The Hospital-Wing

These characters belong to J.K. Rowling. I appreciate the opportunity to borrow them from time to time. My deepest thanks to the very generous and gracious MMADfan and Squibstress for their inspiration, advice, patience and time. In this semi-AU, Professor Merrythought is, at this time, the Charms instructor.

Ten points (to your professed house) to the first person who can point out (in this chapter) my nod toward MMADfan's Regarding a Misunderstanding.

Transformation of a Scottish Lioness

Chapter 7

The Hospital-wing

Galatea Merrythought had just explained the incident she'd seen involving Tom Riddle and Alastor Moody to Professor Dippet in the Headmaster's office and was quietly waiting for his response. Armando sat in in the oversized oak chair at his desk, alternating holding his ornate pipe in his hand or between his teeth while contemplating her words, saying nothing. After a few minutes, Professor Merrythought could no longer contain her contempt.

"Armando, you simply have to look at this directly." Her voice changed from her typical analytical teaching style to a more insistent delivery. "Whatever Mr. Riddle cast upon Mr. Moody was not a simple hex. The boy was not breathing by the time I had arrived, and he was very near losing consciousness. I dare say Mr. Moody might have died had I not been walking down the path at that very moment." Her voice was urgent, and she pressed her advantage by placing both of her hands on his desk, and despite her short stature, leaned over, pushing herself into the Headmaster's personal space.

Armando Dippet reacted as she expected, pulling back and taking on a defensive posture.

"Galatea, are you implying that Mr. Riddle intended to kill Mr. Moody?" He wouldn't meet her eyes, and instead looked down at the ivory-and-cherry wood pipe he held in his hands. Professor Merrythought, taking the not-so-subtle hint from the Headmaster that she was approaching his boundary line, returned to a casual stance but did not alter her penetrating stare.

"I think it's a possibility you should consider."

The Headmaster did not expect that answer. Armando stood up and slammed his pipe down on his desk, startling the former Defense professor.

"Galatea, you are not at the Aurors' office here! Do you understand? We don't have murderers at Hogwarts! These are children!" He was now shouting. Galatea blinked a few times, startled by his outburst. An idea popped into her mind as clear as glass. Dippet was afraid of the possibility that the previous year's death was not due to an Acromantula. Now that she could smell his concern, she would not be quieted, not in a field she knew so well.

"We did last year," she reminded him.

Silence followed her rebuttal. Armando's bluster was taken out of him, and he fell back into his chair, deflated, his pipe forgotten.

"Galatea, you simply cannot look for, and expect to find, dark witches and wizards around every corner. I thought we discussed this when you came back to teaching full-time! You are no longer the crusader." Now he looked up at her, his honey-brown eyes tired and pleading. His words, and his gentle gaze, gave her pause, and she second-guessed herself.

Maybe I am looking for demons where there are none, she thought.

Without pondering any longer, she removed Mr. Riddle's wand from her robes and set it upon the desk.

"Then let us put it to rest and see exactly what he did cast? Go back – oh – four spells?" she requested, and as the Headmaster raised his wand, a loud knock came at the door. Armando paused and nodded to Galatea, who trotted over to the door and opened it a crack, and after a quiet murmur, allowed Miss McGonagall inside. As the Headmaster opened his mouth, probably to ask why Professor Merrythought would invite a student into the office at such a delicate moment, Galatea spoke up as she and Minerva crossed the room.

"Miss McGonagall has hospital-wing duty today, and Madam Alumno needs to know the spell that Mr. Riddle used on her patient, Mr. Moody. Evidently, he is still blind and his breathing is not improving," Professor Merythought explained to a bewildered-looking Headmaster.

"Ah! My apologies, Miss McGonagall, I had completely forgotten you were working on your medical internship in our hospital wing. Right then." Without any more hesitation, Professor Dippet cast the incantation over the wand to reveal the last four spells its owner had cast. Minerva politely requested a sheet of parchment and quill so she could record the offending incantation exactly.

