The Granny Woman trudges up the muddy road
that leads to the head of the holler
where her patient, impatient, awaits her ministration.

An anxious father greets her at the door.
She makes her way to the back room
where sisters and female cousins
are whispering courage to the woman
doubled over on the lumpy, white-metal bed.

She washes her hands in a basin
and opens up her bag,
rummaging for just the right instrument.
A knife slipped under the mattress
will draw away the pain,
the stabbing fiery declamation
that new life is on its way.
The sharpness of the blade
matches the sharpness of the labor—
and, God willing, intimidates it into silence.

Now the Granny Woman begins quietly
to sing,
to chant,
to cast her spell.

Who knows how long it will take?
It doesn’t matter:
Granny is here.
Granny is here.

She and everyone have entered the sacred moment.
They will stay there as long as it takes.

I missed this when it first came out in 2009. Anthropologists have constructed a “genetic” tree noting the developments and variations in the story of “Little Red Riding Hood.”

Contrary to the view that the tale originated in France shortly before Charles Perrault produced the first written version in the 17th century, Dr Tehrani found that the varients shared a common ancestor dating back more than 2,600 years.

He said: “Over time these folk tales have been subtly changed and have evolved just like an biological organism. Because many of them were not written down until much later, they have been misremembered or reinvented through hundreds of generations.

“By looking at how these folk tales have spread and changed it tells us something about human psychology and what sort of things we find memorable.

“The oldest tale we found was an Aesopic fable that dated from about the sixth century BC, so the last common ancestor of all these tales certainly predated this. We are looking at a very ancient tale that evolved over time.”

The next post in my study of Israel’s wise women will deal with traditions surrounding death and mourning, and in particular with ancient Hebrew folk beliefs and practices. I was therefore interested to find this post on “Folk Beliefs about Death” in my feed reader this morning. I link to it neither to endorse nor to condemn, but simply to raise our awareness of the ways we humans try to make sense of the mystery of death.

Here is a more authentic rendition of the Late Bronze Age hymn to Nikkal I mentioned last May. (H/T: Jim West)

“Magi, I believe you had better start explaining yourself,” Principal Towne said almost in a whisper, his lips barely moving.

“Of course, Principal,” said Mr. Corntassel. “You see—and I know you disapprove of gambling, Athansius, but please hear me out—Jacob and I had placed a small wager on the outcome of Saturday’s Quodpot game. The winner would cover three lessons with the loser’s most incorrigible, most exasperating class. Well, though they distinguished themselves by their superb flying and their unparalleled sportsmanship, Proudfeather lost.”

“We all know that!” Mr. Malleus spat.

“And I agreed that I would teach three lessons to the class of Mr. Malleus’s choosing.” Now all eyes fell upon Will, Kate, and Dana. “Second-year Proudfeathers and Fairgarlands. The very definition of ‘incorrigible’ and ‘exasperating,’ wouldn’t you say?”

Madame Glapion joined in Mr. Corntassel’s grin. Mr. Malleus and Principal Towne remained grim-faced. Neville just stood there, mouth agape.

“Then I realized that neither of us had clearly stated when these lessons were to take place. So I figured, No time like the present!”

“So are you saying, Magi, that you put these children up to breaking into Mr. Malleus’s office?” said Principal Towne, his volume rising ever so slightly.

“Not at all, Athanasius. I’m saying that, like all forms of magic, Defense against the Dark Arts involves a bit of detective work. You see something suspicious—a prematurely exploding Quod, for example—what do you make of it? Is it worth investigating or not?

“Magi, you didn’t sabotage that Quod? Someone could have been hurt!”

“Now, now, Justine, I’d never do anything of the sort. I was still hoping for a Proudfeather comeback! You always get an unpredictable Quod now and then. We all know that. But you should have heard the Proudfeather fans walking back to the dormitories. They were convinced someone was up to no good. I thought, ‘Here’s a teachable moment if there ever was one.’ A defective Quod by itself is an accident. But add some strange noises in the Proudfeather common room, a scrap of parchment with a coded message falling into the hands of an overly suspicious Fairgarland—” (Dana blushed at this statement) “—a mysterious cloaked figure prowling the grounds…”

“I never heard anything about a stranger on campus!” Mr. Malleus interjected.

