"I don't think I wore the right shoes for this," said Wilma. She was wearing her best set of Ministry shoes, and the ground was rather muddy. The heels of her shoes sunk into the ground with every step, and Wilma had to step gingerly in order to stop her feet from sinking into the muck entirely.
Dumbledore, who was casually stepping over the long grass toward the Whomping Willow as he hummed a tune, nodded. "Probably not," he agreed.
Minister Jenkins had set one W.C.U. member and four D.R.C.M.C. workers on the building inspection (Wilma's best mate Lyall was not included), and they'd Apparated to Hogsmeade around six pm to meet Dumbledore and walk down to the Whomping Willow. Wilma could see the stupid thing waving its branches in the distance. She didn't have much experience with Whomping Willows—but the branches looked rather heavy, so she figured experience was definitely not something she wanted.
It was a cool night, the stars were lovely, and the castle in the distance provided Wilma with a sort of nostalgia that speared her very heart with pleasure. It was a gorgeous night, but... yeah, the beach would have been better.
Burke, who was carrying a professional sort of clipboard, walked up next to Dumbledore and matched his long strides with her own. "Let me get this straight: you plan for the werewolf to walk from the castle to the tree every full moon?" she questioned.
"Indeed," said Dumbledore, still humming pleasantly. He twirled his beard with an index finger, totally unconcerned with the murderous looks some of the Ministry workers were giving him.
"What if he's seen?" pressed Burke. She was anxiously fumbling for flaws in Dumbledore's plan, Wilma could tell. "Won't Hogwarts students want to investigate?"
"Disillusionment Charm. He won't be seen."
"What if a student stumbles across the knot?"
Smiling, Dumbledore turned to face her. "It is a very small knot and a very large tree," he said. "But, if you'd like, I shall allow you to try to find it before I show you. If five capable Ministry workers cannot find the knot when they are looking for it, I cannot imagine my students could find it when they are not looking for any such thing."
Burke looked tempted, but Wilma declined for her. "No, thank you," Wilma snapped. "I'm not wearing my tree-fighting shoes today." And I want to get to the beach before my family leave.
"Sensible of you," said Dumbledore.
A little while later, they arrived at the Willow. The tree immediately reared backwards, branches waving like a madman (Wilma felt like doing the same thing, actually). Sal Manard whipped out his wand; Burke shrieked a bit, dropping her clipboard.
Dumbledore did not look bothered. He levitated a small stick toward the tree, poked a very tiny knot, and then the tree went still.
Sal Manard looked unimpressed. "That tree is very dramatic," he said.
"I remember you being quite dramatic in school as well, Salvis," responded Dumbledore.
"What if a student sees the tree freezing suddenly like that after the werewolf enters? Won't the student be compelled to follow? If the tree is frozen, it is of no use."
"The tree will only freeze for a moment, and I assure you that no student will be able to sneak in directly behind the backs of both Remus and Poppy Pomfrey."
"So it is Poppy Pomfrey leading him down every month? That's a big responsibility. How does she feel?"
"Right now? I believe she feels hungry. I believe it's suppertime." The tree began to flail again, but Dumbledore prodded it into submission once more before it could hit one of them. "We should probably... what is the phrase?... get a move on. You may ask more questions as we walk to the building."
And they did. They inquired about the nature of the tree, the nature of the building, the origin of the tree, how likely the tree was to harm a student fatally... the list went on and on, but Dumbledore had a patient, composed answer for all of them. He'd really thought it out.
Wilma had not asked any questions as of yet. She was waiting. Watching. Listening. Resenting. And sneezing, a little bit, because she was quite allergic to trees and being inside one wasn't very good for her sinuses. Briefly, she wondered if the werewolf was allergic to trees—and then she brushed the thought away. She'd never heard of a murderous beast having an allergy. The thought was ridiculous.
Briefly, she imagined a dragon, sneezing all over the place and spurting smoke out of its nostrils as it did so. Someone would hold a feather to the dragon's face, the dragon would sneeze—achoo—and then boom! A whole village would be burned to the ground. "Oops, sorry," the dragon would say, wiping its runny nose and burning its claw in the process.
Wilma laughed a bit at the image, but then Burke gave her a dirty look. She shut up immediately.
It didn't take long to reach the building, which was accessible through a trapdoor. And as they saw the inside of the building for the first time, the questions started flying. The other D.R.C.M.C. workers were certain, it seemed, that they'd caught Dumbledore at last... but Wilma wasn't so sure.
