A/N: Well I'm back from camp, once again, for two days. On Sunday, I'm going back as a counselor for the younger kids. No more updates prepared as of yet, but the next chapters for 'Trust No One' and 'Harry Potter and the Return of the Four' are in the works! Enjoy.
~~~
Chapter Six: In which deep conversations take place
- That evening -
~~~
Animagus studies lasted a little over an hour. Nothing that happened earlier that day, from Minerva's fight with Paul to Indira's unusual behavior to Dippet's apparent extensive knowledge of Grindelwald and the Rahmini family, was mentioned. In fact, Minerva became so absorbed in the information Dumbledore gave her in their study session that she was halfway to the door before she remembered her questions. "Professor Dumbledore," she said, walking back toward him, "may I ask you a few questions?"
He nodded and motioned for her to sit down, which she did. "May I inquire what about?" he asked, sitting down next to her.
"Actually, there's a few different things," she said. "First, I was wondering if you could tell me anything about Grindelwald."
Dumbledore cringed, and Minerva had a feeling that this was a sensitive subject. She tried to say that he didn't have to say anything if he didn't want to, but he held up his hand for silence when she was halfway through the sentence. "It's all right," he said. "Burying the truth only makes it more painful when it resurfaces." He paused, then took a deep breath and spoke again. "Erich Rainier, alias Grindelwald, was a brilliant, powerful, promising wizard in his youth. His last year at Hogwarts was my first as a teacher, and he was a pleasure to teach, not unlike you, in many ways. We were all so proud of him when he became Minister of Magic thirty years ago. He was an excellent Minister, one of the best we've ever had. No one suspected who he really was. There was no reason to. When Anton Rahmini, who took over as Minister after Grindelwald, discovered the truth, no one believed him. They were all believing, though, when Rahmini and his family were murdered.
"Grindelwald's influence has been spreading for well over the twenty years it's been since he killed the Rahminis. I'm sure they were not the first, and they certainly haven't been the last. There's no telling how many followers he has. Half the Ministry of Magic is loyal to him, and I'm sure there are many other wizards and witches in high places that have pledged themselves to him."
"Why hasn't he been stopped?" Minerva asked. "Hasn't anyone tried?"
He nodded. "Oh, yes. Many have tried, and all have failed. My sister, Lucilla, was the headof an organization working against Grindelwald twelve years ago. However, there was a spy in her service who betrayed them, and their headquarters were raided one night... there were no survivors."
She gasped. No wonder he'd cringed. "I'm sorry."
He managed a small smile. "Thank you. Did you have another question?"
"Yes. Do you know anything about the Rahmini family?"
His smile turned apologetic. "Not much, I'm afraid," he admitted. "Well, not along the line of what I think you're asking. You want to know what happened to them, don't you?"
She nodded.
"All I know is they were chopped into pieces and that authorities could only positively identify four of them. They're almost certain on two more, but they're still skeptical about another two, and completely stumped on the last."
"Madeline," Minerva said.
Dumbledore nodded. "They found a piece that they thought was Madeline, but it turned out to be Celeste. If they confused a woman in her mid-forties with a seven-year-old, it almost makes one wonder how accurate the rest of their measurements are."
Minerva shrugged. "Yes, it does, but you'd think that they could at least have an educated guess. It's almost like she vanished into thin air or something."
"Well, just because she was never found doesn't mean she wasn't killed with the rest of them. She could have been identified as one of the others; maybe one of her brothers," he said, and they both found themselves with ironic smiles on their faces; not because it was funny, but because the system was so ineffective. "Besides, no one has ever come forth claiming to be Madeline Rahmini."
"Professor Dippet said something like that."
"Professor Dippet?" Dumbledore repeated. He sounded confused.
"He taught Defense Against the Dark Arts today instead of Professor Nay," Minerva explained. "He said Nay wasn't feeling well."
"Yes, I knew that, but what I don't understand is why he would have told you about the Rahminis. Most people refrain from mentioning them at any cost."
