A Little Knowledge

Martin made his way down to the Entrance Hall the next morning around a quarter after seven. He was still yawning when he spotted his father and Uncle Alastor seated at the bottom of the stairs that led in the direction of the hospital wing. They were talking quietly and each had a cup of steaming breakfast tea.

Dumbledore smiled when he noticed his son, who was wearing school robes despite the fact they were not required during the holidays. Martin obviously wanted to look nice when he saw his mother again.

Martin smoothed his robes and gave his father a lop-sided smile as he said, “Good morning.”

Alastor moved over a bit to make room on the stairs for the young wizard. “Did you sleep at all last night, lad?” asked Alastor as he looked Martin over.

“Er, some, but I didn’t leave the tower,” he replied.

Resisting the urge to tousle his hair, Alastor said, “I thought as much.”

“Your mum is going to want to know all about your adventures this term,” said Professor Dumbledore with a twinkle in his eyes. “I don’t think she will necessarily be pleased about all of them,” he added.

Martin colored a little and asked, “When is she arriving?”

“Her portkey to Hogsmeade was set for five minutes after seven, but as she is walking up from the village, I don’t expect her for another ten minutes or so,” said Dumbledore, taking out his odd pocket watch and examining it for a moment.

Martin peered at the timepiece, but said nothing.

“You know, if she happened to bring her broom ...” commented Alastor with a mischievous look.

Martin seemed very interested in this comment as his mum was an excellent and accomplished flyer and had been on the Gryffindor Quidditch team in school. She had, not surprisingly, been a Beater. If she had brought her broom for the holidays, then they could go out flying together. Martin would only need to borrow a school broom, which would keep pace nicely with her broomstick, a Moontrimmer that was in vintage condition. They might even be able to play a friendly game of Quidditch, or a close approximation thereof, with his father and uncle.

Just then the front doors opened, proving Alastor correct as it had not taken Martin’s mum very long to reach the castle on her broom.

Martin sprang from the steps with a soft laugh and rushed toward the doors, through which streamed the watery light of early morning.

He smiled as his mum stepped into the hall and set down her broom and the bag she always carried when she traveled. She brushed the snow from her tartan robes, which she wore for many occasions when not in the uniform of an Auror, and from her loose dark hair that cascaded in soft curls down her back. When in the field she normally wore it up and out of her way, but as she was not there at present, she was free to wear her hair and clothes as she wished. In neat contrast to Moody, she was considered rather by-the-book by some of her colleagues, though no less well-respected for it.

As she finished collecting herself, her dark eyes fell on Martin and she smiled and held out her arms for him. He dashed to her and gave her a hug.

“Martin! I’ve missed you so much,” she laughed quietly before holding him at arm’s length to get a good look at him.

“Me too, mum,” he admitted with a lop-sided grin.

“And look at you! I do believe you’ve grown an inch or so,” she observed, “which is quite surprising considering all of the frightful things that have happened to you this term.”

“I always thought that only Gryffindors had adventures and stuff,” said Martin, blushing just a little bit.

“So did I,” she said with a wry look. “But ... you’ve done well, I suppose, that letter about coming home aside.”

“Sorry about that,” he said.

“Nonsense, Martin,” she scoffed, putting an arm around his shoulder, “I’m sorry you’ve had such trouble this year. I hope those boys are leaving you alone now.”

“They are, mum,” he assured her, “and I’ve got lots of other friends.” Martin smiled as he thought of the girls.

“Minerva, my dear, you are going to smother the poor boy,” said her husband with a bemused expression.

She looked up sharply and was about to say something, but frowned instead and let go of her son to approach Dumbledore.

“You look different,” she told him with a puzzled expression.

Martin quickly hid a smile behind his hand.

“Better or worse?” asked Professor Dumbledore.

“Your nose!” she shouted, just realizing the change. “What ever happened to your nose, Albus?” asked Minerva.

Behind him Alastor raised his eyebrows curiously. He wanted to hear the story just as much as his former partner did.

“I’m afraid it was broken with the butt of a centaur’s spear during a very much unplanned gallivant through the forest. But you have my word that it won’t happen again,” said Dumbledore, touching his very crooked nose rather apologetically. There was still a twinkle of amusement in his bright blue eyes.

Minerva just stared at him, rather menacingly actually, for a moment before holding out her arms to her husband, who caught her up in a very warm embrace.

“I’ve missed you, my dear,” he said quietly.

Martin and Alastor exchanged grins, although Martin’s was tinged with a slight blush.

