Um, hello again. It's been a criminally long time, I know, and that of course means that several of you will be disinclined to continue reading, or leave reviews, or something along those lines. I'm really sorry. All I can say is that involved an incredibly long bout of writer's block--on not only this, but all my current writing projects--and a root canal. I'll be doing my best to ensure that it doesn't happen again. In the mean time, anything you can recognize still isn't mine, and yes, I do still appreciate reviews. And speaking of appreciation:
Danielle: Yes, I was surprised no one had done this already. At least, not that I could find. And the chapter length is a result of experimentation. If you read my other two stories, you'll understand.
Alania: I must admit, I was a bit insensed when I realized they'd changed the name in the American version. Yes, they probably do think Americans are all stupid. Then again, they probably have a track record to go on. However, I'm very fond of all classic mythology (my mom never really understood why I spent money on a book of Irish fairy tales, but that's her), and therefore thought it made much more sense to refer to it as the Philosopher's Stone. I didn't know the bit about the sherbert lemons--thanks for that, I always wondered how Dumbledore's password changed from second to fourth year. Mystery solved, it's just the Americans changing things around again. Sadly, I'm just lazy enough (I'm sure they could find an American joke to insert here) that I don't want to have to go back and change all the references to lemon drops, so they're staying lemon drops. Besides, I rather like lemon drops. Thanks for the review!
Chance21: No, definitely not! I will most certainly be continuing until the end of sixth year. Whether they all come in the same fic or in sequels depends, though. How much do you like long fics, anyway?
alix33: Okay, according to the Harry Potter Lexicon J.K. Rowling said in an interview that Dumbledore was around 150 years old (this was during the first book, I think, so he'd be around 156 when he died). They have his birthdate listed as around 1840. I have absolutely no sense of wizarding years, and there's a very good reason I'm not majoring in anything math-related. However, if you take the age 150 proportionally to a person who only lived to be 85, 90 would translate to something like 51. All I meant, really, was that he was feeling slightly winded and not as young as he used to be. But I'm glad that you're reading that deeply into it. Continue, please!
shannyauburn: Thanks! I'm still going on it, I promise, no matter how long it takes to update!
Liliana: Yes! Second year and so on, right up to the end of sixth! Although, given my track record, it may take me a while to get there. (grins sheepishly). Thanks for reading.
Arica, Princess of Rivendell: Ah, yes. "Update," I think you said. Ahem. Trying. Trying really hard, I promise. It drove me absolutely insane that I got writer's block on all five of my writing projects at once. And then there was that deal with the root canal . . . But anyway, here it is. And may all the muses and powers that be prevent me from getting such a long bout of writer's block ever again!
A portrait cleared its throat, and Albus looked up. "Ah, Pyrites. Good afternoon. And how is young Harry doing?"
Pyrites gazed at him guilelessly from his position in Phineas Nigellus' painting, fiddling with his immaculate white gloves. He removed his top hat before speaking. "He's well enough, I suppose, Dumbledore," he said lazily, though Albus could tell, as always, just how careful Pyrites was with his speech. "Healthy, excited for Halloween, doing reasonably well in classes, though he's no genius."
From beside the guest in his frame, Phineas made a derisive noise. "He's not exactly living up to his parents' reputations, is he? That curse probably addled his brains."
Albus chose not to comment, for he knew very well that magical or mental prowess did not always surface when expected, but could surpass any expectations when it was least anticipated. Let them wait and see, Albus decided. Harry would be a great wizard yet, though it might not ever show in a classroom. Instead, he asked, "Anything unusual today?"
Pyrites gave an elegant shrug, examining the ornate top of his cane. This, of course, meant that he had something of note to report, but would get to it in his own due, drawn-out time. "His class started levitation in Charms."
"That's the class he has with the Ravenclaws, I believe," Albus encouraged, nodding.
