Anomalies

1.

Ever since the puppet Pius Thicknesse had ensconced himself comfortably in his position as Minister for Magic, Severus Snape's paperwork as Headmaster of Hogwarts had doubled.

Every other day, he received letters of recommendation sent by different ministerial secretaries, proposing candidates to replace members of the school's teaching staff.

Contrary to what he had imagined when he was appointed Headmaster, none of the staff members had handed in their resignations. He supposed, although none of his old colleagues would speak plainly to him about it, that their heroic plan was to try to protect the students from whatever the Dark Lord intended to do. This, in itself, also meant twice the work for him: protecting the students and protecting the teachers.

He had been juggling things just to manage the latter, and the school year had not even started yet.

He could not simply use the excuse that the position was already filled. Not anymore. The only time he had tried, the Dark Lord had murdered Charity Burbage and put Alecto Carrow in her place. And then he had replaced Muggle Studies with Death Eater propaganda.

There was, however, one position that was vacant: the one Snape himself had held the previous year as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. No one among the current staff was qualified to teach the subject, but he had to hurry and find a replacement before the Dark Lord sent him one of his more bloodthirsty psychopaths.

That was why he had agreed to the interview. The candidate's name meant nothing to him, so she could not belong to the Dark Lord's inner circle. He wondered whether she might be related to Augustus Travers, and whether that was why he had recommended her. Pure nepotism, rather than a scheme to take control of a key position. Which was preferable, without a doubt.

There was a knock at the office door, and Snape put the letter aside.

“Come in.”

A plump woman entered, dressed in a discreet mottled-green skirt suit and carrying a small handbag. He was surprised by her Muggle clothes; they were not what he had expected.

He gestured towards the empty chair opposite him, and the woman approached. She walked very upright and wore her brown hair in a high bun, with only two loose locks falling on either side of her face, as though they were trying to soften the severity of the hairstyle.

“Good morning. My name is Mathilda Umplehart.”

“Good morning. I am Headmaster Severus Snape. You may sit down.”

“Thank you.”

Snape searched through the parchments on his desk and pulled out the school calendar with the teaching assignments.

“The position you are applying for is Defence Against the Dark Arts.”

“Correct.”

“Have you taught at a school before?”

“No.”

Snape looked up from the parchment.

“Then what makes you think you are qualified for this position?”

“I am an expert in the subject in question. I have been giving private lessons in Dark Arts for years.”

Snape blinked once and made the conscious decision not to frown.

“What did you say?”

“I have been a private tutor in the Dark Arts for years.”

Snape put the calendar down on the desk and laced his fingers together.

“Teaching the Dark Arts was forbidden until barely a month ago.”

“I am aware of that.”

The woman seemed perfectly calm and barely blinked. Snape wondered whether he had been mistaken in assuming she would not be as dangerous as someone sent by the Dark Lord himself.

He studied her face but could not decipher what lay behind those brown eyes.

“I suppose the Dark Lord's future reward made the risk you took worthwhile.”

For the first time, Umplehart's expression changed. She seemed surprised.

“I am not a Death Eater, Headmaster,” she said.

Snape raised an eyebrow.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I am not a Death Eater. I have never joined them, nor do I bear the Dark Mark. I do not agree with most of those ridiculous ideas. And I have never met He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

Try as he might, this time Snape could not keep himself from frowning. He picked up the letter of recommendation Travers had sent him and quickly read it again. It bore the seal of the Ministry of Magic, and the glowing references the Ministry secretary had given the woman had led him to assume she was a Death Eater. But, examining the text carefully, he realised there was nothing in it that explicitly said so.

“But I was sent a letter of recommendation from the Ministry.”

Umplehart met his gaze without any apparent discomfort.

“Correct.”

“And Augustus Travers speaks very highly of you,” he pointed out.

“Correct.”

He dropped the letter again. What the hell did that mean?

“And why would the Secretary for Ministerial Affairs and Magical Security put you forward as a Hogwarts professor if you are not a Death Eater?”

“What an absurd question!” she exclaimed. Her tone caught Snape off guard, so he did not reply. Her eyes widened and she pursed her lips. “Being a Death Eater is not a requirement for being a good teacher.”

