Turn on the Light, Open the Door

I wrote this as an answer to a plot bunny posted on Fiction Alley Park by Lanta. The idea was to write a story according to the following paragraph:

In Hogwarts, there is a door. This door can lead anywhere. It can go to any room in the castle, it can go to anywhere in Britain or on Earth. It can even go to other worlds or alternate dimensions. All a person has to do is find this door, and it will take them to wherever they need to be - whether it is their own wish to be there, or destiny's wish.

While I originally intended this to be a one-shot, it has grown into a multi-chapter story, which I'm currently outlining. I can't tell you how long it will take, nor how quick I am at updating, I'm rather new at this. I do, however, intend to finish it.

1. Prologue: Duty and Privilege

The ginger farmer unlaces his boots, peels away his socks, and tosses them in the bed of his truck. Fidgeting down the gravel road, one sock falls out. When the farmer reaches pavement, he stops to unlock the wheel hubs and raise the forgotten tailgate but doesn't count socks until he's home. Dollar a dozen, says his wife, Wal-Mart.

(…)

The woman has gone where the sock went. - Sock Cycle, by Carol Peters.

Headmasters of Hogwarts had always been more than simply the head of a school. Its most recent headmaster was a lot more. The Symbol of the Light, revered throughout the Wizarding World because of all he did. He'd preserved the delicate balance of power in Magical Britain. Defeated Grindewald. Described the Twelve Uses of Dragon Blood. Headed the Order of the Phoenix. And he was the one of the faces of the Chocolate Frog Cards. The last accomplishment was the one he was most proud of. He had no fewer than 78 complete collections of the cards, and aimed to complete 100 before the turn of the millennium. According to Hogwarts, a History, he was number 136 in a line of proud witches and wizards to hold his position, and, apart from Wulfric Flungley and Armando Dippet, he had presided over the school longer than any of his predecessors.

All these facts, excepting his number of Chocolate Frog Card collections, could be found in the Wizards' Archive of Inhabitants Living In Northern Great-Britain, W.A.I.L.I.N.G.(B.) in the Department of Mysteries. The Wizard's Archive of Inhabitants Living in the South - W.A.I.L.S. - no longer existed. It had contained all the files of people living in former British colonies and the few wizards who dared live in the south of the U.K, among the great concentrations of Muggles. When the magical communities in the colonies had become independent at the end of the 19th century, the files of the witches and wizards living there had been transferred to the Magical Ministries of the newly independent countries. The files of the handful of witches and wizards that remained had been filed away in the W.A.I.L.I.N.G.(B.). Even though the spread of the population had changed radically since, especially with the introduction of many Muggleborns into the Wizarding World in the 20th century - a development that stagnated only while Grindewald was at the height of his power - W.A.I.L.S. had never been reopened.

According to his file, Albus Dumbledore had been Headmaster twice, once from 1948 to 1995, to be replaced by Headmistress Dolores Umbridge - who had been number 136 and the one to hold the position shortest in the history of Hogwarts. He had been reinstated in 1996, and held the position until his death in the early summer of 1997, when Headmistress Minerva McGonagall took over.

~

late May, 1997

One of the best and worst things of being a Headmaster, Dumbledore thought while he regarded Fawkes preening himself, was the task to preserve the secrets of an ancient castle. A school could harbour many secrets, not because of a tight security net, but because of the disregard of its inhabitants, who often mistake familiarity for knowledge, and routine for lack of mystery. The best secrets were those kept where everyone could see them. This was certainly true for one of the deeper secrets the Headmaster was obligated to keep. He sighed when he recalled the short paragraph written in the copy of A Headmaster's Manual, Volume XXVII: Hogwarts' More Obscure Facilities by Salazar Slytherin.

In Hogwarts, there is a door. This door can lead anywhere. It can go to any room in the castle, it can go to anywhere in Britain or on Earth. It can even go to other worlds or alternate dimensions. All a person has to do is find this door, and it will take them to wherever they need to be - whether it is their own wish to be there, or destiny's wish.

The man was as secretive as the current head of Slytherin House, and his description was as vague as the rest of Volume XXVII. The title of the book had been Rowena Ravenclaw's. Apparently, Slytherin's hadn't been appropriate. Dumbledore idly wondered if that was the same kind of 'inappropriate' as certain events involving his brother and a goat.

