Harry Potter and the Mysterious Stubbardmans

A dark-haired girl, with dancing blue eyes, and an adventurous smile rushed out with some of the other students from the Great Hall. The inaugural festivities were coming to an end, and now some of the students, staff, and guests were casually migrating into the halls of the castle.

"Mum," the girl called out in a rich, Irish brogue, "where is everyone else? Aren't Uncle Ari and Cousin Bridget here?"

Dori greeted her daughter with a hug. "Uncle Ari is talking with one of the other students."

"Potter?" Grace inquired in an annoyed tone.

"Yes, and keep your voice down. Remember what we discussed?"

"You know, he's not the easiest to watch. Couldn't I have been placed in Gryffindor?" the sixth year, who was dressed in Hufflepuff garb, whined.

"Now, Grace, we talked about that too. Your strongest attribute is your undying loyalty," Dori explained, lightly brushing her daughter's cheek with her thumb.

"But I'm brave. I may not be as smart as those Ravenclaws or witty like those stuffy Slytherins, but I am brave, Mum!"

"That you are, but your loyalty is what makes you stand out from all the others...and you possess an attribute that other Hufflepuffs don't share -your natural ability to fight," Dori whispered as she looked around cautiously. "You do remember why that skill is so important, don't you?"

"Yes, Mum, but I'm not a babysitter. Why me? Why do I have to give up all of my fun? Why couldn't they have just assigned one of the others to do the spying?"

"Grace, don't make me have to go through this again! You know perfectly well why."

Grace shot a glare at her mother and then scanned the rest of the halls where the other groups of teenagers had started huddling. She was a new student and felt terribly alienated. Hogwarts was nothing like her private school for Druids back home in Ireland.

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"Harry," a middle-aged man called out. He was of medium build with shoulder length, light brown hair, tied in a ponytail, and light brown eyes that fastened on to Harry.

Harry turned in the direction of the man, who was draped in a deep, dark purple robe and sporting a matching wizards' hat. The distraction interrupted Harry's lively, humorous conversation with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. The other three turned to look.

Dori's brother, Aristotle, was recognized by only a handful of people. The Dark Arts Defence practitioner possessed a specialty rarely known of or understood by the average witch or wizard. Having both the ability to practice Defence Against the Dark Arts and Magical Therapy was a rare combination. Hermione knew who he was because of her association with Dori. Ron only knew he had been invited by Professor McGonagall to teach the Defence Against the Dark Arts classes.

"Erm, pardon me, guys. The master calls," Harry sarcastically excused himself from the trio, then navigated through the hoards of other students to reach the coolly poised man. His eyes were glued to Harry's frame as he watched the young wizard zigzag through the crowd.

When Harry finally reached his tutor, he smiled warmly.

"Ari, come over and join us," Harry invited, pointing to the trio.

"I'd love to, but my time is limited, and I have some important business to attend to after I leave here. I really needed to speak with you in private and it couldn't wait. Shall we?" Aristotle asked, gesturing to a more secluded area of the castle.

"Sure." Harry shrugged, glancing back at Ron and Hermione, who, along with Ginny, were carefully watching all that was taking place.

Ron met Harry's eyes with a concerned look. Ginny surreptitiously elbowed Hermione.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"I don't know," Hermione replied, out of the corner of her mouth.

Aristotle led Harry into one of the classrooms and waved his wand to light some candles.

"LUMOS MAXIMA."

"Aristotle, is everything okay?" Harry asked sensing some tension coming from his trainer.

"Harry, I have some distressing news," the therapist revealed.

"What's wrong?" Harry inquired. A sense of dread quickly replaced curiosity and his stomach began to churn.

"Our concern has been confirmed. There is a spy at Hogwarts."

"A spy? Do you have any idea who it is? Is it the one responsible for what happened to me?"

"They could be, but we can't be sure. We are certain that he or she is a Voldemort sympathizer and a member of the Verole."

"The Verole?"

"A group of ferocious vermin, who kill and torture for fun. They have absolutely no remorse for their actions and thrive on others' pain," Aristotle described with a shudder in his diction.

