A/N: Holy shamoley, did I really not update this story since this time last semester? Shame on me... but hey, I got an A in calculus.

Chapter Twenty-Four: In which there is some bad press

- April 2, 1945 -

After the shock of Neil Stone's apparent betrayal and suicide settled into numb acceptance, Hogwarts almost returned to normal. The absence of the two instructors, especially in Potions, was felt hard by all, and neither Potions nor Astronomy was expected to be taught that term. It was suggested that Astronomy could be taught by the headmaster, but given Armando Dippet's current state, it was unlikely that he would even be able to perform all of administrative duties.

Though no one spoke of the incident that took place on the night of March 17, it haunted the minds of all, and it showed in those most deeply involved. Albus Dumbledore walked with his shoulders slumped, and his eyes had stopped twinkling. Indira Nay was unsure of herself and having a difficult time staying focused in front of a class, as though she was afraid any one of them might lash out at her next. Armando Dippet became a recluse, drowning his pain and fear in work. Minerva McGonagall did not eat, sleep, or speak unless it was absolutely necessary, and the more her friends tried to pull her out of her depression, the deeper she sank. By contrast, Tom Riddle and Paul Garrett had never been happier. Though their plan had failed in its ultimate goal, they had succeeded in two others: instilling fear in the hearts of their enemies and completely covering their tracks. The guilty were innocent, and the innocent were guilty. It was a vicious circle of irony that threatened to devour anyone who had never done anything to them. All they had to do was put it into play.

The morning of Dippet's departure for the hospital in Spain dawned clear and cold, and with it came a ray of hope for Hogwarts' overwrought headmaster. Today, he was not only beginning the uphill battle to win back the use of his legs; he was also going home. His mother had been Spanish, and when his British father died when Armando was twelve, she and her son moved to Tarragona. Tarragona was not far from Barcelona, and though Dippet was tempted to visit his old home while he was in the area, he knew it would not be a good idea. Though the wizards' war against Grindelwald had finally ended thanks to Albus Dumbledore, the Muggle war was still raging. Unnecessary travel was a risk he could not afford to take. Tarragona could wait until another day.

Dippet needed to speak to Dumbledore before leaving. It was possible he could be gone for several days; not because this physical therapy session would take that long, but because international travel in wartime was so dangerous. Obtaining permission to travel between Scotland and Spain at all would have been impossible if not for his high standing within wizarding society and his dual nationality. Dippet felt comfortable leaving Hogwarts in Dumbledore's hands, but he wanted to see his deputy anyway. There were matters between them that needed to be discussed.

Dumbledore had promised to be in Dippet's office at 7:30 A.M. when the two of them spoke the night before and Dippet asked to see him. The hands on the clock indicated that it was 7:27. Dippet's mind wandered as he stared at the ornate golden spires pointing to the numbers on the clock's face. It was not until recently, just within this past school year, that Dippet and Dumbledore had grown close enough to become friends. They had known each other since their school days – Dumbledore was five years older – and though they never felt anything but positive feelings toward each other, they had never been close. With all the recent tragedy, though, it did not look as though they would have the chance to get closer anytime soon. Their friendship would just have to wait until this had passed.

"Armando?"

Dippet would have jumped if he could when Dumbledore's voice came from behind him at 7:29. "Albus!" he returned, rotating his wheelchair around. "Thank you for coming. I may not be able to return for several days, so-"

"Wait a moment," said Dumbledore. "I thought you received permission from Spain's Ministry of Magic-"

"I did," Dippet said, "but the Muggle world is at war, and Spain's Ministry is more deeply involved in it than they are letting on. There is simply far too much politics involved for this to be an easy undertaking."

Dumbledore nodded. Politics were a complicated matter, and he preferred to stay out of them. "I wish you well," he said. Then, upon closer examination of the expression in the headmaster's dark eyes, he added, "This is not the only reason you wished to see me."

Dippet sighed. "I am… afraid," he admitted. "Hogwarts is fragile right now. I fear it may still be too soon."

