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Him Again	By : Apocalypticat Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 1312 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 10
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A/N: Thanks, Moonspell! Hope you continue to enjoy!
Minerva looked up as Professor Read and the wayward student entered. Around her, the portraits mimed sleep, snoring convincingly - but ever ready to listen in and get a piece of the gossip. Doubtlessly after Brian Potter had left, either Dippet or Nigellus would insist on airing their opinions on the child.

She glanced at the essay, sat ready on her desk, and nodded at Professor Read to leave. There was no point in becoming any more irritated than was necessary. Nevertheless, cheating was a serious matter, and the purpose of the interview was impress upon Brian the need for honesty in the future. Once the door had closed she looked up at the boy himself, to see what impression being summoned to the Headmistress�s office was making on him.

The child�s face was deathly pale and his blue eyes were wide; he was standing as far away from the desk as possible, seemingly transfixed by the sight of her. Minerva was put in the mind of shocked and terrified mouse being hynotised by a snake. Surely she wasn�t all that frightening?

The urge to soften the blow came to her and she frowned at the impulse. There was no sense in being gentle now if it simply resulted in Brian�s expulsion if he cheated at his OWLs. The problem had to be nipped in the bud.

�Mr Potter, please sit down,� she said crisply, fixing him with a disapproving glare.

Brian gaped at her, and she found herself thinking how dissimilar to his parents he was - and yet, how familiar his eyes seemed. He walked across the room and sat himself in the chair slowly, and ripped his face away from Minerva�s, turning it to his lap.

�Mr Potter, are you aware of why you have been summoned here today?�

The boy shook his head, his half-moon spectacles almost falling off. Minerva blinked; the glasses were an odd choice for an eleven-year-old.

�I think you are.�

He looked up and gave her a searching look with his sapphire eyes. She waited but he was apparently unable to speak, so she continued.

�Brian Potter, I would like to impress on you-� She stopped, suddenly remembering exactly who the boy was named after. What would He have thought, she thought bitterly, if He had known that the boy named after Him would turn out to be deceitful? Anger sharpened her words. �I would like to impress on you the seriousness of cheating at Hogwarts. We do not tolerate such deceit here.�

The boy stared at her insolently; he was obviously still pretending ignorance. Minerva felt her nostrils flare in irritation, and she picked up the essay and waved it at him.

�I want you to tell me whom or what you copied - for there is little doubt, Mr Potter, that you have copied. Trying to pass other people�s work as your own qualifies as theft. I am deeply shocked and disappointed in this behaviour, and further attempts to cheat will result in me contacting your parents.�

The child�s face suddenly sagged in horror as he gazed at the essay. Minerva gazed at him coldly; he had been found out, the lie had been unearthed.

�What do you have to say for yourself?�

�I - I-� the student gulped.

�Yes?�

�I�m sorry, M-Professor.�

The Headmistress blinked and narrowed her eyes. M-Professor? Had the boy just been impertinent enough to try and address her by her name? A fire roared into life in her chest.

�Mr Potter,� she found herself whispering. �I will not suffer this impudence.�

His silence infuriated her.

�Explain yourself.�

Brian�s mouth worked. Then-

�I apologise, Professor. It won�t happen again,� he said smoothly.

Minerva stood up. Students who did wrong and denied it when caught were bad enough, but students like the one before her - who at first pretended ignorance and then apologised so slickly, insincerely - were beyond the pale. The boy was nothing like his parents, she thought fiercely, nothing at all. This was a reborn Draco Malfoy at the peak of his insolence and disregard for authority - that the child she had once held in her arms should turn into this-! She placed her hands at opposite ends of the desk and leaned forward, so that the boy sank back in his chair.

�I�m afraid that more than cursory apologies are needed here! I will not tolerate such lack of respect, Mr Potter! Detention, on Saturday at five o�clock with Mr Filch! Now tell me what source you copied from!�

�I d-didn�t, P-Professor! I honestly s-swear I didn�t copy from a-anything!�

There was something wrong about the stutter, as if the voice�s owner didn�t naturally stutter but had felt it necessary to produce a passable rendition. Minerva felt herself becoming incensed. She stared into the pale, shocked face, suddenly feeling as though the whole display was an act designed to placate her.

