A Little Knowledge

Martin woke up the next morning with a pounding headache, possibly from his sugar consumption the night before. But as he went about his morning routine he remembered that he had a duty to perform. He had to talk with Julian Woodward and thank him for helping his friends and him out during their confrontation with Middleton, who could have got Sissy into serious trouble if he had provoked her any further or if Woodward had not showed up when he did.

As luck would have it, Woodward was brushing his teeth when Martin walked into the bath. He was up early that morning for whatever reason. Martin, on the other hand, always tried to be first out of the showers and down to the common room to meet the girls.

“Good morning,” said Martin.

Woodward mumbled something unintelligible around his toothbrush in response. It didn’t sound particularly heartening.

“The girls wanted me to thank you,” Martin continued.

“How come?” he asked, removing the toothbrush with a hint of annoyance.

“Well, I mean, you stopped Middleton from bullying us,” he tried to explain.

“You’re welcome then,” he replied before reinserting the toothbrush and glaring at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror.

“I was wondering something ...” Martin said hesitantly. Woodward grunted impatiently. “Why’d you do it?” he asked.

“What? You’d rather I didn’t?” he asked after spitting into the basin.

“Not at all!” said Martin quickly. “I was only curious.”

“My father was in the war with yours. Your father saved my father’s life. I figure I wouldn't exist if it weren’t for that. So I guess I’m trying to help my father repay his debt to yours the best I can,” said Woodward sternly. Martin could tell it wasn’t an answer that he wanted to give.

“I didn’t know that,” Martin stammered.

“Why should you?” Woodward shrugged.

“I don’t know very much about the war ...”

“My point exactly,” he answered, reaching for his comb, “but I can hardly blame you for that. My father never liked to talk about it much either. Says it was horrible.”

“I suppose it was. I had ... nightmares about it when I was little,” Martin admitted.

“You don’t say? But I reckon you were there, weren’t you?” he asked, forgetting his morning routine for a moment and looking at Martin with curious gray eyes.

“There?” he asked, puzzled.

“When Grindelwald and his followers came for your father,” said Woodward with a sudden frown.

“I wasn’t quite a year old when the war ended. I don’t remember anything ... except that mum was afraid, and she’s really brave, so that’s saying something,” he explained.

“But didn’t they come to your house?” Julian persisted.

“I ... I don’t know,” said Martin with a frown.

“Looks like I really do know more about what happened back then than you do. I was about the same age, but my father did tell me things when I was old enough to understand and there’s loads of old news articles that I’ve read before,” said Woodward in a slightly haughty tone. “My suggestion for you is to read up and talk to your father because those other blokes in there,” he said, nodding toward the dormitory, “might never let you alone about it.”

“And you?”

“I’m content with what I know,” he answered, going back to combing his hair.

“So was I ... until now,” thought Martin to himself as he headed for the showers.

Martin wished in vain that it were Tuesday, the day when he had lunch with his father in his office and talked with him. There were questions whirling around in his brain that desperately needed answers. He contemplated owling his mum, but he knew that she would never answer those questions. She still thought of him as a baby, which annoyed Martin to no end. He had only two choices: wait until Tuesday or visit his father after classes. Then he remembered that he had Transfigurations with his father that afternoon. That would be the perfect time to suggest that they meet after classes, if his father wasn’t supervising any detentions.

“As my request has been denied regarding a lesson on transfiguring pumpkins into polecats as a special holiday treat, today we will begin our lesson on changing mittens into mice,” Professor Dumbledore announced at the beginning of class.

Olivia scribbled a note for Martin on a scrap bit of parchment: Where does he come up with these ideas?

He quickly and furtively wrote back: I don’t know, but mum’s the same way!

Olivia was quick to stifle a giggle as Dumbledore instructed the students to come and collect a mitten from his desk where well over a dozen mismatched mittens of various sizes and colors were lying in a pile.

“You will all be working in pairs, or in a group, but please collect a mitten each as I would like you to be able to compare your mice,” said the professor.

