FicWad

The Harry Potter universe is the creation of J.K. Rowling. This is fanfiction. The standard disclaimers apply.


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Chapter 20: A Letter And Office Hours


Saturday, October 13, 1990


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To: Malaxis Wayland


Dear Father,

Hogwarts is still okay. I think my grades are pretty good. I don't think most kids here grew up with as many books around as I did.

Thanks for warning me about Dumbledore—I've told some other students about him, because they didn't know he was a legilimens. So far I haven't been near him. I've read some of the books on Occlumency that I found in the boxes from Aunt Nerodia's collection, and I've done some of the exercises, but I know theory and practice aren't the same, so I'll stay away from him like you said to. It would be nice if everybody's parents were more careful about this—do you think a summer class on Occlumency would work?

The other Slytherins are actually pretty smart, if they are motivated in the right ways. Sometimes it seems like I know a lot more than the other first-years, though. If Dumbledore or someone else comes asking, you'll tell them how much time I spend reading, right? I don't want him to decide I'm the next Dark Lord just because you let me borrow my great-grandfather's rune-stylus kit!!

I haven't done anything like the pranks you used to yet. Don't tell mother this, but Erwin and Bernard talked me into messing with some chairs—I won't tell you how!—but it turns out you can't use the chalk from that kit on upholstery. Erwin has some Spell-o-tape, though, so I made some sheets of paper he could stick to the undersides of things. If it works, I'll let you know!

Tell mother and Sarepta I'll write to them each again soon!

Love,

Oren


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Professor Snape's office was more or less circular, and was lined with shelves storing all manner of jars and containers. Oren assumed many were for show, some were trophies, some were actually useful, and some were simply things Snape had nowhere else to put. The Professor's desk stood in the center of the room, the soft green glow of his lamp being the only source of light.

Oren had knocked on the door, and been told simply "come in."

"Professor Snape, do you have a few minutes? I have some questions that aren't really related to class."

Snape fixed him with an inscrutable look, but had long since given up probing his Occlumency barriers. It was fairly normal for pureblood children to be given lessons by paranoid parents; Oren was good, but not suspiciously so (he could keep a legilimens out well enough, but not lead them around through false memories).

After a moment, Snape replied "I have more than a few minutes, but feel free to sit down if this will take longer." He waited for Oren to sit down on one of the chairs Snape kept for visitors. "Go ahead."

"I heard some Seventh-Years saying you brewed some potions for Professor Trelawney, and that the potions made it so they would do things they ordinarily wouldn't—cutting open the pigeons and whatever else the class involved. But they said it was just an ordinary calming draught and an anti-emetic. I looked in the library a bit about this, and I couldn't find anything about effects of calming draughts on moral judgments. How does it actually work?"

Snape appeared to be collecting his thoughts, and then began his lecture.

"I suspect, Mr. Wayland, that you lack empathy for the subjective experiences of those whose minds lack organization. You would do well to gain some. I think you would find it useful.

Someone who is not truly aware of the workings of their own mind cannot develop the ability to observe themselves thinking. They do not pay attention to what it is like to think, and therefore do not know when they are, or are not, thinking.

I will not attempt to define moral judgment for you because I do not think it is a useful concept. Suffice it to say that most people have sufficiently disorganized minds that they cannot directly observe their own judgments, of any sort, and therefore are unaware that they never make any. Instead they look to emotions, not understanding that emotions are mere epiphenomena of their confused mental existences.

Consider the fight-or-flight response. Just thinking about danger can cause the heart to race, which is not inherently bad, because this response might be necessary to prepare the body to act. A calming draught mutes the link between mind and body, so that thoughts do not lead to physical symptoms. That is why it is used when someone is thinking irrationally.

I added the anti-emetic to the general calming draught as an extra precaution. It alone might have changed the behaviors of some, who are used to observing the physical sensations of their stomachs, taking these to be evidence that something must be disgusting to them, and deducing then that a contemplated activity must violate their personal ethics. This nausea-based evaluation is the pernicious cognitive pathway I most expected Professor Trelawney's students to engage in."

