Lessons -- Griselda Marchbanks, G
Title: Lessons
Author: Churri Arashi (churri_arashi)
Rating: G
Warnings: None.
Prompt: #75 -- So much has been said and sung of beautiful young girls, why doesn't somebody wake up to the beauty of old women? -- Harriet Beecher Stowe
Spoilers: Everything up to and including OotP.
Summary: An offer from the Minister of Magic makes Griselda Marchbanks realize that the world still has a few surprises in store for her. 1,958 words.
This fic took a lot of different forms before reaching the one you see. The quote's influence is more thematic than it is direct, but it's still there. Hopefully. Thanks to pelirroja_ljc for the excellent beta-read.
Griselda Marchbanks woke up in the middle of the night with a most peculiar feeling. She didn't feel sick, exactly. It was almost as if she had been filled from head to toe with Peppermint Toads, and they were making her skin hop and itch in the oddest ways.
It seemed unlikely that it was caused by the roast she'd eaten the night before. She had the fewest digestive problems within her circle of friends, a fact of which she was quite proud. She also had the strongest teeth, the clearest vision, and the keenest mind (though she would not boast about the latter, as she knew the inevitable results of such prideful thinking). All things considered, she was lucky, even if taking her broom for a spin was quite out of the question.
Griselda wished that she'd inherited her grandmother's Seer abilities - she might then be able to tell what this creeping feeling meant, exactly.
She got to her feet as quickly as she could - which, she thought, was quick enough for someone of her age - and noticed an owl, his beak pressed against her window.
She reached for her wand. "Alohomora!"
The owl flew in through the newly opened window and deposited a letter on her bed. She fumbled around in the dark for her glasses before she remembered her wand. Griselda couldn't imagine how she could forget something so simple. Was she really cracking up in her old age, then, as Professor Margul had insinuated last night? Better too old than too young, she reminded herself. It was one of the mantras that kept her going now, when life was so unbearably dull that it seemed as though death might just be a preferable option.
Donning her glasses, she opened the letter and read.
My dear Madam Marchbanks,
Madam? She was still a professor at the European Institute for Advanced Magical Training, wasn't she? She hadn't taught in years - decades? - but once a teacher, always a teacher. It was another of her sayings, and one that she often recited to Tremaine Tofty, who in his advanced age had lost much of his former enthusiasm for his job.
I, Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, wish to offer you the position of Head of the Wizengamot. The previous Head, Albus Dumbledore, has proved unable to fulfill the position to the satisfaction of the Ministry. I know you to be a witch of extraordinary talents and remarkable insight, and as Head, I know that you would steer our most esteemed system of Wizarding justice on a course beneficial to all in our society. Please send me an owl as soon as possible about your decision in this important matter.
Humbly yours,
Cornelius Fudge
Griselda snorted. If she was so clever and insightful, did they honestly think that she wouldn't see through this inept flattery? She was candid about her flaws - at her age, they were magnified so that any casual observer might notice them after a minute of conversation - but stupidity was not among them, nor had it ever been.
Even as a student, Fudge had always been full of himself. It was a wonder that he had not, as of yet, floated away with all that hot air he retained. When she examined him for his OWLs and NEWTs, he had positively oozed of condescension, calmly assuring her that he was more than capable of performing the required bits of magic. He'd even chuckled a few times. Griselda hated chucklers. She had been quite pleased, then and there, to fail him in Charms, the subject that he claimed was his best. It wasn’t revenge; the simple fact that after three years he couldn’t perform a simple Cheering Charm gave her more than enough just cause.
Did Fudge want a puppet on the Wizengamot? If so, he was more foolish than she realized - Griselda Marchbanks was nobody's puppet or tool, and even Cornelius Fudge should have known that by now. No - removing Albus Dumbledore from the Wizengamot would be a very unpopular move on his part, and he would need a candidate with impressive credentials who could be viewed as a moderating voice of reason. Someone who gave the appearance of being more open to compromise was in order. Perhaps Fudge thought that she'd be too deaf to understand what was being said to her.
But why get rid of Albus Dumbledore in the first place? It simply didn’t make sense. In fact, it was tantamount to political suicide to replace a hero like Dumbledore. Fudge had undoubtedly grown more comfortable with the powers of his office. Was he now beginning to see Dumbledore as a threat to his newfound power rather than a helpful ally?
