A Quest of His Own
By Bambu
Author's Notes: Following the release of HBP, I toyed with a number of book seven concepts. This was among my favorites. Written in 2007, I never pursued it having other projects at the time. Yet, I have always liked the possibilities of using secondary characters' perspectives to tell the main Potterverse narrative. After all, we know Dobby is a hero in his own right.
Disclaimer: The underlying source material belongs in its entirety to JK Rowling (save where she has sold her rights to various entities). Other than my readers' enjoyment, I make no monetary profit from exercising my imagination and honing my skills as a writer.
~o0o~
Following Dumbledore's funeral, the remaining students had left Hogwarts in a pall of shock and barely restrained grief. Minerva McGonagall swept through the deserted halls of the once-impenetrable castle, spine stiff and unyielding, as she made her way to the headmaster's office. In a tightly-controlled voice she spoke Albus Dumbledore's final password, "Faith."
The gargoyle immediately granted her passage. The second her rigid figure had passed beyond public view, her shoulders slumped and her head bowed with the weight of betrayal and uncertainty and grief. However, before she had ascended two steps, her ascent was stayed by the calling of her name.
"Minerva! Minerva, a moment." Filius Flitwick was practically breathless so quickly was he making his way toward her.
But Minerva, for all her steadfast resolution, could take no more this day. "Tomorrow, Filius. Unless Death Eaters are attacking once again, it will have to wait until tomorrow."
She hadn't even turned to look at her diminutive colleague.
His ragged breath echoed off the stone walls of the circular staircase. "No, Minerva. This can't wait."
Turning her head to look at him, he met her gimlet-eyed stare unflinchingly, and she sighed heavily in the face of the inevitable. She gestured, and he demurred, "Witches first, Minerva. I'm not so grief-stricken to lose all common civility."
Despite her misery, her lips twitched at his courtliness. "All right, Filius. What is it that cannot wait until tomorrow?"
"We need to discuss Severus."
"No! I will not…"
"Yes, Minerva! You will!"
"He- he killed Albus!" Minerva placed a trembling hand against the wall, bracing herself, and struggling to maintain her carefully stoic façade.
"There is much you don't know. Please, Minerva, you must listen to me." Filius had taken several steps beyond the Deputy Headmistress and now touched one tiny hand to her white-knuckled fingers pressing against the stone.
"Why?" She barely got the question beyond her clenched teeth.
"Because all is not as it seems, Minerva. All is not as it seems." Flitwick waved his wand in a succession of movements that would have left his students gasping at their intricacy. However, without an audience, the Charms professor was unaware of the graceful demonstration of his craft.
The gargoyle leapt back into place, the stairwell rotated, carrying the teachers to the landing leading to the headmaster's office.
Suddenly, Minerva's outlook brightened. "No more Cheering Charms, Filius!" She frowned at her colleague. "The next time I'll show you how well I transfigure former Charms professors into Hinkypunks!"
Unabashed, the diminutive professor pushed open the door leading into Albus' office. The only changes since the headmaster's death had been a discreet packing of anything which could link him to the Order of the Phoenix, an orderly desktop indicating Minerva's recent occupancy, and the complete and total lack of a beautifully plumed phoenix.
Minerva strode to the leaded window and turned to face her friend.
She knew this was the first time Filius had been in the office since Albus' death, and he blinked rapidly to contain his emotion. Minerva's annoyance lessened considerably. Whatever he had to say must've been very important as he hadn't been out of the hospital wing for more than a day since the attack.
Filius cleared his throat. It sounded more like the cry of a small Crup than a wizard, but it was obvious he was having difficulty speaking now that they were in private.
Minerva crossed her arms and pinched her lips. "Well?"
The Charms professor straightened his already impeccably straight tie, and Minerva's harsh expression softened. Apparently it was enough to encourage her colleague.
"You know," he squeaked, then cleared his throat again. "I've carefully maintained my neutrality in the escalating hostilities. I've never thought a schoolteacher would make a particularly good warrior, Minerva. But, I see now that I must make a stand, and I've decided to stand up for my friend."
She was quick, both in mind and spirit, and her wand was pointed at Filius' head even as she spat, "Severus is your friend?"