"Wow. Thank you. . . that explains an awful lot. Huh. So, if you don't mind my asking, how much of that did Professor Trelawney come up with on her own?"

"The basic idea was hers, insomuch as she . . . foresaw . . . that many students would find extispicy unsettling, and that certain potions might help them overcome this barrier to learning. I do not think she considered the situation with more nuance than that, but I prefer not to investigate, or even speculate on, the inner workings of Professor Trelawney's mind." Oren smiled; that last bit seemed fair enough.

"Nevertheless, it was, however inadvertently, a brilliant idea, one which I may adopt in my own classroom. Currently I do not teach techniques for extracting ingredients directly from the bodies of animals, for the obvious reason that some students would find it too disturbing, and, alas, I have found that no amount of detention is an adequate remedy for fits of incapacitating nausea. Consequently I have so far resigned myself to providing isolated ingredients and requiring nothing more complicated than chopping or grinding.

Pedagogically speaking, this significantly narrows the range of skills I may teach in my classes. Given Professor Trelawney's impressive success in restoring extispicy to the Hogwarts curriculum, I think it likely that the technique will generalize. I will, of course, follow her example of beginning with time-honored but recently discarded topics, although again I expect her brilliance was inadvertent in that respect as well."

"Huh. I always assumed that sort of thing got covered in Care of Magical Creatures or something."

Professor Snape actually smiled. "I believe, Mr. Wayland, that the entire point of that class, is, in fact, to keep the magical creatures alive. That would be the 'Care' part of the title? No, currently once those creatures are dead, a Hogwarts graduate will have had no instruction as to what to do next."

"Oh. Let me guess—nobody in power has bothered to consider this?"

"While that is undoubtedly true, modern fastidiousness and moral confusion are the primary explanations."

"Right, that makes sense. Without the calming draught technique, it would be impossible anyway. Um, I have another question, unrelated . . . since a bunch of Slytherins were speculating about this—in private, of course—I thought it would be good if I asked and settled it. When and how much do you look into the minds of members of your own house, and what do you do with that?"

Snape gave him a look of mild concern, then said nothing for a long while, staring thoughtfully at the wall.

"I look forward to the day, Mr. Wayland, when you learn to pose shorter questions. Nevertheless, I suppose if I do not answer that, the ensuing . . . speculation . . . could be disruptive. You understand that this is not to be spoken of, in any way, outside of the house?"

"Absolutely! That could go badly, even if Dumbledore's habits got brought into it at the same time."

"I will refrain from commenting on the headmaster, or on students from other houses, as you did not ask about them." Oren nodded, indicating this was fine; Snape paused for several seconds. "You may assure your friends that unless I suspect serious physical harm to a student will otherwise occurr, I actively avoid learning about their petty dramas. I have found that investigations into the private lives of Slytherin students invariably lead to me learning things I would prefer not to have learned. The gossip I am routinely forced to overhear is bad enough."

Oren grinned, even though Snape did not, and stood up. "Thanks, Professor. I'll leave you alone now." Snape watched him go, and returned to his work.


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"Professor McGonagall? Do you have a moment?" Tonks was standing in the door to her office, which Minerva frequently left open to make herself seem more approachable.

"I do." She smiled slightly. Years of trying to look stern had led to difficulties when she actually wanted to comfort students.

"Um, may I shut the door? I have some kind of private questions—they're transfiguration questions, honest—but they're sort of personal."

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Of course. My door is open to make students more comfortable coming to me with questions; it can be shut for the same reason." She waved her hand, and the door shut behind Tonks. "Now, have a seat, and I'll see if I can answer your questions."

"So, because I'm a metamorphmagus, people keep talking to me about magical ways to change their bodies, but I don't know anything about how anyone else does it. And, er, I hate to embarrass you, but it's usually girls who want bigger breasts." Tonks looked down at her breasts, resisting the urge to give a demonstration; the original seventeen-year-old Tonks would definitely have been the more embarrassed one in the room.

