Fudge was an idiot.
Minerva was gone.
He was dangerously close to missing Harry's birthday dinner.
Fudge was an idiot.
These thoughts reverberated constantly in Albus' mind as he stared despondently at the literal stacks of parchments now littering his usually pristine office. Were the Fates against him? Everything had gone downhill in less than twenty-four hours. Were he a lesser man, Albus would have dissolved into tears or hysteria (or a combination of both), several hours ago. As it was, he was seriously contemplating abandoning all his positions, if only not to have this amount of paperwork and legislation to wade through.
Things rarely went according to plan. He knew and had accepted that fact a long time ago. However, was it that hard to ask for a perfect day for his ward? Apparently, it seemed so. Already, on this most important day in his Harry's life, he had yet to see him. It had been around five in the morning when Fawkes persistent trilling had driven him from his sleep. Bleary eyed, he had looked inquiringly at his familiar, who clearly conveyed to him that his presence was necessary at Hogwarts, and no, it definitely could not wait a few more hours.
Drowsily he had transfigured his clothing, and, sparing a moment to write a note to Severus, he had flooed out. What awaited him had Albus, even now, regretting ever leaving the comfort of his home. Fudge, with all his lunacy, had decided on a string of alterations to current and pending legislation. Undoubtedly, it was an attempt to regain popularity with the society, for now, more than ever, his political mileage was waning. Catering only to the elites of the population tended to do that. However, it was only now, with elections looming in the not-too-distant future, that the Minister found it prudent to endear himself to the wider populace once again. It only took Albus a brief glance at the first proposal though, to realise (not for the first time) that the man had not a clue as to what he was doing.
And unfortunately for him, as part of his Wizengamot duties, analysing such proposals fell largely onto him – all one hundred and two of them.
Fudge was an idiot.
And then, if that was not bad enough, around nine o'clock a frantic Minerva had hurried into his office. Her accent was thicker than he could ever remember, and so it took him long moments to decipher her hurried words. Her daughter had met with an accident, and she was needed at home immediately. Albus had ushered her off with well-wishes post haste. Family came before everything else, a lesson he wished he had learnt a good few decades before.
It was only after the floo network had closed once again that he really understood the implications of what had just occurred. Minerva was gone, leaving behind all of her duties – duties that now belonged to him. Hoping against all hope, he had summoned her files and paperwork, only to groan in despair. The only things struck off her itinerary were the sending out of term reports, book lists and prefect selections. The welter of work remained. It was no fault of hers. July truly was the slowest month, work wise, for them both and so they often took days off in between.
Nevertheless, now he not only had to complete his headmaster duties, but her duties as well. Not to mention there were Fudge's proposals to veto and...
Something was missing.
Something crucial.
However, he had not recalled exactly what that missing thing was, nor had he for the next several hours. It was not until Fawkes left and reappeared a minute later with a note that he remembered. And with it, his heart fell considerably. Harry's birthday. In the midst of all this chaos, he had forgotten about his ward, something ironic given that he had been one-step away from being hexed by Severus for the past day or so given his constant rambling about his plans for the event. He had dropped his head into his hand for a long moment, sighing in despair.
There was no way he could leave here now. He had barely made a dent in sorting through Minerva's things and prioritising them. Fudge's documents he had yet to touch. His movements had been considerably slower as the day continued to pass. It was with grim determination that he worked, penning out letters. There were the ones to his fellow Wizengamot members, warning them that within a week there would have to be an increase in the number of meetings to discuss the amendments Fudge wanted made.
There were governors who needed informing that he could not possibly meet with them for the remainder of the week, and that they, therefore, could go ahead and draft new policies. They were then to be owled to him for immediate implementation or dismissal. There would be no time this time around for the usual back and forth jostling until a reasonable compromise was reached. There simply would be no time for that.
For all that he worked, Albus was adamant of one thing. He would not miss Harry's birthday dinner (already a downgrade from the evening of activities he had originally planned). He sincerely hoped that Harry would not be too disappointed. Well, he doubted that the boy would be any more disappointed than he was currently. Already, he had broken his own rules. He had missed breakfast with his lads, something that he had sworn never to do. But, more importantly was the trip he had been planning to his coastal residence.
Given his current schedule, he doubted that he could afford the week off he had been planning to move his household there for. It was a major blow. He had been looking forward to seeing his ward and his first experience with the sea. He even had plans of coaxing Severus into joining them on the sand. Maybe the younger wizard would have taught Harry how to swim. He could see none of that materialising now however, and it left him disheartened.
A soft trill sounded from the corner, and turning, he found Fawkes looking at him with some annoyance.
