Mather's Treaty

Madam Pomfrey was quickly summoned and when she arrived, Pomfrey took one look at both men and began clucking sympathetically. Both seemed to be in shock. For Remus it was to be expected. Transformations like the kind that werewolves were subjected to was always a traumatic experience for them; what could have likewise affected Dumbledore, however, was anyone's guess.

Snape and McGonagall gingerly pulled the dazed headmaster to his feet. His wand was grasped tightly in his hand and his watery blue eyes, normally twinkling and kind, were glazed and distant. Hagrid picked up Remus without a word and carried him to the castle and straight to the infirmary. Students and teachers alike crowded around the headmaster in concern but Pomfrey waved them away. Dumbledore broke from his trance-like state as they entered the foyer of the castle.

"Minerva, join me in my office," Dumbledore said in a hoarse voice. Pomfrey, Snape and Filias Flitwick, the Charms professor, made to protest but Dumbledore gave them a hard glance that silenced their words immediately. McGonagall silently obeyed the request and followed Dumbledore into his office.

Dumbledore sat in his chair and began to shake. When McGonagall made a motion to move to him, he held up a hand that halted her. "No." He gestured to a chair opposite his desk. "Please sit. It's a long story."

"You should be in the infirmary, Albus," she said after a moment. "You are in shock."

"I have a right to be," the older wizard said after a moment's pause. "It's difficult to explain, Minerva. I have made a grave error in judgment and must be held accountable. Consider this my punishment." The dignified witch gave a snort of disbelief. He leaned back with a sigh and slowly began to relax his muscles as he spoke. "You have heard the legend of Rufus Mather?" he asked finally.

McGonagall stiffened in her chair and sniffed disdainfully. "Superstitious nonsense," she exclaimed.

Dumbledore nodded tiredly. "That is what I thought until last night, Minerva. That is my error." McGonagall eyed him warily. "There are things about Rufus Mather that you do not know, however. Only the headmasters of Hogwarts know. As you will be my successor I see no reason why you shouldn't know now."

"What? What should I know?" she demanded, standing up and beginning to pace. "And what does this have to do with Lupin's running off from Potter, Weasley and Granger?"

Dumbledore gave a half-smile of exhaustion. "Sit down, Minerva, and I will tell you - "

The door to his office burst open and Snape stormed in, wild-eyed and his robes askew. "Headmaster! Madame Rosmerta is here from the village. Something is wrong!"

McGonagall didn't think the exhaustion emanating from Dumbledore could get worse, but it did. In fact, his whole body sagged as if in defeat. "I tried to stop it," the old wizard whispered almost brokenly. "I thought perhaps I had delayed it enough that it wouldn't make it to the village but I -” Dumbledore resolutely pulled himself together and pushed himself from his chair. "Let us go see the damage."

Snape's black eyes begged for a clue to the headmaster's odd behavior but McGonagall could only shrug, having none except a barmy legend told to frighten children of magical families.

"Ah, Filias," said Dumbledore tiredly when they entered the Great Hall and he spied the tiny Charms professor calming a few alarmed students. "You are in charge of the school while Severus, Minerva and I go down to the village. We should not be long. “ Flitwick gave an uncertain nod and Dumbledore tried to smile in return.

Snape, McGonagall and Dumbledore exited the castle to find a distraught and terrified Madam Rosmerta, the tavern owner in Hogsmeade, standing in the front drive. Her eyes were wild and her body was covered with scratches and bruises. As soon as she saw Dumbledore she began to babble.

"Just came out of nowhere, Professor! None of our charms or defensive spells seemed to affect it. It went after Chester Merchant first and then swept through the Shrieking Shack. The old place is still standing but just barely. It went from house to house and you could hear people screaming. It came into the tavern, we was just closing up - " Her voice broke off into an hysterical sob.

McGonagall put a comforting arm around the sobbing woman's shoulder and glanced at Snape, whose eyes had narrowed at Dumbledore's saddened expression. "Come," Dumbledore said finally. "We need to see and make plans."