�Then I would very much like to know an alternative explanation!� She drew herself up to her full height. �You have blatantly either copied from a book or gotten someone else both older and cleverer than you to write it instead! Provide me with the source or I shall be forced to contact your parents.�

The boy gazed at her silently. His pale cheeks were beginning to flush and the blue eyes begged her not to do anything of the sort, but the pointed jaw remained clamped.

�Very well,� she said quietly. �I�m writing to your parents tonight. You may go. Don�t forget your detention on Saturday.�

He got up from the chair and left the office. As he did so, Minerva was satisfied to see that his small limbs were shaking very slightly. The moment the door closed behind him, the portraits began to mutter as she sat back down at the desk.

�Disgraceful behaviour,� declared Dippet. �Simply shocking.�

�In my day,� said Everard, �he would have been hung upside-down in the dungeons by his ankles and left there for a couple of hours.�

�Well, Headmistress, you certainly had him cowed,� commented Derwent, shaking her painted silver ringlets.

�On the contrary, Dilys,� Minerva stated coldly. �I believe he was considerably less frightened than how he appeared. A cold and calculating student.�

�Doubtlessly just the sort of boy Lestrange would have approved of,� Phineas Nigellus drawled, looking over at the mentioned former headmaster�s portrait only to find it empty. �But then, I never understood Dumbledore�s fixation on the father-�

�-Who has little to do with his son, personality-wise,� interrupted Minerva, irritated. It saddened her that He would most certainly have thought of the boy as a grandson - how disappointed He would have been!

She ripped a sheet of clean parchment from the roll inside the nearest drawer, and dipped a quill into some ink, wondering how to begin chastising the boy to his family. She was about to set point on paper when a small voice broke the overhead clamour.

�I wouldn�t dismiss the boy out of hand if I were you, Headmistress.�

Minerva looked around, at first confused - and then saw the Sorting Hat twitching on its shelf across the office. It was unusual for the hat to speak at all, and the portraits were automatically silenced.

�I saw some very� unusual things in his head. He won�t go through Hogwarts unnoticed, that�s for sure.�

She sniffed and turned back to the parchment. �Unusual, yes, but not desirable.�

#

Albus sagged against the stone wall outside the office and passed a hand over his eyes, trying to stop trembling. Every second in the office in front of Minerva had been like entering some sort of hellish underworld; first there had been the unpleasant jolt of discovering that he had absent-mindedly written the Transfiguration essay as if it was a theory paper for the Transfiguration Journal, then there had been the awful spectacle of Minerva�s anger - let alone the sheer pain of the her very presence! He had been torn between keeping the secret for the sake of the preserved happiness of others, blurting the truth out for his own happiness, and simply not wanting Minerva to think Brian was dishonest - the last resolution having failed miserably. There had been no easy excuse for the brilliance of the essay, no way of making Brian the apple of Minerva�s eye in defiance of what could only be seen as cheating. Now his old friend thought him an awful, deceitful pupil!

Albus had only ever been the subject of Minerva�s temper once or twice, and those few times had allowed him to be armed with some sort of defence. It was not her temper that had frightened him and had made Brian�s body shake so, but the misery of rejection and contempt from someone he cared about, someone whom the Sorting Hat felt he had to sort out his heart about. How he longed to just shout out the truth-!

The stones of the wall behind him dug coldly into his back. Harry�s reaction to a mere location had led to some sort of panic attack. Seventeen, nearly eighteen years had passed - how could his return be welcome, even to his old friends, when all his memory could arouse were thoughts of war and death? The widening gap of time between each Order reunion was testimony to the fact that people just wanted to move on. Harry and Ginny had deserved a real son, and deceit was necessary to maintain their joy in peace. Minerva also deserved peace; there was no unselfish reason to break it.

Anger made him thump a fist against the wall. Did he really value his happiness over Minerva�s? And how could he have been so stupid as to slip up so badly, to write a paper so far above First-Year level? Tricking Minerva required a greater attention to detail than with most people; he was quite certain the Headmistress had picked up on his badly suppressed urge to call her by her name. He had nearly ruined the lie of so many years just because of his blind enthusiasm for a subject and his inability to separate the past from the present. Look before you leap, old boy. One thing was certain: what he�d told Minerva was true; it really wouldn�t happen again.