"That was my doing. He asked us about Grindelwald, and I mentioned them in my answer. I asked him if it was true that Madeline was never found, and he said she was never identified. He seemed to know a lot. I was surprised."
"Strange; I don't know why Armando would be so interested in that incident," Dumbledore said, mostly to himself. "He's never mentioned it before..."
Minerva glanced at the clock on the wall. It was twenty minutes to nine. She decided she'd better hurry up and ask her next question before it got too late. "Professor Dumbledore, can you tell me why Professor Nay wasn't in class today? Professor Dippet told me a little, but he wasn't very specific."
"I'm afraid I can't, because I don't know," he replied. "All I know is that it had something to do with what happened this morning."
"I've never seen her act like that," said Minerva. "I thought she was going to kill Paul, and I'm not joking. She took a hundred points from Slytherin, gave him detention every night for the rest of the year, kicked him off the Quidditch team, and stripped him of prefect status. According to Dippet, she's pushing for expulsion and assault charges. And then, she gave points to Gryffindor. I don't understand it at all."
"She was probably worried about your safety," said Dumbledore, "as am I. Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. Really," she answered. "I'm not scared of Paul. Besides, I did a lot more to him than he did to me."
"That's no excuse for what he did."
"Well, no, but I was provoking him," she said. "I humiliated him in front of half the school, and I kept talking when I should have just walked away."
"You say that like it was your fault."
"It was, partly. I should have just ignored him and left."
Dumbledore studied her for a moment, then said, "Minerva, if this is not too personal a question, may I ask you why you broke up with Paul?"
It was a very personal question, but she was comfortable talking to him, so she answered it. "I was wrong about him," she said. "He's rude, arrogant, conceited, and lustful. I don't need him. I don't need anyone."
"Minerva, I never thought I'd say this, but don't be so sure of yourself," said Dumbledore. "Just because Paul didn't turn out to be the one for you doesn't mean there's not someone out there."
It was moments like this that made Minerva wish she was about seventy years older.
"Just give it time," Dumbledore continued. He smiled at her, then added, "I don't think you have anything to worry about."
She smiled back at him, and couldn't help but think that if Indira Nay had heard their last few seconds of dialogue, she would have had a reaction similar to the one she had to the incident that morning.
"How are your injuries?" Dumbledore asked. "From the Quidditch game, that is."
Minerva didn't even realize she had pressed her hand to her still-tender rib cage until she felt pain shoot through her entire body. "Well, I'm out of the hospital wing," she said with a smile, "but I think I'll be walking funny for a few days."
He smiled, too. "I'm not supposed to tell you this until tomorrow, but I will as long as you promise not to tell anyone I told you."
"Of course," she said, leaning closer to him. "What is it?"
"A scout from the Montrose Magpies was at the Quidditch game, and they can't decide whether they want to ask you to play for them as a Chaser or Seeker.
Minerva gasped and covered her mouth. "You're joking!" she exclaimed. "The Montrose Magpies? The most successful team in the history of the British and Irish League wants me to play for them?"
He nodded.
She almost hugged him, but then remembered what happened last time and didn't. "Wow," she said. "I... I'm blown away."
"Are you free on the fifteenth? That's when they want to talk to you."
"I am now," she replied. She felt a sudden urge to pinch herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming. The Montrose Magpies! This was an honor like no other.
"Good. I'll send an owl to the scout first thing in the morning."
She looked at the clock again and realized that if she didn't show up in the Gryffindor common room soon, people might start thinking something had happened to her. "I'd better go," she said, and got up and began walking toward the door. Just before exiting the room, she turned around and smiled at him. "Thank you, for everything."
"You're welcome," he said, feeling a surge of warmth rise up from inside.
It was moments like this that made Dumbledore wish he was about seventy years younger.
~~~
Having not seen Indira Nay since that morning, Armando Dippet thought it would be a good idea to check on her and make sure she was all right. Indira was one of the last people he would want to go see of his own free will, but he felt it was his duty as headmaster to see that everyone on staff was in a fit state to carry out their duties. That thought provided him with the strength he needed to go up to Indira's chambers and knock on the door. A lesser being would have crumbled.
