charms office | rock the boat [shelby]

charms office | mid-afternoon

In bygone days, Filius Flitwick, Master of Charms, had not adhered quite dutifully to the office hours he gave on his syllabus. He would tell his students, in the first lectures of the year, that he might be found in his office at the times enumerated, but that he might also be found in the corridors outside the Charms classroom, or occasionally outside the Transfiguration classroom (or within it), and sometimes out in the greenhouses.

In bygone days, as a result, his office hours had not been popular, except on Tuesdays when both Pomona and Minerva had classes during all of his free periods. But Pomona was retired, and Minerva his superior -- though Filius could still make time, occasionally, for tea, he felt irresponsible doing it during what she knew were his office hours, so lately he scheduled those times the way he probably ought to have done for the past forty years.

These days Filius wandered less. He didn’t regret that his office hours had, consequently, grown more popular -- he rather enjoyed popularity, something he’d never had as a student -- but he did miss having a clique. It had once been him, Minerva, and Pomona, united against the world -- or at least against the things that mattered.

It was still early in the term, so most of the students coming into office hours had been working on independent projects over the summers and wanted his input, or were worried already about their O.W.L.s, or were already confused in their classes, or wanted candy. Today it had been rather slow, just a fifth year who’d borrowed a book over the summer, so Filius was sitting with his feet up on his desk eating Ice Mice, the third quarter’s Transfiguration Journal propped open on his desk, when one of his second years came in. (One of the Tricketts; hung around Vos and her crowd.)

“Hello, hello, good afternoon,” he said, “What brings you here?”

@Shelby Trickett

Shelby had dutifully copied the most important part of each of her syllabi into her notebook - the professor's office hours. Organized, alphabetically by last name, painstakenly rewritten when Benny had spilled some milk on it at breakfast two mornings ago. It was a couple days before she had every professors' availability down, but once she did, she wasted no time carving space for dropping in into her schedule.

(Not that it was particularly busy, but she liked to pretend she was busy and always working. It made her feel older, more confident, like some of the fifth years Ingvar hung out with. She couldn't be short and blonde, maybe, but she could certainly be studious. Plus, she was pretty sure in a few weeks the Korean Trickett would be finding her schedule booked up with unofficial tutoring.)

The door to Professsor Flitwick's office was open - she peered in first, just to make sure the Charms professor was actually in. There he was, lounging it seemed with some candy and a book. The dream, really. Shelby pulled her head back, glancing down on the neatly folded pieces of parchment clutched in her hands, then walked in, trying to channel a little bit more Gryffindory confidence.

"Hello, Professor Flitwick," Shelby said, already feeling the bravado evaporating. She towered over him, which made her even more anxious - weren't people in charge of you supposed to be bigger than you? She shook her head slightly, trying to focus. "I wanted to get your approval for starting two new clubs, this year, the Prefects say you usually sponsor them?" Oh, drat. A run-on sentence already. Shelby gave up on the fake confidence and just put the two pieces of parchment down, unfolding them before sliding them across Flitwick's desk. "It's, one's for Astrology and the other is for a rowing club?" She taps on a couple of key paragraphs. "I put together proposals over the summer."

Filius took his feet off the desk and leaned forward, eyes crinkling a little. She didn’t come often to his office hours -- this was probably the cause of the nervousness, and he was eager to assuage it. “Two clubs?” he said; she slid two slips of parchment across his desk, and he pulled the closest one closer and steepled his fingers to read it.

“Astrology,” he mused, flipping over the parchment to see if there was a club roster written down yet. “I would suggest reaching out to Professor Dickinson or Professor Firenze -- they’ll probably have more information on the subject -- but I’m happy to sponsor this one. Do you have a list of interested students yet? You’ll need at least three members, including your club president -- I presume you’ll be stepping into that role?”

The rowing club gave him more pause -- while astrology seemed like a fairly harmless and inexpensive endeavour, particularly if the students used their personal telescopes and lunascopes, rowing seemed like it would need supervision, and Filius -- though he was happy to sponsor clubs -- was rarely happy to supervise them.

He pulled the other slip of parchment over to read it, too. “I just don’t know how safe this is,” he said uncertainly. After they’d been stripped down and warded, over the summer, he was inclined to believe that the Hogwarts rowboats were perfectly safe now, but -- of course -- they were also self-propelled, which negated the rowing. He stroked his chin thoughtfully -- “Are you quite sure you’d like to head two clubs at once?”

