Here Be Monsters

Saturday, 29 June 1996

2310 GMT

I don't sleep much that night.

I have every reason to sleep. For one thing, I will be leaving for Beauxbatons with Hagrid on Monday. For another, I have managed to do what I set out to do - rendering Severus harmless in the matter of Harry and the Cruciatus Curse. But Snape's dark eyes still haunt me - so full of hurt and betrayal.

Or rather it is not by Severus' eyes that I am haunted, but by my own feelings. Namely I should feel guilty. Certainly whatever gods there are know I have reason enough to feel guilty, and I have plenty of experience with feelings of guilt.

But I don't feel the slightest bit guilty at all.

Three times I reach out to comfort myself with sleeping potions. Three times I draw back. There is something at work here - something that has been building slowly over the hours since my first confrontation with Severus this past morning. And whatever it is, I sense that it must be solved, not drugged into invisibility.

Finally I arise and make my way into my library. The globed candles come alight at my entrance, as they are enchanted to do. But I don't choose a book. Instead I walk across the floor in my dressing gown and sit in an old, comfortable leather chair, staring vaguely at the wall of bound volumes. I toy with the edge of my gown. It is one of my favorites, embroidered with golden snitches that constantly move and flutter, occasionally darting in random directions light lightning bolts. I plan to get Harry some pajamas, and perhaps a bathrobe, in the same pattern for his birthday. I have never given him a birthday gift as such, and I am thinking that if I can get a decree from the Ministry lifting his lifetime Quidditch ban by the end of July, I will enclose the notification and the clothes in the same box. It will be a gesture towards reconciliation. I just haven't quite figured out how to make sure he doesn't throw the box away unopened when he realizes whom it's from.

I suppose that a headmaster really should not be giving his students birthday gifts. But when it comes to Harry my patience with priggish standards of propriety is rapidly waning.

//Besides, it never hurts to fatten the lamb up a little before the slaughter.//

WHAT!

//Or would you prefer gilding the scapegoat's horns before driving it into the desert to die?//

Tom, I....

The sound of his laughter fills my mind. Not the young Tom now, but the old one. The one grown pure in his essence of hatred. The one holding Harry's mind in his serpentine grip as he taunts me at the Ministry, calling on me to strike them both down.

//Oh it is just absolutely priceless! The great Dumbledore twittering around thinking about a boy's pajamas!//

I happen to love this particular boy.

//So you say. Well, a piece of advice. Just get him the robe. It won't show wear as much and you can give it to somebody else afterwards.//

After what?

//After he's dead of course.//

NOOOO!! HARRY WILL NOT DIE! HE WILL WIN!!!!

//It's too late for you to lie to yourself, oh Great and Wise Albus. Your precious Harry has as much chance of surviving the next two years as a flobberworm has in a fight with one of Hagrid's blast-ended skrewts.//

"NO!" I don't realize that I've actually yelled aloud until my foot lashes out and turns over a nearby reading stand, sending papers flying in all directions. I come to my feet.

"NO ... HE ... WILL ... NOT... DIE!!!" I grasp the back of my chair and wrench, turning it over and hurling it an impressive distance across the room.

//That's what you said about Sirius Black as well. Now look what that got him ... an express train to the puppy farm in the sky.//

"NOOOO!!!" I grab another reading stand and hurl it after the chair. I stride over to the chair on the other side of the stand and turn it over too for good measure.

//Two chairs and two stands, not very much compared to your "treasure's" performance. But then again he is much younger.//

I stride over to yet a third chair, but suddenly I feel tired .... and old. I lean forward, resting my hands on its arms and taking in air with great gasps.

//Do you want to know why you can't bring yourself to care that you just humiliated and betrayed or beloved potions master? It's because you know he is going to die soon as well. You're just more willing to accept that fact in his case.//

"No." This time the sound is like a whimper.

//You keep babbling to Harry about 'love.' Where was your love for our poor tormented Severus this afternoon?//

I make a sound like a fish trying to breathe out of water.