"You think I am overreacting," Albus guessed correctly. "I suppose I am. Harry is not even aware of the trip, nor have I seen any sign of him even being conscious of his birthday in our last occlumency lesson. Did I tell you that those are going a lot better? I believe that he will master it by the end of the year. That is beside the point. Harry will not care that I am absent for most of his birthday. But I do Fawkes. You know why. I won't neglect someone else, even with this. Oh Merlin, why am I even here still?"
The last was said with annoyance, as the headmaster abruptly dropped his quill, not caring that he had just stained a letter he had just spent the past fifteen minutes drafting. Fawkes gave what amounted to a chuckle as he watched his master start packing away the most important of his belongings. He considered himself quite an expert in manipulation, he thought smugly as he watched him prepare to leave. Albus was working himself up unnecessarily. His thoughts for the last hour or so had laid solely on the Cottage House, and so, after growing weary of hearing the same thoughts drifting unconsciously to him, he had 'intervened' – well, facilitated his owner in his ramblings, knowing that he would reach a conclusion.
He had reached the expected one, and, as the wizard stepped into the floo with nary a goodbye, Fawkes bent his head under a wing. Perhaps now he could have a few uninterrupted hours of rest.
oOoOoOoOo
This was the worst summer of Hermione Jean Granger's life. Well, perhaps not the worst. After all, she had spent three wonderful weeks in France with her parents. More than that, this time around she had actually entered the magical part of the country, and had experienced a different variety of wizarding life. It was an amazing place, and she had collected various little items that would undoubtedly prove themselves valuable in one way or another.
Yet, for all her joy at exploring France, she had fallen into melancholy within a few days of her return to Britain. Her parents were not particularly pleased with her at the moment, not that she could blame them. She wasn't particularly proud of herself currently either. It had started back at the start of the holidays, if she was completely honest. She had bid a fond farewell to her friends at the train station, jovially asking them to write to her as she was still trying to convince her parents that allowing her an owl would not constitute animal cruelty. (It still perturbed her mother anytime an owl arrived with mail. It just was not right, she insisted.) At the time, she had dismissed the slanting looks they shot each other. They were most likely more preoccupied with finding their own families.
However, as the days had gone by, she had gotten more and more concerned when no letters arrived. She had mentioned that she would be leaving for France on the 7th of July. At the very least, she had expected a brief note from Lavender, or even Parvati, wishing her a good trip. After all, when Parvati left the school for a few days in February for personal reasons, Lavender had owled her everyday, if only to say hi. Yet, even on the advent of her trip, there had been no such letter. Her mother had reassured her. Her friends had their own families, and the summer holidays were quite different from the three week Christmas and two week Easter breaks. They were most likely busy with their own families. They would owl her with time.
The weeks passed, and still, no letters came. A week ago – their last day in France actually, she had finally owled them. Her father had overruled her mother's concern, especially for the owl that would have to make such a long trip. Written on four cards in her neat script was an invitation to her home for the last week of August. Her birthday was the 19th of September yes, but for the first time ever, she actually had friends to celebrate with, and she wanted to take the opportunity wholeheartedly. It took only a few hours for the heartbreak to set in.
The first reply came from Ron, the loud, slightly obnoxious redhead who always bugged her to allow him to copy from her. More often than not, she allowed him to have her drafts before completely restructuring her work to remove any hints of cheating. He was, after all, among the more popular male students in their house, and it was good to remain in his good graces. He was not coming. His excuse...none. All he had written (on the back side of her note) was that he had other things to do.
Lavender and Parvati's responses had been the same, with only slight differences in wording. Both claimed that they had alternate plans, something she found particularly strange given that she had heard them numerous times in the dormitory sighing over the lack of summer holiday plans. However, while suspicious now, she had still accepted their explanations, slightly disappointed, but understanding nonetheless. So it would not be a large party after all. Perhaps she could just have a small dinner with Neville.
However, it was not to be.
Out of all of her friends, he, she truly believed, had a legitimate excuse. He simply would not be in the country. Indeed, she remembered him saying occasionally that his Gran was planning a trip abroad. In true Neville fashion, he had not remembered the date. His note had come from Belgium, delivered by an aristocratic owl who had flown off without a backward glance. However, what cemented her despondency was the fact that Neville had written more than an apology. His letter to her was almost a parchment length long, and by the time she had finished deciphering his untidy scrawl, she had been near tears, something her mother had immediately noticed. Without a word, she had handed over the parchment while she struggled to compose herself.
They had just been using her and it was only now that Neville had felt brave enough to tell her. Even now, the thought was enough to bring forth a deep feeling of melancholy from within as she recalled what the chubby Gryffindor boy had written to her.
