The staff at Hogwarts all had their own tastes and temperaments. Their standards for judging things differed, and it was hard for anything to win unanimous approval from this group of professors.
Hard, but not impossible.
For instance, Dumbledore was a headmaster worthy of respect; the position of Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts was highly dangerous; and the afternoon tea the house-elves prepared in a different array every day was the most satisfying of all the staff perks...
When Brian saw a group of elite professors refusing to yield over a few cookies, he felt an inexplicable sense of unreality-after all, every wizard before him was renowned throughout the wizarding world.
The trophy room at Hogwarts was filled with trophies of all sizes bearing their names, and nearly all those trophies were made of gold or crystal.
"Minerva, I gave Granger from your house points today."
The Charms professor, Filius Flitwick, was a tiny man only half the height of an ordinary person, with neatly slicked hair and a carefully groomed beard. He eyed an almond biscuit as he spoke at a leisurely pace.
"That was because Granger was good enough, Filius."
Professor McGonagall was also staring at the last almond biscuit.
"Do you know? Whenever I mark Transfiguration essays, I always spend the most time on the Ravenclaw students."
"That's because the students in our house are always willing to spend time on their essays." Though Flitwick was only a third of Professor McGonagall's height, his presence was every bit as imposing. "The usual rules?"
"Let's do it, then." Professor McGonagall drew her wand and turned a button on the table into a beetle.
The beetle stood dazed for a moment before finally turning left, toward Professor McGonagall.
"Oh, no! It's yours, Minerva." Professor Flitwick sadly popped a liqueur chocolate into his mouth.
With a swish, Professor McGonagall turned the beetle back into a button and reached contentedly for the biscuit. Turning her head, she spotted Brian, who had witnessed the entire "battle for the biscuit," and immediately greeted him warmly:
"Chet, you're just in time. Come and sit down. Try this almond biscuit first-I dare say you'll fall in love with it. It's an exclusive recipe Hufflepuff left to Hogwarts."
She waved her wand again, and in the blink of an eye, a low stool became a chair with a back, sized to suit Brian's height.
"Are you sure, Minerva? That's your prize."
Brian felt a little awkward at Professor McGonagall's sudden use of his first name. Then he found everyone in the staffroom looking at him, so he smiled politely and introduced himself.
"Chet Brian. It's a pleasure to meet you all. I look forward to learning from you."
Professor McGonagall adjusted her glasses and said approvingly, "You don't look at all ill at ease. That's the way. Go on, eat. Don't stand on ceremony. Sharing the spoils of victory is a pleasure."
Brian obediently sat down and put the almond biscuit into his mouth.
Oh-the soft, crumbly butteriness paired with caramel-flavored nuts made the biscuit practically melt in his mouth.
Brian offered the simplest, most heartfelt praise: "Are there any more?"
"Of course. The house-elves will bring a second plate shortly."
Professor Flitwick sat on a height-adjustable high chair, watching him with a smile.
"I'm delighted to have another formidable rival for the almond biscuits."
"I'd be more than happy to face off against a dueling champion at the dining table."
Realizing that the biscuit contest had merely been a little game between the two professors, Brian joked,
"Insects rather like me, too. Mosquitoes never leave me alone in summer. Beetles should be no exception."
Thanks to the Hogwarts house-elves, he had successfully identified every member of staff currently in the room by recalling their conversation the previous night-it had to be said that the house-elves always managed to pinpoint a wizard's most distinctive traits.
"Minerva told us about you. Very impressive-guessing the gargoyle in just three tries is no easy feat. It means you have excellent magical instincts."
A witch in patched, grass-colored robes handed Brian a cup of black tea. She looked very kind and warm, with a natural, sunshiny approachability.
"Thank you, Professor Sprout... This black tea has a distinctive fragrance. You added something to it, didn't you?"
Brian's keen sense of smell told him that the black tea in his hand definitely contained something strange that he did not recognize.
Sprout touched her chin in surprise and exclaimed admiringly, "Correct. It seems your nose for magic is excellent, too-my special herbs. They boost your energy and soothe your nerves, with a slight warming effect as well."
