Investigations were continuing.
Albus Dumbledore was sitting in his chair in his office asleep, dreaming that he was sitting in his chair in his office asleep. It was quite a pleasant dream, actually. The worries of the past weeks had stopped slowly, gradually pestering his tired mind and for the first time in days he had been able to close his eyes to catch some well-deserved rest.
In the corner of the room beside a wardrobe on a small cupboard his Pensieve was standing, illuminated only by the feeble light of the silvery substance inside. He had been dealing with it all day searching for significant points in his memories for the very clue that would lead him to who had cursed his Deputy Headmistress and why.
Minerva's general state had not changed much since she had been transferred to the hospital wing and in spite of a very worried, extremely involved Poppy Pomfrey they had not been able to get behind the events of the night when she had nearly been killed.
Albus had gone through the whole matter in his head, again and again. It was frankly impossible that someone had jinxed her from any point in the room. The wardrobe had been empty. Invisibility Cloaks could not fool Albus's Disillusionment Charms. The window was sealed with a number of very nasty Transfiguration spells if he knew anything about Minerva McGonagall's safety standards. So the culprit had to be one of them. One of the four teachers in the room. And that was impossible.
Before the start of term, Albus had had a lengthy conversation with Lance Snape, one of the current Lieutenants and Captain-to-be within the area around M'bwa. He had not trusted Rodney Robertson, to be quite frank, due to the events on the Isle of Mull a few years ago, involving Remus Lupin and his parents, in which the Robertson family had played a rather discreditable role, and which had not brought about any satisfying clarification up to the present day. But Lance had assured his old friend that there was no danger in giving young Robertson the position of the Potions master, due to the fact that he had not grown up with his parents, but with his elderly grandmother. And Albus had changed his mind, gradually, about the youngest member of the family responsible for the werewolf attack of so many years ago.
It had been the right decision. He knew it had. Rodney Robertson's mind had told him the truth. For the most part, quite ironically, it was completely blank, except for the occasional superficial emotion. But that was normal for young men of his age, was it not? Especially soldiers. Especially the soldiers of the wizarding army down in M'bwa or the Central Camp. Robertson's mind had been as soldier-like as any. Straightforward, orderly, very blank. Too blank, perhaps?
Certainly Albus knew that breaking into a person's mind without their consent and without more than an actual suspicion was strictly against the wizarding law, but he had to provide for the safety of his students. Hogwarts safety came before anything, especially at times like this when people were going crazy about blood lines like in the old days.
Very worrying, in fact, Albus thought, that people should start behaving exactly like in the old days again without consideration of the consequences. The generation of Lance, for example, and his currently handicapped Deputy Headmistress had seen the war. They knew what was the outcome of haughtiness and deliberate ignorance. Had experienced one loss at least in practically every family.
Albus snored in his sleep and turned. This woke him up. He blinked, then lifted his chest from the desktop, giving his Phoenix a weary look, and stood up, prowling up and down his office, occasionally throwing thoughtful looks at his Pensieve, which was simmering quietly now he had woken up from his slumber and was diving into critical thinking again.
Rodney. The youngest member of the Robertson family. The person Lance Snape trusted. Then again, could Lance be trusted? Could anyone?
Things were becoming rather hairy these days. Times in which a Deputy Headmistress just suddenly turned into a ghost, in spite of not having performed the ritual, could not be considered safe. Albus sighed and stopped prowling. He looked around once again, patted Fawkes's shimmering plumage, and eventually stepped out of the office into the silent hallway. The whole of the castle was asleep. Except for the occasional student sneaking into the kitchen for a mug of hot chocolate. Or the teacher on night watch trying to prevent it.
Today would have been Minerva's turn, had she not met such an undesirable fate. Had he, Albus, not missed a crucial point that had almost led to her destruction. In a sudden jolt of shame the headmaster put his hands before his eyes and massaged his temples shortly before looking up again.
He was looking in the eyes of the very person he had been thinking about all night.