Four spells, written in fiery yellow lettering, hovered over the wand that lay on the desk, each spell listed according to the order they were cast. The first spell, being the last that was cast, was one that puzzled each of the witnesses: a spell that conjured pepper juice and sprayed it forth, or at least, that was what Professor Merrythought explained as her best guess, as the spell was nothing that either of the learned professors had ever heard of:

Expecto Fervens Piper.

"I recognize this one" Minerva interjected, pointing to the second listed spell. "Tom used that to conjure a rose during a brief discussion. Alastor must have ... been behind me."

Subsisto Crocus Rose.

The third spell, from what Minerva could guess, was some sort of binding spell, or rather, something that enforced a promise:

Spondeo Silentium Factum.

The fourth spell was a Hogwarts-banned copying spell, which seemed odd to Minerva, as it caused ill effects to the intended copy as well as set off alarms at the school. The two professors glanced at each other, somewhat bewildered, and Minerva guessed their reaction was due to that last, odd spell:

Effingo Litterae Exigo.

Armando looked across the desk at Professor Merrythought, silently urging her to dismiss Miss McGonagall as their student finished scribbling down the incantations. Galatea gave a brief nod to her colleague.

"Miss McGonagall, if Madam Alumno has any difficulty understanding the intent of the offending spell, let her know that it basically casts a spray of pepper juice. Hot peppers, at that. Best get that information to her quickly," Galatea offered, patting Minerva on the back and urging her to return to the hospital wing.

Minerva suddenly looked down to the seated Headmaster, then again toward her Charms professor and gasped. Armando was the first to question her concern.

"Is something wrong, Miss McGonagall? Besides the obvious, I mean?" he questioned.

"Alastor is allergic to peppers!" Minerva almost shouted. "And he's been embarrassed about it as long as I've known him. He has been adamant about keeping this, well, what I thought was a minor problem, under strict confidence. The only reason I know about it is due to a visit several years ago when his family had supper with ours." Her initial shock turned to irritation as Minerva began to understand just how close her friend might have come to death – and likely all due to pride.

"Well that explains a lot," Galatea replied as she and Armando exchanged concerned looks.

"I doubt Carmen thought to use an anti-inflammatory charm on his eyes if she had no knowledge of the allergy ... or the obscure spell, for that matter," Merrythought added as Minerva finished writing the last spell and replaced Professor Dippet's quill on his desk.

With parchment in hand, Minerva thanked them both and dashed out the door. The Headmaster cleared the air of the fiery lettering and picked up Riddle's wand, rolling it through his fingers. He felt the intensity of his colleague's eyes upon him.

"I dearly hope, Galatea, dearly hope, you are not going to suggest that Mr. Riddle knew of this allergy, and intentionally tried to murder young Moody."

Professor Merrythought sighed. Now that she knew about the allergy, Mr. Moody's physical reaction to the hex made sense, however, she was fairly sure nothing was listed in Moody's health files – especially if what Miss McGonagall said about the secrecy of the information were true.

Part of the registration process of new students to Hogwarts was listing all permanent ailments, disabilities and allergies, and she couldn't remember ever hearing anything about a pepper allergy in all the years she'd been teaching. Nut, animal, grass and tree allergies were fairly common at Hogwarts, and as thus, the instructors used far fewer offending ingredients while teaching, or at least they tried. Rodents seemed to be the worst aggravator, which sometimes caused a few students to have the sniffles or break out in a rash. It would be unlikely that Mr. Moody notified faculty of this particular allergy, and thus, less likely that Mr. Riddle would be aware of it.

"No, it would seem that Riddle really would have had no opportunity to learn of this allergy, at least not here at the school, and as secret as Alastor has kept it, quite doubtful Riddle would have discovered it, even accidentally." She sighed and sat down heavily in one of the plush chairs that faced Dippet's huge desk.

