Here Be Monsters III: Womb of Lilith

Sunday, 7 July, 1996

11 35 GMT

The smell of ozone calls me to consciousness. I stretch slowly, my nose twitching first, then my arms, then my legs. All of my limbs (well, except my nose) feel weighted down, as if with heavy chains. I open my eyes and stretch slowly, ignoring the fierce burning pains that shoot through my limbs and joints.

Welcome back, Albus, I was beginning to worry about you.

Thank you, Tom. That's uncommonly decent of you, I must say.

Decent, pfahh! If anything happened to you, where would that leave me?

Sigh. Spoken like the true Heir of Slytherin.

I sit up carefully. The room they have given me here at St. Mungo's used to be a clerk's chamber. The desk is pushed up against one wall, scarcely leaving room for the cot on which I am sitting. My right elbow strikes the chair painfully as my feet hit the floor.

It's your own fault, Albus. You are the one who insisted they use the patient rooms for "really injured" people.

That's true, and I don't wish to repent against the decision. As far as I'm concerned, MRD (Magical Reserve Depletion) is not a "real" injury, but the natural aftereffect of a battle such as the one we fought yesterday in Diagon Alley.

Suit yourself, Albus. Just don't fall over and break your nose when you try to get up.

I reach over and grab the oak walking stick resting against the wall. Using it for leverage, I haul myself erect and stump to the door doing a remarkably good impression of a three-legged Alistor Moody. High pitched voices are raised in argument out in the small reception area beyond the door (this used to be part of the hospital's admissions office, back when the magical population was larger). I open the door and lurch out into the room.

The first thing I notice are a pair of house elves barricaded behind an unused desk, their large green eyes level with the top of their improvised shield. The second thing is a line of house elves in Hogwarts livery, each bearing a covered dish. The third thing is a familiar figure stalking towards me, feather duster raised like a war flag.

"Master Albus!" Iris sounds positively scandalized, "Why are you being out of bed!"

"I just felt like a stroll, Iris," I respond weakly.

"Getting back in, right now!" Iris yelps, pointing emphatically with her duster. Before I can respond she has grabbed my hand and is leading me back into my "room." Truth to tell, I am more tired than I realized, and I sit down on the bed with unfeigned relief.

"We is bringing you a good meal, Master Albus," Iris explains, much calmer now. She snaps her fingers imperiously. Three of the elves hustle to drag the desk away from the wall and cover it with a white tablecloth. They then spread the dishes on the makeshift dinner table and produce pillows that they plop into the clerk's chair. At a signal from Iris, I carefully pull myself up again and sink into the chair. The good elf spreads a napkin on my lap and whisks away the covers from the dishes, revealing a meal of roast beef, baked vegetables, freshly made bread, cheese, and a selection of delicious fruit pies. There is even a large dish of lemon drops. With a quick flurry of thanks to the waiting elves, I proceed to polish off everything. MRD certainly makes one ravenous.

After a few minutes I am left with a comfortably expanded stomach, a crumb-littered tabletop, and a nice glass of the chilled lemonade Iris has provided. "Thank you, Iris. That was excellent."

"Iris is telling the kitchen elves, Master Albus."

"Please do." I sip the lemonade and allow myself a sigh of pleasure. "Now, what has been going on at Hogwarts while I've been away?"

"Has Master Albus not gotten the owls from Professor Flittywick and smelly Snape?"

"Yes, Iris," I say sternly, "now please answer the question."

Iris' ears droop sharply, but she looks me in the eye. "The place is being covered up in owls, Master Albus. Is getting nasty, if you are knowing what I mean."

"I think I do," I say dryly. "What else?"

"Iris is understanding that there is madness everywhere, Master Albus," she says. "Every time I is turning on the wireless, there is being something else."

I rub the bridge of my nose to hide my fatigue. I am not surprised by what she said but...

You had hoped she would not say it.

That's true.

"Iris is bringing Master Albus more clothes!" She snaps her fingers again, and a couple of the elves appear at the door bearing boxes. They quickly unwrap them and place the collection of shirts, pants, underclothes, socks, and robes on the hangers in the room's small closet. I watch with dismay as they carefully unfold the robes.

"Iris, why..."

"You is being in the hospital, Master Albus. People being in the hospital are wearing white."

"Iris, I'm not in the hospital."

"Master Albus is fooling me," she says, looking around.

Got you there, Albus.

