A Little Knowledge

It was just moments before the hospital wing had been cleared of professors. Only Dumbledore remained behind, though it was certainly his intention to join his colleagues in their search for Professor Knowles and, by extension, the vampire who had invaded the castle. Madam Pomfrey had retreated into her office to locate a book on vampire nutrition, for the sake of Andrea Zabini, that was leftover from the days of her predecessor.

Dumbledore, sitting down next to Martin again, beckoned for the girls to come closer.

“This is about me, isn’t it?” asked Corinna, referring to the business that Dumbledore supposedly had with them.

“Yes,” answered the professor, “I wanted you to speak with someone about your gift.”

“It’s not a gift,” said Corinna quickly and fiercely.

Sissy put a hand on her shoulder and said, “He’s right ... It is a gift, Corinna, or it could be if you learn to use it properly.”

The door to the hospital wing opened soundlessly behind them, but Corinna turned as she felt the cool breeze.

She had seen the professor who stood there perhaps three times since she had come to Hogwarts. He was shorter than most of the other professors, and older than any of them, save perhaps Armando Dippet. He was also balding, which was very noticeable as he never wore a hat, unless venturing out of doors in the dead of winter. He was the reclusive sort, according to what she had heard. And when other students talked about him, she listened. He was the professor of Divinations.

“Professor Dumbledore,” he said in greeting, smiling so that both cheeks dimpled.

Dumbledore chuckled and said, “Professor Mallaghan, so formal ...”

“You’ve called me out of bed at an indecent hour of the morning. It must be important,” he said with an Irish accent that had faded through years of living in England, Scotland, and farther abroad.

“I think have found a student who possesses the Inner Eye,” said Dumbledore, raising his eyebrows just slightly.

Mallaghan brightened at this and said, “Oh? Have you now?” He turned his attention to the four girls, all but one of whom were watching him with interest, though they did appear to be rather sleepy too. The one who did not seem interested was doing her best to keep her gaze directed at the floor. “Look up, lass,” instructed Mallaghan in a quiet, but friendly voice.

Corinna did so almost unwillingly.

“Joseph?” questioned Dumbledore.

“Well, it isn’t stamped in bright red letters across her forehead, but I would wager that she has a talent,” said Mallaghan, “but I would want to talk with her a bit to be certain.”

“Miss Bellew, would you care to ...” Dumbledore began to ask.

“No, I’d rather not,” said Corinna very quickly.

Mallaghan chuckled and ambled over to her. His gait was a shuffling one and slow, but he gave the impression of an underlying energy that was almost youthful in nature. He had the proverbial spring in his step.

“That’s all right,” he said to Corinna, “but you may find in time that the talent becomes a burden. You might want to share that burden with someone so that it isn’t so heavy.” His gray eyes held a soft, understanding expression in them.

Corinna swallowed hard as his words struck a nerve. The so-called talent was already a burden. Would become worse as she grew older? Could it really?

“I meant ... not tonight. I’m very tired, sir,” she amended.

“Of course you are. I’ve heard that there has been a bit o’ excitement tonight that hasn’t been rivaled in ... in nearly a dozen years,” said Mallaghan, shifting his gaze toward the bed where Martin was sleeping and then to the one that contained a heavily sedated vampire. “‘Tis a shame,” he said in a low voice.

“That it is,” agreed Dumbledore with a slow nod.

“Are you busy tomorrow afternoon, lass?” Joseph questioned.

Corinna shuffled her feet and said, “I have some studying to do and an essay to write and a bit of reading ...”

“I’ll only need you for an hour or so,” he assured her.

She couldn’t think of a good excuse, and Olivia gave her an encouraging nudge. She shot her a glare that Mallaghan could not miss.

“All right ...” she said reluctantly.

For a moment she wondered why they simply didn’t force her to go. It was well within their power. Then she realized that neither Dumbledore nor Mallaghan worked in that fashion.

“Three o’clock sharp in my office then. It’s in the North Tower, near the top. You shouldn’t have any trouble finding it,” he said with a reassuring smile. “Now I’m going back to bed before Armando and those wee ones out there raise a fuss,” he said to Dumbledore.

