewed through the dark of the sturdy glass.
“Finally,” I sigh, amused and a little tired, then stressed and pained again when I hear a near-silent giggle echoing from somewhere back down the hall. “Something that actually can get me drunk.” I breathe out, sloshing the Dragon's Breath rum I'd once stolen from Salazar back and forth to watch the liquid flames dance and swirl.
“Perhaps—“ Snape murmurs, his hand covering mine where it’s gripped around the bottle neck, but all he does is press it down to settle carefully on the desktop. “Better saved for a harder day,” he suggests quietly and I hate that he’s right and worse, hate knowing 'harder days' will definitely be coming. I nod both agreement and thanks, then drag it over and stuff it back in it’s designated spot. In the next slot over where no bottle is present, I see a dull shine so out of place, I have to wriggle the little bit of metal free, half jammed under the wooden divider and pluck it up. A tiny key in the shape of a dragon.
“Helloooo,” I whisper with a curious frown, twisting the tiny bit of metal around, the design simplistic but beautiful and completely foreign to my fingers. “Where did you come from?” My memory being what it is now that I’ve really absorbed my former knowledge, it's truly odd because there's little of this life I don't recall perfectly. But I don't recall this at all, so Wyn—
“Looks like they’re leaving,” Lupin announces, still watching the mirrors overhead and sure enough, while students and staff all happily file past and into the Great Hall for dinner, Dumbledore is shaking his head sadly, arms spreading in a ‘what can you do?’ sort of gesture while Fudge looks a bit grumpier and Umbridge looks full-on put out, still adding the occasional scribble to her notes as she scowls around at everything in sight like she’s taking inventory and that alone has me mentally comparing the best hexes available to lob at her. I let most of them go when Peeves the Poltergeist drops a handful of freezing, slushy mud down her neck that has her first screeching, then storming out the door, incensed.
“Okay... maybe I’ll let Peeves stay after all,” I huff, smirking, then smile when I see Moody’s hobbling along at Dumbledore’s side, apparently staying a while. “Might be a good time to get some answers,” I suggest, standing, but find myself still fiddling with the key. I pocket it on our way out.
***
On the way back up, I try to answer all of Lupin’s questions, but I’m a bit wiped from the short, but intense emotional rollercoaster while he’s wired on a full moon high. For him it's a fantastic improvement to his usual form of ‘ill’, as he puts it. Still, I’ve got a long night ahead keeping track of him, just in case his wolf somehow reverts. He's fine now, but I’m trusting nothing until he’s fed and in full moonlight.
Dumbledore and Moody meet us as we emerge from the floor of Snape’s office, only this time it’s Dumbledore’s eyebrows reaching high with surprise.
“This castle will never cease amazing me,” he sighs out fondly and gives the wall a gentle pat. I huff in surprise when the stone he’d patted pulls back with a grating sound and drops down to reveal a single goblet of what smells like aged mead. It smells delicious.
“Well that’s unfair,” I declare, edging around the office wall to reach the desk while pouting at the ceiling. “I compliment you all the time!”
As I pass by, a stone in the wall to my left drops away revealing a single bottle of chilled butterbeer and behind me, Lupin barks out a laugh while Snape fake-sneers off to the side to hide his own amusement, already unloading cauldrons from an expanding sack.
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” I mutter, grinning, but thank the castle and guzzle the sweet treat while I tug the extra cauldrons out of my own bag to join those Snape’s already unloaded onto his desk.
Dumbledore and Moody just stand to the side watching us with amusement, now each with their own goblets of mead.
“So... Fudge wants me scanned?” I finally ask, turning to Moody and Dumbledore.
“He... does, yes,” Moody agrees, his wonky eye giving Dumbledore the side-eye, which is straight up weird to look at since they're standing side by side.
I let my gaze tick between them for a full ten seconds before I speak again. “And while I’m glad I’m not the only one who sees the problem with that, you’ve both got different reasons for objecting,” I conclude, tapping gently on the rim of my empty bottle and it neatly refills itself.
“There’s some political distrust in the ranks right now,” Dumbledore offers, frowning. “I don’t think the type of scanning he’s after is his idea, though I couldn’t say who’s yet,” he continues, but Moody just grunts.
“Some of his yes men have gotten good at reversing the rolls, including his secretary” Moody adds, shaking his head, part exasperation, part despair. “And whatever else ye do, do not trust that woman—“
“Universal law,” I cut in, fully agreeing with a hearty nod. “No one who deliberately wears that much pink should ever be trusted,” I insist seriously, because I can still feel the echo of that freaky buzzing in my head. I’m frowning down at my bottle when the next words come. “There’s something wrong with her. Not pink-wrong, just wrong-wrong.”
