Weft of Power, Warp of Blood: A Tapestry of Desire

The Phoenix in Ashes - Part 2


Harry stopped at the door; he’d been halfway out of the room already, with his wand in his hand. Ron barely missed crashing into him before tuning around. Hermione, who’d been gossiping with Ginny about the family of part-veelas they’d spent the afternoon with (and there had to have been a lot of charm work done to look that good all the time), only had to look up from her seat at the table. Both Ron and Harry sat down again.

Charlie looked around at the expectant faces before settling on his mother’s and said, “Dumbledore asked me to come teach at Hogwarts, too. Care of magical creatures. I’ll be moving back from Romania as soon as we can figure out what to do with Norbert – Dumbledore said that he wanted me to bring him back with me.”

Molly gasped; Arthur clapped his son on the back and the remaining two Weasley children cheered.

Hermione applauded but asked, “But what about Hagrid?”

Charlie explained, “Dumbledore said that he wanted Hagrid to start actively breeding and training some of his more interesting creatures. He pretty well gave Hagrid free reign to start an experimental breeding program for anything that he could come up with that might help defend the school.”

“Defend the school?” Ron asked, clearly confused.

“From Death Eaters, Ronald,” Hermione sighed.

Remus chuckled at her tone but looked concerned. “Are you going to be helping him with this breeding program, Charlie?”

“I wasn’t asked to, but I may,” Charlie answered.

“Just to keep a sane head involved with it.”

Charlie winced, “I’ll look in on it. I don’t know what Dumbledore is really planning but I’ll talk to him about it. He probably doesn’t want a heard of dragons or chimera rollicking through the forest.”

Hermione asked, “What will you be teaching?”

Remus chuckled, “Shouldn’t you wait until your book list arrives before going on a quest for more?”

Hermione blushed and said, “There’s no harm in being prepared.”

Molly clapped her hands for attention and said firmly, “Speaking of book lists, Dumbledore told me that they will be sent out tomorrow morning, so off to bed with you – we’ve another big day tomorrow.”

As everyone under the age of eighteen filed through the door Molly said, “I’m proud of you all for your excellent behavior today – well done, all of you.”

As they trudged up the stairs yawning, Ron muttered, “You’d think we were six, instead of sixteen, the way she goes on. What does she think we’re going to do – steal the school brooms and skywrite lewd hints for the wedding night over the Quidditch pitch?”

Harry was silent.

It was an hour after the Weasley snore chorus started that she heard it – the slightest sound roused her from that beautiful half dream-half awake place that she loved to wallow in. A door opened quietly, though the hinge squeaked enough to get her attention. The sound of shuffling on the wood floor, rather than on the carpet – where all of the creaks were – convinced Hermione that there was defiantly something afoot. Knowing that it was probably a bad idea, she tossed back the blanket.

Without bothering to put on the robe her mother insisted that she bring, Hermione cast a Silencing Charm on the door and then on herself and followed the footsteps down the stairs and into the kitchen. A whispered Disillusionment Charm allowed her to watch as Harry methodically searched the kitchen from cupboards to corners. When he dropped to his knees, crawled through the pantry and into the house elves’ bolthole, Hermione knew exactly what was going on.

She debated showing herself and gently explaining but from the sounds coming from behind the wall, Harry was on a mission. Poking her head in to talk might win a wand in the face. Judging from Harry’s distraction, he might or might not wait to figure out that she wasn’t the elf coming back to wreak more chaos. Instead, she decided to wait.

Tea seemed to be the universal panacea for all Englishmen and Hermione decided that some might be in order – even though Hermione had never actually seen Harry drink it. A flick of her wand had water pouring from the end of the wand and into the kettle. It was a clever charm she’d picked up from Mrs. Weasley and though Hermione never wanted to have to cook for a horde of children, it was still a good thing to know. She’d wait to practice her heating charms until Harry came out for air.

The sounds behind the wall were getting more frantic. She wondered if she ought to go in and see if there was a problem. Taking a deep breath, Hermione summoned the tea tin.

