Dumbledore's Secret

Chapter 3

At the sound of approaching footsteps, Hermione Granger quickly extinguished the light emanating from her wand and shoved her schoolbooks beneath the blankets. She really hoped Madam Pomfrey hadn't seen her reading at this time of night; no doubt the school nurse would take away her books and scold her about "not getting enough rest" and "failing to recognize just how critical her injuries were." Hermione knew the older woman was right, but really, there was only so much resting a girl could do. And besides, OWLs might now be over, but NEWTs were just two years around the corner, and one could never start preparing for these sorts of things too soon.

When the large double doors to the hospital wing creaked open, however, it was not the kindly medi-witch who walked through them. Though the privacy screens on either side of Hermione's bed kept her from seeing who had just entered, she could make out, through the gap between the floor and the screen, two sets of feet heading in her direction.

"Sit on this bed over here." Hermione stiffened at the sound of Professor Snape's low voice.

"I want to see to my ... my grandfather," said a woman, speaking in a flat American accent.

"I'll bring him to you, but first I'm going to get Poppy - the medi-witch here. She needs to have a look at you."

Hermione craned her neck in a vain attempt to see around the privacy screen. That voice certainly sounded like Snape's, but it seemed too kind, too considerate to belong to the nasty potions professor.

"Stay there," Snape said as he walked away from them.

Apparently, the woman was not accustomed to following directions, for the moment after Snape left, Hermione heard the woman slip out of the bed and pad quietly to a window near Hermione's bed. The woman stared out into the night, her shoulders shaking slightly. Just enough moonlight spilled in through the window so that Hermione could see the woman's reddish brown hair curl gently over the collar of what looked to be an oversized black robe of some kind. Hermione leaned forward in her bed to get a better look at the woman, then quickly sunk back below the covers when she heard Madam Pomfrey's office door swing open.

"Charlotte ... Miss Richardson?" Snape's voice was urgent.

"Severus, keep your voice down," Madam Pomfrey whispered. "You'll wake the children ..."

"I don't give a damn about waking anybody. Where the hell is ..."

Snape strode into view, and when he reached the woman, he turned her away from the window and said, "I told you to stay on the bed." Ah, Hermione thought at the sound of his harsh voice, that's the Professor Snape we know and hate.

The woman looked to be crying. Hermione's eyes nearly popped out of her head when she saw Snape gently brush his thumbs across her cheeks. "Come now," he said, his voice once again uncharacteristically kind. "You've held together so far, it's just a little longer that I need you to hang on."

The woman sniffed and nodded. "I'm sorry. I know you must think I'm the biggest idiot, but ..."

"I think you've seen and experienced more than anyone deserves. Now, get back on that bed so Poppy can take care of you. I'll go get your grandfather."

To Hermione's disappointment, he guided her back to the bed on the other side of the privacy screen.

"Severus, I'll want to take a look at your injuries, as well," Madam Pomfrey said quietly.

"I'm fine, Poppy. Just see to her. I'll be back in a moment."

After Snape had left the room, the woman said softly, "He's not fine. He was tortured."

"Yes, well ..." Madam Pomfrey said with surprise in her voice. "Well, don't you worry about him. He's stubborn, but I'll look after him, don't you worry. Right now, we need to concentrate on you."

When Madam Pomfrey lit several candles, Hermione could see the silhouettes of the nurse and her patient through the thin white fabric of the screen.

"I'm fine, just very tired." The woman sat on the edge of the hospital bed, resisting Madam Pomfrey's attempts to get her to lie down.

"Those bruises on your arm tell me you're less than well, Miss ... Richardson, is it?"

"Yes, but please," she said, scooting away from the nurse. "I'm fine."

"My dear," Madame Pomfrey said gently, "you're going to have to tell me what happened to you if you want me to help."

Miss Richardson looked away for a moment, then spoke almost so quietly that Hermione barely heard her. "They used crucio, that's all."

Hermione shuddered. What in the world had happened tonight? Her mind suddenly flew to Ron and Harry... well, Ron was in the bed next to her, snoring softly. But Harry ... had his scar hurt? She had to make sure he was all right. Even knowing that she'd lose her chance to eavesdrop on the rest of the conversation, Hermione was almost worried enough to call out to Madam Pomfrey.

