Author's Note: Sorry for the long hiatus, I had some cause to question my motives for writing, and it took a great deal of thought before I felt I could continue. I'd written this interlude previously, but I hope to come back with additional chapters in the next month or two.

Disclaimer time - I've read (and love) Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality; it's actually what gave me the kick to start my own fic. While there's bound to be some overlap - since both contain muggle science and a 'genuinely smart' Hermione - I'm deliberately making some different choices about how magic 'works', and keeping almost all the other characters essentially canon, in the hopes of steering things away from just being a rehash of the same themes. I've no desire to re-write HPMOR...I seriously doubt I could improve upon it. (N.B. - Be cautious in taking that as a recommendation to read it - while it's very well written and terribly funny at times, it also goes to some shockingly dark places.)

Of course, there's an issue with Hermione using 'genuine' intelligence while no one else changes, though - quite often the answer to questions along the lines of, "Why did character A not simply X or Y or Z, were they just dumb?" is that if they had, the story would've been much shorter (or, from another perspective, much harder to write well). For the purposes of this fic, I'm just going to play those things where they lie. Even if some canon issues end up resolved 'early', there will be logical repercussions and consequences that I hope will keep things interesting. That said, I've no illusions that I'm writing a masterpiece, here - I'm having fun so far, hopefully you are too!

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Interlude - Dubius

Albus Dumbledore waited calmly as all but one of the Professors and staff filed out of his office. Once they'd gone, Professor McGonagall took a seat in front of his desk - the meeting that had just concluded had not been long, and no one had been seated. Only then did he settle into his own chair.

"So, Minerva. I presume, by your request to remain, that you've objections you wanted to voice in private?" the Headmaster asked, mildly.

"A murder, at Hogwarts. A murder, at Hogwarts," she repeated, with emphasis. The woman paused, as if unsure how to continue.

"Which implies a murderer, of course. And while it is not clear how much time the culprit had before Madam Pomfrey was discovered, I nevertheless sealed Hogwarts against exit - possibly trapping a murderer inside with us...and our students," he prompted, calmly.

"So, you understand my consternation, then?"

"I do." He waited. While he would not typically begrudge an explanation to one who had a right to it, the demands on his time were...considerable. It was a fact of his existence that he could avoid a great many uncomfortable conversations with a subtle reminder of the trust he had earned, by virtue of being both talented and right, on many occasions. It was pure reputation, and he was not above using it...sometimes, that alone was enough to forestall objections and allow him to get on with the actual work.

"And yet, you've done it anyway. Nor have you summoned Aurors. And you're going to allow everyone to believe this was Poppy's...negligence," she persisted. Apparently, this was not to be one of those times.

"You know what is being guarded here, and what the consequences could be if it fell into the wrong hands. If this incident is not related - and for the moment it is unclear how it would be - every additional witch or wizard admitted would be another potential avenue for exploitation...even Aurors. Whereas I have every faith in the staff's ability to locate and subdue Madam Pomfrey's assailant."

"What about the students?"

"The lengths to which the murderer went to make it appear a tragic accident strongly suggest an interest in remaining unnoticed - it seems unlikely they would take further rash action without waiting to ensure their subterfuge was successful, and thus the students should be in no danger for some period. And in regards to that subterfuge, I believe Poppy would not begrudge a temporary besmirching of her reputation, in the interests of seeing justice served."

"Albus, we're not trained for this," McGonagall insisted, frustrated.

"Neither are murderers, by and large, yet they do succeed in their grim work with alarming frequency. Should we, who have the advantage of a noble cause, expect any less of ourselves?" Dumbledore knew how this sort of thing sounded when he said it - a mixture of inscrutable wisdom and hopeless naivete. It made it difficult for most people to debate against him, particularly those who respected him; the inscrutability and his reputation made them worry they'd seem a fool for arguing later, the naivete as if they'd be kicking a puppy. Sure enough, Minerva got that look on her face that said she had in no way conceded the argument and yet was at a loss to continue it.

For a moment, as occasionally happened, Dumbledore felt an urge to tell her his entire plan, or even all his plans. It grew lonely at times, having no one to confide in. But while there were obvious advantages of security in plans no one knew about, they held a subtler virtue as well. If you only revealed the successful plans, after the fact...your apparent success rate became, well, startlingly impressive.

The urge passed, as it always did.

"Was there anything else?"

"Actually, there was one other matter. There's a first year who requires additional supervision in Transfiguration - Hermione Granger."

"Ah. Another Moira?" the wizard asked slowly, his face for a moment showing every year of its age.

"No...I caught it early, thank Merlin, and she appears to understand the seriousness of the matter. Though she seems even brighter than Moira was, which makes things both better and worse."

"Very well. Keep me informed, but as always I will leave such matters to your judgement." McGonagall nodded, her expression equal parts grim and satisfied, though her eyes held a hint of pity as well. She strode out of his office.

Once she'd gone, Dumbledore seemed to deflate a bit, the imposing and confident arch-wizard somehow replaced by an old man, tired and uncertain. There were downsides to his penchant for plotting, of course, chief among them the necessity that he alone bore the burdens of the damage from plans that failed, and often even of those that succeeded.

He sat, slumped, for some time.