“Of course, Joseph. Any words of wisdom before you go?” asked Dumbledore curiously. He was quite serious as he had learned that one could often cajole useful information and other things out of Mallaghan in just that manner.

Joseph paused and said, “That wife of yours ... never mind, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, as did Sissy and Sophia, who were a bit scandalized by his tone. He walked to the door and turned again. “You’re all such sweet children,” he said before ambling off down the hall.

Dumbledore had the uncomfortable notion that he was included in that statement.

“I’ll escort you all to your tower,” he said, leaving his son’s bed side.

The girls all looked at Martin and then at him. Sissy was the only one brave enough, or impertinent enough, to say something.

“Perhaps you ought to stay here, professor. When he wakes up ... Martin shouldn’t be alone.”

“I’m glad he has friends like all of you, but the spell won’t wear off naturally for quite some time now,” he said with a smile. “And I imagine all of you could use some sleep tonight,” Dumbledore added.

Of course he wanted to stay there with Martin. He wanted to owl his wife too, just in case there was something in The Daily Prophet the next day. He didn’t fancy a Howler from the woman. The very idea was enough to give him chills. But there were things to be done. Duties to be performed. All of that. As he observed the young witches give his son sympathetic glances, he wished that he could just be a family man for the night and not the deputy headmaster.

“Come along,” he said to the girls as they left the hospital wing. He would return to his son well before dawn.

Dumbledore left the girls at the portrait hole where Gentleman in his Study was asleep at the writing desk with his head resting on his arms and a copy of a book of poetry at his elbow. They waited until the professor had gone to wake the portrait.

“Sir?” said Sophia quietly.

“Hmm?” asked the Gentleman, raising his head and looking at them. “Great Scot! Ladies, what ever are you doing out of the tower at this time of night?” he questioned, sitting up and smoothing his hair. He had not noticed them on their way out earlier.

“That’s rather complicated,” said Olivia, who was still feeling guilty about the whole affair.

“In that case, I don’t think I should know about it. Complicated things are seldom half so scandalous they appear. Password?” he asked with a pointed and disapproving look.

“Alexandria,” said Sissy shortly.

“Very good,” he said as he allowed them into the common room.

They trudged up to their dormitory without another word. The excitement of the night had faded, leaving them exhausted and anxious. So much had happened that they had not expected. Martin ... Zabini ... The search that was going on out in the Forbidden Forest in the dead of night ... Sissy peered out the window for a moment as she thought about it. She could see flashes in the darkness outside as their window faced part of the forest. Sparks went up: signals.

“What is it?” asked Sophia, noticing Sissy looking out of the window.

“The search party ... I hope they find that thing and destroy it,” she said in an even voice. “Then we would be safe again,” she added more quietly.

“Maybe they will,” said Sophia, glancing at Corinna who was already climbing into bed.

“I don’t know,” she said flatly.

Olivia glanced out the window as red sparks flashed high above the trees, almost like muggle fireworks.

Sissy turned to her and said, “This really isn’t all your fault, you know. If you hadn’t been out, there would have still been the prefects. Zabini would still have been bitten. And we wouldn’t know about any of it.”

That was as close to an apology as she would get out of Sissy Howard, and Olivia knew it. But she didn’t feel as though she deserved it.

“Thanks,” she murmured as Sissy pulled the curtains.

“To bed,” she instructed Sophia and Olivia.

“As if we’ll be able to sleep,” said Corinna in a morose mutter.

Sophia nodded in silent agreement as she put out the light and slipped into bed. After all of that ... it was going to be a long night, what remained out it. She could still see the flickering lights outside through the curtains. But at least they were safe now, even Martin in the hospital wing.



The sky overhead was changing from black to gray when Armando Dippet sent Professor Dumbledore back to the castle to be with his son. The aging headmaster’s great-great grandson had graduated just four years earlier, so he understood family matters all too well. The faculty’s search for Professor Knowles was not going very well. But the forest was quite large, dense, and dangerous. Caution was necessary, and that slowed their efforts nearly as much as the darkness itself. Dumbledore was filled with doubt as he walked across the misty grounds to the castle. What had his young colleague and former student been thinking?

“That he would be a hero if he apprehended the vampire,” said the professor out loud as he let himself into the school. “And to think, he doubted its very existence just a month ago,” he added silently as he stepped into the Entrance Hall.

