Erroris of Vestri Mores

By Shadow Ballad

A/N: Thanks once again for the reviews! You guys mentioned stuff I kind of overlooked…haha…those mistakes should be rectified here! Awright! ;) Don't worry; all will be explained in time… lots of explanations in this chapter, actually. Dumbledore is not unaware of everything, but cannot act due to overwhelming circumstances. Maybe Hermione was a little OC last chapter, but thanks for pointing it out to me :hugs everyone:

Chapter Five: Numbers Never Lie

The Headmaster frowned down his crooked nose at Hermione for a few moments. Suddenly he smiled warmly, startling the Gryffindor, who rather thought that he was quite angry with her. "Explain, Miss Granger? There is nothing to explain. I certainly do not blame you for the current situation," he said, giving her a small pat on the shoulder. He then turned his attention to the blood-covered stone, and with a wave of his wand, it became clean once again.

Bewildered, Hermione turned to Professor McGonagall, who was still tight-lipped. "B-but, Professor…you were angry with me…" she stuttered, head reeling and feeling quite as though she had missed something important.

The Transfiguration teacher nodded curtly. "You found Professor Snape injured, and you alerted no one! I thought more highly of you, Miss Granger," the stern woman said with a pronounced frown. Hermione, confused at finding that she wasn't being blamed after all, felt quite dizzy and placed a slightly trembling hand to her forehead.

"Now, now, Minerva," Professor Dumbledore said consolingly as he examined the once again unconscious Potions Master. "I'm sure Miss Granger did what she felt was right. She decided to stay and see if she could help him in any way; am I correct, Miss Granger?"

The girl in question nodded slightly, hardly believing the surprising turn events had decided to take in the past few seconds.

Two people, however, were not at all pleased at the sudden bright light in Hermione's future. Filch looked as if he had just been told that Peeves was his new assistant. "But Headmaster Dumbledore, we found the girl at the scene of the crime! She's – "

" – not guilty, Argus," Professor Dumbledore said easily over the other man's protest while he and Madam Pomfrey attended to Professor Snape.

Malfoy, on the other hand, was gaping as if he had just been told that he had been Re-sorted into Hufflepuff. As if noticing the lack of his usual arrogant defiance, he quickly smothered a grin on his face. It wasn't steady, and faltered while Hermione watched from the bed. "I seem to have misunderstood you, sir," the blonde Slytherin drawled, "but you seem to have said that the Mud – er, Granger – wasn't guilty."

Dumbledore, who had conjured a bowl of water and a soft towel and was attempting to scrape the dried blood off of Professor Snape, gave the boy a genial look. "No, you heard me correctly Mr. Malfoy," he said, turning back to the patient on the floor.

Madam Pomfrey, who was helping, shook her head. "He needs the hospital wing, Albus," she said, giving the injured professor a sad glance. "I can't help him here."

The Headmaster nodded, and then turned to professors Flitwick and Sprout. "Pomona, Filius, would you help Poppy escort Severus to the hospital wing? I have some business here," he added at the two Heads' confused looks. They nodded, and as Professor Sprout conjured a stretcher, Madam Pomfrey and Professor Flitwick magicked Professor Snape onto it.

"Be careful," McGonagall said in an oddly strained voice as they passed her to exit the bedroom. Hermione gazed at her Head of House curiously before her eyes snapped back to Dumbledore as he cleared his throat.

"Argus, Mr. Malfoy, I thank you for your ardour, but your services are no longer needed," he said, gently dismissing the two shocked-looking people before him before following the procession leaving the room. Filch, his jowls quivering in rage, stormed from the room, closely followed by an incensed Malfoy. Before the Slytherin left, he gave Hermione a glower overflowing with hatred. He then stocked from the room.

Shaking her head in exasperation, the Gryffindor prefect got up from the bed and approached Professor McGonagall, who wore a pensive expression on her slightly lined face. "Professor," she said to get the other's attention.

The Transfiguration teacher jumped slightly, then turned to Hermione. Her lips were still thin, but not so tight; and the former out of clear worry. "Yes, Miss Granger?" she asked, returning to her no-nonsense attitude in the blink of an eye.

"Will…will he be all right?" Hermione asked quietly, allowing her stare to wander to the doorway recently vacated by the group heading to the infirmary. She rubbed her arms in the chill of the dungeon. Suddenly she wondered just how long Professor Snape had been hanging from the ceiling in the freezing cold.