"It still doesn't excuse Riddle for pulling a wand in the first place, when fists could have sufficed," she continued, her former bravado evaporating, as she knew Riddle was not actually breaking any rules, since Moody attacked first, and – minus Moody's allergy – it would have been a fairly harmless spell.

"I'd prefer they not even use fists ... barbaric really," Dippet said and rose from his desk. He moved around the front, facing toward his Charms colleague, and leaned back on edge of the desktop. As if his large size wasn't enough to dwarf the short woman, he leaned forward, closing the distance between them.

"Dare I surmise that we are in agreement, my Head of Hufflepuff, and favored student so many years ago?" He chuckled as she looked up at him and saw that she did, indeed, agree with him, and she wasn't one bit pleased about it. He moved forward and stood beside her, facing the long window that overlooked the lake, placing his right hand on her shoulder.

"Don't try to butter me up with your flattery, Armando..."

"But you were my favorite student – I was teased relentlessly by my colleagues about my bias."

"Pish, Armando. Likely only because they were jealous that they were not winning such a coveted position as the Deputy Head's pet, who they likely saw as being in line for Deputy when you became Headmaster. They simply couldn't understand how a woman could possibly achieve a position anywhere else, in academia that is, besides library work or the medical field – and everyone knew I had no interest in that." Armando tried to speak but Galatea cut him off, continuing her good-humored rant. "Naturally, they assumed I'd stay here, where I already had an ace – you – and I would soar to ridiculous heights, not on my own merits and qualifications, mind you, but upon your high opinion only." As she said this, she sank lower and lower in the chair, and Armando moved around behind her and began to rub her shoulders and neck, figuring they were stiff, as they often were.

The Headmaster joined in the cheeky exchange.

"Oh no, not Galatea Merrythought, prefect of Hufflepuff for two years and Hogwarts' Head Girl. No! She was a pioneer, you see. She had her sights set much higher and managed quite well on her own, I might add, to secure the first female Auror position in a department that had been fraught with trouble ever since its inception – as a Muggle LE and MLE liaison – in fact. I remember the uproar over that by the Victorian hold-outs, just how unfitting that would be for a ‛woman of her breeding'." He paused, chuckling softly as he dug his thumbs into a particularly nasty muscle doing a great impression of an iron beam. Merrythought hung her head low, stretching the muscles he was loosening, and began to relax. Uncharacteristically, she didn't rise to the bait and chastise her employer for his cheek, but remained silent, as she was simply too tired to debate further.

"You know, Thea, I was never more proud of you than I was at that moment – when you took that job and told the newspapers ... What was it you said? Oh! I remember, ‛to find something more scandalous to write about, such as the mating rituals of merpeople', or you were going to insist on royalties over the amount of ink they were wasting arguing back and forth about an issue that was really none of their business. Not their business, unless, of course, they were one of the lucky few whose life you saved when some cuckolded husband finally discovered his wife's Daily Prophet journalist lover in their marriage bed'."

Galatea's shoulders began to shake, and Armando paused momentarily, until he heard her sharp, barking laughter.

"That shut them up," Dippet mused.

"I cannot believe you still remember that word for word ... what is it? ... 45 years later?" she said, rising up out of her seat and extending her arms, stretching her shoulders. "Armando, much as I absolutely love that, I always worry its going to get back to your wife, and she's going to assume we're up to deceitful shenanigans."

Armando crossed the room to a small bar and took out a bottle of some sort of whiskey and two tumblers. Galatea shook her head "no," making him put back one of the glasses. Pouring himself a marginal amount, he sat down on a sofa set off from his desk in a visiting area of the office, where they could sit and talk, less as colleagues and more as friends.

"Thea, I think I have told you at least a dozen times, Eleanor is not a jealous woman, nor looks for, nor expects to find, such dark and painful affairs, because there simply are none. I rub your shoulders because you can't do it yourself and the pain is significant. Can people not aid others simply because we do not wish our friends to be in pain?" He leaned back on the couch and sipped his liquor.

