Inklings of Celebrity Chapter Seventeen: Into the Lairs of Dragons

The week waned eventually, but before it did, there were still many memorable moments to be had.
For one, Gatti's daughter met his girlfriend, Sabby. Meia had been going with Gatti to all of his classes, of course, and it was on Friday that Sabby discovered the small waif. The day was warm and sunny, and Gatti was out in the grounds with his daughter, who'd taken a great liking to the broad nature around. His girlfriend then came up to him from wherever she had been, and plopped herself down in the grass beside him. "Salutations," she greeted, "so what's up?"
"Well," Gatti began, "my daughter's visiting me, I found out I had a son, and we have a new teacher. Not much, really. You?"
"I can't say that I have anything as... interesting as that occurring," said Sabby after a pause, then began to interrogate Gatti, yanking him up to his feet to do so. "Why do you have children?"
"Clan tradition."
"Who did you have these children with?"
"A female."
"I figured that much! Who? Was she pretty? Is she still around? Do you love her?"
"Alexia is dead now. She had the facial features that Meia has-" Gatti nodded towards his daughter, "and auburn hair, with hazel eyes."
"So she isn't around any longer? Well, at least I don't feel bad about having you to myself then. I'm sorry about that, I guess. But I am very mad at you for not telling me about it all this time!"
"You never asked."
Sabby snorted. "What was I supposed to ask you? 'Oh Gatti, by the way, could you tell me if you ever had children?' It isn't a common question. What did your parents say to the two of you about it?"
"They said it was about darn time, and they gave us several of their servants. I told you that it was clan tradition."
She glanced over to Meia. "She's so cute! What's her name? How old is she?"
"Her name is Meia, and she is three years old. I'll call her over. Meia!"
Meia came over with flowers. "Look at these, Daddy," she exclaimed, proudly displaying them.
"Very pretty, Meia! What are you going to do with them?"
Meia shrugged. "I'll put them in my hair."
"What if an insect like the flower as much as you do, and goes into it, or stings you? You wouldn't want that," Gatti pointed out.
"Insects like me, they wouldn't do that." This was true enough, as Meia seemed quite immune to both the fears and poisons of insects.
"Here," offered Sabby, who liked children, "I'll come with you to somewhere cooler, and I'll put the flowers in a chain for your hair."
Meia glanced up at this new playmate, and after looking at her father to consent, she agreed. The two went off, while Gatti sat back down on the grass and let the sun shine down on his face. About half an hour later, his very hassled girlfriend came back with Meia. "Back so early? Was there any trouble?" Gatti wanted to know.
"No," sighed Sabby, "everyone has been asking me if I'm her mother. It started with the new Hufflepuff, Lisa Lynn, and went downhill from there. Oh, and I'm still mad at you, so I'm going now."
Gatti hid a smile.

At that day's supper, Snape seated himself quite firmly by Eries at the High Table, much to her discomfort. "I want to congratulate you," he said in what was meant to be a pleasant manner, "on your new post. I certainly hope you will have a comfortable, lengthy stay. If you need anything, don't hesitate to come to me... Eries."
Eries requested, "Would you be able to call me Professor Aston? I'm sure we will not be able to sustain a professional environment otherwise, Professor Snape."
Snape's mouth gaped open soundlessly like a fish's, then closed. "Of-of course, Professor Aston. Feel free to call me Severus at any time, and as aforementioned, come to me with any problems you might have. I'll try to remedy them immediately." Eries smiled and nodded politely, thinking that this situation would never come into play. It was much more natural to go to the Strategos for help, as he would understand her problems better; like when she had asked him earlier that day to teach her time. Also, it would very much not do to encourage this desperate man.
Eries choked on her suppressed laughter on imagining what it would be like if she came back to Gaea married to Snape. It would, of course, be useful for a princess to have married a wizard, but...! Eries was of the opinion that she would rather marry one of the students or another teacher than Snape. "What is so funny?" Snape asked her, practically shoving his face into hers. Eries unconsciously moved away from him several inches.
"Just my musings," stammered Eries, desperately wishing for something- anything- to divert Snape's attention from her.
"Move over, Severus Snape. We all need our own places in the world, and this table is one of those," came a smooth voice from behind, and Snape turned and quaked.
"Yes- yes," he squeaked, and nodded senselessly to Folken, who glanced but lightly at him.
"My wish has come true..." whispered Eries softly to herself, grinned, and sighed gustily in relief. Snape moved over as far as he could, enough for Folken to calmly place a chair in the space at the table. "Is he afraid of you?" Eries demanded of Folken inquisitively, indicating Snape with a tilt of her head.
