Chapter 7: The Object of My Affection?
For the rest of the afternoon, Clancy tried to locate Professor Dumbledore so they could discuss her reservations about accepting the position. Shaken by her encounters with Snape, Clancy was definitely having second thoughts.
But, Dumbledore was a wizard who knew how to make himself scarce, she learned. She did not see him again until dinner that evening in the Great Hall. He avoided making eye contact with her throughout the meal, which puzzled her. Had she done something to displease him?
When dinner concluded, he rose to address the students. "As you may be aware," Dumbledore announced, "we have a guest from America visiting our school. It is our good fortune that she has consented to join the staff as your new Choir Director. Although the choir will be voluntary, House points will be awarded to all who audition. Additional points may be earned for participation throughout the year. Auditions are scheduled for tomorrow at 4:00 in the new choir room located on the main floor corridor."
Directing his gaze toward the Slytherin Table, Dumbledore added, "I strongly urge all Houses to audition. And now, let me introduce your teacher, Miss Norgard, who will tell you more." With a broad and innocent smile, Dumbledore gestured toward Clancy.
Clancy stared in disbelief at the headmaster, wondering how he dared put her on the spot like that! Next to bungee jumping naked off the Golden Gate Bridge, impromptu public speaking was her least favorite pursuit.
"Honi soit qui mal y pense," she repeated under her breath. In high school, she had facetiously translated the phrase as: I honestly think I'm going to be sick. She evoked this private mantra whenever she felt queasy. As she rose, enthusiastic applause erupted from the Hufflepuffs, followed by polite applause from the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors. The Slytherins, as their reptilian symbol suggested, apparently had no hands.
"Thank you," she began. "It is a privilege and a very great surprise to find myself addressing you this evening. Music is another form of magic -- one that I hope you will all embrace. I look forward to working with you."
Thank goodness, that's over with, Clancy thought, sitting down. At least I didn't hiccup ...
As the students filed out to return to their common rooms, Dumbledore approached her. "You're not too angry with me, are you?"
"No, I'm still stunned -- but I might have a delayed reaction."
"Try it for just a little while. If you find that you are not happy here, you can always return home. I think Hogwarts will be good for you, and you will be good for Hogwarts."
Clancy recalled the eager response she had received from the Hufflepuffs. That, coupled with the sincerity in Professor Dumbledore's eyes, softened her heart. Snape be hanged! She would stay and direct the choir. "All right. You've won me over. But -- there's a price."
"Anything," Dumbledore said quickly. "Within reason, that is."
"If you can transfigure a grand piano, surely you can do something to make my blow dryer work without electricity. My hair has looked like wet straw for two days."
"Blow dryer? That would be a device for ... ?"
"Drying my hair."
"Ah. I believe that can be arranged," Dumbledore chuckled.
The next day was a busy one for Clancy, as she prepared for the afternoon auditions. She spent all morning in the library rifling through the musical archives.
How different Wizarding music was from what she was used to! The notation was the same, but it was all written on the same heavy parchment that seemed to be used for everything at Hogwarts. Some of the song titles she discovered were quite intriguing, particularly, "I've Got You Under My Boomslang Skin", and "Fugue For Bicorns."
Clancy intended to take notes on what she found, but the only writing tools in the library were quills and parchment. The librarian, Madam Pince, a thin, older witch who resembled a vulture, took Clancy under her wing, instructing her in the basic skills of writing with a quill.
Dipping a quill dozens of times just to write a brief note frustrated her. She dribbled ink all over the parchment and stained her fingers. It took hours to write the simple letters she needed to put her affairs back home in order. Then, she had to make the long climb up to the Owlery to send her letters to the Leaky Cauldron, where they would be transferred to regular Muggle post. Clancy was discovering that adapting to this Dickensian lifestyle was not going to be easy.