"Of course, Miss Granger," McGonagall replied, startling Hermione out of her contemplations. "He's more obstinate than anyone I have ever met; don't you worry about Professor Snape." She gave Hermione a rare smile, though the girl noticed that it was rather strained despite the encouraging words before it.

"Ahem," a raspy voice cleared itself in the corner, alerting the remaining people to another person's forgotten presence.

Headmaster Dumbledore, who had accompanied the recovery party for a few corridors, returned at that moment and gave the man an amiable grin. "Well good morning, Theodore," he exclaimed, grabbing the teacher's arm and guiding him into the bedroom with Professor McGonagall and Hermione. "I don't believe you've yet had the pleasure of meeting our best student."

Hermione blushed at the compliment, but felt quite pleased nonetheless. She politely extended her hand to the blue-eyed teacher before her. "Hermione Granger, sir," she said, shaking his rather large hand. Despite his looks, he had a fairly strong grip that surprised her. He smiled warmly down at her, and she couldn't help but notice that the slightly tanned skin of his face appeared somewhat bruised. She shrugged inwardly, writing it off as an unfortunate meeting with Peeves or a particularly mischievous student.

"I'd like you to tell me as much as you can remember about what you saw when you first saw Professor Snape," he said gently, motioning for her to follow him into the living room. He flicked his long wand and the torches were suddenly bright with merry flames. Hermione blinked several times, finally closing her eyes until they became used to the abrupt glare as she lowered herself onto the sofa. Dumbledore and McGonagall followed, seating themselves in various chairs around the room.

She felt uncomfortable, sitting in Professor Snape's living room under the scrutiny of three professors. Nervously she bit her lip, folding her hands in her lap to stop from twisting them about her wand.

"Well, I…I didn't notice at first, since there was so much…so much b-blood on the floor," she said in a voice not much louder than a whisper. She allowed her voice to trail away, the full impact of the last ten minutes' events crashing down on her like an avalanche. Her hands were covered in blood…her robes were covered in blood…everything was covered in blood! Hermione shuddered, feeling suddenly very cold, wrapping her arms around herself and pushing further into the couch.

How was she supposed to explain something she didn't quite understand herself?

A gentle touch on her knee brought her eyes forward, meeting the soft blue orbs of the Headmaster. His kind face was etched with worry. "Are you all right, Hermione?" he asked quietly.

Hermione nodded, giving Dumbledore a small smile to prove that she indeed meant it. The ancient wizard gave her knee a soft pat before leaning back, though his gaze never left her.

Gershwin cleared his throat softly, interrupting the moment. Hermione turned her attention to the new teacher, reassured by the Headmaster's support. "Don't say anything that makes you feel uncomfortable" he said soothingly, resting his elbows on his knees and giving her his full attention. "Just tell us the bare minimum of what we need to know to somehow piece it all together." His raspy voice was slightly irritating to Hermione, but that thought quickly evaporated when she reminded herself that he was the new Defence teacher and would hopefully know more about the binding curse that had been placed on Professor Snape.

Hermione nodded, and then took a moment to collect her thoughts. Where to begin? Should she tell them why she had been in the Potions Master's rooms in the first place? Would they even believe her if she decided to tell them? "Just tell us the bare minimum of what we need to know…" Gershwin's words rang inside her head as if in answer to her quandary. No, she decided, they did not need to be told the why. They needed to know the what.

"When I found him, Professor Snape was…well…hanging from the ceiling from chains attached to his wrists and neck," she began, noting that Professor McGonagall's eyes widened in shock at this announcement. She filed this bit of information away before continuing her story. "He was absolutely covered in blood; it was awful," she added, unable to repress a shudder at the horrible memory of her blood-covered professor hanging from the ceiling like some grotesque ornament.

"His left wrist was broken, and his fingers were shattered, too. Both of his shoulders were dislocated as well," Hermione went on, wishing with every fibre of her being that the entire incident had not occurred and she was not being forced to relive one of the most terrible moments of her life. "I could barely obtain a pulse…"

The room was deathly quiet as the Gryffindor trailed off, her tale complete. Professor McGonagall's mouth had become a thin line, Dumbledore's hands were clasped a little too firmly in his lap, and Gershwin was frowning intently at a stone in the vicinity of Hermione's left foot. None of the adults spoke for a few minutes, for which Hermione was grateful; she did not feel like speaking after reliving the horrors of what seemed like both an eternity and a moment ago.

