A Little Knowledge

Olivia and Sissy were growing anxious when Sophia did not immediately catch up with them in the common room after Krohn had dismissed them. Corinna, who was also waiting, demonstrated no sign of such anxiety, knowing the Sophia had remained to have a long talk with their professor. The other two young witches imagined that she had gone to the library to sulk, but that did not seem very much like Sophia, despite her occasional, although increasingly infrequent, trips to the lake for some time to herself.

“She has a right to be angry,” said Corinna.

“We didn’t mean anything by it! We were just bored!” objected Olivia in a plaintive voice.

“It still wasn’t very nice,” Corinna disagreed.

“She’ll get over it. I just wish he had read all of my note. That might have smoothed things over a bit. Trust Krohn to be an absolute git,” said Sissy, shifting in her seat with a sour look.

“I would refrain from saying that in front of Sophia, no matter how true it might be. There’s no good adding fuel to the fire,” said Corinna.

“What fire?” asked Sissy. “She’s not got a temper to speak of.”

“You know what I mean. You two shouldn’t make the situation any worse than it already is,” Corinna told them.

“She isn’t angry with you,” said Olivia.

“I know,” said Corinna with the barest hint of a smirk. Then she glanced toward the portrait hole and said, “She’s coming now. I would be ready to apologize if I were you.”

True to form, Sophia stepped through the common room entrance only a moment later, looking somber and very thoughtful, but hardly angry. She had too much on her mind for that. She glanced at her friends and went to join them. Olivia quickly made room for her on the couch.

“Er ... how’s the assignment?” asked Olivia hesitantly.

“I haven’t looked at it yet,” said Sophia. She felt a twinge of guilt as she had not given it a second thought since leaving the dungeons.

“Ours are rotten,” said Corinna. “I have to write out the procedures for three potions and then two feet of parchment on what’s different about them. Olivia has to research the origin of some dreadful potion that burns people, and Sissy has to categorize healing and restorative potions from the fourteenth century,” she added.

“We didn’t mean anything by that note,” said Sissy as Sophia merely nodded mutely in response to Corinna’s statement.

Sophia was actually thinking about how awful those three assignments seemed, not to mention how tailor-made they were to each of her friends: Corinna’s inability to pay attention to detail, Olivia’s relatively weak stomach and lack of interest in potion-related minutiae, and Sissy’s love of the Dark Arts. All of those things were exploited to make sure than none of them could enjoy their tasks.

She carefully removed the parchment from one of her pockets and unrolled it.

“Flowers?” she thought in confusion. Then she remembered that he had changed it.

“So are you angry with us?” asked Olivia.

Sophia looked up from the parchment and said, “No ... I’m more disappointed. I never realized that you felt so strongly about my marks in potions.”

“We don’t,” said Sissy.

“Then why?” she asked with a puzzled frown.

“Professor Krohn ...” Sissy told her. “You know how we feel about him. We know how you feel about him. We know how he feels about all of us.”

“That last part ... I don’t think you do,” said Sophia.

“He’s out to get us, and he only ignores you,” said Olivia a bit sharply.

“I just had a very nice conversation with him,” said Sophia with a slight blush, “and he isn’t that bad.”

Sissy looked at her with a steady gaze and said, “He just designed extra assignments for the express purpose of tormenting us.”

“It’s supposed to be punishment,” said Sophia, rolling up her parchment and trying to look indignant.

Olivia snatched the parchment from her and unrolled it despite her protest. Looking at the assignment, Olivia laughed out loud.

“You may as well read it,” said Sissy curiously.

“Is this strictly necessary?” asked Sophia, blushing to her ears.

“If it was good enough for the professor...” said Sissy, referring to the note that he had read in class.

Olivia cleared her throat and read, “Please catalogue all known flowers used in part or in their entirety in modern potions. List them alphabetically by their common name and provide a short, pertinent description of their uses.”

“He gave you flowers?” questioned Corinna blankly.

“He changed it after you left,” said Sophia a bit sheepishly.

“It was probably something nasty. He just felt sorry for you after reading that note out. And he should have,” said Sissy, who was completely unruffled.

Sophia pulled the note from her pocket and said, “I think he was, actually. He gave it to me so that I could see it for myself.”

“Oh,” said Olivia, blinking a bit stupidly.

“And?” asked Sissy.

“It doesn’t sound as unflattering when you read the last bit,” Sophia commented, “but still...”

“We know we shouldn’t have, but we were bored and you always do better in potions than we do,” said Olivia.

“Well, you were right about something. I do respect him,” said Sophia, adding silently, “now more than ever.”

