A Rumor, A Question, and A Letter
The first month of the year went by quickly, and to the soundtrack of many noses sniffling.
Harry easily found a room chilling spell that bypassed basic warming charms in what was becoming his favorite book from Aunt Wally. It seemed innocuous enough, filled with household spells that were above basic level, but still easy enough for him to master after a few tries. In the hands of the conniving and creative trio of Slytherins it was quickly proving to be the source of some of their best weapons.
To keep any sort of suspicion from arousing, they decided that one of them should get sick too. If they kept themselves under strong enough warming spells and the whole class except them became ill, someone might grow curious. Though they thought their tracks were covered well, curious eyes were the last thing they wanted anywhere near their sordid plans.
Harry decided that he’d be the one to risk catching cold. Due to his treatment from the Dursleys, he deduced that he’d have the weakest immune system out of them all. That would make him a lot more likely than the others to actually get sick.
Draco thought it was perfect. He wanted to use the “Boy Who Lived” angle to ham up the impending fallout. “The Chose One? Sick? How dare they treat him with such neglect!” Draco had teased when he mentioned it.
Harry really didn’t like to play that card. It drew too much attention to him, and he hated the way it made him feel so othered when it happened. But he figured whatever works, works. He could deal with it, if necessary.
So when February 5th rolled around, Harry felt absolutely miserable as he watched part of their plan unfold from the Slytherin table in the Great Hall.
He was bundled up in the warmest cloak he owned, despite that it broke the dress code for being a dark purple, and lined with light brown griffin fur that flared out around the hood and sleeves. His throat was scratchy and sore, and it hurt to swallow. His nose was red enough that he found himself having to tell Draco about a reindeer named Rudolph. His head was clouded and constantly pounding. To top it all off, he’d been so unfocused lately that Hermione and Draco offered to do his homework for him in sympathy.
Professor Quirrell was reaching for a slice of toast under the dark glare of Professor Snape when it all began.
“Professor!” A 7th year Hufflepuff boy approached the Head Table with a panicked look in his eye. “I can’t find anything about trolls in the library. Do you think you could dedicate a couple of classes to them in the next few weeks?”
“T-t-t-rolls?” the man stuttered.
A group of 5th year Ravenclaw girls ran up to him next, not even waiting for the Hufflepuff boy to finish before the first one began to speak.
“I think I know pretty much everything about trolls already,” she said, “but I can’t remember whether they can inhabit lands with a dry climate, or only forested areas?”
Another of the girls, a blonde, began immediately began afterward. “Are troll hides thicker or weaker than giant hides? Or are they the same?”
“Uh… well,” the professor was growing very nervous, his eyes darting around at the students gathered before him.
Another wave of students approached the table with more questions.
“Troll skins are strong enough to deflect most magic, does that count for dark magic?” a 5th year Hufflepuff girl asked.
“Yes, obviously!” a Slytherin girl snapped at her before rounding on the professor next. “Is the aging process of trolls similar to humans? Or is that only for giants?”
A red haired Gryffindor boy with a prefect badge elbowed his way through the small crowd and slammed his hands on the table importantly. “This takes precedence over all of that!” he announced drawing the teacher’s attention solely to himself. “If the intelligence level of trolls is lower than that of a giant, why is it that trolls are still able to utilize and make tools and weapons? How do they learn to create clothing from animal skins? If their intelligence level is among the lowest of the humanoid dark creatures, then how did they learn to skin animals and use their pelts? Why do they even wear clothes? Do they have some standard of modesty, or is it a purely protection thing?”
Quirrell sat there, mouth agape as the group in front of him waited for an answer. After a few seconds of silence, the group completely exploded as they all began talking at once. Asking questions over each other, and everyone yelling for their voice to be heard above the din.
Quirrell was absolutely panicked, sliding down meekly in his chair as the students terrorized him. Beside him, Professor Snape was leaning away to avoid the reach of the students, but looking rather amused at the situation.
Harry wanted to find amusement in it too. He really did. The pounding in his head from the rise in volume was keeping him from feeling anything other than the overwhelming desire to be well. He laid his head down on the table beside his warm cup of tea and put his arms over his head.
Hermione elbowed him in the rib, and when he reluctantly picked his head up to see what she wanted, she pointed to one of the side doors into the Great Hall. Standing there was a group of unfamiliar faces. They were all holding clipboards and watching the scene before them with disdainful expressions. They had to be the reviewers.
As they stepped further into the room, Albus Dumbledore came trailing after them, looking very displeased.