She knew Albus Dumbledore better than that - from the first day she met him, she knew that he wasn't interested in power and its trappings. During his NEWT exams, when she had first proctored that exam, his conjurations hadn't been unwieldly and showy. They had been beautifully done.
She held one of the dancing fairies he had conjured from thin air, who played a lute that he'd created from one of his hairs and sang something that sounded like the tinkling of small bells. She examined the wings with a Magnifying Charm, and saw the answers to the Charms written examination inscribed on them in a flowing hand. He explained, grinning as he tucked a lock of auburn hair behind his ears almost as though he were embarrassed, that the fairy's song was one of the fundamental theorems of Charms translated into the tinkling Fae language.
"Mr. Dumbledore?" She was aware that she was about to breach professional etiquette. She didn't care. "I must arrange an interview with the Minister on your behalf - Madam Impelle, you know - she would be pleased to give you all sorts of opportunities, once she sees your talents. To be frank, I've never seen anyone like you before. I wouldn't be surprised to see you as Minister of Magic in fifteen years."
He shook his head gently. "I rather hoped to participate in your Advanced Magical Theory program, once I've completed my Hogwarts education. After that, I planned to travel. I know that there are many forms of magic in the world that I have yet to master."
"But with your talents, you could do so much more!" She felt like burying her face in her hands. She had known this boy - this young man - for an hour at most, and she was already telling him how he should live his life.
"Perhaps I will, someday." He didn't seem to mind her outburst at all. "But until then, I have much more to learn." He fixed her with a calm gaze. "But I suppose one never stops learning. Not really."
Griselda nodded.
Ever since that day, her favorite saying was that you never stop learning. It was a simple yet succint truth, spoken by a young man wiser than his years. This was why, she supposed,that she continued to live after all these years, after most of her friends were long gone, after she had gone deaf and half-blind, after her joints ached and her skin shriveled and her back hunched. If all of that was a learning experience, she reasoned, then it was worth experiencing.
As she now again considered the present, she closed her eyes and thought.
If Albus Dumbledore is still Albus Dumbledore, then he's still content with his position at Hogwarts - but he must have made some move that would make Fudge think that he was ready to seize power for himself. It could just be Fudge's paranoia, true, but if paranoia were the only factor, then Albus Dumbledore would have been removed from the Wizengamot years ago when Fudge had finally stopped sending him daily owls. No, Dumbledore must have said something that made Fudge fear for his own position.
But what would that have been?
She realised that her earlier crawling skin had meant that she was about to learn something very big, indeed. She just had to slow down and put it all together.
She walked around the room slowly - pacing was reserved for those who could operate their legs well - and tried to remember if Dumbledore had said anything recently that would undermine the Minister in any way. Had he publically contradicted any of Fudge's policies? None of his recent decisions were important enough that a disagreement with Dumbledore could be construed as a major threat. She knew that there was something she was missing, something that she had to remember.
A flood of images came to her almost unbidden. Flamel suddenly destroying his stone -- The Serpent of Slytherin set free -- Sirius Black's escape - the Dark Mark floating in the sky - the disappearance of Bertha Jorkins - the illness of Bartemius Crouch...
Him. He was among the wizarding community once again.
It all made sense now. Fudge would be loath to inform the wizarding world that their greatest enemy walked once more, not when such an announcement would plunge the world into the sort of chaos that Griselda knew Fudge could not hope to control. Dumbledore must have studied the patterns - the disappearances that marked the Dark Lord’s first rise to power were similar to the recent string of disappearances, now that she thought about it. They had seemed random at the time, she recalled, just as the recent ones had. Sirius Black's escape must have indicated that he was ready to rejoin his master once more - his master, who had never really vanished after all.
Fudge was twice the fool that the letter indicated - that he would leave the wizarding world vulnerable to such a monster!
Griselda made up her mind. If she accepted this position, the only thing that she would learn was how quickly her betrayal of her friend would bring about the loss of every ounce of credibilty she had over obtained. No, her integrity was not for sale.. She could only hope that Cornelius Fudge would realise the same thing before his actions caused any more harm.
My dear Mr. Fudge,
I must decline your offer, an honor though it is. With a madman such as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named among us once again, only Albus Dumbledore has the expertise to lead us through such a crisis.
Don't let your pride doom the rest of the world, young man. Take some advice from a stubborn old lady - learn a little humility.
Yours, Griselda Marchbanks.
Griselda Marchbanks would become a teacher once more. She hoped that her pupils would still be willing to learn.