Harry gulped in response to Aristotle's explanation. "How do you know this spy is here?"

"Hagrid noticed someone walking the grounds past curfew last night," Aristotle shared.

"So? I don't mean to be disrespectful, but the students break curfew all the time," Harry revealed.

"Hagrid saw the student in question change into someone else and run off into the Forbidden Forest." Aristotle furled his brows to emphasize the seriousness of the discovery that Hagrid had made. "The Aurors have been tracking owls, the Floo network and other methods of communication. The spies are not only here, they're everywhere: Hogsmeade, the Ministry, all of England!"

"But I still don't get it. How could they have gotten past the castle's security charms?"

"No one knows."

"So Professor McGonagall was right. I am marked for death. Why can't they just leave me alone? Don't they know that most of my powers are destroyed? I'm no threat to them now."

"They want revenge for what you did to their lord. As for your powers being destroyed, we can't be certain that the Death Eaters were responsible for that. We can only hope that whoever it is, he or she doesn't find out about your...condition," Aristotle replied. "I can't stay much longer. I have to get back to the Ministry. I have lessons to write and exercises for you to learn, to help you with your therapy.

"Aristotle, what if they're not just after me? What if they go after Ron or Hermione or...Ginny?" Harry's voiced trailed off. His mind raced with terrifying images of shapeless phantoms attacking the young woman he loved.

"One thing at a time, Harry. Look. Don't be too worried. Hagrid and Tit ... I mean Headmaster Candelier know the situation," Aristotle assured.

"But..." Harry began but was interrupted by a tapping on the classroom door.

Both Harry and Aristotle turned toward the door. They slowly approached the classroom's entrance.

"Is someone there?" Aristotle asked in a firm, commanding tone.

No one answered back, only the consistent tapping. Both therapist and student drew their wands, having them ready at their side. Aristotle motioned for Harry to take cover behind an easel, prior to him opening the door. Harry rebelled at first, wanting to show that he was capable of standing up for himself, but Aristotle quickly pushed Harry behind it. He inhaled deeply, placed his hand tightly on the knob then briskly pulled the door open.

"What the ... Merlin's beard! Dover, you could have been killed!" Aristotle exclaimed, looking down in relief upon the little elf, whose skin was atypically coloured a powder blue.

"Er ... ehem... sorry to have disturbed you at this time of the evening, sir, but my master wanted me to give this message to Mr. H.J. Potter," Dover explained in a quirky, nasal-like voice.

Dover was an awkward, skinny elf, quite unlike others of his species. The powder-blue colouring of his skin was a rare trait amongst elves, and it brought out his stunning orange eyes. His master was the newly coroneted Headmaster Candelier. Titus brought the lanky servant along, when he, his young son, and his wife, who was six months pregnant, moved into the headmaster's private quarters.

"Well, thank you, Dover. I'll see to it that Mr. Potter gets the message," Aristotle responded, taking the bright yellow envelope from the elf.

Dover bowed respectfully then quickly Disapparated.

Aristotle turned toward the back of the classroom where Harry had remained hidden throughout the episode. Relieved that his worst fears could be laid to rest, he began to laugh, a reaction common of one whose nerves had been tested. "It was only Dover, Titus' house elf." Aristotle handed Harry the envelope.

Harry walked out from behind the easel and moved to Aristotle to retrieve the message. He opened it, and, as he read the message, his expression took on a puzzling shape.

"What's the matter, Harry?"

"The headmaster wants to see me immediately. What could I possibly be blamed for already? Other than sneaking into the kitchens earlier today..." Harry babbled.

"Harry, I assure you, whatever it is, it's much more pressing than sneaking a mid-day snack. Come on. I'll escort you to his royal highness, then I have to go." Aristotle offered.

Harry laughed at his therapist's joke then followed him out of the classroom, over to the headmaster's chambers. Both tutor and student walked in silence until they reached the familiar doors.

"This is where I leave you, until we meet for another session. I believe this Wednesday?" Aristotle checked his memory.