“I made sure the intruder was only seen by second-year Proudfeathers and Fairgarlands. It’s their lesson, after all. I, uh, arranged for her to be seen departing from certain rooms a few moments after you did, Jacob, or else to skulk around outside your office when I knew the right students would be passing by.”

“Her?” Mr. Malleus started.

“By the way, Athanasius, my sister is in town and we’d like you to be our guest Christmas Eve if you don’t have other plans.” Mr. Corntassel paused to reclaim his line of thought. “They’d have never come to you, Jacob, they figured you were in on it!.”

“And we fell for it,” Will said, dejected.

“You pieced together the clues I left you, Will, and you did so correctly to the best of your knowledge. None of your classmates did, though they had the same opportunities—I’d take that into consideration when grading this assignment, Jacob.” He turned back to the three. “Your only fault was in failing to inform a teacher. Confronting Dark wizardry is something best left to adults.” Mr. Corntassel turned to Neville. “Where do these children get the idea that they’re up to fighting monsters?”

Mr. Corntassel crossed his arms. “And that, my friends, was lesson one: Adequate Defense against the Dark Arts requires strong allies. Don’t go it alone if you can help it—especially when you’re only twelve years old!”

By now Madame Glapion was mesmerized. “And lesson two?”

“Lesson two, it turns out, involved only Kate, Dana, and Will, as they were the ones who put my clues together. They can write up a summary of their experience to share with the rest of the class in January. Twelve inches of parchment should do—and, Jacob, I’ll be happy to attend that day’s class and help with the debriefing.

“The second lesson is: Know what you’re getting into. You see, Athanasius, I planted clues pointing to something fishy in Mr. Malleus’s office, but I never gave any hints about what it might be.

“Now, the proper thing to do in a situation like that is to continue to gather information. Research. Books! I’m sure Mr. Malleus has mentioned the concept. You might have discovered some simple techniques of Dark Detection to try. Or perhaps dig deeper into my clues, eliminate possibilities that didn’t match the data. You might have done any number of things. Many of them would have won my praise. Unfortunately, you chose to dive in unprepared. Jacob, I would suggest you take that into consideration as well when grading this assignment.

“I was there at lunch this afternoon when the three of you made plans to investigate Mr. Malleus’s office during the Christmas Banquet. So, as soon as I knew he had finished his day’s work, I hurried down to the root cellar, collected my boggart, and left him here. Oh, and Kate’s Unlocking Charm worked because I didn’t replace all the protective charms on the door when I was finished.”

Principal Towne wore a look of pure bewilderment, half amused and half dismayed.

“Mr. Corntassel,” Kate began, “When we were in Mr. Malleus’s office…. Well, there are an awful lot of Dark Detectors in there. There were a couple of Sneakoscopes and a Secrecy Sensor and a couple of other things I didn’t recognize.”

“Yes?”

“Well, none of them were going off. Wouldn’t they… I mean, how did you….?

“My question exactly, Corntassel,” Mr. Malleus said. “They’d have gone off the minute you picked the lock.”

“And I’m sure I would have, Jacob, if I had done the slightest thing to set them off.”

“If? What do you—?”

“Well, I wasn’t doing anything untrustworthy, was I? I owed you a debt and I was paying it—and promptly at that! What could be more trustworthy? My motivations in entering your office were purely aboveboard. I wasn’t hiding behind Occlumency or any other form of concealment. I wasn’t even invisible. I just opened the door, let in the boggart, and closed it back again. I wasn’t going to steal anything” Mr. Corntassel looked perfectly satisfied with himself. “I was giving you a present—which I had decided to give you days ago.”

Mr. Corntassel winked at Neville and then addressed Principal Towne. “I assure you, sir, that nothing underhanded has taken place here tonight, and I call as witnesses the silence of Mr. Malleus’s own Dark Detectors. But I thought it best for you to hear this story as soon as possible, Principal, before any unfounded rumors get started. I also thought it best for Justine to be here in her capacity as Miss Good’s Head of House.”

“Much obliged,” said Madame Glapion. “But if you don’t mind: You said the bet involved teaching three lessons….?”

“So I did, Justine. Thank you for reminding me.” He glanced at the grandfather clock near the end of the hall. “Jacob, you might want to find a good vantage point to see the covered walkway between the Great Hall and the Proudfeather and Fairgarland dormitories.”

“Yes?” Mr. Malleus said apprehensively.