“By Merlin, McGonagall, you’ve turned into a puddle of mush since I was out in the field with you ... and to think that wasn’t but a month or so ago,” said Alastor as the very happily married couple parted.

Minerva pursed her lips and replied, “And you’re still here. Haven’t managed to catch that horror yet?” She seemed rather serious.

Alastor shuffled his feet a bit and retorted, “No, but it hasn’t bit anyone on my watch either, now has it? I’ll handle it. You can bet on that.”

Of course Martin was accustomed to his mother and uncle making such remarks to one another, usually about the topic of work as their styles in that area differed greatly. The banter might have seemed hostile to strangers who didn’t know Moody and McGonagall, but Martin, not to mention Albus, knew better.

“Well, maybe now that there are two fully trained Aurors here ...” she began.

“But, mum! It’s the holidays!” objected Martin. “You can’t going chasing the vampire with Uncle Alastor!”

“He’s right, you know,” said the headmaster. “You do have other matters to attend to at present.”

Alastor couldn’t help looking a bit smug at that pronouncement.

“That’s right. I did agree to your little plan,” sighed McGonagall as she rubbed her forehead, “but I don’t intend for this to become anything more than just temporary.” She gave her husband a very serious look.

“Yes, dear, just temporary,” he agreed with a smile.

“Er, what’s going on?” asked Martin in confusion.

“I’m going to be teaching Transfigurations until you father can find a suitable replacement,” she answered as her serious look melted away into a smile again.

Martin gaped for a moment, causing her to laugh quietly.

“You can’t!” he sputtered as soon as he could manage it. “You don’t know what it’s like to have a parent who’s a professor ... and ... and now the headmaster of the whole school! If ... if both of you are here ... What am I supposed to ... How can I ...?” he stammered, backing away from both his parents with a look of undisguised alarm and horror on his face.

It felt as though his entire world was dissolving around him. Much of the term had been required for Martin to learn to deal with having his father as a professor, including no small amount of tutoring in Transfigurations by the girls. Then he had learned that Professor Dippet might be retiring, which would make his father headmaster. That had all come to pass, and it had made Martin a nervous wreck for days. He was still certain that the other students, what few were left, were pointing, staring, and talking about him mostly behind his back. It was only going to get worse when the rest of the school came back from the holidays. Now, on top of that, his mother was going to teach them Transfigurations? This was a nightmare! He would never get any peace! And what would the girls think? He tried pinching himself as he stared at them, but nothing happened.

“Martin, you’re being foolish,” said his mother with a comforting smile. “No one will even notice,” she added.

“Of ... of course they will,” he stammered, still backing slowly away, “and everyone will tease me about having my whole family here. What’s next? Uncle Merrick teaching an additional Charms class?”

“Well, if anyone teases you, Martin, then you can just tell me ...” Minerva began to tell him in a placating tone.

“No, mum, it doesn’t work that way,” he tried to explain as tears came to his eyes.

He had been looking forward to seeing her so badly, but now, Martin was sorry that she had even come. Why did his father have to choose her to fill in for him? Why couldn’t someone else have taken over the class? He just didn’t understand.

Wiping his eyes on his sleeve, Martin turned and fled down the corridor before anything else could be said.

Minerva looked at Albus and said, “I don’t understand. I thought he would be happy. We could be like a more conventional family again. We could all be together. What’s the matter with him, Albus?”

“He’s young, Minerva, and under enormous pressure both to fit in and to prove himself. It hasn’t been easy for him, especially ... well, especially having me as a parent and a professor. You’ve received letters from him. You should have some idea ...” said Dumbledore patiently.

Minerva considered this for a moment and nodded. “I see what you mean. Do you think it will be terribly difficult for him?” she asked.

“Martin deals with difficulty very well,” he responded placidly, “but I don’t think it will be so hard. It’s not as though we’re about to announce to the whole school that we’re married, is it?”

“Well, I suppose not,” she said grudgingly.

“His friends would want to know, of course,” said Alastor, who had observed the incident with some displeasure. In his opinion the news should have been broken more gently to Martin, given the state of things and how the term had started for him.

“Of course,” Minerva agreed, very much wanting to meet these friends, of whom Martin had spoken so highly in his letters.

“He will adjust, Minerva,” said Dumbledore emphatically as he put an arm around his young wife. “You know how resilient our Martin is.”

She chuckled wryly and said, “After this year, he ought to be as tough as nails.”

