Inklings of Celebrity Chapter Eighteen: Being Right

A spell snapped, and thirteen people felt it break as threads on a loom would. Thread left a mess behind afterwards, as did the spell. The dragon, however, felt wonderful, recalling her name as being Ariel.
The dragon breathed on more fire, gentle but hot. She aimed it towards Folken, who ducked and reached for his sword, but still received a blast of fire on his arm. To his great surprise, it didn't hurt or even burn at all. In fact, it seemed as if a way of conversation, saying, 'Who are you? Who are you, please?'
"Well," said Folken, "if you really must know, my name is Folken Fanel." As he spoke, he realized the absurdity of introducing yourself to the dragon you were about to slay, and laughed.
More fire came, and the message this time was, 'Folken Fanel. A Dragon God?'
Folken was very surprised at this. "What! Well, yes, half."
'Yes... that explains it.'
"Explains what?"
'The wings. The immunity to dragon fire. The way you are actually communicating with me right now. Did no one ever tell you anything?'
"Not at all. I'm finding it hard to believe that I am actually talking to a dragon. Would you be able to explain why you came to wreak havoc on these poor people?"
'I should really start from the beginning. My name is Ariel, and if you are a half-Dragon God that would make you one of the perhaps-none left, and I therefore shall worship you with all the other dragons. To answer your question, I was placed under a spell of control. It broke several minutes ago- I know not how.'
"That was the real reason I came, and I was prepared to slay you, but I do not believe I should. I've never liked dragon-slaying anyway. Besides, if what you say is true, there is no reason for such violence." Folken sighed, still dubious about talking to dragons.
'I quite agree, Lord. The men who came did not, however. They mentioned a Lord Voldemort?'
"Yes, he's supposed to be quite the antagonist. What were the commands he gave you?"
'He wanted me to go to the school.'
"Really."
'I want to kill him.'
"Although that's good, you don't want to endanger yourself. If you plan to take action, be careful and take him unawares," cautioned Folken.
'Yes. Where are you normally located?'
"At the castle there, the Hogwarts School. I must beseech you never to destroy anything there."
'If you say the word, every dragon will follow it. We were created by your kind, and worship them as befits their name. But how are you to return without anyone noticing your wings?'
"Everyone is inside, huddled deeply inside the rooms. No one would notice."
A pause. 'It is your decision to do as you please. Would you vouch for me if I am taken to be executed?'
"Of course," assured Folken. "Are you going now? Good-bye, and good luck."
'Thank you, Lord. Standard obeisance will be given later on.'
"No, thank you, not at all necessary."
'By our law, we must give of at least one offering per month. Although if you wish, I am certain only one offering will be needed.'
"I am afraid I would not be able to accept it."
'Yes, you must. You will. If you are ever in need of help or want one of us, just call out for me.'
"Will you hear me?"
'But of course! You are our God, even if hybrid. The bloods make no differences. If you call, we shall hear and heed.'
Folken remembered something. "Dragon scales are said to be almost impenetrable to magic. How exactly would such a curse have been placed on you?"
'There were many, in a group. They were following tracks to the dragon lairs, and must have been searching for our kind. Then, they found me.'
"Well, warn the other dragons to be on their guards for congregations of people in robes. Only if they look suspicious, however."
'Yes, my Lord. What shall you be doing now?'
"My business here is completed. I will leave now, like I hope you do before you get caught."
Ariel was very pleased. She would be the first Discoverer since a Welsh dragon had been the Discoverer of Godric Gryffindor's wife. It was a revered post among dragons, for one had to discover a Dragon God to be able to take it. After that, the dragon was allowed to be the messenger of their Dragon God.
She bowed down to Folken–a remarkable sight–and flapped her powerful wings to leave. He did the exact same, and the two silently left each other. Meanwhile, Mulciber (who had been dubiously cleared of Death-Eating) was standing behind a tree, far out of the range of both fire & good vision, not believing his eyes.
When Folken arrived in the Great Hall of the school, he found himself alone. This was when he withdrew his dark wings, and donned his robes. He then approached the corridor towards the staff room. The professors there were anxiously awaiting a verdict, but seemed disappointed to see Folken, because, as Snape said, "Back so soon? You didn't have much time to do a thorough job."