'Headmaster,' came the young man's quiet voice out of the semidarkness. 'I didn't think you were still up.'
'I fell asleep on my desk,' said Albus quietly, surveying Robertson closely through his half-moon spectacles. 'What are you doing in the corridors at night?'
'I was worried about Professor McGonagall's well-being,' was the simple reply.
'She will be well again in no time,' said Albus, not knowing what made him utter this statement.
Robertson nodded. 'So I hope.'
'You have been to see her?'
'Not yet,' replied Robertson.
'You have chosen the wrong direction then,' said Albus, as quietly as before, careful not to let his voice assume a suspicious note. 'The hospital wing is this way.'
Robertson looked surprised. Then nodded. 'I remember.'
Within moments they had reached their destination and Albus took a few long steps towards Minerva's bed. What he had feared turned out to be true. She was paler than before and what was still human about her was sweating slightly. Her forehead was gleaming and with all her might she was wriggling around on her mattress. Obviously in pain.
Albus turned, not bothering to draw his wand, and grabbed Robertson's throat with one hand, pressing lightly.
'What did you give her?'
It was an order rather than a question. His Potions master gave him a surprised look and turned very pale, starting to choke. He had not calculated on this, very obviously, and needed some time before he found a suitable answer to give.
'What?'
'You have been in here! Do not take me for a fool, Rodney Robertson! You came to finish what you have started, but I will not let you kill my Deputy Headmistress. What did you give her!'
'I just told you I haven't yet entered the hospital wing,' choked Robertson. 'What are you saying, Headmaster! You should know it wasn't me!'
His voice sounded desperate now. Albus pierced his eyes with one look and broke, without much care, into the man's mind. The usual surprising emptiness inside made his blood curl and with equal desperation as the man before him he started looking for any signs of an Occlumency barrier.
But there were none.
At this moment, the hospital wing doors opened and Madame Pomfrey entered the room. Albus could sense her presence and withdrew quickly from the younger man's mind, knowing that he had gone too far. Had let his caution slip, as it should not happen to a wizard of his powers. Robertson was staring at him, wide-eyed, and so was the nurse. For a fraction of a second, Albus had the impression that the only traitor in this room was standing in front of Robertson at the moment. Then he let go of the younger man's throat. Robertson gasped. And so did Madame Pomfrey.
'May I ask what is going on, headmaster?'
Albus made for a reply, thought about it for a second, then lowered his hands and shook his head helplessly before throwing a very pained look at Minerva. Madame Pomfrey followed his gaze.
'She isn't too well again,' she said quietly, approaching the deputy headmistress in a swift movement, placing one hand on her forehead. 'Has been like this all night. I wonder whether the potion I gave her was quite the right choice. But it is ever so hard to decide...'
Albus stared at her. Then turned to his Potions master.
The latter did not move for some time. 'If you allow, Madame Pomfrey,' he said eventually, then turning to Albus, 'headmaster, I will floo to St. Mungo's and see if they have any suitable suggestions. I daresay their knowledge and experience will be of help.'
The nurse nodded. 'That might be a wise idea indeed. Avoid speaking to Dr. Topaz McGonagall, though. He is ever so meddlesome when it comes to his ex-wife. I can too well imagine him paying a visit in the middle of the night, trying to throw in some advise. Ha! With me beating him in every anatomy exam from first to seventh level...'
Robertson rolled his eyes and then threw a cold, almost pitying look at the old headmaster as if waiting for his admission. Albus nodded weakly after a while. Meant to say something, but changed his mind yet again. The situation was worse than any he had experienced in years.
Robertson nodded back at him, lightly, and then vanished from the hospital wing in his usual swift walk.
Madame Pomfrey bent over the lifeless body of Minerva McGonagall, heaved a big sigh and eventually said, not looking up while speaking, 'I know what it is like, headmaster. One cannot be careful enough these days. Then again, whom can you trust if not your own judgement?'