Abruptly Professor Gershwin's blue eyes snapped up from the stone they had been perusing and locked onto her face, giving Hermione a slight start. Brown gazed into blue for an intense moment before the professor broke eye contact. His eyes…there was something in his eyes… the small voice in her head, forgotten in the horror of finding Professor Snape covered in blood, piped up. She frowned to herself; whatever did that mean?

Meanwhile, the man in question ran a troubled hand through his hair, tousling it up even more. "Obviously someone attacked him," he stated rather bluntly, drawing the stares of both professors Dumbledore and McGonagall to himself. "And obviously it wasn't a student," he continued, his long fingers beginning to drum nervously on the arms of the chair he had conjured earlier.

"I have never before heard of a binding spell the likes of what Miss Granger described," said Professor McGonagall, her brows coming together to form a long, stern line on her forehead. "The Incarcerous spell summons ropes to bind the victim, correct?" Gershwin nodded, still rubbing incessantly at his hair.

"I have read about such a Dark spell," the Headmaster said quietly, fixing both McGonagall and Gershwin with a serious gaze. At the woman's gasp, he nodded his head solemnly. "Yes, Minerva; the spell Miss Granger described is indeed very Dark magic." If it was possible, McGonagall's mouth became even thinner at this unpleasant revelation.

"Indeed," Gershwin agreed absently, his gaze now fixed upon the small table in front of the couch. Hermione was wondering what he was thinking about when she suddenly remembered how the chains had burned Professor Snape when she had used Finite Incantatem to end the spell.

"Er…professors?" she asked in a tiny voice, not wanting to disturb them in any way. Three sets of eyes turned her way, causing her to squirm under their pointed gazes. "I remembered something else, about the spell, I mean," she said quickly. Inwardly she berated herself for behaving like a child holding a broken vase behind her back, fearing a scolding; she was not guilty in this and therefore had nothing to hide.

"Go on, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said briskly, nodding her head encouragingly at the student.

"Er…I, er…I obviously got him down, you see, but when I did – I used Finite Incantatem, and – "

"You WHAT?" exclaimed Gershwin, interrupting Hermione's quick and slightly incoherent flow of information. Startled, Hermione jerked her eyes from Dumbledore and gazed at Gershwin, who was now sitting on the edge of his seat and rapidly tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair.

"I, I used Finite Incantatem," she repeated, wondering why he had suddenly become so agitated. Did he know what it had done?

"Is there something wrong with that, Theodore?" Professor Dumbledore asked mildly, glancing quizzically but not unpleasantly at his Defence teacher.

Gershwin nodded irritably. "Yes, yes; there most certainly is. When someone uses Finite Incantatem on this binding spell, it burns the victim before the spell ends," he said rather hurriedly, flicking one hand in impatience. McGonagall raised her eyebrows at his sudden twitchy behaviour. He seemed to catch her expression, for he grimaced slightly and appeared to calm down. "It's effectiveness at burning the victim varies based on the strength of the one casting Finite Incantatem. If Miss Granger is as strong as you say she is, then Professor Snape should also be treated for rather severe burns."

"It is a good thing you know so much about this particular spell," Professor Dumbledore said, levelling the younger wizard with a slightly calculating stare. Gershwin shrugged but didn't quite meet the Headmaster's gaze.

"It's my job to know such things," he mumbled, then with a slight cringe, he looked up. "I had nothing to do with this, if that is what you are getting at," he said quietly. Hermione detected a faintly hurt tone beneath the raspy tenor of his voice.

Dumbledore held up his hands in a soothing gesture. "Now, now, I never said I was blaming you, Theodore," the Headmaster said gently. "But you know that I must ask you where you were after you left the Great Hall last night. Poppy informed me that Severus had been attacked around midnight," he added, the smile on his face hardly accusatory.

Hermione couldn't help but gasp; Professor Snape had been in that condition since midnight? She shuddered, not remotely able to imagine the immense pain he must have suffered until she had discovered him, and that had been more than six hours later!

"I was with Professor Sprout; she was giving me a tour of the greenhouses. Herbology was always a favourite hobby of mine," Professor Gershwin was saying, clearly relieved that the Headmaster didn't suspect him of attacking the Potions Master. After seeing the Defence teacher up close, Hermione couldn't help but grudgingly agree with Ron and Harry's assessment the previous day: he looked quite weak and not capable of hurting anyone.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands over her mouth at the sudden thought of her friends. The three adults looked quizzically in her direction, and she couldn't help but blush. "I just remembered…I'm supposed to be in the Great Hall for breakfast right now," she muttered, feeling embarrassed by her unceremonious outburst.

