7.

A Bare Bodkin

The three friends sat around the breakfast table. Hermione, with unusual vigor, shoveled her toast and eggs into her mouth, looking down at the book in her lap occasionally.

"I've never seen you eat so much," Ron muttered through a full mouth.

Harry looked at her and then turned away, still trying to devise a plan to convince her to stay.

"I have so much to do," Hermione said, her words muffled by the amount of food crammed into her mouth, her teeth, now newly formatted, shimmered with butter.

"Like what?"

"I have to go to the library after breakfast. And don't be nosy." She returned to wolfing down the meal.

Ron rolled his eyes, shrugging, and making a face at Harry. Harry grinned uneasily, as if to say "oh, yes, I see what you mean…"

Ron did not seem to care after that. Hermione leaving for the library was completely normal for him at this point. Harry, however, had discomfort festering in the pit of his stomach. If Hermione left and something horrible happened to her, it would all be his fault for not saying anything. Hermione was his best friend. He couldn't stand the very thought and it made him sick.

"Hermione, do you think you could stay instead?" He blurted out.

Hermione turned her chin up, her hair falling into her eyes and a piece of meat hanging from her lips. She crammed it in, took a swig of juice, and asked why he wanted her to stay.

"You see, I need your advice." Harry began painfully, stretching his legs under the table. Around them the students flocked, enjoying the weekend and talking loudly. Other students filed in, blinking sleep from their eyes. Fred and George experimented with some new contraption in the far corner and the teachers strolled through the halls. An aura of calm had settled over the students like a veil on that fine morning. Homework was nothing but a worry until Sunday night when they would have to knuckle down and work on it. But for now, save for the students who preferred to finish it early, it was nothing.

"What do you need advice on?" Hermione asked, her eyebrows rising.

"I…" Harry, think, now! Harry racked his brains and fidgeted under the table. He needed something that would not let her venture to the library. Something that would keep her a good distance away…

"Is it private?" Ron interjected. "I can turn away if you want."

Hermione stared at him, her jaw dropping.

"What?" Ron's ears turned crimson.

"Why, that was the most humane thing I think you've ever said!"

Ron shrugged. "I suppose so."

"Well, Harry, is it private?" Hermione said, beaming.

"No—No, I mean yes. Yes it is extremely private. I need to speak to you personally."

Hermione's smile only brightened. Something inside her had been bestowed with a shaft of light. Harry internally winced at the thought that it was all for naught and it was only an excuse. He was abusing her feelings.

"Harry, I'm dreadfully sorry but I have to go now." She stood, collecting her things, "But once I return, which I'll try to do as soon as I can, then you can speak to me all you want!" She turned, her brown hair bouncing on her back, gleaming.

As she left, Ron and Harry remained. Ron didn't pester Harry. Harry wondered if Ron thought he had some trouble and that it was a tender issue that even the Hero couldn't solve. That was completely true. Ron hadn't the faintest clue as to what it was that upset Harry, but he decided on being a good friend and spoke to him about jokes and other light-hearted things.

Hermione was gone for the entire day. Harry did not see her at lunch or any time in between. When she did return, sitting down heavily by him during dinner, her face was etched with exhaustion but exhilaration. Evidently she had nearly worked herself to death trying to do whatever it was. Her eyes swam with fatigue that comes only after a heavy day of intense learning.

"You were there for hours!" Ron remarked, "Did you read the entire library?"

"Oh, no, I just got into a very interesting book and I simply couldn't stop." Hermione said with a faint laugh, digging her hands through her hair.

The trio, after dinner, headed up to the common room. Ron told Hermione about their lazy day and asked her with help on homework. She complied and Ron nearly fell over in astonishment. He fell behind and grabbed Harry's sleeve as she slipped through the portrait.

"What do you think she was doing?"

"Reading, what else?" Harry said and followed Hermione. Hermione waited at the entrance and took Harry aside.

"I'm sorry for not coming sooner. Trust me, I tried. Do you still want to talk about whatever it was?" She asked, rubbing her eye.

Harry had nearly forgotten about it.

"Oh, no, Hermione. I think you should go sleep. I'm fine. You shouldn't worry." He spoke quickly, patting her side awkwardly. "I think I've worked it out."

She gazed at him suspiciously for what felt like a very long time, and then bade him goodnight and trotted up the stairs, her feet dragging behind and her head bowed.

Harry could only wonder what happened.

There, far across the school in the teacher's quarters, up in Dumbledore's office, Arthur sat. He poised complacently over the stiff armchair, also exhausted. He had passed half of his magical knowledge on to Hermione and felt immensely drained.

