A Little Knowledge

The last weeks of March ended in rain and storm, the severity of which most students had not seen at the school before and kept them indoors until the first days of April, which were blessedly, unseasonably warm. The house teams all took to the Quidditch pitch with relish, though the season had long since ended. Ravenclaw had a new Beater to train, although Ignatius Ambrose had reluctantly informed Olivia that she would be required to try out with all the other candidates in the autumn because of the ‘irregularities’ from the previous season, namely Corinna being selected as a reserve player and then going straight onto the regular team, which had been markedly unusual. Olivia was only too glad to comply as she looked forward to healthy competition in all of its forms and dearly wanted to try out and prove her skills.

No sign had been seen of the vampire during this time, though Martin continued to have nightmares, which were only marginally combated by the cheering letters he received from his Uncle Alastor, who was no longer in St. Mungo’s, but recuperating quietly at his family home near Glasgow.

Anxiety levels remained high at Hogwarts, and safety procedures were not relaxed as the headmaster insisted that this was what the vampire was waiting for. Martin silently agreed with his father’s assessment of the situation. His roommates were a bit more vocal on that front, often wondering aloud if they would be spending the next term in fear as well. Martin would just look at them with a grim expression and not reply. He could not find an acceptable answer to that inquiry.

Corinna was continuing to battle with her talent, with the constant and unwavering assistance of Professor Mallaghan, but she was no closer to solving the puzzle of what would happen regarding the vampire. She still firmly believed that for better or worse, most likely the latter, it would be over before the end of the term. That unsettled her a great deal as only a month and a two weeks remained until they would be boarding the Hogwarts Express ... either with glad faces and summer assignments or lying cold and still in wooden boxes.

Her friends pressed her for more information, more specifics, more details, and she gave them all that she could, but everything to come remained a jumble of imprecise and ever-changing images that at time threatened to overwhelm her. Combined with this was also the effort she expended to try and forget the severed head from her vision of the past that looked more than a bit like her potions’ professor. It was difficult to face him at times, but she managed to do it with help from her friends, with whom she had finally shared her less disturbing and mildly vampire-related visions, though it was to little effect.

Sissy, on the opposite end of the spectrum, had had a comparatively wonderful end of March, during which she had tripped the nearly blind Astrophel Black at every chance, giving him scraped hands and bruised knees as fitting recompense for what he had done to the defense professor. Professor Krohn, who she assumed was unable to reason with arrogant Black, had left the Conjuntivitus Curse in place for the better part of ten days. She hoped that he had learned his lesson, but one could never tell.

She thoroughly enjoyed putting the rotten git in his place, though once the curse was lifted, she desisted. She rather imagined that she would need to watch her back for a long time to come. That was fine with Sissy so long as she didn’t need to watch Professor Knowles’ back too. She was only one person and could not always be there to watch out for her professor, who she knew did not need nursemaid, only a pair of friendly eyes to help him combat the not-so-friendly ones.


On the morning in question, Martin and the girls were a few minutes late for breakfast when they entered the Great Hall. Sophia was the first one to notice something as they made their way to where they normally sat together near the head of the Ravenclaw table. The hall, which was completely filled with students and their professors, was unusually quiet and very still. She felt uncomfortable as she noticed the subdued and downcast expressions on the faces of her house mates.

A quick glance at the high table only served to increase that feeling. Professor Sprout was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. Beatrice Vector at her side looked less parsimonious and yet more unhappy than Sophia had ever seen her.

Professor McGonagall had her head bowed and was not even glancing up from her plate to monitor her normally boisterous students. Sophia could see that her breakfast was uneaten, as was her husband’s beside her. The headmaster appeared to be lost in thought.

Sophia looked at Professor Krohn who was quietly reading something to Professor Knowles, whispering into the other professor’s ear as they held a copy of The Daily Prophet between them. The professor of potions was extremely pale and appeared nearly disconsolate as he read to his colleague. He was the picture of sorrow and somber grief. Knowles’ face by contrast was a blank and unreadable mask.

“What’s happened?” murmured Olivia anxiously as they took their seats.

Sophia shook her head and shrugged, glancing up at the high table again where Krohn was putting the newspaper aside. Knowles patted his shoulder and took up his cane, leaving the table earlier than was customary for him. Professor Krohn remained rooted where he was just staring down at the newspaper.

Martin glanced down the table toward his year mates. They all looked predictably unhappy, like the rest of the students and professors in the hall. Middleton glanced up in time to notice the confused expression on Martin’s face. He grabbed a copy of The Daily Prophet from Halliday and passed it down the table toward Martin, who gave him a serious and grateful nod.

