Chapter Nine: fallout

15 September, 1991

On the Ides of March, 44 BC, Marcus Brutus along with dozens of other conspirators attacked and killed Julius Caesar, stabbing him twenty-three times. Many of these conspirators were men Caesar had considered friends and confidants, those he trusted with his wellbeing only to have that trust betrayed.

Politics, am I right?

The reasoning behind this murderous decision was many-layered, but it boils down to dissatisfaction with Caesar's rule of Rome, which was not only unprecedented but unconstitutional. Old Julius apparently had decided that he was the best hope of Rome's future and elected himself leader for life, with the possibility of a monarchy to follow.

That did not sit well with the nobility of Rome.

Albus Dumbledore has gone and decided that he knows what's best for the magical world, basically elected himself in some imaginary command position where he runs the show from his comfy office as Headmaster of Hogwarts. Everything I've read suggests that his influence on this world's political landscape is nearly absolute.

Only the nobility seem to have a problem with him. The purebloods, the rich and influential who throw their money at politicians who have none and order them around from behind the scenes.

They're despicable, detestable, and my only shot at hurting Albus Dumbledore's standing in this community.

For the moment, I need them.

For the moment.

It's the Ides of September. And hopefully, this day will also go down in history.

-H

…

Sunday mornings were a lazy thing for most students, an occasion to have a lie-in after a Saturday night spent staying out late and getting up to the usual childhood shenanigans. Lately, those shenanigans involved the third-floor corridor, where a trapdoor had been discovered under Snuffles the cerberus (so named because of his habit of loudly sniffing the door whenever any brave soul ventured near) and was now the subject of a thorough investigation by Hogwarts's ne'er-do-well population.

Leading the pack, of course, were none other than Fred and George.

It was shocking to Hermione, how much was happening under Albus Dumbledore's misshapen nose. His dire warning at the beginning of the year had gone not only completely unheeded but in fact had been received as a challenge by a portion of the student body. Now, due to his seeming confidence that no one would dare march into certain and "painful death", he had unwittingly become the instigator of a full-on investigation into the mystery of what Snuffles was guarding.

There had even been talk of smuggling a few broomsticks up to the third floor and flying into the darkness that awaited beyond the trapdoor under Snuffles's gargantuan feet.

None of that, however, was any of Hermione's concern, as she was happy to go to bed at a reasonable hour on Saturday night in order to maximize her possible time spent trawling the library on Sunday. And that was why, as the sun was just peeking over the mountains and casting a golden glow into the corridor she was traversing on her way to the library, she was rather surprised to find that she wasn't alone.

The surprise was not a pleasant one, however.

"Granger," Pansy Parkinson's voice spoke from behind her, laced with venom. As Hermione watched, two large Slytherin boys that she knew as Crabbe and Goyle stepped out from behind a corner in the corridor ahead, blocking passage forward. Turning around, she saw Pansy herself. Unable to fix her hairy predicament, she had opted to guzzle a bottle of Foley's Hair-Growth Tonic, which had at least helped remedy her unfortunate 'do. She now sported her usual slightly-less-unfortunate chin-length bob, though it was still a vibrant green.

Evidently, it stubbornly resisted any attempts she made to dye it any other color.

Standing next to Pansy was a blond boy with slicked-back hair and a pointed face like a rat's. He was clearly trying to appear haughty and superior, but the odd squint to his eyes simply made it look as though he was staring into a rather bright light.

"Parkinson," Hermione greeted the girl. "And…Malfoy?"

"Draco Malfoy," he said imperiously, and Hermione couldn't hold back a little snort. Did he fancy his martinis shaken, not stirred? The name sounded more like a Bond villain to her, though.

"Think my name's funny?" Draco Malfoy said. "Like I care about the opinion of some upstart mudblood."

"Getting creative with the insults, I see," Hermione observed. "Your dad teach you that one?"

She suddenly felt a looming presence behind her, and her arms were painfully seized in the twin grips of Crabbe and Goyle. Goyle in particular didn't seem bothered about squeezing too hard, and Hermione was ashamed to admit she let a little whimper at how tightly the burly boy was holding her.

"He taught me how to deal with a mudblood that doesn't respect her betters," Draco told her.