"Hello to you too, princess," greeted Folken, amused by this breach of eloquence. "Although I'm not quite certain, I believe Severus Snape is really terrified of me."
"Could I ask you do me a favor?"
"What might it be, first?" Folken asked cautiously.
"Would you please help me keep that man at bay? He scares me, because he will not stop attempting to get near me. There isn't anything otherwise faulty with him, I'm sure, but he's just far too desperate. It's frankly annoying, and I'll have to be working with him. Did you know he called me Eries?"
"From what I dimly recall, that is your name, princess, fascinating though it may be. I'll help try to quell his zealous emotions, however, if it will keep us all content. Now, have you memorized the days of the week then?"
Eries though hard. "A week is seven days, starting on either a Monday or a Sunday- usually Sunday- going in order of Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday."
"Good. What else is there in regards to time?"
"In a day, there are 24 hours, and each hour is repeated twice for different things," recited Eries dutifully. "Each hour has 60 somethings-"
"Minutes," Folken prompted.
"Yes, those. And every minute has 60 seconds, which are fast and go like this, this, this, this, this..."
"Yes," interrupted Folken. " You don't have to demonstrate."
"Then there are months," Eries continued. "There are 12 months in a year- our rotation- and the months are like the colors we have, except structured slightly differently."
"If you have a calendar, you will not need to learn the months," offered Folken. "And you still can't quite tell time."
"It's not my fault," said Eries, slightly offended.
"Which is why I still have to teach you this in particular. Here, I'll show you by this watch. First, hours end at twelve midnight, then go right back to a new day afterwards, going to one. The minutes in-between are shown by the long hand of the watch, while..."

It was the last day before the special week ended, and Hermione was up in her dorm, frantically rummaging for her Potions paper. She'd found the first five rolls, but that was only half of it. As she checked under the bed- third time- she heard the door open behind her, and stiffened.
"What are you doing?" came a sharp voice which made Hermione groan inwards. "Shouldn't you be studying, or trying to find yourself a boyfriend, or doing something to fix that mop of yours?"
"I'm looking for my homework, Mama," Hermione replied meekly.
"Homework? Why didn't you have somewhere sensible to put it in the first place?"
"I did, but there are house-elves who clean our rooms, and they may have figured my bookshelf to be far too messy." Hermione ignored her mother's jibes, as experience had taught her to do.
Emily Granger glanced briefly at the bookshelf on the wall. "The bookshelf we gave you for Christmas was supposed to be for all your books and textbooks. We specifically told you that in the letter we sent you- which you never answered. If you want somewhere to put your homework, get a desk."
"I can't, Mama. I don't have enough money and the school doesn't provide them."
"Well, do something! My, Hermione, even though your life is usually so organized, your living spaces never are. It's something you get from that father of yours."
"It isn't mess, Mama. I know where everything is, and I don't happen to need a desk or bookshelf to be able to figure it out."
Emily's eyes flashed. "Don't you talk back to me so ungratefully!" She raised her palm quickly, and Hermione cringed as she brought it down. Reflexes that she'd trained instinctively brought her arm as a shield, yet she still cried out as flesh sharply met with flesh with a crack. "Now," Emily said, breathing hard, "I told you that you have to respect your elders, hm? Remember that! But the real problem is your hair. It's such a mess, and you never even try to remedy it. You'd look like someone to actually be proud of if you'd just fix that bush of yours.
"Another problem of yours is that you don't have a boyfriend. This really worries me, Hermione; it's just not normal. I myself had many boyfriends when I was your age; why else do you think I'd be stuck with a little brat now? Not by choice! I'm starting to suspect you're not quite normal by now."
"That's not true; last year there was Viktor, and this year I went to the ball with Dilandau Albatou."
"For balls, where you have to make public appearances, sure. Nothing too hard, it's just one night, isn't it? I'm talking about someone to go out a few days or so with, Hermione. How else will you ever broaden your experiences and get to know people better?"
"I am just not the type of person with time for either my hair or a boyfriend, Mama."
Emily sighed. "That's why you are going to make time for it, Hermione, because your mother wants you to. Understand?"
"Mama, I just can't do that. I have so much work to do."
"We know your marks are high already, you can let them lag a little. That mysteriously handsome professor of yours wouldn't mind, probably. I don't know about the others."
"What 'mysteriously handsome professor', Mama? You mean Professor deFanel?"
"Of course, Hermione. I specifically instructed you in my last letter to notice good-looking men a little more."
