Chapter Nine
It was Dumbledore.
But it was a different Dumbledore, in some ways, to the one she remembered. He looked back at her, eyes twinkling as he smiled amiably. This she did remember. But he looked younger, somehow, than he had before. Hermione could not see any signs of the weakness or worry in his face that she had known in the last few years. It was a carefree Dumbledore. A stronger Dumbledore.
A Dumbledore smiling out at her from a photo frame.
Of course. How could Hermione have been so stupid? She should have known that Dumbledore's picture, following his demise, would have joined the other past Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts on the wall of the Headteacher's office.
Such a rush of emotions swept through Hermione at this point. She had thought him gone. But no. He was here – or at least an image of him was here – a talking image, with the same odd matter-of-fact manner and helpful nature. Hermione wondered how Harry would be feeling in this situation. Harry, who had turned to Dumbledore more than any other person she knew, had been devastated when he died. Now that he was gone, Harry, Hermione knew, must be feeling so lost. Dumbledore had been considered by many to be a great man, and even by supporters of Voldemort to be a formidable enemy. He had been the only thing that had made Hogwarts the safest place to be.
"Hello, Professor Dumbledore," said Hermione, smiling a small smile.
"Oh, hello, Hermione. Hello, Draco," he added, looking behind Hermione's shoulder. Malfoy looked down at his feet, unable to look Dumbledore in the eyes. "Can I help, Minerva?" Dumbledore repeated, politely. McGonnagall shrugged, looking a little embarrassed that she had been yelling so much. Dumbledore took this as a yes, and turned back to Malfoy. "So, Draco…" he began. Malfoy still stared at the floor. Dumbledore did not seem to care. "So, you have come back to Hogwarts, after trying to kill me and then running away from the school. Everyone thought you had gone back to the Death Eaters. But you have come back to us. Would you be so kind as to tell us your story, in your own words, please?"
Malfoy began to tell his story to his shoes, mumbling quietly as he stared down at the floor. Dumbledore listened courteously, while McGonnagall leaned against the desk, frowning and drumming her fingers on the wooden surface. Hermione, already knowing the story, looked around at the pictures of past Heads of Hogwarts. She recognised them all, having read about them in various books, and suddenly thought back to her fifth year, when Dolores Umbridge had been wormed slowly into Hogwarts by the Minister for Magic. She noticed that Umbridge's picture was not amongst the pictures of the past Headteachers, which was a relief. She also noticed that some of the frames on the wall were empty, probably because they were in their other frames in different places, passing on the news of what was going on.
Malfoy had finished his story, and looked up, not at Dumbledore, but at Hermione. He was seeking either confirmation of the truthfulness of his words, or consolation. He found neither, because Hermione was not in a position to want to give them to him.
"Well, Minerva," said Dumbledore pensively. What do you make of that?"
McGonnagall looked annoyed. She didn't know the answer to Dumbledore's question, any more than she knew what to do right now. She wished more than anything that Dumbledore were still Headmaster. She didn't know where to begin trying to live up to her predecessor.
Dumbledore looked again at Malfoy. "So, Draco. You came back to Hogwarts because you were afraid of what Lucuis might do to punish you when you did not kill me?"
Malfoy began to mumble quietly, but Hermione hissed under her breath, "Look at him, Malfoy."
He did so, meeting Dumbldore's blue eyes. "No, sir," he said with growing confidence, "I did it because I felt braver. I felt brave enough to question what my father had told me, and to run away from someone as murderous as the Dark Lord is. Now I'm scared. I'm scared that Hogwarts isn't as safe as it used to be, now that you're – well – " He stopped. It is hard to talk to someone of their death, and very uncomfortable, too.
"Now that I am dead," smiled Dumbledore.
Malfoy nodded, going red.
"Well, Minerva. Is he lying?"
"I really don't know, Albus," said McGonnagall. "I am no Legilimens.
Ah, but you can tell when you are being lied to, can't you? So, was he lying?"
"No." McGonnagall said reluctantly.
"Exactly. So, what do we do now?"
"I don't…"
"Minerva, you know what we should do.
Hermione watched with interest as the photo-Dumbledore guided McGonnagall through the role of a Headteacher. McGonnagall was having a hard time of it, she knew. She needed Dumbledore to help her. But Dumbledore did it in such a way that he didn't actually help much. He just helped McGonnagall get to her own ideas and conclusions.
"We let him back into school," sighed McGonnagall tiredly, "Against my better judgement." Dumbledore said nothing, only smiled.
"Now, Hermione," said McGonnagall, trying to get back some control and bossiness, "You should get to bed now. Get on with you." She tried to push Hermione out of the door, but Hermione gave McGonnagall Malfoy's wand first, and picked up Harry's dropped Invisibility Cloak.
She thought all the way back about what had happened. She had definitely done the right thing. She herself couldn't have dealt with it. If Dumbledore and McGonnagall thought he was trustworthy, then so did she. Dumbledore always knew things like this. But then again, he had though that Snape was on the good side…
She was at the portrait of the Fat Lady. When she gave the password, she thought she heard a noise of disapproval from the Fat Lady, before she swung her frame forwards. But she thought that this was because it was very late and students coming through the portrait hole at this time was a nuisance. When Hermione had scrambled through the portrait hole, she straightened up – and looked straight into the accusing faces of just about every Gryffindor in the school.
