A Little Knowledge

The quartet of Ravenclaws walked into the Charms’ classroom to find half the desks already filled with Hufflepuffs, and a few of their house mates who were rather early for class. Across the room a pair of Hufflepuff twins with pigtails waved to Sissy and Olivia, who had been their partners in Herbology the year before. Olivia waved back and winced at the thought of ever being paired up with them again, recalling the constant refrain of, “Why don’t we try it again to be sure?” It had nearly driven her insane. A plant, magical or no, can only be repotted so many times. Sissy, on the other hand, simply ignored the twins, the both of whom she considered rather dim-witted and quite insufferable.

They had just managed to find seats, comfortably close to the front of the classroom, when Professor Flitwick entered. The Charms’ professor was very short, quite tiny some would say, but his students accorded him great respect, not because of his physical stature, but because of that of his intellect. In his own way he was quite formidable: shrewd, clever, and discerning -- which made it difficult to lie to him and get away with it, among other things.

He was also well-respected and admired by the students of Ravenclaw house because he was very fair and impartial when it came to judging their marks and classroom performance. Some professors, they all knew, favored their own students in the distribution of both marks and house points. Not so with Professor Flitwick. And the Ravenclaws did not begrudge this lack of favoritism as they knew that whatever marks or points they might earn from him were genuine and had truly been earned, not simply given to them. This fact also garnered Flitwick the grudging respect of the other houses, even Slytherin.

But, of course, all of his students would also admit that his squeaky voice was enough to drive them batty, and the students in his house sometimes chafed about the extraordinary amount of rules they lived under, including those that regulated their academic conduct and the number of hours they spent studying. Flitwick was of the opinion, one to which he often gave voice, that if they studied too much, they would burn out or possibly ruin their eyesight, which led to rules and other little ‘tricks’, most of which were practiced only in the confines of the Aerie and his classroom. And to tell the truth, not very many of the older students were bother by not being permitted to study in the common room until the wee hours and lived by the house rules like good Ravenclaws. It was only the younger students, not quite indoctrinated into the ‘cult of intellect’, who seemed to be troubled by it.

And the girls, Sissy and Corinna especially, were among those who preferred to read late at night and, if they had had the nerve, might have asked their head of house to relax the rule. Not that they thought he would, but Sissy didn’t see the harm in asking ... but Corinna thought they might get into trouble for making ‘an impertinent suggestion’ to the professor and insisted during the previous term that they not make any waves.

The professor, after a few words concerning what they would be doing during the course of the term, instructed them to read pages twenty-one through thirty before they would begin the practical part of the lesson on Flame Freezing Charms, which was considered at one time a staple of early Charms’ educated because of its potentially practical application, though the need for it was not as great as it had once been.

Olivia stole a glance at Flitwick, who was reading a book nearly as large as he was at his desk, and glanced at Sophia before taking a scrap of parchment and writing a note.

“You don’t think he’s going to set us on fire, do you?” Olivia wrote.

Sophia stifled a sound that could have been mistaken as a giggle and wrote back: “Merlin! I hope not!” She then threw a meaningful glance toward the Hufflepuffs, a few of whom were staring into space.

Sissy on the other side of Sophia gestured for the note and wrote on it: “You twits! The whole castle would go up. Now, read!”

Of course Flitwick did not set anyone on fire, Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw, as a special re-burnable board was used to conduct such demonstrations, most of which ended with the Hufflepuffs having only a pile of cold ashes, which eventually coalesced back into a board, to show for their efforts. Not that the Ravenclaws fared so much better. The hunk of charmed wood that Sophia and Olivia shared was badly scorched during each of their attempts. Sissy and Corinna on the other hand found that while precision timing was required for the charm, it was hardly as difficult as some people were making it.

“Freezes the flames, not the wood,” Corinna kept mumbling absently to herself.

“Very good, Miss Bellew,” commented Flitwick as he passed, watching her finally manage to freeze the flames on her fifth or sixth attempt. Even she had lost count. “Five points for Ravenclaw,” he said with a nod before dashing over to the Hufflepuff side of the room to keep the flames, and the freezing, from getting out of control.

“I swear,” said Olivia in a low voice, “we will never need this charm! No one’s been burned at the stake since my grandfather was a student.”

“It has other applications,” said Sissy, massaging her temples while she waited for the flames to extinguish so that she could have another go at it.

“There are more efficient spells,” agreed Sophia, fanning the smoke from her board away.

“For blocking fire and not getting burned?” asked Sissy with a raised eyebrow.

Sophia considered the question as Olivia tried to freeze the flames again, with limited success and much annoyance. Any minute now, she was going to lose her nearly notorious temper and hurl the board at someone.

“Yes, but then ... they are more advanced,” she replied.