"Who's there?" Indira's voice came after a few seconds of silence.
"Dippet, Armando I.," he replied.
A few more seconds passed, and then Indira opened the door, just wide enough to stick her head through. "With all due respect, Headmaster, why are you here?"
That was a better reaction than what he anticipated. "Just making sure you're all right."
"You need not worry about me, Professor Dippet. I'm fine," she said. "It's Minerva McGonagall I'm worried about."
"I spoke with her earlier today. She seems fine."
Indira closed her eyes and nodded. "I hope so. Good night, sir."
Neither one of them moved.
She studied him for a few moments, then sighed and opened the door all the way. "You aren't going to get anything out of me, but you're welcome to come in just the same."
"Thank you, Indira," Dippet said, trying to sound as though he hadn't expected this.
Indira's chambers were unnaturally immaculate. There were no decorations, and a minimal amount of furniture: a small table and chair in one corner, a cabinet, several bookcases, and a green couch. There was a door on the wall opposite the entrance. He assumed that it must lead into her bedroom, and also assumed that it would be just as clean and hostile as this room. The room didn't look as though anyone lived there, and he wasn't surprised. He doubted that Indira spent much time here of her own free will.
They sat down on opposite ends of the couch. A few seconds of awkward silence later, Indira said, "So, how were the classes?"
"Good," he answered. "I collected the vampire essays from the third-years, and the seventh-years read the introductory chapter for the unit on dark wizards. The other classes took notes on their current subjects. I didn't assign anything."
"Thank you," she said. Her voice was soft, and her gaze was resting on the floor. "I'm sure they enjoyed having you for a teacher."
"I have to admit that it felt good to be in a classroom again, but I don't teach that subject half as well as you do," Dippet said. "You're an excellent teacher, Professor Nay."
She tucked a piece of dark hair that had escaped from her braid behind her ear and said, "I'm glad someone thinks so."
"Yes, and everyone else knows it."
She should have known better than to try to have a battle of wits with a Ravenclaw. Indira lifted her eyes, straightened her back, and looked directly at him. "Forgive me, Headmaster," she said, "but what do you want?"
"Honestly?" He placed his hands on his knees and leaned slightly toward her. "I want to be your friend."
He wanted to be her friend. She had to struggle to keep her surprise from showing. "You want to be my friend?" she said cautiously.
He nodded. "Yes, if you will let me."
She bit her lip, stared at the floor, closed her eyes, and whispered, "I would like a friend."
She looked up, and he smiled at her. She didn't smile back. He didn't expect her to. It was going to take a lot of time and effort, but he believed he could get her to come around eventually.
About half a minute of silence passed, and then Indira spoke. "What does the I stand for?"
"What?"
"When you knocked on the door, and I asked who it was, you said, 'Dippet, Armando I.'," she said. "What does the I stand for?"
"Oh." He should have guessed. "Icarus."
"Armando Icarus Dippet," she said. "Very nice."
"Thank you. I've always liked it. What's your middle name?" It was a rather pointless question; he already knew her middle name - both of them, in fact - but it was a good way to make conversation.
"Catherine, after my mother."
"Indira Catherine Nay," he said. "Very nice."
She almost smiled.
He sensed that conversation had reached its end and decided to move on to another topic. "Are you fond of Shakespeare?" he asked.
"May I ask why?" she returned.
"Well, I've been reading 'Hamlet' for a while now, and I was wondering if you could discuss it with me." It seemed like an innocent, friendly topic.
