CHAPTER 7

After seeing Miss Beasley safely inside and warding the guest quarters, Snape returned to the Headmaster's tower. Instead of the customary late-night sherry, the three conferred.

Dumbledore chose not to dwell on Snape's earlier ill behavior, immediately delving into the important subject at hand. "I do believe you hit on some good points, Severus, and you, Minerva, concerning her family," he said. "It is interesting that there may have been seers in her family, and she also may be one, although she does not use that term."

"I suspect she would sooner be burned at the stake than think she might be a witch," Snape observed snidely. Leaning against the fireplace mantle, he stubbornly pulled his robe forward and firmly folded his arms across his chest.

Having visited hundreds of Muggle families as head of Gryffindor House, Minerva was familiar with the distasteful reaction. "This is all very unusual and confusing for her. She must be frightened."

Dumbledore's voice muffled Snape's derisive snort. "I have been researching this situation during the last few days, including research and careful consultation with key contacts in the Department of Mysteries. I will continue to explore methods to return her." He dropped a candy into his mouth after both of his colleagues refused the proffered bowl. "I can find no solid answer nor history as to why she was unable to board the Express, the castle gate refused to allow her to exit, and that an exceptionally skilled wizard such as yourself, Severus, could not Apparate with her. The common element in all cases appears to be her desire to leave.

The headmaster stepped his fingers and eyed his attentive colleagues.

"I can only conclude that there is something for her or for us—perhaps both—to learn by her being at Hogwarts. This is not magic I've seen before, but there are old stories indicating that sometimes those whose pasts have been forgotten are drawn to their rightful place. I am not saying this is so"—he said in response to Snape's scowl—"but that it is a reasonable possibility we should entertain."

Dumbledore rose and moved to look out the window toward the Quidditch arena. "I do believe this is an opportunity—one that should be afforded a chance, but with caution." Dumbledore turned. "I am therefore of the opinion that if by the time she is due back home that is still an impossibility, she be allowed in the school, under your direct supervision." His nods indicated both McGonagall and Snape.

"Keep her locked in the tower, as if she were a prisoner?" Minerva asked, her face tight with indignation.

"Nothing of the sort," Dumbledore smiled. "She should be allowed to make herself useful."

"Surely you're not seriously considering allowing her to… work here!" the Potions master demanded with incredulous anger. "Unskilled, unknowledgeable, under suspicion!"

"Now, now, Severus," Dumbledore said, settling back into the comfort of his upholstered chair as Minerva looked at Snape disapprovingly. "I'm not proposing making her deputy headmistress. But we can't keep her locked up in the tower indefinitely."

"I don't see why not," Snape huffed, throwing himself gracelessly into his usual chair.

"We simply must find a reasonable solution, for as long as necessary," the Headmaster said calmly.

"Pshaw!"

"None of us are happy about this situation, Severus," Minerva pointed out. "We can, however, make the best of it."

"Without first determining why she is here? Who might be involved?" Snape growled.

"It is a puzzle how she could have gotten here," Minerva admitted, "and I'm no less concerned about all of this than you are, Severus. But she strikes me as—well, sincere." She sighed heavily, her shoulders heaving.

Severus shook his head. "Her presence here could be a danger," he snapped insistently, turning his head from the witch.

"You yourself have looked into her mind, and haven't discovered anything nefarious." Dumbledore looked thoughtfully at Snape. "However, further investigation is unquestionably merited." The old man played with a spoke-wheeled brass instrument, which chugged steadily, expelling an occasional, soft whistle.

"How would you secure her work and home?" Minerva asked curiously.

Dumbledore chuckled as if enjoying a private joke. "A Muggle-born friend of mine has found retirement to be less than expected," he answered. "She wants to travel, to do something challenging. So with a collection of hair from Miss Beasley's brush and some Polyjuice—"

"Ah," Minerva nodded. Severus glared at the fireplace, so unspeakably angry that he refused to look at the Headmaster.