“Students!” he called, but none of Quirrells attackers seemed to notice. “Students!” he called again, to no avail. Finally, he waved his wand in the air and caused a spark of light to fly out of it, exploding into a firework above the Head Table. The resultant boom was enough to silence the entire Hall.
“Students,” Dumbledore said more calmly. His unhappy look straightened out into the usual vaguely amused and dreamy expression he wore. “There appears to be a problem here. I’m sure it can be solved more peacefully if we were all to take our seats and approach the professor one at a time.”
Draco scoffed noisily across the table from Harry before whispering, “It’s like he wants to get sacked. He’s serving himself up on a platter!” Hermione could be heard snickering beside him. “I told you the fifth and seventh years were our best shot. They’re all stressing about OWLs and NEWTs.”
“Hiding all the books on trolls in the library was also a brilliant idea. Your welcome,” Harry added smugly. It was hard to sound it with his voice so hoarse and nose completely stuffed up, but smug he was. “Remind me, Hermione, how did you start the rumor that this year’s defense exams were going to heavily feature questions about trolls?”
“Oh, you know,” she waved a hand through the air with faux dismissiveness. “A little whispering here, a little lying about conversations with the coordinator there. Being seen openly complaining about the lack of books on trolls definitely helped to drive the point home. Reverse psychology and all.”
“Have I told you you’re a genius lately?” Draco smirked.
The ruckus at the front of the room settled down as the students returned to their respective tables. The only person left, was the Gryffindor prefect. Harry was almost certain he was a Weasley.
“Professor,” the boy started, much calmer than previously. “I don’t understand how trolls can be so capable, if they’re considered to be on the lower end of the intelligence spectrum for similar creatures. Can you explain how this is possible?”
“Uh,” Professor Quirrell was shaking with anxiety, barely able to get a word out of his mouth. “I-I-I-I I’m… I m-m-mean… th-that is to say… I uh… d-d-don’t kn-n-now either-er.”
The Weasley boy looked absolutely horrified at that response. “How can you not know? You’re the professor. This is going to be on our OWLs!” he replied nervously.
“P-perhaps, the C-c-care of M-m-m-magical Crea-a-a-atures Prof-f-fessor can t-tell you?” Quirrell suggested with a meek smile.
“It’s going to be on the Defense OWL!”
Quirrell opened his mouth to stammer some more useless platitudes, but Dumbledore stepped in before he could get anything out.
“That’s enough, Mr. Weasley,” he said. Harry had been right. “Perhaps, any further questions should be taken up in the Professor’s office, during his normal hours.”
The Weasley boy bowed his head respectfully to the headmaster before returning silently to his table.
Harry glanced back over to the reviewers still standing by the door, and their expressions hadn’t changed a bit. Only, now they were scribbling furiously on their clipboards. That spelled danger for Dumbledore, but was great for the trio.
Harry turned to give Draco and Hermione a satisfied smirk, but when Hermione opened her mouth to reply, Harry went into a coughing fit. She rubbed his back comfortingly, and Draco poured him more tea. They felt so bad for leaving him to get sick.
The reviewers dispersed around the room. One of them continued to trail Dumbledore as he sat to begin his own breakfast. 2 others walked back and forth along the Head Table, speaking briefly with a few of the professors. The last one walked away from the Head Table entirely and headed straight toward the Slytherin table.
He greeted a few of the Slytherins and Ravenclaws as he walked down the aisle, keeping his hands firmly to himself as he tried to avoid anyone who was obviously ill. Finally, he reached Harry and stopped to wait for his coughing fit to finish.
After a few more seconds and another sip of tea, Harry turned to greet the man.
“Hullo, sir,” he said.
“Alan Milligan,” the middle aged man introduced. “And you’re the great Harry Potter.”
“I don’t know about great, but, yeah…” Harry trailed off. “I’d shake your hand,” he offered, “but that’s probably not the most sanitary at the moment. It’s a cesspool in here.”
“Yes,” Milligan agreed. “I did notice that a surprisingly large number of students seem to be unwell. Is there a bug going around?”
Hermione had to turn the other direction to hide the huge smile that crept onto her face. Was this really working out this easily?
“Not really,” Harry replied. He didn’t think he personally would be the one to sell out Binns, but he didn’t regret it one bit. “It seems everyone’s just caught a cold. Hard to avoid.”
“Ah,” the man nodded, with understanding. “Having massive snow ball fights? In my day we had them every other week in winter. Not so many of us ever got sick, though.”
“No, sir, there haven’t been any snowball fights,” Harry disagreed—this was it. “It’s because of our History of Magic classroom. It’s always freezing cold in there. Having to be in class for over an hour every other day is just horrible. But it’s a required class for first years.”