Fawkes whistled one clear note when all his feathers were in place, and tucked his head under his wing. Dumbledore rose and walked towards the cabinet that contained his Pensieve, opening it to consult the clock that stood on the highest shelf. It was a brown and black clock, in a simple curved design with a large face in the middle and the two sides sloping downwards gently, ending in clawed feet, miniature versions of those that supported the desk.

It should have been proudly displayed on the mantle instead of hidden on the top shelf of a dusty cabinet, but Dumbledore had found that it gave away too much sometimes, as it did right now, to put in such a prominent place. It had only one hand, which read 'headmaster' in small letters. Instead of numerals, it had a collection of short phrases around the edge, which changed from time to time, depending on the Headmaster's or Headmistress's personality and the situation. At the bottom of the face was Dumbledore's favourite, Time for Tea, right next to Time to Bug Minerva.

Now, however, the hand was pointing at the phrase at the top of the clock, which had appeared only a few months before, Time to Arrange Affairs. Apparently, time was running out. He would have to act quickly if he wanted everything done to his satisfaction. Where should I begin? As if it had heard him, the hand shifted to rest between Time for Tea and Time to Bug Minerva.

Perhaps that would be best, Dumbledore thought. I wonder if she is still as fond of Earl Grey after the events of yesterday evening.

~

In Mystic Alley, there was a door. This door was plain brown, with scratch-marks at the bottom and a faded heart near its upper hinge. The heart contained an arrow, an L, and another letter that had grown indiscernible with age. In the middle of the door, at eye-level, was a rusty iron plaque with the smiling face of a wizard. The top of his pointed hat was flaking, and it wasn't clear whether he had a neck or a very neat beard. The doorknob was in a similar state as the plaque, which had once been silvery in colour, but was now almost as brown as the door.

People passed by the door without noticing it, for there were far more interesting things to see than a shabby door in Mystic Alley. The Alley ran parallel to its more popular cousin, Diagon Alley, though the two were not connected. The shops with doors that opened on Mystic Alley were of a radically different variety than Madame Malkin's or Flourish and Blott's. The small shopping street had started its life as a congregation of shops that had been refused in various magical shopping centres throughout Britain. Their main focus was everything and anything to with the Future, and Its Mysteries. Soon, however, other specialty shops had found their way to the Alley, attracted to the eccentric crowd that attended it and broadening the range of products on sale. Nowadays, they offered a wide range of merchandise, from luxury chessboards, hand-carved, to confectionary and animated furniture. LOL!

Directly opposite the unremarkable door was a dusty shop, with a red-haired farmer pulling off his boots under the watchful gaze of a rotund woman in the display window. His clothes were grey, except for his socks, which were bright blue with criss-crossing green and red stripes on them. Before the farmer sat a sign, which proclaimed "Cowold and Meatey, For All Your Sock Needs, Since 1593" It was this sight that greeted the bulbous yellow eye that peeked out of a small opening where the door had separated from the wall.

Immediately after the eye had read the sign, it widened. The ear, which had drooped beside the eye, perked up. The door opened further, and Dobby stepped through, carefully closing the door behind him before turning towards the window again. He veritably bounced across the street, the half-dozen lumpy hats on his head bouncing along in rainbow-coloured cheerfulness. The shoppers who were in the street at that moment paid the House-elf no mind, assuming he was the property of one of the shopkeepers. Blissful in their ignorance, they did not see him consult a shopping list, nor did they see him bounce to the front door of the sock shop, rather than the back, as would be proper for a House-elf on an errand for its master.

Dobby stepped through the door opening. A bell beside the door went off. He quickly grabbed it, and said "shhhhhh!" He put one long finger over his lips for emphasis, flattening a nostril.

"Can I help-" a young girl said, appearing behind the counter adjacent to the door. She broke off her sentence when she didn't immediately spot anyone.

"You see what you did?" Dobby whispered at the bell. "Now she has to help me." The doorbell didn't respond.

"Hello?" asked the girl, starting to look a tad confused. She started when something multi-coloured appeared over the top of the counter. It moved. She touched it gingerly. It felt woolly. Two large eyes appeared beneath it. She stared. They stared back.

"Dobby is liking some socks, Miss," the eyes declared in a squeaky voice. She kept staring. "For Headmaster Dumblydory." She blinked. "Many socks." She leaned over the counter. Ah, the eyes were attached to a House-elf. The words registered.