"She'll even be able to send a few things by owl, if necessary," Dumbledore finished. "Most importantly, she'll conduct a thorough background check and report back to me."

Snape's sour expression left no doubt what he thought of the plan, but he knew he was outvoted by the two administrators. Pushing his legs out before him, he folded his arms and demanded, "When do you propose inflicting this incompetent Muggle upon us?"

"Tomorrow at dinner," Dumbledore announced. "That should give you and Minerva time to think of some tasks for her to perform.

"Now for a smaller challenge—she needs a new name and background." Dumbledore hummed while considering possibilities. "Miss Beasley—‛Bee' as in honey?" Snape exhaled heavily while examining his nails. "B… Ah!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "The beech tree. Her background indicates good organizational skills, and she's quite reasonable in her expectations—‛Beecham' it is!"

Minerva glowed approval, while Snape merely looked at the Headmaster indifferently, ready to return to the dungeons to check on his Slytherins. "Headmaster," he said, leaning forward as if to rise. "May I—?"

"No, no, Severus, we're not done yet. She must have an established background. Now, what do you say to her being from an old wizard family?" Dumbledore suggested enthusiastically.

"Really, Headmaster, she couldn't possibly—!" Snape spluttered, his cheeks reddening.

"But," Dumbledore continued blithely, "over the centuries her branch has succumbed to America's democratic society and have forgotten their wizard heritage…. They've lived primarily as Muggles, using magic from time to time, of course," he added as if that was obvious.

Professor McGonagall nodded thoughtfully agreement while Snape sneered.

"There's no reason to present her as a witch," the younger man objected. "If you insist on palming her off as from our world, say that she is a Squib."

Dumbledore shook his head. "It's unlikely an American Squib would seek employment at Hogwarts. She will be more believable as a genuine witch."

"I hardly believe that the woman is capable of convincing anyone of that," the Potions master said archly. "Genuine?" He paused, suspicions aroused. "Do you mean to imply… pureblood?"

Dumbledore clapped with delight. "An excellent suggestion, Severus!" he exclaimed, rising and walking to his desk to shuffle through papers. "I have information here somewhere about old American families who have largely forgotten our ways… "

Snape buried his head in his hands before looking up imploringly at Minerva.

"I'm sorry, Severus," she shrugged, "but it's as good a story as any. Some families do fall away, you know."

"Pureblood!" Snape snorted in disbelief. "As if she's a Slytherin!"

Dumbledore snapped upright, clutching a paper. "What an exciting prospect! If we knew she actually did have magical talent, we could try the Sorting Hat on her!"

Snape stared as if the old man was an escapee from St. Mungo's long-term spell damage ward.

"Ah, but time will tell, won't it?" Dumbledore mused, looking down at the document. The quill he held before him hid from Snape a mildly mischievous smile.

The Potions master shoved himself up from his chair, staring daggers at the Headmaster. "I have work to attend to," he stated coldly. "I'm sure you and deputy headmistress can work out the rest of this travesty."

Dumbledore looked up with hurt surprise. "Of course, Severus. I quite understand. Good night."

Minerva observed Albus' artful concern as Snape marched across the room like a baleful cloud rushing through a stormy sky. Once the door closed, he turned to her, his face relaxed.

"That wasn't very nice of you, Albus," she chastised gently.

"I was attempting to interject a bit of humor into the situation," he replied genially. "Obviously, I failed. Dear me, but the boy is so utterly serious at all times."

Minerva grunted, then rose and walked to the case where Dumbledore kept the Ogden's. Extracting the bottle, she poured two fingers' depth into each of two glasses, turned and handed one to Albus before reclaiming her chair.

She took a sip and turned slightly in the seat to tuck a pillow at her back."After Potter's experience with Quirrell last year, I cannot blame him. Potter's claim to have seen the Dark Lord was unsettling, and must weigh heavily on Severus' mind."

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "As it does mine."