From behind, a hand grabbed the box out of midair. She hadn’t removed the charms she’d cast on herself to follow Harry; her startled scream was silent as she whipped around. Remus stood behind her, wearing rumpled clothes and a wistful smile. He looked worse now than he had since he started teaching at Hogwarts. His skin was pale, though slightly sallow and paper thin. His hair was even grayer – Hermione thought it made him look distinguished but it also worried her. A fresh scar, still shiny and pink marred his jaw. Not taking the Lycanthropy Potion didn’t do Remus a damned bit of good, Hermione decided.

Abruptly, the sounds behind the wall stopped with a thud.

He set the tea down and removed the Disillusionment Charm with a tap of his wand on the top of her head. Quietly, he said, “It’s late.”

She removed the Silencing Charm and said, “Harry…”

“Yes, I know. I heard him.”

She nodded, her eyes sad. “He’s stopped.”

“I’ll get him.” He crouched down and leaned into the pantry, calling Harry’s name.

There was no response. Remus stayed there in the opening to the bolthole for several seconds, murmuring words Hermione couldn’t understand before he crawled in. Curious, which she knew frequently was just another word for nosy, Hermione followed Remus through the hole in the pantry wall

Harry sat on the floor, on the edge of what could only be called a nest of old clothes, rotting tea towels and what appeared to be desiccated potato skins. His back was against the wall and his head was resting – no, grinding into his arms folded atop his knees. Hermione could hear a faint keening sound coming from him, between muttered words she couldn’t understand. He didn’t look up as Remus settled down next to him, taking up a similar position, though he kept his head up. Hermione crawled in and sat near Harry’s feet, being sure that her nightgown both kept her modesty intact and her skin from touching anything in the disgusting nest. She tried not to gag; the room behind the pantry smelled like rotting meat with an undertone of sulfur and a pungent floral perfume that Hermione classified as “old lady”.

Following Remus’s lead, Hermione sat and listened. Harry’s words were garbled but she eventually managed to figure some of them.

“Snape … Kreacher… killed… Sirius… should’ve… gonetoliveinthecountrylikeweplanned… gone now… gone gone gone… going to kill it… my fault… hunt it down and kill it… gone…”

“Harry, stop,” Remus commanded gently, after several minutes of Harry’s chanting.

Harry was silent for a time, then looked up. He didn’t seem to recognize either Remus or Hermione. Staring into the nest, he said in the far away voice of someone who was really talking to themselves more than anyone else, “I didn’t go back to the Occlumency lessons with Snape. I thought he was trying to get into my head because he hates me, instead of teaching me. Voldemort got into my head because I didn’t protect myself.”

“You’ll study this year, though, right?” Hermione gently urged, hoping to diffuse Harry’s self pity.

Harry ignored her. “I believed Kreacher. Instead of talking to Sirius or you or someone else, I believed Kreacher.”

“You had no reason not to, Harry,” Remus replied gently.

“I knew he was crazy. I knew he hated Sirius. I shouldn’t have believed him! I’ve been hunting him – where is he? I’m going to mount his head on the wall with the others.”

“Harry, he’s gone…” Hermione said. She, too, had believed Kreacher’s tale when it was combined with Harry’s dreams. She felt that she, too, was just as much to blame as anyone else.

Remus said, “He left that night, before we even knew what happened. We think he went to the Malfoys’.”

Slamming his fists into the floor in impotent rage, Harry all but screamed, “Fuck!” He chanted the word, pounding his fists until Hermione, very surprised by his language, grabbed them and held on, muttering nonsense words of comfort.

He snatched his hands away. “This is my fault! I planned it all. I led us all to the Ministry. It was me. Hermione, not you, not Ron, not even Sirius. It was me. And if it hadn’t been for me, Sirius wouldn’t have had to come racing to my rescue. He wouldn’t have been there,” Harry stopped for a heaving breath on a sob, “he wouldn’t have been there if it hadn’t been for me. Now, I can’t even kill the little beast that lied about it all.”