//Love, my dear professor, has little power in this world, despite the nonsense you have been feeding Harry. But that is all right. It will just make him go to the slaughter more willingly.//

"He will not die." I whisper that, because I can't force my throat open suddenly.

//There is no such thing as this precious love, Albus. There is only Dumbledore the mighty and his schemes. And Dumbledore has decided that Snape MUST be humiliated, because Harry MUST not be punished. Of course, Dumbledore has no problem letting Harry live in a closet for ten years. That softens him up and makes him vulnerable for the whole hero and salvation scenario, after all.//

"I do love him."

//Of course you do. That is why you are sitting here now worrying about his bathrobe when he is trapped in a house with those wretched muggles who hate him?//

"I love him."

//Keep saying that if it comforts you, but you don't really believe it because it isn't true.//

"I do."

//He is useful to you. But do not make a fool of yourself.//

"I LOVE HIM!"

//Oh, I suppose he makes a nice pet. Instead of pajamas, why don't you get him a nice dog collar and leash with the Hogwart's seal? You can teach him to heel and beg and roll over and shake hands. I bet he will even carry your slippers in his mouth.//

Shut up.

//No, this is far too enjoyable. Admit it, what you really want is for Harry to wear his pretty collar, curl up by your chair, and purr when you scratch his belly. Then you want him to go tear the throat out of your enemy and, if he survives the process, you'll even let him lick your hand before you have him destroyed. After all, pets who outlive their purpose are a nuisance.//

SHUT UP!

//After all, what is Severus but one of your pets who has outlived his use - or is about to anyway.? I'll allow that Harry is prettier, though.//

I never meant to hurt Severus.

//You could have fooled me - and him too.//

"Master Albus. Is everything being OK?"

I snap my head up. Iris has entered the library, a look of surprise in her eyes. She is carrying a tray.

"I am seeing lights in library window, so I am bringing Master Albus a snack." She surveys the overturned furniture. "Is Harry Potter being here, Master Albus?"

"Er, no Iris."

"Is looking like it." She regards me with an inscrutable gaze but does not pursue the subject. "Why is Master Albus not being asleep?"

"Just considering things, Iris."

"Is not worrying about smelly Snape, is he?" Iris puts down the tray and surveys me, hands on hips.

"Professor Snape, Iris." The least I can do is see that Severus gets the respect of his professional titles.

"Is not worrying about smelly Professor Snape, is he?" Iris seems not the least bit perturbed.

"That is not very nice, Iris."

"Is being true. Professor Snape is always smelling like cauldron."

//She has a point.//

She does indeed. A permanent stench around one's person is one of the professional hazards of being a potions teacher.

"Professor Severus is not wanting to be happy," Iris continues, busily fussing over the tray, laying out a plate and silverware, "so is not very good idea to be worrying over him."

How to the point you can be, Iris.

"There are other things to be concerned about, Iris."

I am not worried that Snape will take drastic action. His reasons for loyalty are far too deep. But he is likely to be even nastier in the future. And the last thing we need around here are more petty distractions.

Iris shrugs. "Smelly Professor Severus is never liking good boy Harry Potter. Iris is not understanding, but is the way of things. Smelly Professor Severus needs to grow up and quit acting like elfling."

"To be fair,"

am I actually having this conversation?

"Harry did provoke him."

Iris in not impressed. "Good Harry Potter is being fifteen," she brings me the plate with a small mound of sandwiches, "smelly Snape is being thirty-four. If smelly Snape is not learning how to deal with naughtiness by now, he is needing to find another job."

But it goes beyond naughtiness, Iris. That is the point.

"Who would I get to teach potions then, Iris?" I smile to try and lighten the mood.

"Is being good point, Master Albus. Professor Severus is not minding smell, and is not many can say that. Besides, is also being good with Slytherins."

He is that.

"And Master Albus is needing to find Defense teacher ... AGAIN!" She looks at the ceiling and sighs.