"I didn't. The dragon had been placed under a controlling curse by the one you call Lord Voldemort, and it broke. She left peacefully, and we're alive." Most of the adults shuddered upon hearing the name of Lord Voldemort.
"How do you know the dragon was female?" asked Trelawney, who was actually quite irritable upon gender issues.
"Well, Ariel is a female name, isn't it? So what should we do now?"
"You named the dragon?" said Flitwick dubiously. "You gave a violent, rampaging dragon a nickname, like you'd name a pet?"
Hagrid looked intrigued.
Folken shook his head. "No."
McGonagall wasn't ready to dismiss the larger issue at hand. "So it was You-Know-Who at the bottom of this all along?"
"Pardon me?" asked Eries.
"You-Know-Who has been doing evil," repeated McGonagall impatiently.
"No, who exactly is You-Know-Who?" persisted Eries.
"The notorious Lord Voldemort, whom I've just mentioned. The nickname, grown from the people's love of him, originates from both his infamy and instilling of terror," Folken said.
"You really didn't know?" Professor Flitwick said to Eries incredulously.
Eries shook her head. "I come from foreign parts."
"You must! To not know him..."
"...is the error all of us made until he grew too dangerous," cut in Snape as Eries' defense.
"People, let's stop with the dialogue going on. If this is an ultimately important occasion, we can't be sitting hear exchanging rabble," said Folken, acting much as he would in his war conferences. "Now, I have just told you that your nemesis has just controlled a dragon into destroying the surrounding area while heading towards the school. Apparently, there were a large group looking for the dragon lairs. The dragons will be warned already by this time. If the congregation doesn't attempt this stunt again, we may very well be perfectly safe for the meantime. If they do, we could find several dead bodies on our hands."
"Dead bodies? What about the violent dragons?" Professor Vector yelled out.
Folken glanced in her direction. "The dragons themselves are perfectly fine, I know how to look after them. Also, they will not be coming here to harm anyone. I have a suspicion one or two might emerge one day around here."
"They will?" Hagrid looked excited. "That's jus' great!"
"Don't be ridiculous, Hagrid," broke in Snape coldly. "Of course it won't be. Great beasts, roaming the grounds? I hope not."
"They won't do that," said Hagrid indignantly. "Dragons're smart, yeh know. They aren't bad. Not like ev'ryone says."
"He has a point," said Folken.
"Lovely," said Binns. "Do we have any more business at hand?"
"Well," suggested Eries, "we might want to notify the students that the siege is over by now."
"No," objected Professor Vector sharply, "we still have business to go over, and the students will live. Now, let's move on to our other topics. As you all know, we still have two teaching posts that are not being filled up."
"I have an idea," said Flitwick. "We have a castle full of ghosts and magical beings. Let us ask them if one of them wants to volunteer."
McGonagall looked thoughtful. "That would work well."
"Wouldn't that be exploitation?" said Folken.
Snape looked at him in a facetious way. "Come, you have your lovely young... charges. They hold less purpose than the ghosts do, and eat more in the meantime."
"What's wrong with that?" spoke up Eries. "The word you would have been looking for is cat-people, and we've got a large enough castle to comfortably accommodate and tend for one or two more without hassle. The food is not at all sorely missed, nor is the space taken up. A purpose isn't needed, and I doubt the cat girls have no purpose."
Snape cleared his throat. "What purpose are you darkly hinting at, I wonder," he muttered.
"We could at least wait several days before that, couldn't we?" said Folken. "Someone might want a job somewhere along the way."
"True," conceded McGonagall, "let us adopt that as our plan."

While the teachers were conferring, the students were still confined in their Houses. Harry was particularly interested in what could have sent them to that.
"They didn't give a reason," said Harry, pacing the floor. "What could have been so bad they wouldn't have informed us about it?"
"Are you sure we want to answer that?" asked Ron nervously. "It'll be like tempting fate. You know, like when someone says, 'My day can't get any worse'."
"Oh, don't be silly," said Hermione. "There is no such thing as fate, let alone tempting it. Although with your superstition, you'd probably say fate is a person."
"Hermione," said Fred, coming into the conversation with a solemn face, "you might find this hard to believe-"
"Yes," butted in George, leading Hermione over to a chair and sitting her down in it. "You definitely need to sit down."
"Fate is actually a female country singer- or was it a place? George, what was it again?"