"We are also bringing something to help Master Albus walk." Another snap of her fingers and four young elves enter, bearing a long shaft of mahogany carved at one end into the form of a phoenix rising from flames.

"Iris, I don't think..."

"Iris DOES think, Master Albus. Besides, you are never using pretty stick!"

I am never using pretty stick because I think pretty stick is silly. But I have no desire to incur Iris' wrath by saying THAT. Instead I smile at her as sincerely as I can, which is very sincerely. "Thank you very much, Iris."

"Master Albus is very welcome. Now, everyone is leaving," she makes shooing motions with her hands. "Iris will help Master Albus change."

Don't even complain, Albus.

I don't intend to. The sad fact is that I need her help.

Several minutes later I am standing in front of a mirror in the outer office, ignoring its oohs and aahs. I am clad in a long, depressingly plain white robe, holding the mahogany staff in one hand.

Very Gandalf-esque, Albus. Professor Tolkien would be pleased.

Tom, do shut up.

Iris makes a throat clearing noise behind me. I turn to find her holding a thick sheaf of papers, looking very annoyed. "Professor Flittywick was saying Master Albus might want to be seeing these."

"And what are they?"

"They are being OWLsies."

"Oh, the current OWL scores. Yes, I would like to see them."

Can't resist opening one batch of trouble right after another, can you, Albus?

Trouble never goes away if you ignore it, Tom. Besides, as tired as I am now it will probably cushion the blows.

Iris hands over the papers with a sniff. "Professor Flittywick said to remember that the OWLsies still have to be checked by nasty Ministry people. These are being the non-official scores."

"Very well, Iris, thank you." I take the papers and limp back to the table. I have to admit, the staff is very helpful when it comes to walking.

Putting the papers down on the desk I look at the cover note. It is from the Ministry testing office, saying, as Iris has relayed, that these are unofficial scores and have not been double-checked. Official scores are expected in two weeks. Somehow I expect they will be running late.

Another note under the first explains that due to the "interruption" of the Astronomy practical, the grades have been adjusted upwards by a generous factor. The Ministry is considering offering a retest to any student who requests it. I nod to myself. The testing office is a rarity in the Ministry, an efficient operation run with fairness and good will.

I flick past the statistical summaries, pausing only to note the unusually high number of Outstanding scores on the DADA exam. Harry's work, no doubt. What is it about that young man that makes me able to be so very proud of him and so very irritated with him in the same instant?

You know very well what it is, Albus. Don't lie to yourself.

I ignore that. I just don't have the energy to get into an inner debate on that subject.

I turn quickly to the Gs and find Hermione Granger's scores. All Outstandings of course except... one lone E mars the march of circles down the page. Astronomy. Well, I know one petition for a retest that will wing its way to the Ministry without even needing an owl! I smile fondly and turn to the Ps.

Harry's OWL scores look quite good. He received seven overall - no, eight counting the automatic OWL in Muggle Studies the Ministry awards to any muggle-reared student (and don't the pureblood families howl at that policy). There are Outstandings in DADA (it nearly goes without saying) and Care of Magical Creatures. There are Es in Herbology, Charms, and Transfiguration (Minerva will be exceedingly pleased with that). I peruse the Ds in Divination and History of Magic with no surprise, and see he got an A in Astronomy (probably due to the curve) and...Potions.

I sometimes wish I was the type of person who could take out his frustration by loud and colorful cursing. Not having such an outlet, however, I steeple my fingers and let out a long, whistling breath.

Don't worry, Albus. You're in a hospital. Surely they have something for heartburn around here somewhere!

Heartburn, yes. Impending conflagration of the esophagus, no.

"Is Master Albus being okay?" Iris pats my arm worriedly.

"I'm afraid not, Iris."

"What is being the problem?"

I suppose strictly speaking I should not discuss school matters with Iris, but Minerva isn't available and my treasured elf is the very soul of discretion when it comes to my secrets. "It looks like I have a very difficult decision to make, Iris. No matter which way I go, somebody is going to be very unhappy."

"What is being new?" Iris shrugs. "This is what Master Albus does every day."

"I know. But in this case it has to do with Harry and Potions."

"Is saying no more." Iris shakes her head. "Master Albus will let Iris guess - good Harry Potter is not getting O on his Owlsie."

"How do you know about that?"

"Is being talk of the castle for a while now. Some of the kitchen elves are taking bets on how Master Albus will get out of this."

"I don't suppose they have any good ideas?"

"Iris is afraid not, Master Albus. Although she thought the one about Master Albus turning himself into a bird and flying south for the winter was worth trying."

