"If you could make anything materialise behind Mouldy Malfoy at dinner, what would it be?" Heather asked the assorted members of the Gryffindor common room. "Dark mark, neon middle finger, Voldemort himself?"

Prefects probably shouldn't hold court as to what students should inflict as pranks on Professors, but Heather Abbott had never been anyone's first choice for prefect.

She twirled her wand, conjuring vaguely pink smoke in a fine plume which she tried to draw into a simple face with a tongue sticking out. It loomed above the other Gryffindors.

The common room was abuzz, not just because of what had happened at dinner, but because many of the Gryffindors were packing to take the train home the next morning, Saturday 31st March. The Hogwarts Professors had been very careful to set their term dates to ensure as many of them would be home on the 1st April as possible. It was almost as if they had been teachers longer than five minutes. Strange that.

"Merlin he must be so glad we're off home and not here Sunday..."

Mairead pushed her way past the portrait and into a deliciously buzzing common room.  As far as she was concerned, despite the amateur-derived artistic liberties taken with the dark mark, the whole event had been an unbridled success. 

She'd been replaying the professor's ice cold stony expression as he'd tried to gracefully flee the Great Hall in her head as she'd waited patiently in a ground floor classroom for the Great Hall to clear.  The little garter snake that had been coiled up in a dark corner of the Great Hall had finally come to tell her that the little potion vial under Snape's chair had been confiscated.  That outcome hadn't surprised Mairead, but it did disappoint her.  Potion vials weren't cheap and nabbing them increased the chances of getting caught. 

After taking the time to reward the small serpent with a small cricket, she let him lead the way up to Gryffindor tower, always staying a few steps behind the snake so he could keep an eye out for prefects and professors.  Sneaking around Hogwarts had become infinitely easier since recruiting a small band of secret sentry serpents. 

With snake tucked safely in her pocket, she'd rejoined her fellow Gryffindors and found a spot on a couch near a cluster of fellow quidditch players.  If snakes could purr, the combined warmth of her body and the fire would have sent the snake into full body vibrations. 

"I'd maybe try to get a boggart to pop up behind him," Mairead offered, tucking her feet underneath her and curling contently into the corner of the couch.  "Let everyone see what his worst fear is.  I bet it's something silly like water.  Or spiders."  But, once that cat was out of the bag, there would be no way of putting it back.  Everyone who wanted to could capitalize on that knowledge.

Which begged the question: how did one trap a boggart?  Was the answer important enough to go to the library?   

Maybe.

“I’d maybe try to get a boggart to pop up behind him.” Mairead suggested, “Let everyone see what his worst fear is. I bet it’s something silly like water, or spiders…”

“What because he’s faced the Dark Lord himself?” Heather asked, grinning. “Can’t be scared of him still, like, can he?” She was hardly going to go and ask the wizard, but she couldn’t deny Mai’s suggestion had her intrigued.

“Rylan, what do you reckon?” Heather asked, looping in the creature-loving fourth year.

After the debacle with Professor 'Mouldy' Malfoy in the Great Hall, Rylan had returned to the common room with his fellow Gryffindors. He had a little more packing to do for the holidays, but he had decided to hang out in the common room for a bit first. He knew that suspicion for the act that had cost Malfoy his dignity fell squarely on his House, and it didn't help that most of them just couldn't help but laugh! He felt a little bad for him, and wished that whoever was responsible hadn't used the Dark Mark, of all things, but the way he has made his exit...

He had to admit, it was a little odd that a prefect of all people was discussing this, but when she asked what he thinked. Oh well, he had seemingly joined in the discussion just by being there, although when asked he had been distracted by the question of how to trap a boggart.

"I think the Dark Mark was a little much, but boggarts? I don't actually know, but would be interesting to find out! I'm more of a creatures guy than spirits and apparitions, but I guess it all goes hand in hand." Was that what she had meant?

"Anyhow, it's got to be something really dumb if the guy worked for the Dark Lord himself", he then agreed. Maybe Harry Potter, the one who had defeated Malfoy's former master and later became an auror? He did wonder if some of that story had been exaggerated a little though. Also, why were they conspiring against him? He decided against asking, as it was no secret that he wasn't exactly most people's favourite teacher.

Mairead grinned at the thought their former Death Eater Professor's greatest fear being a cockroach or the dark.  Abbott turned her attention to Marsh for his input. 

It mattered little if he thought the Dark Mark was excessive.  The wizarding war might have ended over a decade ago but Mairead was still reminded regularly of her mudblood status.  If she couldn't forget the tensions of the past, why should the aggressors?  But, she kept those thoughts to herself and simply shrugged. 

Maybe this whole boggart idea warranted some further consideration.  Unfortunately, of course, now that she'd voiced it there was the risk of it being easily traced back to her.  That would take some careful planning.  Or, a hardy dose of 'just don't care.'  Either way, there were options.  With a grin, Mairead pushed herself to her feet and nodded to her housemates. 

"Wonder if there's any leftover pudding," Mairead mused as she pushed herself to her feet.  "I'm going to head to the kitchen."  With a nod of farewell, she slipped past the hole to the corridor.

“I think the dark mark was a little much…” Rylan reasoned, showing a little sympathy for their poor beleaguered potions master. Heather shrugged, gesturing with upturned palms, weighing it up. “… boggarts? I don’t actually know, but would be interesting to find out! I’m more of a creatures guy …”

“Don’t we know,” Heather grinned. Rylan was most likely to be found down at the creatures pens by the forbidden forest than anywhere else when lessons were done for the day.

“It’s got to be something really dumb if the guy worked for the Dark Lord himself.”