Dumbledore could understand why Dippet felt this way. Hogwarts was in shock, understaffed, and vulnerable. Dippet was assuming full responsibility for the attack, and though Grindelwald's infiltration wasn't entirely his fault, he did deserve some of the blame; he was, after all, Indira's Secret-keeper, and he employed her being fully aware that the evil wizard was hunting her. Choices had been made, but it was too late to go back on them now. They would simply have to press on and do everything in their power to make sure it turned out for the best.

Dumbledore decided that now was a good a time as any to give Dippet what could be considered good news. "I've spoken to Nicolas Flamel about Potions," the head of Gryffindor said. "If you will accept his help, he has agreed to teach the class until a permanent replacement can be found."

Nicolas Flamel on staff? Flamel had been headmaster for a quarter century during the Renaissance. It would certainly be interesting to have him back on staff as a teacher in modern times, and there was no questioning his competence in the subject. "I gladly accept and thank him for this gesture," said Dippet. "Please tell him that when I return from Spain I will approach him personally."

"I will send an owl to him immediately," said Dumbledore. Flamel had left Hogwarts the day after Neil Stone's death, as his services were no longer needed.

"Thank you, Albus," said Dippet. "I do wish you would reconsider your assertion that you will never be a Hogwarts headmaster; you would do so well."

"I am quite comfortable with who and where I am right now, but thank you," said Dumbledore. "An act such as the one you are performing now will be hard to follow. These last few years have been among the most difficult Hogwarts has seen in its history, and they would have been far worse without your guidance. I'm certain you will lead us out of these dark times."

Dippet sighed and let his eyes fall to the floor. "Only time will tell, Albus."

A moment passed, then Dippet looked up again. "This chair will be turning into a Portkey any moment now. I shall see you upon my return."

"Godspeed, Armando."

Dumbledore turned toward the door and began to walk. He paused at the doorway and glanced over his shoulder. Dippet was gone.

Halfway down the staircase, Dumbledore took a turn too quickly and collided with Kiura Kadish. The two of them tumbled down several steps before coming to a stop. Dumbledore apologized as he helped Dr. Kadish to her feet, but Kiura was far more concerned with other matters. "Albus," she said, "is Armando still here?"

"No; he's just left," Dumbledore replied. "Is something wrong?"

She nodded. "We are in trouble." She reached into her robes and pulled out a rolled up copy of what Dumbledore guessed to be the Daily Prophet. His assumption proved correct when she slapped it into his palm. "Big trouble."

"'Hogwarts School of Fugitives and Murderers. Once respected institute of learning now veritable safari for hunters and the hunted.'"

Minerva McGonagall was livid. She slammed her copy of the Daily Prophet down on the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall so hard that several people around her jumped, including Arabella Figg, who had also been taking a drink of apple juice at the time. Arabella coughed, sputtered, and sprayed her fellows with juice while Minerva continued her tirade. "How dare they bring this up again? Haven't they put us through enough?"

Arabella muttered a generic apology to the people in her immediate vicinity and cleaned up the juice with a wave of her wand. "What are they saying, Minerva?"

Minerva picked up the paper again, and her eyes burned as they skimmed over the article dominating the front page. "It's horrible," she said. "It's an outright attack on the administration, the board of governors, even the students. Listen to this – 'Not even the students are safe from each other. Need we relive the horror of the death of young Myrtle Morrison, murdered by a monster being illegally kept by one of her peers two years ago?'"

Everyone within a three-person radius of Minerva was listening now.

"And of course, they printed this the day Professor Dippet went to that hospital in Spain," Minerva continued. "What will tomorrow's headline say? 'Hogwarts Headmaster Leaves Country.' I highly doubt it'll include the fact that it's for strictly medical purposes!"

"Well… I don't think many people would blame Dippet for wanting to leave the country after this," commented fifth-year prefect Roger Patton, who was reading ahead in his own copy of the Prophet. "The whole middle section of the article is about how he hides things at Hogwarts and covered up for Professor Nay."

Seventh-year Miranda Lang, who was sitting to Roger's left and had been reading over his shoulder, added quietly, "Still doesn't compare to what they wrote about Nay."

Minerva didn't see their volatile Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's name until close to the bottom of the page. The article did not stop, but continued on the next page. Minerva opened the paper, and her eyes widened as she read. "They… they don't believe her."