Pyrites looked up, and there was a slight gleam in his eyes. "Yes, the Ravenclaws were all there, but the first one to get the charm right was that Hermione Granger. A Gryffindor, I believe." He looked around at the assorted portraits of previous headmasters and headmistresses expectantly, and was rewarded with soft cheers and exclamations of pride from previous Gryffindors and noises of disbelief and dismissal from previous Ravenclaws.
Albus sighed, all too used to this game of Pyrites'. The well-to-do wizard had not attended Hogwarts himself, having been the only child of doting and somewhat paranoid parents during the nineteenth century. However, he was quite familiar with the rivalries the Houses represented, and enjoyed stringing them along at every opportunity by spreading rumors and gossip. "Was there anything else, Pyrites?" Albus asked pointedly.
Pyrites raised his eyebrows. "Oh, young Potter managed it too, eventually, never fear, Dumbledore."
Albus waited expectantly, and Pyrites finally continued.
"And I think you ought to give some serious thought to the people that boy has around him as his friends," Pyrites added in an offhand sort of voice.
"Just what do you mean by that, Pyrites?"
"It's just that that Weasley boy is awfully careless about the remarks he spews forth," Pyrites said, and Albus could sense his disgust and concern for one who was so lenient with words as no to keep them on a tight leash.
"What did he say? Did he offend Harry?"
"No, he made a rather rude comment about that Granger girl."
"Dear, dear, what did he do, mention her muggle parentage?" Phineas asked from beside him. Phineas could never quite understand why Pyrites might find such a thing rude.
"Not at all," Pyrites replied, affecting unconcern. "That would be rather . . . un-Gryffindorish of him, wouldn't it? No, he simply called her a know-it-all and said it was no wonder she didn't have any friends."
Albus sat up. "And what did Harry do? Did he say anything?"
Pyrites, he could tell, was quite amused by how intent he was. "Well, he didn't directly discount what the Weasley boy said, if that's what you're looking for," he commented, and paused to see if Albus' expression would alter. When it didn't, he continued, "But once that Granger girl had run off in tears, he did look as though he felt rather guilty about it. Made some awkward comment to Weasley about how she'd heard him. The boy isn't terribly gifted verbally, Dumbledore."
"P-P-Professor D-D-D-Dumbledore."
The portraits feigned sleep on cue.
Albus looked around to see Professor Quirrell smiling tremulously at him. "Good evening, Quirenius. No need to be so quiet, I didn't even hear you come in." He smiled kindly over his spectacles. "Would you like a lemon drop?"
Quirenius gave a timid little laugh. "Oh, n-no th-th-thank you, Albus." He was rubbing his hands together nervously. "It's j-just that S-S-Severus s-sent me t-to get you. It's t-t-time for the H-H-Halloween f-feast."
Albus glanced at his watch. "So it is. Shall we go down to the Great Hall, then?"
"Y-yes, indeed, P-professor." As soon as they had descended the spiral staircase and emerged from behind the gargoyle that guarded Albus' office, Quirenius gave a little start. "I—I f-f-forgot something in m-my o-o-office, Albus. I'll m-m-m-meet you d-down there in a b-b-bit."
Albus smiled kindly at him. "Very well, Quirenius, but don't be too long. I know for a fact that the house elves have outdone themselves for this particular feast. I wouldn't want you to miss it."
"C-c-course n-not, Professor." Quirenius' lips twitched in a nervous smile before he hurried away.
Humming to himself, Albus continued down the corridor until he came upon Peeves grinning wickedly as he floated over a couple of first-year Hufflepuffs, pelting them with walking sticks that he'd nicked from Minerva's Transfiguration classroom. One of the girls, Hannah Abbott if Albus recalled her name correctly, squealed and ducked around a suit of armor to avoid a flying walking stick.
"Ickle firsties, what fun! Happy Halloween from Peevesie, treats and tricksies!"
"Peeves," Albus called.