"How exactly are you better than me?" Hermione asked, wincing but seeming unable to control her words. "I seem to recall you're barely managing an 'A' in most classes."

"That's enough arguing!" Pansy spat. "Draco, I don't want my hair like this any longer than can be helped!"

"Yeah, yeah," Draco sighed, advancing on Hermione. "How do we fix her hair?"

"I think it looks fine how it is," Hermione said, tensing as Goyle squeezed down on her arm.

"Answer the question, mudblood," Pansy huffed. "What did you do to – "

"Let. Her. Go."

The absolute ice in the voice that spoke chilled even Hermione, and she was the one presumably being saved. She looked away from Draco's sneering face to see Pansy now standing stock-still, eyes wide with terror, and it was immediately apparent why.

Anyone would be a little unnerved at having a wand jabbing straight into their cheek, especially when that wand belonged to Harry Potter.

"You two," Harry spoke, his voice quiet but cold like ice cracking underfoot, "unhand her. Or her hair will be the least of your concerns. Count of three."

Crabbe and Goyle looked to Malfoy, all three mirroring the same look of shock.

"One," Harry said.

Hermione's arms were suddenly released, and all three boys scrambled away from Hermione as though she'd just been pronounced highly radioactive. Hermione quickly took the opportunity to scamper over next to Harry, feeling no shame in hiding behind her rescuer. Satisfied, Harry withdrew his wand, leaning back to speak quietly to Hermione.

"Run."

He immediately took off, grabbing Hermione by the wrist and pulling her along. It was only seconds later that the other four realized they had the advantage in numbers now that the hostage situation had been resolved.

Boy, adding magic wands to the mix really elevated school bullying to new heights.

"Wait, go after them!" Draco's voice shouted.

"Go!" Pansy shrieked, and two heavy sets of footfalls began thundering behind them.

"Levigatus planicia," Harry said, aiming his wand over his shoulder. Seconds later, the footsteps cut off, immediately followed by twin shouts of alarm. Hermione chanced a look behind her and burst out laughing when she saw Crabbe and Goyle sliding across the floor like they'd just took a flying leap onto a skating rink.

"Where are we going?" she asked Harry, who still had her wrist in his grip.

It was infinitely more preferable to Crabbe and Goyle.

"I don't really know," Harry admitted. "Where were you headed?"

"Library," she said. Behind them, the sounds of Malfoy and Pansy shouting as they joined the pile on the slippery four nearly had her doubling over in laughter again.

"Shortcut behind the painting of Lehmann the Librarian up ahead," Harry said, pointing with his free hand. He veered left, leading Hermione to a nearly floor-to-ceiling painting of a librarian precariously balancing a stack of books.

"Don't, don't you do it, you'll make my spill my – "

Harry yanked the portrait open and ushered Hermione through to the sound of an anguished wail from the librarian as his books spilled to the floor. The passage shut behind them, his muffled mutterings following the pair down a narrow hallway.

"Is he going to be okay?" Hermione asked.

"Leopold Lehmann was the very first Hogwarts librarian," Harry said by way of answer. "That portrait's been hanging in that hallway for near eight-hundred and fifty years, and he spills those books at least twenty times a day."

"That sounds horrible," Hermione said with a shake of her head.

"From what I've read, Godric Gryffindor wasn't especially fond of Leo," Harry told her. "Evidently, he fancied himself a poet and wooed a girl Godric was interested in, things got really serious."

"How dramatic," Hermione observed as they strode along. "Um…might I have my wrist back?"

Harry glanced down at his fingers still wrapped around her wrist, seeming to only just realize he hadn't let her go. He released her as though burned, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his pressed slacks.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"Oh, it's alright," Hermione said with a warm smile at him. "Thank you for coming to my rescue."

"Four against one," Harry said with a shake of his head. "Hardly fair."

Hermione had heard from Fred and George that Harry was…unusual, though aside from a stoicism that was admittedly odd for a boy of eleven, he seemed perfectly polite. And quite knowledgeable.

And a bit dashing.

Oh boy.

Say something, she urged herself. Don't stand around developing another schoolgirl crush.

