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Chapter 8 - A Conversation
There was a red plastic device on the headmistress’s desk, a vaguely hourglass-shaped unit, a curly wire, and a vaguely trapezoidal base with a sort of dial on it. Professor Chance picked it up and spun the dial a couple of times, then held the hourglass thingy up to her ear. “Yes, Miranda? Can I get some coffee and sweets up here.” She covered up one end of the thing. “Do you want anything to drink?”
“Uh, could I get a butterbeer? Do you have it over here?”
“I’m afraid we only stock butterbeer in wintertime. I know you drink it cold and hot over there, but Americans pretty much only drink it hot. We have Ferret Punch, though.”
Ginny declined politely, then pointed to the odd device. “Is that a fellytone?”
“No, it’s a telephone.” As she was speaking, a pot of coffee and a platter covered with frosted doughnuts and sticky buns materialized on her desk. “Thank you, Miranda,” Professor Chance said into the thing, then put the handset back on the base. “Miranda’s our head cook. Hungry?”
“Not right now, thank you,” Ginny said.
“Very well. First of all,” Professor Chance got down to business, “I would like to know one thing. What have you heard about my school? Good things or bad things?”
Ginny tried to make the proper, diplomatic reply, but it stuck in her throat. She tried again, and again, nothing came out of her mouth. She looked confusedly at her new headmistress.
The blond woman chuckled. “It’s all right, Miss Weasley. I already knew the answer to that question. I’m aware of our reputation, especially in Europe. I merely asked you that to illustrate something to you, and it’s this. I have a permanant Veritas charm on this office. No one, not even me, can tell a lie while in here. Not even a white lie, like you were attempting. So if I ask you something here, it is best to be completely honest. Saves us both a lot of time and trouble. Fair enough?”
Ginny nodded.
“Good. Have you read the student handbook yet?”
Ginny nodded. Upon hearing that she would be going with him, Grayson had kindly provided her with a copy.
“And you understand our system of discipline?”
Ginny nodded a third time. “They had something like it at Hogwarts, but they’d also take points away from houses.”
“Yes, I’ve heard about that from Professor Grayson. I’d like to get a similar point system going here, but we haven’t gotten around to it. In any case, you earn a detention, you spend a few hours helping the teachers or support staff with their scutwork. If detention proves inadequate or ineffective, then you come see me. And I’ll warn you now, it won't be fun. You know that Hogwarts outlawed Transformation as a punishment back in 1919, right?”
"I knew it wasn't allowed, but I didn't know when."
"Well, we still use it, when necessary." The headmistress took a generous swig of coffee before continuing. “Now, Albus Dumbledore’s a wonderful man, and I’d do just about anything he asked. But I really do need to know the circumstances of how you got here, and firsthand knowledge is always preferable to secondhand. So please tell me about what happened last year.”
Ginny did as asked, starting with the confrontation with the Malfoys in Flourish and Blotts, continuing through her discovery of the diary that wrote back, the strange blackouts that increased in frequency and intensity. Growing steadily weaker and less able to fight the vampiric power of Riddle’s deadly book. And finally, dreamily, entering the Chamber of secrets and going under for the last time. Being awakened by a bloodied, filthy Harry Potter. The flight up the shaft, reuniting with her parents, falling asleep in the infirmary with her mother at her side. And finally, the denoument the next day.
Professor Chance listened impassively to most of the tale, occasionally interjecting a question. On two occasions, Ginny broke down, and when that happened, she was handed a tissue and allowed to pause until she regained her composure. Finally, after Ginny had finished, Professor Chance leaned back. “I see.” A pause. “I know that was hard for you, Ginny. Have a sticky bun, it’ll make you feel better.”
Ginny had one. It was delicious: sweet, sticky, and melting in the mouth. She did begin to feel better.
Professor Chance spoke. “Well, I never met any of the Malfoys, but Ulysses encountered Lucius when they were at school. He sounds like a thoroughly nasty piece of work.”
“Well, you saw what he did to me,” Ginny said through a mouthful of pastry.
“Yes. And I’ll tell you this, I think Dumbledore was way too easy on the man. I’d have challenged him on the spot.” She sighed. “All right. Let’s get down to academics. What subjects did you study at Hogwarts?”
“Transfig. . . ahh, Transformation, Potions, Charms, Herbology, History of Magic, Astronomy, and Defense Against the Dark Arts.”
“And what did you cover in each of those areas?”
Ginny went over it, in the process consuming the bun she had, and another one. Partway through, her voice began to tire, and she changed her mind about a drink and asked to try a Ferret Punch. It had an intriguing flavor, tangier than butterbeer, strangely spicy, and nothing like ferrets. Nothing on earth beat butterbeer when it was hot, but this was definitely better for drinking cold.
When she finished, the headmistress nodded acceptance. “All right. Since we’re a six-year school, not a seven-year, I’m going to have you start with the seventh-graders, which is our equivalent of first-year, even though you’ll be a year older than them. If your teachers tell me that you’re qualified to move up, we’ll let you advance to eighth, or second. Most subjects, that shouldn’t be a problem. It sounds like your history teacher was no great shakes, and your Defense teacher was a joke.”
Ginny nodded agreement. Professor Lockhart had not taught his first-year class even one useful defensive spell, and Binns had just been too boring to pay attention to.
“I assure you, that will not be the case here. I will have you know that whatever shortcomings my school has, quality of education is not one of them. Unlike any other school on the planet, we are educationally on a level with Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and. . . well, that Bulgarian one, whatever its name is. And in defensive skill, our students have no equal. People dislike us because we do things our own way, and we get results.” The headmistress leaned back in her chair. “Do you have any questions?”
Ginny shook her head. “No, ma’am.”
“Very well. Then I will conclude by saying welcome aboard, and good luck.” Professor Chance picked up the telephone. “I’ll give Professor Grayson a ring and let him know that you’re ready to tour your hall now.”
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