“You mean obscure, esoteric, and difficult,” Sissy corrected with a disdainful smirk.

“Careful or your face is going to stick like that,” growled Olivia, who absolutely hated that look.

“Maybe ...” Sophia conceded, waiting for the board to unburn itself so she could have another turn.

“Stick with what’s simple. Oftentimes it's the best answer,” said Sissy before nudging Corinna, who was daydreaming again. “Show us how it’s done again.”

History of Magic class passed in a blur of boredom and note-taking for the girls before they were free for the midday meal. They, at Corinna’s urging, practically raced to the Great Hall and found seats at their house table, which was slowly filling with students as many of them were taking their time to get there.

“Should we save a seat for Martin?” asked Olivia.

“I don’t know ...” said Sophia doubtfully. “It might be better for him if he ate with those boys in his year.”

Sissy looked down the table at the five young wizards flicking peas at each other and wrinkled her nose, “What? With them? They’ll turn him into a little brute in a matter of minutes. And I certainly don’t want to see that.”

“Right,” said Olivia, tossing her books into a seat to save it for him.

“Where is he?” asked Corinna, raising up in her seat to scour the hall. “Do you suppose he’s ... done it already?” she questioned, referring to their request that Martin tell his father about the ‘monster’ they had seen.

“He might be doing that now,” said Sissy, nodding slightly toward the high table. Professor Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen.

“Any thoughts on what we might have seen?” asked Sophia.

“Something Dark,” answered Corinna, not looking up from her plate.

“I’ve ... I gave it some thought during our last class,” admitted Olivia solemnly.

“And?” asked Sissy impatiently.

“Unless we hear something from Martin, we should go to the library this afternoon ... and do some research of our own into the matter,” said Olivia.

They were all quiet for a moment until Corinna put down her fork with a clatter, snapping them out of it.

“Are you serious?” asked Sissy.

“Very,” answered Olivia.

“Then I hope we don’t have a lot of potions’ homework, because I can imagine that this will take a bit of research,” said Sophia practically.

Martin Dumbledore walked out of the Charms’ classroom with his head held high, having performed quite adequately at the day’s task of feather levitation. As he made his way through the crowded corridor vaguely in the direction of the Great Hall, he saw his father walking toward him, probably from his own classroom, which was just down the corridor and around a corner. The elder Dumbledore smiled when he saw his son.

“Martin, I was hoping to run into you. Mister Ambrose said that your year was having Charms’ just now. The young man has a great memory for schedules. His father, you know, works with the Magical Transportation Department in the portkey scheduling office,” Dumbledore told him. “Nevertheless, I was wondering if you might take your lunch with me in my office. I wanted to talk to you,” said the professor.

For a moment Martin felt torn. He knew that the girls, the only friends he had made so far, would be waiting for him, but he also knew that now was as good of a time as any to tell his father about what he had seen the night before. He nodded mutely and followed Dumbledore toward the stairs leading to the floor where the Transfigurations’ professor had his office. This, Martin knew, was going to be quite a meal.

The office was a hodgepodge of colors, though it had not changed very much since Martin had last seen it three years earlier. Each instructor who had occupied the office had left their mark upon it. Yellow hand-woven tapestries depicting some scene from the so-called glory days of the Badgers left by the Hufflepuff head of house who had taught Transfigurations in the late eighteen hundreds. Green and silver wallpaper that was just beginning to fade from their Slytherin predecessor. Ravenclaw blue carpets and drapes from nigh on a century and a half before, the latter of which was looking moth-eaten here and there. And scarlet and gold colored chairs at the table by the window, brought by Dumbledore from his study at home because he wanted to leave his mark on the room as well.

“Make yourself comfortable, Martin,” instructed Dumbledore, gesturing toward those chairs while he went to ring for the house elves.

“Yes, father,” said Martin quietly, taking a seat and peering out the window.

The office was only on the first floor, but the view was rather nice as it looked out over the area where he had had flying lessons just that morning. He pondered for a moment whether his father might have watched before remembering that he had had a class at that time.

A soft pop as house elf appeared with a large covered tray jarred him from his thoughts.

“Lunch is being served,” said the elf, placing the tray in front of Martin on the table by the window and uncovering it. He placed two glasses on the table as well and with a snap of his fingers, they were filled with cold pumpkin juice.

“Thank you, Ardy,” said the professor with a nod to the elf.

“You is welcome,” he replied before vanishing with another pop.

Dumbledore took a seat with his son and smiled.

“They love doing that, you know. Whisking food about the castle, I mean. It’s a challenge to them,” he chuckled.

“They make me homesick for Finny and Ilky,” Martin admitted quietly, naming the Dumbledore family elves. He had spent a lot of time with them as a child.

“And I imagine that they miss you as well,” chuckled Dumbledore. “Speaking of home, your mother sent you a letter this morning, didn’t she?” he asked.

