HA 6a: Plan

HIM AGAIN: Chapter 6: Curse Him - Plan

Being diminutive, Filius Flitwick decided, was a definite advantage sometimes.

‘Diminutive’ was a delicate, elegant word. It had been his mother’s word to describe him, and it was a word that - he hoped - seemed to instinctively suggest the possibility of the phrase ‘despite being’ existing before it. Admittedly, he was ‘diminutive’ in the same way that Hagrid was ‘big-boned,” but nobody at Hogwarts had ever made an issue of it - and now his position as vertically challenged was certainly giving him an edge over the half-giant.

Hagrid had been the centre of attention ever since the inspectors had arrived. Sadly it was not just the psychological effect of his size but also the continuing prejudice that haunted the school board and the Ministry. No, thought Filius sadly, one war was not enough to save Hagrid from upturned noses.

They had reached one of the most unpleasant parts on the inspection - the walk across the grounds towards where Madam Hooch was conducting a Flying lesson. The inspectors - bespectacled, stout, suspicious - always used the opportunity to fire questions at whoever was unlucky enough to be present.

“Er, well, really - yeh have to be unlucky to be allergic to Flobberworms, Madam,” Hagrid, Head of Gryffindor, was protesting. His ruddy face was beginning to display traces of panic.

“I was not referring merely to Flobberworms, Professor Hagrid,” a curly-haired woman with pursed lips was saying. “There are all manner of allergies in the world. Surely there are precautions..?”

“Of course,” said the Headmistress stiffly, swooping to Hagrid’s rescue. “Madam Pomfrey stores all possible antidotes…”

Filius eyed her worriedly. Under the harsh April light, she looked even worse than she had when inside the castle. Her skin was sallow and lined, and the brisk trot of olden days had slowed to a half-stagger, hampered rather than helped by the walking stick. Her voice was hoarse from lack of use - the past few months had seen staff instructions being delivered by owl. There had been no explanation at all and Filius had had to play the fool even more exuberantly than usual to keep the slightest of smiles on the faces of the faculty.

He shook his head and looked at the other two heads of house walking along beside him. Horace Slughorn was Minerva’s opposite - having managed to increase in portliness over the last few years to the point when his waistcoat’s seams seemed to defy possibility. He was bombarding one of the inspectors with indulgent banter (“Wilkins, I always knew you would get to high places, my boy”) and fiddling with his magnificent moustache. Pomona Sprout stumped resolutely along at the rear, answering questions whenever the Headmistress failed to do so, a long-suffering expression on her face. Filius caught her eye and smiled. There was a flash of a grin before an inspector intruded.

“Ah, Flying lessons. The First-Years, I presume. I suppose Hogwarts has an insurance policy in case of injuries-”

“-None of which have ever been serious enough to merit its use,” said Minerva sharply.

Rolanda was in sight, mid-way through her speech on seating position. The First-Years were straddling their brooms with doubtful expressions - with the exception of one boy, whose broom remained on the ground.

“-Mr Croft, you will simply have to be more forceful about it. Try again. Hold out your hand and-”

Filius saw her head turn in Minerva’s direction as they approached - and saw it snap back again. Her voice grew even sharper.

It was not until they and the inspectors were within a few feet of Rolanda that she acknowledged their presence with a curt nod. Filius sighed inwardly. He was quite sure that Minerva’s sudden detachment from the rest of the staff and the rift between her and the flying instructor were linked but Merlin knew what had happened.

“Madam… Hooch, is it? This is late for their first flying lesson, isn’t it?”

“Yes, well,” sniffed Rolanda, looking over the inspector’s head at Minerva. “My budget for school brooms is exceptionally small and their lease ran out just before September - and, of course, brooms aren’t top of the Headmistess’s priority list so flying lessons were delayed.”

The Headmistress flinched. Filius looked from Rolanda to Minerva and back again, appalled. If the flying instructor was prepared to break a façade of unity in front of an inspector, then the row was more serious than he’d thought. He locked eyes with Hagrid and Pomona, to find them equally shocked. The former’s mouth was open and Pomona stared wildly back at him, obviously at a loss as to how brush over the awkward moment. Even Slughorn looked taken aback.

Time for squeaky, annoying, happy little Professor Flitwick to step forward, he decided. It was the first time he’d noticed a distinct gap between his persona and himself.

“The last three Quidditch matches have been very exciting!” he squeaked. “I was absolutely electrified during the last Gryffindor-Slytherin one!”