Martin, Olivia, and Sophia were still working together in a group of three as this seemed to be a very useful arrangement because of their varying skill levels, especially since Martin had got over his anxiety about doing magic in front of his father.

“I think this used to be mine,” said Martin thoughtfully as he held up a red and gold mitten that appeared to have no match, like the rest of the articles.

“Your parents definitely wanted you to be a Gryffindor,” commented Olivia, choosing a larger green mitten.

Martin just shrugged and said, “It’s not as if I dislike the colors, you know.”

About half an hour later they were looking at three mice: a very fuzzy red one that belonged to Martin, a fat green-tinted one belonging to Olivia, and a brown-and-white mottled mouse that was Sophia’s. None of them were very lively, but Sophia’s would squeak from time to time.

Of course, there was also Sissy and Corinna’s mice, which varied more sharply as Sissy’s mouse was more mitten-like than any of the others while Corinna’s had tried to escape, scooting under desks and scrambling across the floor. Once it had been recaptured with the help of a couple of the Gryffindors, this earned her five points from Professor Dumbledore.

After the mittens had all been changed back and returned to the professor’s desk, a few of them, oddly enough, still squeaking, Dumbledore dismissed class. Normally Martin left straight away for Defense Against the Dark Arts, but as he had a few moments to spare, he lingered.

“Something I can help you with, Martin?” asked Dumbledore as he located the squeaking mittens and fixed whatever had been done to them.

“I was wondering if you’re busy after classes today,” said Martin.

“I have a brief staff meeting just after my next class, but after that I am free until dinner,” said the professor.

“Can I drop by your office then? I have something I want to ask you.”

“Of course. You are welcome there at any time,” said Dumbledore, wondering what could be on his son’s mind.

“Thank you,” Martin nodded before starting off to class.

Martin wasn’t sure how long his father’s meeting would last, so he spent about half an hour after defense class working on an essay in the library with Olivia and Sophia, who were researching information for a potions’ assignment. Then he excused himself, assuring them that he would meet them for dinner, and went to his father’s office. The door was open again, and Martin could hear the clink of tea things being set up, which made him smile despite the seriousness of the conversation he was about to have.

“I thought we could use something to drink, and the house elves have informed me that you enjoy their cookies very much,” said Professor Dumbledore as Martin walked into the office, closing the door behind him.

“I do,” said Martin, wondering if he should explain about the birthday party.

Gesturing to a seat at the table by the window, Dumbledore said, “As do I and as did your mother during her time here.”

His mother had been one of his father’s best students just before the Grindelwald conflict had become a serious problem. She very seldom came back to the school to visit, but Martin had been hearing stories of her school years as far back as he could remember.

Martin took a seat and helped himself to a cinnamon salamander. He glanced at the overcast sky outside and sighed. Corinna hated practicing in dreary weather.

“There was something you wished to talk about?” Dumbledore prompted him.

“Yes,” said Martin, suddenly feeling rather uncertain. “It’s about the war ...”

“Are your year mates still asking questions?” he asked with a frown.

“Not especially, but one of them says you saved his father’s life during the war. He ... he helps keep the other boys from bothering me,” Martin explained awkwardly.

“And his name would be?”

“Julian Woodward,” Martin replied.

Dumbledore furrowed his brow for a moment before saying, “I suppose he must be Kenneth Woodward’s son then.”

“Who’s he?”

“He was an Auror, a fully qualified one, who helped deal with Grindelwald’s supporters in England and abroad. We worked together on a few assignments,” answered Dumbledore.

“And you saved his life?” asked Martin.

“In a manner of speaking. During a raid on a meeting of Grindelwald’s followers, a killing curse was cast at Kenneth. I ... moved him out of the way. His leg was broken in two places, but he did survive,” said Dumbledore. “There was so little time ... and the Banishing spell I used was too strong,” he added.

Martin shuddered slightly. He never liked thinking about the war and how dangerous it was for his father, and apparently for the parents of his friends and classmates as well.