Galatea remained standing, letting her head swing round several times and took time to stretch her shoulders and upper back. To his question, she said nothing. She was quite sure if Chadwick, her husband, walked in on such a situation, that he would see one of those dark, painful things, even though there certainly was no such thing.

However, Chad rarely visited the castle during term ... and I am far too old to be worrying about something so adolescent, for Heaven's sake! Chad couldn't care less, and selfish fantasies of rival lovers is positively ridiculous for a grandmother, she chided herself.

Merrythought crossed to the large window and stood looking out, only a few feet from where Armando was laid out on the couch.

"We still need to bring this to Horace's attention, you realize. That forbidden copying spell could get Riddle expelled, not to mention the havoc it would cause if he's somehow figured out how to manipulate it so the wards don't recognize it. And that Riddle can find a great deal of trouble using magic against students outside of a duel, especially when the other student is not armed with a wand." She paused, thinking. "In fact, I think we need to write up a new list of approved defensive spells and make them mandatory – if they must defend themselves with magic, they are to use X,Y, or Z format, which may help with avoiding near-disasters like the one I stumbled upon earlier."

Armando, tired and feeling the effect of his whiskey, had lain out completely on the couch, his eyes closed, and sighed deeply.

"I know. I know. I just want a few ticks to relax my eyes and think, and then ... well, then we'll find Horace. I'd appreciate it if you stayed to explain the situation to him, as you were the one who found the boys. Oh, and of course, how the spell affected Mr. Moody. We also need to decide upon a course of action for Mr. Moody's discipline, perhaps if only to spare Albus one more duty upon his return."

Galatea wanted to nod and agree with him about Riddle. She was tired, and she knew Dippet had to be exhausted after working with Dumbledore to sort out all this Ministry business with the Polish Muggle conflict over the last few fortnights. She really did not want to be contrary. But Miss McGonagall's face would not fade from her mind. Merrythought had to know her boss' ... no her friend's ... reasoning for not punishing Riddle more appropriately for what seemed, by all logic, to be an intentional sexual assault.

Although she intended to approach the subject cautiously, she was unable to avoid her characteristic Auror behavior, launching headlong into the fray.

"Armando, why did you let Riddle off so lightly for his altercation with Miss McGonagall?" The Headmaster's sigh was audible before she had even finished her question.

"Must we discuss this now?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Do you wish to keep my trust?" she responded, also knowing the answer.

Headmaster Dippet inhaled deeply before replying to her, but kept his eyes closed and rested his drink on his large belly.

"As you know, young Mr. Riddle is an orphan..."

"Oh Armando! You can not be se..."

"Galatea, do you want my answer or not?"

Merrythought sighed and remained silent.

"Mr. Riddle has no family. None. He is a wizard who was formerly raised in the Muggle world, with no family of any kind and no prospects to speak of. Not even a home he can return to after he finishes here at Hogwarts. If he were expelled, his prospects in the wizarding world would be greatly diminished..."

"That still doesn't excuse him for..."

"Are you going to let me finish or continue to cut me off?" Dippet asked coolly, opening one eye and looking across at his reddening Charms instructor. Again, Merrythought quieted, breaking eye contact and gazing out the window.

"Should Tom be expelled, his life in the wizarding world would likely be ruined, and as he has no family ... well, I'm sure you can deduce what that could do to a young man." He floated his tumbler over to an end table and struggled to sit up on the sofa, looking much less rested than he had before he lay down.

"On the other hand, what Tom did was wrong, yes, I fully recognize that. Did he take advantage of Miss McGonagall? Of course he did. Is there more to the story than either of them is telling? Likely. Were they enjoying a tryst out there in the woods when the activities became a little too much for the girl? Most likely. Should Tom have used magic to subdue her? Of course not!" And now he leaned forward to stand and resumed his position by Hufflepuff's Head of House, joining her in gazing at the Black Lake.