"By the clock on Severus's mantle, you're supposed to be in History of Magic right now, actually," Professor Dumbledore said conversationally, his trademark twinkle now back in his light blue eyes.

"WHAT!" Hermione shrieked, jumping from the sofa in absolute horror. She was missing a class! To top it off, it was the first History of Magic class of the term! She wasn't taking notes, and knew perfectly well that the two boys were in too much of a stupor by now to even think of it. She would fail! NO! She gripped her abruptly swimming head tightly in her hands, forcing herself to take measured breaths in an effort to calm down.

A warm chuckle interrupted her devastated thoughts of failure, and she looked up with a panicked expression on her face to see Albus Dumbledore smiling at her. "Don't worry, Miss Granger," he said genially, "I'm sure Professor Bins will excuse you." He then fiddled around in his robes for a few moments, exclaimed "Aha!" and took out a small sack filled with little yellow spheres. Grinning, he held out the bag to Hermione. "Lemon drop?"

Numbly Hermione shook her head politely, her mind still reeling about in devastated circles over missing the History notes. The bell rang to signal the end of first class, and her heart sunk within her chest to land somewhere in the vicinity of her stomach. There was nothing for it. She sighed and resigned herself to copying notes from the entire first chapter of her textbook; she had learned long ago that Harry and Ron never even so much as remembered what Professor Bins had taught them, and thus couldn't rely on them to give her an accurate description of the day's lesson.

Abruptly she realized that the three adults were on their feet as well, and that Professor Gershwin was addressing her. "…attend my class; it's the next one after the break for you, I believe; sixth year Gryffindors and Slytherins together," he said, then gave her a small, nervous smile before dusting off his black teacher's robes and exiting the chamber.

At the encouraging smile from Dumbledore, Hermione followed suit, suddenly feeling very much like going back to bed and reliving the entire morning over again, it had been so awful. Malfoy surely had told all the Slytherins that she had "attacked" Professor Snape, and the way news spread around Hogwarts, everyone in the school ought to know by lunch, if not now. She remembered to snatch her parchments from the table she had laid them on upon entering before glumly making her way to the Defence against the Dark Arts classroom on the first storey. Half-way there Hermione suddenly realized that she had none of her books. Throwing her hands up in exasperation, she flung herself up the staircases to Gryffindor tower, all thoughts of the morning chased soundly from her mind.

"I cannot believe it, Albus; I just cannot," Minerva McGonagall stated with a fierce shake of her head. Many of the portraits on the wall gazed at her curiously, but the fiery professor was in no mood to be watched by paintings and growled at them to mind their own business. Beside her, Dumbledore raised his bushy white eyebrows in amusement. Minerva knew better than to snap at the Headmaster, so opted to ignore him instead.

"What can you not believe, my dear Minerva?" Albus asked kindly as they strode together toward the hospital wing, footsteps echoing loudly on the stone floors. He fiddled absently with his bag of lemon drops, finally choosing a rather plump candy and popping it joyfully into his mouth. Minerva sighed inwardly, somewhere between feeling annoyed and reassured by this common gesture of his.

"That anyone would attack Severus!" she exclaimed, frightening a portrait full of geese into panicked flight. Ignoring the honking and squawking, she frowned down at the stones as if they offended her.

In her peripheral vision, she noticed Dumbledore pause in munching on the lemon drop and don a pensive expression on his lined visage. Deciding that he wanted to be left to his thoughts, she sighed quietly and delved into her own.

Why had Hermione Granger been in Professor Snape's rooms in the first place? Granted, it was wonderful that she found him before it was too late, but what right had the girl in being there? When she had been retelling her tale of how she had discovered Severus – Minerva shuddered at the visual images Hermione's tale invoked – she seemed a bit, well, uneasy. It was as if the girl was hiding something; that she left something unsaid for reasons of her own. Hmm. She needed to speak with her…

"A Sickle for your thoughts, Minerva," Albus said playfully beside her, jerking her up from her deep contemplations.

Blushing slightly, Minerva shook her head and gave the Headmaster a rueful grin. "Oh, nothing important, Albus," she said dismissively as they stopped outside the wide double doors of the hospital wing. Donning her business-like façade once again, she nodded for Albus to open the door and usher the two visitors inside.

Dumbledore knocked politely and then pushed one door open, stepping aside for Minerva to enter. Both came in as quietly as possible. The surgically clean hospital wing smelled slightly like bitter medicine, and the white walls seemed a bit too bright in so sombre a place, especially when one considered the potential clientele.

