A Little Knowledge

“You didn’t sleep,” Sissy accused Corinna the next morning as they all prepared to face the day.

“I slept a bit...” said Corinna with a sluggish shrug.

She was blinking owlishly at the mirror as she tried to do something with her messy hair. As always, there was nothing for it. She yawned quietly and refused to give in to the futility.

Sissy, quite to the contrary, looked well rested and more than a little prim as she combed her long hair and watched Olivia assisting Sophia with her braids.

“You could forego that for a day,” she hinted to them both.

Olivia had yet to put her hair and glared over her shoulder at Sissy.

“We have potions today!” said Olivia very forcefully. “Do you know how dangerous it is to have long hair in Krohn’s classroom?”

Sophia gave her an odd look. Olivia rarely advocated caution, or even a reasonable facsimile of it.

Sissy blinked placidly and said, “I’ve never encountered any problems.”

“Corinna, please tell me that her hair is going to catch on fire in class someday,” said Olivia.

Corinna furrowed her brow and asked, “Do you really think I can predict something like that?”

“Maybe,” said Olivia.

“I haven’t seen it. I don’t know it,” she answered.

Sissy gave Olivia a vaguely superior look to which the other girl responded by sticking out her tongue.

“Oh, do behave,” said Sophia with a quiet sigh.

They had all finished their morning rituals, except Corinna, who would be going to Quidditch practice instead of breakfast on a normal morning. Practice had been canceled ... not for the first time ... the previous afternoon, leaving her free to take her time and to have a morning meal with her friends instead of rushed one with her teammates, all of whom continued to grouse about the schedule, much to Ambrose’s displeasure.

“We can’t put this off any longer. We must see Martin,” said Sissy as the other girls eyed the dormitory door anxiously.

“I bet he won’t be waiting for us. He’s probably gone to see his uncle,” said Olivia rather half-heartedly.

“No, he’s waiting,” said Corinna.

“Then that’s that,” said Sissy, gathering up her school things.

The girls couldn’t say exactly why they didn’t want to face Martin that morning, only that they were reluctant to do so after the devastation that he had experienced. They had all shared the danger of the vampire’s attack, but only Martin, through the injury of his uncle, had been scathed by it in any tangible way. In many ways the other attacks had bound them all together; this one, they felt, had somehow separated them.

But Martin was indeed waiting for them in the common room and pacing as he did so. He was anxious to see his uncle, and the girls were keeping him from that task. He didn’t feel right about leaving without a word to them when he knew they were expecting him to be there, waiting as always, but he did wish quite fervently that they would stop dawdling.

The previous night, explaining everything to his year mates, had been very cathartic for him, although in the light of morning as the guilt, sadness, and sickening dread began to fade, Martin wondered if he had been right to tell them such things. They had been almost desperate to hear, especially Woodward and Middleton, but did that make it right? He was almost certain that his parents would rather the other first years not know such things, like the vampire’s real name or his penchant for Legilimency. But Martin, through Corinna, knew the danger of withholding information.

“Maybe it will help them somehow ...” Martin mused to himself as he watched the girls slowly descend the stairs from their dormitory.

“Good morning,” said Sissy curtly.

“Er ... morning,” he said. “I’m going to see Alastor before having breakfast, so I suppose I won’t see any of you until later,” he informed them.

“Can we come along?” asked Sophia, hoping that it wasn’t Martin’s intention to skip breakfast entirely. She was certain he had not eaten the evening before and missing another meal would be unhealthy.

Olivia looked at her a bit oddly, but said, “Could we? I mean, we want to know how he’s doing and all.”

A grateful smile spread across Martin’s face. “Of course. I’m sure he would be pleased to see all of you as well, if Madam Pomfrey will allow him so many visitors at once.”

Corinna, who had been thinking longingly of a nice breakfast with her friends, just sighed to herself as they followed Martin through the portrait hole. She wasn’t particularly keen on seeing what had been done to Moody again, in part at least, because she still felt somewhat responsible.

The hospital wing was quiet and still dimly lit as it was rather early, despite the girls’ earlier procrastination. Madam Pomfrey was just beginning to light the lamps and uncover the windows when the five students stepped into the wing. She was a very early riser, especially when she had patients to attend.

“And just what do you think you’re doing here?” she asked them with pursed lips and a very stern expression.

“I thought I could visit...” Martin began to explain.

“And them?”

“The same,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at Sissy, whom he could tell didn’t like being referred to in the third person.

