Daddy's Favorite

I wonder if I will live to see another Leavetaking Feast? That is an odd thought, and one that would amaze my students and especially my Ravenclaws if they heard it. Silly, cheerful old Flitwick worried about dying?

How little they know.

Oh it isn't that I'm not silly, or old, or cheerful. I'm abundantly all three. But many people, especially young people, think that to be cheerful means that one has never seen sorrow in life, to be silly is never to have known tears. Come to think of it many adults think the same way.

Infinitus est numerus stultorum.

I am tired after the feast, but I want to check on a few things with my Ravenclaws before I return to my chambers. I enter the girl's dormitories at a slow stroll. The alarm that would normally go off raucously instead gives a loud but rather pleasant chime to announce my presence. I could disable it for "sneak" inspections, but that is not my purpose. I loiter a bit to allow everyone the chance to clothe themselves and then proceed onwards. My first stop is in the fourth year dormitory. As I suspected, Luna Lovegood is currently sitting there alone, reading the latest addition of her father's newspaper, the Quibbler. I must confess that ever since they printed Harry Potter's interview this year, and after the disgraceful behavior of the Daily Prophet, I've grown rather fond of the publication. Also, anything Dolores Umbridge hated must be quite good.

"Hello my dear," I say, trotting up and pulling myself up onto a chair near her bed. "Are your things coming back?" It is a yearly ritual. People steal Luna's belongings then slowly return them as Leavetaking approaches. I suppose they find it funny because it is so easy. The child is so dreamy that you would think you could take the shoes off her feet without being noticed.

I have always thought, however, that there was more to Luna than far-off expressions and slightly odd attire (like her bottle-cap necklace). When I heard about her exploits at the Ministry of Magic this year, I was so proud I almost spontaneously levitated!

"Yes Professor," she says calmly, as if she is discussing the weather. "It's like usual."

"Well, if anything doesn't come back you make sure you tell me by early morning, all right?" I pat her arm and press a box of sugar mice into her hand. They are my favorites, and an effective way of showing sympathy and approval. Rather like my version of Albus' lemon drops.

"OK," she says, not looking back up from her paper.

I move on whistling. If Luna is still missing some of her possessions in the morning, some of good old Professor Flitwick's finding charms will do the trick. There will also be some Ravenclaws going home with various harmless but exceedingly inconvenient and difficult-to-remove hexes to deal with.

That makes me think of my next stop, and I quit whistling. I probably should not show up looking too cheerful.

The fifth year girls' dormitory also has one occupant, this one heavily veiled. I hear the sounds of muffled sobs coming from behind the thin cloth.

"Marietta dear," I say softly, coming up to her with another box of sugar mice, "it's Professor Flitwick."

"Pro-Professor?" she asks softly. Poor dear. She's been like this ever since she turned the Defense Association over to Umbridge and incurred the hex that made SNEAK appear on her face in purple pustules. Hermione Granger's work. Quite admirable - from a purely professional standpoint. "Have you fah-found a way to remove the hex?"

Her voice is so hopeful I hate to do what comes next. "No dear," I say softly, pressing the box of sugar mice into her hand, "but we will keep working on it over the summer."

She nods and goes back to weeping softly. I feel bad lying to Marietta. Miss Granger is very talented, but Rowena Ravenclaw will come back from the dead before a fifth year can formulate a hex I can't undo. There are at least three ways to remove Marietta's pustules. Nevertheless, Marietta has a lesson to learn. She is basically a good child, but she has a streak of moral weakness that could be very dangerous, especially in these troubled times. I fear if we simply forgave her she might well commit a much greater treachery in the not too distant future.

A thought crosses my mind. "Weren't you supposed to talk with Headmaster Dumbledore yesterday Marietta?"

"Yes sir," she says between sobs, "I saw him."

Albus also could have easily broken the hex. I am not surprised he chose not to, however.

"What did he say dear?"

"He said that we all have to live with the consequences of our choices. Then he gave me a lemon drop and sent me away." Fresh sobs.

I sigh. That sounds rather brusque for Albus. Of course he is very busy these days. And Marietta can hardly expect a great deal of sympathy from that direction. She was responsible for Albus being exiled from Hogwarts for a time, after all.

More importantly, she endangered Harry Potter. Although Albus might well be inclined to forgive any harm to himself, harm to Mister Potter falls into an entirely different category.

He loves Harry of course, Albus does. Not like some of my less wise students implied (and in Sprout's hearing at that!) but in a fatherly, or if you will grandfatherly way. And so many people around here can't forgive him for it!

I enter my quarters, overflowing with books and papers on charms, hexes, curses, and the like. Many people find it strange that a Charms teacher should be the Head of Ravenclaw. Charms is a subject that often gets little regard. Indeed, many argue that it is not a subject at all, but merely a catch all for a variety of spells and practices that don't quite fit under any other rubric. Indeed, it does encompass everything from summoning to invisibility to weather control. I lose count of how many times I've heard people denounce the study of charms as "stamp collecting." When they find out that I am not only a Ravenclaw, but the Head of Ravenclaw, they are often flabbergasted. They expect the Head of Ravenclaw to be interested in Arithmancy or Transfigurations or even Potions, but Charms? Surely that is a subject for Hufflepuffs!

Interestingly enough, all the people I've heard express those opinions are either Gryffindors or Slytherins. The Hufflepuffs are not at all surprised to find a Ravenclaw in charge of Charms. Of course the Hufflepuffs are rarely surprised by anything. Popular opinion holds that is a sign of their thickheadedness. Over the years I have rather come to a conclusion that it is a sign of their wisdom.