“In another twenty minutes or so the first- and second-years will have to be in their dorms for curfew. On their way to bed I’m afraid they’re going to have a run-in with a haint—It’s not a very big one, Jacob, so don’t give me that worried expression. I found it tussling with the boggart in the root cellar. You can have it if you want. I just thought you’d like to see how your students handle it.”

Neville and the other teachers returned to the Great Hall in time for dessert. Mr. Malleus joined them some time later, still glaring at Mr. Corntassel. He didn’t say another word to anyone the entire evening and excused himself from the feast at the soonest opportunity. Everyone else seemed to enjoy themselves—even Principal Towne. But the highlight of the evening was when Rufus the ghost floated to the center of the Great Hall and danced the minuet with Annabelle, a pretty young ghost in a flapper dress.

At midnight the rest of the students were run out and the few teachers who had stayed up with them made their way to bed. The hunting trophies had long since drifted off to sleep, and the red-and-green flames in the fireplaces were almost extinguished.

Neville pulled his robes close around his body and lumbered to his guest cottage. Arriving, he magicked fire in this own fireplace and eased himself into an overstuffed chair. After a moment’s thought he grabbed a lap desk and piece of parchment from a side table along with a fresh eagle-feather quill.

Dear Professor McGonagall,

I wonder if you’ve ever given any thought to a more experiential approach to education at Hogwarts….

When Neville rounded the corner he saw the three children literally stuck in place to the floor just outside Mr. Malleus’s office. They burst into frantic explanations (“It’s not what it looks like!” “Please, you’ve got to listen!” “We can explain!”).

Mr. Corntassel waved his wand and their feet instantly became free from the hex that had held them fast. This caught Will in mid-tug and sent him flying onto his backside. He scrambled back upright as Mr. Malleus bellowed, “What’re you doing?”

It was then that he noticed the wisps of purple smoke escaping beneath the door of his office. Fuming, he snatched a huge brass key from his pocket and opened the door.

Everyone coughed as more purple smoke briefly filled the hallway before dissipating. Behind the smoke, the room was pitch black.

Fuming even more, Mr. Malleus pointed his wand into his office and cried “Lumos!”—but nothing happened.

Mr. Corntassel said, “Apparently they’ve managed to get their hands on something they shouldn’t, Mr. Malleus. Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, perhaps? Or some other sort of Deluminating artefact?”

Principal Towne nudged Mr. Malleus out of the way and began to poke his head into the darkened room.

“Be careful, Principal Towne!” Kate shouted. “There’s something in there!”

“Indeed?”

Dana spoke up. “It’s what we’ve been trying to tell you. There’s something in there—something horrible!”

“Is there, now?” Principal Towne said. “And you know this because…?”

The three blushed and studied the hardwood floor. Finally, Will said, “B-because we sneaked in.”

“Impossible!” Malleus shouted. “I locked that door myself, and I assure you it takes more than a simple Unlocking Charm to open it.”

“But they did open it, Jacob,” Mr. Corntassel said, his voice casual and steady. “I was here. I saw them. Kate performed as expert an Alohomora as I’ve ever seen from a second-year. The door virtually burst open before her wand.” Mr. Malleus’s expression went from furious to dumbstruck.

“Then they went inside,” Mr. Corntassel continued, “and suppose one of you tell us what happened next?”

Will cleared his throat. “Well, uh. You see, we uh—we were afraid someone had, uh, put something in your office.”

“We weren’t exactly sure what we were looking for,” Dana chimed in.

“Then we opened your closet,” Kate said, finding fresh courage, “And we found it!” Kate eyed Mr. Malleus as if she had just delivered conclusive evidence he was a murderer.

“Found what, exactly?” Madame Glapion asked.

“Well, that’s the thing….” Dana began. “It moved awfully fast….” The three grew silent.

Mr. Corntassel jumped in. “Perhaps I can be of some assistance here. Will, tell us what you saw when you opened the closet door.”

“A-A snake, Mr. Corntassel. A rattlesnake, only it was as big as a man!”

“How about you, Kate. What did you see?”

“It wasn’t a snake. It was a vampire! I’m certain of it.”

“I see,” Mr. Corntassel mused. “Tell me, Kate, have you ever seen a real-live vampire?”

“Well, no.”