For an instant Martin thought Madam Pomfrey was going to refuse and shoo all of them away, but then she gave a thoroughly beleaguered and aggravated sigh and said, “I don’t suppose it would do any good to turn you away. You would all be back at the end of classes today, wouldn’t you? My hospital wing hasn’t seen this sort of disruption and irregularity since ... since I was a student and helped Madam Plummer. For Merlin’s sake! What she would think of all this! Oh, very well, Mister Dumbledore, you may visit him very briefly.”

“And the girls?” he questioned.

“So long as they don’t bother him,” she said.

Martin counted this as a great success.

“Thank you,” he told the mediwitch.

“Get on with you, or you’ll all be late for breakfast, or worse yet, for your classes.”

Alastor Moody had been fading in and out since around sunrise that morning. Not that it made any difference. The hospital wing was quiet; unconsciousness was quiet. The hospital wing was a bit chilly; the state of near insensibility in which he resided was as well. The hospital wing was very shadowy; much the same with where ever he drifted off to. Due to the potions he had been given, including the sleeping draught and whatever Poppy had given him for the blood loss the previous evening and for the pain around midnight, it had ceased making very much difference to him quite some time ago. The only thing Alastor wanted was to lie there, peaceful and still, in whatever state of consciousness he happened to be in at the moment.

And Alastor did just that for what seemed like a very long time.

Then he heard something odd that pierced the quiet. It was a soft squeak that reminded him of something. Of course, he wasn’t in any condition to examine the sound very closely. Then he heard a few other sounds that were even softer. Gentle thudding noises without rhythm or pattern. This made him quite curious, although he felt sleepy too and would not have minded at all if the noise simply went away. But when the sounds did cease, Alastor found himself oddly troubled.

But the shadowy quiet swelled around him again, pulling the worried thoughts from his mind before those thoughts composed themselves into anything of less fragile substance.

Then Alastor believed he was dreaming, though the darkness remained unchanged. Something touched his shoulder. This something he recognized as a pair of hands, although they seemed oddly small to him. Then there were other hands, phantom appendages that seemed to come from nowhere. A pair pulled the linens up neatly to his chin and smoothed them. Another set fluffed the pillow beneath his head with the assistance of those that had so lightly touched his shoulder. Still others could be felt spreading an extra blanket over him that had not been there before. Cautious, but tender fingers brushed his tangled and messy hair from his brow.

A feeling of comfort settled over him as he heard hushed feminine whispers all around him, and in his mind’s eye he could see robed figures around his bed. Nine of them he thought there were, and the same fair maids who had borne King Arthur to Avalon. He thought they smiled at him as he opened his eyes to look at them in wonder.

“Am I dead then?” he asked himself, staring at the bleary shapes that loomed around his bed.

It was then that he realized that there were only five people standing around him and that one was a boy ... who bore an uncanny resemblance to young Martin Dumbledore. He blinked a few times and realized that he had been dreaming, in a manner of speaking, that the boy was indeed Martin, and that he was still lying in the hospital wing at Hogwarts. And that he couldn’t quite feel his right leg.

“What happened?” he mumbled as Martin gently brushed back his dark hair again. The others, whom Moody recognized as Martin’s friends, edged away from the bed.

Alastor tried to move his leg, but the strange sensation that was produced, which included a sharp pain in the vicinity of his knee, told him that it was unwise to attempt that again.

“I’m injured,” he thought dully.

“It’s all right. We didn’t mean to wake you,” said Martin very quietly. There were tears in his eyes as he tried to smile. “Sophia thought you looked cold ... and uncomfortable, so we got you a blanket,” he added.

“Thanks,” murmured Alastor.

“How are you feeling?” Martin asked hesitantly.

“My leg hurts a bit,” he mumbled quietly.

Alastor watched as Martin’s eyes drifted toward the end of the bed, but could not follow the young wizard’s troubled and uneasy gaze. He didn’t have the energy to turn his head again. His strength had been sapped, although he was unsure what had caused it. His first guess was potions and the like. But Alastor felt a sense of dread and anxiety that he could not readily explain as he watched Martin blink back a few tears.

“Would you like one of us to get Madam Pomfrey?” asked the girl with braided hair. Alastor required a moment to remember that her name was Sophia.

“No need, no need,” he murmured.

“Er ... can we do anything?” asked Martin uncertainly.