Author: Churri Arashi (churri_arashi)
Rating: G
Warnings: None.
Prompt: #75 -- So much has been said and sung of beautiful young girls, why doesn't somebody wake up to the beauty of old women? -- Harriet Beecher Stowe
Spoilers: Everything up to and including OotP.
Summary: An offer from the Minister of Magic makes Griselda Marchbanks realize that the world still has a few surprises in store for her. 1,958 words.
This fic took a lot of different forms before reaching the one you see. The quote's influence is more thematic than it is direct, but it's still there. Hopefully. Thanks to pelirroja_ljc for the excellent beta-read.
Griselda Marchbanks woke up in the middle of the night with a most peculiar feeling. She didn't feel sick, exactly. It was almost as if she had been filled from head to toe with Peppermint Toads, and they were making her skin hop and itch in the oddest ways.
It seemed unlikely that it was caused by the roast she'd eaten the night before. She had the fewest digestive problems within her circle of friends, a fact of which she was quite proud. She also had the strongest teeth, the clearest vision, and the keenest mind (though she would not boast about the latter, as she knew the inevitable results of such prideful thinking). All things considered, she was lucky, even if taking her broom for a spin was quite out of the question.
Griselda wished that she'd inherited her grandmother's Seer abilities - she might then be able to tell what this creeping feeling meant, exactly.
She got to her feet as quickly as she could - which, she thought, was quick enough for someone of her age - and noticed an owl, his beak pressed against her window.
She reached for her wand. "Alohomora!"
The owl flew in through the newly opened window and deposited a letter on her bed. She fumbled around in the dark for her glasses before she remembered her wand. Griselda couldn't imagine how she could forget something so simple. Was she really cracking up in her old age, then, as Professor Margul had insinuated last night? Better too old than too young, she reminded herself. It was one of the mantras that kept her going now, when life was so unbearably dull that it seemed as though death might just be a preferable option.
Donning her glasses, she opened the letter and read.
My dear Madam Marchbanks,
Madam? She was still a professor at the European Institute for Advanced Magical Training, wasn't she? She hadn't taught in years - decades? - but once a teacher, always a teacher. It was another of her sayings, and one that she often recited to Tremaine Tofty, who in his advanced age had lost much of his former enthusiasm for his job.
I, Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, wish to offer you the position of Head of the Wizengamot. The previous Head, Albus Dumbledore, has proved unable to fulfill the position to the satisfaction of the Ministry. I know you to be a witch of extraordinary talents and remarkable insight, and as Head, I know that you would steer our most esteemed system of Wizarding justice on a course beneficial to all in our society. Please send me an owl as soon as possible about your decision in this important matter.
Humbly yours,
Cornelius Fudge
Griselda snorted. If she was so clever and insightful, did they honestly think that she wouldn't see through this inept flattery? She was candid about her flaws - at her age, they were magnified so that any casual observer might notice them after a minute of conversation - but stupidity was not among them, nor had it ever been.
Even as a student, Fudge had always been full of himself. It was a wonder that he had not, as of yet, floated away with all that hot air he retained. When she examined him for his OWLs and NEWTs, he had positively oozed of condescension, calmly assuring her that he was more than capable of performing the required bits of magic. He'd even chuckled a few times. Griselda hated chucklers. She had been quite pleased, then and there, to fail him in Charms, the subject that he claimed was his best. It wasn’t revenge; the simple fact that after three years he couldn’t perform a simple Cheering Charm gave her more than enough just cause.
Did Fudge want a puppet on the Wizengamot? If so, he was more foolish than she realized - Griselda Marchbanks was nobody's puppet or tool, and even Cornelius Fudge should have known that by now. No - removing Albus Dumbledore from the Wizengamot would be a very unpopular move on his part, and he would need a candidate with impressive credentials who could be viewed as a moderating voice of reason. Someone who gave the appearance of being more open to compromise was in order. Perhaps Fudge thought that she'd be too deaf to understand what was being said to her.
But why get rid of Albus Dumbledore in the first place? It simply didn’t make sense. In fact, it was tantamount to political suicide to replace a hero like Dumbledore. Fudge had undoubtedly grown more comfortable with the powers of his office. Was he now beginning to see Dumbledore as a threat to his newfound power rather than a helpful ally?