George screwed up his face to think. "Hm, I'm not sure- maybe it's both. With a name like Fate Hill, it's hard to tell."
Hermione burst out laughing. "You mean Faith Hill?"
Fred looked offended. "Of course, I'm sure," he sniffed haughtily. "Laugh at me because I don't know these things, why don't you."
Harry was not to be deterred. "Why would they imprison us up here?" he burst out angrily. "We've just done all the safety procedures, what else is there for us to do but worry?"
"It's probably a fire nearby or something," said Ron.
"No, it's a great beast of a dragon, Ron," said George, not knowing how right he was.
Dilandau was in the same room, in front of the fireplace, ripping small bits off a parchment to throw in the fire. He found this had a very cheering effect on him. So did imagining what exactly had happened for the teachers to send them up there. Dilandau had a very vivid and graphic imagination, which would have probably horrified girls like Parvati and Lavender.
Ginny came over to talk to him, as he was alone, as was she. "So," she began.
"Yeah," said Dilandau. That was how all their conversations went, with Ginny saying, "So," and Dilandau replying, "Yeah." Then they'd find something to talk about, and after that, there would be a silence, then the whole cycle starting again. Everyone who had noticed this had either laughed or been horribly bored.
"What exactly are you doing?" Ginny asked Dilandau warily.
"Burning paper. It's fun, you should try it."
"No, watching you have fun is so rewarding for me, I never need anything else."
"Even better, more paper for me than." Dilandau clapped his hands as a strip of parchment burst into particularly furious flame.
"You really would have liked being in the throes of a burning Hell, wouldn't you?"
"All except the going to Hell. It would oblige too many people."
"Who, exactly? Van, I know, but who else?"
"Sadly, Folken made Van and I call a truce. Other people who would want to send me to Hell would be that brother you have in my classes, Fanelians, probably part of the Zaibach army, Allen Schezar... I can't remember any more, although I'd be able to provide you with a bigger list by next week," offered Dilandau.
"I think it would be too long."
"Why do you think I'd need until next week? I'd have to write it up!"
"Pathetically true. Did you know some girls have started a Professor deFanel fan club?"
Dilandau looked at Ginny, and began laughing his usual maniacal laugh. This attracted the attention of many Gryffindors, who looked over rather nervously. One extremely brave (and inquisitive) second-year came over.
"What's so funny?" she wanted to know.
"The... Folken... fan...club," gasped Dilandau.
"The who?" asked the girl. "Oh yes, you're talking about Professor deFanel! I'm ever so grateful to that other man who called out his name- we never would have found out otherwise. Really, it's a good name for the club. I'll suggest it to the others at our next meeting." The girl whipped a notepad from her robes and a pencil from behind her ear. "Although I don't quite see what's so funny..." She went away puzzled.
Dilandau stared after the girl, his eyebrows raised. "She's one of them. They're all fools, really. What's the point in being a fan of their teacher who is far older than them?"
"Actually, the club has girls from the first year to the seventh year. I think the 7th year girls are actually very hopeful. The cat girls are around the same age after all, and think about how that relationship must look."
Dilandau snorted. "It would be so fun if I went to the meeting and told them everything I knew about Strategos!"
"No!" Ginny was shocked. "You can't do that, you'd probably get him in some kind of trouble! And what other teacher would you have that would let you get away with so many things?" Ginny slyly brought up.
Dilandau sighed heavily. " I suppose so. What's-His-Name, Snack or something-"
"Snape," supplied Ginny helpfully.
"Yes. See, he's not even important enough for me to remember his name. He wouldn't let me do anything unless I beat him up first, probably."
There was a silence, then Ginny said, "So."
"Yeah."
"Anyways."
"What should we talk about now?"
"Did you know Gryffindor has -46 points right now?"
Dilandau smirked. "Of course I do, I was the one who caused it all."
"How did you manage that, by the way?"
"By being on my good behavior; compared to my bad behavior, that is."
"You're just lucky there isn't a school psychologist. They'd die to get their hands on you for a case study."
"What's a psychologist?" Dilandau had never heard the term.
"Someone to deal with emotional, spiritual and mental problems. Anything other than physical, anyway."
"What a load of bull." Dilandau dismissed this simply.
Ginny shrugged. "Maybe it is–I don't think so. Even if it was, it's probably a job you'd admire."
Dilandau laughed again. "Why?"