“Are we pardoned then?” asked Sissy with a carefully arched eyebrow.

“Of course,” said Sophia, “but just be glad that I can’t hold a grudge very well.”

“We are. Quite often, in fact,” said Olivia with a slight smile.


Dusk had fallen upon the castle when Cyrus Knowles made his way to the hospital wing. Twice he had attempted to visit a certain patient there only to be turned away by Madam Pomfrey because he was sleeping or not well enough to have visitors. Knowles suspected that his former rival and personal nemesis was not coping very well with his injury. Knowles knew something of what that was like to be injured during a time of crisis, a time when he was needed, from his own experiences, especially his experiences during the war. But that was another matter and one upon which he did not like to dwell needlessly.

But as Knowles quietly slipped into the ward that evening, he knew that Poppy was not around. He had heard her speaking softly with Professor Vector at dinner and had excused himself early in hopes of having a word or two with Moody. He imagined that she had marked his disappearance and would be coming to scold him shortly, but Knowles did not care. He would not be put off any longer, even if it meant that he would have to endure the young mediwitch’s ire.

Alastor was dozing when he heard the sound of the privacy screen being moved aside. The sound drew him towards wakefulness like the tide drawing a ship toward the shore. He opened his eyes and turned his head to see Knowles making his way slowly and carefully toward his bed. His cane tapped softly upon the floor.

“Cyrus,” he acknowledged quietly as Knowles paused at his bed side.

“Alastor,” said the professor, feeling both surprised and relieved to hear his voice. To the best of his knowledge, Knowles had never called Alastor by his first name, not even when they were students. “Are you alone this evening?” he asked as his knee bumped into an empty chair by the bed.

“Minerva left a while ago,” said Alastor.

“I can still smell her perfume,” Knowles commented, taking a seat in the chair.

He had asked the question because McGonagall moved like a cat. It could be very startling. The hall or staff room would seem silent and empty. Then all of the sudden the voice of Professor McGonagall would be practically in his ear, asking him if he was having a pleasant morning or whatever. He thought she was doing it deliberately to unnerve him and was trying to discover a method by which he could more easily detect her presence. He was having only a bit of luck.

“How odd. I wasn’t aware that she wore any,” said Alastor.

“I notice things now that I didn’t before,” said Knowles, leaning forward in his chair and resting his chin on the top of his cane.

“I imagine you do.”

“Are you ... in any pain, Alastor?” asked Knowles quietly.

“A bit,” the other wizard admitted, “but I think it will pass sooner or later.”

“It will,” said Knowles without a trace of doubt in his voice. He spoke from experience. “Just be patient,” he added.

“I’ll try,” said Moody with a slight nod. “A portkey to St. Mungo’s is being arranged for me. Poppy says they’ll take me away in the morning,” he informed Knowles.

“Martin Dumbledore will be very sorry to see you go,” he replied.

“It can’t be helped. The wound is on its way to becoming infected, and she can’t seem to stop it. Of course, she’s never handled anything like this before...”

“Thankfully, no,” said Knowles with a grimace.

“May I ask a favor of you, Cyrus? I know you don’t owe me anything, but...”

“Just ask, and I will do what I can.”

“I have tried to look out for Martin since I’ve come here. I’ve tried and nearly failed. Perhaps I have failed him. Will you please look after him when I’m gone?”

Knowles turned toward Moody, regarding him curiously and with a small measure of amazement. “You are entrusting his safety to me?”

“If you are willing.”

“There are others who are much more capable, who ... could keep sharper eyes upon the boy than I can. I know many of the professors are quite fond of Albus’s son. Wouldn’t you rather ask one them?” questioned Knowles uneasily.

He had no special feelings toward young Dumbledore, though his father had been his head of house, but he knew that Flitwick and Sprout thought very highly of the boy, despite the bouts of trouble he had got into, at least half of which were probably his own fault.

“They aren’t sitting where you are right now. You can always refuse, Cyrus.”

“No, I ... I will do what I can to keep young Dumbledore safe, though it may not be much good against so great of a foe,” said Knowles with a serious expression.

He did not tell Alastor that he considered it part of his duty as an instructor of defense to keep all of the students safe. He tried not to think about that as it seemed at times beyond his abilities.

“Thank you,” said Alastor with a grim expression. “Martin needs all the help he can possibly get.”

“As do we all,” said Cyrus.

“Yes,” Moody agreed.

He had not expected Moody to ask such a thing of him. In fact Knowles had imagined that Alastor thought him incompetent, even after their altercation in the corridor just before Christmas. He still felt a twinge of pride whenever he thought of that incident, and silently praised and thanked those who had instructed him during his training and had allowed him that one moment of satisfaction. But as it turned out, Moody did not seem to think him completely inept nor did he seem to hold a grudge. Quite extraordinary considering that Moody was a Slytherin.