“Let me help you with your things. I’m afraid you will be ‘officially’ staying in my old quarters in Gryffindor Tower,” said Dumbledore after a pause during which Alastor, rolling his eyes at both of them, made good his escape, intending to go after Martin.

“Why?” asked Minerva suspiciously.

“You did agree to take over as head of house,” he said.

“I did no such thing!” she objected quite strenuously.

Martin ran until he realized that he didn’t have anywhere to run to. Then he stopped and leaned against the nearest wall, resting his head against the cool stone and trying to catch his breath. He was still panting when he heard the sound of loud, quick footsteps behind him. Martin looked over his shoulder to see an irritated Professor Krohn, who had a handful of parchments.
“Well? Did you win the race?” the professor asked shortly.

“Race, sir?” Martin asked, realizing that he was probably in some sort of trouble.

“I assumed when I saw you run by that there was some sort of indoor race going on. I see now that that is not the case as you would appear to be its only participant. Please, explain yourself, Mister Dumbledore,” said Krohn with a raised eyebrow. Something about his tone and expression oddly reminded Martin of Sissy.

“I would rather not, sir, if you don’t mind,” said Martin, turning a bit red. He certainly had no intention of baring his soul to his curmudgeonly, bitter, cynical, and altogether unpleasant potions’ professor.

“Five points from Ravenclaw then?” asked Krohn.

Martin thought hard about this. His house was just behind Gryffindor ... They had a definite shot at the cup, especially since Slytherin showed no signs of recovery and Hufflepuff was being ... Hufflepuff. He couldn’t afford to lose house points for Ravenclaw.

“I just found out that my mum is going to teach Transfigurations, sir,” he admitted reluctantly.

Krohn blanched visibly at this and said, “That would explain it then.” He gave Martin a very sour look. “But in the future please refrain from running in the corridors,” he said.

“Of course,” said Martin with a nod, feeling a bit relieved, not to mention ever-so-slightly gratified by Krohn’s reaction.

“Will your mother be staying the entire remainder of the term?” asked Krohn with an unpleasant look.

“I don’t know, professor. Possibly,” he answered with a decidedly uncomfortable shrug.

“And how is it any of your concern, Krohn?” called a rough voice from behind the professor. It was Alastor Moody, who had made obnoxiously good time from the Entrance Hall.

“I will be working with the little spitfire, will I not?” asked Krohn as he turned.

Alastor laughed heartily at this and replied, “I take it you haven’t seen her since she left school. She’s neither little nor a spitfire, not by Aurors’ standards, anyhow. But I take your point. McGonagall’s going to be here ... until there’s a replacement for her. A qualified replacement, mind you.”

Alastor had only learned that morning that Hogwarts had acquired a new professor of Transfigurations, but knowing McGonagall and her skills, he was bound to stand behind her, especially in front of Krohn, whom he still found quite irksome.

“This place is simply crawling with Aurors,” remarked Krohn coldly.

“Sweet Merlin, Reynard, don’t tell me there’s another one on the loose,” said Professor Knowles as he emerged, cane in hand, from a side passage. As he had been an Auror of sorts himself, there was a trace of ironic humor in his tone.

“McGonagall,” said Krohn with a sneer.

“Do I know him?” asked Knowles blankly.

Krohn gave an exasperated sigh and said, “Of course you know her. That’s Dumbledore’s wife.”

“Oh, that former student you’re always ranting about,” nodded Knowles with a look of comprehension, not to mention vague amusement.

“I am not,” objected Krohn, glaring at Alastor, who seemed to find that bit of information indecently amusing.

“So more than one of her professors wanted to ...” Alastor began before realizing Martin was staring at him with a very shocked look on his face. He wisely didn’t finish that statement.

“Moody,” Knowles acknowledged, realizing that he had perhaps said too much in mixed company.

“Yes, and young Dumbledore is here too,” Krohn snapped informatively.

Knowles looked a bit put out and tried to change the subject: “So you say she’s here to teach Transfigurations. Is she any good?”

“Yes,” answered Krohn, Moody, and Martin in nearly perfect unison.

They all looked at one another with awkward expressions, especially Martin who immediately thereafter began studying his shoes -- and wanting to die.

Knowles, after a pause, chuckled at the reply. “She has a fair share of admirers at any rate. Her talents ... in the area of Transfigurations ... must be extraordinary,” he commented, attempting to mask his amusement and failing.

“They are. She is an Animagus, you know,” said Krohn more than a little indifferently. He glanced at Alastor as he spoke.