McGonagall helped the distraught witch and Snape trailed behind, his black eyes darting this way and that alertly. As they approached the village outskirts Dumbledore drew out his wand. Snape and McGonagall followed suit. Snape grasped his so tightly his knuckles turned white. Though he did not know what was going on, his keen senses told him it was nothing good. Both Snape and McGonagall’s eyes bulged as they surveyed the destruction in the small village.

Hogsmeade was the only village in Britain completely (and secretly) populated by witches and wizards. Hidden by magic from Muggles, or non-magical people, it was rare that Hogsmeade had disturbances of any kind. In fact the last time it was so disturbed was when Voldemort was at the height of his power more than a decade ago.

Several of the houses were shaken to the foundation; cracks in the brick walls and the charmingly quaint thatched roofs were singed. Several buildings were smoking, looking burnt at the edges and in patches on the roofs. The three teachers could see the Shrieking Shack on the far end of town, looking more dilapidated than normal. The tavern, The Three Broomsticks, looked as if someone had attempted to tear it down. Boards hung loosely from the sides and shingles dangled from the once sturdy roof. The front windows were shattered; in fact, most of the windows in Hogsmeade were shattered, glass littering the ground of the tiny main street.

Dumbledore turned to the now silent Madam Rosmerta, grasping her wrists and forcing her to look at him. "Rosmerta," he said urgently, forcing her attention from her wrecked establishment to him. "Did whatever that was last night make any sounds? Did it say anything?"

She nodded emphatically. "It moaned like some demented lost soul," she cried. "It kept crying over and over 'Devil's children', 'servants of Satan'." She took a shuddering gasp of breath and expelled it. "It kept calling for its treaty. I don't know what it meant, Dumbledore, I swear I don't –“ She broke into anguished sobs again, falling to her knees.

"Severus." Dumbledore drew his potions master to his side while McGonagall crouched protectively over Rosmerta. "I want you to get beyond the town's borders and apparate to the Ministry of Magic. Find me a book in their special archive called the Malleus Maleficarum. Bring it back here immediately. I will be back at the castle. I need to speak with Remus."

Snape's face paled at the words Malleus Maleficarum and he said uncertainly, "Lupin will not recall anything from last night, Headmaster, he rarely does."

Dumbledore nodded. "I know, but he often has vague snatches of memory and emotional recollections. We need everything we can get."

Snape gave a nod, his heart sinking. "Why do I need to get that book, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore gave his potions master a harsh look. "Just do as I say, Severus. I will explain it later. We don't have time for expressions of distaste. Lives hang in the balance. I have neglected my duties long enough." The headmaster paused a moment, ignoring the startled expression from his potions master. “If anyone at the Ministry asks, tell them we are handling the matter.”

Snape had stiffened in surprise at the rebuke, and when Dumbledore finished his instructions, he gave a curt nod and strode determinedly toward the boundaries of Hogsmeade, where he could safely transport himself to London to accomplish his task.

"That was brusque," admonished McGonagall minutes later as the two of them headed back to the castle. Rosmerta had begun spreading word in the village that Dumbledore was working on the problem. That seemed to bolster the spirits of the townspeople, much to Dumbledore's discomfort. "I would not have wanted to go after that book either."

"I will apologize to him, of course, Minerva." Dumbledore looked about as he walked. "What you will be seeing, however, will be worse the Malleus Maleficarum."

McGonagall’s eyebrows arched high. "Worse?" she echoed. "That is not possible."

Every witch and wizard had grown up hearing of the atrocities committed to their kind and those innocent of having magical ability under the 'tutelage' of the Malleus Maleficarum, "The Witch-Hammer". The book had been created in the late 15th century to guide witch-hunters in the identification, persecution, and punishment of witches and wizards. Though more often than not, the witch hunters’ actions had not harmed any witch or wizard, there were occasional times when magic had not saved lives of those actually ‘guilty’ of using magic. As always, though, the death toll of those without magical ability whatsoever weighed heavily on those that did indeed practice magic.

"You say you know the story of Rufus Mather?" Dumbledore asked politely, as if he didn't quite believe her.