"He's my teacher!"
Emily rolled her eyes. "Come, he can't be that much older than you. Besides, if what I hear is true, he'd be gone next year anyway. Didn't you see me calling him over all those times in class?"
"So that's why! I did keep telling you that my work was fine (and so did he!) but you just wouldn't listen to that."
"Silly girl. I should have thought it was obvious. You definitely need more people skills."
Hermione ignored this. "What about Dad? You're being quite unfair to him."
Emily slapped her daughter hard again. "Don't tell me how to act! I'm your mother, I know what to do!" She didn't stop with the slapping, either. Hermione was crying and sniffing as her mother began to knock her about.
"What are you doing?" came an enraged male voice from the front.
Emily turned hastily around to see whether it was her husband or not. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw it was only a boy about Hermione's age or so. "Discipline," she replied smoothly. "What are you doing in the female side of the tower?"
The boy came closer, and Hermione recognized him through her tears as Dalet. "You know, you remind me of my father," he remarked, ignoring her question. "I'm sure I've come across a similar scene much too many times. Of course, then I didn't have the power to stop it. I do now. Although I've never lowered myself to abuse a lady face-to-face, you are no lady, I'm sure."
Dalet took out his sword and pointed it at Mrs. Emily Granger. "Now, I'll give you a choice; this time. You are going to go away now and stay away from Hermione for the duration of your stay here, and are not going to touch her. You know why? Well, I'm sure you wouldn't appreciate this if it happened to you." Here Dalet thrust the sword downwards violently, and struck it deeply into the bedpost of Lavender's bed. "Although your daughter might not want the same end for you as this, I'll do back to you whatever you do to her. Understand me here?"
Emily weakly nodded, and glanced scathingly at both Hermione and Dalet. "I hope you burn in a Godforsaken Hell, whether you die or not," she told Dalet, and then to Hermione, "You had better behave yourself then, young lady." Then she fled.
Hermione was still breathless on the floor, sobbing, when Dalet left the room; his errand for Lady Selena could wait.

"Allen, you will tell Father what I told you, right?" Eries asked him.
Allen nodded. "Of course, Eries, if he will allow me to, after..."
"Yes," finished Eries firmly; there was no use in bringing up any past heartaches.
"I shall try my best to tell him, if he'll believe me. You know how your father is with me. He'll say that you were under my care, and I should not have let you rebel so easily."
"Then he'll disown me," continued Eries cheerily enough, "and I shall be known as a disgrace to Asturia for abandoning it."
"Like Prince Folken," Allen pointed out to her. He thought Eries and Folken would probably get along well together if they let themselves- but they wouldn't.
"Come, Allen, let's not be disagreeable," Eries cut him off shortly. "So you'll be leaving now, then?"
Allen nodded. "They have the circle set up outside the front entrance for everyone to return to their abodes. I'll simply step into it, and return to Asturia."
"Farewell, Allen," Eries said to him in way of parting, and he bowed to her. He had said all his other farewells several hours earlier, but hadn't come across Eries at that time.
"Eries, could you keep an eye on Selena, to make sure that she is... herself?"
"I'll do that when I need to, Allen, but I believe she's quite alright."
"Thank you, and goodbye, Eries," Allen thanked Eries, bowed to her again, and left. He walked out to where all the parents were gathered around a small circle in the ground, where Gatti was standing with Meia.
"Now, when you get back to Gaea," Gatti was telling her, "just tell your grandparents that you've been visiting me. Show them the letter that I gave you, alright?"
"Yes, Daddy," Meia replied, and he reached down to hug her.
"I'll see you this summer, honey," he promised her, and kissed her on the forehead.
"Bye, Daddy. I'll miss you," cried Meia as she stepped into the circle, and disappeared. Gatti stood and watched the blank circle for several seconds, and sighed.
"So ends another chapter of my life," he quoted from a book he'd once read, and trudged back to the castle.
When he arrived there, much merriment was occurring in the Gryffindor's common room. Fred and George Weasley were taking this to their advantage by demonstrating the use of several of their latest products, and distributing order forms for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Hermione, who was in the common room at this time, wrung her hands in despair.
"What am I supposed to do?" she wailed.
"For what?" asked Harry lazily, watching Colin glowing in different neon shades.
"My work, of course!" she stormed. "Even if you aren't taking it seriously, our OWLs are coming up, and I want to ensure that I get a good head start on studying."
"My!" exclaimed Ron teasingly. "You aren't even studying yet? Shame on you, Hermione!"
"Why don't you go down to the library?" Harry hastily asked Hermione before she could row with Ron again.