Knowles did not seem terribly impressed by this and shrugged, “Well, Dumbledore was the first non-Animagus to teach Transfigurations here in ... what? A century?”

Martin shuffled his feet uncomfortably as he watched Alastor glare at Knowles. He knew that look. Alastor was beginning to lose his patience with the two professors.

“Are you two planning to go on about this all morning?” he asked them.

“Not at all, Moody. You can leave at anytime ... and young Dumbledore as well,” said Knowles, clearly unperturbed. He had known Alastor longer than any of them and most probably liked him the least. Even considering how Krohn felt about him, so that was saying something.

“I just came to fetch young Martin for breakfast,” growled Moody, grasping the young wizard by the shoulder. “We were going to have a nice family meal,” he added.

Krohn inhaled sharply as he said that, and Knowles bristled.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked the defense professor.

“Alastor’s like my uncle,” interjected Martin, who, despite his misgivings about having such a meal, would much rather have faced his parents than an argument between the two formidable professors and his uncle. He wasn’t exactly sure who would win such an argument, especially a serious one.

“Well, Moody?” snapped Knowles, ignoring Martin’s comment, which had little bearing on the source of his ire.

Alastor looked at Krohn, who had turned a bit pale and seemed to be very nearly shaking with anger, and said, “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Didn’t you?” spat the potions’ master.

Martin slowly edged away from both his uncle and the professor as he could feel the tension heighten. There was no way that he wanted to be caught in the middle of this.

“Of course not,” said Alastor awkwardly, running his hands through his shaggy hair. “I’m very sorry if you took it the wrong way,” he added perhaps a bit grudgingly.

Martin was quite confused. Then he remembered his uncle telling him that Krohn had lost much of his family, three siblings to be precise, during the Grindelwald conflict ... Suddenly he understood why Alastor’s words had bothered Krohn, and Knowles as well, although he was sure that his uncle had meant nothing by the idle comment. He wasn’t one to taunt someone in such a vicious manner.

“I don’t understand why you’ve come here apparently to do nothing but stir up enmity and cause trouble,” said Knowles.

It was Alastor Moody’s turn to bristle at the charge that he was doing nothing. Moody stepped toward Knowles before Krohn could interfere.

“If you weren’t blind, I’d knock you on your arse, Knowles,” he threatened. “I’ve come here to do a job, and, by Merlin, I mean to do it whether it takes two months or twenty.”

“You want to knock me down?” asked Knowles. “Go ahead and try,” he said, tossing his cane toward Krohn, who just barely managed to catch it.

Martin wasn’t sure who threw the first punch, as neither wizard had gone for his wand, but a few seconds later Alastor was flat on his back on the floor with Knowles leaning over him, holding one of his arms at an awkward angle and keeping the heel of his boot leveraged against his opponent’s side. It looked rather painful by Martin’s estimation.

“Do I have him, Reynard?” asked Knowles, perhaps wrenching Alastor’s arm harder than strictly necessary.

Moody flailed his other arm uselessly and swore.

“Yes, I would say you indeed have him,” answered Krohn with a rather impressed look on his face that clearly indicated that he had been underestimating his colleague’s ability to defend himself.

Martin wanted to intervene, of course, but he was uncertain as to how to go about this, especially since Alastor did not appear to be injured, merely embarrassed and quite uncomfortable. Besides, he imagined that his uncle wouldn’t appreciate it if he shouted something like, ‘Hey! Stop that you big bully!’ at the professor. It was clearly a no-win situation.

Of course, it was only a split second later when a feminine voice down the corridor shouted, “What’s going on down there?”

Professor Knowles immediately released the struggling Auror and stepped back, away from him. Krohn pressed the cane back into his colleague’s hand as the person who had shouted approached. Martin winced when he saw that it was his mother.

“Nothing, Minerva, nothing at all,” said Alastor in a friendly tone as he pulled himself up from the floor. He quickly scowled at Krohn and Knowles before adopting a more amiable expression. It is quite possible that he would rather have died than let Minerva know he had been whipped by a blind man.

She glanced at Martin, who still looked a bit alarmed, and said, “A likely story, I’m sure.”

They were all quiet for a moment, but Martin plucked up his courage and asked, “Er, mum, do you suppose we could have breakfast now?”

She looked at him quizzically and said, “I suppose ... but I’d like to know what happened here first.”

“We were just demonstrating ... defense techniques for the boy,” said Knowles, hoping that Moody would not contradict him. He did not wish to explain the losses of temper, especially his own.