"It really amazes me that even with wizard society of the British Isles about to collapse in on itself, these rich purebloods would still rather ostracize and belittle muggle-borns and marry their own cousins than mix up the gene pool a little bit," Hermione said into the silence. The secret passage came to an end ahead of them, and Harry obligingly moved a tapestry aside so Hermione could step through into a long corridor looking out into one of Hogwarts's many courtyards. Currently, the Herbology Club looked to be holding some sort of early-morning nature study among the plants.

"Have you ever heard of the Masculum Crisis of 1693?" Harry asked, and Hermione shook her head. "Wizards love their Latin. Around 1688, wizard families just stopped having girls. They just stopped. To this day, no one has any idea why, if it was a curse or just really awful luck. For around twenty years, every new child that was born was a male, and despite there being plenty of muggle and muggle-born women around to marry and have nice families with, the purebloods of the time fretted about the potential end of their bloodlines, because the thought of marrying anyone non-magic or with non-magic ancestry was just so abhorrent as to not even be considered an option."

"That tracks with what I've learned about pureblood families," Hermione muttered.

"So, the various families veered off into three different camps," Harry went on. "Quite a few of them just put aside their prejudices, married muggles and muggle-borns, and discovered a school of thought outside of their bigotry. Happy ending."

"How lovely," Hermione said.

"Oh, it's not done being depressing," Harry said. "The second group, which eventually went on to become the Sacred Twenty-Eight, followed nearly the same route, except they buried the evidence of the 'tarnishing' of their bloodlines…including the mothers of their next generation. Find a muggle-born witch, get your female heir…"

"How…decidedly not lovely," Hermione said, feeling a bit sick at the thought of those poor girls…

"The third group is where it gets forehead-to-the-wall bizarre," Harry said, still in that same flat and disaffected tone, like he was only mildly interested in his own story. "See, there was an alchemist at the time, Halford Ulric. And his idea for solving this crisis? Take half the boys, feed them a potion to turn them into girls."

"…Come again?"

"I'm sure that's what most of the people at the time said," Harry told her. "Some of the families, though, they were all for looking into it. So Halford Ulric got to work. And he failed. A lot. Which happens, nothing unusual in trial and error. But he's testing it out on the muggles in the nearby villages, because who cares about muggles, am I right?"

Hermione rolled her eyes; again, that tracked with what she knew of most purebloods.

"Well, the other families get wind of what he's doing and put a stop to it, tell him if he wants to pull his crazy experiments he can go off and do it, but only on consenting subjects from now on," Harry said. "So he has to test the potion on the remaining pureblood families that haven't chosen the other two options, and suddenly they're not so invested in this course of action. But he basically lies to them, he's come too far to back out now. He fine-tunes his final batch, tells them the last round of tests was completely successful, and he even believes he's got it. They all show up at Ulric's place thinking they're about to make history… Seven boys down the potion, probably already feeling a bit weird about being told they're going to be turned into girls and give birth to the next generation. Instead, they all die."

"Oh, no," Hermione said. "What did Halford do?"

"He disapparated on the spot," Harry said. "No one knew what happened to him until a couple hundred years later, his descendants turned up in France. He'd bankrupted his entire family pursuing this potion of his, gotten obsessed with completing it."

"That happens a lot with wizards and witches," Hermione said, glad to have something to contribute to the conversation. "There's this really pervasive attitude of wanting to change the magical world and sort of immortalize yourself in the form of a big discovery. They get so fixated on it that they dedicate their entire lives to it, even ruining their family's legacy for it. I think that's what happened to the Weasleys."

"Your friends, Fred and George?" Harry asked, and Hermione nodded.

"Supposedly, their great-great-grandfather wanted to develop the first trans-Atlantic portkey," Hermione explained. "He spent the better part of his life trying to work out an enchantment array. From what the family says, he got so invested in it, spent so much time trying to figure it out, he didn't want to quit. He'd dedicated so much of his life to this pursuit, he couldn't imagine abandoning it."

"Someone needs to teach wizards about the Sunken-Cost Fallacy," Harry pointed out.

"Exactly!" Hermione said.

They had reached the library by now, and Harry led the way in. Hermione was endeared to the boy even more when she saw the way he visibly relaxed once they were inside, the presence of so many books seeming to have a calming effect on him.

She could absolutely relate.

Harry turned to her, regarding her in thoughtful silence for a moment.