"And, I don't know what to tell them, and I also don't want them going off and trying something dangerous. So, I guess, what I want to know is what can be done with self-transfiguration, or potions I guess, and what I should warn them away from trying. The library doesn't really say anything, which I've learned by now doesn't mean anything since it might all be in the restricted section." Tonks decided that was good enough for now, and looked at Professor McGonagall expectantly.

"Well, that's not what I was expecting when you walked in the door, but it's definitely not the first time I've been asked that question. The short answer is that you should steer those girls away from trying direct self-transfiguration. It can go horribly, painfully wrong and can be difficult to reverse, or even fatal.

Most effects that seem like self-transfiguration are in reality discrete, very specific spells or abilities. The animagus transformation, for instance, is fixed, and can only be learned by preparing your body for it with a potion. Even then, learning it is quite dangerous if done incorrectly.

There is a former colleague of mine, Horace Slughorn, who used to teach potions here before Professor Snape. He has become quite good at turning himself into furniture. That is a specific spell. Doing that sort of thing with free transfiguration is more or less impossible.

Other than the animagus process, there is no potion I am aware of which makes it thereafter safe to engage in self-transfiguration. There are probably potions which will do specific things like increase the size of certain body parts, but I'm afraid that's beyond my area of expertise. I'm sure Professor Snape would be happy to answer any further questions you might have. Do tell me what he says, if you ask him."

These last sentences were said without a change in her expression from normal lecture mode; Tonks did her best to keep a straight face, too. She wondered how many students fell for that, and whether there was some running rivalry between Snape and McGonagall about who could induce students to ask the most embarrassing questions of the other. Heck, she wondered if she had ever fallen for it. "Okay. I think I'll just tell the girls to go directly to Snape, though. Thanks, Professor!"

McGonagall gave her a genuinely warm smile as she left. "Any time, Miss Tonks."


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"Lemon drops?"

"Chocolate ants?"

"Cockroach clusters? Candied butterfly?"

"Butterbeer pops? Sugar quills?"

"Those are illegal, remember? He wouldn't use that. Chocolate-frosted sugar quills?"

"I thought you just said those weren't allowed?"

"Well, the chocolate-frosted kind isn't specifically on the list."

"I'm not sure that matters."


The twins were standing in front of the gargoyle that guarded the headmaster's office, attempting to guess the password. This technique had been known to work occasionally, given Dumbledore's predilection for candy-themed passwords, but it wasn't very reliable.

Albus Dumbledore was, in fact, quite aware of Fred and George's conversation, but was enjoying it too much to let them in right away.


"Okay, this isn't working. Should we knock?"

"On what, the gargoyle's nose? What if it bites? Ack!"


Dumbledore assumed the gargoyle had made a face at them. He relented and ordered it to move aside.


"Maybe it has a sensitive nose."

"Yes, I'm sure it could smell us coming from around the corner."


"I'm sorry to have left you two in the hall for so long," said Dumbledore as they arrived at the top of the stairs, "but that was the most creative attempt I've heard in a long time, and I was busy taking notes." He held up a handwritten list of all of their guesses. "Might be useful later if I can't think of anything. Also I'm pretty sure sugar quills are allowed in the school—I know I have some in the office somewhere around here."


"They are actually on Filch's list, sir."

"We checked."

"All eleven thousand, one hundred and twenty-seven items."

"Sugar quills are definitely on there."

"It was one of the things we were specifically looking for."


"I'm not going to ask why, although of course I admire your diligence. I have no idea why that's on there, but I'll order Filch to remove it. Did you find anything else puzzling on there?"


"Pretty much most of the list, sir, aside from a few sensible things and the dark artifacts."

"You wouldn't happen to know what a French can opener is, would you?"


"Maybe a can opener that was made in France? I honestly have no idea. I'm afraid that one is too good to remove, though—it would be a pity not to give future students the same opportunity to be confused by it as we have all enjoyed." The twins just nodded. "So, what brings you to my office today? I gather from your expressions that you are not, in fact, in trouble, so you certainly have my attention on this rare occasion."


"We'd like you to show us how you did that thing in the food fight."

"Specifically, how you managed to get the food to fly in different directions."