At this, Indira truly came alive. Her eyes grew wide with excitement, and she leaned toward him and gestured with her hands as she spoke. "That is by far the most frustrating piece of literature I've ever read!" she said. "Take Hamlet, for instance. He just stands around feeling sorry for himself when he should have been channeling his grief into doing something productive, like getting revenge. And then, even after he knows it was Claudius who killed his father, he doesn't do anything about it! 'To be or not to be', my... right foot. When he finally works up the nerve to go kill the man, he backs out and decides to go confront his mother instead. And then he kills Polonius! Not that he knew it was Polonius, but just the same, he spends half the play thinking about whether or not he should kill Claudius, and then he just stabs the person behind the tapestry without a second thought!"
She stopped talking when she noticed that Dippet was smiling. "What?"
"Nothing," he said. "I just never knew you had such an interest in Shakespeare. Any others I should know about?"
"Exploring, hand-to-hand combat, and classical music," she said.
"An interesting combination," he commented.
"What about you?"
"Astronomy, but you probably gathered that much," he said. "Others include history, Quidditch, and violin."
Indira nearly jumped. "Violin?" she repeated. "Do you play?"
He nodded.
"Who's your favorite composer?"
Dippet was surprised at how easy it was to talk to her now that they had found some common ground. "At the moment, Shostakovitch," he said. "Soviet Muggle, rather brilliant, I must say. I think you would enjoy his work."
"Shostakovitch... no, I don't believe I've heard of him."
"Excellent composer. I'll play something of his for you sometime, if you like."
"I'd like that. Thank you."
They spent the next half hour discussing music. Finally, Dippet pointed out that it was getting late and that sleep deprivation would not prove beneficial to either of them. Indira agreed with him, and walked him to the door.
"Good night, Indira," Dippet said, placing his hand on the doorknob. "Thank you for the pleasure of your company."
She doubted that he found her company pleasurable, but was grateful that he was at least trying. "Thank you, Headmaster," she said. "Good night, sir."
Dippet couldn't help feeling that their conversation hadn't accomplished much. True, they had found soem common interests, and he discovered that she wasn't completely bitter and stone-hearted after all - just partially - but if they were going to be friends, they weren't off to a very good start. After over half an hour of friendly conversation, she was still addressing him formally. Would that ever change? Would they ever be friends? And most importantly, would he ever be able to tell her what he knew?
It might have made him feel a little better if he knew that that night, she slept better than she had in the last twenty years.
~~~
Chapter Six: In which deep conversations take place
- That evening -
~~~
Animagus studies lasted a little over an hour. Nothing that happened earlier that day, from Minerva's fight with Paul to Indira's unusual behavior to Dippet's apparent extensive knowledge of Grindelwald and the Rahmini family, was mentioned. In fact, Minerva became so absorbed in the information Dumbledore gave her in their study session that she was halfway to the door before she remembered her questions. "Professor Dumbledore," she said, walking back toward him, "may I ask you a few questions?"
He nodded and motioned for her to sit down, which she did. "May I inquire what about?" he asked, sitting down next to her.
"Actually, there's a few different things," she said. "First, I was wondering if you could tell me anything about Grindelwald."
Dumbledore cringed, and Minerva had a feeling that this was a sensitive subject. She tried to say that he didn't have to say anything if he didn't want to, but he held up his hand for silence when she was halfway through the sentence. "It's all right," he said. "Burying the truth only makes it more painful when it resurfaces." He paused, then took a deep breath and spoke again. "Erich Rainier, alias Grindelwald, was a brilliant, powerful, promising wizard in his youth. His last year at Hogwarts was my first as a teacher, and he was a pleasure to teach, not unlike you, in many ways. We were all so proud of him when he became Minister of Magic thirty years ago. He was an excellent Minister, one of the best we've ever had. No one suspected who he really was. There was no reason to. When Anton Rahmini, who took over as Minister after Grindelwald, discovered the truth, no one believed him. They were all believing, though, when Rahmini and his family were murdered.
"Grindelwald's influence has been spreading for well over the twenty years it's been since he killed the Rahminis. I'm sure they were not the first, and they certainly haven't been the last. There's no telling how many followers he has. Half the Ministry of Magic is loyal to him, and I'm sure there are many other wizards and witches in high places that have pledged themselves to him."
