The Theory of Magic (Book 1)

13 // Lemon Drops & the Sorting Hat

Fi glowered at the stone gargoyle and the stone gargoyle glowered at Fi.

"Candy pops," she said. Nothing happened.

"Candy strings."

Nothing.

"Lemon drops."

Nothing.

"Lemon pops?"

The gargoyle remained immobile as the stone it was made of.

"Oh for the love of—I have an appointment with the Headmaster! I am expected!" the hedge witch raged at the creature, whacking it on the head for good measure. Her palm stung. "You great rocky lummox. Lemon tarts! Sherbet melon! Pumpkin spice! Lollipop! Butterscotch!" Her temper rose. Why Dumbledore hadn't seen fit to give her the bloody password she would never know.

Two Ravenclaws paused to watch the Magical Theory professor shout the names of confectioneries at the statue before hurrying on. They hadn't known Professor Dullahan had such a thick brogue.

"Ye bloody pebble! I'm in no mood ta be trifled with—."

"Professor?"

A small yip left Fi as she spun about to find little Harry Potter behind her, looking concerned. "Mr. Potter," she said, clearing her throat. "How are you? Looking forward to the Halloween Feast tomorrow?"

"Yes, Professor." He cast a glance toward the gargoyle in puzzlement. "Um, do you—do you need the password?"

Fi's brow rose. "Yes...?"

Flushed, Potter said "Acid pops," to the statue Fi had an arm balanced upon and it leapt aside, almost knocking Fi off her feet. She caught her balance with a huff.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter. Though, you shouldn't be giving out passwords. What if I was a Dark wizard in disguise trying to snuff the Headmaster?"

The boy gave her a decidedly uneasy look and Fi snorted.

"I'm not, by the way. Do you know how to check?"

He shook his head.

"By picking a memory that is exclusive to one another and asking for details." Fi smiled at the boy as he nodded, untidy hair in disarray over that angry scar. "I did want to have a discussion with you—now, don't give me that look, you're not in trouble. This may sound like an old cliche, but I'm concerned about your grades. You seem a bit distracted. In the grand scheme of things I find grades to be—." Fi made a passive gesture she was certain would have given her first year Hermione Granger a heart attack. Potter's eyes glittered with amusement. "But I'm more concerned in if you're learning subjects you enjoy. Have you any particular areas of interest? Things you want to study?"

The boy looked uncertain, like he wanted to suggest something but didn't know what.

"Or if you want to review anything. My office hours are always open, and I've a dab hand at most subjects. Except for practical Arithmancy. Do not ask me to do Arithmancy, we will have terrible results and most likely bring about the apocalypse."

Potter smiled then and laughed—a boyish giggle, for he was very much a boy, smaller than Fi, like a little black Crup pup with guileless eyes and delicate bones. Fi felt the urge to be careful and gentle with Mr. Potter, though she knew he must be far more durable than he appeared. She did not want to pity the lad. She only wanted to see him thrive, just as she wanted to see all her students thrive and grow and learn.

"Maybe...maybe some help with Potions?" Potter asked, shrugging one shoulder as if to feign nonchalance. "I, erm, don't seem to do very well—."

Fi's opinion of Professor Snape lowered in that instance, because whatever petty game he wished to play should not affect the boy's education. "I am an excellent potioneer, Mr. Potter, almost as good as your Potions Master—." Better even. The great billowing prat. See if I offer him any more of my good Ogden's. "So if you find my teaching methods agreeable and don't mind my shrieking bird, please do not hesitate to use my office hours. I will be perfectly happy to help."