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Chapter 12 - Hang down your head, Tom Dooley

November 4, 1996

The lunch period had been underway for about twenty minutes when a mixed group of wizards and witches walked in through the main doors, making no attempt to be subtle. Harry and Professor Lipharvest were with four other people, who were wearing the robes of aurors. The group walked up the center of the room and stopped just before the head table.

As chance would have it, Professor McGonagall was presiding over the midday meal. She stood as the group approached. "Madame Bones, how may I help you?"

"Hello, Professor. Would you please tell Professor Dumbledore we are here to see him?" Although Amelia Bones was head of the DMLE, she had always respected Minerva McGonagall, and wanted to deal politely with her.

"Of course, I shall send for him. Could Iask what this is about?" She clasped her hands in front of her to hide her consternation -- which had the opposite effect.

"I'm sorry, Minerva. It's official business; we'll have to wait for him. We can wait in the entrance hall, if that would be alright?"

The Great Hall was mostly silent, save for the rustling of clothing as students moved to get a better view.

Some minutes later, Dumbledore strode into view, looking every inch the lord of his castle. "Amelia! What a nice surprise. Would you like to come up to the--"

She wasn't having any. "Albus Dumbledore, you are under arrest for illegal use of memory charms, pandering, corruption, and using a public office for personal gain. Please come quietly."

Harry and Professor Lipharvest stood in full view of the hall and watched the color drain from Dumbledore's face. His phony, twinkle-eyed bonhomie just wasn't going to carry him through this one, and they wanted to see his destruction first-hand.

The school's newest young teacher stepped forward first. "You filthy, disgusting old pervert! You're lucky Harry was emancipated last summer. Otherwise, you'd be facing an additional charge of conspiracy to commit statutory rape." She spat -- showing impressive distance and accuracy -- directly onto the floor at his feet.

Harry spoke up next. "You just couldn't let it go. You just couldn't face the fact that you're wrong. You just had to keep being a control freak. But you're not talking your way out of this one. I have hard evidence which I shall present at your trial -- evidence, by the way, that proves you cannot be trusted out on bail. If you're a good boy, maybe I'll let Tonks owl you a lemon drop."

Dumbledore looked up at the ceiling, as if searching for something. This did not escape Harry's notice. "No, headmaster. Fawkes and his phoenix friends only help wizards of the Light, whose motivations are true and pure. Not power-hungry old sex-fiends."

"Very well, Amelia," said Dumbledore at last. "Let's see if we can get this all straightened out, shall we?" He offered his wand to the nearest auror, and accepted the apparation manacle on his wrist before disappearing.

***

"So you see, Professor," said Harry to McGonagall, in her office. "He hoped to find a new way to control me. He wiped Professor Lipharvest's memory, then put an ancient compulsion charm on her to get her to seduce me in the Defense classroom. Either he figured to control me by making me want to stay close to the supply of... well, the supply... or he planned on collecting evidence and using it to blackmail me."

McGonagall bent to the right and picked up the bottle of firewhiskey. Not bothering with glasses anymore, she pulled a swig straight from the bottle. Thumping the bottle down onto the desk rather ungracefully, she mumbled,"Bloody... Harry, I wish..." She trailed off.

"So do I, my friend," Harry answered quietly. "So do I."

The three had been in the office, door locked and ignoring calls, since the aurors had left with Dumbledore in custody. Professor Lipharvest leaned forward, gently taking the bottle from McGonagall's hand. "Gimme some o'that," she said. Taking hold of the potent potable, she poted a respectable-sized pote. "You know, Minerva..."

"Probably not," retorted the Deputy Headmistress. "I used to know a lot. Today... Ach! Today, I don't. I'm three-point-two ice ages old, an' I don't know a damned thing."

He took McGonagall's hand and held it in his left, atop her desk. Then he took Lipharvest's hand in his right and held it, between their chairs. "Now, now. We all know better than that. I certainly know better."

Harry wasn't drinking, but he stayed anyway -- he liked the company of these two unusual women. They were both depressed and needed a friend right then; McGonagall because she'd been duped, and Lipharvest because she now thought she wasn't cute enough to succeed in seducing a young man like Harry.