"It's closed," Hermione sighed mournfully.
"You and Myrtle would really make quite a pair lately, wouldn't you?" Ron noted curiously.
"Oh, that's the last thing I need right now!"
"Oi, Harry, what should we do now?" asked Ron. "Not much really going on in the school right now, is there?"
"There's a new teacher," noted Harry, "wonder why."
"It's obvious, isn't it?" asked Shesta, strolling past them.
"How?" Ron wondered disdainfully.
"Well, you people have a conflict between this Lord Voldemort-"
"Don't say the name!" exclaimed Ron.
Shesta looked hard at him, then continued. "There's your Lord Voldemort, and everyone is terrified. While your government either does nothing or something, they set out to do what was wanted by the people before as a diversion and to keep them quiet for a bit longer."
"So simple," murmured Hermione. "I wonder why he hasn't done anything to the school yet."
"Maybe he bears a bit of the old alma mater for his school yet," remarked Shesta sarcastically.
"How can you be so casual about it?" Harry angrily wondered.
"Like this," demonstrated Shesta, and started whistling to prove his point. Ron stood up threateningly, not being very fond of any of Dilandau's friends and followers. Shesta simply looked at him again. "What is it?"
"You, your whole group. You annoy me." Ron kicked a fake wand on the carpeted floor.
"So?" Shesta got up and stretched, yawning. "There's nothing you could do to most of us that Lord Dilandau has already done."
"Huh?"
"He's been abusing you," Hermione stated, and Harry could see the foundation of another SPEW-like society forming in her head.
"No," denied Shesta simply. "Nothing at all."
Hermione snorted. "You call him Lord, of course he's done something."
"No. We just call him by title, as seniority requires. What, you've never seen the system for this? Oh, you lead a life of naïveté!"
Hermione sighed heavily. "I think Ron's right about you being annoying, you know."
"He might be, he might not be. But is that your own genuine opinion, my lady, or are you influenced by his speech? That is the real question at hand."
"Of course I'm not influenced by Ron! I'm not some wishy-washy girl who will follow what everyone does."
"I'm sure that's nice for you," replied Shesta vaguely, bored. He was about to leave when Hermione stopped him.
"Where is your friend Dalet, do you know?"
Shesta shrugged. "Wait and he will probably be along eventually." He then left because he saw Gatti in a corner of the room. Noticing that Meia was gone, Shesta figured to condole with his good friend on it.
Hermione stared after his retreating back, and remarked, "You know, I'm really sure there's some odd relationship between all of them."
"Hermione!" Harry was shocked by this.
Hermione suddenly blushed. "Not like that! But all of Ginny's friends-"
"Could you not call them that?" interrupted Ron.
"Fine. But all of those people have a different accent, a unique bearing and aura. If I could put into words, I'd say... but no, it sounds silly."
Harry smiled. "We won't mind."
"Well, it's like an unconscious style of fame, or well-being."
"Inklings of celebrity," summarized Ron, who looked surprised afterwards. "I never even knew I knew the word inkling before," he muttered. "Next thing I know, I'll actually start reading Hogwarts: A History."
"Oh!" exclaimed Hermione. "Did you know there's going to be a new edition of Hogwarts: A History coming out next month? I want to buy it, but it's thirty-six Galleons, I think, so it's really expensive. In that case I don't know what I'll do."
"Ask your parents to get it for you over the summer," suggested Harry helpfully. "Or read a copy in the school library when it's there."
Hermione's face turned sour. "I'll read it in the library then, thanks."
"Oi, Harry, what are you doing this summer?" Ron asked.
"If I'm alive this summer," began Harry before fully realizing what he'd said. "I mean- this summer I'll probably be having the usual misery with the Dursleys. You know."
Hermione gave Harry a look. "If you're alive this summer? Apparently we haven't much hope for your safe arrival at the Dursleys'."
"I don't know, it just came out." Harry felt rather embarrassed.
"Did you notice Snape's new look?" asked Ron to divert the topic, and both he and Harry burst out laughing.
Hermione stared at them curiously. "Really, what's so funny? He actually looks very civilized and... well, normal. It's really an improvement. Even my mother remarked on it... although her opinion doesn't really count for much," Hermione murmured to herself meanly.
Harry and Ron stared at her incredulously, and Hermione burst out angrily, "WHAT?! He actually does look better! Some girls will probably set up a fan club for him like they have for Professor deFanel!"
The boys were still staring oddly at Hermione, and she sighed.