"Ah…er…yes, well, you have come to the right place then, haven't you?" She rubbed her eyes, not believing what she saw. The House-elf was wearing clothes: one jumper, several hats and a whole collection of socks, not all of them on his feet. The sight stubbornly refused to change to something more believable, however, and she decided to ask her father about Mr Dumblydory later. He knew all the customers, and would certainly know whether or not one of them owned a clothed House-elf. "What kind of socks is your master looking for?"

"The headmaster is wanting the red socks with green nightingales, Miss, and the white socks with the blue heels and the beach-chairs, and the bouncing bouncy ball socks, and the yellow smiley socks that laugh every time you is jumping up and down." He rushed the entire sentence out in one breath, adding as an afterthought: "…and Dobby is wanting all of those too."

"Ah, our new collection," she responded, with only a slight pause at the beginning. A part of her brain was screaming A clothed House-elf?!; the rest of her was moving in a daze. She squeezed out a smile from some hidden reserve of shopkeeper genes. "Well, they're just behind the counter. Shall I put them in the same bag?"

"Oh yes, Miss!" exclaimed Dobby "Dumblydory was saying he was not wanting any extra bags like last time, so I should be using one." A large smile stretched his lips at the recollection.

"Ah…" the girl stammered. She whisked eight pairs of socks from the shelf behind her, and put them in a paper bag. She put it on the wooden counter. "Two Galleons, please." Dobby reached up to put the golden coins next to the bag, and took the bag, holding it as if it were a new-born baby. "Have a nice day," she said automatically.

He smiled at her and bobbed his head. "Dobby hopes you is also having a big day!" As he walked out, holding the bag reverently, a balding man in a dark cloak appeared in the doorway.

"Dobby!" he said.

Dobby's smile became even wider. "Hello, Mr Meat, Sir." The girl looked how her father would react to this. To her surprise, he wasn't angry at the mispronunciation of his name. Rather, he seemed amused.

"I see Esther already helped you to this month's new socks. Have you bought any for yourself?" Arnold Meatey asked.

"Yes, Mr Meat, Sir. All four!" Dobby responded eagerly, opening the bag and holding it up for inspection. Meatey looked in the bag.

"So I see," said he, straightening up again and undoing the sock-shaped clasp of his cloak. "Well, give my regards to the Headmaster, will you?"

"Dobby is willing, Mr Meat, Sir, and Dumblydory says greetings to you." Dobby said, and ran out the door before Meatey could respond to this. He watched form the doorway until Dobby had disappeared through the door on the other side of the street, and turned to hang his cloak over the rack by the door. The rack took the cloak obligingly, and righted itself again. Meatey turned to his daughter, and saw her stunned look.

"I see some tea and an explanation are in order," he said lightly, and walked towards the back room. Esther followed him, leaving the shop once again empty.

~

In a corridor off the Great Hall, next to a painting of a bowl of fruit, there was a door. It looked old, and had clearly served as a scratch-post for Mrs. Norris several times. Next to the upper hinge was a heart, faded with age. In the middle of the door was a plaque with the smiling face of a wizard. The heavy, flaking doorknob was turning. The door opened to reveal Dobby the House-elf with a paper bag and a smile on his face in the middle of what appeared to be a shopping street. He closed the door, made one step and disappeared with a snap of his fingers.

~

"…really Albus, I can't believe why you would summon me here, for no reason other than to perform such a trivial piece of Transfiguration," sounded the angry voice of Professor McGonagall, seated in the visitor's chair before the huge claw-footed desk, facing Albus Dumbledore. She had a red face, and was waving around a cup of light-coloured Chamomile tea, drops of which now decorated the desk, the carpet, both chairs in the room and the Headmaster. "I know for a fact that your magical abilities-"

"Minerva." Dumbledore interrupted his irate deputy Headmistress quietly. She stopped, took one look at his tired expression, closed her mouth and let herself sag in her chair. She took a sip of the tea that remained in her cup, and pulled a face.

"Oh, you did have to spoil my taste for Earl Grey for the rest of the year, didn't you?" she muttered. A small twinkle lighted blue eyes for a moment, before disappearing again.

"I apologise, of course. It was simply too…tempting." He set down his own cup, picking up one of the two steaming pots of tea on the desk and refilling it. "And you must admit it was worth the look on Hagrid's face, not to mention the look on Severus'."

