CHAPTER TWO—Plans
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At 7:00 AM, before most of the Hogwarts staff had left their respective chambers in search of breakfast, frantic, silver moths flew throughout the halls. The glowing moth knocked off Professor Minerva McGonagall's hat as she strode to the Great Hall. Charms professor Filius Flitwick toppled off his window-sill when the moth appeared in front of his nose.
Pomona Sprout accidentally snipped off a perfect rose bud, frightened by the Patronus. The pale Patronus darted like a meteor through the red haze of the Divination Tower. Sybill Trelawney blinked at the moth, straightening her coke-bottle glasses. Walking towards the castle, Rubeus Hagrid tried to swat the bug away, but his giant hand went through the shimmering mist.
Severus Snape rolled over in bed, attempting to ignore Poppy Pomfrey's glowing Patronus. "Come to the infirmary, now!" the moth yelled in her voice.
The healer always nagged him about getting check-ups, even more so since his unfortunate run-in with a large, venomous snake during the spring.
"It's an emergency! I need to see you all immediately!" the moth proclaimed. Madam Pomfrey's voice sounded panicked.
Severus sat up, tousle-haired and displeased. "Fine." The moth dissolved, leaving the dungeons pitch-black once again. His alarm started ringing—he slammed his hand down on the bells.
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Defense Against the Dark Arts professor Fleur Weasley rushed down the hall. She met Pomona Sprout on her hurried way to the infirmary. "What is ze problem?"
"I haven't the foggiest."
Firenze, the only magical creature professor, clopped up the stairs towards the hospital wing. Rubeus Hagrid lumbered not far behind.
Madam Hooch, interrupted from her morning work-out, jogged past Fleur and Pomona. Aurora Sinistra yawned and magically opened the infirmary door so she could sweep through. Septima Vector and Walter Wrinkle each nursed a cup of coffee as they stumbled into the hospital wing.
The teachers stood yawning as they watched Madam Pomfrey walk back and forth in front of the only drawn curtain in the room. The smell of healing chemicals and salves made Severus's teeth itch—he hated coming to the infirmary.
"What's going on, Poppy?" Minerva asked.
"We have a problem." Poppy did not stop pacing. She was twisting her Healer's apron between her spider-veined hands.
"Obviously," Severus drawled. Aurora snickered. Minerva scowled at the Potions Master.
"What's wrong?" Filius asked.
"Is the headmaster aware of this problem?" asked Ancient Runes professor, Walter Wrinkle. He craned his neck to look over Pomona's head.
"The headmaster is the problem—he's gone!" Poppy ripped back the white curtains. The bed was made, with a brilliant red phoenix sitting atop the crisp sheets. In his beak was a scroll of gold-edged parchment.
Fawkes flapped his wings importantly; his job was to deliver his master's letter to the deputy headmistress. Septima and Sybill coughed and waved away the dust the bird had stirred up. All the other teachers ignored the particles settling on their clothes. Madam Pomfrey's robes repelled the dust assaulting her.
"Did you try to take the scroll away from him?" Severus asked, bored with the conversation that had required him to wake up five minutes earlier than he would have liked.
"He wouldn't let me!" Poppy exclaimed. The phoenix hopped over to Minerva.
The deputy headmistress took the missive and shook it open, dust falling out. She read out loud:
To my esteemed staff—
You are undoubtedly wondering where I have skipped off to. I shan't tell you where, but I shall tell you why—I have recently been persuaded to pursue a new course of treatment for my disfiguring ailment. At present, it appears to be working. More tests and applications must occur before I have definitive proof, however. As this treatment is quite revolutionary, the creator would rather news of it did not get out to the public, lest it fall into the wrong hands. He, or she, shall remain secret, until she, or he, would like to be revealed.
I am not sure the extent to which tests will be performed; thus, I do not know of my availability until my return—and return I shall, even if this treatment fails and I succumb to Riddle's curse before I can kill his missing Nagini. That is the only reason I wish to postpone death; death is but the next great adventure, but it is an adventure it seems I cannot yet undertake.