“Then how are you so sure that’s what you saw?” Kate had nothing to say. Mr. Corntassel scratched the side of his head and said, “Hmmm,” in a way that was obviously intentional.

The light began to dawn on the other teachers’ faces.

Madame Glapion next questioned her Fairgarland student. “Dana, what did you see in Mr. Malleus’s office?”

Dana blushed. “It was Mr. Rainey!”

Will and Kate blurted, “What?”

“He was throwing History of Magic textbooks at me! Except Goblins kept popping out of them and clawing at my ankles!”

“So,” Mr. Corntassel continued, “What do you think was really in that closet?”

The question met three blank stares until finally Kate gasped, “A boggart?”

Mr. Corntassel grinned and nodded. “A boggart.”

“Wait a minute!” Mr. Malleus interrupted, “Don’t you think I’d know if there were a boggart in my closet?”

“Of course you would, Jacob. That’s why I waited until you were away from your office before I put it there! I noticed it down in my root cellar just before the Quodpot game on Saturday and figured I’d offer it to you later. As it turned out, I needed it first.”

Mr. Malleus stormed into his office. There were shouts of “Lumos Maxima!” and then “Ridikkulus!” Then they heard the sound of a closet door slamming shut and the metal latch being turned. Everyone—student and teacher alike—could now see that Mr. Malleus’s office was a complete mess.

“Er…We must have, uh, knocked some things over, you know, trying to get out…” Will mumbled.

“That must have been when I bumped your…darkness thingy,” Kate added.

“And…uh…somebody must have broken…whatever it was that made the smoke,” said Dana.

“I assure you, none of you are leaving campus tomorrow until my office is put back the way it’s supposed to be!”

“Don’t worry, Jacob,” Mr. Corntassel said, “I’ll clean up the mess. And by my calculation,” there was a sparkle in the old Indian’s eye, “it looks like my debt to you is paid.”

All eyes jerked suddenly up to Mr. Corntassel’s grinning face.

“Well, mostly.”

Conclusion…

If one thing sets Malkin Academy apart from Hogwarts, Hermione, it is the great diversity of magical techniques. As I said, there’s no mistaking the Hogwarts influence here, but American wizards and witches come from such diverse backgrounds you can’t help but notice. I’ve already mentioned Mr. Corntassel, my supervisor. He’s an American Indian. (Well, mostly, I think. Do you know of any Beings that can turn invisible?). He has his fifth-years prepare Medicine Bundles before they can pass their Herbology B.A.T.S. (Basic Achievement Test in Sorcery, more or less the same as O.W.L.s at Hogwarts). Mr. Malleus, the Defense against the Dark Arts teacher, is Pennsylvania Dutch and knows all about Hex Signs and other defenses we never learned about at Hogwarts—unless there was something in the footnotes somewhere. I missed it if there was. Then there’s Madame Glapion, the Potions teacher. She’s from New Orleans, where they use a lot of African techniques. And a new Charms teacher from somewhere out west who’s a fully licensed Mexican curandera!

Well, it’s nearly dinnertime, Hermione, so I’d better wrap up so I can take this letter by the owlery. Say Hi to Ron and give Rose and Hugo kisses from Uncle Neville.

Sincerely,

Neville

PS: Any chance you and Ron can make it to London around Christmas? I’d love to see you lot again.

PPS: You’ll never believe what Mr. Malleus is working on! I’ll tell you about it later.

After a quick stopover at the owlery, Neville made his way to the Great Hall. The room had the appearance of a vast stone-and-timber hunting lodge, with two fireplaces facing each other, one to the right and one to the left, and a dozen mounted trophies on the walls. Though normally quiet, tonight they were serenading the students with Christmas carols in perfect four-part harmony. At the far end, the faculty sat at a semi-circular table against a concave stone wall. Four long tables accommodated the student body.

In the morning, most of the students and faculty would return home for a needed break. Tonight was the Christmas Banquet. Red and green fire belched up from the fireplaces, and the entire room was festooned with gold and silver tinsel, holly, and mistletoe. Unlike at Hogwarts, the ceiling didn’t reflect the nighttime sky. Rather, it was a deep velvety red studded with thousands of pinpricks of light.

Silvery ghosts glided above and between the tables. One of them doffed his tricorn hat to Neville and bowed deeply with a flourish.

