Up on the second floor, a quiet room sat hidden away from the busy corridors.
The staff room looked very comfortable.
A large fire burned in the wide stone hearth.
The wood popped and snapped, sending warm orange light across the walls.
A heavy wooden table sat in the middle of the room.
A silver teapot rested on a tray, sending curls of white steam into the air.
Albus Dumbledore sat at the head of the table.
He wore deep blue robes covered in silver stars.
He popped a yellow lemon drop into his mouth.
The four Heads of House sat around him.
Professor McGonagall sat perfectly straight in her chair, holding a teacup.
She opened a famous tartan tin sitting on the table.
It was filled with Ginger Newts.
She took a ginger biscuit and passed the tin to Professor Flitwick.
Flitwick sat on a stack of three thick cushions just to reach the table.
He took a biscuit and smiled.
Professor Sprout wore her usual earthy clothes, looking relaxed as she poured herself some tea.
Professor Snape slouched in his seat, wearing entirely black robes and looking at the teapot with a deep scowl.
Before Dumbledore could speak, the heavy wooden door opened.
Argus Filch walked in.
The caretaker looked miserable.
He carried a massive, dusty stack of parchment paper in his arms.
He walked to the edge of the table and dropped the heavy stack with a loud, slapping thud.
“Detention slips,” Filch grumbled.
He glared at the teachers.
“From the first term alone.
The dungeons need more chains.” He turned around and walked out of the room, shutting the door firmly behind him.
“Welcome, my friends,” Dumbledore said gently.
“Thank you for joining me this evening.
Our mid-year review.
It is always good to check on our students, to see who needs help, and who is finding their way.” “Let us hope it goes quickly,” Snape muttered.
“I have potions brewing in the dungeons that need stirring.” “It will take as long as it takes, Severus,” McGonagall said firmly.
She placed her teacup on the saucer with a small click.
Dumbledore smiled.
“We will begin with the seventh years, as always.
How are they handling the pressure of their upcoming N.E.W.T.
exams?” The teachers spent the next hour talking about the oldest students.
They talked about a Ravenclaw girl who studied so hard she forgot to eat lunch.
Flitwick promised to keep an eye on her.
McGonagall mentioned a Gryffindor boy who kept sneaking down to the kitchens at night.
Sprout proudly noted that her seventh-year Hufflepuffs were running a study group to help the younger badgers.
When they reached the upper-year Gryffindors, McGonagall let out a long, tired sigh.
She rubbed the bridge of her nose.
“Oliver Wood,” McGonagall said.
Her voice sounded strained.
“He is working the Gryffindor Quidditch team so hard they are falling asleep in my morning classes.
He makes them run drills in the freezing rain.” Snape uncrossed his arms.
A slow, highly unpleasant smile touched his lips.
“Speaking of Quidditch,” Snape said smoothly.
“I shall be refereeing the next Gryffindor match.
Just to ensure a fair and proper game, of course.” McGonagall stopped rubbing her nose.
She narrowed her eyes at him.
She looked highly suspicious of his sudden interest in fair play, but she did not start an argument.
They moved down the list.
They talked about the fifth years taking their O.W.L.
exams.
“Percy Weasley is doing well as a new prefect,” McGonagall noted.
“But he takes himself far too seriously.
He bosses the younger boys around constantly.
He needs to learn how to relax.” “He has a good head on his shoulders,” Dumbledore said gently.
“Give him time.” Professor Sprout poured a second cup of tea.
She looked at Dumbledore with a worried frown.
“Albus,” Sprout said quietly.
“I am deeply worried about Professor Quirrell.
Have you looked at him lately?
He looks so pale and thin since returning from the holidays.
He jumps at every shadow.” Snape let out a dark, knowing sneer.
He took a sip of his tea and looked at the fire, clearly enjoying Quirrell’s bad health.
“I have noticed, Pomona,” Dumbledore said softly.
“I will speak with him.
Thank you.” Dumbledore poured himself another cup of tea.
He added three lumps of sugar.
When they reached the third years, McGonagall let out a long, tired sigh.
She rubbed the bridge of her nose.
“The Weasley twins,” McGonagall said.
Her voice sounded strained.
“They turned a suit of armor on the fourth floor into a giant, singing rubber duck yesterday.
It took me twenty minutes to undo the spell.” Flitwick chuckled quietly.
“You must admit, Minerva, the charm work required to make a rubber duck sing the school song in perfect pitch is quite advanced.” “I do not care about the pitch, Filius,” McGonagall said, giving him a strict look.
“They cause chaos.
I give them detention, and they treat it like a social gathering.” “Perhaps a week scrubbing cauldrons without magic would quiet them down,” Snape suggested coldly.