You know...

Shut up, Tom.

Political and social reality being what it is I am willing to overlook a great deal of Severus' behavior. I draw the line, however, at his unfairness arbitrarily interfering with students' career options. Although Harry will never be a master potion maker, I am reasonably convinced that, under another teacher, his OWL score would have been a notch higher. And most teachers would find an E to be perfectly acceptable for entrance into a NEWT level class. But Severus is not most teachers.

Of course, there are options. I have been known to "persuade" Severus to make exceptions in the past - very quietly of course. And independent study is always a viable, if difficult, way of preparing for a NEWT. In most cases there would be ways around this situation. Unfortunately, Harry is not most cases. Severus is likely to protest any opportunity extended to Harry in the strongest possible language. And Harry's A does not give me the leverage an E would have provided. Then again, what can you expect when the boy has Tom Riddle rooting around in his head?

You have me in your head...

Not now, Tom!

"What is good Harry Potter getting, Master Albus?" Iris asks.

"An A."

"That is being bad." She scratches her head. "Master Albus is either having Harry Potter all upset or smelly Snape all mad."

"Professor Snape, Iris."

"That is what Iris is saying, smelly Professor Snape."

Maybe there is a way out. If one of the Slytherins needs an exception... I quickly flip to the relevant pages. Crabbe, Goyle, and Bulstrode did dismally, as expected. Zabini got an Outstanding, and Nott and Parkinson are unlikely to continue Potions. That leaves... I flip to the Ms. A moment later I slap the papers down, defeated. Draco Malfoy got an Outstanding.

"What is Master Albus doing?"

I quickly explain my reasoning to Iris. She nods sympathetically.

"I repeat, any ideas, Iris?"

She makes a palms-up gesture. "Is sucking to be you, Master Albus."

"Pardon."

"Is Muggle expression Iris is just hearing about. Is seeming to fit."

You know...

SHUT UP, TOM!!!

"Iris is being very sorry to make things worse, but..."

"Just say it, Iris. The only thing that could make THIS worse right now is if Severus were in the building right now to see me."

"Well, Master Albus..."

I look at her slowly. Her face is very sad. I close my eyes and rub the bridge of my nose.

"Is sucking to be you, Master Albus."

"That's true, Iris. That's true."

Snape breezes in a few moments later like a gigantic crow come to pick at the dead. He stands before me as I remain seated at the table, his look of disapproval seeming oddly dimmed, as if he is wearing it more as an afterthought than anything else. That tells me Severus is extremely excited. I motion for him to sit.

"I trust you are recovering quickly, Headmaster?"

"Yes, Severus, I am mending quite nicely." I give him an approving and benevolent smile. Any tendencies toward civility and empathy that Severus evinces are to be carefully tended and rewarded.

Unfortunately, he spoils the moment, as he always does. "Headmaster, I trust that you now see my point about Potter."

"Mister Potter, Severus."

The man really is like a pox victim picking at his sores. Doesn't he know that just makes the scars worse?

Sometimes I think that's exactly what Severus wants. He wishes to parade his emotional wounds, grinding our faces, mine in particular, into the pain he carries with him like a security blanket. In that way he gains some measure of revenge for my perceived sins against him.

Are you saying you don't deserve it, Albus?

No, I am not saying that, Tom. I would never say that.

"Whatever you call him," Severus spits. "Surely you agree that he has created a disaster here!"

"Severus," I say firmly but quietly, "you know very well that Death Eaters are responsible for this tragedy, not Harry."

"I understand that Potter appeared in the middle of the battle. He might have ruined everything!"

"It is true that the appearance of Harry and his friends was unexpected." Although for the life of me I could not tell you know why it wasn't expected. Merlin knows we've had plenty of precedent. "But their intervention proved most beneficial."

"He almost got Lupin killed! Not to mention Weasley!" Snape's face is white with outrage.

"Professor Lupin and Mister Weasley made their own decisions in this matter, Severus. No one forced them to accompany Harry."

"You are determined to defend him, aren't you?" Severus reminds me very much of

Harry as he was in my office right after the battle at the Ministry. "What will it take to make you see that the boy is a menace?"

"A menace, Severus? Brave, yes. Rash, yes. High-tempered, definitely. But I do fail to see how Harry is a menace. He strikes me, mostly, as a very ordinary teenager."

You are lying, Albus.