The inside of the building was shabby, derelict, and run-down. There were large slats in the walls between boards, and the boards themselves looked moldy and full of holes. There was a steady leak in the ceiling of the second floor that dripped onto the wardrobe (it had just been raining). There was shabby furniture strewn all about, fraying at the edges. There were cobwebs. The floor creaked in some places, and there was a stray nail or two sticking out of the wooden boards that (barely) held the whole house together.
Wilma wouldn't even trust the thing to stay intact if she walked up the stairs. A werewolf was out of the question.
But there Dumbledore stood, in the midst of the questions and protests—smiling. He never stopped smiling. Wilma knew, looking at that smile, that Dumbledore most certainly knew what he was doing.
"The house is perfectly stable," he said, and his quiet words somehow carried over the loud questions of Wilma's colleagues. "I invite you all to cast any spell you'd like at the walls. I promise you: it will not collapse."
There was a long moment of silence—silence, that was, except for the steady drip on the second floor and the ominous creaking of the boards. And then Edward Garter, an elderly man who worked for the D.R.C.M.C., cast a violent Exploding Charm at one of the walls.
Wilma flinched, half-expecting the entire building to collapse in a pile of dust. But it didn't.
Burke cast a Knockback Charm, but the building stood. Manard cast some unidentifiable—yet probably powerful—curse, but the building still stood. And then all five inspectors, including Wilma, were casting spells at the walls and floors, but still and strong the building stood. Dumbledore stood as well, just as strong and unshakable as the building, smiling serenely all the while.
Finally, the spells died down, and Wilma looked at Dumbledore with a sort of calculating scrutiny. The building would stand, no matter what the werewolf did—Wilma was sure of that. But there had to be some chink in Dumbledore's armor, and Wilma had to find it. It wasn't the strength of the building, apparently, but there was always something. Dumbledore's self-assured smile would not fool Wilma Harrington.
There was a pause as she formulated her response, and then she said, "The building seems to be a sufficient place to house a dangerous creature."
Dumbledore clasped his hands together happily. "Yes, I thought you might come to that conclusion."
"But," continued Wilma, hating herself for making this argument (but there was no other option, was there?), "this is not the place to house an eleven-year-old child all night."
Stunned silence.
Dumbledore regarded her with those clear blue eyes of his. "No?"
"No. It doesn't hold up to standard cleanliness and livability laws. It will be cold and drafty come winter. A child would most certainly catch cold in this house. Not to mention the unclean-looking furniture, the stained bedsheets, and the cobwebs. I imagine there are some rather large spiders in this house. And the drip in the ceiling would render the whole house flooded if there were to be a violent overnight rainstorm. You've advocated for this boy's comfort, but this house is anything but comfortable."
Dumbledore laughed. "I am surprised that you seem to care so much about the health and comfort of a werewolf, Wilma. You didn't seem to feel the same way yesterday."
"I don't care about the werewolf's comfort," said Wilma, jaw set. "But..."
"But you're looking for a way to make it illegal for me to allow Remus to attend school," said Dumbledore, "and you don't think I have time to revise the plan before school starts in September. You think that, if my building doesn't pass standard livability laws, I'll be forced to rescind Remus' acceptance."
"I'm only reminding you of the law."
Dumbledore hummed, evidently pleased. "Well, thank you, Wilma. I had actually planned on fixing it up a bit more before September, but the Ministry was extremely eager to see the place before I could prepare it properly. But of course I shall fix it up immediately. It's not going to be a beautiful mansion; I want it to appear haunted (for reasons I'm sure I shall explain later)—but it will, at any rate, be a comfortable shack of sorts."
Dumbledore waved his wand; immediately, the furniture was cleaned, the drip was gone, the cobwebs had gone away, and the floor was less creaky. "I'll put a Warming Charm on it come winter," said Dumbledore. "And I think a fireplace will be lovely right about there, don't you agree?" Wilma grunted in response, and Dumbledore smiled. "Do you have any other suggestions, Wilma?"
Wilma ground her teeth even more tightly. "No," she said.
Burke asked some stupid question about whether the werewolf would be able to fit through the large slat in the wall (it wouldn't, obviously), and Wilma took the opportunity to peer through the boards at the town. "That town is closer than I expected," she said, interrupting Burke.
"Is it?" asked Dumbledore mildly.
"Yes. Won't they hear? Are there Soundproofing Charms?" Wilma could hear the wind whistling from outside, so she knew there weren't. Gotcha. "You'll get noise complaints."