As the twins explained, they were taking about a dozen brightly colored balls out of their pockets, and hovering them in a rotating circle.

"We, in fact, asked Professor Flitwick about it, . . ."

". . . and that's how we learned how to do more than one at a time."

"He said to think of them as a group, and then move the group as a whole."

"So we learned to do that, . . ."

". . . as you can see." Dumbledore nodded, letting them continue.

"But it seems to us that the next logical thing . . ."

". . . is to get half of them moving on the other direction, . . ."

". . . like so, . . ."

One of them grabbed six balls from the group and moved them separately.

". . . except that only works because there are two of us."

"Professor Flitwick said he couldn't do this either, . . ."

". . . and that it wasn't the sort of thing wizards normally tried to do."

"He said we might as well just ask you how you did it."

"Which is what we are doing."


Albus Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, taking in the moment. He was the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Order of Merlin First Class, the most powerful wizard of his age, and secretly the bearer of the Elder Wand. And Fred and George Weasley thought he was the logical person to ask for juggling lessons. He had looked into their minds—they genuinely had no idea that the instruction they were seeking would make them formiddible dueling opponents, although they certainly possessed the germs of ideas for mischief. The Weasleys, every one of them, pranksters though they might be, were some of the lightest of light wizards that Albus had ever known.

And so he smiled, and took out that wand, and looked at it for just a moment, before carefully snatching the balls from the twins' pattern, one by one. As he did so, each new ball was given an orbit in a new circle, just wider than the one within, until all twelve balls were in a single plane, traveling in alternating directions. He froze the balls, so that the twins could see what he was doing as he simultaneously transfigured the balls into twelve distinct colors. He then then gave each a light and dark half, so that it was apparent when he set each spinning in place, slowly, in various different orientations. Dumbledore took far more pleasure in the twins' obvious awe than he had in the years of fear and flattery he had endured from the Wizengamot and other ministry officials.

Next, still spinning, he set the balls back to moving their prior orbits, and from the inside out, pulled those orbits out of the central plane until they evenly delineated a spherical space, which would have reminded a muggle of an atomic diagram. Then he started perturbing the orbits into ellipses of various lengths, in which the balls flew in paths that circled himself and the twins, came precariously close to some delicate instruments, and caused Fawkes to duck repeatedly and squawk in protest.

"Pure showing off of course, but I don't think anyone has ever asked me to try that before, and in any event demonstrating that it was, in fact, possible seemed like a good start. The tricks to it are an ability to think in complex patterns, and the ability to maintain multiple spells at once. I believe you two will be able to learn both with practice, although of course the overall effect is limited by your magical power, which at your age has only started developing. So you won't be able to do this with, say, geese, right away—something I'm sure our gamekeeper and caretaker will be very grateful for.

Unfortunately I really do need to get back to work. The next step for you two is going to be for you to work through some exercises. I'll get back to you in a few days about that, barring unforeseen circumstances." He gave a look indicating finality, and watched the twins go, a somewhat dazed look in their eyes.


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"Miss Tonks, I have absolutely no idea why you think I am an appropriate person to direct that absurd question to, nor can I imagine what sort of lapse in judgment would lead Professor McGonagall to suggest that you should come to me with it. Even if such potions do exist, their existence is evidence of exactly the kind of idiotic waste of intellectual resources that give my profession a bad name. If you are determined to get yourself involved in enabling the pitiful insecurities of your fellow students, perhaps you could ask your head of house. Or why not Dumbledore! Or am I the only member of the staff who you assume has nothing better to do? Do not waste my time further. Good day."


That, she thought, was totally worth it.


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"Why don'tcher have 'em aim fer those blasted grey squirrels—save me the trouble o' shootin' 'em or chasin' 'em away."

Charlie was having tea with Hagrid, and had described his new training exercises for Fred and George. The North American grey squirrel is a dangerous invasive species in Britain, out-competing the native red squirrels and generally doing damage to forest ecosystems. Hogwarts unfortunately lay at the edge of their range, which was advancing inexorably northward through Scotland.

