Chapter 562: The Expulsion of the Guards
"You did excellent work before I arrived, didn't you?"
Dumbledore spoke as he approached the group on the pitch.
"Headmaster," they replied in unison, their voices hushed with respect.
Dumbledore gazed down at a mud-splattered Harry, then turned his eyes toward the
retreating shadows of the Dementors at the edge of the field. His expression
shifted—not by a fraction, but into a look of cold, simmering fury that the
students had rarely seen. A few of them even thought they heard a word from his
lips that was decidedly un-Headmaster-like.
"I'm alright, sir," Harry said. Justin had already fed him a large piece of
Honeydukes chocolate, and the color was slowly returning to his face.
Dumbledore's frown didn't fade. Before Harry could say more, the rest of the
Gryffindor team came swarming in, landing their brooms with heavy splashes in
the mud.
"Headmaster! Harry, you okay?" Fred shouted over the rain.
"We thought you were a goner!" Alicia Spinnet added, still shivering.
"Can we have a rematch?" Harry asked desperately, looking from Wood to
Dumbledore.
Silence met his question. The weight of reality settled into Harry's chest like
a stone.
"Diggory caught the Snitch," George said quietly. "Right after you fell. He
didn't know what had happened. When he looked back and saw you on the ground, he
actually tried to call a time-out; he wanted a replay. But they won fair and
square, Harry. Even Wood admits it."
"Where is Wood?" Harry asked, looking around.
"Still out in the rain," Fred said. "We think he's trying to drown himself."
Harry buried his face in his knees, his hands clutching his hair in frustration.
Fred grabbed his shoulder and gave him a rough, encouraging shake. "Come on,
Harry. We've still got a shot at the Cup."
"Mr. Weasley is right, though perhaps it would be more prudent to escort Harry
to the hospital wing first?" Dumbledore said with a small, knowing smile.
"Right! Of course, sir!" Fred began hoisting Harry up, still rambling. "If
Ravenclaw does for Hufflepuff, and we beat Ravenclaw, the points could still—"
"Wait—my broom!" Harry gasped, a sudden spike of panic hitting him. "Did anyone
get my Nimbus?"
Justin and Hermione exchanged a quick, pained look.
"What is it?" Harry asked, his stomach dropping.
"Well... when you fell, the wind caught it," Hermione said hesitantly, pointing
toward the far end of the grounds.
Harry followed her gaze. There, near the base of the Whomping Willow, lay a
dozen splintered fragments of polished wood and a few stray twigs. It was all
that remained of his Nimbus 2000.
Harry felt a wave of dizziness so strong he wished he had stayed unconscious.
"Don't worry, Harry," Sean said, his voice slow and resonant.
Curiously, the moment Sean spoke, the chattering team went silent.
"You'll have a better broom soon," Sean added, glancing toward the stands where
he knew a certain black dog was hiding. "Someone is already quite desperate to
buy it for you."
"What...?"
Harry didn't fully understand, but he found himself believing Sean
instinctively. Dumbledore caught the brief exchange of looks but made no move.
He simply watched as the team led Harry away before calling out to Sean.
"Mr. Green? I believe a cup of afternoon tea is in order. Care to join me?"
Outside the Headmaster's Office.
The stone gargoyle didn't even wait for a password; it simply hopped aside the
moment they approached. Back in the familiar circular office, Sean immediately
went to the golden perch to feed the Phoenix.
[You have gained the favor of the magical creature: Phoenix (Fawkes). Affinity
+3] [Fawkes the Phoenix: Slightly Friendly (Novice Level) (89/300)]
The progress with Fawkes was agonizingly slow, as always.
"So, Sean... do you have anything to tell me? Anything at all?" Dumbledore
asked. He gave his fingers a slight twitch, and a pot of steaming Earl Grey
began to pour itself. The heat from the tea fogged the windowpanes, creating
intricate, hexagonal frost patterns against the cold glass.
"The Ministry has been quite chatty lately regarding Hogwarts," Dumbledore
continued meaningfully. "It seems my understanding of what happens within my own
castle isn't quite as deep as I imagined?"
"It was an unplanned development, sir," Sean replied. He had intended to tell
Dumbledore about Sirius earlier, but Snape had interrupted the meeting.
"And who wouldn't believe the word of the honest Mr. Green?" Dumbledore
twinkled. "But I hear you captured a fugitive... and yet, your Headmaster was
left in the dark?"
"Oh..." Sean hesitated. "I didn't actually catch Sirius Black."
"Then I have a dilemma between the Ministry's report and your word, which is a
very easy choice to make," Dumbledore's gaze turned sharp and long. "They told
me a fugitive was caught, but the name wasn't Black... it was Peter? Is that
correct, child?"
Sean was impressed. Dumbledore's legendary intuition was clearly as sharp as
ever.
"I didn't catch Peter Pettigrew, either," Sean said honestly.
Dumbledore went silent for the first time. He considered the final possibility.
Remus Lupin. Choosing between trusting his old student and the boy before him
was a heavy weight. Even for the greatest wizard of the century, it was a
painful calculation.
"Professor Snape discovered the scene at the Shrieking Shack," Sean explained,
filling the silence. "A fight broke out, and Pettigrew managed to escape."
Dumbledore's worry seemed to dissipate instantly. "He escaped again?"
Sean nodded. "But his Animagus form—the rat—has been exposed. He won't be coming
back to the castle. Also, sir... during the Divination final, Professor
Trelawney became very... unusual. She delivered a True Prophecy."
"Did she?" Dumbledore asked. "How unusual? Forgive me, Sean, but before meeting
you, I was under the impression that all Seers were inherently 'unusual.' Even
him."