“Good evenin’, Mr. Longbottom, and Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, Rufus. I see I didn’t miss anything.”

“The food’ll be up directly, I allow. Now go get your seat before Principal Towne gets up to speak.”

Neville found his way to the faculty table, stopping along the way to greet students who called out his name. As a guest, Neville’s seat was near the center of the table where Principal Towne was deep in conversation with Mr. Malleus and Mr. Rainey to his right. To the principal’s left was Madame Glapion, then an empty seat between her and Neville where Mr. Corntassel should have been seated.

“Merry Christmas, Neville!” she called in her exotic, musical accent.

“And to you, Madame,” Neville answered. Madame Glapion didn’t look nearly old enough to be Head of Fairgarland House, although he had already figured out she was in fact about ten years older than Professor Snape had been when he started at Hogwarts—and he had been Head of Slytherin House at the time. Neville had a hard time imagining Snape as ever being young. Madame Glapion, however, projected the warmth, energy, and joi de vivre of a woman half her age.

“Please, you British are so formal. How many times have I asked you to call me Justine?”

“Well, then, Happy Christmas, Justine.”

“Ah, it looks like Athanasius is ready to begin.”

Principal Towne was tall, slim, and clean-shaven, his longish gray hair pulled back into a pony tail. His robes were of the plainest design and at least twenty years out of style. Only a thin stripe of yellow piping indicated his affiliation with Strongfoot House. Athanasius Towne came from one of the oldest wizarding families in New England—although he never bragged. The more irreverent students liked to say he took great pride in his modesty. In fact, Principal Towne rarely said much at all. His laconic nature ensured there wouldn’t be a long wait for the meal to commence.

“Esteemed faculty, students, and other members of the Malkin family,” he began. At the last phrase, Rufus and his fellow ghosts gave him a subtle bow. “Our academic year is now half over. My, how the time flies. Some of you, I’m delighted to say, have already distinguished yourselves admirably. Others of you…might consider a bit of reading homework before we meet again in January. Whatever your intellectual accomplishments, I wish you a Merry Christmas and a prosperous New Year. And so, without further ado,” he clapped his bony hands three times and the Christmas feast appeared with a flash on all the tables.

Neville began digging into roast turkey, sweet potatoes, and corn. He wondered, however, where Mr. Corntassel could be. Although he seemed to enjoy wandering the campus almost as much as he enjoyed teaching his students, it wasn’t like him to be late for such a grand occasion.

Then, almost on cue, Neville noticed that something had caught Principal Towne’s attention. Following the old wizard’s eyes, Neville saw the doors of the Great Hall closing by themselves. He hadn’t noticed them open, but Towne obviously did.

A moment later, Mr. Corntassel flickered into visibility, leaning over the table to whisper something into the Principal’s ear. Towne nodded to Mr. Malleus, who was included in the conversation and seemed none too happy. Then he tapped Madame Glapion on the shoulder.

“Justine, we need to discuss something in the hallway,” he announced. The three wizards rose from their seats and slipped quietly from the Great Hall. A few of the students noticed their movement but most were too busy enjoying their dinner.

“Neville, I’d like you to join us, if you please.”

“Who? Me?” he said, rising to his feet almost automatically. But Mr. Corntassel was already halfway to the doors. Neville hurried to catch up. But on his way out, he did happen to notice something he hadn’t before. Three of his favorite students were conspicuous by their absence: Kate, Will, and Dana.

More…

Dear Hermione,

To answer your question from your last letter: Yes, Malkin Academy is a lot like Hogwarts. In fact, Hogwarts played an important role in Malkin’s founding. Directly after passage of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy (1692 if you don’t know—ha ha!), wizards in America decided to start their own wizarding school. Apparently an old frontier witch named Eudora Malkin had already begun training the children of other settlers back in the hills, and she was asked to take the lead in forming a proper school. The British Ministry for Magic paid a lot of the start-up costs. (Remember, America was a bunch of British colonies back then.) For the first hundred years or so, many of the faculty were Hogwarts graduates. They even have a portrait of Dilys Derwent in their infirmary! (That’s what they call their hospital wing.)