The poltergeist was so startled to see the headmaster strolling down the hall that he let the walking sticks fall, and nearly fell out of the air himself. "Good evening, Professorhead, sir," he said in an oily voice quite different from the one he'd been using to tease the students.
"Good evening, Peeves. You're having a pleasant Halloween, I trust. Though I must ask you to allow my students to pass. I believe Professor McGonagall's supply closet is also missing some walking sticks," Albus said pleasantly but pointedly.
"Oh, yes, Professorhead. Of course, your Headness, sir. I was just borrowing them, you see, but I'll return them right away, sir."
"Off you go, then. And Peeves?"
"Yes, Professor Dumbly-diddly-dore?" Peeves asked, half-upside-down as he retrieved the walking sticks.
"As long as you're planning your Halloween jokes, remember that if you try to remove the weapons on the suits of armor, you'll automatically be expelled from the castle."
"I remember, Professorhead, sir," Peeves said, looking rather disgruntled, then he blew a loud raspberry and zoomed backward down the hall, walking sticks in tow.
Albus turned to the cowering students, one of whom murmured a barely audible thanks. "Well, now that's settled, would you three accompany me to the Great Hall? I don't think it would be very wise of me, as the headmaster, to miss one of the greatest celebrations Hogwarts holds during the school year. And you certainly won't want to miss it yourselves," he said, smiling as they fell into step with him. "You know, Hagrid, our gamekeeper, spends the entire year growing magnificent pumpkins to provide the Great Hall with its wonderful jack-o-lanterns."
The first-years were too timid to respond, but smiled nervously. They looked relieved when they reached the doors to the Great Hall, where they scurried off to the Hufflepuff table. Waving merrily to them, he swept up the aisle between the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables up to the high table where Minerva was looking at him disapprovingly, no doubt for being late.
"Pleasant evening, Minerva," he said as he pulled out his chair to sit down.
"You're late, Albus."
"Ah, but it's such a nice evening for a fashionably late entrance. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll go ahead and start the feast, shall I?" With a smile at her thin-lipped expression, he stood to say a few words and gave the signal to the house elves to send the food up.
As Minerva passed him the potatoes, Albus glanced over at the Gryffindor table. The Weasley twins had their heads together, poring over a piece of parchment, as far as he could tell, until their friend Lee Jordan distracted them with a story, during which George discreetly tapped the parchment with his wand, folded it up, and put it away. Albus wondered if he should be expecting any mischief from them in the next couple of days.
A little way down from them sat Harry and Ron. Harry looked as though he were having the time of his life, which made Albus think that the Dursleys must not have celebrated Halloween very often or very exuberantly. Perhaps that had something to do with it having been Lily's favorite holiday.
"Knut for your thoughts, Albus," Minerva said to him when he asked her to pass the rolls.
"Oh, keep the knut, Minerva," he replied, even though he knew she hadn't been serious. "I was thinking that young Harry's mother was always particularly fond of the Halloween feast."
Minerva smiled knowingly. "Unless, of course, it involved Potter and Black bewitching the plates to turn into bats halfway through."
"Oh, no, Minerva. That was their seventh year, you remember, and she ended up laughing," Filius chimed in to remind her.
Albus smiled in agreement. "Now, the year before that, when James and Sirius carved all the jack-o-lanterns to have her face, I recall her being quite angry."
"I never did see why she was so upset at that," Filius said. "It was a compliment, really."
As the conversation drifted to stories of other past students, Albus glanced back at the Gryffindor table. There were Harry and Ron, but he noticed for the first time that Hermione Granger was missing from the group of first-years. He was about to point this out to Minerva when the great double doors that led out to the Entrance Hall burst open, spilling forth a nearly hysterical Quirenius Quirrell.
"T-troll—in the dungeons—thought you ought to know . . . " Quirenius managed before he sank away in a dead faint.
Minerva's comment of "What on earth was Quirenius doing in the dungeons?" was the only thing Albus heard before the chaos of the students overwhelmed all conversation.