McGonagall nodded cautiously. "Yes. He was one of those witch hunters in the 16th century who swept through the countryside, hunting and killing our kind. He was inordinately successful. It is supposed he had 'inside help', as they say in modern terms."

Dumbledore gave a single nod. "Yes, that is the supposition. I know a bit more, however, as I will show you." They entered the castle and climbed the stairs into his office. Dumbledore took his wand and pointed it at one of the office walls. "Concedo Magisterus Porta."

The wall slid open, revealing a torch-lit passageway. McGonagall gaped a moment and then gathered herself to follow Dumbledore, who was already leading the way into the passage. “What is this?” she asked, startled when her voice echoed oddly in the short hallway.

“All the headmasters of Hogwarts are shown this room,” Dumbledore explained, his voice sounding distant despite the fact he was only four steps ahead of her. “It contains some of the most powerful and dangerous items known to our world.”

McGonagall emerged right behind Dumbledore in a large vault filled with various assorted and odd objects like doorknobs that rotated on their rounded ends continuously to books to mummies of every origin imaginable. In the corner, half-covered by a dustsheet, stood the familiar Mirror of Erised. She gawked a moment and then turned her attention back to the headmaster, who walked toward a cabinet.

“When I took over the position from Professor Dippet, he showed me a book. This book.” Dumbledore opened the cabinet, revealing a small box nestled among the cobwebs. It was the only unclean area in the entire vault. It had recently been disturbed, for fingerprints were visible in the dust covering the box. As Dumbledore didn’t seem surprised by the fingerprints visible, McGonagall reckoned that Dumbledore had made them earlier when he’d disappeared.

Dumbledore unlocked the box and lifted the lid, revealing a surprisingly well-kept tome, it’s leather binding new-looking despite it’s obvious age. The only thing faded was the title scrawled on the cover.

“What does this have to do with what happened to Professor Lupin and Hogsmeade?” McGonagall asked, unable to take her eyes from the book.

Dumbledore heaved a sigh and picked the book up, opening the crisp, yellow, parchment pages carefully and flipping through to a specific page. “It seems that after his death, many things were revealed about Rufus Mather that he managed to conceal from his Muggle followers. His mother was a Squib who had married a Muggle radical. Her distaste and bitterness transferred to her son, who it turned out, had the magical ability his mother lacked. Mather’s father died from an unknown bout of illness, leaving the boy with a mother who detested him. His own bitterness grew into an overwhelming hatred for wizards and witches. When he became involved in the radical religious movements of that era, it gave him a means to seek revenge upon our kind.”

“Oh dear,” said McGonagall faintly.

Dumbledore continued as if she had said nothing. “This book is the source of his persuasion, Minerva.” He handed her the book and she took it very reluctantly, hesitating before she looked down at the curly script. Her eyes widened as she read the words and flipped a page. “Yes,” he confirmed the thoughts he sensed her having. “Each of these are spells, powerful spells, used against our kind and for Muggles.”

“The worst magic of any kind,” she murmured.

“Not the concept,” Dumbledore contradicted, “just the method in which they were used. Muggles are not helpless, as we know, and with the right knowledge they can easily destroy our fragile and carefully concealed world. This book, Minerva,” he tapped the book she held in her hand, “would give them that knowledge.”

She closed it with a snap. “So this is what - whatever that thing was last night - was looking for?” she queried with narrowed eyes.

Dumbledore nodded sadly. “Like most haunts, Mather’s spirit seeks something. Its always been believed that it was his book, which is supposed to contain some spell to bring him back to life. However, it also may seek revenge on the people of Hogsmeade, who were his intended witch hunt victims at the time of his death.”

McGonagall nodded sagely, understanding dawning on her sharp features. “His spirit blames them for his death and circumstances of his own upbringing, even after all this time.”

Dumbledore smiled wanly. “Yes, I believe so.”

She suddenly looked dismayed. “But why send Severus after the Malleus Maleficarum?”

Dumbledore placed the book back into its cabinet and shut the door with a click. “I believe we may find some answers there to counter some of these haunting activities.” His eyes took on a faraway quality for a moment before he shook himself mentally. “Come, we must speak with Remus. He might be able to shed some more light on what happened last night.”