Yes, Tom. But my own opinions of Harry are too complicated to share with Severus Snape. Particularly because I really don't understand them myself.

And then Severus does something that surprises me - stuns me in fact. He leans forward and begins to speak in a voice that is not spitting or dripping with sarcasm. Instead it is cold, cold and icy with something I can't initially identify.

"Ordinary, Headmaster? Yes, you would like it very much to be that way. You have allowed the boy to live in a fool's paradise for years. You have coddled him and petted him until he is totally unfit for the role he has to play."

OUCH!!

I bow my head for a moment. Severus has, uncharacteristically, made an insightful move directly to the heart of the matter. And it hurts. Oh, how it hurts. Nevertheless, he is not entirely right.

"I admit I have made many serious mistakes and miscalculations with regard to Harry, Severus. But if you were to ask him, I doubt he would think he had been coddled." My voice is deliberately low to hide the huskiness that creeps into it.

"That is because he has never been allowed to know the full situation," Severus shoots back. "Nor have you ever allowed the consequences of his actions to fall on his shoulders as they ought!"

"Consequences, Severus? As I recall he has faced Voldemort three times, been hunted by dementors, and slain a basilisk. Hardly a life without consequences."

"You are playing games with terms!" Snape barks. "You know very well what I mean. You have allowed him to be irresponsible. You have encouraged him to be reckless and rash. And now he is going to get us all killed!"

That is the note in Severus' voice! Goodness, the great bat is practically aflutter with fright!

Tom is right. The undertone in Snape's voice is fear.

I bow my head for a moment. Deliberately, I allow that moment to stretch. Severus stirs uncomfortably in his chair across from me, but I do not look up. The moment stretches on longer. I can feel the anger and doubt radiating from the other side of the table. Finally I look up, making sure to wear one of my most serious expressions.

"What would you have had me do, Severus? What would you have me do now?"

"I have told you many times!" Snape's eyes flash with wrath. "Potter should have been prepared for his destiny long before now. At least beginning his first day at Hogwarts he should have been trained to properly accept and serve his purpose." He swallows, hard. "As for now, put him on a leash and keep him there until he learns how to obey."

I hold Severus' gaze with my own. He stares back, defiantly. Not breaking eye contact, I say slowly, "Severus, do you wish to be Headmaster?"

His eyes widen. "What?"

"Not immediately, of course," I allow myself to give him a small smile, "someday."

"Well, I..." Snape sputters, obviously off guard.

Oh, good one, Albus! Nothing like a direct blow to the ambition to get a Slytherin's attention.

"You could be, you know," I say softly. "I cannot hold the chair forever, and Minerva is much older than you. You could succeed me, or succeed her, more likely. You have the intelligence, and the power, and the drive."

"I sense a 'however' coming on, Headmaster," Severus comments dryly.

"However," I say with a smile, "your education is not yet complete."

"My education?"

"Yes, Severus. The road to the Headmaster's office is a long one. At least if you wish to be a worthy holder of the office, unlike some."

That chamber pot of a predecessor of yours, for example.

"And I suppose I have far to go on the road?" Severus sneers.

"Not so far as you might think," I now allow myself to give him a comforting smile. "But still, there are some lessons for you to learn. For instance, life is not a potion."

"I am well aware of that, Headmaster." His sneer broadens in a way only he can manage. Sometimes I'm not quite sure if Severus is a man wearing a sneer or a sneer wearing a man.

"I do not believe you are, Professor Snape," I say mildly.

Severus just sneers even more broadly. I swear he's going to break his jaws that way, one of these days.

It's a major miracle someone else hasn't broken them already.

True. Unfortunately, Harry may attempt it, yet.

"Life, unlike a potion, has no exact formula. There are no strict rules for mixing various elements, no equations to determine how much energy to put into this situation or that, no charts to determine how long to let a problem boil before taking it off the fire. You are most comfortable when you have rules to guide you, Professor Snape. In that, you and Hermione Granger are much alike."

Oh, that's a good one, Albus. You'll have to write that one down tonight!

"I'm flattered," Severus snarls.

"You should be. But what I am getting at, Severus, is that although you are possessed of a sharp, subtle intelligence, you have no inclination toward complex problems."

Snape sits rigidly upright in his chair, his nostrils flaring like a dragon's just before it belches flames. "I am well acquainted with hard decisions, Headmaster."

"Hard decisions, yes, Severus. But not complicated ones. There is a difference."

"I am sure you are about to tell me," he remarks sourly.