"What I decided, as far as punishment for Riddle, certainly does not follow the rules of Hogwarts to the letter. I decided not to punish the boy as he probably should have been because of the dire consequences that would have come of it." Armando looked down at Galatea for a moment and saw contempt in her taut expression.

"Miss McGonagall did not deserve this," Merrythought said non-combatively.

"Of course not. But look at the young lady's position, if you will. Miss McGonagall comes from an influential and moderately wealthy family..."

"I hardly consider the minister of a small kirk to be considered influential," snorted Merrythought, speaking about Morgan McGonagall, Minerva's father.

"No, but her mother is one of the most respected Healers in the country, and the MacGruders, her mother's side of the family, are well connected. Despite that, Miss McGonagall is, arguably, one of the most brilliant students I've ever met and atop all of that is Albus' pride and joy. She has quite the insurance that Mr. Riddle lacks."

Galatea wasn't satisfied with his justifications, and Armando knew it. He sighed and placed his hand on her shoulder again, hoping to remind her that he was not an unkind man. Hoping to show her that he deeply cared for his students, and his professors.

"Thea, I honestly thought, in this case, despite what Miss McGonagall deserved, that the full disciplinary action would cause Tom's life to unravel and could very well result in disaster for the boy. Don't forget that Minerva dished out, although unintentionally, some justice of her own for his actions. I doubt he'll ever forget that. He seemed, when I talked to him, to feel shame for his behavior. I believe he knows he did something horrible." He hoped Merrythought would, if not agree with his decision, at least accept it for what it was.

"Miss McGonagall has lost trust in Hogwarts, Armando. She has lost trust in us." It was Galatea's turn to look up at him with pleading eyes, a tactic she'd picked up from Dippet himself.

"I was afraid of that. Truly, I was. I don't, however, know how to avoid it without destroying Tom's life." He looked down at her again and squeezed her shoulder.

"I think we should overlook Mr. Moody's actions against Riddle. I think he's suffered enough." Galatea said.

"Moody is a prefect – we can't have barbaric prefects."

"So is Mr. Riddle." She reminded him, but continued. "If this behavior trend continues, then I will agree with you. I ask that you let this infraction against Alastor go."

Dippet shrugged and nodded.

"Seems we all have our favorites, don't we?" Dippet responded and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, indicating his understanding.

Galatea had to resign herself to the fact that the Riddle disagreement was not an argument she was going to win. While it did not sit well with her, for many reasons, she had to admit to herself that part of her agreed with the Headmaster. Still, something about Tom Riddle unnerved her. She wasn't convinced that the boy was remorseful for what he had done. She was also unconvinced that Tom was at all sorry for what he had done to Alastor. In fact, when she had come upon the boys earlier, she had had the feeling that Tom was actually proud of himself.

"We should inform Horace of the situation before Riddle is released from the hospital wing," she said as she rose from her seat.

"Agreed. What is the Potions elf's name, do you know?" he asked, heading toward his desk and rifling through a drawer, looking for the house-elf assignment sheet.

"Peter, of all things."

"Peter?" Armando blinked. "Never heard of an elf named Peter." He shrugged and called the elf, who Apparated into the Headmaster's office within seconds and was sent to request the Potions master's presence.

The elf was gone only twenty seconds before returning, his hands behind his back.

"Peter returns, sir, but Master Slughorn has explosion with students. Master Slughorn can't be coming to see Master Headmaster right now. They is taking him to hospital wing for care – him and some students also."

"Great Scott! Is he hurt? How many students were involved?" Armando nearly shouted, grabbed his over robe, left his tumbler on an end table and hurried out the office door, Galatea following in his wake. Peter, the elf, had no time to answer before they bustled off, and snapped his fingers to Disapparate back to the Potions lab. He had a right mess to set straight. Careless wizards ... not respecting magics. A wonder more don't end up blowing off arms and legs, Peter thought to himself as he began to scrub down the tables and chairs.