�Brian? Mate, are you all right?�

Eric was walking towards him, staring at him worriedly.

�What happened? Did Professor Read shout at you or something? Why?�

Albus blinked and tried to calm himself down. �I got sent to the Headmistress�s office.�

Eric�s eyes widened. �Why? What happened?�

�They think I cheated on the essay. It was horrible; she shouted at me for an eternity and gave me detention on Saturday.�

The other boy gave a sympathetic groan, and then looked at him narrowly. �You didn�t, did you?�

�Of course not!�

�Don�t worry, I believe you,� said Eric, holding up his hands as if Albus had just pointed his wand at him. He beamed. �I bet it�s because you�re the cleverest student ever to come here and they just can�t believe their eyes.�

�Eric, it�s only been four days,� Albus laughed, determined to destroy the mistaken image of Brian-the-Boffin. �It could be downhill from here.� It will be, he thought, still furious at himself.

�I don�t think so. Come on - Herbology�s been cancelled, apparently Sprout has to do something to one of her plants today because it got damaged somehow. Let�s go back to the Common Room.�

Albus nodded and followed Eric back through the corridors and tapestries, calming himself down on the way. His situation couldn�t be helped; one could only hope that the deception held and that Minerva did not detest Brian as much as it had seemed. There was no point in reducing his persona to a quivering wreck in the meantime.

The Fat Lady grudgingly swung aside after demanding why they weren�t in lessons and the warmth of the Common Room engulfed them. The boys made their inconspicuous way over to the side of the room, away from where a group of Sixth-Years sat alternately studying and chatting in one of their frees. Albus was about to flop down as a realistically exhausted eleven-year-old having just �had his first blood� in the Headmistress�s office, when one of the older boys yelled at him.

�Oi!� called Benjamin Stubbs, a tall and burly sixteen-year-old, from his seat near the fire. The Hogwarts Headmaster would probably have termed him to be a �well-grown lad;� to young Brian he was a tower. �You there!�

�Me?� squeaked Eric.

�No, you! Squirt with the mad orange hair!�

�Benjamin!� scolded Abigail from her seat next to him.

�Well he is. Nearly Headless Nick wants a word with you-�

�Yes, he does,� agreed the ghost as he suddenly floated through the opposite wall, causing a gathering of painted inebriated wizards to cry out in disgust. Nick glided towards Albus whilst Eric leant forward in curiosity.

�Is it true that you�re Nearly Headless because-� he began.

�Later, later,� said Nick testily, eyeing Albus up and down. �The Bloody Baron�s looking for you,� he announced, raising one delicate ghostly eyebrow. �I have absolutely no idea why; he wouldn�t say. I hope you haven�t been getting into trouble, young Mr Potter - though it does run in the family, I must say. But you don�t look like your father - by Merlin, I swear you look like someone else, though whom I cannot say.�

Albus stiffened. The Gryffindor ghost had been an acquaintance of his true teenage self during his first time at Hogwarts; evidently some distant memory had been triggered. He was about to make some claim to the effect that Ginny had told him that he was a throwback to one of the old Prewetts on Molly�s side - an idea Nick would be unable to contradict as Molly�s brothers had been the first in their family to go to Hogwarts, when the ghost started and looked at him still more strangely.

�I say! I think I remember now! You look like a boy I used to know over a hundred years back! A funny madcap who kept on wearing a silly Muggle hat just because it wasn�t allowed. Got on the wrong side of the then Headmaster, I seem to recall. Goodness, I wish I could remember what his name was - I believe he turned out to be someone important-�

�What a bizarre coincidence,� Albus interrupted. �It�s strange how things happen like that.�

�Yeah,� said Eric helpfully. �Once, someone told me that I was identical down to the last freckle to their great-uncle as a boy, which is very strange because I�m not related to them at all!�

�Well, anyway� The Bloody Baron. I wouldn�t get mixed up with him if I were you. He said something about wanting to catch you before your lessons tomorrow.�

�Okay,� Albus replied. �So long as he�s reasonable about whatever it is.�

Nearly Headless Nick and Eric both looked at him with odd expressions. �You�re very confident for your age,� the ghost commented at last. �Don�t become rash now!�

#

Minerva McGonagall walked up to the Owlery, sealed letter in hand. Stepping delicately over the floor stained white by centuries of bird-droppings, she headed for the nearest school-owl, an elegant tawny. It really was a shame, she thought as she tied the letter to the bird�s leg. Harry and Ginny would certainly be less than happy.