Her expression changed slowly from sullen to pleased. "Yes, that it was," she agreed. Another sip of tea, and she sobered again. "Back to the subject, why did you ask me to come here, Albus? I don't believe for a minute you would need me here to perform a fourth-year spell."

Dumbledore's hands, one pink, the other shrivelled and black, tightened around the cup. "No, that I do not. I will require it of you later, but not right now. I need to show you something." He put down his cup, and rose. But before McGonagall could ask what it was he wanted to show her, a knock sounded on the door. "Come in," called Dumbledore.

It was Dobby, holding four pairs of socks. His eyes flicked from Dumbledore to McGonagall to the socks and back to Dumbledore. "I is apologising, Dumblydory, sir, I is thinking you were alone," he said, looking morose at the thought of disappointing the Headmaster. McGonagall turned towards Dumbledore to ask if she should dismiss the creature. Dumbledore, however, didn't look in the least bit surprised or displeased, and strode towards the door quickly, taking the socks from Dobby.

"Do not worry, Dobby, you have fulfilled my request wonderfully." Dobby beamed, bowed so low his hats flew off his head and his large ears touched the ground. McGonagall winced when one of the hats landed dangerously close to one of the delicate silver instruments that littered the office, but no harm came of it. She took out her wand, and levitated all the hats back to Dobby in the blink of an eye.

With a large grin and a "thank you Professor Minny, Miss," Dobby was gone again. McGonagall looked at Dumbledore again, who was putting away the socks in one of his desk drawers.

"I assume this is…customary?" she asked tentatively. Dumbledore nodded, and regarded her for a moment. She had the feeling he was looking for something.

"Yes, Minerva, it is."

"Ah," she said, trying to hide her amazement at discovering another one of Dumbledore's quirks and continued "Now can we…?"

"Yes," Dumbledore repeated, and looked away, towards the window that looked out over the Quidditch Pitch. "Follow me." He walked to the open window, and stepped through.

Minerva ran towards the window, and looked out, expecting to find the Headmaster splattered all over the roof beneath the window. She didn't see him, or anything that looked like a body that had fallen from great height. So, hoping she wasn't insane or delusional, but strongly suspecting she was, if only for following Dumbledore, she lifted one leg over the ledge, hesitantly searching for something firm to stand on…and stepped onto a stone floor. When she leaned her head through the window as well, she saw Dumbledore standing in what appeared to be the middle of a private library, eyeing her amusedly.

"Come now, Minerva, don't tell me you're afraid. We were sorted in the same house, you know," he said, his moustache twitching.

McGonagall felt her cheeks heat. "Courage is not the same as stupidity," she snapped, and stumbled the rest of the way into the library. Pulling her robe straight, she walked towards the old man. "This is what you wanted to show me?" she inquired.

He nodded silently, and gestured for her to look around. It wasn't a remarkable room, apart from the amount of books, she noted. The bookcases were worn, there was one faded red chair in front of a small fireplace that was not lit and badly needed a sweeping. She read the titles of a few books. All of them appeared to be volumes of a series entitled A Headmaster's Manual, ranging from I to MMCCVIII. She picked one up at random. A Headmaster's Manual, Volume MCCXCIII: Centaurs in the Forbidden Forest Part III by Philippa Belltox the cover read in gold-leaf scrollwork. She looked at Dumbledore in askance, but he didn't appear to notice. He had seated himself in the chair, engrossed in Volume XII: Sword of Gryffindor.

She circled the room. All books appeared to be written by one of the Founders, Headmasters or Headmistresses that had populated the Headmaster's office at one point. The most recent of the volumes was written by Dumbledore himself. It was the slimmest book in the entire library. Most were thick tomes, but this one had less than two hundred pages. The title was gold-leaf, as the previous one had been, proclaiming the book was A Headmaster's manual, Volume MMCCVIII: Out of Passwords; a Self-Updating List of Wizarding Sweets. She chucked, and leafed through the book. It listed all of the sweets she had ever had in her childhood or confiscated of the students in her career as a teacher. Some of the names she didn't even know. When she came to the end of the book, she noticed that one name became more and more frequent. The Weasley Twins, she thought fondly. I should have known. Well, this explains how Albus never runs out of passwords. As she was looking at the last page, the cover flashed, and a new page separated itself from parchment glued to the backside of the book. Words began to appear, in the slanting handwriting she recognised from all the notes her colleague had sent her.