Beatrice Vector and young Agatha Sprout were waiting just inside, each clutching a cup of hot breakfast tea. Dippet had insisted that they could not join the search as neither were especially good at that sort of work -- chasing vampires and running around the Forbidden Forest. Both had objected quite strenuously, and Beatrice had nearly called the headmaster a misogynist, but had held her tongue. So instead of returning to their chambers, they had stubbornly remained awake, awaiting the results of the other professors’ long night’s work.

“Albus, have they ...” Vector began to ask with a concerned expression.

“Not yet,” he replied. “I’ve only come back because of Martin,” he added by way of explanation.

“Of course,” said Beatrice with an understanding look. She had been Dumbledore’s student only a few years before the Grindelwald conflict. “I would suggest sending your wife an owl,” she said.

“Any particular reason?” he asked cautiously.

“There was a reporter here from The Daily Prophet ...” said Vector with a wry look.

“So soon?” Albus interjected in annoyance. Those people ...

“I’m afraid so, but we sent them packing,” said Beatrice.

Glancing at Agatha, he saw her blush and knew that he didn’t dare ask how. He was better off not knowing.

“Very good,” he nodded before walking away in the direction of the hospital wing.

It felt like a dream or more accurately a nightmare. Cold hands pulled at the collar of his robe. He could smell fetid breath, the scent of living decay and unwholesome darkness. Then the darkness overwhelmed him entirely, and he could remember no more for a very long time. Only a sense of floating and deep darkness and cold, like the bottom of a fathomless well. It was a feeling that was slow to leave him.

Martin shivered involuntarily as he began to wake up. Something warm touched his hand, wrapping it securely in comforting warmth and pressure. He slowly opened his eyes, but closed them again against the bleary brightness. The feeling that something terrible had happened to him nearly overwhelmed him and made his heart pound thunderously in his ears. But he couldn’t remember exactly what ...

He tried opening his eyes again and found the light not so unbearable as before.

“Martin?” questioned a familiar voice from his right. The pressure on his hand increased.

“Father?” he mumbled, stifling a yawn.

“Awake at last,” chuckled Dumbledore, squeezing his son’s hand again.

“What happened?” asked Martin, sitting up in bed and blinking at Dumbledore with a confused expression.

He still felt rather out of sorts. He realized that he was in the hospital wing and that all of the windows were covered by heavy drapes.

“You don’t remember?” his father questioned.

Martin flushed slightly as he remembered leaving Ravenclaw tower after curfew. The girls left him standing in a little nook near the stairs to keep watch. He had hated that. He had left the half-hidden alcove almost as soon as they were gone, debating whether or not to follow them. Then he had heard the flapping of wings coming from one of the corridors. He turned just in time to see a very large, black bat change into a ... vampire.

“I ... remember,” he said, closing his eyes as it all came back to him.

He had clumsily gone for his wand, but so had the vampire, who had been a wizard before the change and still quite capable of using a wand. The vampire was far quicker than the terrified first year. Martin could recall hearing a short incantation, one word or possibly two. Then sleep rolled over him like a great dark tide, but before it robbed him of his senses, he was aware of cold, icy fingers slipping beneath the collar of his robe and breath upon his face. The scent of death and the grave had filled his nostrils, almost choking him as he lost consciousness

Martin’s stomach roiled as he looked up at his father. He could not speak.

“Son?” asked Dumbledore worriedly as he felt Martin’s hand tremble.

“The vampire ...” he said in a whisper.

“Don’t worry. It has left the castle,” Dumbledore assured him, choosing his words carefully. He did not wish to mislead him nor give him further cause for alarm or distress. He wanted to tell Martin the truth or at least as much of it as he needed to know.

Martin nodded silently. Dumbledore knew he was still frightened and could hardly blame him for that. He knew wizards of his own generation who were still reduced to gibbering heaps when confronted with the terror of a vampire. Martin was handling the experience rather well, all things considered.

“It’s all right,” Dumbledore told him quietly, pulling his son into a hug. “You’re safe now,” he added in a comforting tone. He rubbed Martin’s back in slow, methodical circles to calm him.