I almost copy her gesture. I have had some spectacular failures in that area. Quirrell managed to sneak Voldemort's essence into the castle under my very nose, and in my haste to rectify the situation I accepted Gilderoy Lockhart's reputation at face value. It is altogether too bad that Lupin cannot return, but the parents would not stand for it. Yet another mess of Snape's devising - although he has little reason to like Lupin.

And when has liking someone been a prerequisite for professional behavior? Iris is right, the man needs to quit acting like an infant.

"Iris is knowing," the elf snaps her fingers, "Master Albus can have Harry Potter teaching Defense classes. Dobby is saying he is very good with Master Albus' army."

"He is only fifteen, as you have said Iris."

Iris smiles. "Is also having faced nasty Tom Riddle many times. Who else is saying that?"

Good point.

"Harry will have quite enough to deal with in the next couple of years, Iris. He does not need teaching responsibility."

The chime signaling that someone has used the password downstairs sounds through my quarters. I put the plate down and hurry into my office, Iris following discreetly. Why is someone here at this time of night? The last time that happened...

The last time that happened I thought I was about to lose Arthur Weasley to a serpent bite and Harry to possession.

I find myself in a near run.

I enter my office to find Minerva already present. She is still fully dressed and has the look of someone who needs desperately to sleep but cannot.

"Oh, I'm sorry Albus, did I wake you? I saw the lights in your library windows."

"You did not wake me Minerva," I sink into a chair, weak with relief that this is not an emergency, "I am glad you're here." I motion for her to take a seat.

"I thought we should review the day's events." Her tone is even, but her eyes dark with worry. "This might be our last chance of a while."

Yes, it might be at that. I am leaving for Beuxbatons tomorrow and she is taking up a mission for the Order.

"It did not go as well as I had hoped," I admit. "Another old man's folly."

"How so Albus?"

How so indeed? In so many ways.

I hesitate to answer. She sits calmly, respecting my silence.

"You know I told Harry that I had forgotten that some hurts go too deep for the healing? I suppose I forgot again today."

"You expected Severus to show reason?" Her tone is faintly incredulous.

"I had hoped he would at least be accepting of the facts," I smile a weary smile.

"He has never been known to let facts get in the way of his feelings about some things," Minerva sniffs disdainfully. The rigid discipline required by transfigurations sometimes makes it hard to understand people who let their emotions control their thoughts.

Perhaps that is my trouble, the reason I have made so many mistakes in the last few months. I was, after all, a transfigurations teacher.

"Like the Cruciatus Curse?" I smile again, this time in bitterness.

"Like the fact that Harry has James Potter's face and Lilly Evans' eyes!" Minerva closes her own eyes briefly, overcome by memory. "I know it is hard for the man , but..."

"Harder than you imagine, Minerva," I say softly. An image flashes in my mind....

Severus, weeping and hysterical in my arms.

"That is no excuse." A judge pronouncing a death sentence might have the same tone as Minerva, just then.

Iris enters before I can reply. She is carrying an even larger tray this time, and is followed by two more elves carrying baskets.

"Iris is bringing more food," she says, stating the obvious. "Is Professor Minerva feeling well?"

"Quite well, thank you Iris," Minerva answers politely.

In a quick bustle the elves clear off my desk, put down a small tablecloth, and proceed to lay out an impressive array of cold sandwiches and beverages. Well, mostly cold. I note that the milk is steaming faintly. Iris dismisses her two helpers, but shows every sign of remaining herself.

"Iris has reminded me that we will need a new Defense teacher, yet again," I say lightly as we move over to sample the food. On getting no answer I glance at Minerva. She is looking with interest at my nightgown and I realize this is the first chance she has had to see the effects of the moving snitches.

"I was thinking of getting Harry a robe and pajamas in the same pattern," I offer as I pick up one of the glasses of warm milk. "Don't you think it would be quite striking in Gryffindor colors?"