Once the owl had flown off, she left the acrid stench of the tower for the battlements outside. September meant it was cold and windy; gusts teased at her silver hair, trying to entice it out of its bun. Dinner was drawing near but she had a strange compulsion to stand and watch the clouds for a bit, and think of nothing.

How long she stood there, she did not know, only that it was long enough for the chill to finally reach her bones and make her draw her cloak closer. Minerva turned to go back inside - and caught a glimpse of something red and gold.

The wind carried a melodic cry. Something was flying over past the Owlery, soaring towards the Forbidden Forest.

She looked up, and the breath caught in her throat. The red and gold feathers, the proud crest, the streaming tail - the thing flying towards the trees was a phoenix. She gulped and hobbled to the far end of the battlements, peering intently at the feathered form. Rolanda�s words came back into her head; was it His? Was it Fawkes?

The phoenix circled, turning back towards the castle. Minerva saw the crested head turn towards her, and the hundreds of feet that separated woman and bird were pierced by an intense look reminiscent of its owner. Suddenly, the idea of the phoenix being any other but Fawkes seemed preposterous. Convinced she was dreaming, the Headmistress let her walking stick fall and proffered an arm.

Albus and the phoenix were together in her mind, they always would be. Ever since she�d first walked into his office and seen both him and the bird look up at the same time - their heads both inclined quizzically to the side, the soft brown avian eyes seeming to imitate the sharp blue human ones - one could not exist without the other. In reality, it was impossible for the phoenix to be Fawkes because that would be too wonderful, too suggestive of an unattainable fantasy�

The phoenix was mere feet away now, obviously accepting the offer of her arm. Contrary to all reason, she could see that it was definitely Fawkes; there was something distinctive about the crest. The moment was so utterly surreal that she half expected to see Him appear round the side of the Owlery, humming a little tune.

Fawkes landed on her arm, and at the same time, footsteps could be heard echoing up the stairs in the tower. Minerva ignored them and crushed the bird against her chest, savouring the warmth of the feathers and deciding to enjoy the dream whilst she could.

�Fawkes,� she whispered. �What are you doing here, back again without your master?�

The phoenix squawked as though in protest, but rested its head against her shoulder. Minerva ran a finger down the proud neck and into the soft plumage.

�Minerva!� Rolanda�s voice said abruptly. �There you are! Listen, about what I said yesterday-�

�I know,� the Headmistress said, shocked, turning round. She knew it wasn�t a dream now; had it been a dream then the moment would have remained uninterrupted until Albus�s appearance. Stunned, she looked at the phoenix in her arms and then up at Rolanda, who was gaping at the scene.

�Oh,� said the flying instructor. �Ah. I see you�ve� so it is his then?�

Minerva nodded. �I�m not in the habit of embracing random birds,� she heard herself say vaguely.

Rolanda�s expression became tentative and awkward. �Are you all right?� she asked, peering at her carefully. �I mean, I know - well I don�t really - but it must be hard-�

�I�m perfectly well, Rolanda.� There was no sense in worrying her friend unnecessarily, after all. �It has come as a bit of a surprise�� The phoenix stared up at her. �Why has it returned now? After so many years?�

The other woman shoved her hands into her pockets and bit her lip. There was a pause in which Minerva did nothing but stroke Fawkes, and then the flying instructor finally spoke.

�You still aren�t really over it, are you? Minerva, it�s been nearly eighteen years.�

�Indeed,� she replied softly.