Alastor smiled, shifted slightly in bed, and was rewarded with another sharp pain from his leg that made him shudder from the sheer magnitude of it. He couldn’t figure out what had happened to him. He had broken his leg before, that same one in fact, and had hobbled about on it for the better part of a day during the Grindelwald conflict. His leg didn’t feel broken. From the knee down he couldn’t feel very much of anything. He felt he should know why this was the case, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. There was a slight, inexplicable prickle from time to time that was almost like an itch. Other than that, his leg just felt numb.

“Can you tell me what’s the matter with my leg?” Alastor asked.

Martin paled noticeably and stammered something unintelligible that sounded vaguely like, “Which one do you mean?”

One of the girls gasped out loud only to receive an elbow from one of her companions.

“The right...” said Moody.

Martin swallowed with some difficulty as his mouth went dry. He could not understand how Alastor didn’t know that his leg was missing. Didn’t he remember what had happened the evening before?

“Alastor ... you’ve lost ... your leg. It isn’t there anymore,” he said.

Out of the corner of his eye Martin could see Sophia slowly edging toward the opening in the screen. He was grateful for that. More than grateful. He knew she was going to fetch the mediwitch.

Alastor managed to crane his neck enough to get a good look at his legs, or rather his left leg and the stump of what had once been his right. His heart pounded in his ears as everything began rushing back to him. Finding the vampire in the corridor outside his chambers ... exchanges hexes and curses with the creature ... dodging a Reductor Curse that had been aimed at his midsection ... blinding, mind-numbing pain that ended in darkness ... Martin shouting for him ... Dumbledore cauterizing the wound ... Martin gripping his hand ... more darkness.

“Mister Moody, are you ... quite all right?” asked Miss Howard.

Despite the circumstances, he had no difficulty remembering her name, but he found himself almost wanting to call her John, whom he could well imagine asking the same question, but with less hesitance.

“I just need a moment,” he replied, taking a deep breath.

Martin reached down and placed a hand on his shoulder before repeating Alastor’s own words back to him.

“It’s going to be all right.”

Neither of them had noticed precisely when Sophia slipped out, but it was at this time that she returned with Madam Pomfrey.

“I thought I explicitly stated that Mister Moody was not to be bothered,” said Pomfrey in a very displeased voice as she made her way to the Auror’s bedside. She had a small cup of something green and bubbly in her hands. “Drink this,” she told him, deftly slipped an arm behind Moody to prop him up.

“What it is?” he asked.

“A Calming Draught,” she said shortly, not bothering to explain that it was a strong one.

He consented to drink it, but pulled a face as she took the cup away. The potion was truly horrible stuff.

“Everyone, out,” Poppy commanded.

“But ...” objected both Alastor and Martin.

“None of that. These children need breakfast. You need your rest, Mister Moody,” she told him very sternly.

The girls, especially Sophia, did not protest at all as they were shooed from Alastor’s portion of the wing.

“That was awful,” said Corinna quietly as they made their way toward the doors.

“Yes,” Sophia agreed.

Martin said nothing, but trudged along with them as they started toward the Great Hall. He didn’t feel very much like eating anymore.

The five students were nearly at their destination when they heard someone behind them call out to Martin. And they knew that voice and that it meant trouble as it belonged to Astrophel Black, who was accompanied, as ever, by his friends Flint and Bulstrode. Sissy immediately, albeit surreptitiously, palmed her wand, preparing herself for another fight.

“Whoever said that all good things come in threes never met this lot,” she muttered in a just barely audible voice.

Olivia and Sophia were nervously moving their hands toward their pockets. Only Corinna and Martin did not at least begin to go for their wands. And Martin was seriously considering it as he turned to watch the approaching Slytherins.

Black had recovered from his quality time spent with Mister Pringle, looking none the worse for it, save perhaps for a colder, harder look in his eyes. In the long term the affair had not helped his disposition at all.

“Dumbledore, I heard that Auror you hang about with got into a little accident yesterday. Got one of his legs blown off, did he?” asked Black in a cheerful tone meant to goad Martin into rash action.

The Ravenclaw just looked at him with a blank, disbelieving expression. Black wasn’t really having a go at an Auror injured in the line of duty, was he? That was low, even for a someone like him.

“What?” stammered Martin.

“Oh, yeah, we heard about the whole thing,” boasted Black with a sneer. His cohorts chuckled and looked a little smug.

“Did you now?” asked Sissy dangerously.

“I heard he screamed just like a little girl,” said Flint, inclining his chin and almost daring Sissy to do something.

“You know, I heard he begged the vampire for mercy,” said Black rather conversationally.

Bulstrode laughed a bit stupidly, but said nothing.

