No one knew how it had happened, least of all not Severus Snape. One moment, he was bleeding out onto the floor of an old abandoned building; the next he was reinstated to his old Defense Against the Dark Arts post with a name so clear that it had an Order of Merlin, First Class to show for it.
At the current moment, however, Snape was sitting in the faculty lounge alongside Minerva McGonagall, still headmistress of Hogwarts eleven years after the fall of Voldemort. Snape’s own promotion to the position of deputy headmaster meant that instead of grading essays or beginning new lesson plans, he was stuck here, awaiting what would almost certainly be a tedious interview for the newly-reopened position of Muggle Studies professor.
After Voldemort’s fall, the Ministry of Magic and Professor McGonagall both agreed that to promote magical awareness of Muggle achievement, Muggle Studies would become a part of the mandatory curriculum for first- through fourth-years at Hogwarts. The position had immediately been filled by a Muggle-born named Alicia MacQueen; however, Alicia had recently married a French wandmaker whose work was becoming increasingly well-known. She was moving to France to live with her husband and teach at Beauxbatons Academy, and now Snape was drumming his fingers on the table while rereading the first resumé to come in by owl post.
Snape looked up at the grandfather clock along the adjacent wall. Nine fifty-nine. In less than sixty seconds, Mrs. “ what was it? “ Ivy Freeman would be late.
At exactly nine fifty-nine and thirty-eight seconds (Snape had taken to counting), Ivy Freeman walked through the door.
Ivy was nearly as tall as Snape with a wiry build and thin face. She brushed her long, dark red curls, the right side of which were streaked with white, away from her face and checked her watch. She spoke with an American accent. “Am I “ ? Oh, dead, of course.” She sighed and smiled. “Unfortunate side effect of a non-magic background, I suppose, that none of the electrical equipment crosses over. Anyway, I’m Ivy Freeman.” She extended her hand for McGonagall to shake.
“Minerva McGonagall. We’ve been in contact.”
“Of course,” Ivy replied. She turned to Snape. “And you would be Severus Snape?”
“Your skills of observation are positively blinding,” Snape answered dryly. He did not take her hand.
The woman’s ice-blue eyes flashed. “Yes, well, I figure that the ability to put two and two together is a skill highly valued in professors,” she said. “My skill set also includes inductive reasoning, from which I gather you’ve received my resume and have a few questions about it. Ask away.” Her voice had hardened, but she was still smiling. She turned to McGonagall.
“Well, yes, we do have a few questions. Your credentials seem to be in order: you were a physics professor at a Muggle university for eighteen years. You have lived among Muggles, learned their history, their science, their culture,” McGonagall said. “The one thing I don’t see here is your magical credentials. There are no records of you at the wizarding academy in Salem or from the American Ministry of Magic. Are you “” she paused delicately, “A Squib?”
Ivy bit her lip and looked down. McGonagall continued: “You see, we’re just concerned about your ability to control a class of witches and wizards. Without magic, well….”
“Oh, I didn’t say that I didn’t have powers,” Ivy said. Snape raised an eyebrow. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll go into the next room. Whisper amongst yourselves, and from the other room, I’ll tell you what you’ve been saying.” With that, she walked out and closed the door.
“This is absurd,” Snape said, not bothering to lower his voice. “What is this, a Muggle parlor-trick?”
“That’s not lowering your voice,” said Ivy. Oddly, it sounded as though it was coming from within the room.
“Is she in here?” McGonagall whispered. “Invisible, do you think?”
“Nope,” the voice answered. “Not invisible. Still outside. Ask the witch in the painting of the rose garden. I’m talking to her, too, you know.”
“What sort of spell are you using?” McGonagall asked at her normal volume.
“No spell. I’m manipulating the air molecules in your room to vibrate at the pitch of my voice,” Ivy said. “Likewise, I can hear what you’re saying because my ears are sensitive to the vibration your voices make when you speak. I can also hear all of your movements, or at least roughly estimate the by the small currents you make. See, right now, Professor McGonagall, you’ve just scooted out your chair slightly.”
McGonagall froze, as she had just done exactly that. She continued pushing her chair out and walked over to the door. She quickly pulled it open to show Ivy in conversation with the witch in the painting of the rose garden. Snape followed McGonagall into the hallway.
“Has she been out here the whole time?” McGonagall asked the painted witch.
“Oh, well, certainly,” the witch answered. “We’ve been having a right nice conversation. Fine lady, she is.”
“Then…?” McGonagall’s voice trailed off.
“Multitasking,” Ivy explained with a smirk directed at Snape. “Part of my skill set. Anything else you need to know?”
Snape looked from Ivy to McGonagall, and between the confident look on the former’s face to the impressed look on the latter’s, he knew that this insufferable redheaded woman had got the position.
A Lily by Another Name by Ivy_Freeman
Chapter Notes: This is my first fiction piece for MNFF. I should start by saying that I DO NOT identify with Ivy Freeman; her name is only my pen name because I just love writing her. So, enjoy...