"The girls have a fan club for Prof. deFanel at this school," Ron stated dazedly. He avoided looking at Harry because he knew he'd burst out laughing again. However, this did not succeed, and in several seconds Ron and Harry were in tears, rollicking on the floor with hysterical laughter.
When they stopped, Harry wiped away the tears of mirth on his face and asked Hermione, "Why do you need to talk to Dalet?"
"He did me a big favor," muttered Hermione, looking very evasive. "I want to thank him, so on and so forth."
"What did he do for you?" Ron asked.
Hermione suddenly flared up. "Honestly, do you have to know everything? It's my own matter! It's personal, and I really don't feel like having any more people knowing! I'm sorry, Harry, Ron, you're both really good friends but this is just too big to be able to share with you." She then looked forlorn as her temper left her, and, piteously squaring her shoulders, walked away quietly.
Harry and Ron both stared after her. "What do you think happened?" they asked each other simultaneously, and began to exchange ideas worriedly. Hermione could hear them discussing it as she left the common room, and sighed. Maybe when she felt better- one day- she could tell them. Until then, she really didn't want to discuss it with anyone.
She then went on search for Dalet, mainly by asking any acquaintances she had about his whereabouts. This wasn't particularly helpful with Parvati and Lavender, who then began to think that Hermione liked Dalet. As this wasn't true (although Hermione, like several others, privately found him good looking), it didn't really assist Hermione. She found Dalet in the lower basement of the school with his girlfriend Meliae.
Hermione tapped him tentatively on the shoulder, and Dalet turned around. "Can I talk to you?" she whispered anxiously.
Meliae looked suspicious. "Why do you want to talk to him? Just so you know, I'm his girlfriend!"
"Yes," replied Dalet, "she knows- if she didn't she does now. Don't worry, we haven't got anything disreputable going on. Hold on, though, because I do have to talk to her now, okay?" Meliae sulkily nodded, and flounced off.
Hermione looked abashed. "I-I just want to thank you," she stammered. "My mother's never been so gentle towards me then after you approached her."
"Good!" exclaimed Dalet emphatically. "She should be. Just tell me, though, if she ever does anything."
"Oh, don't worry," Hermione assured him, "I will. But..." she hesitated. "Why exactly did you do it?"
"My father. He was- well, is, until I kill him- very violent. He beat my mother and I. I wouldn't want anyone to end up in the situation my mother did."
"Thank you so much."
Dalet smirked. "Although you may not have noticed it before this, Hermione, I am a very violent person when something infuriates me."
"Are you sure you should be?" Hermione steadfastly asked him.
"Well, the army does that to you," Dalet defended himself calmly. "Never join the army, my dear."
Hermione laughed again, this time nervously. "No, I don't plan to," she remarked dubiously.
"Good," said Dalet, "it's usually very disillusioning, and someone like you probably wouldn't enjoy that."
He turned to leave, but before he went, Hermione cried, "Wait!" He obligingly stopped, and Hermione continued softly, "I'm sorry. About your father beating you."
"Yes, well, the bruises will fade eventually, even if the scars do not- as you might know."
Hermione wondered whether he was talking about emotional scars or physical ones. She didn't ask, though, but threw herself down on the damp ground to cry, huddling in a dark corner, where Harry found her an hour or two later.
"Let's face it, Harry," Ron told him matter-of-factly later on. "She's going through her DARK stage of the month. Now, if we leave her alone we just might have a chance of getting through it. If not-" Ron shuddered- "let's just keep on hoping for the best, Harry."
"God, we really are pessimists lately, aren't we?" was the response.
"What better way to get the optimists to talk to us?"

Ron was not far off in his guess about Hermione, although he knew few of what was really troubling her. Hermione was feeling a lot of pressure and stress building up against her as far as academics were concerned. If it hadn't been her mother who had given the advice to go a bit slack, Hermione would gladly have followed it. Since no one else instructed her to relax a slight bit, Hermione didn't. She did have several shreds of pride in her that her mother had not been able to beat out, and this pride told her not to ask for any help.
Therefore, her life continued in its usual hectic manner, although without the harassing letters of her mother. Dalet had actually received a Howler from Mrs. Granger. It yelled at him at breakfast one early April morning, much to Hermione's embarrassment. The Howler told Dalet to leave the Grangers alone, let them take care of their own family business and to simply let sleeping dogs lie. It also mentioned to him that if he ever harassed them again, he'd be arrested.
Dalet was annoyed, but not mad enough to send back another Howler to Mrs. Granger (a new option included to the receiver of a Howler, so they could get revenge against the angry sender). Hermione came up to him during Potions class, something she had never done in any class, and apologized profusely.