Martin opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. The words simply wouldn’t come. His companions, however, were not likewise inhibited.

“Then you both heard wrong. I’d get that checked,” said Olivia, clenching her teeth and pointing her wand at Black. It was the first time in her life she had truly wanted to engage in a wizard’s duel. Such things were better left to Sissy. But that morning, she wanted to hex Black until he was nothing more than a damp patch on the floor.

Black had his wand drawn in a second and glared at Olivia, obviously not knowing that she was mortally inept in Defense Against the Dark Arts. He really only had Sissy to judge by, which was a tremendous advantage to the five Ravenclaws.

Flint and Bulstrode went for their wands in a clumsy fashion, but the same could be said for Martin and Corinna, the latter of whom desperately did not want to fight, despite the horribly unkind taunts from the Slytherins.

“Five to three. Not bad odds,” snarled Olivia.

“You wouldn’t dare,” hissed Astrophel, looking at Sissy, who had shouldered her way to the front of the group.

“The same goes for you, Black,” she shot back instantly. “Apologize to Martin for impugning Mister Moody’s honor, and we can all go our separate ways,” said Sissy with some authority in her voice.

Black’s companions exchanged nervous glances, but still looked ready to support their leader.

“Me? Apologize to that sniveling little brat? Not a chance!” said Black, raising his wand. Then the Slytherin third year faltered, and his face seemed to fall. Black lowered his arm slightly. “Merlin, why me?” he muttered darkly.

And at that moment Sissy could hear hurried footsteps in the corridor behind them. She risked a quick look over her shoulder to see Professor Krohn striding toward them.

“Why any of us?” she said in a low tone, knowing that Ravenclaw was going to lose points despite their defensive posture. Only Sophia seemed relieved by the arrival of a teacher.

“Can’t even wait until after breakfast,” said Krohn, shaking his head at them. There was a vein in his forehead that almost seemed to throb. Corinna thought it was rather fascinating. “Wands away,” he ordered with a sweeping gesture. To be fair, not even Astrophel Black would have attempted to continue the nearly violent disagreement with Krohn there.

“We haven’t done anything,” said Black hastily.

“Yet. You haven’t done anything yet,” he corrected, hesitating a look at Sophia. She still seemed to be alive and breathing. She also, judging by the wand she was tucking away, had learned nothing from previous experience. He favored her in particular with a very displeased look.

“The Ravenclaws started it,” Astrophel attempted.

Krohn rubbed his forehead and took a deep, calming breath. Or at least the breath was meant to be calming. In actuality it only fanned the flames.

“Twenty points for lying to a professor from your own house. Five points for fighting ... from everyone. You all had your wands drawn. I can only assume ...” said the professor.

Olivia made a quiet, outraged sound that she was unable to suppress, but Krohn seemed to take no notice.

“This is the most deucedly idiotic thing I have had to deal with in my almost precisely twenty years of teaching. Here I have eight students, none of whom appear to be mentally defective in any way,” he said, unconsciously glancing at Bulstrode, “who simply don’t understand that they CANNOT attack, waylay, or otherwise do harm to each other in the corridors before, after, or between classes. Five Ravenclaws, for the love of God! And three Slytherins who should know better. Hexes! Curses! Bloody noses! I shudder to think which it would have been this time.” Krohn looked at Martin and Astrophel. “The war is over and this bloody nonsense must stop as well,” he told them, breathing hard from the outburst, which seemed to be playing itself out.

Martin looked at Krohn in confusion and cut his eyes at Astrophel. He thought he understood after a moment. Black’s family must have supported Grindelwald. That explained why the older student hated him so much. Martin smiled slightly, feeling very much relieved by this knowledge. He had believed that it was only house rivalry, or worse, something about him specifically, like the way he looked or walked or something inane like that that had made Black hate him so much.

“Wipe that smirk off your face, Dumbledore!” snapped Krohn. Martin did so immediately, watching Krohn as he surveyed the lot of them.

“Sorry, professor,” he said.

“I can’t think of a solution to this problem, but I believe it’s for the best that you all accompany to the office of the headmaster,” said Krohn. Turning his attention to Martin, he added, “For all the good it will do.”

Martin frowned at this remark, but said nothing as it knew no good would come of it. Sissy and Olivia both bristled at the implication that the headmaster would show favoritism, especially to a non-Gryffindor, even if the student in question was his only son. They simply didn’t believe Professor Dumbledore was like that.