"Did you want to sit together – "

"Yes."

…

"A study date with Harry Potter himself?" Daphne asked. "You go, Hermione."

"We're all sleeping in on a lazy Sunday, and she's out networking like a proper snake," Bella smirked before lighting up as a thought occurred to her. "Oh my goodness, tell me there was a cute little hand-touch moment, like you both reached for the same book and your hands touched and you locked eyes…"

"Nothing of the sort happened," Hermione insisted on a scoff, feeling her face heat up at the thought. She took a sip of her tea, looking pointedly away from the girls and into the fireplace of the Slytherin common room. "It wasn't a date, we just sat together in the library and occasionally discussed the week's History of Magic lesson."

"…Stirring atmosphere," Daphne said. "The boy's a natural romantic."

"He is eleven," Hermione said with a roll of her eyes. "I'm twelve at the end of the week, hardly the age to be thinking about dating and boys and romance."

"Well, you're precocious in every other way, why not the dating field?" Bella asked with a shrug as she sipped at her own cuppa.

"Wait…Hermione, your birthday is this week?" Daphne asked as she stirred her tea.

"Thursday," Hermione said. Daphne stopped dead with a dripping spoon hovering over the cup before reaching out to take Hermione's arm. Hermione was unable to resist a wince as she took the one that Goyle had savaged earlier.

"I only have until Thursday to get you a gift—what happened to your arm?" Daphne suddenly noticed Hermione's expression, letting her go and rolling up her sleeve to reveal a bruise wrapped around her forearm above her wrist. Goyle's gorilla-like grip couple with Hermione's alabaster complexion meant that it hadn't take much to leave a mark. Daphne's tone was suddenly flat and serious. "Hermione, what happened?"

"It was…just Pansy and Malfoy being idiots," Hermione said, but Daphne fixed her with a beady-eyed look that promised unceasing and relentless questioning until the truth came out. Sighing, Hermione explained the situation with Pansy, who had evidently contracted Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle as her enforcers in a bid to have her hair returned to normal and exact some revenge.

She couldn't keep a small swoon from her voice as she described Harry's heroic entrance and creative escape.

"So you didn't just run into Harry in the library," Bella surmised. "He saved you from the big bad bullies. That's a hundred times more romantic, you should have led with that."

"Well, I'm sorry my storytelling isn't up to snuff," Hermione huffed, looking over to see Daphne still staring daggers at her. "What? Daphne, I'm sorry I didn't say anything – "

"From now on," Daphne said, "you tell us if someone hurts you. Promise."

"Daphne, I promise," Hermione said with a smile. "I'm sorry. I should have told you."

Daphne seemed mollified by that, even gracing Hermione with a ladylike sticking-out of her tongue.

"You're not going to swear eternal revenge on them or something, are you?" Hermione asked, and Daphne rolled her eyes.

"Heavens no, nothing so dramatic," she said in a put-on posh tone. "I'm going to tell Fred and George."

"…So quite a bit more dramatic," Hermione said.

…

At lunch, Daphne made good on her promise, and while Hermione steadfastly ate a bowl of delicious chicken stew, she listened to her friend recount the morning's tale secondhand but with so much detail and dramatic embellishment that Hermione questioned whether or not she'd actually been there to observe the proceedings. Only when she felt gentle hands take hold of her arm did she look up and see Fred's gaze obviously warring between fury and concern, settling on concern as he observed the bruise blooming on Hermione's arm.

"It really doesn't hurt that badly," Hermione insisted, and Fred rolled his eyes.

"Have you been to see Madame Pomfrey?" he asked.

"She dabbed a bit of Bruise-Be-Gone on it, but she says it'll take a few hours to take full effect," Hermione insisted. "Daphne insisted I go."

"Thank you," Fred said across Hermione to Daphne who flashed him a grin. "Georgie?"

"Let me scarf this sandwich and we're off," George said on Fred's other side.

"Off where?" Hermione asked.

"To do what Slytherins do best," Fred said.

"Revenge," George added with a theatrical flourish of the last bite of his sandwich before he popped it into his mouth. "Alrigh' ef's 'oo 'is."

"Fred, you don't have to – "

"The hell we don't," Fred said with a scowl. "He messes with you, he messes with us."

