"What if?"

A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures. Darnit.

Pairings: AD/MM and FF/PS.

Spoilers: mild spoilers for The Deathly Hallows.

Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side: for mild coarse language and implied sexuality in some chapters).

A/N: This will seem very much out of order from JKR's canon storyline, but I'd like to use or mention some of the interesting characters from the later books (and not all of them in a good way!).

Chapter 14/??

"And Jupiter aligns with Mars…"

"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Professor Trelawney," Albus said warmly. "I trust you are having a pleasant holiday break, my dear?"

"Yes, and thank you, Headmaster," she replied in her usual wispy voice. "It is always a pleasure to visit with you. Professor Binns and I had a lovely meal and Christmas reminiscence the other day."

Dumbledore smiled benignly and nodded, resisting the urge to comment. Divination Professor Sybill Trelawney rarely left her rooms in the North Tower, adjacent to her classroom-office-parlor. He knew that she and the ghost instructor of History of Magic spent a lot of time together: she claimed that too much time among the living clouded her Inner Sight, but at least he didn't smell cooking sherry anywhere nearby as they sipped their tea from her extremely delicate porcelain cups (and it was just after nine o'clock in the morning, thank goodness).

They chatted about inconsequential things for a few minutes, and Albus was happy to learn that Sybill was doing well after her emotional upset at the hands of one Dolores Umbridge, and that she and the centaur Firenze were able to work out an equitable compromise regarding the instruction of Hogwarts Divination courses. Inwardly Albus sighed as he prepared to broach the subject for which he had come in the first place.

"Actually, Sybill, I have come in need of your expert opinion," he told her quietly. Trelawney involuntarily snorted into her teacup, and regarded him blearily through her rather thick glasses. Her eyes were streaming as she reached for a linen napkin to help quell her sudden coughing attack, and to bring her disbelief under some measure of control. Dumbledore waited patiently for her to gather herself once again, a somewhat amused twinkle coming to his eyes.

"Headmaster, I am at your humble service! You need only say the word," she replied enthusiastically, tripping over her own words. "Although, from a wizard such as yourself, I certainly didn't see that one coming." She managed to wink at him; it was both teasing and self-deprecating, and he couldn't resist a chuckle along with her.

"Ah, that's the spirit," he said, pleased that she had at least developed a sense of humor regarding her rather poor track record of divinations by various means: out of thousands of predictions she'd made since he met her in 1979, two (two really BIG ones though) were seemingly correct. Dumbledore felt protective of this frail young witch, and offered her the teaching position at Hogwarts both for her safety and his peace of mind as Voldemort re-acquired his power and followers throughout Britain and the Continent.

"I need for you to cast a natal chart, a birth chart, for someone I know; it must be kept in strictest confidence and is for my own research purposes, you see." He politely refrained from mentioning that he could have calculated the chart himself, but felt that his closeness to Brian would bias his opinions and interpretations. Besides, it might be better for Minerva to hear some of this news from an outside, neutral source. Albus was beginning to form some hypotheses about their son's magic and his magical potential…if he was right, and Brian was a true "Leapling", the boy would need even more carefully guarded training; his Muggle-style dream journal was one very strong piece of evidence in his favor.

She goggled at the elder wizard for a moment or two; the sight made even more grotesque by her eyeglasses, then recovered, taking up a quill and parchment immediately. "I would be honored, Headmaster, truly. May I have the subject's name and birth information?"

"Well, for confidentiality you understand, we'll use a pseudonym…John Graham Palin," Dumbledore began, watching her as she wrote this down in her spidery-scrawl calligraphy. "And he was born the on 29th of February, in 1960."

Sybill made a soft noise of interest and then nodded, her quill scratching across the parchment. "The young man's place and time of birth?"

"Yes, Edinburgh, Scotland, United Kingdom; and, 12:03 p.m."

"Is this young man a Muggle or is he of the magical world?" she asked.

Albus thought this was a significant question, and he said so. "Thank you, Professor; I hadn't thoroughly considered that point yet. He is a young wizard of my acquaintance."

Trelawney pursed her lips, reading over what she had written. Her expression was thoughtful and she seemed to have forgotten he was there momentarily.