Minerva looked around, immediately noting that the equally white curtains around one of the beds against the far wall were drawn up for privacy. Assuming that Severus was in this bed, Minerva strode briskly toward it. Just as she reached out to scoot the curtain open, Madam Pomfrey burst out from behind it. Both women blanched at suddenly seeing each other, which elicited a chuckle from the Headmaster as he joined them.

Poppy Pomfrey instantly recovered from her little scare, rearranging the neat stack of gauze and bandages in her arms. "He's resting," she announced softly before walking away and disappearing into her supply cabinet. Without another word, Minerva gently pulled back the privacy curtain and poked her head inside, hat and all.

Severus Snape did not look happy. Well, considering that he was generally sneering or frowning anyway, he now looked absolutely lived, as if ready to spit nails. She suppressed a smile at his glower – it would not do well to rile him up before even speaking to him, after all – and opened up the curtain a little more so Albus could enter too.

Aside from not seeming happy, Severus looked absolutely awful. Minerva immediately felt ashamed by her earlier amusement and, sinking into one of the three stiff-backed brown chairs arranged by the bed, she couldn't help but frown deeply.

His entire torso was wrapped in gauze and bandages stained crimson where the wounds had reopened, and his left hand was set firmly in a stiff sort of cast infused with healing magic to accelerate the curative process. She noticed that the fingers were rather red and swollen, but otherwise whole and intact. Several bandages were attached to his face as well.

On top of it all, he was extremely pale, more so than usual, and what little could be seen of his upper body underneath all of the dressings was alarmingly thin. A white linen sheet was pulled up to his waist, giving the wizard a semblance of privacy.

Albus scooted past her and settled himself in the chair nearest to the injured wizard's head, taking up Severus's slender hand in his own. The Potions Master frowned and tried to jerk away, but Dumbledore held on tight and merely gave him a genial smile. "Hullo, Severus," he said gently, giving the still-protesting hand a comforting pat. "How are you feeling?"

"Oh, quite wonderful, actually," the dark wizard replied acidly, "seeing as how I was nearly shredded to ribbons and am now lying in a hospital bed, covered in bandages like some bloody invalid!" Minerva flinched at this bitter diatribe but decided that, for once, the man had completely earned the right to complain all that he wanted.

"Calm down, child," Albus said consolingly, using his free hand to rub the Potions Master's shoulder. "You need to rest and heal."

"Don't call me child, Albus," Severus retorted plaintively, attempting to pull away from the affectionate gestures. Dumbledore ignored him and continued to hold his hand and pat his shoulder, smiling all the while.

Minerva, quite over feeling sorry for the dark-haired man, scooted her chair closer and adjusted her spectacles in a businesslike manner. Severus glanced at her from glaring at Dumbledore, who had taken to running a finger down Severus's cheek in a fatherly manner (clearly annoying and effectively embarrassing the younger wizard to no end). She cleared her throat to make sure Albus was listening, then smoothed her robes and launched into the questions she had been keen to ask.

"I'm sorry Severus," she began –

"No you're not," he snorted –

" – but I really must ask you some questions," she continued, ignoring the return of his usual sneer but noting it as a sure sign that he was healing well. He delicately raised a slender eyebrow at her in his trademark fashion.

"About what?" he asked flatly after a few seconds' appraisal. "If it's about the attacks, I don't remember anything about them."

This statement shocked Minerva, who wasn't prepared to hear such a confession. Beside her Albus stopped stroking Severus's long black hair for a moment as if this revelation startled him, too.

"You, you don't remember who attacked you?" she inquired, squinting hard at the patient in the bed.

"I believe I just said that, yes," he replied in a bored tone, and then, seemingly at the end of his patience, he grunted and jerked his hand away from Dumbledore and swatted the elderly man's hand away from his face. Albus's eyes twinkled mischievously, and the moment Severus returned his attention to Minerva, he snatched the Potions Master's hand and set to rubbing his shoulder once again. Severus gave him a withering glare but was soon directed back to Minerva by a rather impatient "ahem."

"If you please," she said sternly, giving Albus an accusatory look that the ancient wizard returned with his most innocent expression. She snorted, doubting that Albus Dumbledore had ever been innocent. "Back to the matter at hand. I know you just told us that you don't remember who attacked you, but surely you remember something about last night, don't you?"