"Rule number one of being a Slytherin," George said. "Maybe he'll learn something today."

"That boy," Daphne said as the pair strode away, "is completely into you."

"Fred?" Hermione asked, and Daphne snickered.

"As if you don't know," she said. "He has a proper crush on you."

"Oh, please," Hermione huffed, sipping primly at her goblet of pumpkin juice even as she felt her face heat up. "He has a little sister; he's probably just…funneling his affections for her toward the nearest girl he feels a connection with."

"I seriously doubt he looks at his little sister the way he looks at you," Bella pointed out. "Unless the Weasleys are one of those pureblood families."

"Yuck," Daphne said with a distasteful curl of her lip. "Don't even joke about that. The Flints went down that path, and look at Marcus. Or…don't actually."

But Hermione did, peering down the table to where Marcus Flint was currently attempting to eat a steak with just a knife, succeeding only in sustaining a number of stab wounds to his mouth and tongue. With his massive front teeth, it was a wonder he didn't simply take the thing in his hands and begin eating it like some predator.

…Which he did, seconds later.

"He had to repeat his third year," Bella said. "That's what I've heard, at least. He did so poorly at his final exams even Snape couldn't pull enough strings to get him to pass."

"Is he…?" Hermione couldn't bring herself to finish the question or the thought, but Daphne filled in the blanks.

"His mum never married," she said. "Never even had a suitor or an arranged pairing. But she was quite close to her brother. One day, she turned up pregnant."

"Oh…gag," Hermione said.

"It's what the purebloods are resorting to," Daphne said. "No one asked questions, no one turned up their noses. Better…this way than a muggle."

"Do they even realize how – "

"They don't," Bella cut Hermione off. "Or they don't care, if they do realize. They're so wrapped up in their agenda, they don't even see that it's gotten so twisted. When you try to tell them about genetics and inbreeding, they tell you that's 'muggle talk' and plug their ears."

"Anyone with sense is abandoning ship as soon as they can," Daphne said. "Off to America or Australia, where no one talks about pureblood or muggle-born. If you're magic, you live on the magic side of things. If you're non-magic, you benefit from the magic side of things. Have you heard of the internet?"

"…No," Hermione said.

"Well, it's about to become the next big thing in communications in the muggle world from what I hear, and it's already pretty popular in the magical side of…everywhere but Europe," Daphne went on. "But once you hit magical Europe, it's this dead zone of backward politics and pureblood mania."

"I heard that in America, they don't even know about You-Know-Who," Bella said. "Even Grindelwald is just some story they tell."

"Wasn't Grindelwald the most dangerous dark wizard in ages?" Hermione asked.

"In Europe, where his whole message actually had an audience," Bella said. "In America, there are magical supremacy groups, but they're not all that widespread. Most of them are happy living alongside the muggles."

"Or way above them," Daphne said. "In those floating cities. I'd love to see one someday."

"Oh, I've seen the flying cars they have," Bella said. "So flash, it'd be wicked to be chauffeured around in one of those."

"Flying around to the department stores and loading up a bunch of shopping bags with the latest American fashions," Daphne said dreamily.

"Getting dressed all posh and taking in a show," Bella added.

"You two aren't about to break into song and dance about the big city, are you?" Hermione asked, and Daphne snorted, leaning against Hermione.

"You scoff, but you'd be the main character of the musical about a bookish nerd who gets a big-city makeover and wins the man of her dreams," Daphne said.

"Those sorts of stories are far too chauvinistic for me," Hermione said with a shake of her head. "A woman shouldn't have to doll herself up just to win a man's affections."

"Maybe not," Bella said. "What if she dolls herself up because she wants to, though?"

"Well, that's just empowerment," Hermione nodded. "A perfectly acceptable reason for a makeover."

"Hm…" Daphne peered up at Hermione from her resting spot on her shoulder. "Might be fun to give you an empowering makeover sometime."

"Don't even think about it," Hermione said with a smirk.

…

Albus was growing a bit concerned. Severus had been supposed to show up on Saturday for tea and a discussion over his most recent Potions lesson with Harry. Albus had wanted to debrief the surly professor and ascertain just how upset Harry might be over his continuing association with Severus.

But Severus hadn't shown.