"Would tea-time tomorrow give you enough time for casting and interpretation? We can meet in my office or here if you prefer," Albus suggested. He hoped that Obliviation of the poor dear would not be necessary…but also hoped to use his own Pensieve for recording purposes at the time.

Sybill seemed to come back from wherever her thoughts had taken her. "Oh! Yes, indeed, tea-time tomorrow in your office, Headmaster. I shall outline my interpretations and illuminate the chart today; it shouldn't take long." She seemed genuinely delighted at the prospect of assisting the wizard to whom she owed so much.

"Thank you for your help," he said, rising from the table and casting an inaudible Cleansing charm on his empty teacup. Dumbledore wasn't about to leave her tea leaves of any kind with which to amuse herself, by Tasseomancy or otherwise. "Please join me at four o'clock, then. Your password will be 'ex-parrot'."

"Until tomorrow," she replied, also standing. And with that, Albus sketched a courtly bow, and on impulse, reached to gently squeeze her hand before he left.

When she was sure he'd gone and the tower door had shut behind him, Sybill leaned across the table and picked up his teacup…and saw that it had been completely cleaned. "Well, drat."

Dumbledore found himself in need of some fresh air as he made his way down from the North Tower. Trelawney burned sage, mullein, and some other aromatic fragrances which she said helped with the Art of Divination, but mostly they gave him a headache that commingled with sinus pressure. Humming under his breath, he made his way out to the castle grounds, delighted to find fresh fallen snow and bright sunshine.

Albus had walked for twenty minutes or so, no particular destination in mind, and realized that he was heading down the hill toward Hagrid's hut. He smiled, thinking that he would indeed, visit the gentle half-giant. It had been a while since he last paid him a social call, and he was rather fond of the man. Dumbledore felt an almost paternal responsibility for Hagrid, ever since his days as a Hogwarts student, but even more so after he had been expelled (and his wand publicly snapped in the Great Hall) at the vehement demands of the Board of Governors: a girl had died and Rubeus Hagrid had been unfairly blamed, owing in large part to his predilection for somewhat dangerous pets.

But none of this was on the Headmaster's mind today as he pulled his cloak's collar up higher around his neck and enjoyed the crisp, clear beautiful winter day. Now that he had decided to do so, he looked forward to a chat and a visit with his loyal Gamekeeper.

As Albus neared the ramshackle but cozy hut, he could see the smoke easing cheerily from the chimney, and he grinned, remembering how Hagrid had politely refused Headmaster Dippett's offer for him to move into quarters in the castle itself, saying that he greatly preferred his more or less wide open spaces. Unfortunately, this reverie was cut short when he heard a low cry of pain coming from the base of a tree just off the path. Faster afoot than most would ever suspect of Albus Dumbledore, he hurried to see who or what was hurt.

"Oh dear," Albus breathed when he came upon his own young son, covered in melting snow, and clutching at his left hand as he struggled to stand. "Easy, easy there, Brian," he said. "Let me help you, boy." Dumbledore stepped closer and put both arms around Rollins, gingerly helping him to sit on a plain wooden bench that had been roughly hewn from a nearby log…it must have been Hagrid's handiwork to make this a favorite spot to sit and think, taking in the lovely view of the Black Lake and the Forbidden Forest.

"Hullo, Professor," Brian said quietly, recognizing the Headmaster at once when he squatted down in front of the boy to look more closely at him and to check him for injuries. "What are you doing out here, sir?" Rollins' eyes were glazed and he looked feverish, but he was still trying to get to his feet, seemingly unaware that he was resisting Dumbledore's hands on his elbow.

"How about you sit there a moment, Mr. Rollins," Albus said firmly, keeping a restraining hand on what he hoped was Brian's uninjured arm. He drew his wand from a pocket inside his robes. "Let me take a look at you, alright? Hold still, please." Dumbledore was no trained Healer, but he could easily run a quick medical diagnostic spell.

Brian smiled and subsided at once at the kind but authoritative tone from his school Headmaster. "Okay, sir," he replied, sounding a little confused or distracted. At least he was no longer favoring his left hand or trying to hold it protectively to his chest, rather slowly clenching and unclenching his fingers into a fist a few times as if a tingle was dissipating.