"Well, if it's as useless as you say, that just proves that the job is full of crooked people who make their livings dishonestly."
"In which case, you're right."
Ginny sighed deeply. "I wish they'd let us out, or at least tell us what happened."
"If they hadn't sent us up here, you do realize that you would have been up here anyway?" pointed out Dilandau smugly.
"ARGH. Don't remind me."
"You would have been up here anyway."
"The weather is good, I might have gone outside instead," argued Ginny mildly.
"But you wouldn't have."
"Nope."
"Harsh luck."
"Very. What can I say? I'm a home-and-hearth person, as mum would say."
"I don't have a home, nor do I want one."
"Everyone wants somewhere to stay," said Ginny virtuously, quoting her mother again.
"Let us keep in mind that I'm not everyone."
Before the two could continue the kind of odd banter they passed off as their conversations, McGonagall came into the Common Room. The students clamored around her, eager for what information she might give.
McGonagall looked around the room, waiting for the noise to stop, before speaking. This took a remarkably short time, and she then spoke. "There has been a dragon on the loose around this area." As the students murmured, shocked, amongst each other, she had to clear her throat several times to get their attention before continuing. "The problem has been subdued, and everything is under perfect control. Yes, Mr. Finnegan, perfect control."

"It was phenomenal," gasped Mulciber. "A man- bluish hair- with black wings, talking to the dragon. Immune to dragon fire."
"Surely an angel, my lord," muttered Crabbe anxiously.
"Silence," ordered Voldemort as he sat mulling it over, then grinned ghoulishly. "What was this angel saying to the dragon, Mulciber?"
"I could not tell, my lord," said Mulciber. "It was a-a wild language, with the rhythms of English, no similarity otherwise. The man with the blue hair-"
Malfoy stood up suddenly. "Blue hair, you say? Blue?" The other nodded. Malfoy started pacing the floor, looking down. "There is only one person I've seen around that area with blue hair."
"He had wings," said another Death Eater. "He could have come from any where. Even-" he trembled, pointing to the ceiling, "up there."
"Don't be so God-fearing," snapped Voldemort.
"Yes, my lord," whispered the Death Eater.
"Now, Malfoy, enlighten us. Who was it that you saw with such hair?"
"It was a Hogwarts teacher, my lord," said Malfoy. "Name, I think, was Fanel."

It was a foggy April morning that saw a man- rather scruffy in appearance- heading towards Hogwarts. He almost got lost several times due to his deep concentration in the heavy volume he was reading. However, he made Hogwarts in good time, entering the Great Hall inquisitively as breakfast began.
Eries, coming into the Hall, realized her brother-in-law, and headed over. "Oh! Eries, hello," greeted the man casually. "So this is where you chose to stay, dear sister? Looks nice enough."
"What are you doing here, Dryden?" Eries demanded.
"They're in an uproar about you going off- as if you wouldn't know. Even I heard in the small outpost I was in. The idea occurred to me that I might as well come here and bring you back. I think it might help Millerna, and probably the rest of Asturia besides."
Eries folded her arms across her chest stubbornly. "I'm not going back- well, not this year, anyway."
"Come, Eries, you don't believe you'd be able to come back peacefully any time soon?" Dryden was irritable. "You'd be tossed out of court, along with the palace, then what? You're a princess! You have no idea how to survive out on the streets! Even if you did, you'd be shunned and not assisted by the otherwise-friendly people due to the fact that you abandoned! Asturia itself would have no backup heir other than Prince Chid!" Dryden paused for effect. "Now, if you came back with me, it would be perfectly acceptable because I'd be coming back, and everyone involved would most likely be happy, hm?"
"Good, I won't go back at all then."
"Well..." Dryden shrugged. "I didn't think it would come to this, but..." He sighed. "You're staying here, I'm staying here too until you agree to come back."
"What? You can't do that, it's insane!"
"Au contraire, dear sister. In fact, I'll send Millerna weekly epistles. Oh, but the postage that would take!"
"Dryden! Get a hold of yourself! This is crazy. You don't expect to just walk up, get a job and be waiting for me to be dragged back with you."
Dryden cocked an eyebrow. "Don't I? Watch me, dear sister, just watch me." Wagging his finger at her, he walked up to Dumbledore. "Excuse me, you wouldn't happen to have a post open for any jobs here, would you?"