“Black, Bulstrode, Flint, in front, if you please,” said Krohn, gesturing down the corridor that would take them to the headmaster’s office. He clearly wanted to keep an eye on his own students. “The rest of you, follow me, and no lagging behind,” he ordered.

Martin shrugged as Sissy and Olivia glared daggers at the professor’s back. Sophia and Corinna simply appeared to be resigned to their fate.

“This is categorically unfair,” muttered Sissy in a low voice.

“I know! Why does he always seem to be about when we have a run in with Black and those goons?” asked Olivia in an outraged hiss.

“No talking either,” said Krohn over his shoulder as they trudged behind him.

When they reached the headmaster’s office, or more accurately the gargoyle that stood before its entrance, Professor Krohn just stood there. His students turned and looked at him while the Ravenclaws shuffled their feet. Martin could not figure out what was going on for a moment, but then he realized that Krohn either did not know or could not remember the password. He considered withholding it, but Martin imagined that his father would be very disappointed in him for doing so.

“Sugar Quills, sir,” said Martin in a quiet voice.

Krohn narrowed his heavy-lidded eyes at him and said, “Yes, of course.” He was pretending that he had known it all along. He spoke the password, and the gargoyle moved aside for them. “Up,” he ordered the trio of Slytherins.

The Ravenclaws followed him dutifully into the office, having, of course, no other choice in the matter, although Olivia felt very much like running. She reminded herself over and over again that they hadn’t done anything wrong.

Martin was surprised, given the hour of the morning, to see his father seated at his desk. Breakfast was nearly over, he imagined, and they had all missed it, except for the Slytherins who had probably just come from the morning meal and were on their way to class.

“Reynard, what can I do for you this morning?” asked Professor Dumbledore, glancing at the students who had accompanied his potions’ master into the office.

“I caught them all fighting ... again,” said Krohn.

“That isn’t true, sir!” Olivia blurted out. She was unable to stop herself. She was still seething from the callous remarks that Black and Flint had made.

“I managed to stop it before any spells were cast, but, clearly, they were about to begin hurling hexes at one another. Unhappily, three of my own students were also involved,” Krohn told Dumbledore.

“I see ...” said the headmaster. “But no incantations were spoken?”

“None that I heard,” replied Krohn.

“Then they cannot be punished for using magic in the hallways,” said Dumbledore.

“No, of course not, but what about fighting, Albus?” asked Krohn as it dawned on him that Dumbledore did not seem ready to throw the proverbial book at any of the students. He had been right without meaning to be; Dumbledore was going to show favoritism! He could hardly believe it.

“I don’t see any evidence that they were fighting,” said Dumbledore, peering at them carefully. “No one appears to be injured,” he added.

“I stopped them before it came to that,” snapped Professor Krohn, trying to keep his temper.

Sissy did not especially like where this was going. Dumbledore was apparently attempting to allow all of them, guilty and innocent, to walk away without being punished. She knew that she should feel grateful about that, but looking at the smug Slytherin students standing with Krohn, she just couldn’t, not after the things they had said about Mister Moody.

“Professor Dumbledore, he was going to curse or hex us. I have no doubts about that,” said Sissy coolly as she nodded toward Black. Olivia elbowed her to no effect.

“That’s right,” said Sophia, choosing to help Sissy make things right. “Black had been taunting Martin about Mister Moody’s injuries, and when he found Martin unwilling to fight with him, he tried harder to goad him. We pulled our wands when it became apparent that Black only wanted a fight and wouldn’t stop until he had one. Professor Krohn arrived just before Black acted,” she explained.

“I was just minding my own business!” said Black unconvincingly as he scowled at Sissy and Sophia.

“Yeah ... me too,” Flint agreed, although he had not been accused.

“Please...” said Dumbledore, holding up one hand to silence them before an argument broke out. His expression was very somber as he looked at his son, but Sissy thought she saw pride mixed with sadness in his eyes too. “Let us settle this matter rationally,” he told them.

“I have already deducted house points, but perhaps if they served some sort of detention,” suggested Krohn.

Sissy had the loathsome idea that the potion’s instructor missed Mister Pringle and his methods, which was not necessarily the case.

“The school is in a state of emergency, Reynard, and that makes it rather tricky to hold late afternoon and evening detentions, especially in light of the discussions that took place yesterday during the staff meeting,” said Dumbledore, shaking his head. They were as close as they had ever been to closing the school.

“Then they are to get away with this?” asked Krohn.

“You have deducted house points,” the headmaster reminded him.