Albus knit his brow with concern, and conjured a quick phoenix Patronus to fetch Hagrid, whom he fervently hoped was nearby (Albus used this means often with The Order of the Phoenix business: colleagues could summon variants of their own Patronus to act as a very reliable messenger. It had proven handy in emergency situations). "Did you fall, Brian?" asked Dumbledore, checking the blue, green and red runic symbols which now floated in the air above the boy's head and shoulders.

Brian chuckled ruefully. "Not too far, for once," he said, nodding to the lowest branch near them (only about four or five feet off the snow-covered ground). "I was sitting up in the tree, drawing, and I got dizzy all of a sudden. Oh, I need to get my book, sir…" The boy leaned well over to reach his sketchbook that was lying in the snow; Albus recognized it as the same one he had seen in the Transfiguration classroom just the day before.

When he looked up again, satisfied that his drawings were safe, Albus was shocked to see the over-heated flush in his face, exacerbated by his tired and red-rimmed eyes…the boy had been the picture of health the previous afternoon in detention with Professor McGonagall. In short, Brian now looked sick and exhausted; and, despite the cold, he was sweating profusely. The elder wizard touched Brian's face gently with the back of his hand and drew it away, flinching as if he'd bumped into a lit fireplace. Albus would later recall a strong magical thrumming pulse as he touched his son's bare skin.

Dumbledore stood, tucking away his wand, and heaved him up from the bench as carefully as he could manage; Brian was not very well-balanced on his feet, and leaned on the older man as he put his arm around him to give him some support. "Come on, lad; let's get you to the hospital wing to see Madam Pomfrey."

Brian smiled again, clearly looking right at Albus, the expression in his eyes even more glassy and distant than it had been a minute earlier; he was weakening rapidly it seemed. "Okay, Dad. It won't take long, will it? I don't feel well today…" he said, very softly. And with that, he fainted into his father's arms.

Luckily, Hagrid came hurrying up at that very moment. "Oops, oops, here now! I came as quick as I could, Perfessor Dumbledore, sir," he said as he caught Brian up in one hand and kept Dumbledore from falling on the slope with the other. "Tch, tch, poor boy, Squid…out here catching a chill…I've got him, sir." As if Brian were a limp rag doll, Hagrid easily scooped him up and cradled him securely in both arms.

Albus literally had to shake his head to pay attention as he steadied on his own two feet, not sure if he had heard Brian correctly. No, he had heard correctly. "Thank you, Hagrid. I was coming out to pay you a friendly visit when I came across…let's get up to Madam Pomfrey though. I'll call ahead." Taking out his wand for a second time in as many minutes, Albus conjured another Patronus and sent it to the castle's hospital wing; the Head nurse would be expecting them shortly. As he hurried along beside Hagrid, he conjured a third phoenix messenger to let Minerva know what had happened.

When the trio reached the hospital wing, Poppy Pomfrey was there waiting to escort them into a private exam room; a number of students were already occupying beds on her ward, most suffering from cold weather illnesses, or from holiday over-indulgences of all sorts. She caught the look of grave concern on the Headmaster's face, and was glad she'd thought of the enhanced privacy that one of the tiny rooms would give them.

"Right here if you please, Hagrid," she said crisply, indicating the bed near a stand of her instruments and assorted vials of commonly-used medicinal potions. Pomfrey was efficient in her magical removal of Brian's wet jacket, snow-boots and clothes while she ran through several rapid diagnostic spells; she was most concerned about his elevated body temperature. "Forty point three degrees. That is far too high for this child. Fiona, extra blankets please, dear." The new assistant Medi-witch immediately left to get them from the other room; they would chill the fabric to bring his temperature down safely.

As Brian lay there on the exam bed, stripped to his undershorts and sweating profusely, he had not yet regained consciousness. But when Albus stepped nearer to the bed, Brian gave a cry of dismay and suddenly sat upright and grabbed onto him. The boy clutched tightly at his robes, burying his face in Dumbledore's beard and chest, and weeping with pain.

"Dad! Dad, it hurts," he sobbed. "It really hurts."