“Well?” hissed Sissy as he unfolded the paper and began looking for the cause of the sadness that hung over the hall.

After a moment Martin briefly closed his eyes and gave the newspaper to her without saying a word. He wanted to say something, but nothing would come. His lips moved in silence. Then he just shook his head and rubbed his eyes with a pained expression.

Sissy looked at the front page headline and at first saw nothing unusual there: Werewolf Deregulation Declared Unconstitutional by Wizengamot.

Then she glanced further down the page to a photograph of a balding, almost elderly wizard with a soft smile and intelligent eyes. She smiled slightly too as she recognized the former headmaster, Armando Dippet. The picture was obviously an older one, taken perhaps as long ago as before the Grindelwald conflict. She felt rather pleased to see him in the paper, looking every bit the dashing Ravenclaw, like a gentleman and a scholar.

Then as she read the caption, her face fell and a lump formed in her throat.

“The wizarding world loses one its most beloved educators. Armando Dippet, 175, former headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and noted Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, dies at his home in Surrey...” read the caption beneath the picture of the aged wizard.

Sissy could not bear to read any further and passed the paper to Olivia and Sophia, who shared it with Corinna.

They had all admired the old Ravenclaw and felt a pang of loss as they learned of his death. Olivia and Corinna both blinked back tears as they read the short article on the front page of The Daily Prophet. Whether the vampire was defeated or not, their beloved headmaster would never return or be reinstated. He would never even see another game of Quidditch between Ravenclaw and its rivals.

“He’s gone,” said Sophia in a half-disbelieving voice.


Classes were canceled that day to allow some of the professors who had been special friends of the former headmaster or had known him for a very long time to attend memorial services that were being held for him in London. Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, Kettleburn, Vector, and Krohn were all taking carriages to Hogsmeade and then apparating from there to Diagon Alley. Martin, who was privy to this information, had been invited to go along with his parents, but his preference was to stay and grieve instead with his friends, all of whom were greatly affected by the loss of Dippet, whom they had counted as one of their own.

“The very best of us...” as Sophia described him that morning as they sat around a quiet table in the rear of the library. The common room had been far too crowded and altogether miserable.

Olivia gave a solemn sniff of agreement to that statement, but didn’t lift her head from the table where she had been resting it for sometime. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. She did not even bother to wipe them away. More would only follow them. It was best just to let the tears come.

“I should have seen this,” said Corinna morosely.

“He was all the way in Surrey. You couldn’t see that far...” said Sophia in a reassuring tone of voice.

“What good would it have done?” asked Sissy, hiding her grief behind a veil of irritability that all of her friends could see through easily.

She was just as profoundly affected as the rest of them. She had in fact been looking forward to the day when Professor Dippet returned to Hogwarts, even if it was only for a visit or for a Quidditch match.

“We could have been better prepared,” said Martin with a small sigh. He had been very quiet since breakfast, which none of them had eaten, not even Corinna.

“Sorry,” Corinna mumbled to herself.

They were quiet for some moments until the sound of approaching footsteps caused Sissy to look up. She stiffened as Astrophel Black rounded the corner flanked by his constant companions Bulstrode and Flint. Black gave Sissy a hard look as he spotted her and stopped in his tracks.

“Let us alone,” she said in a firm tone, reaching into her sleeve as she spoke.

“Well?” asked Flint in a very low voice, glancing nervously from Astrophel to the Ravenclaws seated at the table. He did not seem to be particularly itching for a fight, but, as always, that was Astrophel’s decision.

Olivia had not moved, but the rest were poised to go for their wands. Sissy had an eager gleam in her cold eyes as she stared at Black. She was ready to fight if need be and could count on Martin and Corinna to back her up quickly. Sophia and Olivia would follow suit. On a better day she would have counted Olivia as prepared as well, but she was taking the loss very hard.

Black stared at them for a moment, and at first Sissy was certain that he would draw his wand and they would have it out ... in the library of all places. But he surprised her.

“Not today,” said Black, turning on his heel and beginning to walk away.

For a moment Sissy thought it was a threat. Then she realized just how far the respect that many held in their hearts for Professor Dippet extended ... even into the very depths of Slytherin house, it seemed. She relaxed, but still knew that the day would come when she would have to face Black in a fair fight ... for her own honor, for that of her friends and professors, and for Ravenclaw house. But at least for that one day, she could rest easy, thanks to Armando Dippet.

Sissy Howard blinked away a tear and let go of her wand, leaving it to rest in her sleeve.