Petulance is SO unattractive in a man pushing forty.

"If you had to sacrifice a colleague to bring about the defeat of Voldemort, could you do it, Severus?"

He meets my eyes again. "Yes, Professor Dumbledore, I could."

"I knew you had that strength within you, Severus. Now, if you had to risk Voldemort achieving victory to save a friend, could you do it?"

His eyes narrow until only tiny glittering arcs of his pupils peer through the lids. "That makes no sense, Professor."

"Perhaps not. But it is important."

"I do not see how."

"I know." I sigh and my look of grief is not feigned. "You see, Severus, to be Headmaster, a proper Headmaster, you have to know that there come times when all rules fail you. Sometimes, in fact, some of your most basic rules have to be stood on their heads. The one must be sacrificed for the many? That is hard, but simple. What is complicated, but nevertheless true, is that sometimes the many must risk themselves for the one."

"Particularly when that one is Potter?" Snape almost barks.

Careful, Albus. You are on very thin ice.

"I did not say that, Severus. I just state what is true."

"What you speak of is idiocy." His voice is cold and flat.

"Perhaps. But it is also to be human."

"A weak human. One that offers the Dark Lord weapons at every turn."

"True." I incline my head at his point. "I have learned that, to my sorrow. True to the last part of your statement, not the first. You see, if one ever becomes a calculating machine, a thing of rules and ratios, risks and odds, one ceases to be what is most important - human."

"Is it so important if we defeat the Dark Lord?" Severus leans forward, his eyes blazing.

"If we cease to be human, it will not matter if Voldemort wins or not, Severus. Because their will be nothing left to defend."

Oh, that's very neat, Albus! Do remember to include that last part in your memoirs. It has such a nice ring to it.

Severus obviously does not believe it has a pleasing tone. He looks, in fact, like he just swallowed one of his fouler potions. "You are saying I am not human?"

"No, Severus. You most definitely are human. But I don't think you appreciate the wonder of that state."

He holds my eyes for a long, silent second. "The Dark Lord has summoned us. He is preparing his bid to seize Azkaban."

"I cannot say I am surprised, Severus," I answer wearily.

"Strategically, it is an excellent time for him to strike," Severus agrees. "His forces are spread terribly thin, but ours are spread thinner."

"Yes."

"I must go to be with him. He expects it."

"If that is your decision, Severus." I smile sadly. "You must do as your heart bids."

"My heart bids me nothing," he snaps. "And there is no decision at all."

He hasn't heard a word you just said, Albus.

I know, Tom. I know.

"And I will not give Potter an exception," Severus continues.

I sigh. I am trying to make a point about life, and he is going on about his potions roster!

Very Slytherin of him though. You can hardly force the issue after what he just said.

No, I can't

"I will not ask you for one, Severus."

"Very well." He stands, seeming to hold the world in contempt, like the character from Milton.

It's Dante, Albus.

So it is. Thank you, Tom.

"I will be in contact, Headmaster!" He nods, sneers, and is gone.

I slump back in my chair, feeling utterly drained. Severus does that to me on the best of days, and now - well, I feel lucky I'm not in a coma.

A soft throat clearing comes from my right. I look up to see Iris holding a scroll and looking uncharacteristically nervous.

"Yes, Iris? I thought you had gone."

"Iris is sending other elves back, Master Albus. But Iris has something else to tell you."

I brace myself physically. It's a silly gesture, but it helps. "Go on."

"This is from Kreacher," she holds out the scroll.

I take it from her and place it on the table. I just don't have the strength right to deal with this right now. "Do you know what it says?"

"Yes." She looks down and fidgets. "It is being a petition to Harry Potter. Kreacher asks his new master to behead him. Is being family tradition."

It sucks being you, Albus.

So it does.

"Do you have any advice, Iris?" I ask softly.

She looks up, and I am marvelously relieved to see the old sparkle in her eyes. "Now that you are asking, Master Albus, Iris is thinking of something. But she is needing to talk with Dobby, first."

Dobby? I wonder why. Oh, well.

"Do it, Iris." I hand her back the scroll. "Let me know what you two come up with."

"Iris will do. Master Albus will be resting?" she asks with her old imperious tone.

"Master Albus will be resting," I say.

She gives me a warning glare and disappears.

Now what could those two be cooking up?

I don't know, Tom. And I don't want to know, right now.

Grabbing my staff, I haul myself stiffly to my feet. I promised to rest, and I will.

But first I must make my rounds of the injured.