She knew Albus Dumbledore better than that - from the first day she met him, she knew that he wasn't interested in power and its trappings. During his NEWT exams, when she had first proctored that exam, his conjurations hadn't been unwieldly and showy. They had been beautifully done.
She held one of the dancing fairies he had conjured from thin air, who played a lute that he'd created from one of his hairs and sang something that sounded like the tinkling of small bells. She examined the wings with a Magnifying Charm, and saw the answers to the Charms written examination inscribed on them in a flowing hand. He explained, grinning as he tucked a lock of auburn hair behind his ears almost as though he were embarrassed, that the fairy's song was one of the fundamental theorems of Charms translated into the tinkling Fae language.
"Mr. Dumbledore?" She was aware that she was about to breach professional etiquette. She didn't care. "I must arrange an interview with the Minister on your behalf - Madam Impelle, you know - she would be pleased to give you all sorts of opportunities, once she sees your talents. To be frank, I've never seen anyone like you before. I wouldn't be surprised to see you as Minister of Magic in fifteen years."
He shook his head gently. "I rather hoped to participate in your Advanced Magical Theory program, once I've completed my Hogwarts education. After that, I planned to travel. I know that there are many forms of magic in the world that I have yet to master."
"But with your talents, you could do so much more!" She felt like burying her face in her hands. She had known this boy - this young man - for an hour at most, and she was already telling him how he should live his life.
"Perhaps I will, someday." He didn't seem to mind her outburst at all. "But until then, I have much more to learn." He fixed her with a calm gaze. "But I suppose one never stops learning. Not really."
Griselda nodded.
Ever since that day, her favorite saying was that you never stop learning. It was a simple yet succint truth, spoken by a young man wiser than his years. This was why, she supposed,that she continued to live after all these years, after most of her friends were long gone, after she had gone deaf and half-blind, after her joints ached and her skin shriveled and her back hunched. If all of that was a learning experience, she reasoned, then it was worth experiencing.
As she now again considered the present, she closed her eyes and thought.
If Albus Dumbledore is still Albus Dumbledore, then he's still content with his position at Hogwarts - but he must have made some move that would make Fudge think that he was ready to seize power for himself. It could just be Fudge's paranoia, true, but if paranoia were the only factor, then Albus Dumbledore would have been removed from the Wizengamot years ago when Fudge had finally stopped sending him daily owls. No, Dumbledore must have said something that made Fudge fear for his own position.
But what would that have been?
She realised that her earlier crawling skin had meant that she was about to learn something very big, indeed. She just had to slow down and put it all together.
She walked around the room slowly - pacing was reserved for those who could operate their legs well - and tried to remember if Dumbledore had said anything recently that would undermine the Minister in any way. Had he publically contradicted any of Fudge's policies? None of his recent decisions were important enough that a disagreement with Dumbledore could be construed as a major threat. She knew that there was something she was missing, something that she had to remember.
A flood of images came to her almost unbidden. Flamel suddenly destroying his stone -- The Serpent of Slytherin set free -- Sirius Black's escape - the Dark Mark floating in the sky - the disappearance of Bertha Jorkins - the illness of Bartemius Crouch...
Him. He was among the wizarding community once again.
It all made sense now. Fudge would be loath to inform the wizarding world that their greatest enemy walked once more, not when such an announcement would plunge the world into the sort of chaos that Griselda knew Fudge could not hope to control. Dumbledore must have studied the patterns - the disappearances that marked the Dark Lord’s first rise to power were similar to the recent string of disappearances, now that she thought about it. They had seemed random at the time, she recalled, just as the recent ones had. Sirius Black's escape must have indicated that he was ready to rejoin his master once more - his master, who had never really vanished after all.
Fudge was twice the fool that the letter indicated - that he would leave the wizarding world vulnerable to such a monster!
Griselda made up her mind. If she accepted this position, the only thing that she would learn was how quickly her betrayal of her friend would bring about the loss of every ounce of credibilty she had over obtained. No, her integrity was not for sale.. She could only hope that Cornelius Fudge would realise the same thing before his actions caused any more harm.
My dear Mr. Fudge,
I must decline your offer, an honor though it is. With a madman such as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named among us once again, only Albus Dumbledore has the expertise to lead us through such a crisis.
Don't let your pride doom the rest of the world, young man. Take some advice from a stubborn old lady - learn a little humility.
Yours, Griselda Marchbanks.
Griselda Marchbanks would become a teacher once more. She hoped that her pupils would still be willing to learn.