“Extra lessons then,” suggested Krohn. Somehow he had managed to forget that this was not the same sort of punishment for Ravenclaws as it was for the other houses, including his own.

Nevertheless Corinna and Martin winced visibly as did Flint and Bulstrode. Sophia, however, looked completely unfazed.

Dumbledore weighed the suggestion for a moment and looked at Martin. His eyes twinkled ever-so-slightly. Maybe extra assignments from Reynard would keep them busy and out of trouble. He knew the other professor would be only too happy to give these assignments as Krohn seemed quite insistent that the students be punished for the near-incident in the corridor.

“Very well, Reynard, you may give them additional potions’ work for the next week,” said Dumbledore.

Martin wanted to protest, not only because he had not done anything to the three Slytherins, but because they had said such terrible things about Alastor. He felt at that moment that perhaps it would have been better if they had all hexed those cretins. He frowned and looked at the floor.

Olivia elbowed him with less force than usual and gave him a sympathetic look. Martin looked up a bit and attempted to smile in return, but found that he couldn’t manage it.

“I will have something ready for them by the time I see them in class,” said Krohn with an impassive look.

“I believe it is nearly time for classes,” said Dumbledore, rising from his desk. “All of you should be on your way,” he said to the students, “except you, Mister Dumbledore. I want to have a few words with you.”

“And me, Albus?” asked Krohn.

“You may go,” said Dumbledore.

Martin did not like being ask to wait by his father. It made him nervous, especially considering the fact that he had just be involved with a near-altercation with three older Slytherins and dragged along with his friends to his father’s office by their head of house. None of these factors, he imagined, would make for a pleasant conversation, which ended all hope of grabbing a piece of toast for breakfast before dashing off to his classes. Not a wonderful way to start the day by any means.

“Professor Krohn has some odd ideas, as I am sure you have noticed. He sees something relatively small, such as the conflict between you and your group of friends and young Mister Black and his friends, and finds himself willing to go to extraordinary lengths to stop it,” said Professor Dumbledore, gesturing for Martin to have a seat.

“But I suppose it’s his job,” ventured the young wizard, relaxing a bit as he sat down in one of the chairs that faced his father’s desk.

“Yes,” the elder Dumbledore agreed with a slight nod, “but can you imagine Professor Kettleburn, for instance, bringing all of you up here without a single spell being cast by either parties?”

“No,” said Martin with a frown, though privately acknowledging that this was probably because Professor Kettleburn was very nice and usually pretended not to notice such things.

“I imagine you will profit by the extra lessons. I was quite proficient in potions myself, you know,” said Dumbledore before signaling for a house elf. One appeared with a soft popping sound.

“Headmaster, you is wanting something?” it asked with a low bow.

“Two breakfasts to be served here, please,” said Dumbledore with a pleasant smile.

The elf glanced at Martin, and he recognized her as Inky.

“Yes, of course, headmaster, sir,” said the house elf before vanishing.

“I thought you could do with something, Martin,” said his father, clearing off a bit of space on his desk.

“Thanks,” replied Martin.

“Do you mind telling me what was said concerning Alastor?” questioned Dumbledore cautiously.

Martin shifted uncomfortably in his seat and said, “I would rather not. I mean, you can imagine, right?”

“I suppose I could,” said Dumbledore, watching Martin’s face redden with anger.

Just then their breakfast arrived, and the headmaster chose not to pursue the matter at the moment.

“I visited Uncle Alastor this morning,” said Martin.

“How was he?” asked Dumbledore curiously. He had been otherwise occupied with school business and had not visited Moody since the previous evening.

“I think he’s been given a lot of potions,” Martin hesitated, “but he seemed ... all right. Other than his leg, of course.”

“That is to be expected,” Dumbledore told him in a grave tone.

Martin just nodded and picked at his breakfast. He felt both hungry and ill at ease, which were only naturally a bad combination.

“Your mother believes that you should stay out of class today,” he stated conversationally. He did not need to say why. “I told her that it was your decision,” Dumbledore added.

“I’m going to be late for my first ...” he said with a frown.

“I can give you a note,” said Dumbledore with a dismissive gesture.

“Then I suppose I had better go to class. Alastor wouldn’t want me to skive off on his account,” said Martin solemnly.

The headmaster smiled at this and said, “Of course he wouldn’t, but do finish your breakfast before you go. Madam Hooch will most certainly understand.” At times like these Dumbledore knew that his son was every inch a Ravenclaw, and it made him quite proud.

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