“Are you telling me they sent you here simply because you are a good teacher?”

“Correct.”

Snape studied her in silence. She seemed to be telling the truth. Or, at least, she seemed to believe she was telling the truth, which was not necessarily the same thing.

In any case, the whole thing was an anomaly. And, in his experience, anomalies were bad. But experience had also taught him that they needed to be studied closely to prevent greater harm.

“That remains to be seen,” he said at last. “Let us leave that aside for the moment. You're hired. You may begin to–”

“May I ask you a question?”

Snape regarded her warily.

“Go ahead.”

“Am I completely free to choose my syllabus?”

Snape considered the question.

“Within the limits of your subject, yes,” he replied.

“Perfect,” she said.

“As I was saying, you may go and settle into your quarters. A house-elf will show you the way.”

2.

Snape had spent the rest of the afternoon and a good part of the following morning investigating Mathilda Umplehart, to no avail. None of his contacts seemed to know her, and Travers could not be reached.

Snape had skipped both dinner and lunch, so he had not crossed paths with the professor again since she had arrived the day before. Now, however, he was watching her in silence while McGonagall – taking advantage of Carrow's absence after she had been summoned by the Dark Lord – complained to him about something he was barely listening to.

Umplehart was sitting at one end of the table, very upright, and was not talking to anyone. She was waiting for the first course to be served while she wrote something down in a notebook. But the strangest thing was not that she was using a Muggle notebook, but that she was writing with a ballpoint pen instead of a quill.

Snape frowned.

“Have you spoken to the new professor, Minerva?” he asked.

The Deputy Headmistress stopped in mid-sentence, blinked a couple of times and looked to her left.

“Umplehart? No. Why? And what does that have to do with what I'm telling you about Carrow?”

Snape did not answer.

“Don't you find it a little strange that she uses a Muggle pen and notebook?”

“Are you going to report her for that?” McGonagall asked sharply.

Snape turned abruptly towards her. The Deputy Headmistress's eyes seemed to be on fire. For a second, he had forgotten that they were no longer old colleagues. Now they were enemies. Or that was what she had to go on believing.

“Carrow may teach whatever material she considers appropriate in her classes,” he said curtly. “There is nothing you can do to prevent it. The sooner you accept that, the easier it will be for you.”

“Muggles are inferior beings in every respect, and may even be considered of limited intelligence,” the professor read. “Seriously, Severus?”

“Where did you get that?” he asked, pointing at the parchment in her hand.

“This is her syllabus. It's what she intends to teach our students this year.”

“I didn't ask what it is. I asked where you got it.”

“From her quarters, of course.”

Snape was speechless in astonishment.

“You sneaked into her room?” he said at last. His voice sounded a little louder than he had intended, so he cleared his throat lightly. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Perhaps I am, considering that I'm trying to reason with a murderer,” she said.

The house-elves began serving the food.

Snape gave Umplehart one last glance. She was attacking the dish they had placed in front of her with delight. Then he rose from the table.

“I've lost my appetite. Put that parchment back where you found it. Good night, Minerva.”

3.

When Alecto Carrow returned to Hogwarts, she did not come alone. Her repulsive brother Amycus came with her, and the two of them proclaimed themselves Deputy Headmasters of the school. According to them, that was the Dark Lord's will.

It was also his will for Amycus to teach Dark Arts, much to McGonagall's dismay. She did not take long to appear in the Headmaster's office to complain as soon as she heard the news.

But McGonagall's understandable anger was secondary. The Dark Lord's unexpected decision had made Umplehart's situation precarious. If Amycus was going to teach that subject, there was no position left for her. But Snape was reluctant to let her go.

He still did not know what to make of her, but he suspected that keeping her close might prove useful. After all, working as a spy for Dumbledore for years had taught him a thing or two about manipulation, and the professor might eventually become a convenient pawn. If only he could figure her out...

Early that morning, he had finally heard from Travers. But his conversation with him had not shed much light on the matter either. Just as she had said, the secretary had recommended her only because she had been a very good private tutor to his son.