“Killing Kreacher would do us no good. It wouldn’t solve anything. It won’t bring Sirius back. He chose to go to the Ministry, Harry. Just as we all did,” Remus said.

“None of you would have gone if it hadn’t been for me. If it hadn’t been for Kreacher… if it hadn’t been for Kreacher, Sirius would still be alive!”

“And ninety percent of Voldemort’s Death Eaters wouldn’t be in Azkaban,” Remus sighed. “His death wasn’t wasted. It was stupid and it was unfair, but Harry, he made the choice to be there – and because he was there, we won that battle.”

Harry twisted around, wand in hand, pointed directly between Remus’s eyes. “Are you saying that you’re happy he’s dead? Because we won?”

Hermione scrambled to grab Harry’s arm again, but sixteen year old boys are already stronger than sixteen year old girls – even skinny ones like Harry. She couldn’t do more than knock his arm so that the wand wasn’t directly in Remus’s face. Not wanting to wake the house by yelling, she gritted out, “Harry, stop it!”

Remus reached out to rest a hand on her leg, still watching Harry’s face. “Hermione, let him go.”

Not understanding, but obedient of the direct order from a former teacher – from Remus, Hermione released Harry’s arm but stayed at the ready. Harry again pointed his wand at Remus, but his face was less enraged and more resigned.

Remus ignored the wand and looked into Harry’s eyes. Quietly, he said, “Sirius was one of the best friends I have ever and will ever have. At the age of eleven, he took me into his little gang of golden boys when I could expect to only be shunned for the rest of my life. I repaid his generosity by doubting his loyalty and friendship when he was sent to prison on a lie. I repaid his generosity and friendship by hating the very air he breathed for twelve bloody years.” Remus stopped and swallowed but he didn’t brush away the tears welling in his eyes. “He forgave my hatred and doubt by giving me a home, giving me his friendship and nursing me to health when lycanthropy turns me into either a beast or a mewling kitten. And all he ever wanted was to be loved and accepted for who he was, not what his surname was.”

Though she was crying, Hermione plucked Harry’s wand from his nerveless fingers and watched as his hand dropped into his lap. She dropped her hand onto Remus’s; he was still holding her knee. He didn’t pull away.

“I loved Sirius, Harry. Most men would never say that about another man, but I did. I loved him. He was brash and bold and funny and generous. He was my friend. How could I ever be happy that he’s dead?”

Harry was silent.

“Why would I be happy, Harry?” Remus persisted.

Harry finally spoke. His voice cracked on the answer, “We won the battle. Aren’t you supposed to be happy that we won?”

Remus closed his eyes and sat back, leaning on the wall. His position was exactly like Harry’s had been earlier. Silent for several moments, Remus looked only at the hair on his arms – or perhaps he was looking into his past. “That would be like me saying that I’m happy that your parents are dead, because it vanquished Voldemort the first time. They were my friends, too.” When Harry started, Remus continued. “I’ve been in a lot of battles, Harry. We haven’t won them all - as outnumbered as we’ve been sometimes.” He paused again, choosing his words. “Winning is important. It’s a blow to the other side. The more of Voldemort’s followers we can bring down, the better our position is.” He paused again. “We won that one – we – not just me, but all of us, you, too – you especially. We won. The men in masks were caught and we – the three of us, and the others - we made it home and went to sleep in our own beds, when it was done and then got up in the morning and saw the sun shining. That is something to be happy about.”

“But…”

“But my best friend died, Harry. That isn’t winning – that’s about as big a loss as it gets. No, I’m not happy. But as hypocritical as it is to find any joy in it at all, I’m thankful that I made it and thankful that you made it, but… no, Harry, there isn’t much more to be happy about that night.”

“Are you angry?” Harry looked as though he were asking permission to feel.

Remus looked at Harry again. “I wouldn’t be human if I wasn’t.” He shot Hermione a wry glance, inviting her not to mention that he wasn’t exactly human then looked at the nest. “Yes, Harry. Yes. I am angry. Sirius… Sirius liked to… make trouble.” He sighed. “Sirius always wanted to be in the thick of it. If he had just shut up and stayed here like I told him to – like we all told him to, he’d still be alive. He should have stayed here. Yes, I am angry.”