Severus looked thoughtful for a moment, narrowing his obsidian eyes to near slits, apparently deep in thought. At one moment his eyes became glassy and he twitched, as though he were reliving his horrible experience. She felt wretched somewhere deep down inside for putting him through this, but at the present time information was more important than how comfortable anyone was.

"Severus?" she uttered softly, jerking him soundly out of whatever memory he had been lost in. Dumbledore never stopped rubbing the injured wizard's hand or shoulder, and for once, the Potions Master didn't object to the comforting.

"I, I can only remember being in a great deal of pain…" he stated abruptly. Minerva was disquieted by his slight falter; Severus Snape never faltered. Her motherly instincts began to take over, and without really thinking about it she placed a hand on his knee. As soon as she touched him she froze, remembering too late his usual aversion to physical contact.

His eyebrows nearly shot into his hairline and his lip curled up in a sneer, but he miraculously didn't protest at all. She felt relieved, and at the same time a strange happiness that he had accepted the comforting gesture without comment or complaint settled over her.

"Perhaps you ought to tell us what happened from as far back as you can remember," Dumbledore suggested quietly, but before Severus could answer, Poppy suddenly reappeared with a few vials of potions.

"Time for another Blood Replenishing Potion," she said in her best nurse-like manner, overriding the patient's protests and managing to get the viscous scarlet concoction down his throat. Before she was finished she had coaxed a Strengthening Drought and a Pain Relieving Potion into him as well, then left with an apology and an admonition that the two visitors should hurry up and allow the other some rest. She closed the curtain with a gentle "shink," causing the material to ripple for a moment in the disturbed air before settling to hang lankly once again.

Dumbledore cleared his throat pleasantly and reassumed his previous position, one hand holding Severus's and his other stroking the wizard's shoulder. "If you would then, Severus," he said kindly but firmly, fully expecting the younger man to speak.

The Potions Master shuddered, seemingly not at all thrilled at having to relive his nightmare, but willing to do so for Dumbledore's sake. "I remember coming to my quarters and finding my wards dissolved, so I instantly knew it wasn't a student," he began quietly. As he spoke, Minerva noticed that nearby Poppy was cleaning a bedpan far too thoroughly, repeatedly wiping the same side. The Transfiguration professor smirked to herself.

"I looked all over my rooms, but didn't find anyone there. I recall checking the bathroom, and seeing someone in the mirror…after that, all I can remember is being in extreme pain before I finally lost consciousness," Severus continued. He fidgeted slightly but didn't pull away from either Dumbledore or Minerva's touch. "That's all."

"Is it?' Albus inquired kindly, and for a moment the younger wizard seemed keen to add to his story, but abruptly nodded his head and sank wearily back into the soft, white pillows at his back. Minerva tapped her lip appraisingly but didn't press the issue. After losing so much blood and expending precious energy by talking with them, he was surly exhausted.

"Thank you, Severus," Minerva said, gently squeezing his knee before retracting her hand and rising stiffly from the chair. Grimacing, she stretched her back, wishing that Poppy would keep more comfortable furniture next to the patients' beds. It would sure make visiting a more pleasant experience for the company!

"Yes, thank you dear child," Dumbledore added, giving the Potions Master a soft but jovial pat on the back.

"Al-bus," Severus said in a warning voice at the hated title, shifting fully back into Evil Professor Mode. The Headmaster just chuckled lightly and gave him a warm smile. Releasing Severus's gracefully slender hand, Albus quirked an eyebrow at McGonagall and drew back the curtain so she could exit first.

"When do you think he will be able to teach again?" the professor asked as they re-entered the corridor, clomping along the stone passageway amiably.

Dumbledore scratched the tip of his long nose and decided that his half-moon spectacles needed cleaning before he answered her. "It is inevitably Poppy's decision, of course, but I believe he shall be recovered enough to return on Friday," he finally said just as Minerva's patience was wearing thin. Satisfied, she nodded and lapsed into thoughtful silence until they came to an ascending staircase.

"I'm afraid this is where we part, Albus," she said. "My seventh years will be wondering where I am if I don't show soon." She took this moment to make sure the tight bun of hair was secure and settle her big black hat appropriately on her head.

"Ta, Minerva," Dumbledore said as she nodded politely and began up the stairs, her boots clomping against them. Suddenly the staircase decided that it wanted a change of scenery, and with a loud groan of shifting stone it rearranged itself. Above the noise Dumbledore thought he heard a few colourful Scottish curses hurled in reprimand at the offending stairway and chuckled low in his throat before turning on his heel and leaving her to her frustrations.