Shelbys face began to fall when the other professors were mentioned, quickly brightened again when Professor Flitwick seemed to approve, then bit her lip when he started questioning her. Roster? Club president? Shelby hadn't really thought that far. Was she meant to have a list already? She scrambled to think of two more people - " @Circe Sutcliffe and @Tomie Vos and me for now," Shelby quickly rattled off. Tomie wouldn't mind, for sure, and hadn't that nice upperclassman mentioned she liked astrology too? Shelby wrung her fingers together. "And - I guess?" Shelby didn't particularly want to be president of anything, but she could always step down when someone else wanted to be president. She nodded once, a beat later, emphatically, to demonstrate her commitment to the new role. 

Well, one down. Shelby let herself breathe, smoothing down the outside of her robe in a self-soothing motion. She opened her mouth to say thank you, then closed her mouth as Flitwick's expression shifted slightly.

“I just don’t know how safe this is,” Flitwick finally said, and Shelby felt a bright red rushing into her cheeks. Of course, it was stupid, she was stupid, rowing was too American or too dangerous or too both to be approved. Her expression was so painfully, obviously disappointed. "At the Stowe Institute, it was super safe - I could write to them and ask how they did it? I took notes," this was more uncertain, "but I don't know if the vests we had to wear just had Flotation charms on them or something else." She bit her lip again. "Um. Not really? But I figure I have more time now than next year when we get started on OWL prep more seriously, and now that Flying class isn't over there isn't much in the way of physical activities for non-Quidditch players, right?" Her eyes went wide. "But if you think it's silly then just Astrology is fine!"

Miss Trickett listed her society roster with the air of one naming names off the top of her head. That had never stopped him approving a club charter, though, so he slid open a desk drawer for the forms and his blue ‘Approved’ seal, twitched his wand so that his quill in its inkpot could start copying over the information his student had brought in -- for the Astrology club, that is.

He wasn’t sure how to advise her on club presidency; most clubs weren’t started by underclassmen, although he supposed a second year would have more room in his schedule than a third year might. It still wasn’t ideal; after a point the greater task was in convincing the other club members to listen. “You and your club members can decide on your own decision-making processes, of course,” he said, stamping the Astrology club form and pushing it across the desk at her, “I’ve seen rather a few creative ones, over the years -- the Gurdyroot Club (now defunct, of course) had its members race to eat an entire Gurdyroot.” The reason the club was defunct was that nobody in 1983 had managed the feat.

Filius adjusted his glasses on his nose and raised an eyebrow. “At the Stowe Institute, I would wager there was not a mercolony and a grindylow infestation in the lake,” he said. The merfolk weren’t a great concern, but the grindylows were. Second years had yet to discuss aquatic creatures in Defense Against the Dark Arts. “However… you’re right about, ah, ‘physical activities’.” He was loath to admit that -- Filius had never been an admirer of physical activities -- but he hastened to add, “I don’t think it’s silly! I just want you to be realistic -- I don’t want you to overwork yourself. Have you considered just asking Professor Hagrid about taking the boats out on occasion?” The boathouse was really Hagrid’s domain anyway.

Flitwick's face was inscrutable to the twelve-year-old. She flinched when his desk drawer opened, then thought that flinching was a little stupid. Her hands twisted together in a wringing motion. She wanted to shake them, get the anxious energy out of her hands and into the air. Then Professor Flitwick stamped the forms - in blue! - and passed them back to her. Her eyes went wide. "Thank you," she mumbled, holding the forms close to her chest.

Gurdyroot Club? "How long was there a Gurdyroot Club?" Shelby asked, curious. How could you have a club just about one plant?

The rowing situation was a disappointment. "Grindylows?" Shelby's eyebrows furrowed. "I guess not..." She wasn't sure what a grindylow looked like, but the lake had been pretty clear and just had fish in it, as far as Shelby had been able to tell. Were they really that dangerous?

And no, she hadn't. "I hadn't," Shelby admitted, hanging her head slightly. "I should have thought of that first. Sorry, Professor." A quick glance up. "Do you think he would be okay with that?" Her sense of Professor Hagrid was mixed - the man was great with animals, but he was so gruff, less gentle with students than with creatures. Shelby bit her lip - she wasn't keen on talking to him on her own.

“Three years,” said Filius, “It was not popular.” He smiled kindly, unsure whether it would be a good gesture to reassure her that she’d likely have more success with her clubs, or whether that would scare her more. The poor girl seemed rather like she couldn’t believe her own nerve at having been speaking with him for so long -- Filius had never once thought of himself as an intimidating man, but with some of his students, he had to pause to consider the possibility that he was -- somehow -- scary.

It seemed rather silly to try and make himself any less formidable, when he was already a good two feet shorter than the rest of the Hogwarts staff, but it was rather too late to offer to make her tea or something.