Alastor yawned quietly.

“You’re tired. I should go,” said Knowles, snapping out of his momentary reverie.

“No, it’s just the stuff Poppy’s given me. I’m not really tired,” said Alastor a bit stubbornly.

“You should be well rested for tomorrow when they transfer you to the hospital in London. I wouldn’t fancy traveling by portkey in your condition.”

“I suppose...” Alastor acquiesced.

Knowles smiled a little and said, “Listen to someone who knows about such things. Get all of the rest you can. Recuperate, Alastor. I imagine that when this is all over, you can still be of some use.”

He left the words ‘unlike me’ unspoken, thinking more of his lengthy sabbatical that had lasted through the last three years of the war than of his current situation. Three years of service; three years of angry complacency, hidden from the wizarding world and its woes. But that wouldn’t be Moody’s fate. Knowles felt sure of that.

Alastor smiled grimly and just shook his head. He looked down at the outline of his leg beneath the covers. How could he be useful, especially as an Auror, if he could not even stand on his own two feet? He didn’t even have two feet to stand on anymore.

“It will take time,” said Knowles in a firm voice, “but you can do it. Your young friend believes in you, I’m sure, as does Miss Howard, and she doesn’t know the half of what you’re capable of.”

“John Howard’s daughter, or didn’t you know,” commented Moody.

“Silvestra Malfoy’s daughter, or didn’t you know,” the professor corrected with a sneer. He had overheard her when she had told Dumbledore that.

“An unlikely combination,” said Alastor.

“You changed the subject masterfully, but I still must tell you that ... for what ever it might be worth ... I believe in you as well,” said Knowles, leaving his seat.

“What’s that they say? Time will tell?”

“I have heard that.”

“I suppose it will...”

“Of course,” nodded Knowles. “I must be going. I have work to do, and you truly must rest, Alastor.”

“Old hen,” Moody muttered before yawning again.

Knowles chuckled to himself and turned to go, drawing the screen behind him as he departed. Alastor was doing very well in his not-so-humble opinion. Better than he had expected. And he was very glad of it, though he already felt the weight of the burden that Alastor had put upon him and that he had willingly shouldered.

“I will do what I must. Or, failing that, what I can,” he thought resolutely as he left the hospital wing.


Minerva McGonagall hoped that she was doing the right thing when she collected her son after dinner that evening in order to say good-bye to Alastor. She thought it would be better for Martin than learning that his uncle had been taken to St. Mungo’s after the fact. Considering how they felt about each other, something Minerva had only encouraged, partly because of her son’s too often lonely childhood, she thought it would only be fair that they have the opportunity to talk one more time. She did not believe Martin would be seeing Alastor until the summer, although she was rather certain that they would be reunited then.

She had noticed the looks on the faces of his friends when she had called him away from them in the Entrance Hall. They had seemed very curious and a bit displeased, especially Miss Howard. McGonagall well imagined that she was taking Martin away from his studies, however briefly, and that had miffed the serious Ravenclaw. She considered perhaps having them to tea again, but she knew that it was not appropriate to be so familiar with one’s students as that, whether they were friends with one’s son or no.

“Mum, are we going to visit Alastor?” Martin asked as they walked up the stairs that would take them to the hospital wing. She had not explained their errand.

“Yes, I thought you would like that. I was in earlier, and he seemed a bit bored,” she answered. There was, of course, no need to alarm him.

“Who wouldn’t be?” said Martin, although he had never been stuck in the hospital wing very long himself. He could imagine that Alastor, who was very active, would be quite restless there, especially if Madam Pomfrey were no longer giving him draughts that made him sleepy.

Minerva chuckled affectionately, knowing just what he meant ... and agreeing with him. She had seen the inside of St. Mungo’s Spell Damage Ward more than once during her time as an Auror as both a visitor and a patient, not that she told her son such things. Such places could be quite boring, especially when the Healers were too insistent about ‘giving things time to mend’ and staying off one’s feet for a bit and other nonsense like that.

Alastor was fast asleep when he felt a slight jostle, which he identified rather quickly as being caused by someone sitting down on the bed. He opened his eyes to find Minerva McGonagall seated there. He was more than a little surprised as she had visited him only a few hours earlier. But the surprise was a pleasant one, especially as he noticed Martin standing at his other elbow.

“Good evening,” he murmured, reaching to pat Martin on the arm.

The young wizard seemed worried, and he imagined that Minerva had informed him, against his suggestion, of his imminent departure. She was never one to take his advice.

