Those Wrong, Yet it's Right, Things

Chapter 11

Let him that would move the world first move himself.

~Socrates

'I can't.' Those words and the shock of what she'd found when she woke up the following morning had brought Pansy Parkinson, soaking wet, to the gargoyle of the Headmaster's office.

Waking from a fitful sleep around midnight, Pansy discovered her long, beautiful hair--by far the best part of her appearance--had been chopped at odd angles until it fell barely below her ears. Pansy thought she'd just get beaten more, she'd never imagined Malfoy would do this.

After debating with her conscience out by lake in the pouring rain for an hour, Pansy had found her way to Dumbledore's office in the dead of the night. Unfortunately, she had yet to figure out what exactly she was doing there. Getting to the office unnoticed by Filch had been one thing, but whispering 'taffy' to the gargoyle was another obstacle entirely. As Pansy stood there, droplets of salt water cascading down her arms and legs and face and falling to the floor, she couldn't find the will to enter.

However, a wizard sat inside, stroking his long white beard, wise beyond his numerous years. He was aware of the visitor outside his door and of her hesitation. Standing, he decided to give Miss Parkinson the push she needed. Waking up a very whiny Phineas (who soon afterward scuttled from his picture), he made his way to the door and opened it with the full intent of retreating to the kitchens for some late night cocoa.

Surprised would not be the word I would use to describe the feelings of Pansy Parkinson when the Headmaster walked through his door and invited her to have hot chocolate with him in the middle of the night. But there she was, sitting next to the Headmaster of Hogwarts Witchcraft and Wizardy at a counter in the kitchens, the house elves out cleaning, nursing her mug of the milk and chocolate goodness.

"I know my visit was unexpected." Pansy chose her words carefully, moving at a slow pace, because she had yet to figure out why she had been there at all.

"Unexpected, yes, but not unwelcomed, Miss Parkinson." After turning slightly, Pansy studied the man beside her. It was seemingly obvious that age had taken hold of him: laugh lines invaded his slightly pale face and his blue eyes carried wisdom others knew not of. She had always agreed with Draco when he went on about what a fool Dumbledore was, but to be honest, the man simply amazed her.

"Although I would hope you have a good explanation for what you were doing wandering around in the middle of the night?" Fearing for the first time since she had left the sanctuary of her dormitory that she might be in trouble, Pansy was relieved to find the ghost of a smile gracing the gentle man's lips.

She hesitated before she found something very fascinating inside her mug and barely muttered, "Actually...I'm not really sure."

"You can do better then that." He hadn't even looked at her, but she felt the full weight of his words nonetheless; for once in her life Pansy felt as though she could trust someone--Dumbledore had that affect on people.

"But I don't know. I woke up to find my hair like...this...." Pansy lifted a piece of her hair, showing it to his casually observant eyes. "I knew who had done it and it wasn't so much that I was upset--I mean, I really brought it on myself."

"Mr. Malfoy is very nearly uncontrollable, Miss Parkinson. You can't blame yourself for what the boy does. I assure you he is very capable of making his own decisions."

"I never said it was Draco--"

"An old wizard always knows," he said, his eyes twinkling more then they had in a long while.

Pansy gave a shaky smile before quickly bowing her head to that rather interesting swirling drink.

"Well, I had a lot on my mind. Everything with Potter a month ago and then my encounter with him today...just when I thought it was over," she added the last part as an afterthought, not quite intending for her headmaster to hear.

"What did he do, if you don't mind me asking?"

Blue eyes turned incredulously on the headmaster. He couldn't really expect her to tell him something so personal. Two hours ago, Pansy wouldn't have even imagined saying something nice about the headmaster, yet alone that she would be sitting in the kitchens having a rather embarrassing conversation with him.

Why had she come here anyway? Pansy had never needed help and if she had she had certainly never admitted it. So why did she suddenly find herself revealing some of her most frustrating events, her innermost thoughts, to a man she had looked on with hateful eyes for so long?

"Well, I was walking in the halls with Malfoy and we were having...a bit of a dispute when Potter came along, that's all." She made sure she spit out Potter's name. The headmaster didn't need any more encouragement of his obvious conclusion that Pansy had had some miraculous change of heart.

"I actually thought my life had gone back to normal, that I was rid of Potter." She laughed, though it sounded forced, just like her words did. "That had to have been the strangest week of my life.

"After I woke up and discovered the horrible incident that had found my hair," (Dumbledore smiled slightly at this and took another sip), "I just retreated to the lake to think about things. I know I wasn't supposed to be out and about at that hour, especially as a prefect, and I swear to you I've never done anything like it before...but something drew me there. Somehow an hour later I ended up in front of your gargoyle, dripping wet from the rain, trying to figure out how I had gotten there, and then you opened the door--and I think you know the rest."

"Mr. Potter still believes in you."

Pansy quickly fumbled with her drink and brought it pooling into her mouth as a temporary distraction. Nearly choking from the fast reflex, she set it down and wiped her lips with her faded black sleeve.

"What do you mean?"

"The night he brought you to the Order meeting. You haven't told a soul, as I admit I was afraid you might. He still thinks that you would make a good edition to the Order." In truth, Dumbledore knew Harry really did believe this, though he had not spoken to Harry since the incident and had no proof.

She dipped her head and stared into her now empty cup watching the ring of brown at the bottom. "I honestly don't know what he was thinking."

"Perhaps the same thing you were when you found yourself outside my door this early in the morning?" When Dumbledore saw the girl was not going to respond he decided to help her along a bit more. "Why won't you join the Order, Miss Parkinson?"

"Give me a reason why I should," she said, a bit stubbornly and stuck-up, like her prideful eleven-year-old self, breaking her gaze from the bottom of her cup to glance at the old wizard before her.

"You have your own reasons," he replied calmly. "I assume they are very similar to the one's Mr. Potter had for believing that indeed, you would. A lot think Harry was mistaken, and perhaps he was." Dumbledore stood and placed his cup in one of the sinks and headed for the door. He turned back to see her masked blue eyes, a deep sadness for the child rumbling in his chest.

"However, I happen to know quite a bit about Harry's strengths and weaknesses. I know judging people's character doesn't fall among the lesser." Dumbledore always knew exactly what to say, because the words he parted with would forever remain floating in that vicinity, encased in history, and bored into a confused mind. "Perhaps Harry was mistaken," (here the old man paused, for dramatic effect no doubt), "but perhaps he wasn't."

And the old man left a young girl there, alone with her thoughts. It wasn't until Pansy moved to place her cup in the sink that she felt familiar hair tickle her face. Reaching her hands up to the top of her head, she studied the length: a bit shorter then before, but it would do. She nearly smiled. He was a crazy old fool, that Dumbledore--but then again, minus the old part, who wasn't?

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The next morning an owl found its way to Pansy's table and dropped a slip of parchment in front of her. Pansy reached out and untied the bright blue string holding it captive. After watching the owl take off and reading through the short message, she tucked the paper in her pocket so she wouldn't forget it and held back disbelieving smile by tucking into her breakfast.

Miss Parkinson,

The next meeting of the Order of the Phoenix is scheduled for this morning, shortly after breakfast--I believe you know the password.

Headmaster Dumbledore.

He was a nutty old man to assume so much, but he was hardly ever wrong.