A Little Knowledge

Madam Pomfrey was more than a little surprised when the doors of her hospital wing opened to reveal Professor Knowles and five troublesome young Ravenclaws, three of whom appeared to be crying and one of whom looked more than a little ill. She hurried toward the group with an anxious expression.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Poppy, it isn’t any of us, but Alastor Moody will be brought through those doors in a few moments, minus one of his legs,” said Knowles in a very brusque tone.

The mediwitch inhaled sharply, but quickly recovered her composure. “What about them?” she asked, meaning the students.

“Present at the incident. It was decided that they should be brought here,” said the defense professor shortly.

“Oh, dear,” she whispered, looking at the five students in a new light. “Let me get them Calming Draughts...” said Poppy.

“There isn’t time,” said Knowles bluntly. “Moody is on his way up as we speak, and he has lost a great deal of blood,” he added with a look of mild distaste.

“Professor, not in...” said Pomfrey in a warning tone.

“I don’t care if this is your hospital wing,” snapped Knowles.

“Then keep this lot out of my way,” she said in a crisp voice. “You are in charge of them, professor,” she added to make herself perfectly clear.

The expression of distaste transformed into one of annoyance and disgust. “Oh, very well, madam,” he answered her.

Knowles allowed Sissy to lead him to an out of the way corner of the wing that was not so far from the door as to cause any of them concern. He leaned against a hospital bed, favored Sissy with a polite smile, and removed her hand from his arm. She murmured an equally polite thank-you and went to join her friends who had chosen to stand a bit farther away.

Sophia and Olivia were still trying to comfort Martin, though his tears had mostly dried during their walk. He still seemed pale, and his eyes were empty and clouded, gazing only toward the open doors. Corinna was standing against the nearest wall with her head bowed. Her face was mostly concealed by her messy hair, but Sissy believed that she continued to look sick and just as pallid as Martin.

“Corinna, did you know that this was going to happen?” asked Sissy in a quiet voice.

The other girl raised her head just slightly and said, “I ... I thought that ... maybe it wouldn’t ... since Martin’s uncle wasn’t in his rooms. I thought Professor Dumbledore or someone else would get there first.”

“Immaterial,” said Sissy. “Did you know that Moody might get hurt like that?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Then you should have told him, or at least told all of us,” said Sissy.

Corinna looked up at her with a bleak expression and said, “I thought I had more time. I didn’t want to do anything to make it worse for him.”

“Stop badgering her,” said Olivia hotly. “You told her not ... not to shift the responsibility, remember?”

Martin stirred, and they all fell silent. Sissy held back whatever answer she was going to make to Olivia and eyed him coolly. Corinna seemed to be bracing for an impact. But the sound of hurried footsteps in the corridor and arguing voices stopped him from speaking, which was probably for the better.

Their heads all turned immediately toward the entrance of the hospital wing. Professors Dumbledore, Flitwick, and Krohn rushed into the wing, still arguing among themselves over something, whether it was concerning the injured Auror or the vampire, the young Ravenclaws could not say. The potions’ master was carrying Moody in his arms, perhaps demonstrating the value of brawn over brains when it came to moving an injured man up and down several, if not half a dozen, staircases, which were being especially troublesome that evening. Krohn looked utterly wretched; Moody appeared to be unconscious.

“Poppy!” bellowed Krohn at the top of his lungs, forgetting the argument.

Dumbledore and Flitwick echoed the call, but the mediwitch was not far away. She had merely gone to collect some much needed medical supplies and potions from her office.

“Put him there,” she ordered as she appeared with her arms full of vials and jars. She gestured as best as she could manage to a bed she had prepared at the back of the ward behind a screen.

The screen moved aside for Dumbledore, who helped Krohn to deposit his burden on the bed, but then it snapped back into place behind Poppy, leaving the students and Knowles without a view of what was happening.

Martin took a step toward the rear of the hospital wing, but Sissy grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Stay put, all of you,” said Professor Knowles quickly, either hearing Martin’s footsteps on the floor or else having very good instincts.

