Chapter 9: A Meeting with Albus Dumbledore
The notes arrive towards the end of Potions class Monday morning, one for me and one for Potter, compliments of Frank. Slughorn waves him in when he knocks.
"What's the occasion, young man?" Slughorn says, waddling over to Frank through the multi-colored smoke that wafts about the dungeon. We've been elbow-deep in brewing for the last hour. Most of the students continue to work, sending Frank curious looks in between adding fluxweed and knotgrass to their Polyjuice Potion attempts.
"I'm to give these to James Potter and Lily Evans," Frank says. I look up when he says my name. Frank holds out a pair of parchment scrolls. "From Professor Dumbledore." This gets the rest of the class to pause in their brewing. Potter sets down his stirring spoon.
"Of course, of course!" Slughorn takes them from Frank. "Thank you."
Frank nods, smiles briefly at Potter and me, and heads back out of the dungeon. Meanwhile, Slughorn approaches me. "This came for you, Miss Evans," he says unnecessarily, setting the scroll on the table next to my cauldron. He turns to Potter at the next table. "And one for you too, Mr. Potter."
I quickly wipe the knotgrass juice from my fingers so that I can pick up the paper and break the seal. Severus, though still stirring his potion precisely, watches me with slitted eyes.
Tall, narrow handwriting greets me inside.
Miss Evans,
I hope your first week last week went well for you. I'd like to extend an invitation to you and Mr. Potter to meet in my office this evening (Monday 12 September) at 9 pm so that I can review your Head duties with you both and address any questions or concerns you might have.
I will see you both tonight.
Albus Dumbledore
Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
"What's it say?" Severus asks.
"Professor Dumbledore wants to meet with us tonight – Potter and I – to go over Head duties." I re-roll the note and slip it into my school bag. "About time, too. We've been back at school for over a week now." I keep my voice casual, but inside my mind is racing. I haven't seen Professor Dumbledore since the Welcome Feast, and I'd been starting to panic. No guidance or advice before our first prefect meeting over the weekend, no reassurance about the Sorting Hat song, no explanation, nothing. I glance at Potter. He meets my eyes before dropping his attention back to his cauldron, but it's enough for me to know he must be thinking the same.
I return to my Polyjuice Potion. It's in the middle of a brew cycle and I need to crush my lacewing flies and bicorn horn for the next phase.
We work for a couple more minutes before Severus speaks again. "You do seem to be spending more time than usual with Potter."
I shrug. "We're Head students together. Some interactions are inevitable. I'm not giving you any grief about who you have to hang around." I glare at Rosier and Mulciber sitting at their usual table right next to ours. They're already leering at me, as expected. I swear, sometimes I think they sit there purely so they can monitor our conversation and make faces at me.
His mouth twists in a grimace, not liking the jibe towards his Housemates, but he can hardly argue that the lot of them are openly hostile towards me. "I guess..." he says, but he doesn't sound happy about it.
"I'm spending more time with you than usual, too," I point out. That makes him smile.
"Also true," he concedes. He's moved onto prepping his lacewing flies, and he doesn't look up from the mortar and pestle he's using to slowly turn them into a fine powder. "I just don't want you to forget what Potter's really like," Severus finally says. There's a bit of a strain to his voice, like he has to force the words out. "The things he's done to... me... you know..." He trails off, still not looking at me. I know he hates to admit that Potter has ever bested him, but it's the truth.
There was this time in fourth year, when Severus had gone to the library to study for final exams, and Potter and Black had hidden behind the shelves and charmed every book Severus had tried to pick up to scream about not wanting to be touched by "a greasy slimeball." Last year, at Halloween, the pair of them had gotten into a huge duel over Merlin knows what as we were all leaving the Halloween Feast. They'd been really going at it in the Entrance Hall and by the time McGonagall and Slughorn were able to get to them, Potter had Severus magically pinned to the wall and was threatening to permanently ink something rather rude across his face. To be fair, at that point, Severus had managed to hit Potter with a Bat-Bogey Hex, so it's not like that duel had been one-sided. And then of course, there was fifth year, after OWL exams, when Potter had dangled Severus upside down and completely humiliated him in front of everyone... that had been one of the worst times. That was also when Sev and I had had our big falling out...
