HA 10c: Liar

HIM AGAIN: Chapter 10: Ashes to Ashes - Liar

It was late, and Minerva’s body was beginning to protest as she dragged it up the stairs to her office - yet there was still the matter of Professor Read’s ‘genius’ essay to attend to. Seeing it lying on the desk where she‘d abandoned it earlier, she eyed it distastefully.

Prejudice again, someone in her head pointed out. You don’t want to read it because Read loved it.

She nodded to herself, accepting the charge. There was something so profoundly irritating about Martha that it coloured everything she touched or approved of - the essay, the embodiment of all things inanimate and harmless, seemed to exude a fussy, melodramatic air that made her want to throw it in the bin. Nevertheless, reading it would only take a few minutes, and Martha was bound to mention it the next day so there was no excuse to put it off.

Easing herself into the chair, Minerva found herself struck by the handwriting - loopy and distinctive, somehow old-fashioned and quaint. For a moment, she gazed at it. There was an aura of familiarity about it; something she couldn’t put her finger on. She shook herself and began to read: she had never read Brian Potter’s handwriting before and there was no logical reason for it to be familiar.

Fifteen minutes passed. Scepticism gave way to astonishment, astonishment to awe, awe to vague annoyance. She set the essay back down on the table and stared out of the window distractedly.

The style was impressive, far beyond the standard of most Seventh-Years. Complicated technical terms littered the text and the subject was analysed in a depth Minerva knew the that even Transfiguration teacher-training board did not expect. Martha had been right - this sort of thing belonged in an international professional journal, not in a First-Year’s first essay. The mind who had written this was brilliant, with their knowledge standing beyond even her own, excelling her in reasoned speculation and theory. In fact, Minerva felt herself desiring to meet with the writer and have a good intellectual discussion about some of the issues they’d raised.
The name at the top of the parchment stood out at her again. Brian Potter.

She sighed and sat back. There was no doubt about it: the boy had either copied and not had the sense to copy something average and mediocre, or he had somehow persuaded a professional to write it. She fancied that there was something familiar about the style; perhaps she had read the work of the same writer in a book somewhere?

A disappointing, Slytherin-ish thing for the son of Harry and Ginny Potter to have done, she thought. Then fury fired her mind. Could she not suppress the prejudice? Would she always be looking for ways to think well of the children of her friends?

Trying to calm herself, Minerva got up and walked into her chambers, straight up to the bookcase. Stimulated by a First-Year essay, she took down a book and began to read, exhaustion forgotten.