“But ...” Martin began to protest.

“You want Moody to be all right, don’t you?” asked Knowles.

“Yes, of course ...”

“Then stay put and stay quiet. You don’t want to distract Madam Pomfrey,” he said in a very even tone.

Sissy glimpsed a disapproving look flit across Sophia’s face and knew that she thought the professor’s words were too harsh. But Sissy agreed with him. Martin couldn’t help matters by barging into the screened off area where Moody was being treated. He could only wait. That was all any of them could do.

“Yes, sir,” whispered Martin, taking a seat on the nearest hospital bed.

“He’ll be all right. Moody is very tough,” said Knowles as a matter-of-fact. He had said much the same earlier. “You will see,” he added confidently. Knowles was not attempting to comfort the students. He was merely giving them his assessment of the situation.

“Thank you, professor,” said Martin.

“Not at all,” he replied, settling back into a comfortable position again and tapping his cane lightly against his palm. He detested waiting, and though Knowles was loath to admit it, he was quite anxious to know how his former rival had fared.

Professor Krohn and Professor Flitwick were the first to emerge from the screened off area sometime later. Martin held his breath and looked at them hopefully, but they did not acknowledge the students nor their colleague, who was beginning to drowse. Krohn’s black robes were soaked darker with blood, and his hands were stained as well. Flitwick was dabbing at his face with a handkerchief. Both professors seemed grim.

Martin waited until they had nearly reached the door to the hospital wing before springing from the hospital bed and rushing to speak with his head of house.

“Professor Flitwick, how ... how is he?” questioned Martin desperately.

Flitwick paused, but the other professor continued walking without a sideways glance. He could only stare blankly at the carmine stains on his otherwise pale hands as he walked.

“Mister Dumbledore, please, keep your voice down,” he said in a quiet voice.

“Professor?” he asked in a much lower tone.

“You know that he lost a limb ...”

“Yes, I know that, sir,” said Martin, chewing his lower lip and desperately trying not to cry in front of his head of house.

“And a lot of blood,” said Flitwick, looking back toward the enclosed portion of the ward. Martin looked at him with mixed expectation and dread. “Madam Pomfrey says that he will recover ... with much rest, potions, of course, and care,” he said, patting Martin on the arm.

Martin felt a wave of relief wash over him, but despite that, there was still a feeling of lingering sadness and guilt that was like an iron fist clutching at his stomach. That feeling, he was certain, would never go away.

“Do you think I could see him?” Martin asked hesitantly.

“I don’t believe Madam Pomfrey has quite finished. You had better wait,” advised Flitwick sympathetically.

“Alastor wants to see him,” called the headmaster from the other side of the wing.

Martin turned and saw his father standing at the open end of the screen. Dumbledore motioned for him to come.

His heart pounded as he started across the ward at a jog. He wasn’t even aware that the girls had left their alcove to watch him nor that Knowles was not bothering to restrain them, hoping that the quartet would show a bit of common sense.

“Thank you,” said Martin breathlessly as his father stepped aside to let him in to see Alastor.

Madam Pomfrey was setting a small cup aside and smoothing the linens drawn up to Moody’s chin when Martin entered. He waited, although not very patiently, until the mediwitch had moved aside to approach the bed.

“Uncle?” he asked in an uncertain voice, looking down at the gravely injured Auror, whose eyes were closed.

“I’m here, but Poppy’s given me a Sleeping Potion. I imagine it will kick in anytime now,” he said in a quiet, hoarse voice. Moody stirred restlessly beneath the covers.

“Does it ... does it hurt?” stammered Martin, noting how pale Alastor seemed.

“Not so much now,” he replied.

“Good,” said Martin with a slight nod. “I’m sorry ...”

“Oh, Martin, you’ve done nothing to be sorry about. You and those girls did exactly the right thing. You’re safe, and that’s what matters most to me,” he said, opening his eyes and looking at the young wizard at his side.

“But ...” Martin said.