“Was that earlier on in the war then?” he asked a bit timidly.

“About two and a half years before the end of it, actually,” said Dumbledore. “No one was aware that Grindelwald had operatives and active followers in England for a long time. He had a strong foothold before we were the wiser.”

Martin nodded. He understood that part rather well. His parents had often talked about the former followers of Grindelwald when they thought he wasn’t listening. Most of them, if he remembered correctly, had been from pureblooded, Slytherin families. And more than a few were in Azkaban now.

“Is that all you wanted to know?” asked Professor Dumbledore.

Martin shifted in his seat and looked out the window with a frown.

“Woodward told me something that’s been bothering me,” he admitted.

“Go on,” said Dumbledore, leaning forward in his seat.

“He said that Grindelwald came for you, that he came to our house with his followers. I wanted to know if that was true,” said Martin solemnly.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows and said, “Yes, in a manner of speaking.”

“Seems like it would either be true or not true,” muttered Martin darkly.

“He did send his followers to come looking for me, just days after I became the head of the Anti-Grindelwald Taskforce, and some of those followers searched the house ...”

“Then it is true,” said Martin, interrupting.

Dumbledore rubbed his eyes under his spectacles. His wife would have a fit if she knew that he was telling Martin such things.

“He would never have found you or your mother. None of them would have. I had put a Fidelius Charm on the two of you, with the assistance of Professor Flitwick, so they could have passed within two inches of either of you and never realized. You were never in any danger,” he explained, “but, yes, they did come looking for me, for all of us really.”

“Where were you? Was this when you dueled with him?” asked Martin, taking in the information slowly. It felt like a fog was settling over his brain.

“I was in France, but I came back straight away. I didn’t duel with him until a month later when we found his headquarters,” he answered. He considered adding, “And by that time, I was ready to take his head off with my bare hands.” But he did not wish to frighten Martin, who already looked a bit peaky.

“Woodward knows a lot more about the war than I do,” said Martin, shaking his head.

“As well he should. Kenneth was in Intelligence, you know,” chuckled Dumbledore before taking out his pocket watch. “Are you looking forward to the feast tonight?” he asked.

“Yes, very much,” said Martin, managing a smile.

“Then you should perhaps return to your dormitory and get ready for it.”

“Of course. Thanks for everything, father,” he said, leaving his seat.

“You are quite welcome.”

The Great Hall was festively decorated that evening when the five young Ravenclaws went to dinner. Martin couldn’t help but grin as he looked up at the ornately carved jackolanterns that lit the hall with a cheerful sort of orange light. It was wonderful. The ghosts seemed to be in especially good spirits. He overheard Sir Nicholas, the Gryffindor house ghost, talking in a very animated fashion about his Death Day, which seemed to be today. The Grey Lady, his own house ghost, was listening with apparent interest.

“Yes, four hundred and sixty-five years,” said Nicholas, shaking his head, which seemed to on the verge of sliding off his neck.

“I think last year was better,” commented Olivia as they passed by the ghosts, “what with the thunder and lightning and all.”

“No thanks!” said Corinna. The team had been let out of practice early because of the celebration.

They took their seats at the house table, waiting for the rest of the students to arrive before the feast would begin.

Martin looked up again and shivered slightly as a flock of live black bats flew across the enchanted ceiling overhead. It was rather spooky and reminded him of the vampire. He glanced and Sissy and Corinna, who had also seen the vampire in bat form, and noted that their expressions had turned slightly grim as well. There had been no word on the vampire in several weeks, but he imagined that it might due to feed again soon.

“Try not to think about it,” counseled Sophia, noting the distress of her companions.

“It isn’t easy,” said Sissy, voicing the thoughts of the other two as she spoke.

“I’ll never look at a bat the same way again,” said Martin very seriously.

“Do you suppose they can all do that? Turn into bats, I mean. Do you think Zabini could manage it?” asked Corinna.