"Silence," Albus called, making himself heard above the din. He calmly directed the students to return to their dormitories, and began organizing the teachers to search the castle. "Poppy, will you see that Professor Quirrell is all right? Now, the rest of you will follow me to the dungeons. Except you, Minerva. I'd like you make sure there are no stragglers in the hallways, and we'll be needing someone to make sure the troll hasn't made its way upstairs. Follow me, now," he called to the rest, and was gratified to see them all draw their wands.
As they passed through the Entrance Hall, Albus eyed Pyrites craning his neck in one of the picture frames to catch a glimpse of him. A slight nod from him, and Pyrites was off to keep an eye on Harry. "Spread out in twos and threes," Albus directed. "A troll won't be too hard to find, but I want you all ready."
It took Albus perhaps fifteen minutes to realize that there was no troll in any of the subterranean rooms. When he came to this conclusion, he left Filius with Professors Vector and Kettleburn and proceeded back up to the Entrance Hall to find Minerva.
It was not at all to his liking that he found she'd left her post. He was about to send off a messenger spell to her when he heard the banging. Pausing, he listened closely. It was something very loud, which could only mean the troll, but muffled enough that it must have been on—what, the second floor? He set off.
When Albus reached the girls' bathroom on the second floor, it was to see Harry and Ron's backs disappearing around a corner, an unconscious troll in the room beyond, and Minerva and Severus in the middle of a heated argument in the doorway.
"They were out of bounds," Severus insisted. "With their stupidity, they were lucky they weren't killed, and if they'd been any more irresponsible, theirs would not have been the only deaths."
"I already took points from Miss Granger for that, Severus! Potter and Weasley showed great courage in coming to the rescue of a fellow student, as ill-advised as the venture might have been." Minerva's nostrils were positively flaring in indignation.
"Perhaps I might interrupt for a moment to ask what happened?" Albus said.
"Potter and Weasley took it into their heads to go after the troll. I suppose they thought they could take it on themselves," Severus said with a great amount of asperity.
"From what Miss Granger says, it was she who thought that, and Potter and Weasley were only trying to get her to safety. It was bad luck they came upon the troll"—here Severus snorted, and Dumbledore made a mental note to look into this reaction later—"but as it is, they handled the situation very well indeed." Minerva looked at Albus defiantly. "I took five points from Granger, but gave five each to Potter and Weasley."
"Well, I won't argue with that," Albus mused.
"P-p-professor D-d-d-dumbledore," came a tremulous voice, and Albus was astonished to see Quirenius, none the worse for his fainting spell, quaking nervously in one of the bathroom's corners. "I'm t-t-terr-rribly s-sorry," he stammered. "It s-s-seems the t-troll wasn't in th-the d-d-dungeons af-after all."
Albus frowned slightly as he considered his Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. "You look quite pale, Quirenius. Perhaps you ought to go and see Madame Pomfrey."
"I'm q-quite alright, P-p-professor," Quirenius muttered, going paler still. "P-perhaps if I g-g-g-go lie d-down for a b-b-bit."
"Yes, get some rest," Albus said, nodding. "I'll call Hagrid and Professor Kettleburn to dispose of this—er—" he motioned to the troll laying prone on the floor "—creature."
Quirenius departed in a hurry, and Minerva excused herself to go and look in on her students in Gryffindor. Severus, however, lingered. "I'd like a word with you, Headmaster."
"I was just about to suggest as much," Albus said pleasantly. "If you'll just follow me to my office, then, I think it's best we have this conversation away from prying ears."
Snape nodded abruptly and walked briskly behind him. He opened his mouth to speak the moment Albus' office door was safely shut behind them, but Albus interrupted before he could begin.
"You're bleeding, Severus."
The potions master grimaced and looked down at his leg. "I'll deal with it later. Right now I need to talk to you about Quirrell."
Albus sank thoughtfully into his chair and motioned for Snape to take a lemon drop.
Severus ignored the gesture.