Sweet nr 1196
Name: Concussion Cherries
Type: Prank
Inventor(s): Fred Weasley, George Weasley
Taste: Cherry
Shape: Cherry
Colour: Red
Effect (optional): Simulates a light concussion in whoever takes this sweet, wears off after 10 minutes.
Availability: Gambol & Japes, London; Zonko's, Hogsmeade; Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, Owl Order.

If nothing else, McGonagall thought, this will come in handy to keep an eye on what mysterious diseases the students will display in class. She looked up at a noise. Dumbledore was standing, holding the book he had been reading at an arm's length. When he noticed her he flashed her the first genuine smile McGonagall had seen on his face in the past few months. "Come, we have dawdled long enough, it's time I told you the rest of the story," he said enthusiastically, and strode back through the window and sat in his chair behind his desk, inspecting the book again.

McGonagall put Volume MMCCVIII back on the shelf before following him.

~

Severus Snape was arguably the most horrible teacher Rubeus Hagrid had ever known, so he wasn't particularly pleased when the black-haired man approached him that day. He was tending to the pumpkin patch, removing a large branch that was blocking the light of the still-small pumpkins behind it. He noticed Snape when the man was only a few yards away, stalking towards him with a scowl on his face.

"Hagrid!" he called. Hagrid grunted in response. Snape held out a small vial, which contained a translucent blue liquid. "The potion you requested," he said, seeming displeased at having to give it to Hagrid. Hagrid remembered he had asked Dumbledore to have Snape brew some Vegetable Growth Potion for his pumpkins, so he wouldn't need to resort to his umbrella again.

"Thank ye, professor," he said. Snape turned sharply on his heel before Hagrid finished speaking, and was halfway to the main entrance before he could formulate anything else to say. Not that he wanted to, but it would have been decent to say goodbye, at least.

Hagrid wanted to turn back to the branch, when he saw Draco Malfoy approach the Professor. Teacher's pet, Hagrid thought, thinking of all the stories Harry and Ron had regaled him with about Potions classes. He kept watching, curious as to what would happen next. After a few minutes of what looked like a feverish debate, Severus pointed to the main entrance. Malfoy stood still for a moment, before walking slowly back towards the castle, looking over his shoulder several times, to Snape, who was striding quickly, almost running towards the gates. Strange.

Hagrid turned around, tucked the vial in his right breast pocket, and started tugging at the branch again. If Snape wanted to run errands for his favourite students, that was not Hagrid's concern.

~

Dumbledore had brewed some fresh tea for himself and McGonagall before seating himself in the chair again. "How is it?" he asked, indicating the cup McGonagall held.

She blew over the tea delicately and took a sip. "It's fine, Albus." They were silent for a few minutes.

"Minerva, do you remember what I told you about the Sword of Gryffindor?" he asked suddenly.

"You mean how Mr Potter retrieved it from the Sorting Hat in the Chamber of Secrets? Yes. But I don't see what that has to do with anything. Except that you are apparently interested in the subject at the moment," she said, indicating the book that lay by the Headmaster's right elbow. "I can't help you there, Albus, I know only what you told me."

"I was not asking for help, Minerva." Dumbledore sighed, and looked at his hands. "I need to tell you something, something important." His blue eyes suddenly caught her in that soul-piercing gaze again. "I may need to go away again soon, for a long time, longer than before," he said slowly, picking up speed the longer he talked. "Because of this, I need to inform you of a few facts I had not previously thought necessary to tell you." She opened her mouth at this, but he stalled her by going on quickly.

"The Sword of Gryffindor was, as its name suggests, originally the possession of Godric Gryffindor. At one point, he apparently needed a safe place to store it, though I have never been able to discover his motives. He chose his hat, which was later enchanted by all four founders to become the Sorting Hat. The only one ever able to retrieve it would be a true Gryffindor. That, at least, is what he wrote in the book he wrote on the subject." At this, he inclined his head at Volume XII, still lying innocently by his elbow.

"What exactly did he mean by that?" McGonagall asked sharply. "An Heir, like You-Know-Who?"

Dumbledore grinned. "Ever the sharp one, Minerva. No, it means no such thing. Gryffindor's line became extinct two centuries ago. A true Gryffindor, according to Godric himself, is one of the students sorted in his house who exhibits all characteristics he preferred to see in those students. He was always one who preferred to judge people by their personalities, rather than their blood or background.