“They already did that,” McGonagall replied.
“They simply invented a self-scrubbing brush made of old bristles and a mouse trap.
They spent the entire detention watching the brush do the work.” Dumbledore laughed out loud.
“They have very creative minds.
Keep guiding them, Minerva.
They just have a lot of energy.” The meeting moved forward.
Cedric Diggory received high praise from all four teachers for his polite manners and excellent grades.
They discussed the second years.
They made sure the students were settling into their electives.
Finally, Dumbledore poured himself another cup of tea.
He added three lumps of sugar.
“Now,” Dumbledore said softly.
“The first years.
They have spent half a year with us.
They survived a troll on Halloween.
They have made friends.
How are they doing?” He looked at Snape.
Snape uncrossed his arms.
He leaned forward.
“Slytherin house is fine.
Draco Malfoy shows skill in Potions.
He knows his ingredients.
However, he talks too much during class.
He relies too heavily on Crabbe and Goyle to do his heavy lifting.” “Is he causing trouble in the halls?” Dumbledore asked.
“Nothing I cannot handle,” Snape said smoothly.
“He just likes to test his boundaries.
He is a Malfoy, after all.” Dumbledore nodded.
He looked at Flitwick.
Flitwick smiled happily.
He adjusted his glasses.
“A wonderful group of Ravenclaws this year!
Very bright minds.
Terry Boot asks excellent questions.
Padma Patil reads three books a week.
They are a bit quiet, but they are learning very quickly.” “And Gryffindor, Minerva?” Dumbledore asked.
McGonagall straightened her back.
“They are a handful.
Miss Granger is brilliant, of course.
She memorized the entire course book before September.” “She is already asking me for extra reading material for the final exams,” Flitwick chuckled, shaking his head.
“And the exams are five months away!
I had to tell her to go outside and build a snowman.” “Ronald Weasley needs to focus,” McGonagall continued.
“He relies on Hermione Granger to check his homework.” “Mr.
Finnigan is a menace,” Flitwick squeaked, laughing behind his hand.
“Seamus somehow managed to set a bucket of plain water on fire during Charms yesterday.
A bucket of water, Minerva!
I do not even know how that of that works.” Snape scoffed loudly.
“Your Gryffindors lack discipline.
Neville Longbottom melted a fourth cauldron in my class since the term started.
He is a walking disaster.” “Do not blame Neville completely, Severus,” McGonagall defended the boy sharply.
“He is nervous because Draco Malfoy keeps hitting him with the Leg-Locker curse in the hallways.” “Then Mr.
Longbottom should learn to block it,” Snape drawled lazily.
“And as for Harry,” McGonagall went on, ignoring Snape’s comment.
“Harry is a good boy.
He is an incredible flyer.
Making him Seeker was the right choice.
But he breaks the rules.
He wanders at night.
He sneaks around.
He attracts trouble.” “Trouble usually finds him, Minerva,” Dumbledore said kindly.
“He is brave.
We must give him time to grow.” Dumbledore looked around the table.
“Speaking of trouble finding our first years…
The Halloween incident.
Have any of you found any clues regarding the troll in the girls’ bathroom?” The teachers all shook their heads.
They looked completely baffled.
“It remains a total mystery, Albus,” McGonagall said.
“We still have no idea who shattered a twelve-foot mountain troll’s kneecaps with blunt physical force.
We found no magical residue in the room.” “A very strong ghost, perhaps?” Flitwick guessed weakly.
“Ghosts cannot hold heavy weapons, Filius,” Snape pointed out flatly.
“Someone beat that beast.” Dumbledore hummed quietly.
He raised a hand, calming the room.
He turned to the woman sitting on his right.
“And finally, Pomona.
How is your badger sett this year?” Professor Sprout beamed.
She clapped her hands together.
“Oh, I have a lovely group.
Justin Finch-Fletchley is adjusting well to the magical world.
Ernie Macmillan works very hard.
But I must say, the real surprise of the year is Edward.” “Edward Brooks,” McGonagall said.
She nodded her head.
“Yes.” Sprout smiled.
“He is the quietest, neatest boy in my house.
He always keeps his surroundings clean.
He helps the other first years with their homework.
He never asks for a reward.
He just does it.” Flitwick leaned forward on his cushions.
He looked very excited.
“He is brilliant!” Flitwick squeaked.
“Absolutely brilliant in Charms.
He mastered the Levitation Charm easily.
And his homework essays!
His handwriting is oddly perfect and structured.
It is unlike a normal first-year child.
It looks like the handwriting of a grown man.” “I must agree,” McGonagall said.
She took a sip of her tea.
“In Transfiguration, he listens perfectly.