"Why hasn't he been stopped?" Minerva asked. "Hasn't anyone tried?"
He nodded. "Oh, yes. Many have tried, and all have failed. My sister, Lucilla, was the headof an organization working against Grindelwald twelve years ago. However, there was a spy in her service who betrayed them, and their headquarters were raided one night... there were no survivors."
She gasped. No wonder he'd cringed. "I'm sorry."
He managed a small smile. "Thank you. Did you have another question?"
"Yes. Do you know anything about the Rahmini family?"
His smile turned apologetic. "Not much, I'm afraid," he admitted. "Well, not along the line of what I think you're asking. You want to know what happened to them, don't you?"
She nodded.
"All I know is they were chopped into pieces and that authorities could only positively identify four of them. They're almost certain on two more, but they're still skeptical about another two, and completely stumped on the last."
"Madeline," Minerva said.
Dumbledore nodded. "They found a piece that they thought was Madeline, but it turned out to be Celeste. If they confused a woman in her mid-forties with a seven-year-old, it almost makes one wonder how accurate the rest of their measurements are."
Minerva shrugged. "Yes, it does, but you'd think that they could at least have an educated guess. It's almost like she vanished into thin air or something."
"Well, just because she was never found doesn't mean she wasn't killed with the rest of them. She could have been identified as one of the others; maybe one of her brothers," he said, and they both found themselves with ironic smiles on their faces; not because it was funny, but because the system was so ineffective. "Besides, no one has ever come forth claiming to be Madeline Rahmini."
"Professor Dippet said something like that."
"Professor Dippet?" Dumbledore repeated. He sounded confused.
"He taught Defense Against the Dark Arts today instead of Professor Nay," Minerva explained. "He said Nay wasn't feeling well."
"Yes, I knew that, but what I don't understand is why he would have told you about the Rahminis. Most people refrain from mentioning them at any cost."
"That was my doing. He asked us about Grindelwald, and I mentioned them in my answer. I asked him if it was true that Madeline was never found, and he said she was never identified. He seemed to know a lot. I was surprised."
"Strange; I don't know why Armando would be so interested in that incident," Dumbledore said, mostly to himself. "He's never mentioned it before..."
Minerva glanced at the clock on the wall. It was twenty minutes to nine. She decided she'd better hurry up and ask her next question before it got too late. "Professor Dumbledore, can you tell me why Professor Nay wasn't in class today? Professor Dippet told me a little, but he wasn't very specific."
"I'm afraid I can't, because I don't know," he replied. "All I know is that it had something to do with what happened this morning."
"I've never seen her act like that," said Minerva. "I thought she was going to kill Paul, and I'm not joking. She took a hundred points from Slytherin, gave him detention every night for the rest of the year, kicked him off the Quidditch team, and stripped him of prefect status. According to Dippet, she's pushing for expulsion and assault charges. And then, she gave points to Gryffindor. I don't understand it at all."
"She was probably worried about your safety," said Dumbledore, "as am I. Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. Really," she answered. "I'm not scared of Paul. Besides, I did a lot more to him than he did to me."
"That's no excuse for what he did."
"Well, no, but I was provoking him," she said. "I humiliated him in front of half the school, and I kept talking when I should have just walked away."
"You say that like it was your fault."
"It was, partly. I should have just ignored him and left."
Dumbledore studied her for a moment, then said, "Minerva, if this is not too personal a question, may I ask you why you broke up with Paul?"
It was a very personal question, but she was comfortable talking to him, so she answered it. "I was wrong about him," she said. "He's rude, arrogant, conceited, and lustful. I don't need him. I don't need anyone."
"Minerva, I never thought I'd say this, but don't be so sure of yourself," said Dumbledore. "Just because Paul didn't turn out to be the one for you doesn't mean there's not someone out there."
It was moments like this that made Minerva wish she was about seventy years older.
"Just give it time," Dumbledore continued. He smiled at her, then added, "I don't think you have anything to worry about."