"Don't believe what?" asked Arabella.

"That she's Madeline Rahmini!" Minerva exclaimed. This piece of information had been conveniently left out of all reports on the Grindelwald incident – or conveniently left out of publication until the opportune moment – and though Minerva was aware that a handful of Hogwarts students didn't fully believe it themselves, she knew the truth. "How could they be so ignorant? I was there! Grindelwald himself told me the truth!"

Heavy as that news was, it preceded their time, and most Hogwarts students cared more about Neil Stone's suicide than the true identity of Indira Nay. Furthermore, the Daily Prophet only resurrected old news when it was relevant to current issues, and the fact that Madeline Rahmini had not been killed after all was interesting, but not terribly important… until it was revealed she was the reason for the attack on Hogwarts. And then they didn't believe it.

Minerva's eyes singled out a particular passage and narrowed into slits of blue fire. "The delusional, unpopular professor has taken the façade too far. As crazy as the man who tried to kill her, Nay has managed to convince Armando Dippet that he was the only one who could protect her from Grindelwald. Maybe Dippet's blundering isn't entirely his fault, but due in part to the influence of Nay's presence."

"They're going to sack Nay," Martin Blumethal interjected. "It's the only way to start to recover from all this bad press."

"They won't sack Nay," Minerva said decisively. "Everyone knows she's a good teacher, and besides, we're already understaffed."

She stole a glance up at the head table. Dippet's absence was painfully obvious, and the seat of another delicate subject was empty – Indira Nay's. It wasn't uncommon for her to miss meals lately, but in the past few days it had gotten to the point where no one saw her outside of class. Dumbledore had an urgent look on his face as he made conversation with Halo Pokeli, and Minerva found that she could not tear her eyes away from him. It was, perhaps, the first time since their argument that she felt she could imagine the depth of the pressure he was under. Albus Dumbledore truly cared about Hogwarts, more than anyone knew. Even from here, she could see the tortured look in his eyes. He couldn't protect everyone, and just as impossible as trying to do that was deciding who to protect.

As if he could sense that he was on her mind, Dumbledore ended his conversation with Pokeli and looked directly at her. Minerva wanted to look away, but their gazes were locked. His face held the same longing, troubled, torn between the right thing and the best thing expression she knew hers did as well. She wanted so desperately to go back to the way they were before Grindelwald. Was it possible?

"Minerva?"

Arabella's voice made Minerva look away from Dumbledore, though she could feel his gaze lingering on her a bit longer. "Hmm?"

"Are you okay? You look… really upset."

Damn, Minerva thought. She was losing it. She knew she was. She had to get out of here before the last of her control left.

She stood up. "I have to get another vial of ink. I'll see you in class."

If she had taken a moment to glance over her shoulder as she rushed out of the Great Hall, she would have noticed that Dumbledore got up as well.

When Armando Dippet's world stopped spinning, he found himself in the shadows between two tall buildings. There was a stone wall behind him, and some distance away, perhaps a hundred feet, he could see the street. It was partially obscured by overturned trash cans and old boxes regurgitating their contents into the dirty alley. The air was thick and rancid, and he could already feel the insects biting his face and neck.

Welcome to Barcelona, he thought as he slapped his cheek to kill something tiny and annoying.

"Professor Dippet?" came a voice from the shadows.

A figure matching the voice stepped into the light. It was a woman, of perhaps fifty years. She was of average height and build, medium skinned, with black hair in an elegant knot at the base of her neck and a kind, rather lovely face. "My name is Raquel Ramirez." Her English was perfect, and though she had a strong accent, he had no trouble distinguishing it, having been raised by a Spanish mother. "I will take you to the Hospital de San Cliodne."

"Is it far?" Dippet asked as Raquel stepped behind his wheelchair.

"No, it is not far at all."

She then began pushing the chair right at the building in front of them. This startled Dippet at first, and then it occurred to him that this was probably a magical barrier similar to the one at Platform Nine and Three quarters. This assumption proved to be correct when they passed through the wall as though it were not there at all. The dark, dirty alley seemed a thousand miles away inside the clean, well-lit interior of the building. Men and women were moving back and forth, tending to their business, many of them holding clipboards and quills. It was not noisy, but there was constant chatter in the air, most of it Spanish.

