Reflections of a Stern Teacher
St. Mungo's was unusually cold that morning. Not like a nice breeze you sometimes got of the lake during the summer, but a bitter cold; the kind of a cold that warns of an early winter. I propped myself up a little bit to have a look around the room.
It was a very plain room as most hospital wards are; a simple décor of white walls and lumpy beds covered in turquoise sheets. A few other patients were up as well despite the early hour; perhaps the cold woke them as well. I pulled the sheets I had kicked off in my sleep back around me, trying to keep warm. At my age doing just about everything was a great deal harder. The cold hurt more, wounds cut deeper, and I just couldn't take the strain I once could; that was the reason I ended up in St. Mungo's after all; four stunners can do that to you.
Soon the sheets were tight about me and I was feeling quite a bit better; well enough to read the paper and have a bit of coffee at least. If there is one thing I've learnt from years of teaching, it's that coffee can do the body a world of good. As the warm liquid began to flow through my body all the warmth I'd lost started to return. It did feel good to have early in the morning. Prepared a body for the day, whatever it might bring.
I picked up the copy of the Daily Prophet, which I assume a healer had left earlier that morning. I quickly glanced over the front page before taking another drink from my mug, at which point I did a double take, and spat the coffee I had just sipped all over my bed.
It was impossible. How could it have happened? The Ministry of Magic had been attacked; a large group of death eaters rounded up; Dementors revolt. What had happened while I was out?
I quickly scanned the article, snorting along at Cornelius' foolish statements. Only now did he believe Dumbledore, only when it had already begun, the great bungling fool.
I had to get in touch with Dumbledore now. I had to be updated. I needed to know what happened. I called for an owl and it was soon off with a small message for Dumbledore. Hopefully he would be in touch within a few hours, until then I could only wait.
To my immense surprise however Dumbledore appeared only a few minutes later. I felt like I had been hit by the stunners again, I almost went under too. He merely stared at me however, no chuckle or joke; quite unlike him. I knew immediately something was terribly wrong.
He took a seat beside me, a heaviness obviously on his mind. What had gone wrong? What had happened to them that night?
"Minerva." he said in a somber voice I had heard only once before, many years ago.
"Albus.what?" I stuttered. I had a very bad feeling about this. "What happened?"
Dumbledore sighed. I had never known him to look so sad. He always had a cheerful light in his eyes, but his were now old and tired and dull.
"Sirius. fell," he said simply.
"Fell?" I said, afraid now.
"He fell, in the department mysteries," answered Dumbledore. "He fell through the veil."
I stopped breathing. My cup of coffee fell to the floor, shattering into pieces. My mind was blank. The shock was too much. I fell back against my pillow. How could this happen?
Dumbledore was speaking but I couldn't hear him.
"Minerva," he softly called out to me, "I must return to Hogwarts now, but I'll be back soon. Rest well."
With a tiny pop Dumbledore had left again.
For the longest time I just sat there, unable to process what I had just heard. Sirius was gone. They were all gone. James and Lily. Peter was as good as gone. Now Sirius. Lupin was the last. The old crowd was dying off.
I sat there thinking of older times, better times. Days at Hogwarts when they still attended. The Marauders they were. Some of the greatest minds and troublemakers Hogwarts had ever seen.
I remembered a time where they had bewitched the transfiguration classroom desks to buck and throw any Slytherins sitting on them from their desks. The time they turned the castle red and gold when Gryffindor had won the Quidditch Cup. The time they were all caught outside after midnight, but managed to convince Hagrid they had found a dragon in the forest and escape while looked where they were pointed.
They had been punished every time for all of this of course, it was her job. But she still found it all highly entertaining.
But the world had changed. It was now a much colder place. Sirius represented the last of the Marauders. With only one left it was Lupin. No more gang to go around prank the Slytherins. No more would the corridors be full of the laughter of the troublesome boys.
It then hit me harder than it had before; that this was a war. Sirius had known the risks, we all had, but it didn't truly hit home until that moment. You-know-who had begun this, and it would end with him.
Only with him dead would the others fall, we had known this from the beginning. Yet Dumbledore never made a move to strike him. All we could do he said, was deter him. Deter and wait. Wait and hope.
I thought now of Harry. I remember the thoughts that passed through my mind when last he had lost his family, and now this. It was too much for the boy. He had faced this fight too many times. It should not be his. He should be learning and living while he can. Not having to worry about who he'd lose to the darkness next, not having to worry about whether or not tomorrow would be his last day.
He had grown up away from family, and once he finally had it again, it was snatched away. It must be horrible. Yet still through all of this, after the recovery of Sirius' loss, we would still remain to our plan. Our only chance it seemed, to wait and hope.
But wait for what? Hope for what? Hope is a double-edged sword. We had hoped and for it all Sirius was dead.
After all of our plans, our talks, our preparations, our precautions; after all of that we still had failed to protect our own.
Voldemort had wanted to draw us out, and he had.
Did Sirius ever have a hope?
Did James and Lily?