I glance over at the next table, where Potter always sits with a couple of the Ravenclaws. He's helping Meg Donahue measure out her bicorn horn, and all three of them are engaged in earnest conversation. He looks how he did last night, kind and helpful and, well, just the way a Head Boy ought to look. It's near impossible to reconcile the Potter I remember from past years with this one.
"I haven't forgotten," I say quietly.
Severus looks at Potter, too. Then he turns back to me. "Hey," he says. "I have something for you."
That pulls my attention away from Potter. "For me?" I say, surprised.
"Yeah," he says. He dumps his lacewing flies into his cauldron, brushes off his hands, and pulls out the coin purse again.
"You already showed that to me, remember?" I tease while I scrape the bicorn horn I minced into my Polyjuice Potion. "The first day of class?" He must have taken it with him that day, packed it back into his bag with all his other Potions equipment.
Severus chuckles softly. "Yes, I remember," he says. "But... well, just look." He holds the purse out to me.
Curious, I set aside my knife and cutting board and take it from him. Immediately I feel something new has been added to it; there's an unfamiliar bulk displacing the thin fabric. I open the clasp and fish the unknown object out.
When I see what it is, I gasp.
Sitting in my palm is a small, perfectly detailed doe. It's carved from a pale piece of wood, but she stirs to life when I bend closer to examine her tiny ears. She takes a couple of steps around my hand, snuffles, and settles down with her head resting on the soft, fleshy place my thumb meets my palm.
"Congratulations on your patronus," Sev says.
I look at him, mouth open. "How did you know?" I ask.
He smiles. When Sev smiles, it's almost always a small, carefully controlled movement, like he can't allow himself that much happiness. "Are you kidding? I have Defense right after you do and Professor Jarvis wasted no time comparing our class to yours. Apparently, we were a lot less successful at producing patronuses than you all were."
"Did you get yours?"
"No, not yet." He frowns. "I don't know if I have a happy enough memory for one."
"Hey," I say, nudging him with my elbow. "We've got happy memories, the two of us."
He meets my eyes, and it's like the sun rising across his face the way the surprise slowly lights up his expression. "Yeah..." he says. "Yeah. I guess we do."
"You'll get it," I say. "In fact..."
I check that my potion is still stewing properly, then carefully deposit the doe back into the coin purse. She hardens back to wood as soon as she loses contact with my skin. I rummage in my bag for a spare bit of parchment and a quill. I hunch over so Sev can't see what I'm writing, then I fold it up and stuff it into the purse and hand it to him.
"What was that?" Severus asks, taking it back from me. He doesn't open it, just looks at me.
"A memory," I say. "I think we could fill the purse full of them. One is bound to bring your patronus to life."
There it is – a full smile. The kind that colors his cheeks and brightens his eyes without restraint. He drops his head down to take open my note before I fully get to appreciate it, but I imagine it stays as he reads what I wrote.
I always thought I was a freak when I was little for what I could do... until my best friend Severus showed me how to climb a tree. Remember how the branches grew wherever we needed them to? Remember how it was as easy as walking up the stairs? We sat at the very top of the oak tree sharing a bag of Smarties until it got dark, but not because I was scared to come down. It was because being up there felt like belonging, and it was you that showed me that I did.
At nine pm sharp, Potter and I find ourselves standing in front of the gargoyle that guards the door to Professor Dumbledore's office. We did not arrive together. I'd come in from the grounds, where I'd been spending some extra time with the mature mandrakes Professor Sprout keeps in Greenhouse 6. The little guys freak me out — imagine, a plant that can kill you if you're not wearing your earmuffs! — but I'd been needing some extra practice on how exactly to harvest their leaves so they're good to use in a Petrification Revival brew. I don't know where Potter came from, just that he was already standing in the stone passageway when I arrived.
"Any idea how to open it?" I ask Potter. If any student in the castle knows how to break into the Headmaster's office, it would be him, but he shakes his head.
"I suppose we could try knocking..." I say doubtfully.
"In the future, it might be useful to know that I very much enjoy something sweet," a gentle, amused voice says from behind us.
I spin around in surprise, but Professor Dumbledore sweeps around us to address the gargoyle. "Fudge flies," he says, and the gargoyle obligingly steps aside to reveal a small spiral staircase.
"After you." Dumbledore gestures to the stairs with one hand, and, after a nervous look at Potter, I head up. I hear him climbing the stairs right behind me. I turn the knob of the gold door at the top and let myself inside.
