Chapter 2:
There Albus is, sitting behind his desk, and I am taken aback at how tired he looks. He never looks old. Albus has the spirits of thousands of eleven year-olds running through him. Yet there he sits, tired, defeated, and though I hate to think it, frail.
"Uncle," I begin, but he raises his hand to quiet me.
"Severus has followed you up the stairs."
I turned my head to the door. Severus does not know of my relation to the Headmaster. Indeed, I do not think anyone does, save Minerva. And she only knows because Albus is unwilling to keep any secrets from her.
The doorknob eases slowly in its circular movement, before the latch is pulled back and Severus, still in his nightshirt, enters. He has, I notice appreciatively, added a dressing gown, though I am shocked to find it is the same mousy brown one I gave him as a wedding present, a fumbling, inadequate gift from a nervous newlywed.
I keep my eyes trained on the right cuff on the dressing gown. He is fingering his wand. I cannot blame him. If I were to be someone impersonating me, my access to the Headmaster's office could be a bad thing. The loyalty he is showing my uncle is impressive. As I watch, he carefully tucks the wand away, so that not one movement in his gown would show the outline of a wand.
He is methodically watching the Headmaster. Albus stirs himself and forces a smile onto his wrinkled features. The fatigue and fraility are gone, though he still looks defeated. Severus, I can tell, notices all this. He risks a glance in my direction.
I have only moved slightly to the left of the door, toward a portrait of a headmaster that is a favorite of mine-Phineus Nigellus. I know many would scoff at my choice, but I have always found the arrogance with which he treated my uncle, and the indifference he affected to be most appealing. The only other time I have ever seen Albus Dumbledore treated without respect was that day in Hogsmeade, where the arrogance of youth refused to bow down to a greater power than Lord Voldemort.
"Headmaster, my apologies for intruding in such a late hour, however, I was concerned," he stresses the last word.
"I appreciate it, Severus, but there was no need. Bena has come at my request. Please, both of you, have a seat." he motions to the two empty chairs in front of his desk. I immediately stride forward to plop down unceremoniously on the left. Severus takes the other.
"Severus, as you well know, Remus Lupin was only a temporary appointment. I needed to stave off the Ministry until a more permanent, more widely accepted, instructor could be found. Bena has graciously agreed to fill the post. She will begin the Defense Against the Dark Arts when term commences . I understand," he paused slightly for effect, "that this situation is not ideal for the two of you. However, I wish to stress upon you both how important I find both of you to be, and I wish for the two of you to be civil with each other."
I sighed heavily. Severus made no indication of his reaction to these words.
"You think the Dark Lord will simply sit back and let Bena Hummell come to Hogwarts? He is not a forgetful man, Albus. He will remember quite clearly who she is. So will the others. Her life is on my head. I was charged with the task of murdering her. You think a twinkle of your damn eye and she will be safe? She was far safer exiled to North America than she could ever be here!" Severus spat venomously, and I realized how very twisted he had become.
Ah.
So, this is why Albus asked me to come. He knows perfectly well I could have stayed in the Wizarding States, working on international relations as I have done for the eighteen years. Instead he has pulled me out to act as a distraction for Severus Snape.
That I mind, Albus.
I remember reading in the Daily Prophet at the end of the spring term about Mr. Potter's return to grace and the grudging acceptance of the Ministry of the return of Voldemort. But what I remember most is in my monthly epistle from him; he said Harry had tried to cast an unforgivable.
No, Albus, not your Harry Potter. He would never, he could never. And that was the point, wasn't it? He cast an insignificant, broken form of the cruciatus curse. Lucky boy. Not lucky that it didn't work. No, I think even good wizards should know how to cast the Unforgiveables, so they can recognize the wrist movements and mouthing of the curses. No, lucky boy, that he was at the Ministry of Magic. That there were Death Eaters and Aurors all around the building casting curses, so that when later, when Mafalda Hopkirk reviews the magic used, she will assume the nasty Death Eaters used the curse, and our Albus's young Mr. Potter will not receive any punishment.
But Severus would not stand for it. No, I know him well enough. If he latched onto this information, he would shake it far after it's neck had broken and it was held limply in his jaws. And so, you have called for a distraction. Dangerous, Albus, very dangerous.
I am wanted by the Dark Lord himself, as Severus pointed out. But you have put me in the safest place known to the Wizarding world....if one overlooks the three times Voldemort has been able to gain access to Harry Potter since he came to school.
A distraction, hmm. Well, I assure you, I will do my best. Hips swaying, lips pouting, and eyelids fluttering.
"Albus," I call softly, to break him out of the reverie we have all fallen out of.
"My apologies, my dear," he say warmly, smiling at me. "Forgive an old man his thoughts. Severus, you are quite right, there is danger involved. However, Bena is here and she will be teaching. I leave it both your hands to figure out the rest."
And so he stand, back to being impressive. Quickly, too quickly for a normal exit, he walks up the stairs to his private chambers, patting Fawkes on the way. The door closes behind him and Severus and I are left staring at one another with mouths open.
The Plan, Albus. Albus has forgone the Plan.