“I...”

Remus continued talking over Harry. “I am angry with Sirius for being an idiot. I am angry with Dumbledore for keeping him locked up in a cage. I’m angry at the Ministry. I am angry at Voldemort – and yes, Harry,” Remus spaced each word out, “I am angry at you.”

Harry bowed his head. Tears rolled down the end of his nose and spattered on his glasses.

“You fucked up. You didn’t think. You didn’t practice your Occlumency. You just ran off half-cocked and you didn’t bother to check your facts with a reliable source. You shouted some rot at Snape, who you knew couldn’t do a damned thing about it, and you almost got yourself and your friends killed. Yes, I am angry,” Remus repeated. His voice, normally so slow and calm, was raised and his normally pleasant expression was twisted into a half-snarl.

“I deserve it,” was all Harry choked out.

“Harry…’ Hermione started.

Remus cut her off, “I am angry.” Remus paused for breath and to consider his words. “And I will get over it. I have to. I want to. Harry, you’re all I’ve got left. I won’t have you dying on me, too, understand?”

Harry nodded convulsively. Remus snagged Harry about the shoulders and tugged him into a manly hug while they both shed tears. Harry’s thin hand wrapped around Hermione’s wrist and tugged her closer; she let herself be drawn in and wrapped her arms around Harry.

“Are you mad at me? I got you hurt, there at the Ministry,” Harry said into her hair.

“No, Harry, Dolohov got me hurt. Not you.” She brushed a… something off of her exposed leg.

“But…”

“I chose to go with you. I’m as much an accomplice as you. And after what I did to Umbridge, I think I’m lucky I just got a bit of spell damage. I should have been arrested, really.”

The other two chuckled around their tears.

Remus stopped laughing and said, “Harry, I promise, from here on out, despite what Dumbledore wants, I will keep you informed. I will answer your questions as truthfully as I can, as completely as I can. You deserve to know what you’re getting into. I hope it will also prevent something like this from ever happening again. I hope you’ll do the same?”

Harry sniffled and nodded.

“Good. We will practice defensive as well as offensive spells – that you will teach to the other students. Dumbledore won’t like it, but you have to know them. You’re too vulnerable to attack. You have to know more. I’ll teach you everything I can.”

“Thanks.”

“Sirius gave you a mirror, didn’t he? One of the ones we used to use?”

“How did you-“

“We all had them. Peter’s was shattered when he and Sirius dueled, Sirius had his when he … went through the veil. But I still have mine – and you have James’s, right?”

“Er… I broke it… when I was packing up from school and found it – when I should have used it to call Sirius after I had the dream.”

Remus grimaced, but before he could say anything, Hermione said, “We’ll work on fixing it in the morning. It won’t be the first time I’ve fixed a bit of glass for you, now will it?” Hermione said and nudged Harry’s glasses into place.

He chuckled and ducked away shyly. “I’ll get the pieces out of my trunk. I never took them out.”

Remus and Hermione released him, saying on top of each other, “In the morning,” and “Sleep now – we’ll do it tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” Harry muttered and crawled out of house elf’s nest leaving Remus and Hermione in the dark.

They sat quietly for several minutes, neither one lighting a wand. Hermione slid her bare foot over until it touched his callused one. He didn’t move away. She smiled in the dark and whispered, “Thanks.”

He whispered back, “Thank you.”

“I couldn’t have handled that alone.”

“I wouldn’t have wanted you to. I knew the… conversation was coming. I don’t suppose it could have gone in any other way.”

“Well, knowing Harry, it could have been pistols at dawn.”

Remus chuckled. The sound gave her another tickle in her belly. It wasn’t the first time she’d felt it – and she knew it wouldn’t be the last. It felt delicious, though, in spite of the exhausting hour.

“It certainly could have been – but I had rather hoped to be able to sit him down in a more civilized manner. A house elf’s nest…”

“A filthy house elf’s nest…” she inserted.