“History of Magic?” Milligan questioned. “With Professor Binns, right? The ghost?” Harry nodded and the man put a finger to his chin pensively. “I do remember that class had always been chilly, but I don’t know about freezing…”
“It must have gotten worse over the years,” Harry added. “It’s far past chilly. It’s cold enough to see your breath in there. It’s like having a class outside.”
“And what has Professor Binns done about this?”
“Nothing,” Harry replied, faking nonchalance. “There’ve been complaints, but he’s a ghost. What does he care how cold it is?” Harry seemed to be brushing it off as if it wasn’t something to be taken seriously, downplaying it. But he knew that the reviewer would find it important and take note.
“What about Dumbledore?” Milligan asked. “What’s he done about it?”
Blaise—who was sitting on Harry’s other side, and not even pretending not to listen to their conversation—interrupted and answered for Harry.
“Absolutely nothing!” the boy complained. “We’ve been sending complaints to his office since November, but we haven’t gotten a single result. It’s no wonder we’re all sick.” As if to emphasize his point, both Pansy and Marcus Flint further down the table sneezed one after the other. “Poor Millicent just came back from the hospital wing yesterday!”
Millicent glanced over at Blaise, giving him a look that said she didn’t need his pity. With her red nose and puffy eyes, it was a little hard to take seriously.
“Well,” Milligan sighed in a distinctly disappointed tone. “That’s no good at all, is it?” He lifted his clipboard and scribbled a really long note onto it. “I’ll have to take my leave now. It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Potter.” He nodded at the others then walked back to the head table.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Hermione elbowed Harry again.
“Did you tell Blaise to say that?” she whispered, looking irritated at not having been included in a part of the plan.
“No!” Harry breathed back, with difficulty. “I didn’t tell him anything. He just said it on his own.”
Hermione raised her eyebrows with impressed surprise. “Then, he must be telling the truth. That means we aren’t the only ones to catch on to Dumbledore’s shortcomings as headmaster.”
“Of course not,” Draco scoffed at them. “The man’s a hack. Eventually somebody had to have noticed.”
With Quirrell and Binns having unfolded so well, the trio was excited to see the rest of their plans play out through the day.
At lunch time, the meticulous planning to cause a disruption amongst the staff came to fruition. That was the more difficult part of their scheme for them to devise. It took a lot of finagling and preplanning to get it all to work, but ultimately, there was success.
Much like with their efforts to get the subpar teachers fired, they decided it would be easier to pick out a few members of the staff to include instead of trying to get all of them at once. At the same time, it also needed to be between people that made an impact. So that meant, the 4 Head of Houses. However, the Head of Houses were all quite formidable people in their own rights. They didn’t get their titles for nothing.
It all started with a rumor.
Hermione “whispered” to Draco in the Slytherin common room that she saw a note in Dumbledore’s office last semester that said he planned on firing one of the Head of Houses and that they’d be notified by the end of January. She idly wondered which one would get the letter, judging by each teacher’s demeanor.
Pansy overheard the conversation and, gossipy thing she was, soon let that spill to the rest of Slytherin house. By the end of the day, the whole school save the teacher’s in question were aware.
It continued with a question. An innocuous question, really.
In a potions class with the Gryffindors, while waiting for his cauldron to simmer, Draco asked Professor Snape: “Have you seen Dumbledore lately?”
Snape arched his brow at his Godson, then decided to extend the one drop of patience he had.
“No,” he replied curtly. “Not that it’s any of your business. Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” Draco answered shortly, returning his attention to his brew.
“What are you up to?” the Potions Master snapped, last bit of patience gone.
“I was just thinking…” Draco began, “that the Heads of Houses probably have to meet with the Headmaster a lot. To keep him updated on things, or whatever. No reason, the thought just popped into my head.”
“Perhaps you should spend more time thinking of the cauldron before you, and less time on irrelevant matters?” Snape suggested with an annoyed glare.
“Yes, sir,” Draco responded before appearing to do just that.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the Weasley boy staring at him. Weasley turned to look at his partner, they both shrugged, and Draco knew the deed was done. The seed was planted, and now all he had to do was watch it grow.
By the following Monday, word had spread that of all the 4 Heads of Houses, Professor McGonagall was the only one that seemed to meet regularly with the Headmaster.
Pansy was sure that meant she was the one to be sacked. Probably for being too strict on the students. She assigned way too much homework and didn’t give anyone lee way. She was clearly being unfair.
The Gryffindor prefect, Weasley, thought that was preposterous. Dumbledore met with her so often because she was Deputy Headmistress. More than that, she was an excellent teacher. She was probably the only one not in any real danger. If anyone should be worried, it should be Professor Snape. He was ruthless to his students, a downright bully to someone. He deserved it more than anyone.