We are lost.
There Albus is, sitting behind his desk, and I am taken aback at how tired he looks. He never looks old. Albus has the spirits of thousands of eleven year-olds running through him. Yet there he sits, tired, defeated, and though I hate to think it, frail.
"Uncle," I begin, but he raises his hand to quiet me.
"Severus has followed you up the stairs."
I turned my head to the door. Severus does not know of my relation to the Headmaster. Indeed, I do not think anyone does, save Minerva. And she only knows because Albus is unwilling to keep any secrets from her.
The doorknob eases slowly in its circular movement, before the latch is pulled back and Severus, still in his nightshirt, enters. He has, I notice appreciatively, added a dressing gown, though I am shocked to find it is the same mousy brown one I gave him as a wedding present, a fumbling, inadequate gift from a nervous newlywed.
I keep my eyes trained on the right cuff on the dressing gown. He is fingering his wand. I cannot blame him. If I were to be someone impersonating me, my access to the Headmaster's office could be a bad thing. The loyalty he is showing my uncle is impressive. As I watch, he carefully tucks the wand away, so that not one movement in his gown would show the outline of a wand.
He is methodically watching the Headmaster. Albus stirs himself and forces a smile onto his wrinkled features. The fatigue and fraility are gone, though he still looks defeated. Severus, I can tell, notices all this. He risks a glance in my direction.
I have only moved slightly to the left of the door, toward a portrait of a headmaster that is a favorite of mine-Phineus Nigellus. I know many would scoff at my choice, but I have always found the arrogance with which he treated my uncle, and the indifference he affected to be most appealing. The only other time I have ever seen Albus Dumbledore treated without respect was that day in Hogsmeade, where the arrogance of youth refused to bow down to a greater power than Lord Voldemort.
"Headmaster, my apologies for intruding in such a late hour, however, I was concerned," he stresses the last word.
"I appreciate it, Severus, but there was no need. Bena has come at my request. Please, both of you, have a seat." he motions to the two empty chairs in front of his desk. I immediately stride forward to plop down unceremoniously on the left. Severus takes the other.
"Severus, as you well know, Remus Lupin was only a temporary appointment. I needed to stave off the Ministry until a more permanent, more widely accepted, instructor could be found. Bena has graciously agreed to fill the post. She will begin the Defense Against the Dark Arts when term commences . I understand," he paused slightly for effect, "that this situation is not ideal for the two of you. However, I wish to stress upon you both how important I find both of you to be, and I wish for the two of you to be civil with each other."
I sighed heavily. Severus made no indication of his reaction to these words.
"You think the Dark Lord will simply sit back and let Bena Hummell come to Hogwarts? He is not a forgetful man, Albus. He will remember quite clearly who she is. So will the others. Her life is on my head. I was charged with the task of murdering her. You think a twinkle of your damn eye and she will be safe? She was far safer exiled to North America than she could ever be here!" Severus spat venomously, and I realized how very twisted he had become.
Ah.
So, this is why Albus asked me to come. He knows perfectly well I could have stayed in the Wizarding States, working on international relations as I have done for the eighteen years. Instead he has pulled me out to act as a distraction for Severus Snape.
That I mind, Albus.
I remember reading in the Daily Prophet at the end of the spring term about Mr. Potter's return to grace and the grudging acceptance of the Ministry of the return of Voldemort. But what I remember most is in my monthly epistle from him; he said Harry had tried to cast an unforgivable.
No, Albus, not your Harry Potter. He would never, he could never. And that was the point, wasn't it? He cast an insignificant, broken form of the cruciatus curse. Lucky boy. Not lucky that it didn't work. No, I think even good wizards should know how to cast the Unforgiveables, so they can recognize the wrist movements and mouthing of the curses. No, lucky boy, that he was at the Ministry of Magic. That there were Death Eaters and Aurors all around the building casting curses, so that when later, when Mafalda Hopkirk reviews the magic used, she will assume the nasty Death Eaters used the curse, and our Albus's young Mr. Potter will not receive any punishment.
But Severus would not stand for it. No, I know him well enough. If he latched onto this information, he would shake it far after it's neck had broken and it was held limply in his jaws. And so, you have called for a distraction. Dangerous, Albus, very dangerous.
I am wanted by the Dark Lord himself, as Severus pointed out. But you have put me in the safest place known to the Wizarding world....if one overlooks the three times Voldemort has been able to gain access to Harry Potter since he came to school.
A distraction, hmm. Well, I assure you, I will do my best. Hips swaying, lips pouting, and eyelids fluttering.
"Albus," I call softly, to break him out of the reverie we have all fallen out of.
"My apologies, my dear," he say warmly, smiling at me. "Forgive an old man his thoughts. Severus, you are quite right, there is danger involved. However, Bena is here and she will be teaching. I leave it both your hands to figure out the rest."
And so he stand, back to being impressive. Quickly, too quickly for a normal exit, he walks up the stairs to his private chambers, patting Fawkes on the way. The door closes behind him and Severus and I are left staring at one another with mouths open.
The Plan, Albus. Albus has forgone the Plan.
We are lost.