"Err, yes Albus." For some reason she looks faintly ill.

"Besides," I say picking up a sandwich, "I am hoping to have the Quidditch ban off by his birthday. I could give him the proclamation and the clothes at the same time."

"Yes," Minerva brightens, "that would be wonderful."

"On the other hand," I say mischievously, "Iris is wanting him to teach, so he might not have time to play Quidditch."

"Oh, but Harry Potter MUST be playing Quidditch, Master Albus!" Iris interjects fervently, "Else he must be taking whole hour naps!"

"Pardon?" Minerva says, obviously totally confused.

Iris earnestly explains the house elves' plan for Harry's "rehabilitation." I add an explanation of her suggestion that Harry teach the DADA sections.

"My goodness," Minerva observes dryly, "you have been thinking about this a lot, Iris."

"All House Elves have been thinking," Iris replies fervently, "and is coming up with good plan."

"Well..." Minerva is clearly searching for something to say.

"On the subject of the Defense classes," I cut in, "who might we get?"

"That is an excellent question," Minerva says. "I don't suppose you would consider letting Severus do it? That might go a long way towards soothing his pride."

"I'm not sure," I allow. "It would make him happy, or at least happier, but I have worries about letting Severus meddle too much with that subject. It bids well to bring out the worst in him."

"I understand. But be fair Albus. If his current... er...never mind." Iris is regarding our exchange with naked interest.

No matter, I know what she was about to say. If posing as a Deatheater does not cause Severus' darkest tendencies to rise to the surface, nothing will.

"Noted," I say. "That is one option. Are there any others? Except for Harry teaching, of course." I nod gravely to Iris.

"An Auror would be ideal. We could have Moody,"

I wince in recollection of yet another mistake,

"or even an active Auror. I doubt the Ministry could raise serious objections in this circumstance."

"The only active Aurors I would trust with the job would be Tonks or Kingsley, and both of them are needed elsewhere - as is Moody for that matter."

"Well, we will need to make a decision soon," Minerva sighs, "If only Remus..."

"I know."

"Iris is cleaning out bad Umbridge's office," the house elf interjects, "is getting it ready for next teacher."

"You need not do that Iris," I say in surprise. Although Iris enjoys helping the other house elves, I try to emphasize her free and independent status as much as possible.

"Iris is knowing," she says calmly. "But is wanting to make sure Master Albus is getting some things - like nasty quill."

Excellent thinking.

"Why thank you Iris. Yes, we want that out of general circulation, don't we?"

Not to mention it might be useful to have as evidence later.

"Also is wanting to make sure that Harry Potter's broomstick is stored right. Needing key to room in dungeon."

"That's good." I had dismissed the guard troll that had been patrolling in front of the room where Umbridge had placed Harry's Firebolt after the incident with the twins. Suddenly something strikes me. "What do you mean stored right, Iris? Didn't Harry take it with him?"

"No, Harry Potter is not taking broomstick."

I exchange a worried glance with Minerva. "Did he get the note I sent?" I had sent Harry a note a couple of days ago, telling him he could reclaim his beloved Firebolt - all the more beloved now that it had been a gift from Sirius.

"Yes, Dobby is giving Harry Potter message. He is saying Harry Potter just shrugging. Dobby is worried, but is thinking that Harry Potter never gets chance to fly at nasty Dursley's anyway. Was thinking he would take it to Harry Potter at his Wheezey's later this summer."

Minerva is frowning fiercely. I feel a pang in my heart. This is such a painful subject for her after the events of this year!

But that is not at all like Harry.

//Maybe he is going to take the easy way out and thought you might as well have the Firebolt.//

A thrill of fear races through my heart. Harry would not... could not...

"Minerva," my voice is calm but a fold my hands to keep them from shaking, "would you have a little while tomorrow to take a floo trip?"

"Only if it's to Privet Drive." Her concern is now stamped plainly on her features.

"It is. I think Harry should have his broomstick."