She smiled back at him, and couldn't help but think that if Indira Nay had heard their last few seconds of dialogue, she would have had a reaction similar to the one she had to the incident that morning.
"How are your injuries?" Dumbledore asked. "From the Quidditch game, that is."
Minerva didn't even realize she had pressed her hand to her still-tender rib cage until she felt pain shoot through her entire body. "Well, I'm out of the hospital wing," she said with a smile, "but I think I'll be walking funny for a few days."
He smiled, too. "I'm not supposed to tell you this until tomorrow, but I will as long as you promise not to tell anyone I told you."
"Of course," she said, leaning closer to him. "What is it?"
"A scout from the Montrose Magpies was at the Quidditch game, and they can't decide whether they want to ask you to play for them as a Chaser or Seeker.
Minerva gasped and covered her mouth. "You're joking!" she exclaimed. "The Montrose Magpies? The most successful team in the history of the British and Irish League wants me to play for them?"
He nodded.
She almost hugged him, but then remembered what happened last time and didn't. "Wow," she said. "I... I'm blown away."
"Are you free on the fifteenth? That's when they want to talk to you."
"I am now," she replied. She felt a sudden urge to pinch herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming. The Montrose Magpies! This was an honor like no other.
"Good. I'll send an owl to the scout first thing in the morning."
She looked at the clock again and realized that if she didn't show up in the Gryffindor common room soon, people might start thinking something had happened to her. "I'd better go," she said, and got up and began walking toward the door. Just before exiting the room, she turned around and smiled at him. "Thank you, for everything."
"You're welcome," he said, feeling a surge of warmth rise up from inside.
It was moments like this that made Dumbledore wish he was about seventy years younger.
~~~
Having not seen Indira Nay since that morning, Armando Dippet thought it would be a good idea to check on her and make sure she was all right. Indira was one of the last people he would want to go see of his own free will, but he felt it was his duty as headmaster to see that everyone on staff was in a fit state to carry out their duties. That thought provided him with the strength he needed to go up to Indira's chambers and knock on the door. A lesser being would have crumbled.
"Who's there?" Indira's voice came after a few seconds of silence.
"Dippet, Armando I.," he replied.
A few more seconds passed, and then Indira opened the door, just wide enough to stick her head through. "With all due respect, Headmaster, why are you here?"
That was a better reaction than what he anticipated. "Just making sure you're all right."
"You need not worry about me, Professor Dippet. I'm fine," she said. "It's Minerva McGonagall I'm worried about."
"I spoke with her earlier today. She seems fine."
Indira closed her eyes and nodded. "I hope so. Good night, sir."
Neither one of them moved.
She studied him for a few moments, then sighed and opened the door all the way. "You aren't going to get anything out of me, but you're welcome to come in just the same."
"Thank you, Indira," Dippet said, trying to sound as though he hadn't expected this.
Indira's chambers were unnaturally immaculate. There were no decorations, and a minimal amount of furniture: a small table and chair in one corner, a cabinet, several bookcases, and a green couch. There was a door on the wall opposite the entrance. He assumed that it must lead into her bedroom, and also assumed that it would be just as clean and hostile as this room. The room didn't look as though anyone lived there, and he wasn't surprised. He doubted that Indira spent much time here of her own free will.
They sat down on opposite ends of the couch. A few seconds of awkward silence later, Indira said, "So, how were the classes?"
"Good," he answered. "I collected the vampire essays from the third-years, and the seventh-years read the introductory chapter for the unit on dark wizards. The other classes took notes on their current subjects. I didn't assign anything."
"Thank you," she said. Her voice was soft, and her gaze was resting on the floor. "I'm sure they enjoyed having you for a teacher."
"I have to admit that it felt good to be in a classroom again, but I don't teach that subject half as well as you do," Dippet said. "You're an excellent teacher, Professor Nay."
She tucked a piece of dark hair that had escaped from her braid behind her ear and said, "I'm glad someone thinks so."
"Yes, and everyone else knows it."