So anyway, the curriculum is very similar what we had at Hogwarts and they use a lot of the same textbooks, only American editions with the spelling all funny. They even sort the students into Houses. The Malkin Houses are Fairgarland, Proudfeather, Quickfang, and Strongfoot, symbolized respectively by a laurel crown (or a chap wearing one—they’re not terribly consistent), a bald eagle, a mountain lion, and a buffalo. They don’t correspond exactly to Gryffindor and the rest, though. My supervisor, Mr. Corntassel, is Head of Proudfeather House. They’re a very bright lot all in all—very quick and intuitive, but a bit too ready to cut corners if you asked me. It’s like they figure out the answer and then go back and work out how they should have got there. For example, just last night this one girl, Kate Burr

“Hello!”

Neville’s quill slipped at the sudden noise. He quickly magicked away the mess as he stood to greet the solidly built man who was stalking into the Herbology classroom

“Good morning, Mr. Malleus,” Neville said.

“Is Mr. Corntassel around?”

“I haven’t seen him.”

“That’s not what I asked” the visitor glared. Then, talking to the air, he said, “Magi? Are you in here?”

“I think he had some business in Malkinville this morning. Something about a shipment of Carnivorous Chicory. Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Malleus?”

Malleus bit his lower lip as he sized Neville up. The Defense against the Dark Arts teacher was about fifty, with a neatly trimmed beard but no mustache. He furrowed his brow, and then said, almost resignedly, “Yeah. Just a question, really. Let me show you something.”

Only then did Neville notice the folded piece of parchment in Mr. Malleus’s hand. He unfolded it to reveal a very large square.

“I’m working on something,” he said matter-of-factly.

Neville cleared away several bowls of Dittany his students would be shredding and drying later that morning to make room for Mr. Malleus’s project. Once he got a good look at it, he couldn’t believe his eyes.

“As you can see,” Mr. Malleus began, “this is a map of Malkin Academy—the classroom buildings, the grounds, the dormitories. Malkinville is up the road this way.”

Indeed, all of these features were expertly charted and labeled in Mr. Malleus’s bold, angular handwriting.

“It’s very nice,” Neville said. Knowing Mr. Malleus’s general wariness of students’ intentions he felt a grin growing upon his face. He bit the inside of his cheek to bring his face back under control.

“Now, I’ve already found a secret passage that leads from this closet across from the Potions classroom down to the broom shed. See? I haven’t blocked it because it might come in handy in an emergency. But the real idea is to track people’s movements over the entire campus. Have ‘em show up as tiny labeled dots. Maybe moving footprints even.”

“Yes, quite clever,” Neville said, his cheeks growing pink.

“I’ve got all the Charms all worked out. Nothing a seventh-year couldn’t do—if he took the time to do the research.”

Neville couldn’t help himself. “Perhaps even a group of gifted younger students working together?”

“Not likely, Longbottom. Most kids don’t have that kind of discipline. As I said, I’ve got the Charms worked out, but I’m running into problems with the Animated Ink. According to what I’ve read, the best recipe calls for Spanish licorice. Is there any chance Mr. Corntassel has some growing in the greenhouse?”

“None in the greenhouse, I’m afraid. There’s a small patch in the garden, but it won’t be ready until summer.”

Mr. Malleus pondered Neville’s answer. “I guess that will do. At least it gives me a chance to gather all the other ingredients. Thanks, Longbottom. I’ll talk to Magi about the licorice after Christmas.”

“You know, Mr. Malleus, I’m thinking…”

“Yes?”

“Well, it’s just that…. Have you ever thought of what could happen if a map like that were ever lost or stolen?”

Mr. Malleus fell silent, but only for a moment.

“Hmm. Good point, Longbottom. I’d better add some kind of security feature. I guess I could recopy the thing in Disappearing Ink. Make sure you can only read it if you know the password.”

“An excellent idea, Mr. Malleus.”

“Will you be here for Christmas, Longbottom?”

“Actually I’m heading home to London on Friday. I haven’t seen Hannah since July and, well….”

“Newlyweds!” Mr. Malleus stated, to no one in particular. “Well, I’ll see you at dinner tonight, then I’ll be off to Pennsylvania.”

“Be sure and wish your grandmother a Happy Christmas from me.”

Mr. Malleus stalked out of the Herbology classroom just had he had stalked in. Class would begin in five minutes—plenty of time for Neville to finish his paragraph.