The room is big, even bigger than Slughorn's surprisingly large office, but the space is full of desks and tables all covered in intriguing gold instruments. I recognize a lot of them as different types of Dark detectors and bend closer to inspect an impossibly small Sneakoscope balanced on the nearest table while Dumbledore makes his way to his desk. Potter follows him and sits in one of the crimson armchairs in front of it. After a moment, I do too.
Professor Dumbledore surveys the pair of us over the tips of his fingers. He's got them pressed together, his elbows propped on the surface of his desk. His blue eyes focus on each of us in turn. The look is so intense, so knowing, it's rather like he's x-raying us. I'm sure he can see right down to my bones, knows where I broke my wrist when I tripped and landed wrong at four years old, but also knows all the unkind things I've ever said or thought, knows all my insecurities, all the ways I feel I have already failed as Head Girl just in the first week back.
"I admit, I took my selection of Head students much more seriously this year than I have in previous years," Professor Dumbledore finally says. "Make no mistake, neither of you are here by accident."
He sighs, and the sound seems to come from deep inside of him, like he's trying to expel something unpleasant lodged there.
"I know you are both aware of the rise of Voldemort and his followers, how it has escalated and intensified greatly over the last few years."
Potter and I exchange swift glances, eyebrows raised. Not only did hearing You-Know-Who's real name spoken aloud catch me off guard, but I'm surprised at the direction Professor Dumbledore has taken. Where is the talk about Head duties? The discussion about how we've done this last week? Merlin, even a lecture about our row after the feast?
Dumbledore continues. "I must apologize for my absence this past week. I know it's unorthodox to delay meeting with my Head students for so long, but I had some business outside of school to attend to."
"What kind of business? Sir?" Potter asks.
I shoot him a look. You don't just ask the Headmaster what his personal business outside of school is. Even if I am also curious what kept Professor Dumbledore from meeting with us.
But Dumbledore surprises me by answering. "A matter involving a Death Eater attack, I'm afraid," he says gravely. "There were muggle casualties."
Potter gives a sharp intake of breath.
"Muggles?" I ask, stricken.
Dumbledore nods, his expression grim. "I know it is no surprise to hear how little regard Voldemort and his followers have for non-magical lives. Even witches and wizards of non-magical parents he regards as lesser." His gaze sharpens on me. I swallow.
"I'm aware," I say, and I'm relieved to hear my voice sounds steady. I don't look at Potter, whose head has turned in my direction though I can feel the intensity of his gaze on me. I mean, I've put up with plenty of students here at school treating me as second-class because of who my parents are. Look at Carol. Look at the Slytherins (Severus's friends, I think uncomfortably). Look at Rosier, who hardly makes it a secret he thinks many of You-Know-Who's goals are valid, starting with muggle-borns like me being unworthy of wielding wands and belonging to the magical world. So, yeah, I know that the biggest threat in the Wizarding world is unfortunately very much against witches and wizards like me.
Dumbledore regards me a moment longer before moving along. "I'm sure you are also both aware that Voldemort's reach is not limited by our walls. Even now, students walk these hallways, Dark intentions in mind, loyalties to Voldemort already formed." That deep, heavy sigh again. "For the first time in a very long time, I fear for the safety of my students here. You heard the Sorting Hat the first night back; there is danger inside our walls, and I need my very best on alert."
Potter's attention snaps back to Professor Dumbledore, and I feel my own cheeks get hot. Me, his very best? Honestly...
But of course, Professor Dumbledore notices. He smiles kindly.
"Yes, Miss Evans, my very best. I don't think you'd find a single student who could dispute your magical talent. Professor Slughorn and Professor Flitwick both speak extraordinarily highly of you, as does Professor McGonagall, who, year after year, is impressed by the time and efforts you put into her class. A great majority of the younger students look up to you. Students across Houses know and respect you from your past two years as a prefect – and a very diligent, competent one, too. And I cannot pretend your upbringing did not play a part in my selection. I think it's very enlightening for many students to know that a witch or wizard does not need to come from Pure bloodlines to be great."
By now, I'm sure my face is redder than my hair. "Right. Thanks." My voice is a breathy sort of squeak. Professor Dumbledore inclines his head.
There's a moment of quiet in which we all listen to the fire crackle and I will my cheeks to go back to a normal human skin tone.
