"Your friends seem to be very concerned for your welfare."
"I guess," mumbled Hermione.
"Will you tell me what happened?"
Hermione looked into the sparkling blue of her headmaster's eyes, reflecting both compassion and humor. A surge of courage filled her veins and Hermione suddenly felt herself opening up to the kindly old professor. She told him of her attack, her flight to the school, her feelings, and her dreams. She was forced to stop once during the actual rape, as it became too hard to bear. A whispered "continue" from the headmaster gave her strength to carry on. As she spoke, Dumbledore's face slowly hardened to mask his rage, and she thought she saw a flash of anger, but it was quickly replaced by a look of concentration. At the end of the galf hour, Hermione felt emotionally drained. Neither spoke while Hermione composed herself. She looked up at her headmaster, who gazed back with pity in his eyes.
"My dear Hermione, you have been through quite an ordeal. I cannot begin to imagine what you have experienced. Though I wish you had come to me right away, I understand why you ran away and hid within yourself."
He gently held her hands between his and, for the first time in a month, Hermione did not feel repulsed by the warmth of human touch. She was oddly comforted by the grandfatherly way in which Dumbledore was treating her. She looked from his hands to his worn, smiling face that was lined with so many years of life's experiences.
"I want to kill him." Hermione surprised herself with the amount of acidic hatred in her voice.
"Unfortunately, vengeance is not a Ministry-approved punishment."
"Unless you're Harry Potter," growled Hermione.
"There are exceptions, Ms. Granger. However . . . I do believe I have an idea." He rose and turned to a large cherry cabinet adjacent his desk. Opening the doors, he reached in and pulled out a round shallow basin.
"What is it?" Hermione asked, for, despite her abnormal thirst for knowledge, she had not come upon the object in any of her books.
"A pensieve. It is used to clear one's brain of clutter. In essence, to make sense of the nonsense within," explained Dumbledore as he pulled out his wand. "Now, you may find your memories a bit overwhelming, but I wish to produce an image of your attacker to hand over to the Ministry for further investigation. If you'll allow me . . ." he indicated his wand. Hermione nodded and closed her eyes, unsure of what to expect.
"Concentrate on the attack."
Memories flooded her mind. Hermione could once again hear the tearing of her robes, the receding footsteps of her attacker.
"Concentrate on his face," murmured Dumbledore.
Once again, the grey eyes bore into hers, sweat gathering at her attacker's brow, despite the cool October afternoon. His long chestnut hair flopped dejectedly into his face. She realized, for the first time, that she could look evenly into his face, meaning he was only as tall as she. As Hermione pictured the man's face in her mind, she felt a light touch on her head and the image disappeared from her mind. She opened her eyes to see the headmaster place a silver thread into the basin. As Dumbledore swirled his wand within its murky depths, a figure rose from the basin.
"Don't move, my sweet." The voice that haunted Hermione's nightmares filled the room. Suddenly queasy and dizzy at the same time, Hermione closed her eyes and fought the urge to scream. The gravely voice continued to speak, but Hermione heard an undercurrent of sound . . . A scratching noise caused her to open her eyes and glance about the room. She looked down at Dumbledore's desk, where a quill was quickly composing a sketch of the figure in the basin.
"A rather useful tool," spoke Dumbledore from beside the pensieve. "I once fell asleep at my desk and awoke an hour later to find a finished portrait of myself lying next to me. As I do not wish for my students nor any other professors to find a picture of the headmaster drooling onto his sleeve, I have disposed of said portrait."
A glimmer of a smile appeared on Hermione's face as she imagined the scene. As she pushed the image from her mind, the scratching stopped. Dumbledore picked up the parchment and regarded it for a moment, as if committing the face to memory. After a few seconds, he reached for his wand, pulled Hermione's thought from the pensieve, and deposited it back in her mind.
"I will send this immediately to the Ministry," Dumbledore intoned as he picked up the portrait. "I assure you that we will find him. For now, however, I believe you have two boys who are very worried about their friend. Perhaps you should speak to them." He suddenly regarded her with a very grave expression. "I will have to inform the teachers about your experience. I promise you that I will not delve into details, but only wish to provide an explanation as to your behavior. Hogsmeade will have to be more carefully regulated."
Hermione nodded, rose from the chair, and turned to leave. Halfway to the door, she halted and, without thinking, spun around and ran to the headmaster, grabbing him around the middle in an unmistakable hug. Silent tears stung the corners of her eyes as she felt him draw back, surprised, and then slowly wrap his arms around her. Then, with a pat on the back, Dumbledore guided her to the door.
"If you ever feel the need to relieve yourself of a burden, Ms. Granger, please come to my office. I always have time for those whose hearts are heavy. And, Hermione . . ." Dumbledore spoke softly; Hermione, her foot on the first step, looked back at him.
"It's not your fault."
Hermione nodded and slowly made her way down the staircase.
After Hermione left, Albus trotted back to his desk. He quickly jotted down a note covering what he had just learned from Hermione., then strode over to Fawkes.
"Please give this note to Minerva. She'll do an excellent job of explaining all this to the other teachers. I'll be in London for the afternoon."
Fawkes nipped his finger, grabbed the note, and disappeared in a blinding flash of light. Satisfied, Dumbledore grabbed the portrait and walked to the fireplace. Grasping a handful of Floo powder, he stepped into the fireplace, clearly spoke "Ministry of Magic", and released the powder. A flash, and he was gone.