Work Text:
Potions Guild Aldermaster Malcolm Hurst impatiently tapped his quill on the conference table as he waited for the members of the Potions Guild Internship Program Steering Committee (and wasn’t that a mouthful) to arrive. Only last week he’d been dreading this, not wanting to deal with the interminable arguing that he knew would arise when the meeting got around to discussing the next batch of interns.
Now he couldn’t wait to get to that agenda item. He knew that his proposed intern would set the kneazle among the fwoopers, and he couldn’t wait to see the reactions from his esteemed colleagues. This would be fun.
He was still chortling internally about the success of his visit earlier in the day to Edgar Krait at the Serpent’s Storeroom when the last of the masters finally entered the meeting room.
“Now that we’re all here,” the Aldermaster began, as the latecomer, Thomas Thompson, took his seat, “I’d like to call this meeting to order.”
“We’re not all here,” grumbled Edgar Whitaker. “Severus isn’t. Neither is Raphael or Horace.”
“Which brings me to the first item on the agenda,” Malcolm said smoothly. “I’ve received apologies from Masters Severus Snape, Raphael Montmorency and Horace Slughorn. Please note these apologies in the minutes, Miss Carmichael,” he said, nodding at his assistant, a recent Hogwarts graduate who’d been tasked with taking the minutes.
“Severus is never here,” griped Whitaker. “What is the point of having the Hogwarts Potions Master on the Internship Committee if he never attends? He hardly ever recommends any students as interns, anyway.”
“He’s not the only one who’s sent his apologies,” retorted Jeremy Grindel. “Raphael isn’t here either. ”
“But at least Raphael regularly recommends applicants for the intern program,” countered Whitaker. “And takes apprentices. When was the last time Severus recommended one of his students? And I don’t think he’s ever taken an apprentice.”
“And we all know Horace only attends when there’s something in it for him,” Thomas Thompson interjected snarkily, ignoring Whitaker to make his own gripe. “It’s not like there’s anything to gain from attending today’s meeting.”
Thompson had never been a fan of Slughorn’s; perhaps it was just as well for Malcolm’s sanity that they weren’t both in attendance today.
“Why are you on this committee anyway, Thompson?” Whitaker asked. Whitaker was a Slughorn supporter.
“Some of us volunteered to participate, and some of us were volunteered as participants,” Thompson replied drily.
“And we all know which category you’re in Thomas,” responded Whitaker. “Your commitment to the potioneers of the future knows no bounds.”
“At least I’m happy to support any and all who are of a high standard, not just those whose only claim to fame is their family and lineage!” retorted Thompson.
Malcolm mentally facepalmed. Edgar seemed determined to do an admirable job as Horace’s proxy in antagonising Thomas. In his enthusiasm for his new find, Malcolm had forgotten the more interesting aspects of the committee members’ interactions.
“Can we just get on with this meeting?” Jonathon Rutherage asked caustically. “Some of us have things to do - including preparing for this year’s intern intake.”
“Thank you Jonathon,” said Malcolm authoritatively, inclining his head towards his colleague and temporarily putting the kibosh on any further bickering. It was beyond wishful thinking that this could last long.
“I believe Severus is very busy with his current research. That’s what he told me when I spoke to him about this meeting,” reported Malcolm.
That and “preventing the little dunderheads from finding new and not so amusing ways to blow up cauldrons during their potions lessons”, but Malcolm didn’t think that comment would be a positive contribution to the committee’s discussion, given that they were still dithering about apologies and hadn’t even started discussing any of the substantive agenda items.
“Similarly, Raphael and Horace also have commitments that prevent them from attending,” Malcolm added. Thomas snorted at that, but the others just ignored him.
“But that’s not what we’re here to discuss today.” Malcolm waved his wand and the agenda appeared in large red letters on the wall opposite them. There was a happy green tick next to agenda item 1, apologies.
“This agenda was circulated last week, and it’s what we’re going to discuss today. Moving onto item 2. Once again Jonathan has very kindly agreed to be the Intern Program Leader, for which the Guild is very grateful,”
“Better him than me,” Thompson muttered under his breath, but the rest just ignored him. Malcolm continued on regardless.