"But... why me, sir?" The quiet question catches me completely off guard. If I wasn't sitting in this room right now, hadn't heard the words slip out of Potter's mouth from right next to me, I never would have believed he'd said it.
Potter's gaze is steady behind his glasses as he waits for Professor Dumbledore to respond, but I notice his hands at his side... trembling.
Why me? The question reverberates around my mind. How many times have I wondered that about myself? Why had Professor Dumbledore chosen me when there seemed to be a plethora of other girls who'd be just as competent – maybe even more competent – than me? What made me special? What could I really contribute? Despite all Professor Dumbledore just said...Why me?
And... well, hadn't I been asking why Potter since I first found out he was also chosen as Head? Hadn't I more or less said (er, well, yelled) that very same thing to Potter's face our very first night here?
Never had I thought... he never gave any indication... the very same doubts I'd been experiencing – about him, about myself – were also plaguing him.
Why him? Why me?
Why... us?
Again, Professor Dumbledore peers intently through his half-moon glasses, doing that impossibly all-knowing stare, only this time, I'm spared the scan. Professor Dumbledore focuses solely on James.
"Mr. Potter. All it takes to know you and your intentions is to look at who you've aligned yourself with and what you're willing to do for those around you."
The pair hold each other's eyes for a long time. Then James nods, very slightly. I know I'm missing some crucial information, because that's all Dumbledore says, and I'm still very confused. But it apparently meant something to James, who finally closes his eyes and looks down, like he needs a moment to compose himself the way I just had.
"Not to mention," Dumbledore says, smiling slightly so his electric blue eyes crinkle at the edges, "it was under your captaincy last year that the Gryffindor Quidditch team won the Cup for the first time in quite some time. I do think that says something about your leadership abilities."
Professor Dumbledore reaches out and strokes Fawkes, the great scarlet and gold phoenix snoozing on his perch, and continues talking, picking up from earlier like we hadn't taken a detour to discuss our personal merits.
"As I said, I need my very best leading this year. And I need the two of you to take your positions very seriously. Normally, I would stress the regular things, but this year, my main concern is that you safeguard the students at school. Be vigilant. Be on the lookout for any Dark activity. If you find anyone, please notify myself or Professor McGonagall immediately. Know who, among your peers and even among your friends, who you can trust. In these times, such things cannot be assumed."
Again, James and I exchange looks. I can't imagine any of my mates turning on me, and I'm sure he's thinking much the same; the four of them (Potter, Black, Remus, and Pettigrew) have been a tight band ever since the beginning of first year, like Emmeline, Alice, Marlene, and me.
"I know it's a lot to ask of you both. I know you are young, just students, barely of age." Professor Dumbledore bows his head. "It is most certainly irresponsible of me to even ask. I will be watching as well, but I suspect even I do not know everything that goes on here. The two of you will learn things through interacting with your peers that I just cannot. I need your help."
I straighten in my seat. "We understand, sir," I say.
Potter nods, his expression resolute. "We're on it."
Professor Dumbledore smiles faintly, though his eyes still look heavy. "No less than I expected," he admits. "Truly, I have chosen my Head students well.
"Thank you, sir," Potter says. I echo him.
Dumbledore inclines his head. "Then we are finished here. Thank you for meeting with me. I have the utmost confidence the pair of you will make great leaders this year." It's a clear dismissal, and Potter starts to stand to shake Professor Dumbledore's hand, but I blink in surprise.
"Wait," I say. Dumbledore and Potter pause, looking down at where I'm still sitting. "What about our Head duties? And instructions for Hogsmeade trips and prefect meetings and tallying House points? Don't you need to tell us how to be good Head students?"
Professor Dumbledore smiles again, and this time, it's a full eye-crinkling one. "I hardly think you need any instructions on those things, Miss Evans. In fact, both of you have already done an impeccable job this last week – with the exception of your first night back, of course." My nose scrunches in embarrassment, but Dumbledore's eyes twinkle. "But I hear yesterday's prefect meeting was a success, and the rounds schedule has already been established, and Professor McGonagall told me you both tried to reach me multiple times while I was away." I glance at James in surprise; I wasn't the only one worried about not being able to talk with Professor Dumbledore last week?
"So, I do not feel the need to go over your duties when you both seem to know what you are doing," Dumbledore says. "But do you have any questions for me?"