"Yes, this Wednesday," Harry confirmed.

Aristotle smiled, nodded, and then left to make his way back to the school's entrance, and eventually to return to the Ministry. Harry stared at the door--the slab of ornate wood that separated him and the man that had taken his beloved, late headmaster's place. The door began to open. Harry stepped back out of the way. He peeked inside before entering, only to find Professor Candelier standing at the window near the spot where Professor Dumbledore's Pensieve once stood.

"You wanted to see me, Professor?" Harry broke the disquieting hush.

"Take a seat, Potter," the newly appointed headmaster instructed with his back still turned toward the anxious teen.

Harry did as Professor Candelier told him to, sitting down in one of the seats by the headmaster's desk. There was another moment of silence. The Headmaster continued to stand by the window, hands clasped behind his back. He blinked nervously a few times. Harry watched the man's strange behaviour, wondering what he was going to do next.

Finally, Professor Candelier turned around and walked over to the desk. Pulling out the chair that was upholstered with a beautiful tapestry, he sat down and rested his hands on the decorative blotter. Harry smiled nervously as he looked into his headmaster's eyes.

Harry cleared his throat. "Some evening, huh?"

"Hmm, funny you mention that," Professor Candelier replied.

Harry began looking around apprehensively. He spotted Professor Dumbledore's portrait. It winked at Harry and he smiled in return. The moment, however brief, was comforting.

"Must be exciting for you...I mean...becoming Headmaster of Hogwarts," Harry clarified.

"Mmm. Yes, it is. It's also nerve wracking, frightening, and stressful. I can see myself needing emergency stomach surgery for my ulcers before the year is up," the professor declared half-heartedly.

Harry responded with a chuckle. "I'm sure you'll be a fine headmaster, sir."

"I'm glad you think so. You know, Harry, in a way, you and I are very much alike."

Harry started feeling uncomfortable again. He was wondering where the headmaster was going with this conversation. "Are you angry with me, Professor?"

"Oh, no, not at all. It's just that you and I share a similar...oh, I don't know...call it--fate?"

"What do you mean?"

"You and I are different from the others, Harry. Because of the kind of people we are, and the gifts we possess, we stand out above the rest. We're expected to conduct ourselves at a higher level, with a greater measure of decorum. It's a tremendous amount of responsibility to deal with. We're expected to be loyal, dutiful, moral, and respectful. We're expected to live by a substantially elevated code of ethics. When you think about it, it doesn't leave much time for having fun, does it?"

"Professor, I'm not sure what this is all about, but Ron and I just went to the kitchens for a snack. Ron was hungry and he..." Harry tried to explain, but Professor Candelier stopped him.

"Harry, Harry, please. I haven't called you here to reprimand you about sneaking food from the kitchens. That's for another time," Professor Candelier wryly assured him with a smile.

Harry sat motionless with the same perplexed expression. Professor Candelier waited strategically, allowing the caesura of the moment to take effect, while giving his thoughts some time to regroup. He could tell by the look in Harry's eyes that the boy was growing impatient with the conversation. He sensed that the moment was right to stop dancing around the issue.

"Harry, I can see you are anxious so, I will get to the point. You are in terrible danger," Professor Candelier confided.

"Yeah, I know. So I've been told. Do you know who's behind it?"

"None of us are sure who it is. It could be one or many. It could be from any of the groups the Death Eaters have spawned. No one can be certain. One thing, however, is. If you plan on living long enough to enter the Aurors' Apprenticeship, you are going to have to be cautious. You are going to have to behave in a manner fitting for someone who is thoroughly aware of his predicament. This will mean having to pay strict attention and abide by all school rules and regulations. Curfews can no longer be tried. Wandering on forbidden ground, especially the Forest, the secret passageway to Honeydukes, and the Shrieking Shack, must be avoided."

"Wait a minute, Professor. What's this really all about? Not to be rude, sir, but I wasn't planning to spend my last year here holed up in my room!" Harry gazed suspiciously at the headmaster.