“Given how smoothly and successfully Jonathon ran the program last year,” here Jonathon preened under the Aldermaster’s praise, “unless there’s anything anyone wishes to add,” here Malcolm looked piercingly at Thomas, Edgar, as if daring them to interject, “I think we can rest happily knowing that the 1993 intern program is in good hands. And we can move on to the next item: next year’s individual intern mentors,” he paused.
“After much deliberation, I’ve decided that Masters Edgar Whitaker, Raphael Montmorency and Thomas Thompson will be the mentors for the 1993 intern program.”
Whitaker smiled. “Thanks Malcolm. Having seen the list of applicants, I’m more than happy to be a mentor this year.”
Malcolm had seen the list of applicants as well. He knew which intern Edgar had his eye on. Clearly Horace hadn’t looked at the list or he’d be here too, vying with Edgar as to who got to mentor the Lestrange Heir.
“I suppose you’ve already spoken to Raphael to get his agreement,” queried Rutherage.
“Yes,” confirmed Malcolm. “His only comment was that it wasn’t appropriate for the Durmstrang Potions Master to mentor a Durmstrang student.”
Whitaker's smile grew wider, confirming beyond a doubt his interest in mentoring the Lestrange Heir.
Thompson wasn’t quite so happy about the situation.
“Damnit Malcolm, you didn’t have to ambush me. You know that I’m too busy for this. It’s bad enough that you’ve roped me into this infernal committee. I do not have time to oversee an intern.”
“That’s what you said last year, and we let you off then,” accused Whitaker. “And what have you produced since? It’s not like the Guild’s journal has been groaning under the weight of all your publications,” scoffed Whitaker.
Surprisingly it was Grindel who jumped into the fray in Thomas’s defence.
“Don’t be an imbecile, Edgar.” Grindel said, somewhat cuttingly. “You know as well as I do that Thomas’s work is classified and - under Guild Policy - it can’t be published. But, as Potions Master for the Auror Department, I can say that Thomas’s work has been of great assistance to the Department.”
“Moving along, Masters,” Malcolm said. He turned towards the minute taker.
“Just to confirm for the minutes: it just needs to be noted that under agenda item 2 that Jonathon Rutherage is the Intern Program Leader for 1993, and under agenda item 3 that Masters Edgar Whitaker, Raphael Montmorency and Thomas Thompson will be the mentors for the 1993 intern program.” He smiled at Thompson. Thompson scowled back. Green ticks appeared on the wall next to agenda items 2 and 3.
“You don’t need to include any of the extraneous discussion in the minutes. Just the summary of what was decided. And with that we move on to item 4: applicants. Copies of the applications were circulated last week,”
Whitaker jumped in, cutting Malcolm off before he could say any more.
“Looking at the applications, I think it’s obvious that Caelum Lestrange, Sixth Year Durmstrang student, is without question one of our 1993 interns. His academic record speaks for itself, and as for his references… I don’t think we’ve seen better recommendations from an applicant in many years.”
Malcolm didn’t entirely disagree, and while he didn’t enjoy being interrupted, he could wait. It would make springing his chosen intern on them all the more enjoyable.
“A shame less than a third of his recommendations were from Potions Masters with the remainder from SOW party political apparatchiks,” muttered Thompson.
“Yes, for all his many talents as an Unspeakable, Augustus Rookwood has little expertise in potions,” added Grindel. “And I believe Augustus is the boy’s godfather?”
“Regardless of the boy’s, ah, political connections,” Rutherage said as Whitaker spluttered at Grindel’s insinuation, “I do believe that Mr Lestrange’s application is worthy of merit; indeed I feel that it is the most promising of those we’ve received this year.”
A surprising comment from Rutherage. Malcolm hadn’t expected it. Unlike Whitaker, who was firmly entrenched in the lower echelons of SOW party politics, Rutherage didn’t pay any attention to anything political, be it the Guild’s internal politics or the broader political debates in the wizarding community.
Still, Malcolm supposed that the Lestrange scion’s application was good. At least on paper the boy did appear worthy. Much better than all the other applicants.