Arriving early to the choir room in the afternoon, Clancy heard someone singing. Though muffled by the thickness of the closed door, the voice sounded beautiful. The door creaked as Clancy opened it, and the singing cut off. She caught a flurry of movement out of the corner of her eye, and spotted a young girl dashing for cover behind the piano.
"Please continue singing," Clancy urged, moving nearer. "That was lovely." The girl resumed singing, yet remained concealed. Her voice was full, rich, and resonant -- not like a child's voice, at all. "Excellent!" Clancy praised. "You needn't bother auditioning; you've already passed with flying colors. What House are you in?"
"Hufflepuff, Miss Norgard," the girl replied meekly.
"Well, then, ten points to Hufflepuff for being the first to arrive, and for your very pretty song. Now, will you come out and tell me your name?"
Timidly, the girl emerged from behind the piano. "My name is Eloise Midgen," she said, staring at the floor.
Suppressing a wince, Clancy studied a small face ravaged by the worst case of acne she had ever seen. Otherwise, the child was quite appealing. With wavy, dark hair and luminous eyes, Eloise resembled a very young Elizabeth Taylor. "Hold your head up and stand proud," she instructed the girl. "A voice like yours is a gift! How long have you been studying?"
"I've never had any training. I just like to sing. It makes me feel happy," Eloise admitted.
"You'll soon be making many people happy," Clancy predicted. "I think I've just found my soloist."
"NO! I only want to be part of the choir. I'll stand in the back row so I can be heard but not seen."
"Stage fright?" Clancy inquired sympathetically. "That will pass. Everyone experiences it at one time or another."
"It's my complexion," Eloise confessed. "I don't like people watching me. They don't look in my eyes -- they just stare at my pimples."
Clancy took both of Eloise's hands in her own, and made sure she looked directly into the girl's eyes. "Have you tried any skin care products, or consulted a dermatologist?"
"A derma -- what?" Eloise asked, confused.
"Sorry. That's a Muggle doctor who treats conditions of the skin."
"My parents say magical ways are best."
"Just what are the magical ways?" Clancy wanted to know.
"Bubotuber pus," Eloise cringed as she said the word.
"Bubo--what?" Now it was Clancy's turn to be enlightened.
"It's an extract made from giant black slugs. It's slimy and yellow. It smells like petrol, and I have to apply it to my face at night before I go to bed. It's supposed to cure Mandrake acne, but it hasn't helped me very much. My case is just too severe."
Clancy smiled reassuringly. "No one makes it through adolescence completely unscathed. If it's not acne, it's something else. That's one thing our worlds have in common. I had acne too, when I was about your age. Some of my blemishes grew so large and stayed so long, I gave them names." She parted her bangs to reveal a small, white scar on her forehead. "Do you see this? This is all that remains of Leslie."
Eloise laughed.
Students were now arriving and finding seats. A Hufflepuff girl waved to Eloise, and she walked over to join her.
About seventy-five students auditioned, predominantly Hufflepuffs, with a smattering of Ravenclaws and Gryffindors. Ginny Weasley, the girl Clancy remembered from the train platform, was among them.
The audition was simple. Clancy asked each person to sing a C scale up, and then back down again, followed by sixteen bars of any song a capella. Everyone passed. There were a dozen or so students with minor pitch problems that could be corrected with a little ear training, but she found not a tone-deaf one in the lot, much to her relief.
She decided to divide her singers into two separate groups: first- through third-year students in one, and fourth- through seventh-year in the other. She had the students suggest names and then vote by a show of hands. Thus, it was decided that the lower choir would be called the Musical Mooncalves, and the upper choir, the Harmonious Hinkypunks.
As the auditions ended, Professor Dumbledore limped into the room, carrying a small parcel. "Albus, what happened to your leg?" Clancy asked, concerned.
"Nothing to worry about. A minor sprain." He grimaced and rubbed his leg. "I'm getting along in years, after all. I wonder if I might impose upon your good nature and ask you to deliver this to Severus in the dungeons?"