Raquel excused herself for a moment and walked up to the front desk. She spent a few moments talking to the witch behind the counter, then returned holding a clipboard and quill. "We'll begin physical therapy immediately, but first I'll need to know more about the nature of your condition," she said. She got behind his wheelchair and began pushing again. "How was the injury sustained?"

"I was shielding a colleague from an attack by Grindelwald," Dippet answered. "His spell hit the wall behind us and caused it to explode."

Raquel nodded and flipped through a few of the pieces of paper on her clipboard. "Oh. That's why you're not dead."

"What?" Dippet asked, looking over his shoulder. It seemed like an odd thing for Raquel to say to her patient.

"Your school nurse, Anna Tyburski," she clarified. "You are very lucky to have her."

"Yes, we are," he agreed. Madam Tyburski was one of the most famous mediwitches in Europe. They were constantly fighting St. Mungo's and other wizarding hospitals who wanted her to keep her at Hogwarts.

"Well, Professor Dippet," Raquel chirped, "I am not going to lie to you. Your treatment will be both difficult and painful, and we cannot guarantee success. However, if you stay with it and give it all you have, there is a good chance you will walk again."

"I will," Dippet said boldly.

A small smile flickered across Raquel's lips. "You say that now."

Minerva hadn't gotten far from the Great Hall when someone grabbed her from behind, covered her mouth, and dragged her into a closet.

"We have to talk," Albus Dumbledore whispered, letting go of her. The closet was so cramped that it didn't make much difference.

Minerva was so surprised at being pulled into a closet by Dumbledore, of all people, that she was unable to be angry. "Why are we in a closet?"

"This isn't a closet," he replied. "It's the Room of Requirement. I thought a closet wouldn't attract as much attention."

"Could you require that it be a bit larger?"

"Could you keep your voice down, please?"

Now that she was face-to-face with Dumbledore after having not spoken to him for so long, Minerva almost didn't know what to do. In the time they had been angry with each other, had he come to his senses and realized that he was too great a wizard to waste his time on a schoolgirl with a crush?

Dumbledore took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "I know you've seen the article," he said. "I don't know how much of it you read. You were mentioned – not by name, but it could not have been anyone else. My point, Minerva, is that you know the truth."

"Do I?" she asked bitterly. "I thought the memory charm took care of that."

"Maybe not all the truth, but most of it," he replied. "About Grindelwald, Professor Nay, Neil Stone-"

"Wait," Minerva interrupted. "The truth about Neil?"

"I know you know he's innocent," Dumbledore said. "I've known since you left that anonymous note in Professor Cutler's handwriting on my bed last week, but only recently did I believe it myself. I believe the real culprit is whoever leaked this information to the Daily Prophet."

"So what do you want me to do? Damage control?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes," he answered. "I'll handle the Prophet – I'll have to move quickly if I expect to keep Professor Dippet's reputation from being damaged any further – but I would like you to assure the students that everything will be all right. They look up to you and will trust you."

"Maybe I should get Tom Riddle to help. He's-"

"Minerva." Even in the darkness, she could see the urgency in Dumbledore's eyes. "I don't trust Tom Riddle."

He placed a hand on her shoulder and gazed at her intently. "I need you on my side," he whispered. "You have always been so much more than a student to me…" He looked away, and she could barely hear him finish the thought. "Even before I fell in love with you."

"You love me?" the confused Minerva asked. She was certain about her feelings for him, and she'd always hoped he felt the same, but they had not yet said the words.

He looked at her again. "Yes. I love you."

Minerva could feel tears swelling up in her eyes, and to prevent him from seeing them, she threw herself into his arms and kissed him with all her might. The intensity of two weeks' worth of pent-up passion released in a single act left them both breathless.

"We're going to be missed if we stay in here much longer," Minerva pointed out when the kiss ended.

Dumbledore knew she was right, as usual. "Very well. Please… will I see you tonight?"

The corners of her mouth slowly turned up into a smile. "You will."

He smiled, too, and they embraced each other again. In a time of so much chaos and hardship, it gave them both comfort and hope to have at least one thing go right.