Minerva returned to the original topic. "Do you think she might be a Squib?"

The wizard laid his gray head against his chair's high back, watching Fawkes from atop his half-moon glasses. "No, nor do I believe she is a Muggle. Severus checked her belongings thoroughly for anything that may have been Concealed or Transfigured, and there is nothing magical. So she did not bring a wand. Why would a witch travel without one?" He tilted the cut glass, looking pensively into the amber fluid as if it would provide answers. "I believe she is a witch, and she has been brought to Hogwarts. The questions are: Why? Does she know? Is she being used and, if so, by whom?"

His long-time deputy and fellow senior Order member was accustomed to the inscrutable ways in which his mind worked. She considered his answer for a minute before speaking. "You will not try to send her away, then."

"I fully intend to continue researching that matter," he assured her firmly. "But it is difficult to closely examine a mystery at a distance."

"You'll clarify this with Severus?" she asked pointedly.

"Of course." Dumbledore lowered his head to smile lopsidedly at her. "But his irritation will keep him going tonight through his rounds and correcting papers."

"You know, Albus," Minerva chided, "you'll drive Severus to having an ulcer one day."

Dumbledore, who was sipping his Ogden's, grimaced. "He's been driving himself to one since he began Hogwarts as a student."

The Scots witch smiled wanly, remembering the guarded, tetchy boy he had been and the wrathful attacks he'd made on some of his fellow students, James Potter and Sirius Black in particular. If anything, such character elements had grown stronger in Severus' adulthood. Pity the student foolish enough to cross his path tonight.

She swirled the amber Firewhisky in the tumbler, then took a sip. "What say you that Miss Beas—Miss Beecham, rather—work in my office and classroom immediately after breakfast, then be assigned to Severus after lunch? Circe knows there's enough mindless and utterly useless Ministry paperwork that all of us could bear assistance. For all of his grumbling, I'll wager Severus will eventually come to appreciate it."

Dumbledore snorted softly, trying to picture a thankful Snape. Somehow, even his brilliant mind couldn't conjure such a scene.

"I agree—with the schedule, that is," Dumbledore clarified. 'You'll want her close by for supervisory purposes."

"There is, of course, the problem with the laws against performing magic in a Muggle's presence." Minerva broached the topic with some distaste, both for the necessity of having demonstrated Transfiguration before Miss Beecham and the hands-tying complications laws sometimes posed.

Dumbledore considered the point, but briefly. "I refuse to imprison her, and allowing her into Hogwarts means she will see magic regularly. She might as well be allowed to observe the students learning. Understanding helps to combat prejudice."

McGonagall nodded, finished her drink, and sent the empty glass floating toward a tray for a house-elf to retrieve later for cleaning. "Well, then, Albus. I need to decide exactly what I'll have Miss Beecham begin doing tomorrow, and I'm sure you have a bit of planning to do yourself."

"Of course, Minerva." He rose slightly from his chair as she stood. "Good night."

Murmuring her adieu in reply, McGonagall turned toward the door. The sound of her green tartan shoes clicking smartly across the stones ended once the door closed behind her, leaving Dumbledore alone with the portraits. Most of the figures were asleep. A few frames were empty.

Dumbledore chose to ignore the accusative black eyes of Phineas Nigellus Black, who didn't bother to voice his objections to the present Headmaster's outrageous idea. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Black knew, was willful and listened to advice only when he sought it. Exhaling heavily, Black turned around and left for the frame in his ancestral home.

At Dumbledore's motion, a fresh piece of parchment left its stack and settled before him on the desk's surface. Long fingers to his lips, he thought for several minutes before dipping the quill and beginning to write. This, like his other plans, had to be carefully composed, for the safety of Miss Beecham, Hogwarts and, possibly, Harry Potter.

oOo

A/N: Thanks to my beta, Noleme, for wise and skillful guidance. You're a gem!

I'd love to hear from you, readers! Please review. ~wheedles~