By the time Hermione reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, she was panting and sweating and utterly miserable. "Unicorn horn," she gasped to the Fat Lady, who smiled and swung open for the Gryffindor. Without so much as a thank you Hermione scrambled into the common room and positively groaned at the stairs to the sixth year girls' dormitory. Heaving a sigh of martyrdom, she took the stairs one at a time, bodily pulling herself up by the railing and nearly collapsing at the top. She had never anticipated how tiring getting up early, skipping breakfast and discovering a gravely injured professor made one feel.

As soon as she recovered her breath, she strode to her bed and gathered up her satchel. The cool sheets of the bed felt wonderful against her warmish skin, and with another great sigh she allowed herself a moment of comfort lying on the soft bed, curled up with the fluffy pillows and silken crimson curtains…

"What is Young Miss doing here? Young Miss should be in class!" a squeaky voice erupted by her ear, jolting her awake with a startled scream and inadvertently flopping herself onto the floor.

"Ow," she murmured reproachfully, nastily aware of how many times she had fallen smartly on her bum that morning. She looked up and was immediately greeted with a shining pair of green tennis ball sized eyes and a rather long nose uncomfortably close to her own. "Dobby!" she shrieked, causing the elf to bounce away, looking slightly put out.

"Sorry, was only trying to help," he squeaked mournfully. "You is supposed to be in class now, so Dobby thought he would clean up," he added, wringing his hands with an air of an elf searching for suitable punishment.

Hermione, well over her initial shock at finding Dobby in her dormitory, instantly seized his arms and smiled warmly at the small, slightly ugly creature. "It's all right, Dobby," she said consolingly, hoping that he wouldn't grab her Defence book and whack himself about the head with it. His floppy ears perked up immediately and a big toothy grin spread across his face.

"I'll be gone in a second," she added, picking herself up when she was sure he wasn't going to hurt himself for startling her. "I just needed to pick up my books before heading to class."

Dobby cocked his head to one side curiously. "Why is Young Miss needing her books? Didn't she get them early this morning?" he squeaked questioningly. Hermione almost sighed, but thought better of it as Dobby might find this a sign of unhappiness and hurt himself in result.

"It's a long story, Dobby. Besides, I daresay you'll hear about it really soon," she added, making sure her smile really was a smile and not a grimace. The elf nodded, and with a sharp CRACK he disappeared.

Now that he was gone she let out a huge sigh and began gathering up her books. As soon as she placed the Defence book neatly inside the satchel, she remembered the parchments from this morning and reached over to add them to her bag. On a whim more than anything else she decided to shuffle through them again, hoping that they might lend any clues as to what exactly was going on.

It was on the last page, the page she had noticed Professor Snape's connection to the mystery, that she found something that could only be described as disturbing.

Professor Gershwin's name had two silvery lines connected to it.

People had one line connected to them, not two! Never two! Each person had only one life; thus, one line. For someone to have two…it was impossible!

And yet, there it was on the parchment. Clear as day. There was no disputing it. "Numbers never lie," as Professor Vector was fond of saying, and another check of her equations proved them correct yet again.

Frowning, Hermione folded the parchment and tucked it into a side pocket, slipping it carefully inside so as not to smudge the ink or cut it in any way. If she was so show it to the Arithmancy professor, it must be in prime condition to be as accurate as possible. Once again her heat began to quicken in her chest, but deep breaths quelled the adrenaline rush a few moments later. Whatever was happening, she would find out. And when she did, she thought determinedly, there would be Hell to pay.

Albus Dumbledore placed his wand wearily to his temple, withdrawing a silvery strand with it and depositing the wisp into the Pensieve on his desk. With a great sigh he took it between his wizened hands and swirled the contents around, watching as his thoughts took solid form. Suddenly a miniature version of Hermione Granger whisked its way to the surface.

"When I found him, Professor Snape was…well…hanging from the ceiling from chains attached to his wrists and neck," the tiny student said in a slightly echoing voice. Sadly the Headmaster watched as she faded away to rejoin the rest of his thoughts in the Pensieve.

A lined hand reached up and tugged thoughtfully at his long white beard as he stared blankly into his office. Small trinkets sat all around him on shelves, some making small silvery noises, others emitting steam from time to time. Still others just sat there, shining in a non-present light source every hour of the day.

Across from him on a perch sat a brilliant red, orange and yellow bird roughly the size of a peacock. Fawkes, his loyal phoenix, chirruped musically and swished his brilliant, fiery tail as he shifted restlessly from foot to foot.