"I hope the lessons went well." Dumbledore said, placing his hands on the tabletop.

Arthur grimaced in a vain attempt to smile.

"Horribly exhausting, it was, but I think she learned well. I taught her the spells you would not teach here as well as how to find other spells that can be much easier than the formal ways." Arthur explained, yawning into his palm.

Dumbledore nodded sagely, looking toward the rising ceiling and then setting his eyes back on Arthur. "Arthur, in your letter you said you would tell me why you needed to rejoin the Wizarding World, and I know you well enough to make a rather precise conjecture that you aren't simply paying us a visit."

"And you would not believe me if I told you I was bored sick of the muggles?"

"That is correct."

"Good assumption, Albus, but…"

"Can you not tell an old friend?"

"It's so convoluted!" Arthur said, rising and bringing his hands down, his robe sleeves rattling around his arms. "I don't even know how to start."

"Then I can also assume that you aren't here to help Harry?"

"Correct again," Arthur nodded twice.

"Are you running away?"

"I am, but I don't know from whom anymore."

"From yourself?"

"Nothing quite so philosophical as that," Arthur laughed, "But I'm not supposed to be anywhere. I think time has been messed up, but either way I'm being hunted by the others and here I still have the mark." He involuntarily touched his arm, pressing on the skin. "And… And you know how things are going to change very quickly here. If you excuse me, I think I need to sleep. Goodnight, Albus." Arthur stood up and, with a final nod, went down the stairs.

Going down the stairs, he passed McGonagall. She did not respond to him, save for a "goodnight" passing reluctantly. Arthur then went into his chamber and fell into a deep, dream-filled sleep.

McGonagall entered the office, her presence sucking up heat. She was concerned.

"Sit down, Minerva."

McGonagall seated herself, placing her hands upon her lap. Then she relaxed, her shoulders slumping and the tight pearl-white line of her lips reposing into fuller lips. "I don't think that it's a good idea to have him around."

"Why not?" Dumbledore smiled, pressing his fingers together under his nose.

"I can feel it in him. I'm not one to sense these things, but you remember how he once was. I heard him say it once before, even, 'oh what jolly fun it is to kill!'"

"People change, Minerva."

"You know very well that I'm not one to challenge your choices, but I want you to at least listen to me on this."

"Go on."

"Has he told you why he came here in the first place?"

"I invited him here."

"No, why he came back to our world," she shook her head.

"He keeps finding ways around telling me what exactly his motives are."

"How do you know he isn't here to kill Harry?"

"Minerva, that's a leap you took there. It's quite out of character too."

"I know, I should apply more logic and reason, but you know how he was! You fought him once—"

"—and lost—"

"—yes and perhaps you did lose because, I understand, he is extremely powerful. And perhaps he won't kill anyone. If anyone knows fate it's he. And I don't know his true identity. I understand that he's older than he looks and that—"

"—he is not a human being?"

"No he is a human being. I, well, if you must know: I'm worried. I'm terribly worried for the children. He gave Miss Granger those lessons, which is very kind of him, but I know he won't do anything without wanting something in exchange for it."

"He knows human kindness too."

"All I'm saying is that you should be very wary of him." McGonagall stood, patting her roves down and tightening up her stature once more. She bade Dumbledore goodnight and left, feeling distinctly troubled.

Dumbledore sighed, alone in his room save for the Phoenix in the cage. He lowered his hands and leaned back, looking at the portraits.

"Oh, Minerva, if only I could say for certain that I trust him." He thought aloud.

One of the portraits yawned, waking from his doze, and muttered down; "Ay, you don't trust him but you fear him. I feared him too, you know."

"So did I," a headmistress of yonder years agreed from her portrait.

"Alack! If only we knew who he was!" Another headmistress called.

"A stranger in our world, that's what he is!"

"He's nutty!"

"He's insane!"

"Perhaps we should lock him up!"

"Oh you know very well he'll escape! He'll slither through the bars!"

"He can change into a snake you're saying?"

"I heard that he could change into anything!"

"I heard much different!"

"Lock him up!"

"Yes, capture him!"

"Old Albus he's in your grasp just clutch—clutch!"

Dumbledore watched the paintings argue with one another about who he is, and then come to the general consensus that he should be put in the loony bin. Dumbledore stood, ready to quiet them, but he did not have to. For, then, came a sound.

It was a scream.

The chapter title comes from Hamlet's most famous speech, the one that begins with "to be or not to be; that is the question".