HA 9b: Hogwarts

HIM AGAIN: Chapter 9: Human Intelligence - Hogwarts

August heat shimmered the air and cracked the ground. Brian sat not only on his bed, but on the brink of a new epoch - for both him and Albus.

Albus aimed Brian’s eyes at the blue brilliance of the sky outside, scanning for the blot of an owl. The expectancy of the last few days would have been exhausting, had not there been an almost equal degree of excitement. Brian’s anticipation was one of a boy about to go to school; Albus’s was one of a man about to go home.

Hogwarts.

The very word refreshed him, raising memories that were not all darkness and death. The visions of the sunlit grounds, the glowing windows, the idyllic spire of a tower that had once been his - all combined to create an urge in him that was lyrical in his potency. Had normality been restored, this would have been the sort of mood to induce the Hogwarts Headmaster to take up a brush and paint the school in all its splendour, or the faces of his colleagues.

There was a sense of dramatic irony in it all, he thought, in sitting where he was and waiting for a letter. For years he had watched the First-Years enter to be Sorted, terrified and disorientated, glancing up at the High Table with expressions of awe and apprehension. Now he was once again to be in the Great Hall - but from the perspective of an incoming student.

Yet no, that wasn’t quite true. After all, he would not be looking up at the Great Hall with awe - he would be searching for familiar faces. The apprehension would be present, but for a different reason. His information, after all this time and the subtle questioning of Harry, was still sketchy. How had the war ravaged the faculty? What absences, what disfigurements, what newcomers would he see?

The Order reunion meetings - becoming fewer in number over time as the urge to reminesce got less and the desire to live grew stronger - had provided him with glimpses of only Slughorn, Hagrid and Minerva. Slughorn’s corpulence was a tribute to his obvious well-being, Hagrid and the word ‘indomitable’ were always synonymous and Minerva…

He sat up and scanned the sky more desperately. He wanted to be there, to see her sitting at the High Table every day. That way, he could-

-Could what? Albus asked himself, confusedly. What could I do other than simply watch her from day to day?

That would be enough, for the moment. At the very least he was guaranteed seven years of watching and listening - which was better than the present.

Hogwarts. He had learnt there, taught there, led there - and now the cycle was set to begin again. Weariness flooded him. Hogwarts would both make demands of him and free him at the same time. He would have to play the part of Brian Potter, the frightened new student, make friends with children whose company could never satisfy him, learn about the war in History of Magic with the indifference of the next generation, pretend ignorance in subjects which he’d helped write the syllabus on… The very idea was tiring.

Still, there would be times when he could be alone. Places like the Room of Requirement would allow for an undisturbed dropping of the mask. Hogwarts was still his home, whether or not the last he’d seen of it was of a treacherous tower. And Minerva-

He frowned, only distractedly noticing a speck in the cloudless sky. What are you thinking, old boy?

A younger version of Harry’s face swam before him, bitter and sad. What pain blighted those features! His own voice was reverberating around the office, soothing and firm at the same time, the projected serenity almost obscene in the light of what had just then happened. The words that came back now were his.

“There is a room in the Department of Mysteries that is kept locked at all times. It contains a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than the forces of nature.”

Albus closed his eyes. He’d walked through that room several times in his life - not the room at the Ministry, but the metaphorical room inside. More wonderful and terrible than death… Back then, when speaking to Harry, it had been his darling wife Maria’s face that had entered his head. His love and her death had been entwined - for what could be worse than loving and losing? Now the words had another meaning, and another face attached to them.

Death - the forces of nature - had been violated in his rebirth. That first aspect of meaning could be thought of dispassionately; the other levels and the face less so. He dared not think further. Why did Minerva’s face appear to him?

His human intelligence was failing if he pondered that, someone in the back of his head pointed out. You old fool. What kind of man had the audacity to sit in his twee little office and talk about the room of love yet be blind to his own passions?

Maria, my dearest, he found himself thinking, as though mere thought could penetrate the Veil. Forgive me.

The owl tapped the glass impatiently. An envelope was tied to its leg, bearing a familiar seal. Albus - and Brian - roused himself and opened the window, untying the letter. This was it.
The letter was addressed to Mr B. Potter. The moment of opening the envelope had a surreal quality unparalleled by anything Albus had ever experienced before; for one wild second he considered flinging it back out of the window.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmistress: Minerva McGonagall
(Order of Merlin, First Class, International Confederation of Wizards)

The rest of the letter was largely irrelevant - the lines dealing with Headmistress Minerva McGonagall were the ones that held his attention. He sighed and crumpled the parchment. How hopeless it was!