He had not asked Travers about the fact that she was not a Death Eater because he did not want to compromise her in case Travers was unaware of it, but the man had given no indication that there was any intention behind his recommendation other than helping someone who had done a good job. And that was all he had been able to find out.

He had been tapping the edge of a piece of parchment against his desk for a while when Dumbledore appeared, looking sleepy, from the right side of his portrait.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” he said. “Sorry about the nap. Have I missed anything important?”

“You've been away for two weeks, Albus,” Phineas Nigellus Black replied. “You've only missed your murderer playing the tyrant at the school.”

“Shut up, Phineas,” Snape said.

He stood up and approached Dumbledore's portrait.

“Now that you're here, Albus, do you know anything about a Mathilda Umplehart?”

“Mathilda what?”

Snape snorted and began rubbing his chin with his fingers.

Finally, he made a decision. He sent a house-elf to the professor's room, and Umplehart arrived at his office a few minutes later.

“Did you send for me, Headmaster?”

“I did, yes. Sit down, please.”

The woman obeyed, and for almost a minute neither of them said anything. Finally, Snape spoke again.

“Why did Travers give you such good references?”

“Are you asking me about this again?” she asked.

“Indulge me.”

The woman sighed and settled more comfortably into her seat.

“Why wouldn't he? I was an excellent private tutor in the Dark Arts to his son.”

“Really?”

“Of course. I taught him spells that were forbidden by the Ministry and how to defend himself against them. I supplemented the flawed education Hogwarts provided, and now I can proudly say that he is a highly qualified young wizard.”

Snape agreed. Malachai Travers had become a good wizard. He was also a sadist.

He wanted to ask more. Much more. But he could feel Phineas Nigellus Black's piercing gaze fixed on him.

“In any case, that's not why I asked you to come. The Dark Arts position has already been filled, unfortunately, so I cannot offer it to you.”

“But I thought...”

“I know, but circumstances have changed.”

“I understand. Then I suppose I'll collect my things and...”

“So you will have to teach Advanced Magical Theory and Practice,” he interrupted.

The woman seemed not to understand what he had said.

“Advanced Magical Theory and Practice? What subject is that?”

“A new one I've just created.”

Umplehart lowered her eyes to the hem of her skirt, then raised her head again and said:

“Excellent. Do I still have complete freedom with my syllabus?”

“Yes.”

“Perfect. I'll start preparing it right away.”

“You will have to coordinate with Amycus Carrow, who will be the new Dark Arts professor, to avoid covering the same topics, since your subject will complement his.”

“No problem.”

“The school year starts in two weeks. Will you have enough time?”

“Yes.”

“Perfect. Thank you very much. You may go.”

The woman stood up immediately and left the office.

“What are you up to, Severus?” old Black asked from his portrait.

Snape ignored him. He picked up a quill and immediately began writing the final list of teaching staff and subjects for the school year, which he had to send to the Ministry before the start of term.

4.

Snape had not dared to dream, even for a moment, that his time as Headmaster of Hogwarts would be peaceful and uneventful. But what he could never have imagined was that the first complaint he received after the start of term would be from Amycus Carrow about Mathilda Umplehart. And it was only the second day of classes.

Carrow stormed into his office.

“What the hell is that woman doing?” he shouted.

Snape looked disapprovingly at the office door, which the Death Eater had let slam against the wall when he opened it and had not even bothered to close.

“What woman are you talking about, Amycus?”

What has Minerva done now? he wondered. Since he had become Headmaster, the professor seemed to have developed a kind of insolent rebelliousness she had never shown before. He understood, but that did not make it any less annoying or make his job any easier.

“We met a bunch of times to agree on the syllabus. You said it wasn't supposed to overlap with my classes, but that's exactly what she's done as soon as we've started.”

It did not take a genius to realise that he was not talking about McGonagall, which was rather surprising.

Snape felt something very strange. He could not identify it at first. Then he realised it was a modicum of satisfaction. Extraordinary.

He looked at Carrow calmly.

“What exactly is the problem?” he asked.