Dumbledore smiled at the bird, allowing his eyes to follow the sinewy movements of the wings as Fawkes shifted himself about. He reached out a hand to pat the surprisingly warm feathers, and the bird, sensing his need of companionship, trilled a soft note and glided over to light on the edge of his handsome wood desk.

"Hullo, Fawkes," the Headmaster said wearily as he stroked the beautiful animal. By all rights, he had no excuse to feel this tired; it was only 9:30 in the morning! And yet, here he was, sitting at his desk surrounded by heaps of parchment and myriads of unopened letters, mostly from the Ministry of Magic, and wishing he were back in bed.

To top it all off, someone was attacking his Potions Master, and he had a good idea who.

Problem was, he couldn't just sack the man. He had been the only applicant for the Dark Arts job, for Merlin's sake! Sending him away would just breed more problems out of the ones he already had stacked on his plate.

He could contact Remus Lupin, of course. The werewolf was more than a competent teacher; he was extremely well-qualified, and had been very popular back in Harry's third year when he had been teaching Defence class. Albus had a right mind to Floo Lupin and beg him to take the job, but he knew the man had his hands full taking care of Sirius Black and readjusting his friend to the World on the Other Side of the Veil. Besides, many parents already knew that Lupin was a werewolf and would undoubtedly protest his appointment.

Well, there went that idea plum out the window!

Dumbledore puffed his lips irritably, causing Fawkes to swivel his head about and glance curiously at his master. Absently the Headmaster stroked the bird once again, allowing his old fingers the joy of touching the warm, silken feathers.

If the parents thought a werewolf was a bad teacher, what would they say to a full-blown Death Eater?

He was ninety percent sure that this was what Theodore Gershwin was.

Of course, he had no solid proof. And he couldn't just walk up to the man and demand to see his left forearm. It just wasn't done. Doing so would only multiply his problems exponentially.

His mind drifted about for answers, searching in every crevice of his immense knowledge for some kind of key to all the great mess in front of him. Unbidden, he suddenly found himself speaking with Minerva once again.

"I cannot believe it, Albus; I just cannot."

"What can you not believe, my dear Minerva?"

"That anyone would attack Severus!"

Albus mulled over their earlier conversation pensively in his head, one hand stroking his silky white beard absently. The only person he knew who wanted to attack Severus – not counting an infinite number of disgruntled students – was Lord Voldemort. That, however, was only in the likelihood should the Dark wizard discover that Snape was Albus's spy. Abruptly his heart skipped a beat at the thought. If Voldemort had cottoned on to the situation…Severus was in extreme danger! It would also explain Gershwin's appearance, and the fact that he had been the only applicant for the Dark Arts job…it had most likely been set up that way to begin with.

Dumbledore snorted derisively, startling Fawkes out of the tune he had been cooing in attempt to soothe the Headmaster. Well, Tom, he thought to himself, I will not let you have Severus! Satisfied by this, he nodded his head and gave the phoenix an amiable pat on the head.

The only hitch in his desire to keep the Potions Master away from Voldemort was Gershwin. Steepling his fingers against his chin, the Headmaster of Hogwarts settled into his comfortable chair and narrowed his twinkling blue eyes in deep thought. There really was nothing sensible he could do except maintain the façade of ignorance to Voldemort's spy. Firing Gershwin just might anger the Death Eater enough to go on a murderous rampage, which would certainly be a disaster.

Besides, it might be useful to have one of Tom Riddle's henchmen in the castle. It would be easy to feed false information to him to further the cause of the Order.

Above all, until he had proof that the man was a Death Eater and was attacking Severus Snape, there was nothing Albus Dumbledore could do about it.

Well, almost nothing.

Suddenly smiling, the ancient wizard picked up his quill and pulled over a blank piece of parchment in front of him. Humming softly to himself, he dipped the quill in his inkwell and began to write the note that he was sure would seriously alter the course of events.

A/N: Phew, that was long! Hope you guys don't mind. Thanks for the support and reviews you all have given me :sobs happily:

Sorry if it was a bit boring; had to get this out of the way to set everything else in motion. Besides, I think it answers a few questions and puts some minds at ease about certain characters.

Please let me know if you notice anything blatantly wrong with this story; i.e. OOCness, gaping plot holes, and misinformation. Thanks!

Next chapter: The story spreads, Slytherins blame Hermione, letters are written and received, and a shaky alliance is formed between two unlikely allies.

Cheers,

Ballad