Did any of us?
St. Mungo's was unusually cold that morning. Not like a nice breeze you sometimes got of the lake during the summer, but a bitter cold; the kind of a cold that warns of an early winter. I propped myself up a little bit to have a look around the room.
It was a very plain room as most hospital wards are; a simple décor of white walls and lumpy beds covered in turquoise sheets. A few other patients were up as well despite the early hour; perhaps the cold woke them as well. I pulled the sheets I had kicked off in my sleep back around me, trying to keep warm. At my age doing just about everything was a great deal harder. The cold hurt more, wounds cut deeper, and I just couldn't take the strain I once could; that was the reason I ended up in St. Mungo's after all; four stunners can do that to you.
Soon the sheets were tight about me and I was feeling quite a bit better; well enough to read the paper and have a bit of coffee at least. If there is one thing I've learnt from years of teaching, it's that coffee can do the body a world of good. As the warm liquid began to flow through my body all the warmth I'd lost started to return. It did feel good to have early in the morning. Prepared a body for the day, whatever it might bring.
I picked up the copy of the Daily Prophet, which I assume a healer had left earlier that morning. I quickly glanced over the front page before taking another drink from my mug, at which point I did a double take, and spat the coffee I had just sipped all over my bed.
It was impossible. How could it have happened? The Ministry of Magic had been attacked; a large group of death eaters rounded up; Dementors revolt. What had happened while I was out?
I quickly scanned the article, snorting along at Cornelius' foolish statements. Only now did he believe Dumbledore, only when it had already begun, the great bungling fool.
I had to get in touch with Dumbledore now. I had to be updated. I needed to know what happened. I called for an owl and it was soon off with a small message for Dumbledore. Hopefully he would be in touch within a few hours, until then I could only wait.
To my immense surprise however Dumbledore appeared only a few minutes later. I felt like I had been hit by the stunners again, I almost went under too. He merely stared at me however, no chuckle or joke; quite unlike him. I knew immediately something was terribly wrong.
He took a seat beside me, a heaviness obviously on his mind. What had gone wrong? What had happened to them that night?
"Minerva." he said in a somber voice I had heard only once before, many years ago.
"Albus.what?" I stuttered. I had a very bad feeling about this. "What happened?"
Dumbledore sighed. I had never known him to look so sad. He always had a cheerful light in his eyes, but his were now old and tired and dull.
"Sirius. fell," he said simply.
"Fell?" I said, afraid now.
"He fell, in the department mysteries," answered Dumbledore. "He fell through the veil."
I stopped breathing. My cup of coffee fell to the floor, shattering into pieces. My mind was blank. The shock was too much. I fell back against my pillow. How could this happen?
Dumbledore was speaking but I couldn't hear him.
"Minerva," he softly called out to me, "I must return to Hogwarts now, but I'll be back soon. Rest well."
With a tiny pop Dumbledore had left again.
For the longest time I just sat there, unable to process what I had just heard. Sirius was gone. They were all gone. James and Lily. Peter was as good as gone. Now Sirius. Lupin was the last. The old crowd was dying off.
I sat there thinking of older times, better times. Days at Hogwarts when they still attended. The Marauders they were. Some of the greatest minds and troublemakers Hogwarts had ever seen.
I remembered a time where they had bewitched the transfiguration classroom desks to buck and throw any Slytherins sitting on them from their desks. The time they turned the castle red and gold when Gryffindor had won the Quidditch Cup. The time they were all caught outside after midnight, but managed to convince Hagrid they had found a dragon in the forest and escape while looked where they were pointed.
They had been punished every time for all of this of course, it was her job. But she still found it all highly entertaining.
But the world had changed. It was now a much colder place. Sirius represented the last of the Marauders. With only one left it was Lupin. No more gang to go around prank the Slytherins. No more would the corridors be full of the laughter of the troublesome boys.
It then hit me harder than it had before; that this was a war. Sirius had known the risks, we all had, but it didn't truly hit home until that moment. You-know-who had begun this, and it would end with him.
Only with him dead would the others fall, we had known this from the beginning. Yet Dumbledore never made a move to strike him. All we could do he said, was deter him. Deter and wait. Wait and hope.
I thought now of Harry. I remember the thoughts that passed through my mind when last he had lost his family, and now this. It was too much for the boy. He had faced this fight too many times. It should not be his. He should be learning and living while he can. Not having to worry about who he'd lose to the darkness next, not having to worry about whether or not tomorrow would be his last day.
He had grown up away from family, and once he finally had it again, it was snatched away. It must be horrible. Yet still through all of this, after the recovery of Sirius' loss, we would still remain to our plan. Our only chance it seemed, to wait and hope.
But wait for what? Hope for what? Hope is a double-edged sword. We had hoped and for it all Sirius was dead.
After all of our plans, our talks, our preparations, our precautions; after all of that we still had failed to protect our own.
Voldemort had wanted to draw us out, and he had.
Did Sirius ever have a hope?
Did James and Lily?
Did any of us?