"Yes, we have two," replied Dumbledore, eying Dryden's attire. "Mathematics and Social Studies teachers."
"Lovely. I'll take Social Studies. My name's Dryden Fassa."
"Any qualifications?"
"I pretty much know the whole geography and history of the whole Earth, several languages besides. I'm enterprising and motivated."
"Really?" Dumbledore eyed the ensemble again, somewhat surprised. "May I ask why you've decided to become a teacher then?"
"You may, but you'd be bored."
"Indeed!"
"Indeed. Would I be able to get the job, in that case?"
"Why, yes, of course you may; no one else has come for it, so you're welcome to it. We'll try you on a week's trial first. Shall we discuss business later?"
"Why not." Dryden smiled, and swaggered back over where Eries stood, seething. "Aren't you going to welcome me as a teacher, dear sister?"
"Dryden, I am not welcoming you at all," Eries told him.
"What kind of way is this for you to treat your brother-in-law?"
"What kind of far-fetched idea did you have in your head when you came to get your 'dear sister'?"
"I didn't, my dear sister."
"In-law."
Dryden shrugged. "Isn't it close enough? I don't have a sister, anyway- always wanted one- just a brother."
"Dryden, if you're going to be staying here for all the time I am, you will not want a sister in law anymore."
"Here I thought you'd be homesick by now! I was thinking you'd be overjoyed to see me."
"Dryden, I stayed here for the reason of being away from everything familiar to me."
He glanced in Folken's direction. "What about the Strategos, the Prince?"
Eries shook her head slowly. "Irritating."
The cocky smile on Dryden's face grew. "From the rumors I heard on the street, he'll be crowned for Zaibach."
"Why are you telling me this?" Eries didn't understand what this had to do with her.
Dryden looked taken aback, and scrutinized her face closely. "Why not?" he answered neutrally.
"There's something you aren't telling me." Eries simply stared steadfastly at Dryden. He turned away several seconds later, and Eries went back to her seat, where Snape presently joined her.
"Who was that?" he innocently asked.
"New teacher," sighed Eries.
"Really? Good, we finally have another post filled!"
"I'm sure," said Eries politely, thinking quite the opposite.
"Although we still have the dilemma of the shortage of quality rooms in the staff quarters. I trust you're accommodated to your room already?"
"Oh, yes," lied Eries, who could not have been less accommodated. She bore a strong hatred of her room.
"If you ever need another room, I'd be happy to switch with you," offered Snape, smooth and then sarcastic, "Unless you'd rather share?"
Eries understood what he was implying, and didn't say anything for several minutes. Actually, she was more or less frozen in place with shock. Then she took a deep breath, and said, "I'm quite sure I'll be perfectly fine in the living space I have, thanks. I'm used to uncomfortable bedrooms, thank you." Another blatant lie. Eries had, after all, been living in palaces and mansions all her life.
He took this casually. "Well, we all have our wands. I don't doubt you have your ways."
Feeling alarm at the mention of wands, she kept silent.
Folken, glancing over, and served his favor to Eries admirably by taking the seat on the other side of her and asking her about Dryden.
"What is your brother-in-law doing here?" he asked, expecting her to know.
Eries sighed, rolling her eyes. "He thinks he's came to bring me back."
"Is he doing well in this purpose so far?"
Smiling triumphantly, Eries shook her head "Not at all." Her smile disappeared. "The only problem is, Dryden said that he'll stay until I come back with him."
"And you apparently do not want that."
"Well, no. Indubitably not. I stayed here to escape my life and its familiarities along with it. Dryden is never going to stop reminding me of that. Besides, he keeps on calling me 'dear sister', my least favorite term of endearment." Eries ran her hand through her fair hair impatiently.
Dumbledore stood up in the midst of the normal chatter in the Great Hall, and it fell silent. He smiled, and announced, "Yet another post of ours has been filled! I hope you will all welcome Professor Fassa as your new Social Studies teacher."
The hall clapped politely, and Dumbledore called Dryden up for recognition. Among the Muggle students, he was neatly labeled as a hippie.
"You start classes tomorrow," he told Dryden him. "You'll have to arrange your timetables with the other teachers, though."
"Very well," said Dryden, and did just this. Most teachers halved their double periods for this- with the exception of Eries, that is.