She seemed confused at his mention of grindylows, so Filius hastened to explain -- “You’ll cover that in your second or third year Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons, depending on your professor. They’re aqueous creatures -- only ranked XX, but still rather hazardous to younger students.” He noted that this didn’t seem to comfort her.

She seemed even less comforted at the suggestion she talk to Hagrid. Filius himself didn’t think highly of Hagrid’s judgment, in most instances, but he’d always admired how the half-giant treated students: a number of outsiders had found a friend in Hagrid’s hut, if nowhere else. Sometimes Filius wished he had been one of them, but he’d been an incurable snob as a student.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted -- frankly, if Hagrid was okay with it, Filius would be disinclined to trust Hagrid to keep the students out of harm’s way, so he rather hoped not. “I’m sure he’d welcome the company -- although I’ll caution you not to eat anything he serves you.” He’d pulled a newt tail out of a shepherd’s pie in 1972.

Shelby tried to smile at the little tidbit about the gurdyroot club, but she was sure her apprehension was apparent on her face. Grindylows. Only ranked ex-ex. Double-X. Shelby liked magical creatures, but two X-es in the ranking did not reassure her much. That was well beyond what they had covered so far, and even single X ranked creatures were still a little frightening. "Oh," she said, eyes wide. Something to look forward too, maybe? Flitwick seemed to think so, but Shelby wasn't sure.

The forms for the Astronomy club were pressed against her chest, crinkling against her blouse and the edges of her open robes. Shelby bit her lip, staring at the edge of Flitwick's desk rather than at her head of house. Between the grindylows and Flitwick's apprehension about the whole project, she wasn't sure if Hagrid would let her take the boats out, but... "That does sound a little easier than a club, I think," she managed, raising her eyes to the Charms professor again.

Her eyes went wide again -- what was in Hagrid's food? Shelby shook her head, realized that was probably confusing, nodded vigorously. "I'll, I'll just ask Hagrid after Care of Magical Creatures next, then." She sounded a bit like she was convincing herself. "Um. Thank you."

Shelby half turned to go, winced, turned back around. She should really wait to be excused or dismissed. "Um. So does this --" she gestured to her papers, "--I can just put the signup sheet on the bulletin boards now, right?"

This was embarrassing this was so embarrassing. Shelby had been so confident about this going back to school -- now all she wanted to do was melt into a puddle.

“Precisely right,” said Filius cheerily; he tapped the side of his nose. “It’s not as easy as it looks, running a club -- and you’re only in second year now, but your courseload will only grow.” He gave a variant of this speech to everybody that tried to form a club, regardless of their year, mostly because it tended to be true, with the exceptions of sixth years. Perhaps nobody in the world had the same lack of regard for their studies as a seventh year was capable of.

She still seemed daunted by the prospect of exchanging words with Hagrid; Filius gave her an encouraging smile and said, “Don’t worry -- Hagrid doesn’t bite.” Hagrid and Fang were possibly the only things in that hut for which that was true. Miss Trickett turned to leave, and turned back for one final question: “You certainly can,” Filius replied easily. “And if you like, I can have copies posted in the other houses’ common rooms as well -- I’ll get them to you before you have your first meeting.” He could have asked for copies right then, but she seemed to want nothing more than to leave immediately.

“Good luck with the Astrology club, and I’ll see you in class tomorrow,” he said, barely catching himself before he called it astronomy; with that, she was out the door. Filius leaned back in his chair again, put his feet up, and reopened his Transfiguration Journal.


OUT

It's not as easy as it looks, running a club Flitwick said, and Shelby felt her heart drop down to her shoes. She had felt pretty confident, all told, coming in here with her desire to start something, to leave some sort of mark at Hogwarts. And despite Flitwick's mellow cheer throughout, she was feeling... less confident, now.

Not that it was Flitwick's fault -- stepping back into the castle this year, after her time at Stowe, had sucked away a lot of her tan and her bravado. Maybe she couldn't be brave and confident and adventurous here, when she had to return to Ravenclaw Tower every night. Maybe that was a Shelby that only existed at summer camp.

But she was walking away with one new, fresh club, and that was way more than she could have managed last year! Still looking slightly down at the floor, Shelby smiled. "That would be -- lovely, if you could," Shelby said softly at Flitwick's offer. "I'll, I'll bring some to Charms, next?" She wasn't sure she could manage dropping by the office again. Baby steps.

Flitwick seemed satisfied, and that certainly seemed like a dismissal. Shelby gave a small nod and left, for real this time, the parchment pressed against her chest the whole way back to the Great Hall.


/fin