Chapter 13 - The Counsel of Dumbledore
"Snape used to like dogs but I hear he's a cat person now."
~Fred or George Weasley (?)
Previously on "After Harry Comes Peek" - Harry was caught using a knife and attempting a fatal spell on a bully. He was taken away by the Hogwarts heads of houses.
"Somebody say something," said Peek.
"Peek, Shhhhh," said Ivy in a low voice.
Peek and Ivy walked between Professors McGonagall, Snape, Flitwick, and Sprout. The four Heads of House said nothing but happened to be in-step at that moment in the journey and the sounds of their shoes echoed like a loud final countdown.
"Klup! Klup! Klup!"
"I'm not sorry," said Peek, "not at all."
"Peek...hush." said Ivy.
"Kelup!, Ker-lup!, Kerrr-lup." Professor Snape had been injured in the leg for some reason he would not share, not surprising, and wasn't keeping pace with the others. Professor Flitwick's legs were shorter. All in all, the little in-synch moment ended as quickly as it started.
"It would be best if you refrained from speaking," said Snape. His voice was cold and empty.
Peek might have been a star-pupil of Snape's if Snape ever had star pupils. Peek had an undeniable knack for potion brewing. He wasn't just a prodigy at his age, but a cut above them.
Peek was homeless at times in his young life, sitting in muggle libraries out of the cold, reading books, and finding where the wizarding world showed up in gardening books, outdoor living, history, ghost tales, tales of the unexplained, and especially, Medieval Europe. He traded work for access to books or stole them during lean times.
Mr. Millwater turned to wild-crafting to avoid the ministry restrictions and high taxes. He often took Peek to the country, to crawl through hedges, turn over stones, muck in mud, and search in the moonlight, for herbs, spices, and rare ingredients wherever they grew or collected. Millwater had to modify modern recipes so they worked with less than potent or unrefined ingredients. He dusted off ancient recipe tomes written long before the global access of supplies and made them work with what was available. Peek had a front seat to a master-cauldroner championing the last of a dying art. Peek was a sponge for the knowledge. He learned the tugs on the ladle while stirring, the changes of smell when mixes warmed, the bubbles, and the colors. Peek was good, but not just at remembering things, he knew how fluids and powders and components balanced and how they blended. He could anticipate results when mixing correctly and when not. There was so much more to learn, of course, but Peek had a long leg up on all the other students Snape had ever taught.
And now, the young, promising, little grape was dying a quick and total death on the vine.
"Yes, sir," said Peek. He looked up at Snape. Snape looked straight ahead, statue-like.
The small troupe arrived at the entrance to the Headmaster's office, the same entrance where the highest of Ministry members walked through, where delegates and leaders from around the world entered, where the greatest of wizards and witches met and forged the way for tens of thousands of students across the ages.
"Meeting a great man by way of his front door...," thought Peek to himself. "I should either feel honored or I'm in really big trouble."
"Peek!" hissed Ivy as she stabbed him in the ribs with her pointer finger. "Shut it."
Apparently Peek had thought that last comment out loud.
"Wait here," said McGonagall as they entered the antechamber before the greater office. Dumbledore was there across the far room, standing behind his desk, waiting. Peek had seen the man only twice before. Both times, he was jovial. Today, he was not jovial. In fact, he looked tired or worn. The four professors entered and the doors closed behind them.
"Did you hear about Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone?" asked Peek as he and Ivy sat down.
Ivy sighed. "Who hasn't?"
"He's a hero."
"He's a Gryffindor."
"I'm a Gryffindor."
Ivy looked at the boy next to her. She searched his eyes, his forehead, his hair, anything for an acknowledgement by Peek that he understood his predicament. It was very likely he wouldn't be a Gryffindor much longer.
Ivy nodded. "You are one of the good ones."
Peek missed the compliment as his mind moved to the next topic in his head. "I heard it was 'him', the Dark Lord, reaching out from the grave." Peek raised his eyebrows for effect. "He comes at night on the bell of four, to steal you thither does Voldemort…"
Ivy frowned. "That's corny and you shouldn't say his name."
Peek sighed. "I know. I usually don't. It gets people upset."
Ivy smiled just a little. "Yes it does."
"Ivy," said Peek. "It's okay, whatever happens. I'm ready to go. I liked my old neighborhood. I knew my place there. I knew the bad places and I knew the safe places. I knew where to eat like a king - if I didn't get caught. I've slept in palaces...at least they seemed like palaces to me. Some of the muggles are really rich and it's nothing to get past their alarms."
Ivy rumpled her face. "Really? You slept in muggle homes and no one noticed?"
"Actually no. I didn't. I thought about it though."
Ivy nodded her understanding.
Peek looked around the room. Most of the old headmasters were watching from their picture frames; some curious and many disapprovingly.