"What do you think of the new teacher?" Hermione asked Ron and Harry as they left Social Studies the next day. She was rummaging through her bag, looking for her History of Magic assignment.
Harry shrugged. "I don't know. He's alright, I guess. Sort of funny."
"Yeah!" exclaimed Ron enthusiastically. "He's the best, isn't he? He didn't even give us any homework! What'd you think, Hermione?"
"Well," said Hermione disapprovingly, "he's rather lackadaisical, isn't he?"
"He's pretty smart, though, you have to admit," pointed out Harry.
"Yeah," chirped Neville, running to catch up with them. "He helped me with my map."
"Really, he's the best!" said Ron. "I mean, he didn't take off, like, a single point! And even though he was nice to the Slytherins too, he took a point off them."
"A point?" Hermione repeated cynically. "Ooh, tell me when I should wake up!"
Ron ignored this pointedly.
"Don't you think it's odd, having all these new arrivals?" Hermione said, mild yet inquisitive.
"No," Ron contradicted her. "It's a rather wonderful type thing. Great phenomenon and all. Except most of them are devil-incarnates. Which just proves to make it even more phenomenal... right, I've got nothing. You take the soapbox, Hermione."
This was done with good will. "And–" she bustled up for a good row–"they know each other so well; a bit too well, I'm sorry to say, for them to cruise on without arousing suspicion. And have you seen any of them using their wands? The students come in at the fifth year, all hell-fire and violence, and no one even mentions which school they've transferred from. You just don't saunter in at the fifth year and not have trouble with the work!" Hermione was becoming agitated. "I have worked like...like a sled-dog for five years, and all of a sudden these foreign people just come along and flip about our world like a snow globe? Life shouldn't be so easy for them, like some joke that we don't know!"
A very feminine noise, starting at an irritated hum and rising to a tortured squeal, ripped from her throat. She stomped off angrily.
Neville looked after her with great concern, and ran after her, his bag beating rhythmically against his side. "Herm!" he called. "Wait up!"
Harry stared at Ron. "That time of month, would you say?"
"Oh, I would say it hasn't ended since winter," grumbled Ron. Clicking his tongue, he shook his head at her then stared at Harry. "What would you reckon it is, plain old angst, jealousy or some horrible side effect of something?"
"Must we choose?" asked Harry. It was very uncomfortable being with Hermione lately. No one knew better than he how formidable she was, and now it was getting to the stifling point. No, she had not been herself.
Actually, that was the problem. She was too much herself, like a caricature with sinister overtures. If Harry didn't know that Ginny's friends were quite fearless, he would be alarmed for them.

Snape smirked. The inspector had come to the school the previous day. While he feared for his job, he was equally assured that the same fate rested for many others. That oaf Hagrid was rubbish at being a teacher, and that new girl was no better. Pretty, but no better. He had his ways of finding these things out.
As he walked through the hall, ensuring each and every student got a sneer (just to be fair), a conversation floated through the hall towards him.
"I wouldn't have thought it of him. Of course, we all know the crowd he associates with, students even, but–"
He drew closer. It sounded as though they might be talking about him. Not many people cared to talk about him, but when they did it was never complementary; this intrigued him.
"What did you expect? We certainly never knew what his credentials ever were. Always did think deFanel was a bit Dark, you know what I mean?"
They weren't talking about him... but that didn't mean he had to stop listening.
"They reckon there was something in his pumpkin juice. You-Know-Who's work, most like. A Bedlam Blend, I thought." A long, shuddering breath accompanied her words.
"It was horrible. There we were, in the staff room, and what do you know but he's got this long sword out. Thought he was showing it to us to admire, at first."
"So what happened next?"
Snape could hear the lower-voiced one–McGonagall?–shuffle towards the other and start in a whisper. He flicked his wand in their direction and muttered a spell to hear better.
"He had his sword out, what do you think he was doing? He struck Flitwick; he was alright but for a light wound. But it was Dumbledore who got the worst of it."
"No! He's not..."
"He will." One of them sniffled and was joined by the other.
"And what will they have done?"
"You know how the law here is; if you kill someone unimportant, you might get off. But this was Dumbledore, so we can only expect..."
"Yes... Azkaban. Life."
"The officials–thank goodness that inspector was here!–are considering the Kiss."
"You don't say!"
