HA 11d: Warning

HIM AGAIN: Chapter 11: Moving On - Warning

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.”