He chuckled again, Hermione grinned in the dark.

“A filthy house elf’s nest isn’t the best place for anything. So let’s get out of here – before something else happens.”

Hermione giggled, “Like what?”

“Like having to discover the hard way that Kreacher didn’t go outside to use the facilities?”

She hopped up. “Eeww!”

“Right – out then,” Remus commanded.

Hermione scrambled for the exit but bumped her head on the wall instead of making it out into the pantry. Without an incantation, Remus lit his wand like a torch. Muttering her thanks – and hoping that he wouldn’t notice her lack of underpants, Hermione scrambled into the pantry and out of the way as he crawled out behind her. Shaking her nightgown free of the potato peelings and other detritus that she didn’t even want to know the nature of, Hermione blushed at bit and muttered Cleaning Charms over herself then washed her hands with the old fashioned lye soap on the sink.

She swallowed a bit and supposed that Remus was the one person that she didn’t really mind staring at her bum, when the truth came out. She liked him – and even knew why. He was comfortable and calm and spent more time listening than he did asserting himself – this time with Harry reinforced that feeling. Hermione decided that it felt good when someone actually listened to other people and actually listened to her opinions, rather than rolling their eyes and waiting for her to pipe down – until she came up with some brilliant way to save their arses. Remus was intelligent and willing to share what he knew and, like she did with Victor Krum, Hermione felt like a female around him, rather than a book with legs. Being terribly self-aware, Hermione knew she had a crush on her former teacher. She could see how it had formed, knew that she fostered it with very little help from a man who only wanted friendship. She knew that it, like the few other crushes she’d had in her almost seventeen years, would gently pass into the breeze when she found another. Until then, though, it was nice to dream about – but she would remain as civilized as possible with Remus; after all, she really did enjoy their “relationship”, such as it was. Of course, civilized still included a little bit of innocent flirting – just for the practice, of course.

As soon as he stood, he thanked her again, adding, “It’s late. Time for all good witches to be in be... to be asleep.”

She giggled and asked the first thing that popped into her head, “And what about the bad ones?”

“They should be in bed, too,” he said with a smile he knew was – forgive the pun – wolfish.

“After Umbridge…”

“I still can’t call you bad after that. She deserved it and more.”

Hermione had to stop the teasing – she did feel guilty about luring Umbridge into the forest, no matter how great the need to get away. It had been callous and cruel – and it was something that no female should have done to another – even one as foul and nasty as Umbridge. She sighed. “As a woman… no one deserves what I did to her.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. What are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know, really. I’ve spent a month thinking about it. I don’t know what I can do – I mean, I was the instrument to her… well, you know what centaurs do to human females. I didn’t do it, but I was the ultimate cause of it.”

“Didn’t the end justify the means? You got away from her.”

She knew he was playing devil’s advocate, but had done it all herself over the last month. She hadn’t come up with anything other than Machiavelli’s reasoning to defend her actions. “No. I should have been able to think of something other than that. But I didn’t. I panicked. I should have locked her in the Room of Requirement in a full body bind or sent her down into the Chamber of Secrets – something. But I didn’t. I wasn’t smart enough and…”

“Stop it, Hermione. You did what you had to do. I still can’t call you bad,” Remus said with finality.

Hermione chuckled though she didn’t know if it was a real laugh or not. She was certain that Remus was probably tired of being Agony Aunt for one night. Deliberately picking up the earlier banter, she asked, “And why not?”

“Because no bad woman would bother to hang about with me in the middle of the night in her,” he gestured to her demure white nightgown and didn’t finish his sentence. Instead he swallowed and continued. “Thus you have to be a good one,” he said with a pleasant smile.

Suddenly remembering the robe she hadn’t put on earlier – and vowing to wear it from now, she blushed and wondered to herself if that pleasant smile of his was protective – and ought he need protection from her? She tested her flirting skills and the limits of the crush she knew she had, knowing it was probably a bad idea. Looking down at a potato peel on the floor, she nudged it with her toe and said, “Since I’m quite happy to stand around chatting with you in the middle of the night, in my nightgown, then perhaps I am good.”