Albus hesitated only a moment, and then he sat down on the edge of the bed and wrapped his son in what he hoped was a comforting embrace. His skin felt hot to the touch, even under so much perspiration. "I'm sorry, Brian, it's alright. Can you tell us what hurts?" Instinctively, Dumbledore rubbed the boy's back in soothing, random circles, and held his head closer. "Shh, I know, son…" He could detect his son's racing heartbeat underneath palm of his circling hand.

Brian couldn't answer right away as another wave of pain washed over him (and Albus felt another surge of magic emitting from bare skin). Fighting to get his breathing back under control, Brian choked back a gasping sob. "My head hurts, and I'm so hot," he managed to say. "Dad, please make it stop!" A low groan escaped from the back of his throat, though he tried to suppress it. Beads of sweat dripped from his hair onto the bed and mingled with the tears he shed on the velvet of Albus' robes.

Both Pomfrey and Hagrid looked at each other, their eyes widening, but it was the Head nurse who recovered first. "Albus, if you can get him to lie here, we can cool him down more easily," she said gently, forcing herself back into a more detached clinical mode. Dumbledore nodded and wordlessly conjured away his heavy cloak and hat. He looked up and knew that all three of them wore the same expressions of genuine concern.

"Brian? Son? Madam Pomfrey is going to help you, but you need to lie down on this bed for her," he whispered in his son's ear. "It won't hurt a bit, we promise." Dumbledore concentrated on regulating his own magical pulse, hoping to calm Brian with his voice and his closeness. He fervently hoped it was the right thing to do.

This brought on another groan. "I can't. I can't let go," said Brian, shaking his head and holding on to the front of Albus' robes more tightly than before.

"You are being very brave, Brian. Just a wee bit longer and then Madam Pomfrey can give you a potion that will help, alright?" Dumbledore told him, carefully disengaging the boy's fingers and easing him back. "The Healers need to run additional diagnostics now; will you try to lie down here for me please?"

"Yes, sir," he panted. "Ahhh! Please Dad, please…" From the way Brian's breathing had quickened, they could all see that the pain was rising and subsiding for some as yet unknown reason. As he lay back, closing his eyes tightly, his legs convulsed and it was as if he were trying to curl into a compact ball, fighting against an inner agony. Every muscle in his body was cramping.

The Medi-witch assistant had returned and placed several rolled blankets near Brian's head and passed others to Poppy, who tucked them along his arms and legs. The Head nurse whispered Cooling charms for each blanket, directing Albus to carefully hold Brian's arms at his sides. He seemed to relax almost immediately as the cooler cloths started to work on bringing his temperature down. Madam Pomfrey conjured a light blanket to cover his chest and body, so that he didn't get chilled too quickly. Her assistant, Fiona, dampened a soft flannel cloth to wipe Brian's forehead and face; tears and sweat drenched him.

Hagrid made his way to the door while she was tucking the last blanket around Brian, surreptitiously wiping at his eyes with the back of his thumb (his own father had died while he had still been at school). "I'm taking up too much space in here now, sir, but I'll see if I can't find Professor McGonagall straight away." It was an honest observation on his part: Hagrid always looked too big to be allowed indoors, even in the Great Hall of the castle.

Albus looked up and nodded with sincere gratitude, his blue eyes bright as a lone tear trickled down the side of his very crooked nose, disappearing into his silvered beard. "Thank you, lad; I truly do appreciate what you do for us," he said softly. Hagrid was one of the few who really knew about Dumbledore, McGonagall and now, Rollins.

Minerva rushed in, rather out of breath from her run across the castle in her Animagus gray tabby cat form, just as Poppy was administering another diagnostic spell over the length of Brian's body. Her eyes flew open when she saw Albus sitting on the edge of the bed, holding the boy's hand in both of his; Brian's breathing had returned more or less to normal, but he was still hot to the touch and had already soaked through the light covering blanket they had tucked around him.

"I got your Patronus…what happened? Poppy, is he alright?" She came over to stand beside her husband and her son, tossing her pointed witch's hat toward the extra bedside chair. The Healers worked from the other side of the narrow bed.