Hermione,
I really would like to come to your party, but I can't. Remember Gran's trip that I mentioned? Well, it's now actually. I'm heading to Belgium in a few hours. Do they speak English there? I wonder, but I'm sure you know. I promise that I'll bring you something. I really am sorry I won't be there. Trust me, I love Gran, but she is scary sometimes. I'd rather spend the day with you. You're a cool person; I don't know why the others don't see that.
Merlin, I knew I shouldn't have borrowed parchment from Gran. It's a penmanship sheet and I can't remove anything and Gran won't give me another. Although, maybe that's a good thing. I've been meaning to tell you something for a while, Hermone, but I really didn't know how to say it. I guess I have no choice now save not sending you this letter. Then again, I really think you need to know.
They don't really like you, Hermione. Ron, Lavender and Parvati I mean. They don't even like me (that's not a surprise, I know. They always call me fatty or something else). That's not the point though. They're just using you because you're smart. I mean, come on, has Ron even tried to do any assignment on his own recently? And the girls, they hardly ever talk to you unless they need something and they always laugh at you when you're gone. I'm sorry to be the one to say it, Hermione, and I hope you believe me. I should have said something before, but I really like talking to you and I figured that you'd choose them over me. They are a lot more interesting.
Anyway, Gran's getting anxious. I hope you have a good party with your friends. You'll have to explain it to me. Is a muggle party the same as a wizard one? Bye.
Neville.
There was extreme irony in that last point Neville raised. A good party with friends; she doubted given the rest of the letter that he meant the Hogwarts ones. She didn't have friends in the muggle world, she never did. Hermione Granger was the freaky genius girl of her primary school. No one talked to her much, because they all thought that she was a teacher's pet or was showing off. She was neither. She loved learning, and helping people to learn. Whenever she helped someone with math or science, she was not disparaging them. What she was doing was just trying to transplant her love of learning on to them. Her teachers had appreciated such a quick witted, enthusiastic student, and so she had quickly gained status among them. However, in the process of doing so, she had also alienated herself from the students around her.
Hogwarts had given her an escape from that. Before the arrival of her letter, she had been on track to move on to a private secondary school. Her parents had believed that she would face less bullying there than at a public school. More than that though was the fact that there were fewer restrictions there. If Hermione proved capable, she could skip years (something she had feverently wanted to do at the primary level). To her knowledge, none of the other students of her primary school had applied to the same institute as hers, so she had hoped for a new beginning. However, she still had had a twinge of doubt that her schooling there would remain the same.
And then it had happened. One morning, just after breakfast, there had been a knock on her front door, and she had opened it to greet an oddly dress aged woman. She had allowed her into the house and had never looked back since. Everything made sense from that moment onwards. All those little incidents that just had no explanation suddenly made sense. Loaned out library books that suddenly appeared on the return cart when she pleaded with the librarian to check, a notebook that never ran out of pages no matter how many times she approached the end of it...those were but a few cases that had bothered her and her parents over the years. However, now they had their answers.
Getting her parents' approval was surprisingly easy, especially when the Professor mentioned that both her parents had ancestors who were magical. Their names were recorded in the school's registry. Jeannette Percy had attended Hogwarts back in the seventeenth century, marrying a muggle. Their union produced a squib. About fifty years later, there had been Michel Granger, who eventually produced a squib as well. Fast forward a few years to when both lines joined, and the individual genes fortified themselves, producing a magical child. Although disappointed that their child would not continue in their profession, they had given her their blessings, and thus she had embarked on her journey into the wizarding world, and had immediately been integrated, and unfortunately, overwhelmed, by it.
The train ride had been an interesting experience to say the least. A blonde aristocratic boy had insulted her, male twins had teased her for studying, and then a frantic boy had begged for her help finding a toad. Then she had met him, the person now responsible for the kernels of guilt she felt alongside her melancholy. He was also the primary reason her parents were not pleased with her.
She could remember their first meeting clearly. Asking about the frog in about ten carriages was not the most pleasant task, especially in a uniform she was still adjusting to. As such, she was admittedly short on patience, and consequently manners by the time she had reached the eleventh. Not bothering to knock she had opened it, already speaking before the door was fully opened. Then she had stopped mid-sentence as her eyes met those of a messy haired boy through his ridiculously oversized glasses. At once, she knew he was just like her. He just had that air about him. He was misunderstood; neglected by those around him. In the moments it took for them to break their gaze Hermione felt that she had seen right through him, and he, her. A bond was formed immediately there and then, one that she later ignored.