"I'm sorry," she told him. "I feel like I'm causing you so much trouble, and after all you've done for me."
Hermione must have chosen incredibly bad timing, for at that moment, Professor Snape swept by her, and stood expectantly above the two students. "What is this?" he inquired icily. "Miss Granger, is your seat not over there? Shouldn't you be-"
Dalet held out a hand to stop him, and said in a civil tone, "Excuse me, we're attempting a conversation. It isn't possible with a man standing over us. In other words, if you're wanting to eavesdrop, it will have to be done from a distance. Now," he addressed Hermione, turning towards her to whisper in her ear, "There's no need for you to act as if this was your fault! Your mother just happens to be a scheming woman, and that has nothing to do with you. Look, I'm not sorry that I did what I did; I'd do it again. Just calm down, Hermione. You're a very tense person, and it's not good for you."
Hermione glanced nervously at Snape, who was looking like an icicle illuminated by a stroke of lightning. Dalet turned once again to Snape, and said pleasantly, "There, we're done now! At least I think we are- Hermione, nothing else?"
"Er... no," she muttered, then remembered something she'd always wanted to say to Snape since the last year. "Wait, there is something. Look, Professor, see my teeth? Do you see a difference? Do you?" She then told Dalet calmly, "I think I'm done now."
"Then, sir, we have completed our conversation, and you are permitted to eavesdrop to all that you want! Now, since you're here, what exactly do you want?"
Snape was looking furious. "I have NEVER in my life been spoken to as rudely as you just spoke to me," he began, seething, to Dalet.
"That's not true," interrupted Gatti from his seat next to Dalet, grinning like mad, "he spoke very politely to you. If you didn't think so, how have you survived as a teacher?"
Snape turned on Gatti. "Shut your mouth, why don't you? As for you, Miss Granger, and your little boyfriend, maybe the two of you should just go straight to Dumbledore's office right now. Oh, wait! Since you've been speaking so politely to me, I'll let the two of you go down together."
"Good-bye then, sir," concluded Dalet politely, "and may you have far better luck in your next life. After all, when you hit bottom, the only place you can go is up, isn't it?" He bowed mockingly, and left the room cheerfully. Hermione obediently followed, blushing furiously and quite satisfied, if somewhat mortified. "Now," Dalet instructed Hermione from outside the class, where the Slytherins listened, "let me do the talking. Would you happen to know where this office is, by the way?"
Hermione nodded. "Here, follow me." She silently brought him towards an ugly statue, and from there timidly knocked on it. After a short period of waiting, Dumbledore appeared, eyes twinkling.
"So," he pleasantly requested, "what might the dilemma be? No, don't tell me yet, we'll come into my office first." When they were in the office, Dumbledore said, "Here, sit down- make yourselves at home. As I asked you, why have you come?"
"Sir," began Dalet respectfully, "Professor Snape sent us down; I was talking to Hermione. He happened to show up during my monologue, and I very politely requested him to eavesdrop from a distance. Sadly, he didn't, so I continued in a softer tone to prevent him from hearing all the boring revelations I was burdening Hermione with. I notified him of when our conversation was completed, and asked him what he wanted. He seemed very angry then, and sent us down here. I then wished him luck on the way out."
He leaned forwards, and remarked in a confidential tone, "You see, sir, the two of us have ended up here from a combination of bad timing and harsh punishment. Surely you heard the charming epistle I received this morning? The combined efforts of this and Professor Snape are enough to 'corrupt' anyone."
"Yes," replied Dumbledore, who seemed to be concealing an urge to laugh at the memory of the Howler. He also noticed that Dalet seemed to be placing blame on himself, making Hermione appear to be the innocent party. "I am certain both of you had very admirable intentions at hand. However, you have been interrupting a class, so you should try to make your peace with Professor Snape on this. I suggest staying back several days to assist him. Miss Granger, you've been particularly quiet through all this. Any output?"
Hermione was really feeling slightly insane. The few weeks of April that had already passed had brought about very jarring events for her. She was feeling very sleepy at the moment, which didn't help her cause at all. "No, sir, actually, I held more part in it than that," she confessed. "I-"
"She asked Professor Snape if he'd be able to give her a practice exam for the ones we shall be taking this year," interrupted Dalet, glancing at Hermione, "although he didn't seem too pleased about it."
"I'm quite sure." Dumbledore looked worriedly at Hermione. Her face looked very stressed and hassled, while she was yawning. "Hermione, you'll be taking the day off," he told her. "Go down to Madam Pomfrey to see if she has anything to alleviate stress."