"Well, I... uh..." I break off, thinking. "No... no, I guess I don't," I say, surprised. Huh. He's right. I do know what I'm doing. And even more surprising – it seems Potter knows what he's doing, too.
Dumbledore looks pleased. And maybe a little amused. "Then good-night to you both. And thank you."
This time, I do stand. Potter and I shake Dumbledore's hand and then weave our way carefully through his many trinket-laden tables. Just before we slip out the door, though, Professor Dumbledore's voice floats after us.
"Remember to keep an eye out."
Once we've made our way down the spiraling stairs and the gargoyle is firmly back in its guard position, Potter and I stand alone in the dim hallway. I think we're both just trying to process it all – the thinly veiled concern Professor Dumbledore has for the school this year, his expectations of us, the warnings about the people nearest us, his reasoning for choosing us... it's a lot.
And I'm still pondering Potter's surprising show of vulnerability. Why me? The question still echoes in my head.
Potter finally turns to look at me, but before he can say anything, words tumble out of my mouth.
"I didn't understand all of what Professor Dumbledore said in there but I wanted to say that... well... I don't think he was wrong. To choose you as Head Boy. And... well... sorry. I'm sorry. That is, if I made you feel... like you're not cut out to be Head Boy." I swallow, my face warm. "I mean... you're the only reason that we accomplished anything in our meeting last night. And, well, you do know a lot of people. And everyone likes you. And that is at least a little important when you're a Head..." I trail off, feeling silly.
Potter just blinks at me for a moment. I think I've caught him totally off guard.
"So... yeah. Just... I'm sorry," I repeat again.
"Umm, thanks," he finally says. Then, "He was right. About you too, you know. No one would do a better job at Head Girl this year than you."
My cheeks, already feeling a bit warm from my rambling, get hotter. I'm sure I must be blushing visibly now. "Oh. Thanks. I mean, I hope so."
"Really," he says, sincerity ringing in his tone.
We start to head back to the Gryffindor common room together, but I'm not done. I have more to apologize for; I just need to figure out a natural way to bring it up. Our footsteps echo as we walk. It's nearly curfew by now, and we are very much alone. Night has fallen, and the weak light from a crescent moon streams in through the windows to stripe the stone floor.
"Although," I say suddenly, "you'd think the Head Girl would be able to make it through a Transfiguration class without embarrassing herself every time she raises her wand." So much for bringing it up casually.
"Be fair to yourself, it's only embarrassing every other time," Potter says without missing a beat, and I laugh. James turns to grin, the moonlight illuminating his face. It's the first time I've seen his smile directed at me since tutoring last week, and I'm surprised to find I've missed it.
"Well, that may be, but regardless..." I let out a breath. "Look, I really do need your help for Transfiguration and I'm sorry I was a bit of a... well, a bit of a prat to you last week."
He sighs too. "It's fine Lil – Evans. I probably didn't go about it the right way, anyways."
"Well, we can try again tomorrow, okay? I'll be on my best behavior." I pause, then just say it. "And... I was being stupid before. You can call me Lily. If you, you know, want to."
He's quiet for a long time, long enough for me to start to feel silly about making my name feel like, I don't know, a thing, and it's too dark for me to try to read his expression. When he finally does speak, his voice sounds light, but in a carefully controlled kind of way. "I thought we weren't friends?"
Now it's my turn to be quiet. 'Friend' still doesn't feel like the proper word to apply to Potter, but... maybe we could? Be at least friendly, I mean. Eventually.
"But we are Heads together," I say finally. "And it'd probably be a step in the right direction."
We've arrived at the portrait of the Fat Lady who guards the entrance to Gryffindor tower. We both stop outside, not giving the password to get into the common room that is most certainly still full of students.
"After all," I add, "we did promise the prefects that we'd be more civil to each other now."
"At least in public," Potter says, smirking.
"At least in public," I agree.
"Well then," he says, sticking out a hand. "Sounds like we have a deal."
I slip my hand into his. Again, I note his calluses. I also notice how nice his grip feels, fingers wrapped firmly around the back of my hand, our palms pressed together. We shake once, and then I quickly drop his hand and step back.
"That we do," I say. For some reason, it comes out a little breathless.
James stares at me for a long time. Then he says, "Good night, Lily," and turns away to climb through the portrait hole, but not before I see the smile spreading across his face.