For she had been right. Harry Potter was essentially the male equivalent of herself. By the time the prefects were ushering them to bed, Harry had already stepped in to her primary school position. For all that he was famous, the murmurings had already started, speculation rife. And, as she got herself ready for bed, making small talk with the other girls, she knew she had a decision to make. She could either pursue that feeling of kinship that had passed between them on the train, or she could ignore it, and completely depart from her previous life. Or she could acknowledge it, and in doing so risk a return to her outcast status.
She had not completely decided that night, however the next day, after watching the spectacle that was made in the Potions classroom, it seemed that the decision was taken from her hands. As she left the classroom, Lavender had turned to her and remarked "Isn't Potter the weirdest?" and she knew the time had come. She could either dismiss the girl's words and argue in favour of him, or she could agree, and become a part of the quickly forming group among the first year students. It only took her a second to reflect on her past before her decision was made. "Isn't he?" she had replied, and from that moment her path was set.
Hermione regretted her decision at times. She would have been callous not to, especially when he shot her hesitant looks occasionally. And so, she still sat with him on occasion, dismissing it to her friends even as she passed over her notes or homework to them. They seemingly put it down to a little quirk of hers, it was only now that she realised that they probably had no issue with the two oddballs sitting together. What Neville had told her cast the entire school year into a new light for her. Those remarks from Ron were not as playful as she had thought, there really were barbs laced in his words. Those eye rolls from her fellow witches when they thought her to be focussing elsewhere suddenly had greater meaning. To them she was exactly on par with Harry, except for one fact – she was useful to them.
If she had hoped telling her parents this would have garnered her sympathy, she was wrong. Her father had said little. He was a man of few words; however, it had only taken her one look into the eyes so similar to hers for her to see his feelings on the matter. Her mother had been more vocal and had even grounded her because of it. She understood though. Her behaviour, in hindsight was deplorable. She had stepped back from her true self. The real Hermione would have never gone along with the crowd, nor would she have allowed others to sponge off her. This Hermione though had been anxious to have a new beginning, so anxious that she had sacrificed her standards in the process, not even realising it.
What good was it that she had topped her year, when her growth had been purely academic? As a person her standards had dropped considerably. She was determined to fix that though and would start from this very moment. She would completely reassess herself, and those she trusted in her life. Neville she could definitely trust. Indeed, she was half-way through writing a letter of thanks to him. It did not matter that she would not be able to give it to him for a few days yet. She was grounded for the remainder of the week. After that, she could hopefully persuade her father to take her into London to post it. She would have done the same for Harry, except she truly had no idea where he was.
Besides, what she had to say to him needed to be stated in person. There was just no way to put in writing what she needed to tell him. She just hoped that she would afford him the opportunity to do so, and perhaps they could even start over. She would not deny (if he allowed it) his existence in public. Indeed, she was considering doing that to the other Gryffindor first years save Neville. She would try to help him with his practical work and not just for him to gain house points. However, more than that, she hoped that they could be friends, true friends.
She owed him that much, and herself a lot more.
oOoOoOoOo
Staring down at his third ruined potion, Severus knew something had to be done immediately. The old coot was disturbing his brewing, and that was unacceptable. Growling softly, he waved the mess away with his wand. He doubted that scrubbing the cauldron everyday for a month would remove that substance. On the other hand, perhaps he should have saved it until school reopened for his first batch of detentions. Oh well, he would remember next time.
Dismissing the matter entirely for now, he left in search of Potter. He found him exactly where he had left him, playing listlessly in the living room. Damn Albus, he thought, could he not see the effect he was having on Potter? It was not that the boy was missing his guardian as much as he was concerned about him. After all, the dark circles under his eyes were deeper than Severus could ever remember seeing them. More than that was the fact that the last time he had seen the headmaster, his hands trembled visibly, a sure sign of exhaustion. He had inquired of Fawkes the last time Albus had slept, for he certainly had not entered his bedroom here recently. He half expected the jumbled reply the phoenix gave him. The magical creature could not recall.
The only reason, he knew, that the man had yet to collapse was the potions he was taking from his stores. Only this morning, Severus had found his latest batch of Pepper Up potions gone. His alarm would have sounded had Potter been the one to remove it. More than that, Severus suspected that Albus had issued himself a time turner. On his way to his office the previous morning, he distinctly heard the man mumbling to himself. Yet, when he went downstairs, the elder wizard was surrounded by documents in the sitting room. He had reserved comment then. However now, he would act.
"Potter?"
The boy jumped slightly at his voice, before turning his eyes on him. Concern was written all over his face. "Yes, sir?"
"I want you to pack enough clothes for a week into your school trunk. Include your new textbooks as well as any games or novels you desire."