But before Hermione could speak, Madam Pomfrey cried out, "That's all? That's enough, I'd say. Oh, my poor girl, here, let's get this cloak off of you ..."

"I ... I don't have a shirt underneath ..."

"That's fine, I'll get you a robe. Now, gently there, okay, now ... here's a robe, we'll just slip it over your head, good girl. Now, let me fix up those marks on your arms. We don't want any scarring."

"I don't care about scarring," Miss Richardson, her voice numb.

"Of course you do," said the nurse, and Hermione could see the older woman bustling around Miss Richardson's bed, pouring potions and wrapping bandages with an energy that had always made Hermione feel better. But Miss Richardson, her head hanging and shoulders drooped, seemed not to be responding to Madam Pomfrey's cheerful efficiency.

It was only when the double doors swung open that Miss Richardson looked up. In the faint glow of the candles, Hermione could just barely make out the silhouettes of two men, one with an incredibly long beard, the other with stringy, shoulder length hair. Neither Professor Dumbledore nor Snape said anything for a moment, then Hermione heard the headmaster whisper, "Gwen?"

Miss Richardson gasped, then began to cry softly. "No," she said between quiet sobs, "my name is Charlotte."

"My child, forgive me."

Hermione shivered at the sound of the headmaster's voice. It almost sounded like someone else; it was too feeble, too sad to be the voice of the great Albus Dumbledore.

"It's only that you look ... you look so like her," he whispered, holding out his hands.

For a moment, Miss Richardson did not move. Then, she jumped off the bed and grabbed his outstretched hands. Crying against the old man's shoulder, she said, "You do, too. Your eyes ..."

Professor Dumbledore whispered, "Is your mother ..." his voice trailed off.

It was Snape who answered. "I'm sorry, Albus." He had backed away from the other two, and Hermione could no longer see his outline against the privacy screen. By the sound of it, he was near the door.

Hermione heard the door creak open just as the headmaster said, "No, wait Severus. Please, don't leave. I want to thank you."

"Thank me?" Snape's voice was suddenly loud and angry.

"Severus ..." whispered Madam Pomfrey, who was hovering nearby. "Please, your voice?"

But Snape continued as stridently. "Thank me? Albus, your daughter is dead, and my cover is blown."

"But you saved me," Miss Richardson said softly.

Snape did not respond, and Professor Dumbledore added, "And you're safe."

Snape snorted. "And now useless."

"Severus," the headmaster said, his voice almost pleading. "You long ago repaid your debt ..."

"I will NEVER pay back that debt!" the potions master stormed.

The sound of the door slamming into its frame echoed through the room, and Hermione heard Ron mutter, " 'Mione? What's going on?"

Madam Pomfrey clucked her tongue and came bustling over to their beds. Hermione quickly squeezed her eyes shut, and she heard the nurse tell Ron, "Now, now dear, nothing's the matter, just go back to sleep." He must have complied because within in seconds, he had started to snore softly again.

Hermione tentatively lifted one eyelid, and she nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw Professor Dumbledore standing beside her bed. "I didn't hear anything!" she said too loudly and quickly. Hermione mentally kicked herself. She couldn't have sounded any guiltier.

"Minerva," the headmaster said, and Hermione poked her head over her covers in surprise. She hadn't known Professor McGonagall had also been in the room. Oh, fantastic, now she was really in trouble.

"Minerva, please escort Charlotte back to my office."

"Now Albus," Madam Pomfrey protested, "the young lady needs to stay here ..."

"I promise to take good care of her, Poppy," Professor McGonagall said in a voice that brooked little argument.

Madam Pomfrey huffed and muttered something that sounded like, "Why I'm never allowed to do my job, I'll never know."

Hermione looked with wide eyes at Professor Dumbledore. He gave her a small, weary smile and said, "You needn't be afraid, Miss Granger."

She sat up and gave a tentative nod of her head. "Professor Dumbledore, I'm so sorry, I ..."