"Harry, I'm a mess," said the young teacher. "Up here in my head, I mean." She poked herself in the forehead to illustrate, just in case Harry didn't know where her head was. "I was s'posed to want you. Then you cleaned my head out, and I'm not s'posed to want you, because you're astudent." She nodded forcefully, banging her chin on her own chest in the process. "So why do I?"

Harry didn't say a word, and didn't look at either of them. He knew that nothing he had to say would help the two women straighten this out -- they just needed to talk. To vent.

"You're such a good person, Harry," she said. And then started to cry. Hearing a sniff on his left, he looked up to see McGonagall crying too.

Harry didn't have much life experience with the comforting of crying women. Especially drunken ones. But he certainly knew a soul-ache when he saw one, and he was seeing two of them right then. Without letting go of either of their hands, he stood long enough to let his thoughts transfigure his armchair into a comfortable davenport. Then he pulled both women by their hands towards himself.

They both resisted, of course. Both embarrassed at being caught crying in front of a student. Bloody British stiff upper lip, he thought. Not allowed to ask for help when you're hurting? Bollocks. He pulled their hands even more strongly, until they were seated on either side of him. Then he put his arms around their shoulders and pulled them in, holding them tightly. He held them both against him, making cooing noises and "there, there", until the tears stopped, and then the sniffles stopped, and he knew they were asleep.

Slipping from between them, he transfigured the davenport into a bed, changed their robes to pajamas, and tucked them both in. Waving his hand, he removed most of the alcohol from their systems to be sure they wouldn't be hung over in the morning. "Good night, ladies," he mumbled before leaving, locking the door behind him.

Standing very still in the dim hallway, looking at nothing in particular, Harry said,"Come on out, Hermione. It's alright now, they're asleep."

He heard the rustle of movement in a niche behind a nearby suit of armor. "Is she--" Hermione interrupted herself. "Are they going to be okay? They had a tough time today." She looked quite forlorn, standing alone in a dark hallway, glancing all around, not knowing where to look and afraid to look at him. Afraid of the rejection she might find on his face. Her right hand rubbed her left arm..

The fact that she had stood there in the cold, hiding in the dark because of her caring for her favorite teacher, was touching to Harry. When he spoke, his voice was gentle. "I'm sure they'll be fine; they just needed somebody to talk to. Somebody who wouldn't judge them."

His right arm was holding his staff to help him stand. He raised his left arm, to gather Hermione in for a hug. She almost dived into him, grabbing him fiercely, as if clinging to her own life. Sobbing uncontrollably, she cried, "I'm so sorry, Harry. I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."

Harry stood there holding her, just letting her cry into his shoulder. The third crying woman he'd held that day --in fact, the third in half an hour. I wonder if there's a way to make a living doing this, he thought. Certainly less strenuous than fighting bad guys or playing Quidditch.

"Come along, then. I'll take you back to the tower. Hold on tight." Hermione grabbed him even tighter. He turned his mind just so... and they were in the Gryffindor common room, without there having been any feeling of motion. It was still early in the evening, so there were a few students still around the room. Some studying, or just hanging out. Ron looked up from where he sat alone with his chessboard, not saying aword. He just nodded his approval to see her crying all over Harry; holding him so tight it was like she was trying to pass through him. The last of the old crowd had come back.

Hermione's sobs had fallen through the sniffle stage and into quiet (thought still alittle moist). He lowered his lips to her ear, because what he had to say was only for her. "I have some things to say to you. I will not say them now." He pressed her against him, so she would know he meant a positive thing. "When I've done some more things that I have to do... when it's all done... when I can breathe again... Iwill tell you what I have to tell you. I give you my word."

She didn't make a sound, and didn't look at him. But he could feel her nod slowly against his chest. Twice, slowly, before withdrawing and moving to go up the stairs to the girls' dorm.

Harry watched her move up the stairs, trying to push her hair back into place. He wrapped his feelings in a nice, warm bundle and put them away; put them away for use on a more propitious day. His face fell once again into the emotionless visage he had shown the world this year. He put away the emotions, the vulnerabilities, the weaknesses. Put away the bright, warm thoughts that made it too hard to contemplate the dark things he had to do.

Until his face was, once more, cold iron.

Watching from his chess table corner, Ron nodded again, as if to say he approved of that too.