Tom Riddle had arrived in the hospital wing while Minerva was in the Headmaster's office and was being fussed over by Madam Alumno. Minerva returned, purposefully ignoring Tom, and made her way to Alastor's bedside, casting unnecessary diagnostic spells to give the appearance of looking busy.

"Such handsome boy, Tom, why you to be fighting too much?" the mediwitch admonished in her broken English as she set to correcting Tom's nose with a snap. Tom winced.

"Why, so I can see more of you, of course." He gave his Healer a cavalier grin, eliciting the hint of a flush from the woman while she cleaned his face and robes of blood.

"Ridículo," she responded and allowed the young man to return to his House.

Minerva then explained the nature of the hex cast upon Alastor, whereupon Madam Alumno spent another twenty minutes trying to regulate the young man's breathing and decrease the swelling in his eyes, to no avail. Despite the mediwitch's vast medical expertise, Alastor had to be admitted to St. Mungo's.

Minerva had hardly finished aiding a hospital orderly with Levitating Mr. Moody through the Floo before the doors to the hospital wing burst open and two house-elves Levitated Professor Slughorn in on a stretcher. Six students and two more house-elves followed suit. Chaos erupted briefly before Madam Alumno could address the situation.

Minerva's first concern was for the injured professor, who had scorched clothing and burns on his abdomen and was wide-eyed in fear, gasping for breath. Madam Alumno rushed over to a Hufflepuff boy whose arm was badly burnt. An olive-green elf with a bulbous nose explained that a potion containing pine tar and lye had exploded while Professor Slughorn was giving a make-up exam for a group of fourth-years, and that the professor took the brunt of the explosion. Minerva immediately cast a diagnostic spell over her professor, recognizing significant lung damage, and Accioed an oxygen mask from the cupboard.

It was an hour before the last of the students was tended to and another two hours for the appropriate paperwork to be filled out on Alastor's mystery allergy, the charred professor and the injured students. The evening meal was long over, and Minerva was quite thankful to be relieved for the night. Professor Slughorn and two Slytherin students had to be admitted to St. Mungo's for toxic-fume inhalation and second-degree burns. The remaining students were kept in the hospital wing for overnight observation for possible residual inhalation problems. Needless to say, the St. Mungo's hospital staff was a bit alarmed by so many admissions from Hogwarts for one evening.

Tired and hungry, Minerva passed through the empty Great Hall and ventured down into the kitchens, hoping to procure some leftovers. After finding a young, cooperative elf who put together a take-away tray with various food items, Minerva decided to take advantage of Professor Dumbledore's offer to use his office for study. It was nearly half past eight o'clock before she reached her Head of House's office door, uttered the password given to her and Transfigured a wooden chair into a simple table. Her spell work was off, another indication of her fatigue, but she didn't much care, so long as the table would hold the food. She could Transfigure it back fairly easily.

She practically inhaled her lukewarm bowl of potato-and-ham soup, sliced peaches (a treat from an exchange student from a U.S. state called Georgia), sliced bread and butter, and tea. The ticking and whirring of various instruments created a soothing white noise, and she eagerly selected the tome she had been hoping to read on the British Animagi history, and ate her dinner.

She summoned Gibber, the elf that had served them the evening she ate dinner with her professor, who obediently popped in and startled Minerva with his promptness.

"Is Miss well?" Gibber asked with wide eyes, possibly confusing her surprised state with fear or maybe even illness. Minerva felt utterly foolish.

"Oh, yes. You startled me, is all." When she said this, Gibber opened his mouth, and Minerva worried that her statement would sound like she was displeased and that he might suddenly start harming himself as punishment, so she cut him off.

"What I mean, really, is that you were so prompt with your arrival after I called you, and I was impressed by the high level of devotion you must have for Professor Dumbledore." She breathed easier now that she saw the elf was standing a bit taller with his little chest puffed out and his ears held straight.