"Must I, Albus? Couldn't one of the students -- "
"It contains a very valuable book. I'd rather not entrust it to a student."
"All right," Clancy agreed reluctantly. She hoped Snape wouldn't be there, so she could leave the parcel on his desk and beat a hasty retreat.
"Thank you. I'm deeply grateful," Dumbledore said, handing her the package. "I'm going to try to rest until dinner." He turned, and limped out the door, favoring the opposite leg from the one he'd favored coming in.
Clancy shook her head. Professor Dumbledore was a very persuasive wizard, but a very bad actor.
The dungeons were cold and oppressive. She found Snape's office and observed him from the doorway as he sat at his desk studying a piece of parchment. The walls of his room were lined with rows of glass jars, each containing grotesque creatures. Snape sat hunched over, squinting, with his long nose almost touching the desk. He must have heard the clicking of Clancy's heels as she crossed the stone floor, but he did not look up. She placed the parcel on the edge of his desk, paused for a moment, and then turned to leave.
"Miss Norgard," Snape said shortly, in that terrible, hissing voice. "Hogwarts' very own musical Muggle -- or should I say, Dumbledore's Folly? To what do I owe this intrusion?"
"Professor Dumbledore asked me to bring this to you," she explained, pointing at the package.
Snape opened the wrappings and read aloud in a derisive tone the title of the enclosed book, How To Be Charming Without Resorting To Charms--A Guide For The Waspish Wizard by Letitia Bickerson. He sniffed, abruptly shifting in his chair. "This is yet another of the headmaster's feeble attempts at humor. You can see for yourself," he said, thumbing through the book, "the pages are blank."
"Why do you suppose he--"
"With Dumbledore, one never supposes or assumes. He is a man of many mysteries, which he uses to his advantage. He has a peculiar way of getting people to do exactly what he wants them to do by convincing them it was their own idea in the first place."
"Yes, I'm beginning to see that," Clancy acknowledged. As Snape once again lowered his nose to the parchment, she asked, "Why don't you use reading glasses?"
Snape looked up, regarding her with disdainful eyes. "I am vain," he said evenly.
Clancy stifled a laugh. She did not know him well enough to be sure he had meant that as a joke. Snape got up and turned his attention to a black cauldron simmering beside his desk.
"What are you cooking in that pot?" she asked.
"I am Potions master at this school, Miss Norgard. I do not cook, I brew; and this is a cauldron, not a pot. I am brewing powdered root of asphodel with an infusion of wormwood, which produces the Draught of Living Death. May I offer you a sample?"
"No, thanks," Clancy said sweetly. This might be Snape's way of dismissing her, but she was not done with him, yet. "My presence here obviously disturbs you. May I ask why? Is it because I'm an American, or because I'm a Muggle?"
"Both are equally low. Take your choice."
Inwardly seething, Clancy continued, "I would think that you could sympathize with the difficulty I'm having adjusting to your world."
"To a degree, yes," Snape disclosed. "I am certain that I would be considered an oddity in yours."
"I doubt seriously that you would be considered at all," she retorted.
Snape had not expected that barb. He bristled. He swiped his arm across the desk, to send flying a jar of green baby eels. It shattered on the floor, surrounding Clancy's feet in a slimy pool of the slippery, lifeless creatures. Clancy tried to remain calm, as if standing in oozing, green eels were an everyday occurrence.
"I am a very powerful wizard, Miss Norgard. You would be wise to be afraid of me," Snape growled.
"I am afraid of you, Professor," she said defiantly, "just not in the way you want me to be."
Their eyes locked. Snape looked confused. Clancy had succeeded in throwing him off balance. Quickly regaining his composure, he sputtered, "I trust that this will be your last visit to my dungeons."
"You may safely assume so, yes," Clancy replied icily. "In fact, Professor Snape, you can bet your sweet asphodel on it!" She turned on an eel, and stormed out of his office.
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
Honi soit qui mal y pense. The actual translations is: Shame on him who thinks this evil.