The faculty returned around mid-afternoon that day looking just as somber as when they had left, not to mention damp, as it was raining in London, though Hogwarts was enjoying relatively pleasant weather for a change. The five Ravenclaws were on their way back to the Aerie with the hope that perhaps some of their house mates, or at least the loudly weeping and openly despondent ones, had cleared out, when Martin spied his parents, arm in arm, walking toward his mother’s office.

Minerva glanced their way and smiled tiredly at her son and his friends. She could see the sadness etched upon their young faces and paused to speak with them.

“Good afternoon,” she said, releasing her husband’s arm.

He too stopped and looked at the children, surveying them over his rain-spotted spectacles.

“How was it, mum?” asked Martin after pleasantries had been exchanged.

Her smile faded, but she answered, “Armando would have been pleased.”

“It was very private and not at all ostentatious. He would have liked that very much,” added Dumbledore for clarification.

“Just his colleagues, friends, and family in attendance,” said McGonagall.

“But he was such a great wizard...” objected Olivia, who was mildly horrified that only a few people, she wrongly presumed, had chosen to pay last respects to Professor Dippet. Tears filled her eyes once again.

“Very great indeed,” agreed Dumbledore, fishing a hankie out of one of his many pockets and giving it to her with a patient smile, “but Armando was...” and here Dumbledore groped for the appropriate word.

“He was ... reserved, as I’m sure some of you noticed, and perhaps even what some might call shy,” remarked Minerva with tears in her eyes as she struggled to describe the wizard who had been her own headmaster for most of her school years. She had known him quite well during the war years as well and through his association with her husband. “He wouldn’t have wanted a crowd at his memorial service,” she added.

“I never realized,” said Olivia softly.

“I don’t suppose he seemed that way to you because he was your headmaster and so much older than you,” said Dumbledore as he put an arm around Minerva, understanding just how she felt. He had been quite sad when his own headmaster had died.

Olivia dabbed at her eyes and nodded, remembering for a moment the look on Dippet’s face when he had emerged from his office to find a crowd waiting to send him off properly. He had been quite startled by the gathering, but quick to recover. Olivia laughed quietly to herself as she thought about the hug he had given her to prevent her from crying.

“I think I understand,” she sniffed, wiping her eyes and trying to hold back anymore tears.

Martin patted her shoulder and gave her a sympathetic smile. He had never seen those qualities in the former headmaster, but now that he thought about the unassuming manner that Dippet had had about him, Martin found that he had liked those things about him very much.

“The service was quite lovely,” said Minerva with a gentle smile, glancing up at her husband. “Reynard said such ... such heartfelt things about him,” she added, taking a tartan handkerchief from her own pocket and surreptitiously dabbing at her eyes.

“Professor Krohn?” asked Olivia in disbelief and confusion. She didn’t like the idea of that brute saying anything about Professor Dippet.

“There’s no harm in saying that they shared a special bond, is there, my dear?” Albus asked his wife.

“He was like another son to Armando,” she agreed, perhaps forgetting the students for a moment, “and Merlin knows that Reynard needed a father figure when he first came here.”

Minerva, who had been a student at that time and remembered well Krohn’s far more temperamental and youthful days, simply shook her head thoughtfully. Armando had been a calming influence and, unlike his own father, he had always taken Krohn quite seriously, involving him in many of the school’s affairs that junior staff members might easily have been left out of. Armando considered it a courtesy and a privilege to so instruct the young professor. Few knew it, although some might have guessed, but Armando hoped that Krohn would someday, in a century or so, become headmaster of the school himself.

“He certainly did,” Dumbledore agreed, though his eyes twinkled a bit at this.

He did not mention it, but by his estimation the two wizards had needed each other. Dippet had lost his wife just the spring before Krohn’s arrival and his eldest daughter two years prior to that. Taking care of Reynard, who almost immediately became something of a refugee from both wars, wizarding and Muggle, had taken Dippet’s mind off his own losses and had helped him to heal. Even after the war, the two had remained very close, despite their different mind-sets on many things. Dumbledore found that quite touching, when Krohn wasn’t trying to antagonize him.

Upon hearing all of this, the girls exchanged uncomfortable glances, except Sophia, who knew something about what Krohn felt for his own father, who had died during the previous autumn. He had actually lost two fathers in the space of a year’s time. Her heart ached for him.

“Poor Reynard,” Minerva whispered, grasping her husband’s arm and shaking her head. “It may be some time before he gets over this.”

Sophia rather agreed with her.

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