“It's an unbearable back-and-forth. I teach the students a curse, and in her next class she teaches them the counter-curse. I give them a practical lesson on a spell, and she undoes it in the next one. We spent all day yesterday like this, and today we're heading the same way.”

“What kind of practical lesson?”

“For example, yesterday I cast Vibratum on a third-year Hufflepuff. I intended to leave him shaking until his next class with me, which is this afternoon. That would teach him not to whisper while I'm talking. But his group had Umplehart yesterday at the end of the day, and she taught them how to undo the spell.”

“Did she, now?”

“Yes, she did.”

“And have you spoken to her about it?”

“We argued about it for ages yesterday, but today she's doing exactly the same thing.”

“I see. Thank you, Amycus. You may go. I'll speak to her.”

Carrow nodded indignantly and left the office.

Snape was about to send for the professor, but he glanced at old Black's portrait, where he was pretending to be asleep, and changed his mind.

He went to her quarters himself.

“Headmaster Snape, I wasn't expecting your visit,” she said when she saw him. “How can I help you?”

“I would like to speak to you for a moment, Professor Umplehart.”

The woman invited him in, and Snape looked around the room. It felt unexpectedly warm. He stopped mid-step and frowned. No, that was not it. It could not be warm; there were hardly any personal belongings, and she had not changed any of the room's original decoration. What was that feeling?

“It's heartmusk,” she said, as though she had read his thoughts.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You're wondering why my room feels so strangely cosy, aren't you?”

Snape did not answer.

“When I'm away from home, I like to use heartmusk. It's a potion made from Whomping Willow moss that–”

“I know what it is. I was a Potions professor for many years.”

“Sorry, I had no idea. You see, I find it difficult to adapt to unfamiliar places. Using an odourless air-freshener potion that makes any place feel like home helps me with the process.”

Snape watched her with curiosity. That firm, determined woman had just admitted a weakness to him without blinking. Wasn't she afraid that he might find a way to use it against her? Clearly, she was not a Death Eater.

“How can I help you, Headmaster Snape?”

The question pulled him out of his thoughts. He gave the room another quick glance to make sure there were no portraits, then turned back to her.

“Amycus Carrow is very displeased with you.”

“Oh, is he?”

“He is. Do you know why that might be?”

“Didn't he tell you?”

“Yes, but I want to see if you know.”

Umplehart looked confused.

“I haven't the faintest idea,” she said.

“You don't?”

“Not at all. Headmaster, you expressly told me not to overlap my syllabus with Professor Carrow's.”

“I did, yes.”

“And I haven't.”

“He doesn't seem to share that opinion.”

The woman thought for a moment.

“Is this about the Flagellum?”

Snape went pale.

“Flagellum?”

“That's what I said. You see, Professor Carrow has no reason to be angry with me, but I am very displeased with him. Do you know that he's casting curses?”

“I thought you supported the Dark Arts.”

“I support teaching them, not using them. Especially not against defenceless students. In his first class, a second-year student arrived late and Professor Carrow punished him with a Flagellum. When the poor thing came to my class afterwards, he was in a terrible state. He was limping, he couldn't stop crying, and he had trouble leaning against the back of his chair. His robes were torn to shreds down the back. Of course I had to improvise the lesson! I taught them how to counter a Flagellum and how to properly heal the wounds it causes, and I made sure every single one of them learnt how to cast the counter-spell.”

Snape swallowed.

“He's not angry about the Flagellum,” he said.

“The Trincatum?”

Snape frowned.

“The moon spell, then?”

Now he was downright horrified.

“Moon spell? Are you telling me Carrow used a spell to make a student believe he was a werewolf?”

“Of course he did. It was in his syllabus. Didn't you read it?”

“No, no, no. He never said he was going to actually use... never mind,” he cut himself off. “It doesn't matter. I'll speak to him about that. This isn't about any of those. It's about the Vibratum.”

“Oh, I see. As you can understand, I couldn't have that child shaking throughout the whole class. It was intolerable. So I had to teach them how to counter the effects until the spell wears off on its own. Headmaster, I have my own syllabus to teach, but the truth is that he makes things very difficult for me if I have to add extra topics without warning.”