For a moment Dumbledore thought about his son’s childhood nightmares that he had always known were brought about by being born into the last days of Grindelwald’s terrible regime. Even those months of infancy had left a mark of fear upon the boy. He wished that he could have spared his son that, and this.

“And my friends? What about them?” Martin asked as he rested his head against his father’s shoulder.

“They weren’t harmed, but I imagine they won’t be too eager to leave the dormitories after hours in the near future,” he replied with a soft, comforting laugh.

Martin closed his eyes and let a feeling of relief wash over him. His friends were safe. That thought alone helped to brush away the terror of his encounter with the vampire. But nothing could wholly alleviate it.

“We’re in so much trouble, aren’t we?” he asked, slowly and reluctantly pulling away from his father and looking up at him with a very solemn expression in his small, light brown eyes.

“I wouldn’t worry about that just now, but I imagine that later your head of house will have words with you and your friends,” said Dumbledore.

“I understand,” nodded Martin. His expression was no longer anxious, only resigned.

“Of course, I happen to think that points for bravery might be well deserved too, but ...”

“We’re only Ravenclaws,” said Martin succinctly.

“That wasn’t what I was going to say,” said Dumbledore, peering over his spectacles. “I was only going to say that it might encourage other students to roam the halls at night if points were given. I’m not sure if the headmaster would approve of that, regardless of the results.”

“And you?”

“I would give points to all five of you if it were solely at my discretion. From the story your friends told me, I believe I have reason to be impressed. Not many of your fellow students would have gone knowingly into such hazard, even for one of their friends, and I doubt many other second years could have driven away a vampire as Miss Howard did,” said Dumbledore.

Martin’s eyes widened as he asked in awe, “Sissy drove the vampire away?”

“Yes,” Dumbledore nodded. “I will want to question her more about it later perhaps as it was quite a feat. I imagine that Professor Knowles will wish to do so as well,” he added. Mentioning the other professor, a look of worry briefly crossed his face.

“Defense is her best subject,” said Martin with a half smile.

“No doubt,” Dumbledore agreed. “And the other girls handled themselves just as well. You have rather remarkable friends.”

Martin blushed a little and mumbled, “Thanks.”

“I suppose I should escort you back to your dormitory now. You can’t stay here all day,” chuckled the professor.

Martin climbed out of bed and stretched, but as he did so, his eyes fell on a figure in another bed. He shivered as he saw the pale skin and ruby red lips: two of the telltale marks of a vampire.

“Who’s that?” he asked in a slightly shrill voice that gave away his feelings of dread and anxiety.

“Andrea Zabini,” Dumbledore replied calmly. “He was bitten last night while on rounds. He is one of the seventh year prefects for Slytherin house.”

“So ... he’s a vampire now?”

“Yes.”

“Is he ... dangerous?” asked Martin.

Dumbledore considered his question for a moment. Was the boy dangerous? Certainly, but he was a nearly fully trained wizard in addition to being a vampire. Was he not, in some sense, dangerous before the transformation? Weren’t they all? But what should he tell Martin?

The chances of Zabini becoming a predator like the vampire who had bitten him were rather high. It was difficult for a vampire to lead a normal life, even a vampire taken from good wizarding stock. But progress had been made in helping them lead such a life, and even in the previous century, it had happened. The professor of astronomy when Dumbledore had begun his teaching career had been a vampire, bitten on a family trip to Romania when he was in his early twenties. Professor Kerswell had been a very genial man with a loving family and a true talent in his field. His life had been difficult, but he had coped and adjusted after the change.

In fact Kerswell had sometimes forgotten that he was a vampire.

Dumbledore winced and rubbed his eyes at that thought. A student had been drowning in the lake in the early summer of 1901. Kerswell had run from the shadowy safety of Hogwarts and onto the grounds to save the student. Five paces into the sunlight and all that remained of him was a pile of ashes and robes. The student was rescued by the flying instructor.

“Father?” prompted Martin.

“Vampires are not always dangerous. They have a choice: to resist the urge to feed on humans or to give in to it. No one can say what choices a person may make, but perhaps Mister Zabini will choose the harder road,” said Dumbledore.

“And if he doesn’t?”

“It is best not to think about it,” said his father as he put a hand on Martin’s shoulder. “Now, I should see you back before I attend to some other business.” he said, meaning the search in forest.