"I believe any audible sounds will be faint," said Dumbledore with that annoying smile of his. "But yes, the village of Hogsmeade will still hear them. I've charmed the house to emit generic ghost noises on some other days of the month, and I plan on putting out a story that I've relocated some dangerous Hogwarts ghosts to the building. That should keep away unwanted explorers—and that is why I want the building to appear haunted."
Wilma reluctantly nodded. Yes, it would. It was a very sound idea. After the Ghost Epidemic of 1952, the villagers of Hogsmeade tended to stay away from ghosts.
They questioned Dumbledore for a while longer, but no one was able to trap the man. He was too good: shrewd as a snake, soft as a badger, lofty as an eagle, and energetic as a lion. Wilma knew, even before they ran out of questions, that it was hopeless.
George elbowed her. "Say something, Harrington. You like to argue."
"I only like to argue when I win," she responded dolefully, "but I'm not going to win. He's made up his mind, and not even the Minotaur itself could make Albus Dumbledore change his mind."
They exited the building, and Wilma couldn't stop thinking about a werewolf—a beast with a false human countenance, yellow eyes, long claws, and a sneaky expression—slinking around the walls of her beloved castle, snatching up the souls of innocent children, transforming here and ripping apart the walls on its scrawny hind legs, roaring and growling at the innocent townsfolk just a village away. Did Dumbledore realize how many people could be hurt by his master plan?
They walked down to Hogsmeade, and Wilma could practically see the werewolf everywhere. It was rummaging through the shops, looking for fresh meat. It was padding down the cobblestone, shedding all over the place, drooling on the unblemished ground with its cursed saliva. It was pawing at doors while children cowered in the corner. The perfect fluffy white snow that so often fell in winter (weird in Scotland, normal in Hogsmeade) would be stained with streaks of red blood, and people would be crying in terror. These were innocents, and Dumbledore was willing to put them all at risk for some werewolf-rights humbug.
Wilma's respect for Albus Dumbledore had been steadily dwindling for the past couple of days, and now it was practically gone. Did he think this was merely a lark? Perhaps he was just yanking the Ministry's wand. He was using his immense political power for something they all knew was wrong, and Wilma was afraid.
What had the world come to? The government had no power; no, it rested on the shoulders of a batty old man who was willing to put children at risk for his own political games.
They reached the decided Apparition point in Hogsmeade, and Wilma and her associates looked at each other awkwardly.
"The security measures seem reasonable," said George in a flat tone.
Dumbledore chuckled. "I'm flattered."
"We'll discuss it with the Minister," said Burke.
"My dear girl, you may do whatever you wish. The Minister has no power over whom I invite to attend Hogwarts, however. I thought we'd already made that clear."
Wilma was staring at Dumbledore. She knew it was rude to stare, but she was too miffed to do anything else.
"We'll be leaving now," said Garter.
"Please do." Dumbledore's smile, in Wilma's imagination, became a leer. "I, thanks to Wilma, am going to try to make the building a bit more comfortable to the best of my ability. Perhaps I'll add a piano. Wouldn't that be nice?"
Well, he didn't have to rub it in her face like that. Scowling, Wilma was prepared to Apparate away after her colleagues—but then Dumbledore walked in front of her. Wilma paused.
"Wilma," he said.
"Yes, Albus?" Wilma suppressed the urge to call him "sir" or "Professor". They were both adults now, weren't they?
"Walk with me," he suggested—or was it a command?—and Wilma had no choice but to obey.
They walked to the lake. It was a nice day, and the water twinkled in the starlight—its clear, knowing blue reminded Wilma altogether of Dumbledore's eyes. The sky was cloudless, inky, and just as clear. The scene was quite picturesque, in fact—right down to the crescent moon hanging in the sky, solitary and white. Stupid moon, Wilma thought, even though she knew it wasn't the moon that was at fault here: no, it was Dumbledore, Remus, and maybe even Wilma herself.
"I don't understand," Wilma blurted.
Dumbledore looked at her. Well, Wilma thought he was looking at her, but she couldn't be sure. It wasn't as if Wilma was looking at him. Yet she could practically feel his smile, and she hated it. "There are a great many things that I fail to understand, too," he said lightly. "Perhaps you could enlighten me."
Wilma sensed a trap.
"I fail to understand how such a powerful government could be so intent on keeping such a powerless boy from living life to the fullest," said Dumbledore softly. "I fail to understand how there can be so much hatred in such a small world. I fail to understand when, exactly, it became the Ministry's top priority to single people out—people who have done no wrong."