"Oh, no, professor!" exclaimed Hermione, now wide awake. "I couldn't do that! Our OWLs are coming up in two months! I couldn't miss the classes, I'd fall too far behind! I'm perfectly fine. I'll go down to the infirmary later today for a medicine, but I'll be fine, honest!"
Dumbledore looked sternly at Hermione. "I would prefer it if you stayed out of the action for a short while. Although if you really feel a whole day is too long, you can stay in your classes until after lunch, then you must do what I told you."
"But-"
"I'll talk to your teachers," finished Dumbledore ominously. "I'm sure they wouldn't mind you missing just one lesson. Good bye, Miss Granger."
Hermione glanced at Dalet. "But what about-"
"Don't worry, Miss Granger. Good day to you." Dumbledore stood up to escort Hermione out. When this was accomplished, he turned to Dalet. "Sir," he began, "I'm not sure exactly how to deal with you. You are not at all remorseful upon coming here, nor do you seem to hold any particular respect for your teachers."
"That's not true, professor," contradicted Dalet. "I greatly respect Professor deFanel."
"I am talking, of course, generally. I'll take, for example, your behavior towards Professor Snape, it being your only breach of discipline- so far as we can prove. Emily Granger has mentioned to me that you are a horribly violent student, who is too dangerous to include with the public. Now, would you know why she would hold such an opinion against you?"
"Well, sir, I'm afraid that I can't tell you exactly why. It wasn't exactly my business until a few weeks ago, and before that it was still the Grangers' business. Since none of them would choose for me to divulge, I do not believe I can tell you."
Dumbledore sighed. "I suppose I shall have to respect that, for now. Why start to go off into the bad side this month?"
"I really think I've been off for far longer than that."
"You realize it would only be appropriate behavior for me to contact your parents about this," stated Dumbledore.
"NO!" yelled Dalet forcefully, then calmed down slightly. "You can't do that. I mean, they live much too far away for any sudden action to be taken."
"No other particular reasons?"
Dalet shook his head. "None at all," he lied.
Dumbledore stared, long and hard, at him, and he stared back. "Is there any reason why you have been acting up?"
"No, there is not."
"No reason, then. So you have not being doing this for attention?"
Dalet was blunt. "From who? I have no one I want to impress."
Dumbledore looked at him searchingly. "Are you quite sure? Don't you think you might be able to think of someone if you searched hard enough?"
"No, sir, I truly, honestly don't. Do you?"
"Yes," replied Dumbledore seriously. "I really do. I won't tell you my opinion exactly, though, for I think you'd have to figure it out for yourself; if I'm right, that is."
"Would that be all, sir?" asked Dalet in an unconsciously remarkable impression of Minerva McGonagall, making Dumbledore smile quickly before turning grave again.
"Very well," sighed Dumbledore. "You can go, although I still feel you have been hiding many matters from me in this conversation."
"Really." Dalet looked bewildered at this, using what slight acting skills he had to his full advantage. "It was a pleasure talking to you," he told Dumbledore; Dalet had trained himself to be polite as to prevent several whacks from both his father and Lord Dilandau.

"Of course," came a pacifying voice, "surely you do not expect us to perform this on a dragon, of all creatures."
"Yes, how many times must I be telling you already? From what we've learnt- if you'll recall- spells have to be performed by four to six people for it to penetrate the scales. Now, if the thirteen of you do the spell, there are wonderful odds of it working. All we'll need," snapped the other impatiently, "is for the rest of you to be thinking the same commands simultaneously."
A man in the corner raised his hand tentatively, as if a trembling school child. "What if the spell breaks?"
The leader spat in his face. "Of course not," exasperated, "dragons are not particularly smart creatures. Their mental prowess is by far not impressive enough to resist. One of you will simply Apparate onto the site and ensure this slight possibility never even rears its ugly head."
The men kowtowed on the ground- murmuring, groveling and simply doing what they did best.

A voice resonated through the halls, breaking the monotony of the classes going on. "You are all to go back to your common rooms now, and follow the precautions we have set up in case of emergency. Time is not to be wasted, for each moment is crucial."
The students, obediently following these orders, brought up a worried murmur of, "What do you think it is? You think we'll have to leave?" The teachers, on the other hand, went to the staff room. Eries was secretly very relieved about this. She was very nervous around the students, because they ranged from being only three to ten years younger than her, yet were so utterly different.