The back of his throat was beginning to prickle, but he didn’t want to cry in front of Alastor nor in front of his father, whom he knew to be standing just behind him.

“I’ll be all right. You’ll see,” said Alastor very reassuringly. “Then I really will get that vampire,” he added with a grim smile.

Martin sniffed and said, “All right.”

He could tell by the way the linens lay just where Alastor’s mangled leg ended. He didn’t think everything, or even anything, would ever be ‘all right’ again. But he didn’t want to disagree with Alastor. He wanted to be strong and brave for once in his life. And he was failing miserably. A tear splashed down his cheek.

“There now, laddie, don’t you be crying,” Moody told him in a soft, warning tone.

“I can’t help it,” said Martin with a barely suppressed sob.

“Come here then,” said Alastor, struggling with the covers a bit before managing to hold out his arms to Martin.

Martin’s reaction was instantaneous. He threw his arms around Alastor, extracting a soft sound from the Auror. Tears leaked from the corners of Martin’s eyes as he squeezed them shut.

“Alastor needs his rest,” Professor Dumbledore said to his son.

“I’m all right, Albus,” said Moody. “You can let him stay...” he added as Martin clung to him more tightly. He simply didn’t have the strength to squeeze back, though he wanted to.

“Please,” asked Martin in a small voice.

“Just until Alastor falls asleep,” Dumbledore relented.

He knew that his son had been through a difficult experience. Seeing what had happened to his uncle after facing the vampire ... that would be with the young wizard for a very long time. He could well understand Martin’s state of mind as he held on so tightly to Alastor. Martin had nearly lost him.

And Dumbledore was also aware of just how close the vampire had come to claiming his son. He had been worried about Martin’s safety for much of the term, but he had believed everything to be under control. But all that it had required for the fiend to come so close to harming his son was one dark and snowy afternoon when neither curfews nor warded dormitories could protect him. The professor was at a loss as to what to do about all of that, but his musings on the matter would have to wait for a bit longer.

Through the shock and horror of what had been done to his wife’s closest friend, Dumbledore was angry too and it was his intention to stop the vampire from entering the castle or harming anyone else again, no matter what the cost. If someone who had seen him on that night so many years ago when Albus Dumbledore went off to fight Grindelwald, they would have recognized the similarity of the expression currently in his eyes to the one his eyes had held then. There was an almost fiery, fierce light of determination in them.

He looked at his son and Alastor for a moment longer and then turned to go. He was going to call a staff meeting to deal with the aftermath of the invasion and devise a plan to prevent another.

For the first time since the crisis had become his to deal with, the headmaster was considering temporarily closing the school.

The girls watched Professor Dumbledore walk out of the hospital wing. Olivia glanced toward Knowles, who had been forgotten in the excitement, and wondered if he would notice if they went to have a quick peek at Martin and his uncle. Just to make sure that everything was all right, of course.

Olivia looked at her friends and nodded toward the screen. Sophia bit her lower lip and nodded in agreement as did Corinna and Sissy.

“Stop right there,” said Knowles after they had taken three or four steps additional toward the other end of the ward.

“But, professor ...” began Olivia.

“I’m sure your friend would appreciate a bit of privacy. Hmm?” he said, tilting his head to one side.

Olivia found the vaguely superior look on his face quite irritating. What did he know about Martin anyway? She was just about to say so when Sissy chose to speak.

“Are you certain we would be intruding?” Sissy questioned with a cool expression. “Martin is our friend after all ...” she began to argue.

“I know something of these matters,” said Knowles shortly. “He is best left alone with his ... uncle for the moment,” he said with a disdainful look that he did not trouble to mask.

Sissy glanced across the hospital wing in time to see Poppy Pomfrey pull the screen closed. Like the rest of the group, Sissy wanted very much to know that Moody was all right and to comfort young Martin, but as always, Knowles’ words carried great weight with her. She hesitated.