They all glanced furtively toward the Slytherin table where Andrea Zabini was seated with his house mates. They no longer appeared to be so cold toward him. He was smiling a little, but even from that distance, his dark red eyes still seemed sad. And none of them wanted to think about what was in his goblet. It certainly wasn’t pumpkin juice.

“I don’t know ... Animagus training would still be required, wouldn’t it?” asked Martin.

“Maybe it comes naturally to them,” said Sissy.

“You think?” asked Sophia, not liking that idea at all.

“Must we talk about this tonight?” asked Olivia.

“Hardly appropriate conversation for Halloween, is it?” asked Sissy with a trace of sarcasm in her voice.

“Very funny,” said Olivia, rolling her eyes.

“But seriously, Martin, have you heard anything about the vampire from your father? Is anyone still searching for it?” asked Sophia.

“No, he hasn’t told me anything,” Martin answered honestly.

“Then chances are nothing is being done,” said Sissy.

“Maybe it’s gone. I mean, after all that happened ... I’m sure being chased through the forest wasn’t part of its plan,” said Corinna feebly. She had the rather ominous feeling that it was still lurking out there somewhere, waiting and biding its time before returning to the castle.

“True,” Sophia acknowledged quickly.

“It will need to feed again before the end of the term, so we shall see, I suppose,” said Sissy in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Ugh! Must we discuss that before dinner!” objected Olivia, who found the notion disgusting and only naturally a bit frightening as well.

Sissy looked at her coolly and replied, “I wasn’t the one who opened the topic to discussion.”

By this time the Great Hall had filled with students and their professor had taken seats at the high table. The buzz of conversation made Corinna smile for a moment. It was nice, she decided, to have one night of camaraderie when the Gryffindors weren’t actively sniping at the Slytherins, or vice versa, and when her fellow Ravenclaws weren’t bothering the Hufflepuffs over their low marks and so forth. For some reason that nonsense was kept to a minimum at the Halloween feast, and Corinna didn’t mind its absence at all.

Before the feast began, as per custom, Armando Dippet stood and addressed the student body, usually with a few light-hearted words about watching their consumption of sweets and other treats and how much he had enjoyed the term so far. Corinna had a sudden, terrible feeling as the aging professor rose from his chair to say a few words that it would be the last time he would do so as headmaster of Hogwarts.

“May I have your attention,” he began, raising his voice and smiling at the students. This was how he almost always started a speech to them.

The students gradually grew quieter and turned their attention to the high table. Corinna felt a twinge of sadness as she watched Dippet beam down at them, especially the Ravenclaw table. His house ties had remained strong throughout the years. But there was a certain brightness in his eyes as he surveyed them for perhaps a moment too long. He seemed strangely wistful. And it tied Corinna’s stomach into knots.

“He is going to leave us,” she thought.

“I have noticed the house elves baking cookies in record numbers this evening,” Dippet began, only to be greeted by more than a smattering of applause from the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, which was only naturally followed by slightly derisive laughter from the Slytherins. They simply could not help themselves.

“I caution you to avoid over indulgence,” he said with a smile, “although certainly no one will say anything if you stuff your pockets.” There was more laughter from all the tables.

“As this has been an especially difficult term so far, I hope that all of enjoy yourselves as much as possible this evening to make up for the stricter curfews, which I must remind you are still in place. I know this has been less than ideal for many of you, and truly appreciate the cooperation that has been given to the prefecture. Let the feast begin!”

The plates filled with food throughout the hall, earning a cheer from the majority of the students, except the Slytherins, who only cheered at Quidditch games or when they won the House Cup.

“Is something the matter, Corinna?” asked Sissy, who was the first to notice that the other girl was staring at her plate and not eating.

“We’re going to have a new headmaster soon,” she whispered.

“Go on with you!” laughed Olivia, giving her a prod in the ribs.

But they all knew by the look on her face that Corinna was serious, and it troubled them for a long time even as they tried to enjoy the feast.

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