“Exactly,” agreed Alastor quickly. Too quickly by the estimation of his former partner and long time friend.

“Right ...” she said slowly. “Come along, you two,” Minerva told Martin and Alastor. “Good morning, professors,” she said to Knowles and Krohn, the latter of whom favored her with an irked expression. She smiled sweetly in return.

Martin and Alastor followed as she turned and started back down the hall. When they were out of earshot of the other professors, McGonagall primly said, “I hope that teaches you a lesson about brawling with your betters.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Moody muttered, rubbing his sore back.

After having breakfast with his parents and uncle, Martin returned to the Aerie in an odd sort of mood. It had been nice, gathering around a table in his father’s new and much more elegant quarters with his family, but there was a knot in his stomach regarding the knowledge that both his father and mother would now be at the school with him. The common room was almost empty, except for Sissy and Olivia, who were reading by the fire when Martin entered.

He started toward his dormitory, not ready to face the girls, especially Sissy, although he was considering writing a letter to Corinna to see if she knew anything and if she did, he was going to be very displeased about the extreme lack of warning.

“Martin!” called Olivia. “Going to introduce us to your mum?”

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and said, “You’ll be meeting her soon enough.” Then he continued trudging up the stairs without a backward glance. He just wanted to lie down and think for a while.

Olivia and Sissy exchanged puzzled glances.

“That was abrupt,” said Sissy as they heard the dormitory door close.

“I don’t think the family reunion went very well,” commented Olivia. “Do you suppose we should go up there and ...”

“No,” said Sissy very succinctly.

“But he’s upset. Don’t you think?” asked Olivia.

“My point exactly. He will come down when he’s ready to tell us what happened,” said Sissy in a slightly tired voice.

“But ...” said Olivia anxiously.

“You haven’t finished that assignment,” Sissy reminded her, picking up the book she had been reading: The Secrets of Occlumency Revealed by some very obscure seventeenth century wizard. Sissy was enjoying his work and planned to find out if he had written other books.

Olivia groaned and looked at the parchments scattered across the couch, representing the sum total of her work on that defense assignment.

“I’ve got more than a week,” she sighed loudly.

“You’ll feel better when it’s done,” said Sissy.

Olivia grumbled to herself, but followed her advice, picking up her defense text again, but not without glancing toward the stairs to the first year boys’ dormitory.


That evening in a completely different part of Britain, a school owl tapped on the window of a house on a quiet street somewhere in Leicestershire where Corinna Bellew was helping her Muggle mum wash the dishes after supper. The sound at the window startled the elder of the two dishwashers greatly as she had never quite grown accustomed to receiving or sending mail by means of large nocturnal birds. Something about it just unnerved her.

“Oh, Corinna, get that will you?” asked her mother with an anxious look.

“Of course,” she answered with a smile, drying her hands and walking to open the window.

The owl flew inside and perched on the back of a chair while Corinna removed the message tied to its leg. She looked around for something to give it as a reward, but could only find a few stray Muggle sweets lying on the counter. She unwrapped a brightly colored wrapper and offered the sweet to the bird. She had seen Sissy give Zubin wizarding sweets before and decided that it should be all right. Of course, it was better to give an owl anything than to send it away offended. It would surely leave droppings in the drive, if not on the car.

The owl took a look at the sweet in Corinna’s right hand and then the wrapper in her left and quickly made a decision.

It made off with the wrapper, thinking to itself, “Shiny!” Then it flew away.

Corinna shrugged and popped the sweet into her mouth as she noticed the letter was addressed to her.

She felt rather certain that it was from Martin and anything but good news. If it had been good news, Sissy’s owl might have brought it.

“Dear Corinna, my mum arrived today, but not exactly for the hols like I thought. I should have written you when I found out she was coming. But that doesn’t matter anymore as I was wrong. She’s here to teach Transfigurations. Both my parents are now at school with me, and I don’t know for how long. You know, I think I hate this worse than the vampire. And that prat Black. And his friends. I think I just hate it all. You didn’t know this was coming and not tell me, did you? Your very miserable friend, Martin.”

“Poor Martin,” Corinna murmured, wishing she had held the owl for a reply, although she was certain that the bird had been quite mad.

“What’s that, dear?” asked her mother curiously.

“It’s just from my friend Martin. His holidays aren’t going so well,” said Corinna.

“Oh,” said her mother, going back to drying the dishes.

Corinna was more than a little tempted to ask to return to school early.

---