During my absence, Minerva will act as headmistress pro-temp and Filius will aid her. Today is Wednesday—a total of three days remain in this term, all of which are exam days. I doubt my absence will cause much of a stir. I assure you, I have left of my own volition—there is no cause for alarm. I will return before the beginning of next term, at the latest.
Let's keep this new treatment a secret, shall we?
Bon voyage and Happy Christmas,
A.D.
P.S.—
Someone will need to feed Fawkes. Help yourself to the lemon drops on my desk as you do so, Minerva!
Fawkes peered into the stricken faces of the Hogwarts staff. No curtain fluttered, no mouse scurried.
"That buggering old codger!" Rolanda Hooch exclaimed.
Pomona shushed her foul-mouthed friend. Professor Binns floated in the back of the crowd.
Severus pinched the bridge of his nose while Minerva crumpled the letter in her hand. "Albus!" she growled.
Filius sighed. "What are we going to do with that man?"
Poppy began pacing again.
"Does 'e do zis sort of zing often?" Fleur, the newest staff member, asked.
"Yes," everyone else replied.
"What do we tell ter students?" Hagrid rumbled from the back of the group.
"We won't tell them at all," Minerva answered. "Albus has disappeared before. The children never ask about the running of the school anyway." The woman straightened her jacket collar. "We will go to breakfast, and act as if nothing is amiss. The children will finish the rest of the week, and go home on Saturday."
The professors muttered and whispered to one another, each wondering what kind of treatment Dumbledore was receiving. Severus Snape and Minerva McGonagall were the last to leave the infirmary.
"Are you able to handle this?" the Potions Master murmured, prying the crinkled letter from her hands.
"We don't have a madman or the ministry invading the school—I think I can handle it, Severus," she replied, her voice tight.
"What if he doesn't return?" He rubbed the grit from the letter between his finger and thumb, scowling at it in distaste. "Bloody bird, probably diseased."
Minerva rolled her eyes. "Fawkes is not diseased. And Albus will return."
"He's dying, Minerva—has been since before the war." The two descended the marble staircase. "By all rights, he should already be dead."
"The greatest wizard on Earth cannot just die so easily. It took twenty years to kill Voldemort—it might take twenty decades to kill Albus."
Severus took his turn to roll his eyes. He respected Albus Dumbledore, but knew firsthand the man was not immortal. The teachers entered the Great Hall and dropped the subject.
Breakfast was halfway over by the time all the professors had taken their seats. Severus gave a cursory once-over of the hall—only a scant amount of students were giving the parade of staff members strange looks; know-it-all war-heroine Miss Granger was one of them.
He narrowed his eyes at her; unlike her pre-war self, she did not flinch or look away. She continued to observe the staff members, each in turn, until she was satisfied, or at least, couldn't satisfy her curiosity.
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At the Gryffindor table, Ginny Weasley perused her daily letter from Harry Potter. Next to her, eighth-year Neville Longbottom talked with the redhead across from him.
"I think our team's gonna win this year," Ron said as he swirled his scrambled eggs in syrup.
Neville didn't look convinced. "The Hufflepuffs are doing pretty well."
Hermione Granger sat rubbing her left arm and tuning out the conversation. The ceiling of the Great Hall sprinkled delicate snowflakes that disappeared before they reached even Hagrid's head—but Hagrid was not present. The gamekeeper and Care of Magical Creatures teacher was almost always at breakfast. Normally, Hermione would not think too much of his absence; today, however, none of the teachers were in the hall. Madam Pince and Mr Filch looked uncomfortable at the table without any teachers for back up. Nearly Headless Nick and the Bloody Baron had noticed—the Baron kept his rowdier Slytherins in line with a silent glare.
"How is Harry?" Hermione asked when Ginny put the letter down.
"He sat in on another boring Wizengamot hearing," Ginny sighed with a roll of her eyes. "For the Malfoys. Draco and his mother are on probation while Mr Malfoy is under house arrest."
"One of these days he's going to be in charge of the Wizengamot, so he better learn to like it." Hermione tapered off as the doors to the Great Hall opened for the missing teachers.
A few other people besides Hermione noticed, but the chatter did not die down. The teachers looked worried, none as much as Madam Pomfrey, the school Healer.
Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape walked in last, both wearing frowns. Professor McGonagall looked peeved; her companion looked as cold as usual. As the staff took their seats, Hermione observed them all, one by one. Something was wrong.
Professor Snape glared at her—one of his black eyebrows crawled upwards. He's mad about something, she thought. Next to him, Professor Flitwick spread jam on his toast, glancing now and then at the headmaster's empty chair.
"Did you notice that?" Hermione asked.
"Notice what?" Ron asked through a mouthful of bacon.
"Nothing," Hermione said, turning to porridge. She supposed that the headmaster enjoyed disappearing on a whim, even in his dire condition. But if he had taken a turn for the worse, surely Professor McGonagall would have made an announcement about it. Right?
"So what are we all doing for the holiday?" Neville asked. The scent of pine stained the air, though Hagrid had only brought in a few of the twelve, giant Christmas trees.
"Harry and I will be visiting little Teddy," Ginny said.
"Lavender's coming over to the Burrow—aren't you, Lav?" Ron asked as his girlfriend sat down next to him.
She planted a kiss on his cheek. "Yes, for Boxing Day. Are you coming over, too, 'Mione?"
Hermione gave Lavender and Ron a wan grin. "No. I'm staying here, to practice for my Animagus exam."
"You mean you haven't already turned into fifteen different animals by now?" Lavender joked.
Hermione was about to tell her that such a feat was impossible, but Ginny cut her off.
"You have to come to the Burrow, 'Mione!" The younger witch leaned across the table. "It's Christmas! You can't be stuck here during Christmas!"
"I'd rather get my Transfiguration training out of the way as quickly as possible," Hermione explained. She could tell Ron was not buying her lie, so she didn't look in his direction.
Professor McGonagall stood up at the high table. The hall turned quiet. "The practical portion of the Care of Magical Creatures exam will begin in fifteen minutes. All of the students enrolled in that class are to head out to the Quidditch pitch, now."
Neville, Ginny, and Lavender stood up from the table along with a majority of the other students, heading outside or to the library for more revision.
Hermione was left twiddling her fork while Ron stared at her.
"'Mione…"
She faced him. "I want to stay here for Christmas, Ron."
"I don't think you should be alone, Hermione."
"Maybe I want to be alone," she said to the edge of the table.
Ron put his hand on her shoulder as the other Gryffindors shuffled out of the hall. "Your parents would not want you to be alone on Christmas. Even last year you weren't alone."
"Last year, Harry and I almost had our heads bitten off by a snake."
Ron crossed his arms. Dennis Creevey hustled past them, cramming a final piece of toast in his mouth. "'Mione, we're your family too. Come spend Christmas with us."
"I know I would just ruin the fun."
"Hermione—"
"No, Ron, I know it. Please, I'll be fine. I just…" She stirred her lumpy porridge around, scraping the sticky residue off on the edge of the bowl. "I need time to be alone."
The youngest Weasley boy looked at her for a long time, frowning. "'Mione, I really think being alone is the opposite of what you need."
"You're going to be late for your exam," she said to her porridge.
Ron crossed his arms. "Is it because…of me and Lavender?"
During the "Final Battle," Hermione had finally gotten a kiss from Ron. Adrenaline and fear pumping through her veins, Hermione felt dizzy under Ron's lips. He was so tall, and funny—he had come back to help them. The Deluminator had called, in her voice, to his heart.
But it didn't work out. Ron was great—caring and sweet. But Hermione's distance frustrated him to no end. He wanted her to open up. But she couldn't. Harry had destroyed Voldemort's body eight months ago, in May. Hermione had only cried twice since then. She had cried at Fred Weasley's funeral, and didn't stop until Remus Lupin's funeral the next day.
"No, Ron, I promise." Hermione put down her spoon. She knew she didn't love Ron romantically, no matter how much she wanted to. They had only dated until the end of June.
Ron hugged her. Hermione was not expecting it, and leaned towards the left under his weight. "We'll talk about this later," he said as he got up from the bench.
Hermione kept her eyes down. The last time Hermione had cried, she had returned, alone, to her empty home after a long two weeks in Australia.
Miss Granger hadn't cried for months. At this moment, she wished she could.