She should have known better than to try to have a battle of wits with a Ravenclaw. Indira lifted her eyes, straightened her back, and looked directly at him. "Forgive me, Headmaster," she said, "but what do you want?"
"Honestly?" He placed his hands on his knees and leaned slightly toward her. "I want to be your friend."
He wanted to be her friend. She had to struggle to keep her surprise from showing. "You want to be my friend?" she said cautiously.
He nodded. "Yes, if you will let me."
She bit her lip, stared at the floor, closed her eyes, and whispered, "I would like a friend."
She looked up, and he smiled at her. She didn't smile back. He didn't expect her to. It was going to take a lot of time and effort, but he believed he could get her to come around eventually.
About half a minute of silence passed, and then Indira spoke. "What does the I stand for?"
"What?"
"When you knocked on the door, and I asked who it was, you said, 'Dippet, Armando I.'," she said. "What does the I stand for?"
"Oh." He should have guessed. "Icarus."
"Armando Icarus Dippet," she said. "Very nice."
"Thank you. I've always liked it. What's your middle name?" It was a rather pointless question; he already knew her middle name - both of them, in fact - but it was a good way to make conversation.
"Catherine, after my mother."
"Indira Catherine Nay," he said. "Very nice."
She almost smiled.
He sensed that conversation had reached its end and decided to move on to another topic. "Are you fond of Shakespeare?" he asked.
"May I ask why?" she returned.
"Well, I've been reading 'Hamlet' for a while now, and I was wondering if you could discuss it with me." It seemed like an innocent, friendly topic.
At this, Indira truly came alive. Her eyes grew wide with excitement, and she leaned toward him and gestured with her hands as she spoke. "That is by far the most frustrating piece of literature I've ever read!" she said. "Take Hamlet, for instance. He just stands around feeling sorry for himself when he should have been channeling his grief into doing something productive, like getting revenge. And then, even after he knows it was Claudius who killed his father, he doesn't do anything about it! 'To be or not to be', my... right foot. When he finally works up the nerve to go kill the man, he backs out and decides to go confront his mother instead. And then he kills Polonius! Not that he knew it was Polonius, but just the same, he spends half the play thinking about whether or not he should kill Claudius, and then he just stabs the person behind the tapestry without a second thought!"
She stopped talking when she noticed that Dippet was smiling. "What?"
"Nothing," he said. "I just never knew you had such an interest in Shakespeare. Any others I should know about?"
"Exploring, hand-to-hand combat, and classical music," she said.
"An interesting combination," he commented.
"What about you?"
"Astronomy, but you probably gathered that much," he said. "Others include history, Quidditch, and violin."
Indira nearly jumped. "Violin?" she repeated. "Do you play?"
He nodded.
"Who's your favorite composer?"
Dippet was surprised at how easy it was to talk to her now that they had found some common ground. "At the moment, Shostakovitch," he said. "Soviet Muggle, rather brilliant, I must say. I think you would enjoy his work."
"Shostakovitch... no, I don't believe I've heard of him."
"Excellent composer. I'll play something of his for you sometime, if you like."
"I'd like that. Thank you."
They spent the next half hour discussing music. Finally, Dippet pointed out that it was getting late and that sleep deprivation would not prove beneficial to either of them. Indira agreed with him, and walked him to the door.
"Good night, Indira," Dippet said, placing his hand on the doorknob. "Thank you for the pleasure of your company."
She doubted that he found her company pleasurable, but was grateful that he was at least trying. "Thank you, Headmaster," she said. "Good night, sir."
Dippet couldn't help feeling that their conversation hadn't accomplished much. True, they had found soem common interests, and he discovered that she wasn't completely bitter and stone-hearted after all - just partially - but if they were going to be friends, they weren't off to a very good start. After over half an hour of friendly conversation, she was still addressing him formally. Would that ever change? Would they ever be friends? And most importantly, would he ever be able to tell her what he knew?
It might have made him feel a little better if he knew that that night, she slept better than she had in the last twenty years.