She heard Rolanda swallow. �I�m sorry. I just - well, I�ve never had feelings that strong� If it happened to me, I think I�d just� I�m sorry.�

�No, no - you�re right. I should have put it behind me by now. Any normal person would have.�

�Well,� continued Rolanda hesitantly, �you knew the man for simply decades� so I suppose it wasn�t a normal situation, really.�

�No, I suppose not.�

�This sounds really callous, especially considering what happened - but I almost wish I�d known someone like that.�

�There�s still time to meet him.�

The other professor snorted. �I doubt it. Especially when all I talk about is brooms and Quidditch.�

�All I ever was to Albus was a Deputy. A person to delegate tasks to.�

�Don�t be silly,� scolded Rolanda. �You were friends. If he�d just thought of you as Deputy then he wouldn�t have bothered having tea with you or giving you presents for your birthday or - or anything!�

Minerva sighed and stared out across the grounds. Her eyes were drawn to the corner where she knew His tomb to be and she tore herself away. �It really is time for me to move on.�

Fawkes crooned in her ear. She shivered: for one wild second it had reminded her of Albus�s voice.

#

Breakfast the next day was interrupted on several counts. First Eric was called away to have a private talk with Madam Hooch; a conversation that resulted in the boy�s face becoming as red as his hair in triumph, and a proud verbal parade of his talents for the benefit of the Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, courtesy of Daniel Glover. Then came the ferocious argument between Benjamin Stubbs and Abigail Lupin: a row that transfixed the whole of Gryffindor table as well as some of the nearby Hufflepuffs, ending only when Professor Hagrid intervened (�If yeh don�t sit down right now and stop disruptin� breakfast then I�ll have yer hauled up before Professor McGonagall. Is that clear?�). Lastly, and most spectacularly, was the arrival of the post - with two envelopes addressed to �Brian Potter,� one normal and harmless and the other red and smoking.

�Oh dear,� said Eric, and covered his ears as Albus resignedly slit open the Howler.

�BRIAN POTTER!�

Half of the Great Hall was silenced at once; heads turned and talking stopped. Albus ignored the stares and gazed at the burning envelope, waiting for the storm to pass. Ginny�s voice seemed to increase in volume with every word, to the point where it was painful.

�HOW DARE YOU CHEAT ON AN ESSAY! WE RECEIVED A LETTER FROM THE HEADMISTRESS LAST NIGHT AND YOUR FATHER WAS APPALLED! WE BROUGHT YOU UP TO BE HONEST AND HARD-WORKING! HOW DARE YOU��

Albus cringed and twisted his face in distress, hunching his shoulders and shaking his head. The impression of someone severely scolded and bitterly repentant was so convincing as to cause Eric to pat him comfortingly on the back and for Abigail to forget her argument and talk bracingly of �Howlers being a hard way to learn, but one day he would be grateful, etcetera.� Once the Howler had fallen silent and crumbled to ashes, he reached for the second letter whilst biting his lip with apparent nerves.

Dear Brian,

Your mother is sending a Howler with this letter. Since you were probably forced to open that first, my anger and disappointment is no surprise to you.

Four days into the term, Brian. I expected better of you.

Dad

�Well at least he�s short and to-the-point,� said Eric, reading over his shoulder.

Albus folded the letter and put it in his pocket. Had Brian been a genuine boy, he thought, considering his close relationship with Harry, those few lines would have been devastating. He hunched his shoulders higher and bowed his head and spent the rest of the meal staring into space, effecting very weak smiles at Eric�s attempts to cheer him up.

As the rest of the school left the hall for the first of morning lessons, Albus hung back, nodding at Eric to go. The Bloody Baron�s request had not left his mind from the moment it had entered it. The Slytherin ghost had not even been a vague acquaintance from his school-days, and as Nearly Headless Nick had failed to put a name to his face, he felt the risk of discovery was low. On the other hand, what other reason did the ghost have for contacting him? An idea had occurred whilst reading Harry�s gruff letter: perhaps Harry had once had some sort of involvement with the Bloody Baron - probably a negative one given his Gryffindor status - and the ghost wanted to meet the son because of the father? Whatever it was, he was about to find out.

He walked slowly to one of the entrances with the last few stragglers. Soon enough, the Bloody Baron appeared from the crowd, silver robes shining with ghostly blood. Albus looked at the ghost with a frightened expression, knowing full well that most First-Years would be intimidated by the unpleasant sight of the Baron.