"And Albus. They're both my friends, Minerva." Beads of sweat broke out on his brow. He knew Minerva McGonagall was an extremely powerful witch, and even if she had been weaker this year than in the past, and had suffered the loss of her long-time mentor, he knew she was capable of using lethal magic.
"Explain, and do so quickly." Her tone brooked no quarter.
Filius glanced at the slumbering portrait of Albus Dumbledore, and swallowed hard. "One moment." Once again, in enviable sleight of hand, Filius cast a modified Muffliato.
Minerva didn't recognize the spell, but she noticed the rather visual effect of innumerable portraits silently protesting their exclusion from the conversation taking place. An icy tendril of foreknowledge chilled her spine.
"Severus gave me his memories that night," he said.
Her free hand flew to her throat and her wand-hand dropped a few inches, wavering as shock coursed through her. "No! He- but why?"
"So that when the end comes – provided it is the one we seek – I will be able to present evidence in his favor."
Minerva's knees buckled.
Flitwick managed to cushion her fall. He then levitated her to the squashy armchair in front of the small pot-bellied stove in one corner of the office. Taking another chair, he gave her a moment to calm herself. He was impressed that she hadn't relinquished hold of her wand, even in her shock.
She rapidly dismissed the possibility of Filius referring to Voldemort's victory, and settled to the daunting task of finding Severus Snape, avowed murderer of Albus Dumbledore, innocent.
"Just how, Filius, did he give you his memories?"
"They are now my own, Minerva." He spoke with a quiet dignity.
She repeated herself, "No! He—but—" She shut her mouth with an audible snap and collected her thoughts.
Filius cast an Imperturbable over the fire, assuring their further privacy.
"It's no wonder you were unconscious for two days. How much do you know?" she asked.
He smiled wryly, "Everything of pertinence. I know why Albus trusted Severus without question. I know why Severus was forced to kill Albus—" he raised a hand, forestalling her interruption, "—it was on Albus' orders, Minerva. It wasn't a choice Severus wanted to make."
Minerva whispered, "Thank Merlin," in a manner which made it obvious her burden of grief had been two-fold.
Flitwick nodded in acknowledgment, but continued to speak. "I also know about the Unbreakable Vow Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange forced on Severus last summer—" Her gasp startled him. "You didn't know?"
"I didn't know." Suddenly her face was unmistakably feline, like a predator which has discovered its prey. "But it explains a great deal. Albus kept things much too close to his chest. If he were here—" She blinked a few times, but anger burned fiercely in her eyes. "If Albus were here, I'd hex him myself. He knows— knew what I thought about so much secrecy. It's a mistake to keep too much from those who need to know."
Filius nodded his head. "I quite agree with you, which is why I'm here now. If we are to be successful, then our efforts must be coordinated. If I'm to pass you information from He-Who-Must - oh bother - from Voldemort's inner circle, then, Minerva, we must keep each other's confidence. I know, for example, that young Potter has been given a quest by Albus."
"One moment," she interrupted. Then, illustrating that she was no less a Mistress of her craft than he was a Master of his, she pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and transformed it into a thin, translucent bubble. It grew until it completely surrounded the two teachers, even passing through the stone floor.
Their conversation was now completely private.
From the corner of the room, a small figure, comically dressed in everything he owned, nodded his head. It was as he thought. The dark professor didn't want to hurt the kind headmaster. Privately, Dobby agreed with the cat-witch and the little professor. Information shouldn't be kept from those who needed to know.
Harry Potter needed to know.
Dobby thought very hard. Harry Potter was stubborn and very angry. He wouldn't listen right away, and time was not to be wasted.
Who would listen? Who would be willing to believe that the dark professor was still on their side?
Long ears flopped as Dobby shook his head over the idea of Harry Potter's Wheezy listening or being fair. Maybe in another few years; sometimes wizardkind were slow to gain maturity.
Dobby turned his eyes toward the two professors in earnest, urgent discussion beyond his ability to listen. While he would have liked to know what they were saying, it was unnecessary as their unity of purpose was expressed in their gestures.
Who was open-minded enough to listen? Who would listen to what a house-elf had to say?
Dobby bobbed his head sharply, once. Miss Fuzzy Granger would listen. She was very kind. She would listen. And, he thought, she would help.
Between one blink and the next, Dobby had Apparated silently as is the way of house-elves.
He had a quest of his own.