"What is it about Quirenius that you feel so uneasy about, Severus?"
"That troll was a diversion," he answered bluntly.
Albus nodded thoughtfully. "For what, do you think?"
"For someone to get a look at what's guarding the Philosopher's Stone."
Albus was silent for several minutes, gazing intently at Severus. In the first few seconds, Severus let his habitual guard down enough for Albus to see, through legilimency, an image of Quirrell opening the door to the third-floor corridor, and Snape being bitten by one of Fluffy's three heads. "You don't trust Quirenius," he said softly.
Severus shook his head.
He sighed, coming to a conclusion that was very sobering indeed to consider. It so happened that, after seeing Quirrell's odd behavior tonight, Albus was rather disinclined to trust the man himself. However, there were immense difficulties in dealing with the problem. Not the least was the fact that Albus had finally hunted down the whereabouts of the dark presence that had hidden out in Albania, using several spells and expensive Dark Detectors in the process. The answers pointed right into Hogwarts itself, to the very man Albus had hired to protect the school against such a force.
Things were dangerous indeed. Thus far, it was only a simple masquerade. Quirrell was content to lie low and teach while he figured out exactly how to get to the Philosopher's Stone. But there was still pressure to act soon. While Albus was fairly confident that he'd never get to it (even if he managed to get past all the other teachers' protective spells, there was still the trick Albus himself intended to employ sometime over the Christmas holidays, as soon as he got his hands on that extraordinary mirror), he'd rather Quirenius didn't try. But on the other hand . . .
"Severus, you of all people should believe in second chances. There is no proof that Quirenius is after the Stone. Upon awakening from his faint, he might just have wanted to be sure that everything was still as it should be."
"But, Professor," Severus said, and Albus could sense the righteous anger behind his voice. He'd seen Quirrell, hadn't he? Then, his emotions were mastered again, his mind as blank to the casual observer as always. "I can't trust Quirrell, Headmaster, but if you insist on doing so, I won't speak against him."
"Thank you, Severus," Albus said quietly, and Severus excused himself. Albus knew, as he watched Severus disappear down the spiralling staircase, that Quirrell was every bit as guilty as Severus said. He also knew that Severus would never understand why Albus did not simply fire Quirrell. The situation was a lot more dangerous that Severus realized. Albus did not know the full extent of the danger himself, but knew enough to go cautiously.
Even before Albus had found the truth about Quirenius, there had been far too many coincidences. The disappearance of the dark force in the forests of Albania corresponded too neatly with Quirrell's trip there. It was also consistent with the first queries Nicholas had received regarding the Stone.
Albus frowned worriedly as he stroked Fawkes. There was another matter to consider: Quirrell might well be under the Imperius Curse, or something else that hindered his ability to act for himself. It might not be accident that Quirenius had come back from his year off with a stutter and a mortal fear of anything scarier than a toothbrush. And Albus would burn Hogwarts to the ground himself before any of the teachers or students inside it were harmed unnecessarily. It was early in the year yet, and the Stone hadn't even been put in its planned place. Quirrell might not have known it, but he wouldn't have gotten anything even if he'd made it past Fluffy. Surely there had to be some way to save everything. If he could only think of it . . .
There was the dignified sound of a throat clearing, and Albus looked up.
Pyrites raised an eyebrow at him from beside Phineas, who looked tolerant of the intrusion, even if he wasn't pleased. "I thought you might want to know that Harry and Ron are in their dormitory finishing off the Halloween feast," he said with an air of smugness, "—with Hermione Granger."
There were several whispers among the portraits. "Indeed?" Albus asked.
"Yes. Whatever they did to that troll, I think they took out their anger on it. And with nothing else to do, it seems they've become friends."
Albus chuckled, feeling his heart go a bit lighter at this news. "Excellent. Harry needs another friend with a sharp head on her shoulders."
Pyrites blinked impassively at him. "Something the matter with your eyes, Dumbledore? They've gone positively twinkly."