�Come with me,� the Bloody Baron groaned.

As Headmaster, Albus had known relatively little of the Baron - simply that Peeves would sometimes do his bidding, and that the ghost was one of few words and an unfriendly disposition. He followed Brian�s new acquaintance down the corridors curiously, but was unsurprised as the path turned downwards into the dungeons, into an empty classroom. The talk was obviously to be private.

�P-Please,� he stammered once they�d halted. �What d-do you want with me? I�m in Gryffindor-�

�I know,� came the awful hollow voice of the Baron, and the dead blank eyes bored into him. �I know who you are.�

Albus blinked - and then realised that the ghost was probably simply referring to his House. �What d-do you w-want-?�

�I know who you are. You don�t need to pretend, Headmaster.�

�H-Headmaster?�

�Headmaster Albus Dumbledore.�

He sat down on the nearest chair, more surprised than alarmed. �How did you know?�

�I recognised you,� the ghost moaned. �I remember you.�

�But I never knew you whilst I was at school,� Albus protested, running a hand through his auburn hair worriedly. The Baron�s knowledge seemed entirely inexplicable. Had his carelessness with the essay somehow filtered down to the ghosts? Had the Baron assembled the jigsaw when he had access to only a few paltry pieces?

�No. But I remember you. You were the Gryffindor who ruined Slytherin�s chances. I hated you, for the sake of my House. I heard other rumours also, about you. Things you did.�

Albus frowned. He found himself wishing fervently that his past self had been considerably less memorable than he was proving. Patiently, he waited for the next inevitable questions of why and how, only to find his endurance unpaid. The Baron�s blank eyes were wholly incurious; the thought of an animated statue came into his head, uncomplaining, uncaring.

�I request that you do not inform anyone of my identity,� he said at last.

�I am Bound to the castle and the head teacher. If Professor McGonagall should ask, then I am Bound to tell.�

�Yes, yes, of course - but you will not directly inform anyone in the school otherwise?�

�No, Headmaster.�

�Not even members of your House?�

�No, Headmaster.�

�Thank you.� He got up to leave, but the ghost spoke again.

�Headmaster, your secret is not safe. The old portraits may recognise you. Some of them talk about you, saying you look like someone from long ago.�

Albus nodded; the thought had occurred to him. Luckily the solution was relatively easy: a spell that would cloud the memories of most of the portraits in the castle - a mild variant of Obliviation. Performing it that very afternoon seemed a good idea, especially considering what the Baron had said.

�Thank you, Baron. I will deal with that problem today.�

Hefting his school-bag, Albus left the classroom, revelling in the unexpected acquiescence of the Slytherin ghost. The mechanical voice called out after him.

�Headmaster, be careful. There have never been two head teachers of Hogwarts in castle at the same time before.�

#

Months passed. Autumn turned to Winter, after which came Spring, which breathed warmth throughout the grounds, tempting flowers out of the earth and finally healing a certain prize Tantacula to even Pomona�s satisfaction. Eric Weasley, new Gryffindor Chaser, triumphed spectacularly against the surprised Ravenclaws, and Abigail Lupin began dating Benjamin Stubbs, to the surprise of everyone around. The school-year settled into its usual grind, and there were no further disturbances in the staff room.

Brian Potter was soon noted to be a very average student, his talents ranging from mediocre to acceptable - despite his initial promise and to the great consternation of Professor Read, who was taunted about the �academic peak� for at least seven weeks afterwards. He sank into banality, to be remembered rarely and spoken of never again. His subsequent Transiguration essays (eyed suspiciously and coldly by his teacher) were adequate but not worth mention.

The routine of faculty life was only altered slightly, in that the Headmistress would inexplicably request bird-feed from Hagrid and that a careful observer would have seen the nightly visits of a phoenix to the head teacher�s tower. Yet Sybil Trelawney continued to request the ejection of Firenze monthly and the relationship between Potions Master and Herbology Professor remained rather cool and distant but warmed as the Tentacula�s �condition� improved.

Such a general mood of content made the Headmistress, armed with her new comfort, feel rather at odds with the Sorting Hat - the tip of which regularly twitched, as though the mind inside was infuriated.
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Him Again