The inspector was still blinking at Rolanda, but the bait worked nonetheless. “I see! And which House is in the lead, may I ask?”

“Slytherin, naturally!” Slughorn declared proudly. “Of course,” he added with a kind of modest vanity, “it’s only fair to say that we have an uncommonly good line-up this year, uncommonly good.”

“Yeh wait till the next Weasley comes along,” Hagrid laughed.

The moment had passed but Rolanda’s face was hard and inscrutable, and Minerva was looking away from it all, up into the sky, as if she wanted to fly away. Filius shook his head again and let out a tiny, high-pitched sigh.

“Ah yes, Headmistress, just a few last things…” one of the inspectors said eventually and Minerva hobbled back to the castle, the inspectors politely slowing themselves to her pace.

Filius watched the group fade into the distance and looked around at the other heads of house. A mutual, silent agreement took place - and none of them spoke until Rolanda’s lesson was over and the First-Years were heading back to the castle. Slughorn twiddled his thumbs and had an unconvincing look of unconcern on his face, whilst Pomona simply stood stock still and glared at nothing. Filius tried to give Hagrid an encouraging smile - but Hagrid’s height meant that it went unnoticed.

Rolanda was stowing the brooms away when Pomona finally spoke.

“Rolanda Hooch, what was that?”

The other witch said nothing and continued to lock the brooms away.

“You put the Headmistress in a very awkward position, just then.”

Rolanda’s silence continued and Filius felt uneasy. Slughorn’s thumbs stilled.

“Not meaning to pry,” he said genially, “but surely any little disagreement between you and Professor McGonagall-”

“It is not a ‘little disagreement,’” said Rolanda.

Slughorn blinked. “My good woman-”

“My good man,” the flying instructor interrupted - and she looked more serious than Filius had ever seen her - “and the rest of you. It’s not even a disagreement really.” Her face sagged. “Something needs to be done.”

There was a pause and Rolanda turned away from them.

“It’s not just me, is it? This is ridiculous. There’s something wrong with her.”

“The Headmistress-” began Pomona uncertainly.

“Please, Pommy, we’re talking about Minerva here, not the Headmistress. And nobody pretend not to know what I’m talking about. There’s been something wrong with her for years now; she locks herself away from everyone and I, for one, don’t need Poppy to tell me she’s unwell without seeing it for myself. This can’t go on.”

Slughorn fumbled in his pockets. “You’re quite right. The woman,” he said authoritatively, “is on the verge of some sort of breakdown. She looks dreadful. I suggest she be referred to St Mungos at once. It’s stress, mark my words.”

“That’s odd - because I don’t think it is. If it was stress, then why didn’t this happen before, during the war?”

“An accumulated effect, Madam, an accumulated effect. Goodness, the war was hard on everyone and one mustn’t forget that she was Albus’s deputy during it all.”

“A great man, Dumbledore,” Hagrid said sadly. “A truly great man.”

“Yes indeed,” said Slughorn, with the air of delivering a moving eulogy.

“I think there’s something more to it,” said Rolanda. “I wanted to get all you lot together anyway - I think we should try and find out exactly what’s going on.”

“We can’t go nosing into Minerva’s private business,” Filius pointed out.

It wasn’t how he’d meant it but Slughorn seized on it at once. “Private business! Of course!” He looked up, misty-eyed. “It’s a man she’s wasting after!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Pomona snapped. “I sincerely doubt that the Headmistress entertains such ideas at her age!”

“I don’t see why we have ter be all underhand,” said Hagrid. “Yeh’re - or yeh were - her friend, Rolanda. Yeh oughter have asked.”

“I did. And that’s why we’re not talking to each other any more. There was… there was a time when she would have told me anything, but not now. She’s a closed shell.”

“I still say it’s a man,” said Slughorn. “The lot of you have no romance in your souls! Just because a woman’s old doesn’t mean she’s lost her heart-”

“You’re impossible,” muttered Pomona.

“Decision time,” said Rolanda. “There’s only one of us whom she talks to any more and that’s you Hagrid. You should ask her - or somehow find out.”

“But - but - I’m not her friend! I mean, I’m jus’ the Care of Magical Creatures Professor-”

“And Head of Gryffindor, her old House. And another member of the Order. Aren’t you lot having a reunion party soon? At the Potters’? You should ask then.”

“But,” said Hagrid. But, but, but. Rolanda was too determined.