Madam Pomfrey nodded abruptly as she read the runic symbols that flowed from the tip of her wand. "Brian spiked a dangerously high fever, Min; we still do not know why and are hoping it is under control now." She turned to her assistant. "Let's replace this blanket and refresh the Cooling charms a bit…I think his body temperature is steady now; too hot, but it's not rising at the moment." The young Healer went quietly and efficiently about her tasks, her attention focused on their patient.

"Mom, you're here," Brian said weakly, recognizing her voice, his eyes remaining tightly shut. He was gradually relaxing as the heat and pain in his head subsided. At least his knuckles were no longer white where he held his father's hand.

Minerva didn't question the situation; she simply reacted on pure maternal instinct. "Yes, Angel, I'm here. Please lie very still while Madam Pomfrey looks after you," she told him, placing a supportive hand on Albus' shoulder, and the other on Brian's damp forehead. She leaned down and kissed her son's hair, brushing it back from his face as she caressed him.

"I will." He gave a relieved sigh and Brian seemed to calm even more when she gently touched his bare skin, and Albus could now feel a slightly different magical pulse transmitted from the boy's hand to his.

The Medi-witch assistant handed her Head nurse a small parchment and went to the cabinet off to one side of the room. "Thank you, Fiona," Poppy replied lightly. When the young witch returned carrying three glass vials, she looked them over and gave her approval. "We'll go with half-doses for the next few hours…watchful waiting, and I don't want to over-tax him in the least."

"I didn't know you had a son, Professor McGonagall," Fiona commented shyly. "You must be very pleased to have him here at school with you." Her glance took in both the Headmaster and McGonagall.

Minerva finally remembered the young witch from at least ten years prior; a quiet and kind Hufflepuff student of Pomona Sprout's House, who had obviously qualified as a Healer and returned to her alma mater to continue her studies of Wizarding medicine with Poppy Pomfrey.

"Thank you, yes, he is our only child," McGonagall said, smiling and trying to recall the woman's last name. "Fiona Ross, is it? I'm glad you came back to us as well."

"Poppy," Albus interjected. "Brian's magic is pulsing oddly; I can feel it in my hands."

"I detected that earlier, but there was no indication of the cause, and no infectious agent was shown. It is not a magical drain, I'm sure; that would give us a different signal in the diagnostic," she replied, shaking her head in mild puzzlement, re-checking the parchment. "Let's sit him up, carefully now, to take these potions." With Pomfrey on one side, and Albus on the other, they gently eased the boy into a seated position; Fiona Ross brought a clean nightshirt over to Minerva which they would put on him after he drank down his medicinal potions.

"Brian? This is Nurse Pomfrey, dear," said Poppy, letting Dumbledore bear the weight of supporting him upright. "Can you understand me?"

"Yes, ma'am," the boy replied, opening his eyes; they were bloodshot and he winced against the bright light in the room. Brian looked around to one side and managed a little smile for Minerva. "Hi, Mom." She stroked his cheek with her fingertips and tapped him tenderly on the tip of his nose, concerned at the glassiness in his eyes; to Albus, he still looked tired and weak, but a bit more alert than he had been.

Pomfrey held up the three tiny vials; one brown glass, the other two clear crystal. "I need you to drink all of these, Brian. They don't taste very nice but they will do the job safely, alright? We need to get this fever down and these will help with that."

Brian made a face as he put each one in turn to his lips and swallowed the thick liquids. He gratefully accepted a cup of fresh water to rinse the noxious flavors out of his mouth, sipping from the straw which the young assistant held for him. "Thanks." After toweling off his hair once more, Fiona helped McGonagall get him into the nightshirt.

As he settled back down onto the pillow, Madam Pomfrey leaned over to speak to him again; she dimmed the lights in the exam room with a flick of her wrist, noting with satisfaction that his pupils were dilating normally and the photophobia had diminished. "The Calming potion will take effect quickly now; you may begin to feel sleepy from it and that's fine."

"Yes, I can feel it working, I think," he said, sounding groggy. His eyes blinked twice, very slowly, and his breathing was calm and even.