"Done no wrong," scoffed Wilma. "I don't think you understand the destruction that a single werewolf could potentially cause. The D.R.C.M.C. deals with the aftermath of werewolf attacks all the time." Wilma had witnessed a few of these, and her stomach lurched as she thought of the blood running through the dirt in rivulets; a man's throat torn out, leaving his head hanging to his body by a mere thread; a woman crying, bitten on the thigh and begging Wilma to let her die instead of healing her. Wilma's mother had not been killed by a werewolf, but Wilma still had personal experience. Everyone at the Ministry did. Of course they didn't want this type of horrifying danger to be brought amongst children, and Wilma didn't know why Dumbledore couldn't see that. "These are children, Albus. How could you put their lives at risk for a stupid political statement? If it's compassion you want, then endangering the students of Hogwarts is not the way to do it."
"I am not endangering anyone," he said. "You saw the building. It is perfectly safe."
"But werewolves aren't. He'll be running free around the castle most days a month. Who's to say he won't tell people how to get in himself? Tell them where the knot is? That perfect plan of yours rests on your inexplicable trust of an eleven-year-old werewolf."
"I trust Remus."
"I know, but there's no reason to do so. Haven't you only met him once?"
"He is just like any other child."
"See, that's the thing." Wilma stopped walking and swiveled to face Dumbledore. "Werewolf transformations cause injury when there are no victims present, don't they," she said. She phrased it as a question, but she already knew the answer.
"They do."
"If he's just like any other eleven-year-old child, then he will tell someone. No one can go through that, month after month, without caving. He'll tell someone, if only to take away the pain for one night. Any eleven-year-old would. Grown men and women have done the same, so I don't see how you can expect an eleven-year-old kid to resist the temptation."
"You are absolutely right, Wilma. It seems I have made a mistake."
Wilma held her breath. Was this it? Would Dumbledore rescind his invitation to the werewolf?
"Yes, a grave error," mused Dumbledore. "I told you that Remus was just like any other child. That wasn't true, because I feel certain that he would never do that. Then again, most children are compassionate, and I am not entirely certain they would, either..."
"Dumbledore—"
"Wilma." Dumbledore's blue eyes bored into her own brown ones. "I understand what you are saying. I do. But I assure you, I would never endanger the children of Hogwarts."
Wilma snorted and kicked a rock. It landed in the lake with a heavy splash. "Quidditch," she argued.
"Yes, well." Dumbledore started walking again with a bit of a chuckle, and Wilma had no choice but to follow. "Quidditch is a long-honored tradition. And no one is ever killed; Poppy Pomfrey makes sure of that."
"You sure do ask a lot of Poppy Pomfrey."
"I also pay her a very significant amount. Did you know that she earns more than any other staff member at Hogwarts? She is being compensated for her services to the best of my ability."
Wilma tried to chuckle, but it transformed into a weary sigh as it left her lips. "Dumbledore, you're making too many decisions by yourself. I don't understand why you can't respect the Ministry's opinion. I think we've made it crystal clear that we don't want a werewolf at Hogwarts. The D.R.C.M.C. all think—every single one of them—that the risk is simply too high. You've been describing how terrible it must be for this Remus lad to be isolated all the time. Well, why are you risking him passing on his condition to other students, then? To people in a village? It's not fair to them, to him, or to the Ministry."
"Fair is exactly what I am trying to accomplish, Wilma."
"I disagree. You're overruling the Ministry with your immense political power. You're threatening turning against us in order to force us to comply. You know how powerful you are, you know how much we rely on you, and you're using that power to do whatever you want—even if you know that many qualified people do not agree with your decision.
"You said you wouldn't run for Minister, but you have more power than the current Minister does—and, as headmaster, you're pushing your ideas onto children. You're starting at the root of things; building up an army of people who respect—even idolize you—from an early age... you know nostalgia can be powerful. You know these children will remember you with fondness someday. I used to, myself, and it took me a long time to see exactly how unfair you're being."
Wilma stopped her rant when she saw that Dumbledore was no longer walking with her. He'd stopped, and now he was staring at the lake, a strange look on his face.
"All right, there?" asked Wilma cautiously.
"Yes." Dumbledore turned back to her, eyes sparkling again—but not with amusement this time. Sadness. The realization nearly knocked Wilma off her feet. "Wilma, none of that was my intention. I am not trying to build up an army. I am not trying to be Minister for Magic. I'm merely trying to... to pass the knowledge I have onto children—children who will do great things someday—children who will grow up to be much better men and women than I ever was."