It was unlike him to miss an appointment; one of Albus's favorite traits of Severus's was his unfailing punctuality. A cursory check of his office and living quarters earlier this morning had turned up no disturbances, no lingering spell effects, not even a piece of furniture out of place. It was as though he'd simply gotten up and left without a word.

But Severus would simply never do such a thing.

He was just pondering a letter to Alastor when a stern and insistent rapping of knuckles sounded on his office door. The sound haunted Albus's waking nightmares and meant only one thing: Minerva was officially on the warpath.

"Enter," Albus said as the door flew open. The Deputy Headmistress was in fine form today, storming toward Albus's desk and slamming down the Evening Prophet with nary a word of greeting. Looking up at her steely face, Albus felt a creeping sense of dread as he turned his gaze down to the headline:

Hogwarts Exposed!

Mysterious and Deadly 'Third-Floor Death Gauntlet' Prompts

Immediate Investigation by Board of Governors

by Skeeter Valentine

For over a thousand years, the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has been the pinnacle of magical education the world over, considered by many to be the very safest place there is—and what else could one reasonably expect when the education of our magical youth is in question? Parents have been sending their children to Hogwarts for centuries to receive the finest teaching possible, entrusting the castle and its dutiful staff with the care and nurturing of our world's youth.

However, in recent years, current Hogwarts headmaster Albus Dumbledore—whose immense influence and paragon-like status among the wizarding world's older generation can be considered troubling by some—has fallen under fire for his controversial and outright dangerous decisions. From a caretaker who gloried in the abuse and torture of his charges to detentions spent wandering the otherwise Forbidden Forest, his continued enforcement of archaic and inhumane policies has been cause for no small amount of scrutiny.

And given recent revelations, his reign of madness is only growing more bold.

Early just this morning, an anonymous tip was sent to the Daily Prophet offices, detailing a frightening account of deadly peril hidden right in the middle of this place of education. The following pages contain shocking imagery that may be distressing to sensitive readers.

Albus turned the page, his eyes going wide when he saw Hagrid's three-headed dog, Fluffy, growling out from a full-color spread of pictures. Along with the cerberus, the bundle of Devil's Snare was seen, as well as Filius's flying keys, Minerva's chessboard (the picture made sure to show the violent process of taking pieces in action), the massive mountain troll apparently distracted by some noise but still quite visible, Severus's potion puzzle (the instructions of which had been transcribed and sent in to ensure readers knew about the possibility of deadly poison), and finally, the Philosopher's Stone resting atop the pillar that was its home until the Mirror of Erised was made ready to house it.

Along with each photo was an in-depth explanation of the puzzle, its purpose, and the deadly hazards it posed to any student that made it past the door leading to Fluffy (which, the article specified, was poorly-locked). The whole piece did a marvelous job of painting Albus as an uncaring and disaffected manipulator, using the school and its facilities for his own unknowable ends while wholly unconcerned of the student population he was endangering.

It concluded on a rather ominous note:

To what end Albus Dumbledore has elected to endanger the hundreds of students at Hogwarts School, we can only speculate. Keeping an item of myth such as the Philosopher's Stone around a castle full of helpless children—with the infamous mass-murderer and You-Know-Who zealot Sirius Black still at large—can only be described as reckless at best and malicious neglect at worst. With the Stone now at large—and the identity of its taker unknown—the Headmaster of Hogwarts has much to answer for.

Time will tell how far-reaching the consequences for this ineptitude will be.

"I told you, Albus," Minerva said as Albus folded the paper shut once more. "I told you bringing that thing into Hogwarts was a fool's errand."

"I'm afraid, Minerva, we'll have to table this discussion for now," Albus said, standing and sweeping around his desk. "According to that article, the Philosopher's Stone has been taken. If that's true, I must confirm it immediately."

"And why, Albus, would the Philosopher's Stone be here, in this school, in the first place?" a new voice asked, one oily and sneering as it spoke. The telltale and rhythmic click of a walking stick impacting the stone floor of his office preceded the appearance of a man with long platinum-blond hair and a pale, pointed face. He wore robes of pure black with a high collar, a pair of matching gloves folding their fingers over each other as he clasped the ornamental silver snake-head of a cane.