“Professor Knowles, what are these students still doing here? I thought they would have been ordered out by now,” said Pomfrey in a strained and vexed voice. She thought that their head of house would have resolved the matter. It had obviously slipped the poor wizard’s mind in the confusion.

“They are waiting for their friend,” he said placidly, but his eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly.

“He’s staying ... probably until curfew,” she said with a parsimonious look.

No one had consulted her about this, though truthfully she wouldn’t have had the heart to toss Martin Dumbledore out either. She also suspected that having him there was good for her patient as well. But still, it would have been nice if someone had asked permission.

“Can we stay too?” asked Olivia quickly.

“No, that’s simply out of the question,” said the mediwitch.

“She’s right, I suppose. You should all go back to your dormitory or to supper or something,” said Knowles, taking up his cane and gesturing toward the door. “Mister Dumbledore will be along soon enough,” he added as Olivia made a sound of disappointment.

Sissy knew that it was a hopeless cause and gave Olivia a stern look to prevent her from arguing the point. Returning to the Aerie was probably in their best interests, and Sissy knew that she wouldn’t be able to eat any supper. She was too unsettled by the events of the afternoon. The other girls looked very much the same: ill at ease, pale, and unhappy. Certainly not in any mood for a meal.

“Let’s go then,” said Sissy.

“You’re taking his side?” asked Olivia in a low and hurt tone that she did not mean for the professor to hear.

“There is no ‘side’ to take, Miss Scarrow. Madam Pomfrey and I are instructing you to leave the hospital wing at this time. That is the end of the matter,” said Knowles.

“Indeed it is,” agreed Pomfrey. It was probably the first time she had agreed with Cyrus Knowles about anything.

Corinna sighed softly, which was the first sign of life she had shown in a while, and said, “Let’s just go, all right?”

Olivia looked at her slumped shoulders and downcast expression and shrugged.

“Sure, fine, of course,” she said, starting for the door.

The rest of the girls followed, but Sissy, a few steps behind glanced back to see Knowles leaving the spot he had claimed for himself.

“May I visit Mister Moody before I go as well, Poppy?” he asked the school’s mediwitch quietly.

Sissy imagined that this was the reason he was so keen on seeing them off; he wanted to check on Alastor himself. She shook her head and followed Sophia out the door as Pomfrey gave her answer.

“Not just yet. Take your own advice, would you, professor?”

Martin was dimly aware of the conversations going on in the main portion of the wing. He dried his eyes as he watched Alastor falling asleep. The potion was taking effect and sending him to sleep, although Alastor seemed to be fighting it. Truthfully, the Auror wanted to stay with Martin until the young wizard got a hold of himself, but he simply didn’t have the energy or the will for it. Martin managed a tremulous smile just as he closed his eyes, and Alastor, despite the pain and lingering shock, felt a bit better for that.

“Good-night, lad,” he mumbled before nodding off.

Martin nodded mutely and pulled the linens up to his uncle’s chin again. He wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his robes and tried very hard not to let any more tears trickle stupidly down his cheeks. Then he remembered the blood in the corridor, the cries of pain, the words of the vampire, and the tears came anew whether he wanted them to or not.

“I should have made Corinna tell me,” he thought miserably, sitting down on the cold floor by the hospital bed. “She would have ... if I had only asked.” He drew his knees up and fought back a wave of fury. “But she shouldn’t have kept what she knew to herself. People have gifts like hers for a reason,” Martin told himself, feeling his cheeks turn warm. “She was being selfish and stupid not telling me so I could have warned him ... selfish and stupid,” he thought angrily.

And he very much wanted to tell Corinna that to her face, but he could tell that the hospital wing outside was empty. The talking voices had ceased. They had all left, which was probably for the best.

He rested his chin on his knees and glanced up at Alastor, wondering suddenly what would become of him. He thought about the Spell Damage ward at St. Mungo’s Hospital. Would he be taken there? Martin, having visited his Uncle Merrick there as a small boy, hated the idea of anyone, much less Alastor, being sent there, even just for a short stay. The hospital had given him the creeps.