For example, just last night this one girl, Kate Burroughs was sure Mr. Malleus, one of the other teachers, was up to no good. She and a couple of friends were about to try and break into his office. If I hadn’t stopped them, they could have all been in serious trouble. (Mr. Malleus is okay. He’s tough as nails and demands nothing less than perfection from his students, but he’s got their best interests at heart. Sort of like Professor McGonagall, now that I think of it!)

Just then a trickle of Strongfoot and Quickfang fourth-years began to enter the classroom.

“Good morning, Mr. Longbottom! Where’s Mr. Corntassel?” cried a bright-eyed African American student.

“Good morning, Elliot. And good morning to you, Greta, Jeremy, Jessica…. Mr. Corntassel had to be away this morning. But it looks like everyone’s ready for their last Herbology class before Christmas Holiday! Nothing terribly difficult today. I’ve got some Dittany that has to be prepared for use in the infirmary. Now, who can tell me the difficulties in preparing fresh Dittany? ….”

More…

Dear Harry,

Thanks for the letter and especially the picture of the kids. I can’t believe how big Lily is getting! It looks like everyone had a great time at her birthday party. Last month I went to New Orleans with two other teachers for some early Christmas shopping. Your packages should have got there by now. At least I hope so.

I thought you’d be interested to know I attended my first Quodpot match last yesterday. Quickfang beat Proudfeather 160 to 80. Mr. Corntassel was devastated! (I expect he had some sort of bet going with Mr. Malleus.) Anyway, Quodpot players are mad! Flitting about with an exploding Quaffle on the pitch isn’t my idea of a good time, I’ll tell you. But the students think it’s the greatest thing since Chocolate Frogs. I think I’ll stick to Quidditch personally. At least I understand the rules.

Speaking of Mr. Corntassel: I can’t believe how much I’ve learned the past five months. Professor McGonagall really knew what she was doing putting my name in for this fellowship. Next time you see Percy, tell him thanks for pulling strings at the Department of International Magical Cooperation to raise the funding. They’re doing the most amazing things with toadstools here

Angry children’s voices in the hallway captured Neville’s attention. He set down his quill and strode to his office door. Opening it a crack, he spied three second-years at the end of the corridor.

“You’ve got to be kidding!” It was Will Proctor, one of the Proudfeather students in Mr. Corntassel’s Tuesday morning Herbology class. Will was tall and gangly and not the most physically coordinated boy at Malkin Academy. Someone told Neville he had grown four inches since last summer, and apparently his brain still hadn’t figured out how to move all that height.

“Keep your voice down!” If the boy was Will Proctor, then the two girls arguing with him had to be Kate Burroughs and Dana Good. The three were all but inseparable. Kate, the redhead, was also in Proudfeather House. She shushed Will as her eyes darted right and left. Neville stepped back from his door, and then eased back to his vantage point.

“Listen, I thought we agreed,” Kate continued. “Mr. Malleus is keeping something in his office—something dangerous. And I’m sure it has something to do with the Quodpot game. You saw how that last Quod went off early. Someone could have gotten hurt. I mean seriously hurt.”

“C’mon, Will,” tall, dark-haired Dana Good interjected.  Dana was in Fairgarland House, but the two Houses took Herbology and Defense against the Dark Arts together. “You saw the smirk on Malleus’s face. He knew something bad was about to happen!”

“Look, Mr. Malleus was happy his team was winning. You can’t make him into some kind of, of Death Eater or something because of that! You’re just mad he took points away ‘cause you sucker-punched Bashari Parris when your Disarming Charm fizzled out. And anyway, we can’t go breaking into a teacher’s office! Do you want to get us expelled?”

“We’re in this together, Will,” Kate said. Even at this distance Neville could see the blue fire in her eyes.

“No, we’re not,” he sighed, pulling his wand from beneath his robes. Kate and Dana drew their wands as well. “You’re my friends. I’m not going to let you get in trouble.”

Kate sighed and glanced at Dana. “Sorry about this, Will” she said. All three wands were a blur of motion, then—

“Expelliarmus!” Neville shouted, and the three wands flew from the hands of Will, Kate, and Dana and into his waiting grasp.

“Mr. Longbottom!” They all cried at once.

“Good evening,” Neville said. “Funny place for dueling practice, eh?”

