Chapter 2 – Lumos
The ward was quiet for the most part. The fourth floor of St. Mungo's rarely saw many visitors, and since Tilda Harlowe's disastrous Animagus attempt had finally been corrected, the halls were free of the incessant cries of a peacock. For now, it was just the rather inane babblings of Gilderoy Lockhart that disturbed the quiet.
Treasa Shannon pulled the curtains closed around Arabelle Droikson, flicking her wand at the blanket so it straightened to cover the three tentacles where her feet should have been. The poor dear seemed to be resting better now that she was settled in. Now she just needed to check in on the Longbottoms before going up a floor for her tea break.
She had been working at St. Mungo's for eight months, and still she hesitated before walking to the end of the ward. The sight of their wan, lined faces brought back memories – memories she hid even from herself.
Alice was happily disassembling Chocolate Frog boxes. She loved the shine of the gold foil, and Treasa had left word with the other healers not to take away her pile of haphazardly folded pieces. It was perhaps the one thing, aside from her son's visits on holidays, that she seemed truly aware of.
"Frank, enjoying the sun, are ya?" Treasa asked, her tone brisk and steady despite Irish brogue that somehow seemed to intensify when she was around the Longbottoms.
She bustled over to the window, adjusting the shade so the patch of sunlight fell across the bed, not Frank's face. She could have used her wand, but her years in Muggle healing had taught her that some things were simply better done by hand. Frank smiled, nodding his thanks. He rarely spoke, but in the last few months, she had reached the point of understanding the little head bobs and hand movements that served as his primary mode of communication.
"I expect you'll be havin' company sometime next week. Hogwarts holidays start this weekend, right?"
"Indeed, Miss Shannon," answered a voice from behind her. "I didn't expect that you would remember that all these years later."
She whirled around in surprise, mind flashing back sixteen years. The man who stood before her hadn't changed in the slightest. "Professor Dumbledore! 'Tisn't often we see you at St. Mungo's. .. And as for the holidays – you'd be hard-pressed to find a witch or wizard in the country who couldn't tell you the date Hogwarts summer holidays begin. 'Tis something easier remembered than the dates of the Giant Wars, for certain."
"Ever the ready wit," Dumbledore acknowledged, smiling at her over his half-moon spectacles. His eyes were twinkling merrily. "Though, as I recall, you didn't have much trouble remembering the Giant Wars, either."
Treasa shrugged her assent. Alice had run out of boxes to tear apart and had started on folding them into odd, lopsided shapes. The silence lengthened. Dumbledore didn't seem impatient – in fact, he had the air of a man who was quite patiently waiting for something. Treasa's eyes flitted between the two Longbottoms, then back to the headmaster. With a jolt of embarrassment, she stepped away from the beds.
"Oh, and here I stand when you've come visiting! I'll go take my tea break and you can just –"
"You mistake me, Miss Shannon," Dumbledore said, holding up a hand to stop her exit, though his eyes were still twinkling. "Though I do plan to spend some time with Frank and Alice, my primary reason for coming to this ward is to see you."
Confusion cooled the beginnings of the blush on her cheek. "What would you be needin' me for?"
"I believe you mentioned tea," Dumbledore said lightly. "I could most certainly do with a cup myself. Would you care to discuss our business over some crumpets?"
No, I'd care for you to explain yourself. Were it any other wizard than Albus Dumbledore, Treasa would have said just that. Still, the Hogwarts headmaster had a way about him that made a body go along with whatever he suggested. They left the ward and walked up the flight of stairs to the top floor in a silence that was neither awkward nor comfortable.
Treasa had been back in England for less than a year, and despite over a decade of calm, the reasons for her flight were still fresh in her mind. Dumbledore represented a portion of her life she had gone to great lengths to Obliviate from her memory.
The silence continued until the tea had been poured. The tea shop was deserted at this hour of the morning, and the pair found themselves seated at a secluded table hidden by several large plants. Treasa was willing to wager three Galleons it was at Dumbledore's request.
"I understand you were once associated with the Death Eaters, Miss Shannon."
Never let it be said that Albus Dumbledore failed to impress with his oratory skills. Treasa controlled an involuntary lurch, steadying the teacup in her hands. "And if I was, Professor? That trouble is years behind us now."
He chuckled, eyes twinkling as merrily as always. "True Ravenclaw. Discretion is the better part of valor."
She raised one eyebrow at him, stifling her annoyance. She coolly reached for the sugar tongs, extracting two cubes from the bowl with vicious accuracy. It was, after all, the headmaster who was riling her Irish temper. He deserved her hard-cultivated self control.
"Very well, Miss Shannon, I'll rephrase. I am aware that your parents were avid supporters of Voldemort-" she recoiled despite herself at the name "- during his rise to power. My sources inform me you were close with several prominent Death Eaters. Narcissa Malfoy is your second cousin, I believe?"
That, at least, was safe to answer. "Yes, on Mum's side."
"Very good. My sources, however, do not indicate whether you yourself were a Death Eater. Your prolonged absence from the country must, of course, point to your guilt, but I believe…" he paused, those twinkling eyes suddenly piercing, "I believe otherwise."
"Do you? Well, I thank you for your confidence, Headmaster, but if you don't mind my asking – why are you telling me about myself?"
Though he smiled, there was something about the professor's demeanor that changed. Suddenly he looked very old, something Dumbledore could rarely be accused of, even with the waist-length beard. "Because, Miss Shannon, Lord Voldemort has returned."
For one horrid moment, she was 18 again, quivering under the glare of the Dark Lord as her parents beamed. Treasa could feel the blood draining from her face, but she forced her voice to remain steady. "What proof do you have?"
"Cedric Diggory's body."
Dumbledore's stark reply rocked her back in her seat. She had read the newspaper accounts of the Hufflepuff's tragic death, but all the articles placed the blame on the Triwizard tournament. "You mean… the Dark Lord…"
"He has resurrected to human form. I have no doubt that he will soon be recruiting for a second war, which is why we must do the same."
"We, Professor?"
"Yes, Miss Shannon. If you are willing, I have a position for you with the Order of the Phoenix."