Snape tried to recover from everything he had just learned. The school year had only just begun. How was it possible that that brute Carrow was already treating the students with such gratuitous cruelty? When he had listed all the curses in his syllabus, he had not presented them as if he was going to carry out practical demonstrations on the students.

At this rate, it would be impossible to make it through the first term without any casualties. He pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking.

What Umplehart was telling him was brutal. But his hands were tied. He could not act against the Death Eaters the Dark Lord himself had placed there. Or could he...?

He watched the professor in silence.

Then she spoke again.

“Headmaster Snape, it's not my place to tell you how to do things, and I have to assume that you agree with Professor Carrow's... teaching methods. After all, you've also made him Deputy Headmaster. But in my humble opinion, he isn't teaching the Dark Arts properly. He should only teach them how to perform the spells, not actually cast them on the students. And he should also teach them the counter-spells, tricks to detect and identify curses, and ways to protect themselves from them and to reverse their effects whenever possible. The whole process. It should be a comprehensive education.”

“I'm afraid there's nothing I can do about it,” he replied sharply.

“But it's wrong,” she insisted.

Snape looked at her more intently.

“I repeat, there is nothing I can do,” he said more slowly. More emphatically. “That is Carrow's subject, and he has complete freedom to decide what topics he covers.” He paused. “Just like you.”

Umplehart blinked twice and remained silent.

“Going back to the reason I came here,” Snape said, “I'll tell Carrow that your classes are not in conflict with his at all.”

“And that's true,” she replied. “I only complement them. Isn't that what you said my subject would be? A complement to Dark Arts. Well, that's exactly what I’m doing. He teaches them to cast curses. I teach them how not to get hit by them. They're practically opposite subjects.”

Snape nodded with satisfaction.

“Excellent, then,” he said, and headed for the door.

“Is that all?” the woman asked behind him.

“Yes,” he said, but stopped with his hand on the doorknob. Perhaps he could take advantage of the privacy to find out a few more things about that woman.

“Headmaster Snape?” she insisted.

Snape turned towards Umplehart.

“Are you pure-blood?”

The woman's mouth fell open.

“What the hell...?”

“I'm sorry to have to ask you such a delicate question,” he interrupted, “but you must understand that, in times like these, I need to make sure.”

Umplehart's face suggested that she did not understand at all. She seemed genuinely indignant. Even so, she answered.

“Yes. I am,” she said. Good, Snape thought, and slowly breathed out in relief. “In my whole life, I have never been asked such a rude question.”

“When I hired you, you made it very clear that you are not a Death Eater. But you're not naive. You're aware of the world we live in, aren't you?”

Her angry expression gave way to a more cautious one.

“Of course,” she said simply.

Snape nodded.

“Why did you give private lessons in the Dark Arts when it was forbidden?”

Umplehart opened her mouth without saying anything. Clearly, she had not expected the conversation to take that turn.

“Er... well... because I consider it an aberration to forbid knowledge. Any knowledge.”

“And weren't you concerned about how your students might use that forbidden knowledge?”

“Knowledge isn't dangerous.”

“But the way that knowledge is used can be.”

“Correct. But censorship doesn't solve the problem. Forbidding knowledge simply because it can be used for dangerous purposes only produces people who are incapable of facing those dangers.”

Snape waited for her to add something else, but she did not.

“So... it didn't cause you any ethical conflict?”

“Ethics has never protected anyone from an Imperius. If that curse had been properly taught in our schools, the secretaries and officials at the Ministry of Magic wouldn't have fallen under its effects so easily when the Death Eaters took power.”

Snape did not answer because, surprisingly, he agreed with her.

Umplehart continued.

“The Dark Arts exist. That's a fact, and it cannot be changed. How can we expect to defend ourselves against them if we don't understand them thoroughly? Can a Healer create a remedy for a disease that hasn't been properly studied? How do we expect to educate our children if we teach them to fight a Hungarian Horntail with liquorice wands?”

She looked at him with fire in her eyes.

Snape had to admit to himself that he was impressed by her unwavering conviction.

“Do you think Death Eaters are better wizards than everyone else?” she asked.