Wilma stared.
"I don't trust myself with immense political power, Wilma. Yet I know that these are uncertain times, and the Ministry relies on me. I know this. I know that, currently, I am the—what was the phrase...?"
"Hope of the wizarding world," quoted Wilma.
"Yes, that. I know they will do anything to keep my support. Now, it won't always be like that—I have some radical ideas, and I suspect they will turn against me once they believe they have everything under control. But I usually try to stay in their good graces, because I know I can do good for the world." He paused. "But there are a few things I will never agree with."
"Like keeping students safe."
"Like the marginalization of innocent children." Dumbledore began walking once again, but this time his pace was quicker than ever before. As with Burke, Wilma nearly had to run; Dumbledore's legs were quite long and hers were quite short. "Don't you see, Wilma? If I were to find a cure for dragon pox, prove it to be safe, and promise to keep the antidote nearby if anything goes wrong... if it were the only way to help a dying man... would you prevent me from administering it on the off-chance—a chance I had just proven to be nonexistent—that it might harm someone?"
"The chance is still there. You can't prove that the werewolf is completely human by day."
"You are correct. I cannot turn him inside-out and prove to you that he has human emotions. You'll have to trust my judgement."
"That's what I'm talking about! You can't just beg the Ministry to trust you! These are no longer your students, Dumbledore—they are experts in their fields. How much experience do you have werewolf-hunting? That's right! None! You can't just expect the Ministry of Magic to turn a blind eye and let you do whatever you want!"
"It is my school."
"Well, maybe it shouldn't be!"
Dumbledore stopped so suddenly that Wilma nearly crashed into him. "I have said it before, and I will say it again," he said, fire in his eyes. "If I am wrong—if another student is injured at Remus' hands—or claws, I suppose—if my security measures are not safe—then I shall step down as headmaster and serve time in Azkaban. I swear to you that I will not allow my students to be injured, and I am perfectly willing to do whatever it takes."
Wilma nodded, mildly terrified all of a sudden.
"I do not trust myself with immense political power, but I know I have it. Therefore, I have set myself restraints. I will only appeal to the Ministry when it is trying to interfere with my school, and I will only appeal to the Ministry when it directly affects an eligible student whom I swore to protect when I became headmaster. Remus will attend Hogwarts, and I will interfere whenever the Ministry decides to interfere with his education."
"But—"
"If you stay out of it, then so will I."
Wilma sighed, defeated. "I suppose you're right," she said. "I mean... I still think he'll hurt someone. But..." She grimaced. "I can see you're trying to do the right thing."
"That is all I ever aspire to do." Dumbledore's anger was completely gone now; sapped from his body. Now he regarded Wilma with a pleasant and entirely unfiery expression. It was unsettling and comforting at the same time.
"You were a good headmaster when I attended Hogwarts, and I'm sure you still are," said Wilma, and then she scowled. "I'm still bitter about losing those arguments at headquarters, though."
"It was never about the argument. But you did make some good points."
"Thanks." Wilma kicked another rock. "You should probably console Lyall. Make sure his kid isn't in the werewolf's classes or something—I dunno. He looked terrified."
Dumbledore smiled. "I am doing all that I can."
There was something about Dumbledore that made Wilma feel like a child again, so she asked a rather childish question. "Do you really think Minister Jenkins hates children? You said something like that during the headquarters discussion, I remember."
Dumbledore laughed, and Wilma's heart felt lighter. The genuine laugh somehow signified that there was no animosity between them—which was good, because Wilma didn't think she would survive being an enemy of Albus Dumbledore himself. "No," he said. "That was merely a joke. In fact, I believe the Ministry does care about Remus, somewhere deep down, and I have high hopes for the future. Perhaps they'll change their minds once a few months pass. I have faith."
"You probably shouldn't."
"Yet I do. A silly little thing, isn't it, faith? But still it persists. And I have faith that the discrimination can't possibly be as bad as it seems." He smiled. "Perhaps I am delusional, but delusion can be a good thing."
"I don't agree. I had recent delusions of a nice holiday at the beach, you know, and they've brought me nothing but pain."
Dumbledore chuckled. "Well, if you hurry, perhaps you can make it after all. Farewell, Wilma. It was nice talking to you after removing the annoying political veil."
"Yeah, cool," responded Wilma. They were in Hogsmeade now, and she Apparated away.
She still had time to go to the beach, didn't she?
AN: One chapter left :D