But Malcolm knew the tendency of Pureblood schools, particularly Durmstrang, to talk up their students' abilities, and he hadn’t seen any of the boy’s brews.
Malcolm had, however, seen his candidate’s brews; he had expected to find that Krait’s mysterious new brewer was a qualified potioneer, not a pre-OWL schoolchild. Consequently he was firmly of the belief that Harry Potter would outshine any and all of the other interns.
Most importantly, the passion for potions that he’d felt from Harry Potter was undeniable. Very few people felt that way. He had to admit disappointment that his son didn’t.
“Does anyone have any objections to Caelum Lestrange being one of the 1993 interns?” Malcolm asked the meeting formally. Grindel and Thompson shook their heads.
“I can report that Master Raphael Montmorency was in favour of his internship, although he did note that as Mr Lestrange is his student at Durmstrang, he cannot mentor Mr Lestrange.”
“That won’t be a problem,” smiled Whitaker. Malcolm was glad Horace Slughorn hadn’t bothered to attend; he never relished mediating between masters, and it would be annoying if Slughorn and Whitaker had both expressed an interest in mentoring Lestrange. Neither liked being told no.
“I declare that Mr Caelum Lestrange is one of the three 1993 Potions Guild Interns. So let it be noted in the minutes,” Malcolm said with a nod towards Miss Carmichael.
The discussion about the remaining interns was not quite so clear cut.
Whitaker favoured Renaldo Casillas, a Seventh year Beaubaxtons student. Grindel wasn’t so sure. His preference was for a Sixth year student from AIM, Kyle Winbourne. Malcolm seemed to recall that Winbourne had some sort of link to Grindel. Rutherage liked Casillas.
Thompson didn’t seem to have a strong view, one way or the other. In fact, Thompson appeared bored with the meeting; if he spoke, he would only be prolonging it.
After some toing and froing, Whitaker attempted to sum it up. “Well, it seems that we’ve got our candidates. Renaldo Casillas, and,” Whitaker said with a not well hidden grimace, “that AIM student.”
Whitaker usually hid his prejudices better than that. Malcolm generally forgot that deep down Whitaker was a pureblood bigot and social climber par excellence who looked down on Malcolm’s non-discriminatory approach to blood status, despite the Hursts being a Book of Bronze family while Whitaker was not a family of any particular renown.
Normally Malcolm would bristle a bit if someone tried to usurp his role as meeting chairman, but this time he just let it slide. However, he wasn’t going to let Whitaker’s slur stand.
“That AIM student has a name, Edgar. Kyle Winbourne. He’s a Sixth year AIM student, and the number one student in their Potions track. Mr Winbourne is a wizard and a potioneer, regardless of which school he attends.” Regardless of his blood lineage was unspoken but clear from Malcolm's tone.
Whitaker looked offended at the rebuke. Grindel was pleased; Rutherage was ambivalent, and Thompson was just impatiently waiting for the meeting to be over. Tough. It was time for Malcolm to drop his bomb.
“However,” Malcolm said, “if Edgar hadn’t jumped in so quickly with Mr Lestrange, I would have mentioned that there was an additional candidate whose parchmentwork had not been circulated previously.”
“You can’t do that,” Whitaker spluttered.
“He can actually,” Grindel stated. “Aldermaster’s Prerogative.”
“But you don’t ever exercise that…” Thompson added thoughtfully.
“Which should tell you something about the quality of the candidate I’m declaring an intern,” smiled Malcolm
“Not Leo,” groaned Whitaker.
“No, not Leo,” replied Malcolm, incensed by Whitaker’s comment. Not only was Whitaker accusing him of nepotism by suggesting that Malcolm would use (abuse) his position to favour his son, but he was insinuating that Leo was a poor potioneer.
Leo might not have the passion for potions that his father did, but he was very technically competent, which was more than could be said for many would-be brewers, and certainly many of those who’d applied to be interns.
And while Malcolm might not know the detail of what Leo spent his time on, he knew his son’s activities were something to be proud of; Eleni was proud of their son, and Eleni did not distribute undeserved praise, not even to Leo.
Hiding his annoyance at Whitaker, (Malcolm was justly proud of the stand he’d taken as Aldermaster in favour of merit, against nepotism and cronyism), he distributed copies of the parchmentwork he’d completed for Harriet Potter just prior to the meeting.