The headmaster came and sat in the chair beside her bed. As she looked at him in the near darkness, Hermione suddenly felt more frightened than ever. She had never seen him look so old and tired and ... well, vulnerable, a word she'd never thought to associate with him before. If he were beaten, weren't they all doomed?

"It's been a long night, Miss Granger," Professor Dumbledore said with a sad smile.

"I'm so, so sorry!" she whispered again.

"I believe I should be apologizing for keeping you awake."

"Well ..." she said guiltily, her eyes glancing down at a book that was half covered by the blanket.

With a soft laugh, the headmaster said, "Ah, I see. Catching up on some ..." he glanced at the title. "Advanced transfiguration? I'm sure Professor McGonagall will be pleased."

"I couldn't sleep."

"Then, I can hardly blame you for overhearing our conversation."

Suddenly, Hermione's eyes filled with tears. "I'm very sorry about your daughter, Sir," she whispered.

With glassy eyes, he said, "I appreciate that, Miss Granger." Then, after a moment, he spoke more steadily. "I must ask you to keep everything you've heard tonight confidential. For the time being, I think it is best that as few people know about - about tonight's events as possible, and that includes Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter."

She nodded vigorously. "Of course, Sir."

He smiled. "Thank you, Miss Granger." And to her surprise, he patted her shoulder and said, "You are a good friend to us all."

As Professor Dumbledore quickly left the room, Hermione pulled the covers tightly around herself, then tried not to cry as she realized that the war had truly begun.

*

Severus yanked open his liquor cabinet and groaned when all he saw inside was a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey. Flitwick had given it to him several Christmases ago, having no idea that Severus Snape drank firewhiskey only if he was incredibly desperate. "I never liked the stuff, either," he suddenly remembered Charlotte saying, just hours before. Severus pulled the cap off the bottle and lifted it in a salute. "To desperation," he muttered.

Sinking down on the floor, Severus reached below the liquor cabinet and pulled out a photo. He kept it there, sitting on the dusty floor below his liquor cabinet, for times just like these, when he wanted do nothing but lie on the floor and drink himself to death. He gazed at her image, though he could not see her face. She had refused to look up for the picture. In the photo, she waved a hand out in front of her in protest. "Sev," she had said, keeping her eyes on her books, "I know just as many hexes as you, and if you try to take my picture ever again ..." He had actually laughed then, he had actually laughed out loud. And she had smiled, but not much. She was older, and she knew more of the world than he did. But it had been before she had married that brute, and before Voldemort had used his own wand to kill her. Yes, his laugh and that worldly half smile of hers could only have existed before all that. Even his father, who had tried his damnedest to stamp out their happiness, hadn't been able to come between them then. Now she was dead, and Severus might as well have been.

"Severus?"

He wished he was drunk enough to ignore Minerva's voice, but he had only had the chance to gulp down a few shots, not enough to drown his instincts. He pulled himself off the ground and looked over at his fireplace.

Minerva's head bobbed in the green flames. "Severus, I know you're not doing well, but Albus needs you to come to his office."

"Can't you just leave me in peace?" he muttered before taking another swig of the whiskey. If he could hurry up and get drunk enough, they'd leave him alone.

"Oh, Severus, fire whiskey? I thought you hated the stuff."

He scowled at her. "Leave me be!"

"We really need your help with Charlotte. She won't tell us what happened, and you know how Albus likes to get these things out in the open."

Severus rolled his eyes. "And this is my problem how?"

"Please, Severus..."

"Damn it!" he muttered. "Fine, get out of the fire so I can come through."

He held onto the bottle of whiskey as he flooed to Albus's office. When he stepped into the room, he saw Charlotte sitting by the window, staring despondently at the glass. Albus sat at his desk, looking at his hands.

"Here," he said, stumbling over to Charlotte and sitting beside her. "Your favorite."

She looked at him, and then the bottle, with surprise. The smallest of smiles flashed across her face before she gripped the bottle and took a huge gulp. Her face, already splotchy from bouts of tears, turned a bright red as she coughed violently.

Severus watched as Albus exchanged a bemused glance with his wife. Then, with an exaggerated stage whisper, Severus turned to Charlotte and said, "This is the part where your grandfather tells us that, bad as it might seem, we have to talk about what happened, we have to let it go, or else it will only be that much more difficult in the morning."