“Yes,” answered Martin with a slight smile.

“I couldn’t reach her by floo last evening as she’s out in the field, but I did owl her regarding the results on the ceremony,” Albus informed him.

Martin looked up from his plate, feeling a tremor of nervousness, and asked, “You aren’t disappointed, are you, father?”

“Of course not,” answered Professor Dumbledore, raising his graying eyebrows slightly, “but I must concede that I was a bit surprised.”

“Really?” asked Martin.

“Your mother and I both assumed ...” he said.

“Oh,” commented the younger Dumbledore, returning his attention to his plate, despite the fact that he no longer felt especially hungry.

His father reached across the table and patted his hand.

“Martin, it’s all right. The Hat is quite correct in its judgment: you do embody the many fine qualities that Ravenclaws possess. You have a good head on your shoulders, Martin, and what’s more, you’re well on your way to learning how to use it. Ravenclaw house will only help you with that and with other things. Those students fortunate enough to be sorted into Ravenclaw are a rare breed, so to speak: creative, somewhat individualistic, and rather open-minded. I am quite proud that you are one of them,” Dumbledore assured his son.

Martin looked up and blinked back tears of relief before he said, “Thank you. I ... I was worried ...”

“Don’t be,” Dumbledore chuckled, giving his hand a squeeze. “Besides, think how awkward it would have been to have your own father as head of house.”

Martin managed a half-smile and said, “I can certainly imagine.”

He took a few bites of his lunch, realizing that all of his concerns about letting his father done were unfounded. His father would have been proud no matter what house he was sorted into, perhaps even Slytherin.

“Well, maybe not Slytherin,” thought Martin, recalling the overheard conversations from his childhood when his parents talked about various Dark Wizards running amok. Always Slytherins ...

And those dark thoughts reminded Martin of the thing he had seen the night before, not that it had been necessarily far from his thoughts, but riding a real broom ... and being told the he showed promise at both flying and at Charms had driven it temporarily from his mind. His heart sank as he watched his father arranging the leftovers on his plate into the form of a smiling face.

“There’s something I have to tell you ...” said Martin, putting down his fork.

“What’s that?” asked Albus curiously.

“I was out of the dormitory last night.”

“Hmm... Not wasting any time,” said Dumbledore with a twinkle in his eyes. “But I take it you weren’t caught.”

“Er, yes and no,” he said, squirming in his seat.

Noticing his discomfort, Dumbledore gestured toward the battered couch in corner. Its color had been transfigured so many times that it was simply beige, though it had begun its life as a pleasant shade of red. Martin nodded and went with his father to sit down.

“I noticed the point totals this morning were all even before breakfast, so I suppose you weren’t apprehended by Mister Pringle as he isn’t a very forgiving man,” said Dumbledore lightly.

“I was seen, but not caught,” said Martin.

“By whom?”

“By what is more like it,” answered Martin, rubbing his eyes as he remembered the dark form that had been gliding toward them.

“One of the ghosts then?”

Martin’s shoulders slumped, but he replied, “No, I’ve seen ghosts before ... and poltergeists. I’m not afraid of them. This was very different, father.”

The professor looked at Martin with concern in his eyes and asked, “What did you see exactly?”

“We ...” Martin began before he could catch himself. “We ... Well, well ... I saw a dark form. It was very thin from what I could tell and tall ... taller than you, maybe,” he stammered, recovering somewhat.

“In robes?”

“I think so ...” he said, squinting to remember. “Or maybe a long cloak ...”

“Can you tell me anything else about the ... person you saw?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I imagine what you saw was Mister Pringle’s apprentice, young Filch, who is training to be the next caretaker of the castle. He’s an odd one. Goes around at night with his cat ...” said Dumbledore.

“It wasn’t him ... unless he has red eyes,” said Martin, remembering how Corinna had described them. She had got a better look at the creature than him.

“Red eyes? Are you certain?” asked Dumbledore quickly.

“Quite,” Martin answered. “Can you tell me what I saw, father?” he asked.

Dumbledore looked away for a moment, seemingly lost in thought, before he told Martin, “I don’t believe I can.”

Martin could tell than he was holding something back. The look in his brilliant blue eyes said so, but he chose not to question him and held his tongue.

“Then I guess I should go to class now. I have Herbology soon, and I have to find my way to the greenhouses,” he said, rising from the couch.

The professor stood as well and seemed to regard him with a concerned, assessing gaze before taking him by the shoulder and pulling him into a loose embrace.

“Son, don’t go wandering around after curfew, at least not for a while, eh?”

“All right ...” he agreed, knowing that something was terribly wrong. His father suddenly seemed quite worried ... and if Albus Dumbledore was worried, then so was Martin.

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