"Good lad. The other two were mild pain relievers; your muscles are going to be sore later, I should think," said Poppy, tucking a fresh light blanket around him. "Your Mum, Dad and I are going to figure out what happened, so no worries for you, young man." Minerva was glad, not for the first time, that Head nurse Poppy Pomfrey had always had a naturally reassuring bedside manner. Even back when the two witches were at school together, Poppy was easy to talk to and to simply be around.

He smiled as his eyes were closing. "Okay." He gave his father's hand a feeble squeeze before his head shifted slightly on the pillow, and within heartbeats, he was sound asleep.

"Thirty-nine point six," Pomfrey reported, reading additional runes that streamed from her wand as she ran the next diagnostic spell. "Set your monitor to check on Mr. Rollins at thirty minute intervals, if you please, Fiona. I need to speak to his parents privately a moment."

Fiona Ross nodded briefly and looked at the two senior Hogwarts faculty members. "We'll see him right, Headmaster," she said quietly as she left the exam room.

Once the young assistant had exited, Poppy turned to Albus and placed a warm hand on his arm. "I'll Obliviate her myself, if you feel it necessary, Albus. But I don't think it will be," Poppy told him. "It may be good for Brian's treatment if she knows who you are."

Dumbledore had removed his glasses and was rubbing his eyes. He sighed. "I'd say you had added Legilimency to your repertoire of skills if I didn't know better, Healer Pomfrey."

Minerva had to chuckle softly in spite of the situation. "We can deal with that later. Why would Albus be feeling Brian's magical pulse?"

"He knew me, Minerva, earlier when I found him outside and again when the fever was peaking here just a while ago," Dumbledore said, nodding affirmatively at her look of surprise. "Brian very clearly called me 'Dad', several times in fact. And he recognized your voice…called you 'Mom' with his eyes closed."

McGonagall looked to the school matron, who confirmed this. "I won't know for sure until this afternoon or this evening when I can speak to him, and ask a few questions," Pomfrey began as she refreshed the Cooling charms on the rolled blankets which surrounded Brian's body; they could speak quietly without disturbing the boy, and still reassure themselves by watching over him as he slept.

"But that's what I think this was," she continued. "A severe asynchronicity of his magical pulse. Did he have a bad fall or an accident recently? Not necessarily a magical accident; our students are well-protected by the wards of the castle, and so few of them are in residence over the Christmas holiday."

Albus shook his head. "He said he fell out of that juniper tree near Hagrid's, only about four feet or so, and into a relatively deep snow bank."

"There wasn't any bruising, or signs of concussion though," Poppy commented. "What was he doing out at Hagrid's?"

"Drawing in his little sketchbook over there." Albus nodded over to the bedside table, cleaning and replacing his spectacles on the bridge of his nose. "We think it's a dream journal of some kind. He wrote an inscription to that effect."

Minerva recognized the fabric-covered book, and opened it to a page she knew Poppy would find intriguing.

"The Scott Monument in Edinburgh?" asked the Head nurse, a puzzled look on her face. "Interesting; what an odd perspective though." She took the book as McGonagall offered it to her, flipping carefully to other pages of Brian's pencil drawings. "They're all in this odd perspective. I think this one is the Palace of Holyrood or Holyroodhouse; I'm not sure of the proper name."

Brian stirred in the narrow bed, muttering unintelligibly as he rolled over onto his right side. Poppy smiled and conjured a five-foot long pillow parallel to the right side of his body; he immediately wrapped his arms and legs around it and settled down again, appearing to be sleeping very soundly now. She adjusted the Cooling charms again, and ran another diagnostic spell over his body before re-tucking his lightweight flannel blanket.

"The fever's come down to thirty-nine degrees," she told his relieved parents. "That's very good, in fact."

"That's an awfully clever pillow, Poppy," Minerva observed, glad to see her friend smiling at the diagnostic results. "What is it?"

"Brilliant Muggle invention; they call it a 'body pillow'," said Madam Pomfrey. "The children sleep so much better here in hospital with them!"

TBC

A/N: so you don't have to do your own metric conversions…40.3°C corresponds to 104.5°F; 39.6°C to 103.3°F; and, 39°C to 102.2°F (all classified as "high" or "very high" fevers in children; severe headache and hallucinations would be other possible symptoms). My chemistry students are using the metric system now, albeit rather reluctantly!