"Tom, however, believes that he can only be defeated by an heir of blood, and since he knows of the prophecy, believes Harry to be the Heir of Gryffindor. I, and now you, are the only ones who know this isn't the case. I would like you to inform Harry of this, should the subject ever come up."

McGonagall frowned at this. "Why don't you simply tell him yourself?" she questioned him.

"Harry isn't aware there is even a possibility. He assumes, correctly, that it is simply because he was sorted into Gryffindor that he could handle the sword. Now…as for the rest f what I wanted to tell you…" he conjured a Patronus, murmured something in its ear, and sent it through the wall. "I need that hammer I requested of you earlier. If you are ready?" he held up a tea cup in the hand that wasn't black.

"Albus…" McGonagall started to protest.

"Please, Minerva, I have my reasons," he responded. She pulled out her wand again, murmured the spell, moved her wand three times clockwise, and Dumbledore was holding a hammer. He closed his good hand over it before it could fall to the floor. It was twice as long as his hand, with a wooden handle and a pointed metal head.

"Good." He gave her a satisfied smile. "Hagrid will arrive in a minute, if he can leave his pumpkins immediately, that is, and there are some things he doesn't have to know.

"One is the library I just showed you. It is only accessible to current Head of the School, whether Headmaster or Headmistress, and the one they choose to take over their position once it is time." McGonagall started to speak, but Dumbledore held up his blackened hand. The sight of it silenced her effectively.

"You will find in it a complete archive of the background information of Hogwarts. Very little has been added since the first centuries of Hogwarts, but you might find it necessary to make an addition. If so, simply consult the book that sits on the mantle in the library.

"The other thing is that Dobby has been my personal House-elf for some time, and knows almost every in and out of cleaning my office, taking care of Fawkes and the errands I need him to run without being asked. He has been a most loyal assistant, and I would like to ask you not to dismiss him," he didn't look like an imposing Headmaster in that moment, but like a grandfather holding a hammer who was asking a favourite grandchild to get him the nails to hang up a painting. (ah, nope. Just a little hammer. Maybe tell us how long it is?

McGonagall nodded, she could never refuse the old coot when he looked like that. A second later, as if it were timed, someone knocked heavily on the door. It rattled. Dumbledore gestured with the hammer, and the door opened. McGonagall glared at him. He shrugged in response.

Hagrid stepped into the office. "Ye needed me, Headmaster?" he asked. "Hello, Professor," he said when he noticed McGonagall in the next moment.

"Ah, Hagrid, yes, could you lift that glass case for me onto the desk? I'm afraid it's too high for either me or Professor McGonagall to reach without a great amount of effort," said Dumbledore, indicating the case that held the glittering sword beset with rubies.

"I'd be happy to, sir." Hagrid lifted the case from its shelf, and put it on the claw-footed desk. "Any reason?"

"Only to prove a point," was the answer. The Headmaster brought the hammer down with a great sweep on top of the glass case. McGonagall shrieked, transformed into a cat and fled under the desk for cover. At the same time, Hagrid dove and pushed Dumbledore out of the way of flying glass shards.

Or would have, had there been glass shards. As it was, the only thing Hagrid accomplished was pushing Dumbledore to the floor, upsetting his own balance in the process and landing on the tail of the deputy Headmistress, who hissed at him and flew to the top of the cabinet.

Dumbledore was the first to regain both his composure and his footing. Hagrid stumbled to his feet slowly, and seating himself in the visitor's chair. McGonagall climbed down from the cabinet after a few minutes of licking her coat. She transformed after hissing viciously at both the glass case and Dumbledore.

"As you can see, the glass case cannot be easily broken," Dumbledore said, while Minerva conjured a chair for herself. "This is so Tom can't get to it, nor any other ill-meaning parties. Even true Gryffindors won't be able to retrieve it, this time."

Both the Transfiguration Professor and the Professor for Care of Magical Creatures nodded at this, still not entirely calm. Silence filled the office for a moment

"Would you like some tea now, Hagrid?" Dumbledore asked.

Hagrid shook his head "If yeh don' mind, professors, I'd like to get back to me pumpkins." He left.

"Albus," McGonagall said after Hagrid had closed the door.

"Hmmm?"

"Earl Grey." She held out her cup to him.

Albus filled the cup, a twinkle in his eyes.