They were half way to the doors when an annoyed voice called out from behind them.

“And just where do you think you’re going with my patient, Professor Dumbledore?” It was, of course, Madam Pomfrey.

“Ah, back to his dormitory?” questioned Dumbledore as he turned. There was something rather unnerving about the way the young mediwitch could halt almost anyone in their tracks, even him at times.

“Not before I have a look at him. Back to your bed, young man,” she said, pursing her lips and pointing.

Martin made his way back to the hospital bed with a sheepish look on his face. His previous brush with Madam Pomfrey, when Sophia had sprained her wrist, made him both like and respect the mediwitch, although he, like his father, found her a bit abrupt and possibly a bit intimidating.

Poppy checked his pulse and waved her wand over him before giving a slight nod.

“You’re just fine, Mister Dumbledore,” she concluded, “but if you should feel dizzy or light-headed, I want to see you back here immediately.”

“Of ... of course,” he stammered nervously.

The sound of movement from the other bed caused Pomfrey and both Dumbledores to turn. Zabini was sitting up in bed. He looked at his pale hands, the nails of which had grown longer and slightly more pointed overnight. The look on his face was one of incredulity.

“It was real. What happened to me ... it was really real,” he said, raising his head and looking toward them.

Martin inhaled sharply when he saw Zabini’s deep red eyes and sharp fangs. He had not expected the eyes to be the same.

“Yes, Mister Zabini, I’m afraid it was,” said Dumbledore.

“How do you feel?” asked Pomfrey, hurrying to his bed side as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

Zabini flinched as he considered the question.

“Hungry,” he replied with a look of consternation. Vampires could not blush.

“That is quite understandable,” said Pomfrey. “I have sent out for something that will fit your dietary needs,” she added quite calmly.

“Thank you,” said Zabini as he noticed the curious look on Martin’s face. “It’s not polite to stare,” he said, fixing him with the steady gaze of a vampire.

“Sorry,” Martin murmured, looking away immediately.

“Afraid?” he asked with a certain sharpness in his voice.

“Should I be?” asked Martin return.

Zabini snorted and his nostrils flared, but he just shook his head. Poppy could tell that the young wizard was still in shock, still trying to understand and accept what had been done to him. All things being equal, he was handling it well.

“Professor Krohn is preparing a room for you in the dungeons,” she said, glancing toward the covered windows.

“And a coffin too, I presume,” he said, clenching his fists.

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips and said, “That will hardly be necessary as light doesn’t reach very many of the dungeon rooms. You’ll sleep in a bed. Same as everyone else here does.”

“May I speak with Professor Krohn? I wish to discuss what will become of me and ... whether he has contacted my family,” said Zabini uncertainly.

Martin frowned slightly. The young wizard sitting on the other bed, swinging his legs as he did so, looked very much the part of a vampire, which seen in the somewhat dim light of the hospital wing had a nobility and grace that was almost captivating. But he was still very much like a mere seventeen-year-old student, hesitant and unsure of himself.

“Professor Krohn spoke with your parents some hours ago, but he has since left the castle,” she informed him. “As for what will happen to you, that will have to wait.”

“Why?” asked Zabini.

Madam Pomfrey glanced at Dumbledore, knowing the he could explain better.

“Professor Knowles followed the vampire from the castle and into the forest ... Many of the faculty, including the headmaster, have followed in pursuit. It may be some time before they return and can discuss your situation,” he said.

Zabini nodded and glanced at Martin, who was looking at him again, and said, “I hope they catch the creature.”

“I just hope they manage to find Professor Knowles,” said Dumbledore, though mostly to himself.

“In the mean time I think you should remain here,” said Poppy.

“Where else have I to go? It’s after sunrise, isn’t it?” he asked.

“True,” she nodded, glancing at Martin and the professor.

“May I return my son to his dormitory now? I imagine you would prefer to discuss Mister Zabini’s condition and so forth more privately,” said Dumbledore.

“Yes, thank you,” she nodded with a vague look of relief.

With that Martin left the hospital bed and followed his father out of the ward, risking only one last backward glance at Zabini, whose shoulders were slumping.

“That could have just as easily been me,” Martin thought.

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