Now there was actually a grin on Albus's face, and Charlotte murmured, her small smile growing, "He already said that."

"Ah," Severus said, taking the bottle back from her. He took another swig, set it down, and asked her very softly, "Should I begin, or you?'

She glanced away from him. "You."

Taking a deep breath, he spoke, his voice even and dispassionate. He told of the summons, of the death eaters he could identify, of Voldemort's anger, his growing instability, his suspicions. "I don't know how he discovered me," Severus whispered. "Maybe he's always known and tonight ... maybe my Occulmency failed, maybe ..."

"We both know that Tom never fully trusted you when you returned," Albus interjected gently. "Most likely, he was simply playing with you, asserting his dominance. He probably never dreamed you wouldn't comply."

Severus shrugged and continued his description of the night's events, telling Albus everything ... well, almost everything. He didn't mention the Cruatius curses, either those he had received - there was no point in explaining the obvious - or the one he had cast on Charlotte. Even knowing that it had been part of his ploy, part of his cover, he couldn't bring himself to tell Albus he had done that to her.

Severus had been about to mention how Charlotte had dared to spit into Voldemort's face. It had been a bold, if stupid, move, one that a Gryffindor like Albus would have appreciated. But then he realized what had come after that. Oh, there was no doubt that Voldemort would have killed Guinevere one way or another, but in remembering the night's events, it became clear to Severus that Charlotte's defiance had induced the Dark Lord to cast the killing curse then and there. He only hoped that Charlotte had not realized that herself.

After Severus had explained everything else, Albus turned to his granddaughter and asked gently, "Can you tell us how Voldemort found you, my child?"

She breathed in slowly, then said, "Just this afternoon, I got a letter from ... I thought it was from Mom. We hadn't spoken in a long time, and when I got the note, I was so happy, I thought ..." Then she shook her head. "But I should have known, she wouldn't use an owl ..." She looked at her grandfather with questioning eyes. "How did they find me? And the letter ... it might have been a long time, but I recognized my mom's handwriting, and ..."

"Probably the Imperius curse and a truth serum," Albus explained softly. "They probably forced her ..." He stopped and looked up at the ceiling for a moment. "They probably forced her to tell them about any family she had. Then, they made her write to you."

Tears welled up in Charlotte's bright blue eyes. "I should have known," she repeated bitterly, then sniffed. "Mom and I had a falling out about 8 years ago. We ... we didn't see eye to eye about magic." She grimaced. "When she first told me about my abilities, she said it was a problem that ran in her family. A problem. She looked so frightened when she told me that! I was only 9, and I thought I had done something terribly wrong. And my father ..."

"Is he still alive?" Albus asked.

"No," she said. "No, he died ... it'll be 18 years ago this fall. He died of a heart attack." She sighed. "My father had actually been supportive about magic, even though he was a muggle. But Mom would get so mad, and he'd only talk about it when she wasn't around. It was my dad who insisted I learn something about it. And after Dad died, Mom was even more fragile. I mean, if we didn't talk about Dad or magic, she was fine, but those were the two things that I most needed to ..." She stopped. "Anyway, Mom let me learn the basics until I was entered high school. Then she told me that I had learned enough, and that I needed to get into a good college. She so wanted me to be something muggles would find respectable ... a lawyer, a doctor ... though I think her real dream was for me to be a concert pianist."

"You play the piano," Albus murmured.

"Yes," Charlotte said, and she smiled easily for the first time that night. "I love the piano. But I loved magic, too. I can't explain it. I don't even know much about magic. Maybe that's why I'm so fascinated. Maybe it's just the mystery of it ... But I did what she said, I went to college, I pretended to be normal, just like everyone else, but I just couldn't do it, I couldn't keep pretending. When I graduated, I thought she would understand, would see that I had tried to be like she wanted me to be, and ..."

Charlotte shook her head and said nothing for a few minutes. In the silence, Severus tried to look at anything besides the other three people in the room, all of whom were near tears. I need to get out of here, he thought desperately, and he was almost ready to get flee when Charlotte spoke again.