"Gibber has served Master Dumbledore since before Master Dumbledore resided in Gryffindor Tower – since he first came for meetings with Master Dippet and Mistress Merrythought. Gibber was laundry worker before Master Dumbledore comes, but Master Dumbledore sees Gibber and picks Gibber for personal elf. Gibber is proud for Master Dumbledore is..." and here the middle aged, blue elf smiled shyly, "...a great wizard of much power and many works to perform, and not only in castle, but many call him for working magics and advisement from all the where." He waved his arms wide for emphasis. "Gibber is almost overcome with pride when Master picks Gibber to serve. Gibber is most fortunate house-elf to have such a master." His little blue face now took on a more purple hue, no doubt from his blushing pride.

"How may Gibber serve Master Dumbledore's Miss?" he asked tentatively, rolling his feet and standing upon his toes in anticipation. Minerva found him utterly adorable but didn't want to insult the elf by doting on him. She couldn't help but grin.

"Gibber, I would like a pot of chamomile tea, a small pitcher of milk and a small bowl of sugar, with one teaspoon and one tea mug ... oh, one of your sturdier tea mugs – the larger brown-and-blue ones with the hefty handles? Do you know what I speak of?" Minerva tried to demonstrate the size of the mug she had in mind with her hands, as she hated some of the daintier tea things that many English used.

Gibber nodded with a smile. "Those mugs in back of the kitchens, closest to gardens. Gardeners prefer them. Gibber fetches you nice, solid mug that makes Miss happy. Yes." And with a gentle pop, the elf was gone, along with her empty dinner dishes and tray.

Now that she had eaten and was no longer completely exhausted, she felt her magic strengthen and Transfigured the table back into its original form and went to make the room more inviting by raising up a small fire in the grate and lighting sconces. She lay down on the sofa, donned her reading glasses and stretched out, preparing to read, when she realized something was missing.

Of course! Music! Dumbledore wouldn't mind if I opened his music box, would he? she wondered, looking over at the small wooden box that sat on the bookshelves behind his desk. She really couldn't see that being something intensely private, not when he had shared it with her a few nights ago. As usual, her curiosity got the better of her, and she slipped behind his desk and gently opened the box. Instantly, Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata began filling the room with a relaxing, sometimes haunting, but mostly deeply reaching, melody that couldn't help but elicit emotion. The volume was perfect – loud enough to be heard over the whirring and spinning gadgets in the room, but soft enough to put someone to sleep.

Lying back down on the couch, she found herself completely at ease, in perfect comfort, and sat there, doing nothing, thinking nothing, for several moments, just to enjoy the serenity of it all.

When Gibber returned with the tea ... with the larger, heavy mug, as per her request ... he found that the Miss was fast asleep on the sofa, listening to piano music the elf simply called "sleep music". Gibber decided to lay her tea things on the small end table by her head with a note to call him should she need it warmed or wanted some cakes or scones later. He had actually brought her a tray of one of his favorite biscuits, even though she had not requested anything to eat. But Ginger Newts were perfect with tea on a cold night, and he felt that Master Dumbledore would be pleased that Gibber extended such consideration for his special student.

Before the elf left, he toned the fire down a bit, as it could easily overheat the room, and put out the sconces over Minerva's head so that she could rest easier without light shining in her face. He left one sconce burning on the far side of Albus' desk. Between the small fire in the grate and the sconce on the wall, he felt there was plenty of illumination in the room, and he hoped she would not wake bewildered at her surroundings. Lastly, he removed her reading spectacles, so she could not roll over and break them, and taking a napkin from the tea set, he Transfigured it into a glasses case and slipped them inside and placed them on top of her book. Gibber wanted to keep the noise level down, so instead of popping out, he left the conventional way, through the front door, and carefully closed and locked it behind him, knowing that the Miss had the password to open it if she needed.

Gibber hoped Master Dumbledore would be pleased at how he cared for her, even if she never did get to enjoy the fruits of his labor.