"Harry, I've told you everything I can for now. As I learn more, you will be the first to know."

"Thanks, but...look! This is my last year here and I plan to have a good time." Harry paused for a second then, with uncharacteristic defiance, quickly modified his statement. "Actually, I plan to have a great time, and I'm not going to let any spy or whatever ruin it for me. I'm entitled to have some fun! I've earned it! With everything that I've been through these past seven years ... maybe even more, if you count all that time spent at my aunt and uncle's, I think I deserve a little fun. I defeated Voldemort, the wizarding world is safe again, and Hogwarts is almost back to normal. What more does anyone want from me!"

It was unlike Harry to blatantly challenge someone of authority, unless he was provoked, but he sensed something different about Headmaster Candelier. He sensed a weakness coming from the Headmaster that resembled Professor Dumbledore's in Harry's fifth year, when the old Headmaster shared his feelings of guilt for everything that Harry had suffered. It was this weakness that caused the youthful wizard to momentarily forget who he was addressing.

"Harry, relax," Professor Candelier responded calmly.

"RELAX? How can I relax? First, you give me this speech about how I'm so different from my peers, and I need to behave on some holy level. Then you tell me my life is in peril! So what's changed? My life has always been in danger. I don't care anymore. I thought that if I defeated Voldemort, all of this would be behind me, but it's not! I thought, for once, I could finally breathe again, start living my life, and make enough memories with my friends to last me a life time!"

Professor Candelier slumped back. He propped his head up against the back of his hand as his elbow sunk into the cushion of the arm of his chair. The expression on his face was one of extreme annoyance. This boy's idea of freedom is grossly displaced. Potter is going to be the end of my career before it even starts! He grunted. He continued to slump further into the chair, as he watched Harry place the finishing touches on his tantrum.

Harry stopped his ranting, simply because he had taken notice of the Headmaster's body language. He stood quietly and stared into the professor's eyes. Professor Candelier drummed his fingers of his other hand on the desk. He continued to maintain the silence for a moment longer before sardonically asking, "Are you done?"

Harry glared at Professor Candelier. Although this question begged for him to retaliate, he maintained his composure. There is no way that this guy is going to get the better of me, he declared privately.

"Look, Harry," Professor Candelier began, sitting up and leaning on the desk with his arms crossed, "I'm the headmaster of this school now, and while you are here, you are in my care. I'm responsible for whatever happens to you."

Harry felt a sudden sense of anger and indignation boil up inside of him. "Oh, so that's it! That's what this is all about! You're not concerned about my safety. All you're concerned about is your precious reputation!"

"I beg your pardon! How dare you speak to me like that, Potter?" Professor Candelier barked, abruptly rising from his chair and leaning forward over the desk as if ready to strike.

Harry, startled by the professor's unexpected, belligerent outburst, instinctively backed away.

"Now, you listen to me, Potter. I never wanted this job! I was perfectly happy where I was..."

"Doing what? Being the Minister's puppet? Yeah, I read about you in the Daily Prophet," Harry argued back. His voice became unsteady and he struggled to keep his fear from becoming noticeable.

"No," Professor Candelier replied. Harry's retort took him by surprise. It hit a sore spot, causing him to lose his emotional footing. Annoyed with his response to the youth's cheek, he quickly attempted to recover his dignity by trying to feign an air of calmness, while answering Harry's question. "I was training others on how to be puppets... and I was good at it, too." He laughed. "In fact, I was very good at it. After all, how do you think Percy Weasley got to where he is now?" He chuckled. He gingerly walked around from behind his desk and stood face to face with the Boy Who Lived.

Harry was beginning to get nervous. Perhaps, if Harry had his full magical powers at his disposal, he might have a chance, but this was not the case. He noticed the difference in height between himself and the man who was not much younger than his godfather, Sirius, would have been. Not only was he at a magical disadvantage, but also he knew that he would be no match in a physical confrontation - one that would end with his expulsion from Hogwarts. It would be his word against Headmaster Candelier's and highly unlikely that Harry would win.