"After we fought, I didn't speak to her again. I decided that if she couldn't accept me ... But, I never went far away. I was twenty miles from her ... twenty miles! After a few months, I tried to write her, but she never responded. But I was only twenty miles away, and I could have visited, I should have gone, but I was just too ..." Suddenly, she jumped up from her seat, grabbed the bottle of fire whiskey, and threw it to the ground. "How could she not contact me?" she screamed as the glass shattered. "How could she not respond? Why didn't she come after me when I left? Why did she hate me so much?"

"She didn't hate you, she hated me, child," Albus said softly.

The room became unbearably silent for a moment.

"Why did she hate you?" Charlotte asked, her voice feeble.

"Because I let her down," Albus responded simply. Then he sighed. "Do you know of Grindelwald?"

Charlotte nodded. "Yes, he was a dark wizard who was defeated by ... well, by you, in 1945."

"Yes, I suppose, but there have been times, like tonight, when I think he managed to win after all."

Minerva made a sound from her spot in the corner, and Severus looked up at her in surprise. He had almost forgotten she was there, and suddenly he felt a surge of pity for her. She was an outsider to all of this, but she was probably hurting no less than the three of them.

"Grindelwald was actually quite different from Voldemort. Oh, they are both cruel wizards, but Grindelwald wasn't as obsessed with this idea of racial purity as Voldemort is." Albus smiled grimly. "There are those who think that the muggle Adolf Hitler and Gridelwald were one and the same." Albus shook his head. "No, Grindelwald certainly used Hitler's rampage to his advantage, but Hitler had a lot more in common with Voldemort. Grindelwald was power hungry, pure and simple. He wanted wealth and worship and glory. He wanted to take over the wizarding world, but unlike Voldemort, he could have cared less who was part of it, so long as they bowed to him. Grindelwald had a lot of followers; they were all seduced by his promise of riches and an easy life. But there were those of us who stood up to him." Then Albus squeezed his eyes shut. "He threatened us all, promised our families would die, our lives would be ruined, if we didn't back down. But I was so arrogant, so self righteous!" Albus sighed. "Ekaterina begged me to send her and Gwen into hiding. She even begged me to come with them. But I refused all of her requests. I said that I would not let some lawless warlock scare me! I would not allow him to take over our lives like that. And I proclaimed this publicly. I wanted to show the wizarding world how to be brave, how to be noble!"

Severus stared at the headmaster, astonished at the self-loathing that had crept into his fierce blue eyes. No one knew much about Dumbledore's defeat of Grindelwald. Severus had always assumed that Albus had risen easily to the challenge, a natural hero. He never would have guessed at the pain behind the experience.

"Well, Grindelwald called my bluff. When I was away from Hogwarts one summer, he and his henchmen came and killed my wife. Gwen was there, hiding in a closet. But she saw it all. Like you," he said looking at Charlotte, "she saw the worst that magic could do that night. And from then on, she wanted nothing to do with it. Or me." Then, he looked at Severus. "It took me a long time to forgive myself," he said quietly. Severus looked away, embarrassed.

"Albus," Minerva said, compassion filling her voice. She went to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, and Severus felt a pang of envy. If he had had someone to help him, he wondered suddenly, would everything have turned out differently? No, Dorcas was my support and I ...

"At her mother's funeral," Albus continued, "Gwen told me she was leaving the wizarding world. She asked her uncle, Nicolae Radu, to help her, to perform one last bit of magic, the Fidelius Charm, and keep her whereabouts unknown to everyone in the wizarding world, including me. Nicolae agreed; he also blamed me, perhaps rightly, for his sister's death."

Minerva huffed and squeezed Albus's shoulder again before returning to her seat.

"And so she hid in America," Albus finished, looking at Charlotte.

Charlotte nodded. "Yes, in the mountains of North Carolina," she whispered. "The perfect place for her, really. Most witches and wizards there try their hardest to pretend they're no different from muggles." She was silent for a several minutes, but the tears were now gone. Then, with a stronger voice she said, "When I got the letter, I went to her house immediately. I drove my car, which I hardly ever use ... I thought if she was sending me an owl, I would drive a muggle car." And then Charlotte told them about the silver-handed death eater on her mother's front lawn.