Edward simply points his wand, says the incantation, and produces flawless work on his first attempt.
He does not show off.
He does the task perfectly, places his wand on his desk, and goes back to reading his books.” McGonagall paused.
She looked at Dumbledore.
“Though, I will admit, I do worry about him sometimes,” McGonagall said softly.
“I often look out my office window at dawn.
Before the sun even comes up.
I see Edward running through the freezing snow down by the lake.
He does terrible exercises in the cold.
Why is a ten-year-old boy doing military exercises at five in the morning?” The teachers looked surprised.
Dumbledore smiled gently.
“He grew up in a orphanage, Minerva.
Perhaps it is just a hobby from the muggle world.
Jogging is very popular there.” “I suppose,” McGonagall sighed.
“He is certainly fiercely protective of his friends.
Draco Malfoy was trying to bully Harry Potter and Ron Weasley before we went into the Great Hall on the very first night.” Snape frowned.
“Draco was just introducing himself.” “Draco was insulting Mr.
Weasley’s family,” McGonagall corrected sharply.
“Edward stepped right into the middle of it.
He started speaking in a terrible, thick Irish accent.
He spoke complete nonsense.
He talked about eating toads and boiling potatoes.
He spoke so fast, Mr.
Malfoy could not understand a single word.
But Malfoy was too proud to admit it, so he just nodded along like a fool.
It diffused the entire fight without a single spell.” Flitwick laughed out loud.
Sprout chuckled behind her hand.
Even Dumbledore smiled brightly.
“A sharp wit, then.” “Very sharp,” McGonagall agreed.
“He observes everything.” Dumbledore turned his blue eyes toward the end of the table.
“And what about Potions, Severus?
How does Mr.
Brooks handle the dungeon?” The room went quiet.
The other three teachers looked at Snape.
They knew Snape hated praising anyone who did not wear green and silver.
Snape sat back in his chair.
He crossed his arms over his chest.
He thought about the boy with the dark hair and the calm grey eyes.
“He is quiet,” Snape said slowly.
His voice dragged out the words.
“He does not ask foolish questions.
He does not melt his cauldrons like Mr.
Longbottom.
He does not blow up his ingredients like Mr.
Finnigan.” Snape scowled at the teapot.
He remembered trying to catch Edward making a mistake.
He remembered looking into Edward’s cauldron during the first week.
“He reads the instructions on the board,” Snape continued flatly.
“He prepares his roots properly.
He removes his cauldron from the fire before adding the porcupine quills.” Snape paused.
He refused to look at the other teachers.
“His cure for boils was…
barely passable,” Snape muttered.
McGonagall quickly raised her teacup to hide her mouth.
Sprout bit her lip to stop a massive smile.
Flitwick just beamed.
They all knew how to translate Snape’s words.
From Severus Snape, “barely passable” meant the potion was perfect.
It meant Snape could not find a single flaw to deduct points for.
For a first-year Hufflepuff to get a perfect potion in Snape’s class without getting yelled at was a massive achievement.
“High praise indeed, Severus,” Dumbledore said gently.
His eyes twinkled brightly.
Snape uncrossed his arms.
“I merely state facts, Headmaster.
The boy is adequate.
Nothing more.” “I think he is wonderful,” Sprout said warmly.
“He is a grounding force for his year.
Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger seem to have formed a tight group.
Edward spends time with them, but he never gets caught up in their drama.” Dumbledore listened carefully.
He remembered Christmas night.
He remembered standing in the shadows of the empty classroom, watching Harry Potter sit in front of the Mirror of Erised for hours, obsessed with the reflection of his dead family.
Dumbledore also remembered seeing Edward walk into that room, pulling Harry away from the glass.
He heard Edward tell Harry to focus on the real world.
Edward did not stare into the mirror for hours.
Edward did not get lost in dreams.
Edward looked into the magic glass, smiled at whatever simple thing he saw, and walked away without looking back.
It showed a level of mental strength and maturity that most adults did not possess.
“He is a very mature boy,” Dumbledore said quietly to the room.
“He knows who he is.
He does not seek glory, and he does not seek trouble.
We are very lucky to have him in Hufflepuff.” The teachers all nodded in agreement.
Even Snape gave a small, silent nod of his head.
“Well,” Dumbledore said, clapping his hands together softly.
“I believe that covers everyone.
It sounds like we have a very solid group of young witches and wizards finding their way.
Thank you all for your hard work.” The meeting ended.
The teachers finished their tea.
Flitwick hopped down from his cushions.
McGonagall gathered her notes.
Snape stood up immediately, eager to get back to the cold dampness of his dungeons.
They said their goodnights and filed out of the staff room.
The heavy wooden door closed behind them.