"What's wrong, Harry? You look frightened," Professor Candelier menacingly said, cleverly manipulating his rebellious pupil's psychological state.

Harry nervously shook his head, never breaking eye contact with his smirking aggressor. "So, why did you leave your job at the Ministry, if you didn't want to be headmaster?"

"Because I was ordered... well...elected, if you will. It is considered an honour when the Ministry appoints someone to such a prestigious position. It means that your superiors at the Ministry have a great deal of faith in your abilities. You're being recognized for your choosing to live by an elevated standard of morals. Your sense of responsibility surpasses all others...blah, blah, blah," the professor explained, waving his hand to and fro. He had surrendered to the moment. He lost all need to establish dominance over his student.

"I imagine this job pays more, too," Harry joked.

Professor Candelier laughed, relieved by Harry's wit. "Yes," he admitted, placing his hands gently on Harry's shoulders. "Yes, it does, but the salary increase doesn't come without a price, and the perks are nothing to get excited about."

"So, if the job is so stressful, couldn't you have respectfully declined the Ministry's offer?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it wasn't an offer; it was an appointment. To turn it down would mean the death of my career. Besides, the extra money is going to come in handy for the baby on the way."

"Baby? Is your wife...?"

"Yes. She is."

"Congratulations, Professor," Harry said, noticing that the tense mood that once had overshadowed the chambers had lifted and been replaced by a more relaxed one.

"Thank you."

The two stood silently for another moment, studying each other's face. Then the professor spoke softly. "Harry, I'm not trying to take away your fun. I'm well aware that this is your and Ron's last year here. I just want you to be safe. I want you to understand and use your head."

Harry was relieved that the mood in the room was more amicable. Though he did not fully trust this man's intentions, he did not want to let on that he had any doubts about the Headmaster's motives. So, in order to seem more agreeable, he responded with what he considered to be the safest reply. "I know, Professor."

"If something were to happen to you, it wouldn't just be my reputation or career at stake."

"You mean there's more to your concern than just being known as the headmaster responsible for the Chosen One's death?" Harry humorously inquired.

"Yes." Professor Candelier smiled.

"And what would that be, sir?"

"Knowing that I let so many people down, especially your parents, Sirius, Remus, Professor Dumbledore. The list goes on. I'd be letting down Arthur and Molly and Professor McGonagall. I might as well write off the whole Order. I'd be ruined. My family would be ruined."

Harry saw a vulnerable and defeated side of Titus Candelier that very few had ever witnessed. He waited for the down-trodden professor to say more, but when he didn't, Harry spoke up.

"You really didn't want this job, eh?"

"No. As I said before, I was perfectly happy where I was, hidden from the world--a true pencil pusher. I was very content to be out of the spotlight; to be known for being 'old reliable', but never being given any credit. I would love nothing more than to walk down a busy street, never being recognized. I would love to just have a fun-filled, carefree time, live in humble settings, and go about my business in peace," the professor confessed.

Harry smiled. "Well, then, Professor, I guess you were right. You and I are very much alike."

"Just be careful, Harry."

"I will, but it won't be easy."

"Do this one favour for me and I will see to it that you remain safe."

"Just what do you plan to do to keep me safe?"

"I am prepared to lay my life down, if necessary."

"Why?" Harry asked in amazement.

"Because there would be no point in going on if something happened to you. My life would be finished as I know it."

The two men, acknowledging each other's predicament, came to an unspoken truce.

"It's late, Harry."

"Yes, sir. Good night, Professor." Harry started to turn around but stopped. "Professor, I'm...sorry about what I said before."

"I know."

Harry continued to turn then walked out of the chamber. On his way back to his dorm, he thought about what Professor Candelier had said. He considered the great sacrifice the man was prepared to make for him. Harry suffered enough, seeing on his hands the blood of so many people that had paid the ultimate price to keep him alive. The thought of another man, so young, with so much to live for, giving up his life, would be more guilt than Harry could bear.

All right, Professor. I'll grant you your wish. I'll be good. God, help me. It won't be easy, but I'll be good.