"Peter Pettigrew," Severus said, his voice slightly hoarse. "His name is Peter Pettigrew." And then he smiled slightly. "And you stupefied him, even when he was invisible. He said you could see right through his cloak." Severus looked at Albus. "There are those who say you can also see through invisibility cloaks."

Albus and Charlotte exchanged a look, then Charlotte said, "No, I pinpointed the direction of his voice." She shrugged. "I just have a ..."

"Good ear," Albus finished for her. He tapped his own ear. "Me, too." She nodded, smiling slightly.

After she finished describing her capture, she said, "And everything else is pretty much like Severus said." She met his eyes and gave him a small smile. It almost seemed to say that she did not care about the feigned assault or the Cruatius. She was too forgiving, he thought bitterly, looking away, too naïve, too much, he realized, like Albus.

"I'm sorry to push you, Charlotte, but think hard; is there anything at all that Voldemort said to you or to his death eaters before Severus entered the room? Any information to add?" Albus asked.

At first, she shook her head. "No, he didn't say anything to me and ..." Then she stopped. "Wait, that's not true. After Severus came in ..."

Severus closed his eyes. Please don't remember, he found himself thinking. Then he looked at her. I know what guilt does, he thought desperately. Please, don't think about it...

"I spit in his face," she whispered hoarsely. "My God, I caused it, I ..." Her face paled to a ghostly white. "I think I'm going to be sick ..."

Minerva jumped from her chair, pulled out her wand, and transfigured Albus's ink well into a large basin which she brought to Charlotte just before the younger woman retched. "Here," Minerva said, handing her a glass of water that had appeared on the nearby table. Thank the gods for house elves, Severus thought as he watched Charlotte drink from the glass.

When she had finished, she said, "He bent over me and whispered something, he said that he would enjoy watching me die, and then he whispered something I couldn't make out ..." Severus exchanged an anxious glance with Albus, but before either of them could ask her about these words, she continued. "I don't know why I did it! I was just so angry and frustrated, and I couldn't move or scream ... so I spat at him. And when he cursed me, I thought I was going to die, I really hoped I would die it hurt so much, but he didn't, he just stopped, and then he killed her instead." She paused, breathless. Then, with wide eyes, she looked at Severus and said, "If I hadn't done that, you could have gotten both of us out of there, you could have saved her ..."

Severus shook his head frantically, but it was Albus who spoke. "He killed her, Charlotte, not you, it's not your fault."

"No," she said. "You don't understand. He had planned to have you kill both of us, didn't he?" she asked Severus. "We were your test of loyalty. If I hadn't made him so angry, you would have been able ..."

"I couldn't have gotten all three of us out alive," Severus cut in desperately. "He would have killed us all."

"Then I wish he had!" she said savagely.

"Yes," he responded simply.

"Yes," she whispered. Then, with dry eyes and a deadened voice, she said, "I want to go to bed."

Albus hesitated, but at Minerva's stern look, he nodded and said, "Of course, child. You've been through ..." he sighed and didn't finish. "Minerva, can you ..."

"Of course." Minerva put her arm around Charlotte's shoulders and led her from the room.

When the two women had gone, Severus said, "Should I get some dreamless sleep draught for her?"

Albus shook his head. "Minerva already obtained some from Poppy."

Severus nodded and turned to leave.

Albus said wearily, "I know you won't accept my thanks, Severus, but I give them again. Thank you for bringing her to me."

Severus could not meet the old man's eyes. "It took me a long time to forgive myself." Albus's words replayed in his head, and Severus tried almost desperately to look at the headmaster, to nod or give him some acknowledgement. But he thought about Dorcas, dying, her last thought of him as a traitor ... No, that not was the same as being unable to protect someone from danger. Albus had not caused his wife and daughter's deaths; he'd only been unable to prevent them. Severus on the other hand ... If the great and noble Dumbledore had struggled with forgiveness, then Severus could surely never obtain it for himself.

"You're right," he bit out, standing up and heading to the fire. "I cannot accept your thanks." Throwing the floo powder into the fireplace, he did not look back at the tired old headmaster, knowing that he had disappointed him yet again.