In truth, Charms is a perfect subject for a Ravenclaw. Most people from other Houses have an image of Ravenclaws as cold, unfeeling calculating machines, constantly grinding out answers to equations, always enamored of rational theoretical systems. It is true that some Ravenclaws are like that, but those properties scarcely define our House. Rather a Ravenclaw is one with a thirst, a desire, an intense need to KNOW. And there are many ways of knowing. Some know through theoretical understanding and calculation, it is true. Others however know through empirical experience, through examination and exploration of the minutia of variety in the world. That type of Ravenclaw is perfect for Charms - or for History of Magic, another popular subject with my House. Each charm, each historical tale, has a life of its own, a presence, a set of parameters. Each must be understood according to its own laws before it can be understood according to the laws of some whole. Each must be approached as a new adventure, a new door to be opened, a new enemy to vanquish, a new fabulous kingdom to explore! And with each day there is another charm, another story, another adventure, another kingdom, another treasure of fabulous wonders!

I wearily change into my dressing gown and slippers, settling into my favorite chair to think for a while before sleeping. I always do this, taking a few moments to digest the splendor of the day that has just passed while anticipating that of the day to come.

My thoughts wander back to Albus. He was disappointed that Harry did not come to the Leavetaking Feast. I could see it in his eyes. Personally I don't blame the boy. From what I've heard he's been through enough this week. But I felt sorry for Albus. He does love the child so much, and so obviously hoped he would be there with his friends enjoying himself. I think he is very worried about Mister Potter.

Well he should be. A teenager cannot handle everything Harry has been through without problems, and I don't know the whole of it. I wish my Katherine was still alive. She could help Albus and Harry get through this. I often find it curious that I, funny old Flitwick, am the only Head of House to have ever been married and have children! Ah, life is strange and wonderful!

Katherine. She has been gone now for many years - as has our daughter Mariel. Our two sons died within her, victims of Magical Resistance Syndrome. She was a muggle, my Katherine, and sometimes - rarely, but sometimes - when a muggle woman bears magical children her body tries to reject them as something alien. We buried them, our dead babies, in the back of our house. I go there every year and cry over them. What would my students think to see silly, cheerful Flitwick then?

In any case, Katherine was a clinical psychologist who taught at a muggle university during the school year. We would spend long hours on summer nights discussing the Hogwarts faculty and dissecting them according to the latest theories. Some of my brightest memories are of the rare occasions Katherine would visit me at Hogwarts and make whispered comments at the High Table.

Severus Snape was a favorite target in her elder years. She called him "a walking career for some graduate student." She was certainly right about that. Tonight he was staring death at Albus. Severus of course hates Harry Potter as much as Albus loves him. Once I remember asking Katherine, all joking aside, what she thought Snape's main trouble was. I remember her putting on her best professional face, tapping the side of her jaw, and saying gravely, "I would diagnose Severus Snape, given the evidence and hand and my own personal observations, as being a bitter hateful git!" We laughed so hard everyone in the Three Broomsticks was staring at us.

Yes Severus cannot stand the thought that Albus loves Harry. Of course he can't stand the thought that Harry is James Potter's son. I remember that rivalry all too well. James was never a favorite of mine, nor was Sirius Black to be honest. But Severus, for goodness sake! Your school years were terrible? Join the club. James flipped you around in the garden. Try getting used as a Quaffle. I became a dueling champion for a reason. Of course you were ambitious. You wanted to prove yourself. All I wanted was to be left alone.

Then there was Sprout, sitting there steaming. Frankly I don't understand what her objection is. If it makes her nose so out of joint she should keep it in the greenhouse.

The one that truly surprises me in Minerva. She likes Harry so much herself I would think she would have little to quarrel with Albus on this matter. But I met her coming out of Albus' office tonight, looking like she could bite a nail in two. One advantage of being a Ravenclaw is you pick up ways of ferreting out information without looking like that's what you're doing. A short conversation while walking down the hall showed me the picture. She had been reminded that Albus loves Harry Potter better than Hermione Granger, her own favorite.

I fold my hands and twirl my thumbs absently. Minerva! She has so many good qualities, but all of them dim before her awesome lack of an ability to laugh at herself. I mean the whole thing was perfectly ridiculous. She admitted to that Albus had been perfectly fair in everything he said and did, it was just his "attitude." I wanted to levitate her into the center of the hallway and leave her hanging there to contemplate that sentence overnight. What it comes down to is that Minerva McGonagall is allowed to have her favorites but Albus Dumbledore is not allowed to have his! Like I say, an ability to laugh at herself occasionally would be very good for Minerva's outlook on life.

I think what it really comes down to is that none of them understand what it is to be lonely, not really. Snape is so lonely it hurts you to contemplate, but he is too bitter and damaged to realize it. McGonagall is so iron-plated I don't think loneliness would dare insinuate itself into her mind, and Sprout seems perfectly happy in the company of her plants. They don't understand why Albus needs Harry, and so they see his love for the boy as a strange and inexplicable failing.

Like I said before, infinitus est numerus stultorum.

After my Katherine died I thought I would follow her. Mariel was already gone. If not for my granddaughters, Esther and Rachel, I don't know what I would have done. Esther, a brilliant mind with the heart of a raging tiger - like her grandmother. Rachel, a soft heart and a determination to succeed - like her mother. As I think of them Esther my Gryffinclaw and Rachel my Slythelpuff.

But Albus - Albus is alone, or nearly so. Alone and with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

And then one day he met an extraordinary boy who was also alone, and he fell in love with him.

And what's wrong with that?

Well, I reflect as I rise to go to bed, people will always find something to complain about. I look out my windows and see that Albus' lights are still on. I hope he gets some sleep tonight.

The world is about to go to war, and I don't know what will happen. I don't know if I will live to see another Leavetaking Feast.

But I do know that Albus Dumbledore loves The Boy Who Lived. And if it means anything to anybody, silly old Flitwick hopes it works out well for them.