"It is Albus Dumbledore, my dear. The man even has a Chocolate Frog card for himself." McGonagall became distraught. "He had a Chocolate Frog for himself, that is. Oh my..."
"He's not dead yet."
"Or is he? It's been an hour." She blew her nose loudly. "Though can you believe it? All those spells put in place against the Unforgivables and then someone goes in and slashes him through the side. Oh, it is ironic!"
"I think," corrected the other gently, "you mean to say it was serendipitous."
"No, I mean ironic."
"Actually, that's a commonly held misconception. See, the difference between serendipity and irony is actually–"
McGonagall stamped her foot. "This is most unkind of you! Professor Dumbledore is on the very brink of death and his killer is not yet subdued! I should think that even you, cold-hearted Amy Vector, would at least..."
So it was Vector she was talking to. Snape nodded sagely. The fact that Dumbledore would die had not yet sunk in. Besides, he was occupied in eavesdropping and so could not be expected to think for himself at the moment.
"Minerva, I do understand. Really, we shouldn't even be quibbling right now. Let us go and see what can be done."
"There isn't anything that can be done."
"For us there is," said Vector soothingly. "Come, I'm sure the kitchens can provide us with a drink."
The kitchens were down the corridor where he was. Snape tiptoed as fast as he could away from them. When he realized he wasn't going fast enough, he ran instead to the nearest window and jumped out in a flurry of panic.
He forgot to consider that he was on the third floor in his wildly anxious state and landed with a hard thump.
It hurt very much.

Van was greeted in the Common Room by McGonagall when going down for breakfast. He blinked, surprised to see her there, but said a hello politely and headed off.
She intercepted him and blew her nose. "No, stay. In fact, stop anyone who tries to leave, would you? I have an announcement to make."
Nodding in confusion, he moved over to the portrait hole and sat down. That would stop anyone trying to leave if his menacing scowl didn't.
It was a while before all the Gryffindors congregated. By then, the chatter had risen from a puzzled murmur to a positively dazed roar of words. McGonagall had to stand up on a coffee table, looking rather undignified, to divert their attention.
"I have some terrible news to tell you. It may distress you, so I would advise you to listen."
Van smiled slightly. If you wanted people to listen, you had to hint at its credence. It was gratifying to see he wasn't the only one to employ that tactic. His respect for his house teacher rose.
He shifted impatiently; that strategy worked too well, and he wished the others would just stop talking. The news might change his life around, which would be good. This place got boring, truth be told.
Standing up, he yelled, "Quiet!" in the voice of a fearful dictator, and smiled mildly at those who looked at him after.
McGonagall, turning in his direction, said, "Thank you. Now, I am sorry to be the one that must tell you that our Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore–"
He was dead. Somehow this came to Van's mind. He tried to forget it. Of course that wasn't what she would say. The man was probably having a great-grandchild and would be absent for the next week or so.
Having trailed off, McGonagall pulled herself together and continued. "Yes, sorry. But Professor Dumbledore is now deceased."
Pounding his knee, he regretted being right. Hitomi, even if she was far away, was rubbing off on him; he had no objection to that. However, it was very hard to take the loss of the old man. Van had found Dumbledore suspiciously nice at first, but he'd warmed to him later on. He'd always been so happy. So damn happy. Angry by now, Van thought that he couldn't be too happy anymore if he was dead.
"How did he die, Professor?" a young girl had called out after an idiot had asked what deceased meant.
McGonagall pursed her lips together. "From a wound." Jumping off the table, she turned on her heel and left the room before the crowd of crestfallen Gryffindors could swarm on her like reporters.

A/N: So I stopped writing for about a year right through Hermione's rant, but I lost interest in the piece. I've attempted to read the posted chapters several times, but could not because every time there was a realistic lull, what did I do but go and find something scandalous to make up about one Gaean or another! But I have to finish it so I can at least re-edit it extensively, starting by taking away the majority of the scads of gratuitous violence. Let's just say that as a teenager, my interests have shifted slightly and I am more insecure about my writing, hopefully because it's gotten better. Take a look at more recent pieces of mine, please, so you can judge. I will accept any offers from writers to finish this piece for me.

This is why, boys & girls, you never claim greatness of anything belonging to you until you let it go for a long time. Now, if I could just claim that half my work was drivel, I'm sure I'd be better off. Tell me in your reviews.