"He?" Sean asked, missing the reference.
"A story for another time. Perhaps from one of your other teachers," Dumbledore
waved it away. "Tell me what she said."
"Her voice dropped, her eyes were unfocused... She said that the Dark Lord's
servant would break his chains before midnight to rejoin his master. She said
the servant would help him rise again."
Sean recounted the words carefully. "Then she snapped out of it. She didn't
remember a word of what she'd said."
Dumbledore looked genuinely intrigued. "You know, Sean... I believe she's
right," he mused. "Who would have thought it? That makes two True Prophecies for
Sybill. I really ought to give her a raise. But for now, we should probably
speak with our other guest."
Dumbledore stood up and produced a small, silver Magic Hand Mirror. In the
surface appeared the round, oily face of Cornelius Fudge.
"You've heard, then, Cornelius?" Dumbledore asked.
"Yes, blast it all! I saw the report on the M-Net!" Fudge barked, his face a
mask of agitation. "The Daily Prophet is going to have a field day! We find the
truth, we nearly catch the real traitor Pettigrew, and then we let him slip
through our fingers! I'm going to be the laughingstock of the Wizengamot! I'd
best go notify the department..."
"And the Dementors?" Dumbledore asked coolly. "I expect they'll be withdrawn
immediately?"
"Oh, yes, they're gone," Fudge muttered, smoothing his hair frantically. "To
think they tried to 'kiss' an innocent student... the whole thing is a shambles.
I'm having them driven back to Azkaban tonight. We might have to consider
dragons for the perimeter instead..."
"Hagrid would be delighted," Dumbledore chuckled.
"Right... well, whatever," Fudge snapped.
"At least you brought the truth to light, sir," Sean added suddenly.
Fudge paused, looking surprised to see Sean in the mirror. "Mr. Green? You're
there as well?"
"Good evening, Minister," Sean said.
"Good evening, Mr. Green," Fudge said, his eyes darting around as if searching
for a silver lining. "Well, you don't need to know the messy details. The truth
is what matters. But the public... they need to see Pettigrew in a cell to feel
safe. Fortunately, you exposed his disgusting disguise—sleeping in a student's
bed as a rat!"
Fudge looked physically repulsed by the thought. "We won't have to worry about
him infiltrating the dorms again. The Ministry is going to check every pet
rodent in the country. Oh—and while I have you, I have a small favor to ask..."
"Yes?" Sean prompted.
"A headline for the special edition," Fudge said hopefully. "'The Twelve-Year
Secret and Its Decipherer: Hermes Returned.' How does that sound to you?"
Sean understood. Fudge wanted to use the "Hermes" brand to distract the public
from the fact that the Ministry had just lost a high-value target. A story about
the legendary alchemist was far more appealing than a story about a bungled
arrest.
"As you wish," Sean said.
"Splendid! Have a wonderful evening," Fudge beamed as he cut the connection.
"You too, Albus."
The Dementors were officially banished from the school. Dumbledore and Sean
personally inspected every corner of the grounds to ensure not a single shadow
remained.
But there was another matter to attend to: Professor Lupin was resigning.
The next morning was bone-chillingly cold, the world outside the castle a stark
white. Sean stood with the Headmaster outside the office.
"Professor Lupin is leaving?" Sean asked, sounding surprised.
"Perhaps I should be asking you that, child," Dumbledore twinkled at Sean.
"Remus informed me that he has 'more important business' to attend to. He
offered me his deepest apologies for his... omissions."
"Important business..." Sean went silent.
"I suspect he isn't the only one with secrets," Dumbledore added gently. "I
didn't think anyone could lure him away from a teaching post, but it seems I am
getting old. Remus believes he should be working for a younger wizard now.
Wouldn't you agree?"
Sean couldn't answer. What was he supposed to say? That the final Horcrux was
Nagini?
Trelawney's words were still ringing in his head: 'He remains cunning... watch
the seventh...' The future had deviated too much. Would there still be seven
Horcruxes? Would the snake still be the last anchor? Sean didn't know. Until he
tracked down Nagini, he wasn't going to gamble on an uncertain future.
"The elderly must learn to accommodate the young, I suppose," Dumbledore said,
changing the subject. "However, I would like to offer you private lessons this
term, Sean."
"Private lessons?" Sean asked.
"Yes. I believe it is time I taught you the things that Severus and Minerva
cannot." Dumbledore nodded with a smile.
"And what will you be teaching me, sir?" Sean asked, his heart beating a bit
faster.
"Oh, a bit of this, a bit of that," Dumbledore said airily.
Sean nodded and prepared to leave. Lupin was set to depart that afternoon, and
Sean wanted to see him off.
"Oh, wait—nothing you want to ask me?" Dumbledore called out.
Sean shook his head and turned to go.
"Perhaps you should think a bit harder," Dumbledore prompted.
Sean looked confused.
"Professor Lupin has left a vacancy..." Dumbledore reminded him.
"We're short a professor?" Sean guessed.
Dumbledore beamed. "Precisely! We have an opening. And as it happens, Professor
Snape has expressed a... very vocal interest in teaching Defense Against the
Dark Arts for the remainder of the year. Which, of course, leaves us needing a
Potions Master."
Dumbledore looked directly at Sean. "And as it turns out, a very old colleague
of mine—a Master of the craft—is currently 'between jobs' and living in
retirement."
"And may I know who he is, Headmaster?" Sean asked, playing his part in the
script Dumbledore was clearly enjoying.
"You should know him well, Sean. Horace Slughorn."
"And how can I be of help, sir?" Sean asked.
"Oh, I suspect I'll find a way to make you very useful indeed," Dumbledore
chuckled, his beard shaking with mirth.
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