“How are you feeling?” Martin asked.

“A bit better, I suppose,” replied Alastor, although to be perfectly honest, he was still not over the shock of his missing limb. The blasted thing still itched and tingled from time to time. Madam Pomfrey said that it was to be expected and might continue to do so for some time to come. “And how’re you, laddie?” he asked.

“Fine,” said Martin with only a bit of a smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“We thought we should visit before curfew,” said McGonagall.

“Quite right. I don’t think Martin should be out of the tower after dark,” nodded Alastor.

“His father and I feel the same,” she said, looking rather sternly at Martin.

He knew it was a thinly veiled warning from all three of his family members. He took their point, but said nothing. He wasn’t even certain if the Aerie was safe, warded or not. If the castle wards wouldn’t keep the vampire at bay, what chance did the makeshift ones contrived by the faculty have? The vampire had been a professor too, after all, which is how Martin surmised that he had so easily gained access to the school.

“I take it your mum has told you that I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“Leaving?” asked Martin with a peculiar sense of dread and anxiety.

“Going to St. Mungo’s,” said Alastor, giving Minerva a sideways glance.

“I didn’t tell him. I thought it best if he heard it from you, Alastor.”

“For ... for how long?” asked Martin, shuffling his feet uncomfortably and looking down at the floor.

“Oh, I don’t know. Not very long ... I hope,” said Alastor, reaching toward him and patting his arm again. “They won’t be able to keep me there when there’s work to be done,” he added. His voice was hollow, but he tried to put confidence into it.

“I’ll miss you,” said Martin as the full weigh of the anxiety hit him.

He had felt safer with Alastor around, always knowing that he had someone like him to run to if anything happened. Now that was being taken away from him. Even after the attack ... Martin had still felt more secure, knowing that Alastor was still there in the castle, than he did at that moment.

A tear trickled from his eyes and he dashed it away as quickly as he could, but the tear did not go unnoticed.

“There now, Martin. You don’t have anything to cry about. I’ll be back before you know it. Don’t you think so, Minerva?” asked Alastor.

“Of course you will be,” she said crisply, “and I’m sure when summer comes, you’ll be spending plenty of time with us.”

Moody looked at her with an unpleasant expression, taking her words to mean that he wouldn’t be back in the field by then. But he could exactly argue about that with Martin so close to tears.

“Certainly,” he grudgingly agreed, reaching out his arm and pulling Martin closer, which required substantial effort in his current state. “Naught to cry about at all,” he said.

“I’m not crying,” Martin insisted.

This was, strictly speaking, true, but he was finding it quite difficult. He knew neither Alastor nor his mother would be disappointed in him for crying, but he hated to cry in front of his mum. Doing so made him feel silly and childish. He always wanted to be able to show her that he was just as strong as his father and his uncle were.

With Alastor, it was a different matter. It was not about appearing to be something he was not nor even making the Auror proud by keeping a stiff upper lip.

“My mistake,” said Alastor. “You don’t need to worry about me anyway.”

“Of course not,” echoed Minerva, though she could see lines of strain on her former partner’s face that had not been there earlier. Comforting Martin was taking a lot out of him. But she was glad that Alastor was doing it. He meant so much to her son.

“I’ll try to owl you,” said Martin with a hesitant look at his mum.

She smiled and said, “Certainly, Martin. That’s a wonderful idea.”

Alastor favored his young friend with a pleased look and squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll look forward to weekly letters from you, laddie, until I’m back in action again,” he said, removing his arm.

Martin nodded dutifully.

“Say good-bye to your uncle, Martin, and I’ll walk you back to your common room,” said Minerva, leaving Alastor’s bed side.

“Can’t we leave it at a good-night? I really do intend to come back and finish what I started, Minerva,” said Alastor.

He had made his mind up about that. He wanted to see the creature that was Christoph Somerville turn into a pile of dust and be scattered to the four winds. And at that moment, he knew that McGonagall didn’t think him capable of it and that Martin possibly had his doubts, but thinking about what his former rival, Cyrus Knowles, had said... Alastor sincerely hoped that a few weeks -- and the fewer the better -- would find him up to the task. He had no intention of just letting that vampire terrorize Martin nor anyone else involved for that matter.

“Good-night, Alastor,” said Martin with a rather grim smile.

“G’night, laddie,” said his uncle with a similar expression.

Minerva hoped, as she led Martin out, that she had no cause for worry on either of their behalves, especially her son’s.

“A Slytherin and a Ravenclaw ... and I’m worried about them behaving recklessly. What is the world coming to?” she asked herself.

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