pointing at Tabitha Corsica, trembling with rage. 'How dare you call my dad a liar? That monster killed his parents! My grandparents are dead because of him, and you stand there and tell us that it's some sort of made-up story! How dare you?' His voice cracked.
'I'm sorry,' Tabitha said, and her face was, indeed, a portrait of compassion. 'I know you believe that is true, James.'
Professor Franklyn had stood and was moving forward, but James shouted again before Franklyn could speak.
'My dad killed your great hero!' he called, his eyes blurring with tears of rage. 'That monster tried to kill my dad twice, the second time because my dad gave himself to him. Your great savior was a monster, and my dad finally defeated him!'
'Your father,' Tabitha said, her voice rising and becoming stern, 'was a half-rate wizard with a good PR department. If it wasn't for the fact that he'd been surrounded by greater wizards than himself at every turn, we wouldn't even know his name today.'
At that, the crowd exploded again, angry outbursts and shouts filling the space like a cauldron. There was a clatter onstage. James looked and saw that Ralph, who'd never even spoken, had jumped up, knocking over his chair. Tabitha turned and looked at him, and he met her eyes for a second. Sit down, she mouthed at him, her eyes livid. Ralph returned her glare, then turned resolutely and left the stage. James saw it, and even in the midst of his anguish and fear at the nearly rioting crowd, his heart rejoiced.
There was no point in continuing the debate any further. Headmistress McGonagall joined Professor Franklyn on the stage and both shot red flares from their wands, restoring order to the Amphitheater. With no preamble, the Headmistress instructed all the students to return immediately to their common rooms. Her face was stern and very pale. As the crowd muttered and grumbled, funneling through the arched entryway back into the castle proper, James saw Ralph working toward him through the crowd. He moved aside until the larger boy caught up.
'I can't do it anymore,' Ralph said to James, his voice low and his eyes downcast. 'I'm sorry she said those terrible, stupid things. You can keep hating me if you want, but I just can't keep up with all this Progressive Element rubbish. I don't know anything about it, really, except that it's just too much work to be so… so political.'
James couldn't help grinning. 'Ralph, you're a brick. I don't hate you. I should apologize to you.'
'Well, let's apologize later, OK?' Ralph said, working his way toward the archway with James following in his wake. 'Right now, I just want to get out of here. Tabitha Corsica has been staring holes into me ever since I left the stage. Besides, Zane says that Ted's invited us to hang out in your common room. He wants to gloat over having won over a member of Team B.'
'That won't bother you?' James asked.
'Nah,' Ralph replied, shrugging, 'it's worth it. Gryffindors have better snacks.'
The next Monday, James, Zane, and Ralph stood outside the door of Headmistress McGonagall's Advanced Transfiguration class until the last of her students left and she was gathering her things.
'Come in, come in,' she called to the three boys without looking up. 'Stop lurking outside the door like vultures. How may I help you?'
'Madam Headmistress,' James began tentatively, 'we want to talk to you about the debate.'
'Do you, now?' she asked, glancing up at James for a moment, then shouldering her bag. 'Why, I cannot begin to imagine. The sooner we can all forget that fiasco, the better.'
The boys scrambled to follow the Headmistress as she strode toward the door. 'But nobody is forgetting it, Madam,' James said quickly. 'It was all anybody talked about the whole weekend. People are getting really stirred up about it. There was almost a fight out in the courtyard yesterday, when Mustrum Jewel heard Reavis McMillan call Tabitha Corsica a lying twit. If Professor Longbottom hadn't been nearby, Mustrum probably would've killed Reavis.'
'This is a school, Mr. Potter, and a school is, in its simplest form, a place where young people gather. Young people are occasionally prone to have spats. This is why, among other reasons, Hogwarts employs Mr. Filch.'
'It wasn't a spat, Madam,' Ralph said, following the Headmistress out into the corridor. 'They were really mad. Daft mad, if you know what I mean. People are coming unglued about this whole business.'
'Then, like Mr. Potter says, it is fortunate Professor Longbottom was nearby. I fail to see, precisely, why this is your problem.'
Zane trotted to keep up with the Headmistress' stride. 'Well, the thing is, ma'am, we're just wondering why you're letting it all go on? I mean, you were there when the Battle took place. You know what this Voldemort guy was like. You could just tell everyone how it was and put Tabitha in her place, neat as you please.'
McGonagall stopped suddenly, leaving the boys to scramble to a halt near her. 'What, may I ask, would you three wish me to do?' she said, dropping her voice and looking at each one intently. 'The truth about the Dark Lord and his followers has been common knowledge for thirty years, ever since he murdered your grandparents, Mr. Potter. Do you suppose that my repeating it one more time will dispel all the revisionist rabble-rousing that has been going on, not only at this school, but throughout the wizarding world? Hmm?' Her eyes were like diamond chips as she glared at them. James realized that she was, if anything, even more agitated about the debate than they were. 'And suppose I summon Miss Corsica to my office and forbid her from disseminating these lies and distortions. Do you expect that this 'Progressive Element' of theirs will simply give up? How long do you suppose it would be before we'd be reading an article in the Daily Prophet about how the administration of Hogwarts is working with the Auror Department to stifle the 'free exchange of ideas on school grounds'?'
James was stunned. He had assumed that the Headmistress was indulging Tabitha Corsica for some reason, allowing, for a time, her charade to continue. It simply hadn't occurred to him that McGonagall might not, in fact, be capable of addressing the matter without making it worse.
'So what do we do, ma'am?' James asked.
'We?' McGonagall said, raising her eyebrows. 'My dear James, I admit that you amaze and impress me. Despite what you may believe, the future of the wizarding world does not, in fact, rest upon you and your two friends' shoulders.' She saw the annoyed grimace on his face, and then she showed him one of her rare smiles. She bent a bit to speak more conspiratorially, addressing all three boys. 'The revived memory of the Dark Lord is not an overlarge concern to those of us who once faced the living thing. This is a whim in the mind of a fickle populace, and irritating as it may be, it will pass. In the meantime, what you three can do is attend your classes, do your homework, and continue to be the sharp-witted and strong-hearted boys you obviously are. And if anyone around you tries to say Tom Riddle was a better man than Harry Potter, you have my permission--my instruction, even--to transfigure their pumpkin juice into nurgle water.' She eyed the three boys seriously, one by one. 'Just tell them I