Hagrid and Charlie had agreed that it was too dangerous to let the squirrels into the Hogwarts grounds without a fight, since too many rare and endangered magical species hung onto existence there. The Forbidden Forest was clearly bigger on the inside than it appeared from the outside, so although no one in living memory had found any of its hidden hills and glades, some of the animals obviously relied on them. There was no way, for instance, that a herd of twelve or more hippogriffs could survive on a total territory of eight or so square miles. And if the hippogriffs could get into those places, they had to assume the squirrels would too. The Forest, unfortunately, was not invulnerable to environmental disturbance.

Some predators would eat the squirrels if they got the chance, but unless something rapidly developed a distinct taste for grey squirrel, it wasn't going to be enough. So Hagrid had taken to hunting them with his crossbow, sharing squirrel stew with Fang, or tossing them to the tamer members of the hippogriff herd. It was not a duty he enjoyed.

"Hah! I'll definitely ask them to do that. I don't think a practice bludger has enough power to hurt a squirrel, and I won't let them use a regulation one in there for fear of damaging the trees. But there's no harm in harrassing the little buggers. I don't think Fred and George would willingly kill the squirrels for us, though, no matter how many cute pictures of sad little red squirrels we showed them."

"Seems worth a try ter me. Let me know when yer goin' t'be ou' there next, so I can come watch!"


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Tonks wanted to ask Professor Sprout about breast-enlarging potions. She really did. She just didn't think she could manage a straight face any longer. It was incredibly frustrating.


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"So I talked to Professor McGonagall." Charlie and Oliver were sitting at the Gryffindor table, eating dinner. "She hasn't kept in touch with any Gryffindor alumni who would be able to help us with new brooms."

"Oh."

"I know. I feel awful for asking, too, because I think now she's going to be just as frustrated as we are, and think it's her fault for not being a Slytherin. But I didn't know what to say."

Another student might have said something like 'It's okay, Charlie, I'm sure she realizes it's just a game.' Oliver just looked dejected.

"I tried to distract her by telling her about what I'm doing with Fred and George. You know, I talked to Hagrid earlier today, and he asked me to have them aim for squirrels. Just the grey ones, mind you, those are the ones he's trying to chase out."

"Why?"

"They're from America, and we don't want them getting into the Forbidden Forest." Oliver nodded, pretending this made sense. "You were afraid I'd give you the long explanation, for a moment there—I can tell! Anyway after that she looked like she had some ideas she didn't want to share quite yet. So I think we should just wait and see, and try to be nice to her in the meantime."


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"So then he looks furious, and tells me off, but sticks in a suggestion that I go ask Sprout or Dumbledore. They're all just sending me around!"

"Oh, that's hilarious." Nancy and Tonks were in their bunks. "I wonder what Sprout would say. Or Dumbledore!"

"Yeah. I really want to ask her, but I don't think I can pull it off without laughing."

"Maybe you should ask Snape for a potion to help you keep a straight face? He might even give you one from his private supply."

"Oh, I wish, but he might actually take points if I went to bother him a second time. I don't think he's very comfortable with breasts."

"Reeaally."


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Author's notes:


So, as of a chapter or two ago, this story has reached over 50k words posted, which would have qualified me for nanowrimo had I been thinking of this as anything like a novel. Go me!

Also, it has been pointed out that many people probably can't see the character I was using as a dingbat in places. Darn it! I'll try some other things.

As to the story, it was interesting writing Snape. It feels like for him and Trelawney-at-Hogwarts, getting them to sound right feels like pulling out all the stops. That is, I become more aware of the constraints on other characters' speech, more than I become aware of making a large effort to go over-the-top. The extreme of constraints so far is Hagrid's West Country accent, which I find extremely difficult to do recognizably, let alone faithfully. Unfortunately, or fortunately if you like him, Hagrid is a more or less unavoidable character.

Finally, the explanation of the potions that Oren gets in the second section here is a highly Snapeified version of real psychological theory. By "Snapeified" I mean don't try this at home. Hopefully therapists of the relevant varieties do not read Ficwad; if they do, I take comfort in my anonymity.