"Lucius," Albus greeted the Malfoy patriarch with an incline of his head. "I'm afraid such information is classified."

"On whose authority, precisely?" Lucius asked with a smirk. "You see, as I'm here in my official capacity as a Chairman of the Board of Governors, on personal request from the Minister for Magic himself, Cornelius Fudge…you'll find that there is very little that you may classify from my knowing. I'm afraid, Albus, that enigmatic flair for secrets that you have is no longer acceptable."

"The Ministry has had every faith in me in the past – "

"And look where that's gotten you," Lucius said smoothly, beginning to slowly circle Albus's office. "Cornelius Fudge is exactly the sort of leader our people need at the moment… Soft…kindly…doddering, even. Someone to help us move past the lingering shadow of You-Know-Who's rampage. Oh, and his hero-worship of you is charming in its own way. Still, he gave you quite a bit of leash to run around with, and he now feels that you're getting so focused on your own agendas that you're rather wrapping it around his legs, ready to take off and…trip him up."

"That's quite a metaphor," Albus said admiringly, and Lucius grinned, looking up from his careful inspection of Albus's collection of muggle candies.

"Do you know what Cornelius Fudge lacks, Albus?" he asked.

"I would never presume to," Albus said, though he could think of a number of things the Minister for Magic wanted for.

"He lacks…conviction," Lucius said, picking out a toffee candy and examining it distastefully before putting it back. "He flounders when push comes to shove. He's quite upset with this Philosopher's Stone business, but he could never bring himself to storm into your office and demand your immediate resignation… But I shall be glad to do so."

Albus turned to Minerva, expecting his deputy headmistress to spring to his defense as she usually did whenever the Ministry saw fit to interfere with his school and his work. If there was one thing he'd been able to count on since appointing Minerva as his deputy, it was a biting and caustic rejoinder at even the mere question of his abilities as Headmaster.

Today, Minerva was silent, however, staring at Albus with a hard expression that told him all he needed to know. She was (quite understandably) at her limit; his latest scheme (and it could only be called so) flew in the face of all she held dear, of her commitment to the well-being and safety of her students. Albus admired her stalwart dedication to her convictions even while cursing it working against him at the moment.

Severus was missing.

The stone had been taken.

Its admittedly dangerous security measures had been exposed.

And the Ministry was now breathing down his neck.

Could it get worse?

…

Quirinus Quirrell wasn't sure things could get much worse. Even as he read the news article, he could feel his master's fury at the words welling up. Having been unable to even get past the three-headed dog that had been guarding the corridor, the Dark Lord had at first been content to bide his time until the way became clear, never once considering that someone else might make it past the obstacles before him.

But someone had. And they had absconded with the Philosopher's Stone to who-knew-where.

"This does put a damper in our plans…" the Dark Lord said, his voice a forced calm that Quirinus knew he wasn't. "And you said Severus seems to have gone missing?"

"Yes, my lord," Quirinus said. "I haven't seen him since Friday evening. Perhaps he took it and is now searching for you? To bring you the prize that will hasten your return?"

"It's possible I judged him too harshly," the Dark Lord pondered. "I couldn't risk revealing our secret when he may have been in Dumbledore's pocket. It would seem, Quirinus, that it's time to go on a manhunt."

"We're…to leave, My Lord?" Quirinus asked.

"Posthaste," the Dark Lord said. "Severus Snape has very likely just run off with an item we urgently need. While on our journey, I do believe we will be taking measures to make our partnership more…long-term."

Quirinus gulped at that, staring down at the test papers he had been grading before the Prophet had been dropped in his lap. After his year off to gain some real-world experience, returning to Hogwarts—to grading papers and enlightening students—should have been like coming home again. But he hadn't counted on meeting his new master, having his mind opened and then…occupied… Now, it felt a sham. This life was no longer his, he was no longer his. He belonged completely to the Dark Lord, and it seemed that that still wasn't enough.

"Could you be balking, Quirinus?" the Dark Lord asked. "Do we need another 'lesson'?"

"No, my master," Quirinus blurted. "No, I will make our preparations immediately. We'll be gone before morning."

"Wonderful."

With at least two vacancies in Hogwarts's staff, I'd be interested in hearing who you would like to see as a professor. I could cook up some OCs, but reader input is always appreciated.