A fourth year Hufflepuff named Diggory was certain it had to be Professor Flitwick. He was the one that seemed to meet the Headmaster the least. It must have meant he was being kept out of meetings. He didn’t need to be informed of the things going on because he wasn’t going to be there much longer.
Padma Patil argued that it was because he needed the least interference from Dumbledore, since clearly he was doing better than the others. No one ever had a single complaint about Flitwick. Sprout needed to be the most concerned. Sure, she knew plenty about herbology, and was a nice teacher and all. But she wasn’t particularly knowledgeable. McGonagall had been a transfiguration prodigy in her. Snape was one of the greatest potioneers in the country. Flitwick was even a Dueling Champion. Sprout was the only of the 4 who didn’t have any particular accolades to her name.
By the end of the month, the entire school was in a tizzy trying to figure out who it would be. The 1st of February was the start of days of scrutiny to decide who’d gotten the boot. The tiniest change in behavior or shortness in patience would be the indicator. The teachers had never found themselves watched so closely.
Finally, it all ended with a letter.
4 letters to be exact.
Harry’s prank book had a small section in it on faking letters. If one had a letter written by the person they were attempting to imitate, they could easily recreate another letter that seemed to come from the same person. The fake could say anything. They could make it say that the reader was a complete buffoon and should cram chocolate frogs down their pants. They could say that the reader was being fired from their position. They could ask the reader to meet in the headmaster’s office. Or they could make it say that the Head of Houses were gathering in a neutral location to discuss the merits of the expulsion of the Weasley Twins. All of them signed by Albus Dumbledore.
Half an hour before midnight on the 4th, Harry took his invisibility cloak for its first run through Hogwarts. The trio easily fit beneath it, and they snuck up to the owlery. From there, they found 4 nearly identical school owls, and instructed them to each take a letter to their respective recipients at the same time the next day.
They timed it perfectly. Each class had been in session for 30 minutes, and the students were working away obediently. It was the last class before the lunch break, and everyone was eager for the chance to refuel, more easily distracted than they would have been earlier in the morning.
Harry, Hermione, and Draco were in transfiguration with the Ravenclaws when an owl flew into the room. It swooped around the professor’s desk and dropped a letter before her. Without stopping, it turned to the door and continued back out of the room.
McGonagall opened her letter, looking it over quickly. Her face became drawn and angry. She crumpled the letter then, with a flick of her wand, set it aflame.
Instantly, the class erupted into loud whispers. That was the letter. It had to be! McGonagall was the one who was sacked. The students filled with jittery anticipation as they couldn’t wait to share the news with their other classmates at lunch.
Pansy in particular looked rather thrilled. Harry wasn’t sure, but he thought she was taking bets. She must have thought she won.
“Silence!” McGonagall snapped. She was suddenly very short with the students. It merely served to further their certainty of her fate.
The class crawled on at the slowest pace possible, taking ages to reach the lunch hour. When they were finally dismissed from the room, each student surged out of their seat in a race for the door. No one could get to the Great Hall fast enough to get the rumor mill going.
The Headmaster took his seat at the Head Table, just in time for the whole thing to unravel. The quartet of reviewers were standing off to the side of the room, observing his interactions with the teachers.
First, Professor Snape stormed into the room, cloak billowing ominously behind him, making him resemble a bat flying out of hell. He had an absolutely petrifying look on his face. It was enough to make Harry flinch by just seeing it. He couldn’t imagine what it would have been like to be on the receiving end of that glare. He likely would have turned to stone.
Snape approached the table opposite Dumbledore and pressed his hands down gently before the older man, but with a vice-like grip. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked in a voice that was dangerously calm.
Dumbledore looked back at him with a confused twinkle in his eye. After a moment, he responded, “I think there seems to be a bit of a misunderstanding, my boy.”
“Misunderstanding, indeed,” the Potions Master hissed. “Here I thought you at least held a modicum of respect for me as a person, but I guess that’s just asking far too much of the Great Albus Dumbledore.” He sneered the last bit. “Far too busy up high on that mountain top of yours to bother mingling with the scum of the Earth like me, I see. Honestly, Headmaster. A letter? You couldn’t be bothered to spit in my face in person?”
“I assure you,” Dumbledore warned in a voice just this side of threatening, “I have no idea what you mean. Whatever this misunderstanding is, I am not at the center of it.”
A wave of confusion spread throughout the room. It seemed as if Snape was the one who received the letter stating he was fired. That made no sense because nearly half of the school was already so certain that it had been somebody else.