“A halfblood?!” spluttered Whitaker.
“She’s a girl?!” squawked Rutherage. “A girl?!”
“Potter?!” stuttered Grindel. “Harriet Potter? The daughter of soon-to-be Head Auror James Potter?”
“She’s only 12?! She’s just a second year. A second year halfblood girl! How can she be an intern?” whined Whitaker.
Thompson suddenly looked a lot more interested in the meeting.
“Yes,” said Malcolm calmly, successfully hiding his amusement at their reactions.
His fellow potion masters couldn’t have been any more predictable if they’d been following a script. He was looking forward to sharing this tale with Eleni. She always enjoyed bigots coming unstuck; Whitaker in particular had incensed her quite a bit over the years, and she wasn’t fond of Rutherage’s less overt sexism either. Grindel's surprise just added to the drama.
“As it clearly states in the parchmentwork in front of you, Harriet Potter is a girl. A second year student at the American Institute of Magic. Auror James Potter is her father.” Malcolm was enjoying the look of astonishment on Grindel’s face. Ahh, to be a fly on the wall in the Auror Department when Grindel told Potter.
“And, for those who find such things important,” Malcolm’s frosty tone of voice making it abundantly clear that he thought only an imbecile would find such things important, “a halfblood. But none of those things matter. What does matter is that she’s a potioneer. A brilliant potioneer. I’ve seen her potions,” (mindful of Miss Potter’s wishes he wasn’t going to give them any details of the circumstances under which he’d seen her potions, but he didn’t have to, he was the Aldermaster), “and it’s on that basis that I’m exercising my Prerogative as Aldermaster to declare her an intern.” Malcolm’s tone made it quite clear that this was not up for debate.
Whitaker was clearly not happy, but there was not a lot he could do. As Aldermaster of the Potions Guild Malcolm Hurst was inclusive, open to debate and not particularly dictatorial. Much more so than his predecessors.
But the Aldermaster did have the power to declare whoever the Aldermaster wanted as interns.
There was technically no requirement for the application process; indeed, it had only been since Malcolm Hurst became Aldermaster that the internship program even had an application process.
“To avoid redundant debate, let me make it clear that I will be declaring Harriet Potter as an intern. Having read all the internship applications I was markedly less impressed by Mr Winbourne’s application than I was by Mr Casillas’s, and it is for that reason alone that I suggest that the third intern be Renaldo Casillas, 6th year student from Beauxbatons. Are there any objections?”
There were a few grumbles from Whitaker, but Rutherage seemed resigned. Grindel and Thompson were amused.
“Thank you. I declare that Miss Harriet Potter and Mr Renaldo Casillas are the remaining two 1993 Potions Guild Interns. So let it be noted in the minutes,” he said. A green tick appeared on the wall next to agenda item 4.
“Item 5 on the agenda is the stipend for interns. Is there anyone who objects to the stipend being the same as in previous years? While there are always fluctuations in the prices of specific ingredients, prices overall have generally been stable.”
There were no objections. The stipend was really a token only; it wasn’t enough to cover the ingredient costs of any serious research project, but as none of the interns were from impoverished families (Lestrange and Potter were both Book of Gold and the Casillas family had interests in several wealthy potions ingredient businesses), it wasn’t really an issue.
“Just to confirm for the minutes: it needs to be noted that under agenda item 5, the intern stipend is to remain set at the rate of 2 galleons, the same as in previous years.” A fifth green tick appeared.
“Now, is there any other business? This committee will need to discuss the Open House arrangements, but that can be left till a later date.” Malcolm looked around the room.
No comment. The other Masters were all looking a bit shell-shocked. Well, apart from Thompson, who was looking thoughtful. He’d have to have a chat with Thompson later.
“Nothing else? Good. Then I declare this meeting of the Potions Guild Internship Program Steering Committee closed.”
Aldermaster Malcolm Hurst might not have his wife’s lie detecting ability, but he did have an intuitive feeling for people and events of future importance, and his intuition was telling him that Harry Potter and the 1993 intern program were going to be something special.