Peek smiled. "Pictures don't move where I come from. Can't risk it with the muggles around - very illegal.
Ivy nodded again as she looked up at the scowling, old headmasters looking down at them. "I suppose it's best if codgy old coots don't scoff at the muggles from picture frames, with their better-than-thou pretenses. The muggles might get offended."
More than one of the headmasters frowned and scoffed. Some were good at it, both in life and as paintings.
"It really is a different world here," said Peek.
"Yeah," said Ivy as she thought back to her early muggle life before Hogwarts. "It really is."
The two students sat in silence for a long while. Peek made figure eights with his foot. Ivy rolled the hem of her skirt. Both imagined what was being said behind the closed door.
"Someone's coming," said Ivy in a soft voice as she looked out towards the stairs. "They're trying to be quiet."
Peek nodded. "Yeah, maybe another student?"
"Maybe."
It was Filch.
Both students stood. Filch wasn't a teacher but he could be trouble if not shown a certain level of respect.
Filch stood before them. He was angry. Agitated. His arms fidgeted at his side.
"You've done it then?" growled Filch. "You've pulled a knife on the lass, like a common muggle thug, like spit and spittle and dirt behind your ears."
"Mr. Filch-" said Ivy but he cut her off.
"Go back to your streets. Roll in the mud for all I care."
"Mr. Filch…" said Ivy as she looked back towards Dumbledore's office door. This was not appropriate, even for Filch.
Filch knew some of the Squibs who didn't come down from that same hill where Peek's parents died. He knew the rough-and-tumbles, the street people, who could manage a little magic but nothing that would have ever got them a Hogwarts' invitation. He knew Purdy UhnKleen, the owner of the inn where Peek and Mr. Millwater had lunch from time to time, and where Peek stayed the night before riding the Express to Hogwarts. Filch had drank himself silly with Purdy and Millwater when they were much younger and for years walked their same path, but he landed the Hogwarts job and rose well above them.
"If you had killed that girl," continued Filch, "I would have walked you to Azkaban myself."
"Mr. Filch!" shouted Ivy in anger. She stomped her foot in protest.
"Wait, Azkaban is on an island," corrected Peek. "We couldn't have walked there."
Filch opened his mouth to rebuke just as the door to Dumbledore's office swung open.
Dumbledore led the small group of professors out into the antechamber. McGonagall looked upset, even angry. Snape was as statue-like as ever. Flitwick and Sprout avoided Peek's eyes.
"That will do, Mr. Filch," said Dumbledore. "That will do."
He dismissed Filch with a wave. Filch, still angry and still agitated, mumbled obscenities all the way out through the entrance and up the stairs.
"Now then, Mr. Ferris-" said Dumbledore with a reassuring smile but Peek interrupted.
"Am I going to Azkaban Prison?" asked Peek.
Dumbledore's smile did not falter. "That, of course is entirely up to you, but in your immediate future? No.
I have been in contact with the ministry. We will send you back to London where you will be met by an advisor. I understand you know Mr. Byron Millwater rather well. He has agreed to be your guardian in an official capacity."
The severity started sinking into Peek's understanding. He would have to face Mr. Millwater as a failure, as a "common muggle thug", as Filch likened him to. Not just Millwater, but Mr. UhnKleen and all the others who congratulated him on getting his Hogwarts invitation. There were many who had high hopes for Peek. One of their own was going to Hogwarts. And now, one of their own didn't make it to mid-term before being thrown out.
"But it is important for you to understand," Dumbledore continued. "You still have a place reserved for you here at Hogwarts, that has not changed, and I will expect you back next fall."
McGonagall stepped forward. "You will keep your books because you will continue your studies. Your progress will be reported to Professor Snape and to me."
"Professor Snape?" Peek rumpled his face.
Snape looked down at Peek but did not reply.
"Professor Snape has requested to remain apprised," replied Dumbledore.
Peek nodded his understanding. Snape's potions class was the only reason for Peek's regret. He had little interest in his other classes, but he really liked potions. Professor Snape was a source of rigidity and consistency which fit well with Peek. Potions class, and Ivy, would be the only things he would miss.
"You will take the Hogwarts Express back to London," said Dumbledore, "by way of Manchester."
At this, Professor Sprout turned as if surprised or caught off guard. "The express?" she said with a curious look. "That is five days from now. One of us can run him out there today, if he's ready." She gave a helpful, if not somewhat awkward smile, to Peek and repeated it to Ivy.
"That will not be necessary, professor," said Dumbledore. "The Express will suffice."
Dumbledore turned in place and paced back to his office as a sign the discussion had ended.
Sprout turned and looked at McGonagall and Snape.
Snape shrugged.
"A few more hot meals and a warm bed," said McGonagall. "There is nothing wrong with that."
The End