A gloomy wizard with a hooked nose walked slowly over, gave Brian a brief nod of acknowledgment, and spoke in a low, muffled voice, its cadence rising and falling like an aria:
"Excessive modesty isn't appealing, Pomona. You know perfectly well that the Quidditch players from all four houses depend on your black tea every winter."
Brian nodded back at the wizard-he knew this was Snape, the head of Slytherin and the Potions professor. The house-elves' opinions of him were sharply divided: they either adored him or feared him.
"The way he gives orders makes me want to obey from the bottom of my heart!" one house-elf had said excitedly.
"I don't like him... He always makes me help deal with toad corpses..." After saying this, another house-elf had pinched its own arm hard several times, calling the act self-punishment.
Brian came out of his recollections to find that Snape had suddenly stopped beside McGonagall and was speaking in a flippant tone:
"Minerva, I hear there was a little mishap during your house's Quidditch practice-ha, I hope they're all right-I'm very much looking forward to this Sunday's match, and sincerely hope our great Chosen One, Mr. Potter, can help Gryffindor win the House Cup... after... how many years has it been? Ah... my memory isn't very good. Do you remember?"
Having abruptly delivered this speech, Snape swept out with a limp, his robes flapping behind him, ignoring the several-degree drop in the staffroom's temperature-he had clearly been sarcastic, but Professor McGonagall's mouth still twitched with anger.
So the rumors about Gryffindor and Slytherin not getting along were true, Brian thought silently.
"Don't take it to heart, Minerva. Snape never spares anyone with that tongue of his," Professor Sprout consoled her. "Look, he's limping so badly... Let it go."
"It's all right. Gryffindor will let the results speak for themselves."
Professor McGonagall let out a long breath, then turned a grateful gaze toward Brian.
"Wood told me about this morning's practice. I've given those three children three days of detention. Thank you very much for your help, Chet."
Brian now understood why Professor McGonagall had addressed him by his first name. He shook his head.
"It was nothing. I'm sure any member of the Hogwarts staff would have done the same if they'd been there."
"No, not necessarily."
The only remaining witch in the staffroom who had yet to greet Brian suddenly interrupted.
"I often forget to bring my wand, so I'd be more likely to witness a tragedy..."
And so the atmosphere in the staffroom, which had only just warmed a little, dropped to freezing once more.
The witch who had spoken wore glasses on her nose with lenses a full two thumbs thick. Her actual height was probably about five foot seven, but she stooped a little, making her look closer to five foot five. Crumbs of a matcha biscuit still clung around her mouth.
Professor Bathsheba Babbling, the Ancient Runes professor-Brian's reason for coming here-had been almost unnoticeable before she spoke. Even the house-elves had forgotten her when introducing the staff to Brian.
What Brian knew of her habits had come from Madam Pince-apparently, this professor often spent an entire day off in the library without eating or drinking, only going to the Great Hall for a hearty meal when she could no longer bear her hunger.
"Sometimes it's the intention that counts, rather than the action, Professor Babbling."
Brian broke the silence in the staffroom.
"It's a pleasure to meet you. Could I ask you for a favor?"
"Oh, of course. Brian, is it? I like your makeup. Do you want me to help you take it off? In that case, I might refuse. I really do like it..."
True to her surname, Professor Babbling babbled on and on.
"Thank you. I like the makeup on my face, too."
Brian took a sheet of parchment from his pocket, covered in Ancient Runes he had spent an hour and a half carefully copying.
"Could you please help me see what this says?"
His book had refused to come with him-after learning that he was going to meet a group of professors who might poke and prod it, it had resolutely hidden back inside the trunk.
Professor Babbling took the parchment and began muttering quietly. Her expression shifted from surprise to puzzlement to anger, but she still gave him an accurate answer very quickly:
"A very powerful form of healing magic, but I don't believe any modern wizard could successfully perform it. I have to ask you, where did you find this parchment? I've never seen Ancient Runes this ugly or this hard to decipher!"
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