And we need to make sure we did the right think letting him go back there on the train.

Minerva clearly understands. "I will take it down to him, and remind him that it is not allowed to leave personal effects at Hogwarts over the summer."

"Yes, please do. And discuss with him, while you are there, about a possible memorial service for his godfather." Yet another mistake. We should have had some sort of service for Sirius before Leavetaking - if only for Harry's sake.

Minerva's eyes widen and film with tears. She had clearly overlooked that as well.

Sometimes in the midst of human life we forget to live like humans.

"Could you go in the morning?" I ask casually. "I want to be sure he is... I mean I need to hear his opinions before leaving for Beuxbatons."

I clench my hands together and berate myself for being silly. Harry would not do something .... rash. If he was going to do so, surely he would have done it before now.

Except that now he is away from his friends and protectors, and in the hands of the Dursleys. And he is just now beginning to feel the full impact of what happened.

I will feel much better after my stern Scots friend informs me that he is safe. I do have ways of looking in on him from Hogwarts, but they are extravagant in energy and rare resources.

"Of course, Albus, first thing. Could you bring the Firebolt to me at breakfast, Iris?"

"Is being no problem, Professor Minerva."

I rise and hurry to one of my shelves. As much as I complain about people always giving me books for Christmas, they do sometimes come in handy. Picking up a slim volume I hastily turn down the edges of some of the pages.

"Here Minerva," I say, handing her the book, "I want you to add these charms to the wards at Privet Drive."

She takes the book from my hands, frowning. Flipping through the pages, her frown turns to an expression of fright. "Albus, do you think he would do something like this?"

"No, I don't." At least I pray to whatever gods there be that he would not. The charms are warnings for depression and self-mutilation, as well as suicidal actions. "But we can't afford to let anything slip by."

//Can't serve up a scarred sacrifice, now can we?//

I try very hard not to cry.

"Are you going to be well, Albus?" Minerva's voice is soft and her expression now one of concern for me.

I try to give her a comforting smile. "I really don't know, Minerva, but I don't think I'm in immediate danger. I just wish I had a better idea of what to do."

"I understand, Albus." Suddenly Minerva looks much, much older. "After all my years as Head of Gryffindor, I'm at a loss."

"Professors are needing advice." The statement from Iris catches us off guard. We had forgotten she was still listening.

"Yes, we are," I acknowledge, hoping that she has some nuggets of house elf wisdom to cheer us up with.

But Iris only wags her head sadly. "Is being very, very bad. Iris is wishing silly Dippet had listened years ago."

I can only nod, because I don't trust myself to speak.

"Master Albus is needing to talk with someone who knows a lot about wizardlings - a lot more than Iris or Professor Minerva or even Master Albus." The elf chews her lip in thought.

"Do you have any suggestions, Iris?" Minerva's tone is half-humorous, but half-serious as well.

Suddenly Iris brightens. "Yes, Iris is knowing exactly who Master Albus should talk with!"

"And who might that be?" I ask, my own tone only half-joking.

Iris looks at me gravely. "If Iris is telling, Master Albus is giving his word that he is going to bed and taking his sleeping medicine right now?"

"I don't think I'll be having any more long conversations tonight, Iris."

"Is Master Albus promising?" She raises her feather duster to emphasize the question.

"Yes Iris, I promise."

She waggles her duster again. "Is Master Albus also promising to hold Harry Potter to what house elves have said. Food and milk and naps?" Her expression is stone serious.

"Yes Iris, if you can find someone who has more experience and knowledge about young wizards than Minerva or myself, I will hold Harry to the letter of your recommendations." After all, Harry is much too thin, and milk and naps can't hurt anybody.

"Then Iris is telling you."

And she does.

Minerva and I stand silent in shock.

//Well...I...will...be...damned.//

"Iris," Minerva finally breathes, "to quote young Mister Weasley, you are bloody brilliant!"

"Iris is knowing," the elf responds smugly, "now both of you are getting to bed."