Kate seemed suddenly fascinated with Neville’s shoes. “Yeah, well…”

“I’d recommend the gymnasium. It’s really excellent, you know. In the morning I’ll see about reserving you a mat if you like. Although, this close to Christmas holiday I doubt you’d have any trouble—”

“M–Mr. Longbottom,” Will stammered. “We weren’t practicing dueling.” Kate and Dana seethed quietly.

“No?”

“No. I mean—well…” Dana curled her fingers into two white-knuckled fists.

“No matter,” Neville said. You’d best be off. Lights out in—” he checked his pocket watch. “Well, look at that, you’re already past curfew. Better move along now. Goodnight, all.”

“Good night, Mr. Longbottom,” they all said, and then scurried back to their dormitory.

“One minute, Will,” Neville called.

“Yes, Mr. Longbottom?” Will, now white as a sheet, began to tremble.

Neville sighed. “Will, you understand that I’m here at Malkin as a teaching fellow. I don’t have the same authority as a regular faculty member.”

“Yes, Mr. Longbottom?” Will’s voice cracked with stress.

“It is not for me to award—or penalize—a student’s House.”

Will’s eyes began to tear.

“Therefore, I’m going to talk to Mr. Corntassel about awarding ten points to Proudfeather House because of what I’ve observed here tonight.”

Now Will’s mouth fell open.

“Let’s just say it takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to your enemies, but a great deal more to stand up to your friends. Someone very wise taught me that lesson long ago. Now, off you go!”

“Yes sir, Mr. Longbottom, sir. And thank you, sir!”

Neville scratched his head. Had it really been nineteen years?

“You handled that well.” An old man’s voice startled Neville back to the present. Before him a tall, regal-looking, figure materialized.

“Been here long, then, Mr. Corntassel?” Neville was only beginning to get used to the idea that his supervisor could become invisible at will, and often walked the halls in such a state. He pretended not to hear Neville’s question.

“Please, Neville, call me Magi. All the other teachers do.” He shifted his weight on his moccasins, turning his whole body to look in the direction the three students had headed.

“That could have been an embarrassing situation. Jacob Malleus treasures his privacy. He’s got more Dark Detectors in his office than I have gray hairs. Those three are a handful—and they’re only in their second year! I wonder, though, how different they are, really, from other youngsters of your sometime acquaintance…”

“I don’t think you want to know, Mr. Corn—Magi.”

“You’re doing good work here, Neville. I’ve expressed as much to Principal Towne. You’re a good student, and I daresay you have the makings of a fine teacher. Minerva’d be lucky to have you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Neville blushed. “I’ll be Apparating to London at the end of the week. If I don’t see you again, Happy Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas to you, Neville,” Mr. Corntassel said as he once again disappeared from view.

Neville returned to his office, a tear in his eye and a smile on his face. He sat down at his desk and resumed his letter.

Anyway, Harry, I just wanted to wish you a Happy Christmas. Malkin Academy is brilliant—but I can’t wait to get home. Remember me to Ginny and the kids, and Ron and Hermione if you see them.

Sincerely,

Neville

He reached in his pocket and pulled out what looked like an ordinary gold Galleon. He rubbed its edge with his thumb, feeling the ridges of the fake serial number placed upon it with a Protean Charm. Was it just his imagination, or did the coin grow warmer in his hand?

Then he took out two more sheets of parchment. On the first, he wrote,

Dear Professor McGonagall,

Having thought it over, I have decided to accept your invitation to become the new Herbology Professor at Hogwarts next September. I’ll be in London for Christmas Holiday and if you like I can pop up to Hogsmeade and we can work out the details. I’ll await your owl at the Leaky Cauldron.

Sincerely,

Neville

On the last parchment he wrote,

Dear Hannah,

In just a few more days I’ll be home for Christmas. I can’t believe how much I miss you. Thank you so much for understanding why I wanted to come to America.

Hannah, I’ve made a decision. I’m going to take the position we’ve been talking about. I know that means extra stress for you, and I’m sorry, but I hope—I believe—this is something we’ve both wanted.

All my love, my Darling,

Neville

PS: You should have received my Christmas presents by now. Rue Saint-Expédite in New Orleans is nearly as big as Diagon Alley! Mr. Rainey and Mme Glapion took me there for Thanksgiving. I probably spent more than I should have done, but you’re worth it! Just leave everything beneath the tree and we can open them when I get there.

Neville then stoppered his inkwell, but away his quill, and departed his office, locking the door behind him.

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