“Correct as always, Miss Granger,” he smiled and held the kitchen door open for her. ‘So off to bed with you.”

“Are you coming?” Hermione asked, then blushed – she didn’t mean it to be…. Flustered, Hermione rephrased the question, looking at the floor in embarrassment. Knowing she sounded strident, because she always did when she was embarrassed, Hermione asked, “Are you going to bed, too?”

Remus swallowed and colored slightly as well. Looking at the floor and Hermione’s shiny pink toenails, he said, “No, I have to go out. To… you know.”

Hermione did know – or thought she did. It would certainly explain why he was looking so haggard. If he was meeting them, he couldn’t – wouldn’t take the potion that he was supposed to. “The werewolves?”

He nodded, “Meetings every night this week. The moon, you know.”

“But it’s not full yet,” Hermione protested.

“It doesn’t need to be, for the old instincts and hormones to come alive. Greyback likes to get rowdy even on two legs. Hopefully it’ll just be beer and hexing trees tonight,” he said with a wry smile.

“Can he be stopped?”

Remus only shrugged. “Go to bed, Miss Granger. I shall see you soon,” he instructed with a tired but pleasant smile.

Disappointed but worried and tired after the long day of wedding and tantrums, Hermione curtsied slightly, smiled with forced cheer and said, “Certainly, Mr. Lupin. Thank you again.”

As she slipped through the door, Remus stepped back, which was probably a good thing. Hermione was sure that Remus would either blush and stammer if she brushed up against him (as she had thought about doing) or he’d start a gentle discussion about teachers in general and then, with his usual wry humor, discuss how he’d had some crush on some teacher and that such things could never work out - especially with a werewolf. Instead, she smiled and thanked him for his gentlemanly manners and for listening while she yammered on.

“I enjoy your yammering, Hermione. Anytime you want to… yammer at me, you’re most welcome to,” he whispered.

She knew he was whispering so that the portrait of Mrs. Black wouldn’t wake up, but his voice and words sent tingles through her. Glad the shadows in the hallway covered her blushes, Hermione waved and retreated.

Remus leaned on the doorjamb, one hand stuffed in his trouser pocket and let out a long, slow breath as he watched her walk up the stairs.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It was still very early the next morning when Kiaya Roundtree returned from her walk, a basket full of groceries and potions ingredients slug over her arm and held there with the aid of Weightlifting and Sticking Charms. She waved to Mrs. Lewbody, who was tending to the geraniums in her window-box (that old house elf just never does it right) and opened the door. She thought she heard Mrs. Lewbody shout something, but, by then, it was too late.

Later, she supposed that she shouldn’t have been surprised that Dumbledore had just shown up, rather than writing a response to her letter, but she’d rather that he hadn’t.

“Oh, hello!”

“I’m sorry to have intruded, Miss Roundtree, but I thought I ought to wait inside, rather than out?”

“You’re, er, welcome to come in, of course. Um…Kiaya,” she corrected.

“Thank you. Your neighbor certainly does an admirable job of keeping watch on your home while you’re out.”

“Er.. yes, she’s very, uh…” Kiaya didn’t want to say nosy, but that was an apt description for the lady.

“Just so,” said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling as though he’d read her thoughts. “Now, forgive me, please, for arriving so early and without notice, but I have other appointments this morning.”

Disconcerted by her uncharitable thoughts about the nice woman next door and confused why Dumbledore didn’t just write to her, Kiaya set the basket down and started unpacking it. She banished everything to where it should go, potions ingredients to the closet and dinner to the kitchen. “There’s no problem, I was obviously up. How can I help you, Professor? Would you care for tea?”

“No, thank you. Your letter yesterday was most interesting,” he began. “I understand that Mrs. Malfoy’s visit and the letter made you uncomfortable?”

Uncomfortable was a mild description, but she nodded.

“You are right to be uncomfortable, Kiaya. As I recall, you piqued Lucius Malfoy’s interest at last year’s Wizard’s Ball, correct?”