“Maybe he can stay here...” he thought.

Martin dozed off after a while, forgetting that he was only permitted to stay until Alastor was asleep. Of course, no one had come to order him off either as most of the staff were in a meeting and Madam Pomfrey was in her office, consulting with a colleague from another institution who often handled cases from Hogwarts that required more complex remedies that the school mediwitch could provide. This left the hospital wing empty and quiet save for the two wizards in the rear portion of the ward. The events of the afternoon and evening had exhausted the younger of those wizards both physically and emotionally. He was soon sound asleep on the floor beside Alastor’s bed, curled up on his side.

This explained why he didn’t hear the quiet and hurried footfalls that echoed through the hospital wing some time later.

Minerva McGonagall steeled herself as she slid the screen aside, not knowing exactly what to expect. She had just come from the staff meeting her husband had convened. The news had been unpleasant and shocking. She was glad that her son and his friends had not been harmed, but that did not blunt the horror she felt as Albus had disclosed the extent of the injuries that Moody had gained in the line of duty.

The professor glanced down at where her son lay sprawled on the floor. He was all right. Then her attention turned toward the man who was lying sound asleep in the hospital bed. She walked around to the far side of the bed and looked down at him.

“Alastor?” she whispered.

He was so pale ... She had never seen him looking so pale before, not even in the field where they had witnessed some terrible things together. Minerva sat down carefully on the edge of the bed, not daring to let her eyes drift toward his legs.

Alastor had been her mentor when she first entered the Auror training program. Their personalities had clashed a bit at first. Maybe they still did, but she had grown to respect him and enjoy his company. She had come to consider him a friend. Then she had been assigned as his partner, which had surprised her at the time, given her youth and inexperience. He had, as she later found out, requested her because he saw potential in the somber, stubborn, albeit largely rule-abiding, young woman, who had married a man thought to be one of the best wizards of their age.

Their history aside, Alastor Moody was a brilliant Auror, one of the best in the Ministry. He was not even fifty years old and already becoming something of a legend in magical law enforcement. So how had this happened? How had Chrisoph Somerville got the better of him?

She smiled wryly. No, this wasn’t just Somerville anymore; it was a vampire ... who had once been a very promising young professor of Occlumency and Legilimency, led astray by the promises of Grindelwald. She had never known him, but Albus had spoken of him during the war. Her husband had called him a strange young man, but one with great potential, if only someone had given him the proper guidance. Her husband had tried and, by his own admission, failed. Then Somerville had disappeared, only to return as a henchman to Grindelwald.

Perhaps the lives Grindelwald had ruined through corruption and deception had been among the Dark Wizard’s greatest crimes. Albus had said so during the early years of the war, long before Somerville, then an unknown Dark Wizard to her, had invaded their home. And Minerva had agreed with her husband, though perhaps she felt less sympathy than he did toward those who had been duped or led astray by Grindelwald, especially after that night when she had seen his lieutenant for herself. But whatever her feelings, nearly eleven years later one of those ruined lives was still haunting her husband, and their family.

Returning her attention to more immediate matters, McGonagall knew that no mere Dark Wizard, vampire or not, could have evaded, not to mention grievously injured, Alastor Moody like this. Somerville, who had eluded Aurors for years after the fall of his master, was a force to be reckoned with. She admitted that for the first time as she sat staring down at her colleague where he lay sleeping.

“Two fully trained Aurors in this castle, and still it can’t be caught,” she murmured to herself. She felt a stab of guilt, not for the first time, that she had not been more actively assisting Alastor, in spite of her other obligations and the fact that she was officially on sabbatical.

Looking over the side of the bed to where Martin remained fast asleep, Minerva shook her head. “And he shouldn’t be sleeping on the cold floor.”

She looked down at Alastor again and squeezed his shoulder. He stirred slightly, but did not awaken. With that, Professor McGonagall left the bed and went awaken her son. It was nearly curfew, and she wanted him to be somewhere safe before darkness shrouded the castle completely.

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