Professor McGonagall approached the Head Table next, standing beside Snape and across from Dumbledore.
“Honestly, Albus,” she gave a long suffering sigh. Her tone was stern, clearly irritated, but still respectful enough to not be considered to be making a scene. Unlike other professors. “I appreciate your insistence that I be included in your endeavors to spread humor among the school.” She forced a tight smile. “However, I find it highly inappropriate that you should send me such missives as the one I received this morning. I should think you would know by now that such potty humor does not amuse me in the slightest. I wish I could say I’d expect much more from you, but given your history, I know better than to expect any less.”
“Minerva,” Albus replied, “something is afoul here. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
A moment later, Professor Sprout poked her head through the door. Spotting what she was looking for, she shuffled into the room and stood right beside Snape.
“I’m confused,” she began. “Have you started discussion without me? I thought we were to meet on the 4th floor. I found an empty room and no one coming so I came back to double check. Why did you change the location without telling me?” She was obviously frustrated, but kept her voice cordial. However, anyone with eyes and ears could tell she was angry. “I let my class out early to meet you. You had me standing around waiting there, for nothing? Where’s Filius?” she added to the end.
By then, the Great Hall was abuzz with confused whispers and chatter in undertones. What could possibly be going on? Where was Flitwick? Was he the one getting sacked? Or was it Snape? What about Sprout? Why did she get ditched? Were she and Flitwick getting fired? Was it really McGonagall? Does she think it’s some kind of sick joke? Is that what she was talking about? What in Merlin’s name was going on?
While the teachers squabbled and tried to figure out what happened, the reviewers were busy writing endless notes on their clipboards. Hermione was practically wringing her hands in glee. Draco thought the whole thing was hilarious, and Harry was just having a hard time believing it really all worked out so well.
Then again, he was only just barely aware of what was going on. His cold was getting to him. If he weren’t so determined to see how everything turned out, he would have been in the hospital wing the night before instead of sneaking around in the owlery.
Just as everything seemed to be getting worked out, Professor Flitwick raced into the room, huffing and face red with exertion.
“Professor!” he panted with great irritation. “I went all the way to your office, only to be sent back down here? Why did you call me there in the first place? What is it that you wanted to discuss that was so urgent? If it was so urgent, why did you leave when you were supposed to meet me?”
Frustrated, and utterly confused, Dumbledore stood from his seat. “Professors,” he addressed the Head of Houses at once. “Perhaps we can should take lunch in my office, where we can discuss this in further detail and get to the bottom of this mishap.”
“I was just in your office!” Flitwick muttered angrily.
The fiascos of the day were all anyone could talk about. Even at dinner students were still discussing Quirrell’s morning breakdown, and the angry expression on McGonagall’s face. The teacher’s themselves still seemed rather disgruntled, indicating that they in fact had not gotten to the bottom of it in Dumbledore’s office earlier.
The only ones left on the itinerary for the day were Filch and Hagrid.
The plan for Hagrid, however, did not come to fruition. Harry couldn’t help but wonder why that was. He was supposed to have been setting up a large and very graphic fertility tribute in front of the Head Table.
Harry knew that Draco had dropped the seed in the giant’s mind, so he had no idea why he hadn’t come through. Perhaps he was cleverer than they thought and was able to see through the manipulation. He wasn’t even in the Great Hall at all.
Despite the Hagrid snag, things seemed to be going swimmingly when the twins came running through the Hall. They were each waving a long purple banner that flashed what appeared to be random words that all started with W in sparkly green letters. Filch came thundering behind them, spitting obscenities and threats all the way. Behind Filch, Peeves followed in their wake, cackling in amusement as he drifted in circles. Beneath him, Mrs. Norris was hissing and yowling in anger as she attempted to claw the ghost’s face every time it swung near.
“I will hang you brats from the ceiling by your thumbs!” Filch screamed as he slowed down, panting and clutching a stitch in his side. “Just like back in the old days! I miss the screaming…” he muttered. “Won’t be missing it no more when I’m done with you two!” While he was down, the twins made a break for the door, splitting up when they got through it. Mrs. Norris went after one, and Peeves followed the other, both making noise as they went.
“Does he often threaten students?” Harry could overhear a female reviewer asking the Head Table as a whole.
“All the time,” Snape answered blandly.
The reviewer scowled, then went and scribbled more on her clipboard. She unclipped her page, flipping it over, then continued writing on the back.
Harry chanced a look at the Headmaster. For once, he was full on frowning. Today had been a disaster from start to finish and the old man knew it.
For the first time that day, Harry wheezed out a few laughs.