“I didn’t ask to,” Kiaya said, feeling defensive.

“No, no, I didn’t mean to imply that you had. Perhaps walking with him last year was ill-considered, but you did not know what you were getting into when he followed you out of the ballroom.”

“He followed me? I thought he was just out there?”

Dumbledore chuckled. “No. Minerva McGonagall saw Mr. Malfoy follow you out of the ballroom. It was she who asked Severus Snape to fetch you.”

“Oh, but,” Kiaya remembered that evening and wanting to know who that woman was.

“Needless to say, I have been told by a reliable source, that Lucius Malfoy is, shall we say, still interested in you.”

Kiaya struggled not to bite out a scathing, ‘Really, I never would have guessed. Was it the drool spots on the letters that gave you a hint?’ Instead, she bit her tongue and nodded again.

“And I understand that this interest is unwelcome?” Dumbledore asked.

Kiaya felt her face screw up into an expression of distaste and nodded.

“And you do not want to utilize the services of Mrs. Malfoy to manage your finances?”

“No, sir,” she answered. It seemed to be an understatement but she was currently practicing patience.

“You could make a great deal of money, you know? Mrs. Malfoy is accounted quite clever.”

“Mr. Basilton was happy enough with Gringott’s services. The goblins did well enough for him, they’ll do well enough for me.”

“Is enough really enough?”

“Well, I’d be lying if I didn’t want diamonds hanging from every finger, but, in all honesty, they would just get … stuff,” Kiaya waved at her supply cabinets, “in them and get in the way and then I’d end up getting hurt because I couldn’t get them off fast enough when I spilled something. Potions brewing is dangerous.”

“I do understand. I have spilled fresh dragon’s blood on myself more than once.”

She winced, knowing the agony of that kind of burn. Sympathetically, she said, “Ouch.”

“Indeed. Now, you seem to have a slight conundrum, as have I. Can you guess what mine is?”

“Er…” The possibilities seemed endless. Voldemort seemed to be the biggest; then the Ministry, public opinion and safety and the daily functioning of the largest educational institution in Wizarding Britain. Except for a general feeling of goodwill toward all men, Kiaya really didn’t actually care what Dumbledore’s conundrum was, though. She had her own life to worry about. A sudden feeling of guilt assailed her. Dumbledore was the de facto leader of the Wizarding World and a very nice man who had been nothing but kind to her. Thoughts of Snape and the discussion of Malfoy had simply made her cross.

“I need another potions teacher.”

She sighed, knowing what he wanted but surprised he was bothering with this when he had much more important things to think about. “Sir, Snape doesn’t want me there. He’s made that abundantly clear. He’s managed those classes by himself for fourteen years and he’s quite happy to manage them for another fourteen.”

“He’d rather be an Auror, actually – but that is neither here nor there. I need you back at school.”

“You need someone, not me, though.” Kiaya wasn’t sure how many times she needed to say that she wasn’t interested in working with Snape any more. Perhaps Dumbledore’s age was catching up to him - and why on earth did she care that Snape had wanted to be an Auror? Again, the guilt washed over her. She looked into Dumbeldore’s eyes – he seemed to be gazing directly into her brain.

“Perhaps, but you would be suitable, since you know the curriculum already – and you also have a need.”

“I do?” she asked. The man was barmy. She was sure of it. She had no need to go back to Hogwarts, except to get her belongings. She opened her mouth to say just that.

“You do, in fact. First, you enjoyed teaching. I sat through a number of your classes and saw the joy in you when you were in the presence of your students.”

Not wanting to interrupt but too insulted not to anyway, Kiaya asked, “You were in my classroom? And I didn’t know it?” Every ounce of guilt dried up, replaced by anger at being spied upon and a certain feeling of violation. She conveniently ignored that he was the headmaster of the school and was ultimately responsible for the safety and well being of the students. He should have told her!

“Several times, yes.”

“When? How?” There was no way in hell that she was going back now, if he was actively spying on his employees. She wondered, with some nastiness, what and who else he spied on.