Moody grunts again and this time, it seems to mean something more because everyone nods solemn agreement, even Snape (though his nod is more a twitch with grumpy eyebrows for emphasis).
“So when they do come back with demands of scanning...” I conclude.
“Then we’ll make sure it’s me that does it and none other even in the room,” Moody huffs defensively, but I’m already nodding my thanks and agreement. “We’ll get through this,” he adds, a gentle reassurance and now I’m wondering just how fragile I’m looking today. Hopefully not as much as I feel. “And you!” Moody barks, this time at Lupin, who’s eyes shimmer briefly in response before settling again. “Lets go get us all fed before you decide to snack on my new leg,” he grunts, limping for the door, crazy eye rolling back to make sure we’re all following.
Lupin and I might be the only ones who can appreciate the full humor, but there’s peace in the collective camaraderie, so it’s a win either way.
***
Much as I’d rather dine with ‘pack’ tonight, to keep suspicion at bay, I rejoin my Hufflepuff friends and let them console me after the additional ‘cauldron cleaning’ I’d earned for ‘missing homework’, then let the girls tell me all about cute quidditch players and which would no doubt make better boyfriends than athletes. It’s all achingly normal, even when it feels like some sort of dream I’m simply passing through. But soon enough, McGonagall’s calling me away and I wave my friends off with a promise of joining their ice creation club tomorrow to see who can manage the best icy winter monster to help improve our wand and charm work.
“An interesting club idea,” McGonagall comments with a smile. “And a kind one— Amelia’s still having trouble.”
“Actually, her wand work is great, just... not under pressure. But, that’s how the club started,” I chuckle. “She loves art and sculpting; I figured if she can sculpt clay with a wand, snow and ice should be a piece of cake and fun besides. So we've been letting her 'teach' us the ins and outs of sculpting to bolster her confidence in public... and maybe one of her favorite teachers will happen by the courtyard and give her an extra, quick confidence boost," I add suggestively, grinning.
"One never knows," McGonagall muses with a small smile of her own, but I don't doubt Amelia will have a lot more faith in her own wandwork after.
***
We hide out in her classroom grading essays until nearly moonrise and I let the castle door-sweep me out to Hagrid’s back door where I’m meeting Lupin.
Only, I’m meeting Lupin... and Snape... and Moody, and Dumbledore. And Hagrid, of course, while Fang cowers inside and under Hagrid's bed-- as far from Lupin as he can manage.
“Okay then,” I murmur, seeing the full congregation and Lupin looks both nervous and centered, giving me a mostly-sturdy nod. “If you get overwhelmed, I’ve got you covered,” I murmur, too low for anyone but Lupin to hear and he nods, wolf eyes sparking as the moon breaks the cloud line. “Lets go for a run, then.”
Well, run is a bit hopeful of a term when Hagrid stays behind and everyone else is on broomsticks but Lupin and I who are both under blurring charms to hide our identities, and it’s not until the second lap back from the forest that I realize Lupin’s wolf, now looking healthy and majestic, is happily racing me for first and with a laugh and a leap and a pulse of power, we’re racing even faster on four feet with wind rustling through our fur, joyous and exhilarated and I’ve missed this, so damn much. By the time we’ve loped back to Hagrid’s an hour later, the others are patiently waiting near the stoop and watching us avidly and I think nothing of switching back, fully clothed while Lupin whines a complaint beside me.
“Really?” I chuff, then head-nod upward to the waning moon and he mopes his way back inside Hagrid's house. “Sleep now, eat tomorrow, run again next time.” He grumbles a bit, but I’ve no doubt he’ll be dead asleep in minutes.
“I hadn’t realized you were quite so fast,” Moody mumbles, eyebrow high with surprise.
“When the wolf is well-balanced, running well is second nature. Usually for hunting, but..." I shrug, yawning again. "I’m just amazed he full-shifted so easily,” I add, feeling content and sleep stupid.
“Well, you’ve done wonders for him,” Dumbledore sighs, but it’s a happy sigh. “And he said the potion helped more now than ever before,” he adds, nodding to Snape, who looks both pleased with the praise and annoyed over what it’s for and I hide a smile under another yawn. “Well, off to bed with you,” Dumbledore instructs, waving a hand toward the castle, but I just blink, smirk, then knock twice on Hagrid’s door, vanishing into the Hufflepuff common room a second later, waving goodnight to a smirking Snape and a befuddled 'everyone else'.
It was a nearly perfect night.