McGonagall, filling in for Dumbledore (in London), told them briefly, in disjointed sentences, "A wild dragon- strong and hardy, apparently. Wreaking havoc on Hogsmeade, everyone being too alarmed to approach, and no way to stop it. It's coming closer to the school now, and even the protection spells set up around the school won't hold if it enters."
Professor Binns mentioned, "Godric Gryffindor had his wife keep the dragons away from the school in their time- what methods she used are not known. If we could figure out what spell was used, we could possibly renew it."
"How do you know magic was used?" pondered Folken.
"She couldn't have used physical force," pointed out Professor Sprout.
"Getting back to the topic at hand," cut in McGonagall, "what is there for us to do?"
"There is such thing as a Portal Incantation," brought up Flitwick, then- "no, that takes a day after reciting the spell to work."
"Why not get someone to slay the dragon?" asked Eries suddenly, and the staff looked at her.
"My dear," reasoned Professor Vector, "it simply can't be done. No one nowadays has the skill or training to be able to slay dragons. It usually isn't needed, first of all, and the ways of it are long forgotten by now."
"I was taught especially in that purpose," contradicted Folken, and everyone looked at him this time.
"Come, you can't be old enough for that!" said McGonagall, who was very proud of her seventy-odd years.
"To the contrary, I was training for about seven years."
"A prediction is coming through to me," gasped Sybil Trelawney. She sat motionless for a few minutes, then, glumly, "Nothing. Everything will be peaceful, someone here will be rich, and we shall all live. Not really much." Sybil was deeply disappointed at the lack of misery and conflict in her prediction.
"Er... that's good, though, isn't it?" remarked Snape sarcastically. "Correct me if I'm wrong."
"You aren't," Eries told him briefly, and then suggested, "Why don't we get Folken to go off and slay the dragon?"
Folken was very tempted to say, "One time was quite enough- besides, you don't know how to fix my bionic arm back on after." He sensed this would probably be deemed highly inappropriate; and it just wasn't his character to do that.
The other teachers looked aghast. "How could we do that?" argued Hagrid from his wide berth of a chair.
"Yes," agreed McGonagall sternly, "there's far too much at risk."
"I'll do it," decided Folken suddenly. "If I don't come back, assume what you must."
"What about your family?" asked Vector.
"My family has already had experience with this event occurring, and the others who knew me believe me dead."
"Oh, not all of them," muttered Eries darkly.
"Isn't it dreadful?" Snape whispered to Eries, trying to curry favor, "He's speaking of himself in the past tense already!"
"Really? I hadn't noticed," replied Eries.
Folken stood up. "Anyway," he assured them, "I am quite sure I'll do slightly better this time." This did not particularly reassure anyone, and they were looking decidedly apprehensive. Folken left the room, and several minutes later, there was the sound of a small explosion. The staff ran out into the hall, and saw only a solitary black feather. None of them except Eries would have understood the significance of this, and she snatched up the feather before anyone else could see it.
Folken flew out, surveying the land spread out before him, and saw a rampaging figure down in the distance. He aimed towards this, and went by at the fastest possible speed that he could. By the time he reached the area surrounding the dragon, he was slightly winded, and stopped by a tree to catch his breath.
The dragon was in a stupor. She could not even remember her own name, only remembering that at one time there had been no voice in her head telling her to do something. What consciousness she had left was telling her that she wanted to go back to the time when she knew her name and there had been no commands in her mind. She moved her head- the only liberty that was not being controlled- and saw several black feathers.
Right then and there, she had her thoughts again, and was thinking, Could it be? It's supposed to be impossible now. No, our Gods have been too rare lately to miss this chance. The man standing behind her cried out as he saw the dragon breaking the Imperius charm around it. He Disapparated before he could see a winged man step out from behind a tree nearby. The dragon noticed that the wings of the man were black, and this doubly overjoyed her.
The Dragon as she approached suddenly let a wave of fire escape her mouth.

A/N: Come on, you know you couldn't escape an at least part-cliffhanger through this. Anyway, your reviews will still continue to make my day. But what I desperately need to know is who the other new teachers should be. Remember, there is one for Mathematics and Social Studies. Pour moi, Dryden comes to mind for Mathematics. Tell me what you think (because seriously, Hogwarts cannot keep on running with two classes and no one to teach them- Professor Winky, anyone? Or perhaps Professor Mimsy-Porpington, alias Nearly-Headless Nick?)

BTW, the chapter's title is because different people at Hogwarts are all doing something different than they normally would have done, and strongly feel the consequences of it. The title 'Into the Lairs of Dragons' is the metaphor for that.