“What, his greatest fear? I guess if he came back through some magical miracle, Malfoy would be on the hit list after Potter?” Heather had never liked history, but it was impossible for anyone who wasn’t muggleborn not to know potted history of the nineties. “But he’s got to have more current, more likely fears. Hasn’t he got kids, wouldn’t it be something to do with that if people are parents. Not trying to say I wouldn’t fear my parents dying or whatever, just that there’s stuff far more likely to fear…”

Hasn’t he got kids, wouldn’t it be something to do with that if people are parents.

Mairead hesitated in the entrance, holding the portrait half-closed as she scowled across the corridor. 

Ahem.

Of course, that would be the form of a privileged professor’s boggart.  Nothing more than the idyllic, fairytale worries of something disrupting the Christmas boutique family unit. 

Ahem.  Make up your mind, child.  Though, at this hour, the choice should be obvious.  Don’t you have a train to catch in the morning? 

Mairead rolled her eyes at Fortuna Major and returned to the common room, slumping back on the couch.  Her previously positive mood well-curdled. 

“Wonder when they start Hogwarts,” Mairead murmured as she shook her head.  “Could ye imagine?”

She had a point, as being a former Death Eater, one would think he had seen his fair share of frightening occurrences. Including Voldemort himself, and then of course there were the Dementors. he shuddered at the thought, hoping to never have to see one of those accursed things for himself. To think that they once let them loose on prisoners in Azkaban...

His thoughts were returned to much more pleasant things, as Heather made her statement on his love of creatures and he returned her grin. Yes, he was much more likely to be found at the pens than anywhere else in Hogwarts, outside of school hours and curfew, and he made a point of learning all he could about them.

They then moved on to the fact that Malfoy had kids, which was something that he previously hadn't realised. He often forgot that the professor's had lives and families outside of the castle walls, just as the students did. Well, maybe not 'forgot' as such, it wasn't something he thought about much.

"Maybe that's his greatest fear then? Something happening to his kids? Can't really see him as a family man, but you never know", he added his own two cents, watching as Mairead seemed to hover in the open doorway. Had she changed her mind about her little trip? Apparently so, as Fortuna Major berated her for her sudden indecisiveness and she returned to the common room, slumping back down onto the couch.

"Change of plan?", he asked, perhaps a little obviously. She then mentioned wondering when Malfoy's kids would likely be starting Hogwarts.

"Who knows? I wouldn't want to be at the same school my dad teaches at, but there's not a lot of choice, is there? They'll get some stick, that's for sure", he added his own thoughts. Yes, Mouldy Malfoy himself wasn't exactly popular, and some kids could be cruel. He hoped none of them would be in Gryffindor, for their sakes.

“Maybe that’s his greatest fear then? … Can’t really see him as a family man…” Rylan pondered aloud. Heather shook her head and agreed. Mairead rejoined them, reconsidering her kitchen trip.

“Wonder when they start Hogwarts, could ye imagine?”
“… I wouldn’t want to be at the same school my dad teaches at, but there’s not a lot of choice is there…”

“Not without going abroad. Malfoys are old money, I’m sure they’d afford it.” Heather shrugged. “Don’t you remember the Tetrawizard Tournament?” It had happened in her fourth year at Hogwarts, and their second year. They’d all been too young to compete in the revamped tournament which featured four schools rather than three - Salem, Durmstrang, Beauxbatons and Hogwarts. Salem had ultimately romped away with the trophy.

“Everyone at Beauxbatons seems so optimistic… Didn’t Professor Onuris go there or something, and Professor Duerr?” Heather posed it to creature-loving Rylan, who adored Onuris. “Durmstrangs were all hard-arse and Salem crew were just strange.” She remembered them all being louder than she was, and Heather was known to have a voice which refused to be quiet.

“Maybe he’ll leave and go teach at one of those instead,” Heather shrugged, “it’s not like all the Hogwarts staff are cursed never to stay long, is it?” She grinned. “Not working on Storm though,” she winked at Mairead, who she knew had a love-hate relationship with the grumpy old fart.

"Change of plan?"

Mairead grunted a wishy-washy sort of confirmation as she plucked a cushion from the sofa and flopped it down on the floor, right in front of the fireplace.  With all the feminine grace of a bludger smashing through a wayward team-supporting sign, she plopped down on top of it to steep in the warmth. 

"If I was 'em, I'd want for another school," she mused, following Abbott's line of thought.  "They must know people'd always look at em funny."  She was just as likely to be the one coordinating the dirty looks, after all.  "Not that they got a choice about who their da is."  Mairead pursed her lips as the thought brought the largely unfamiliar discomfort of an obvious moral dilemma. 

Mairead solved the moral dilemma with a dismissive hrmph and the seizure of an all too convenient distraction. 

"Teaching certainly don't seem t'be for everyone.  Be happy t'help the straw-headed git find the door."  Of course, she was already trying to do that, but she wasn't about to admit it.  "Anyone's happy to join the effort.  Doubt he'll be as-" she hesitated, fishing for the word that adequately expressed his perseverence without revealing any underlying respect.  "entrenched as Storm."   

Storm, like all teachers (and any other authority figure for that matter) was the enemy.  Never to be trusted and never to be given an easy time.  He wasn't the worst, mind you.  He was a respectable adversary, unlike some of the others. 

"Old people get stubborn, everyone knows that," Mairead offered, dismissively.  "When a war horse gets too old t' go t'war, ye send it back to the farm t' teach the kiddos how t'ride.  The thing'll still trumpet and make a big fuss but it's just fer show.  He'd still just give someone a detention fer breakin' into his office."  Mairead waved her fingers in the air for dramatic effect.