Snape did not answer. He knew she was not expecting him to.

“They're not. They're just better prepared,” she said.

5.

By mid-October, Amycus Carrow had turned his complaints about Umplehart into a routine.

The Death Eater was not happy at all. He paced back and forth across the Headmaster's office, waving his hands wildly and howling like a torcual in heat. But Snape was barely listening to him.

Seeing him storm into his office raging like a basilisk and complaining about Umplehart, made him think of her again. He still had not managed to figure that woman out, but he thought she was already more than fulfilling the role he had expected of her, although in ways he could never have anticipated.

And the best part was that he did not need to direct her, as he had thought he would when he hired her. He only had to let her be herself. Umplehart found ways to be useful all on her own.

For a start, she was helping the students survive the Carrows. McGonagall came up to his office day after day to complain about Alecto and Amycus's despicable treatment of Muggle-born children, whom they harassed in class, in the corridors, in the Great Hall, in the dormitories... everywhere.

The punishments were terrible. Nothing was too monstrous for them.

Some students had ended up in a serious condition. Snape had been forced to lend Poppy a hand without her or anyone else knowing, sneaking into the hospital wing at night, furtively performing counter-spells and, while the patients slept, applying healing poultices for injuries caused by forbidden magic, a field which, precisely because it was forbidden, the matron knew far less about than he did. But Umplehart could help them directly, without subterfuge. For every curse the Carrows tried on the students, she taught them how to counter it.

No other professor could do anything like that because, apart from Snape himself, none of them was as well trained in the Dark Arts as she was.

At the same time, she was also managing to drive the siblings mad. They complained about her classes constantly, threatened to tell the Dark Lord about her so he would put her in her place, screamed and stamped their feet like spoiled children who, for once, could not get their own way.

He had had enough of it. He was not going to tolerate it any longer. He could not act against them. But neither did he have to put up with their whining.

“...no matter what you tell her, she doesn't give a flying damn. It’s like water off the back of her robe,” the Death Eater complained. “Not that she wears one, of course. And that's another thing. Why don't you tell her to dress like a proper witch? Does she always have to hurt our eyes with those horrible Muggle clothes?”

“I'm not here to be a stylist, Amycus,” he cut in. “It's not my job to tell her how to dress. Just as I've never suggested that you might benefit from a visit to the dentist.”

“But–”

“What exactly do you expect me to do?” he interrupted.

“You're the Headmaster. Make her obey.”

“But she already does.”

“What did you say?”

“Before the start of term, I made it very clear to both of you: your subjects must not overlap. And they don't. You teach spells and she teaches the counter-spells. There is no overlap, only complementarity.”

“But if I teach Cruciatus, she doesn't have to tell them how to avoid it.”

“Of course she does, if you don't teach them yourself. That is precisely what complementarity means.”

“But she keeps–”

Snape stood up and slammed his hands down on the desk.

“That's enough, Amycus! You're not children, and I'm not your nanny. Get on with teaching your classes and forget about the other professors.”

“You know very well that the Dark Lord didn't put us here just to teach. My sister and I are also Deputy Headmasters, and we have to keep the school under control, and if the other professors rebel–”

“No one is rebelling here. Everyone is doing their job as best they can. Umplehart is a pure-blood witch and a respected teacher of the Dark Arts. Secretary Travers himself recommended that she be hired. Do you think you or your sister are better judges of her than he is, or than I am? While the two of you were enjoying your complete freedom after escaping Azkaban, she was giving private lessons in that forbidden subject, risking arrest and imprisonment for years. Do you want to go telling tales about her to the Dark Lord?” Snape leaned towards him over the desk. When he spoke again, his voice had become dangerously low. “Are you sure, Amycus?”

The Death Eater froze.

“N-no, of course not,” he said at last. “I didn't mean to imply–”

“From now on, I don't want to hear a single complaint about Umplehart. Not from you, and not from your sister. Sort out your problems amongst yourselves. And don't even think about bothering the Dark Lord because of your own incompetence.”

Carrow swallowed and nodded.

“Now get out of my office. I have a lot of work to do.”