The twelve year old stood slowly, his brows crinkling. "I'm going somewhere, sir?" he inquired.
"We," Severus corrected, "are going to Hogwarts. Now heed me. I will join you in half an hour to shrink your trunk."
Harry nodded and walked forward at the man's beckon. He stopped an inch or so away from him. Severus was pleased that the young wizard did not flinch when he raised his chin to meet his gaze. "You're worried about Albus," the potions master said softly.
"He's so tired."
"We are going to Hogwarts so that I can rectify the situation, Potter," Severus explained.
A smile graced the boy's face, and some of his worry visibly receded. "Can I help?" he offered.
Severus chuckled softly, and moving his hand, tousled his hair roughly. A crooked smile pulled at his lips when Potter looked owlishly up at him. "I suppose we can find you a suitable task. Now, off you go."
"Yes, sir."
The potions master leaned against the doorway, looking up the stairs long after Harry had gone up them. He ran a hand through his hair, snagging and breaking the tie he had been using to hold it off his face. As the hair floated down in a black cloud around his face, he sighed. The things he did for Albus, he mused, finally moving away and heading up the staircase himself. His brewing schedule was going to fall so far behind. He could already envision himself up all night during the last few days of August to get the Infirmary fully restocked.
Pausing briefly before Potter's door, he took out his wand and muttered a spell, temporarily rendering the door translucent. The boy did not notice, and after taking a moment to confirm that his orders were being heeded, he moved on, deciding to tackle the old man's bedroom first. He hesitated for a moment before entering. He could not remember the last occasion he had come into this part of the house. Perhaps it was that time a few years previously when the headmaster had contracted a severe case of Wizard's Flu.
He took a minute to familiarise himself with the bedroom. It was large, with no defined colour scheme. A large four-poster bed graced the centre of the room. Severus bypassed it as he went to the large double oak closet. Before he reached it though, a glimmer of silver caught his attention. Turning slightly, he saw that it was the edge of a picture frame, gleaming in the sunlight that caught his attention. He hesitated briefly before going to it. There were three frames on the man's bedside table.
The first was a simple black framed one that he quickly bypassed. It was a picture of himself beside the man. A half-smile framed his face while Albus looked towards him with a wide smile. If one stared at the picture for a few seconds longer, Fawkes would appear in it, startling them both. His image would glare at the bird while the headmaster threw his head back in laughter. It had been taken before Albus had returned his pensieved memories to him, and it was an image he preferred not to dwell on. The second frame he paused longer on before picking it up.
When had this been taken? It was a picture of himself and Potter in the living room. He was seated on the armchair, his hands gesturing as he explained something. Potter was cross-legged on the rug looking up at him with an engrossed expression, and, as he watched, he bent forward to poke the boy's nose, causing Potter to crinkle it and laugh. Shaking his head lightly, Severus put the picture aside before turning his attention to the frame that had originally captured his notice.
His face was unreadable as he perused the image. He did not touch this one; instead, his hand ghosted over it with an oddly reverent gesture. Severus passed a hand through his hair as he turned away, unwilling to look at the three persons any longer. It felt wrong to be looking at the image, especially with the knowledge of how that image affected the man even now. It was not lost to him that the frame was situated between the other two, seeming to link them together. It did actually, he noted, as he turned his back, returning to his original task.
He was only five minutes past his stipulated time when he knocked at Potter's door before entering. His and the old man's belongings were already carefully stored in his pockets. He hoped that they would not have to remain in the castle for more than a week. However, another trip to Cottage House could be arranged if it was necessary.
"Ready?" he asked shortly.
"Yes, sir."
"I trust your judgement then," Severus declared as he shrunk the item before pocketing it.
He noted with mild surprise but approval at the boy's change of clothing as well. He reminded himself as he led the boy down the stairs, that children largely learnt social skills from observations. Sometime in the past few weeks, Harry had noticed that robes were mandatory outside of the home. Thus, without having to be told, he had already changed his clothes and donned a robe. He had also neatened (or attempted to) his hair. He made a note to talk to one of the female staff members present. Perhaps there was a spell to make the boy's hair more manageable? Would there even be other staff members present? He truly could not recall.
"Are you certain you have everything you need?" Severus asked, even as he opened the jar of Floo Powder.
"I think so, sir."
"Very well," he nodded. "Now stay close to me. I don't want to lose you in the floo network."
"Okay," Harry agreed, closing the distance between them.
Clasping a hand on his shoulder firmly, Severus threw in a handful of floo powder before enunciating clearly, "Potions Office, Hogwarts."
They stepped into the fireplace, and were whisked away, leaving Cottage House empty.