The Darkening Sky

'For goodness sake, Albus, listen to me!'

Professor McGonagall's voice echoed through Draco's pounding head as he and the other Slytherins made their way, bleary eyed, down to the Great Hall for breakfast. They hadn't slept last night after their meeting with Professor Snape. Draco wasn't sure if that had been due to excitement or fear, but whatever it was, it was certainly making him unable to face breakfast this morning. However, Snape had told them to act normally, so they had to show willing.

Dumbledore was quite calm, but McGonagall's voice was rising in panic.

'Albus, you're not actually going to go to the feast tonight?'

'I am Headmaster of Hogwarts, Minerva,' replied Dumbledore, placidly.

McGonagall had caught up with the Headmaster in the Entrance Hall and was trying to block his way into the Great Hall. 'Albus, please. There are more important things than protocol. You haven't heard what people are saying. The house-elves are distracted; even the ghosts are worried. I've never seen the Bloody Baron worried before, Albus. It scares me.'

She had a point, Draco thought. Ever since the announcement of Dumbledore's promotion in yesterday's Prophet, the castle had been behaving very oddly. The weather outside was beautiful; blue skies and autumn sunshine, but the ceiling of the Great Hall had remained resolutely grey and rainy. And today it appeared to be getting even worse; thunder sounded and streaks of lightning were illuminating the Hall, making some of the first years scream. It was, Draco thought, panic coursing through him, as if the castle knew what they were planning, as if it were trying to warn the school.

'What do you imagine is going to happen, Minerva?' Dumbledore asked. 'Do you honestly believe Sybill Trelawney?'

'I don't know, Albus. Goodness knows I have very little time for Divination, but still...'

'Minerva, cowards die of fright many times over, dwelling on their own deaths. Brave men die only once. To the well-organised mind, death is but the next great adventure. But if it will put your mind at rest, I will ask Harry to tell the students I am unwell.'

Draco felt sick. If Dumbledore stayed away from the feast their whole plan would fall apart. He gave Blaise Zabini a none-too-gentle shove in the back. 'Do something!' he hissed.

Zabini stepped forward and cleared his throat reverentially. 'Sir, you are going to be there tonight, aren't you?'

'Ah, Zabini, send a message to the Great Hall. Tell the students I will not be able to attend the Halloween feast.'

'Tell them Professor Dumbledore is ill,' McGonagall added urgently.

'No, Minerva, I will not send them a lie.'

McGonagall's eyebrow rose. A minute ago Dumbledore had offered to tell the students he was unwell to make her feel better, now he was refusing to. He would call it an old man's whim; she called it being stubborn.

'Tell them Professor McGonagall has requested I stay away because of the strange rumours circulating in the castle,' the Headmaster continued.

'But, sir, you've got to come,' persisted Zabini, catching Malfoy's urgent "get on with it" gestures out of the corner of his eye. 'The Ministry is going to be there. If you don't come they'll change their minds. They'll say they'll hold the ceremony another time, when the Deputy Headmistress feels up to it. They'll say you were scared, sir. Sorry, sir, I just don't want you to miss out.'

Dumbledore drew himself up to his full, and considerable, height. Zabini's words appeared to have had a profound effect on him. 'Minerva, I am Headmaster here, and I have decided I will attend the feast.'

Draco heaved a sigh of relief.

********

Up in North Tower, Sybill Trelawney had chewed the end of her quill to a sticky, foul-tasting pulp and she still didn't have any idea how to phrase what was probably the most important letter she had ever had to write.

Ever since she had been so unceremoniously sacked by that awful Umbridge woman and Professor Dumbledore had allowed the horse to insinuate himself into her classroom, the Headmaster seemed less and less inclined to talk to her, making excuses when she tried to book appointments with him and, as happened yesterday, avoiding her if she approached him.

But there was no denying the warnings Fate was sending her. She had consulted her crystal ball, read the tealeaves, and dealt out the tarot cards, and they all said the same thing.

Exchanging the ruined quill for one that worked, Sybill wrote:

Professor Dumbledore,

Sybill Trelawney.

She would follow him around all day if she had to, for as long as it took to force him to read the letter. After that, she would have done all she could, and the Headmaster's life would be in the hands of the gods.

********

Professor Trelawney was not the only person at Hogwarts who was agonising over the composition of an important letter. Draco Malfoy had had a moment of panicked clarity during breakfast. The Ministry were coming this evening to offer Dumbledore his new promotion. If they caught wind of what the Slytherins were planning, Draco and his friends would all be sent to Azkaban without trial, regardless of whether Professor Snape was on their side.

It was McGonagall who had, unwittingly, given him the idea. He was going to write to the Ministry to tell them Dumbledore was too ill for the ceremony to take place tonight, and to request it be rescheduled. Enough of the Slytherins had been sent to see the Headmaster for Draco to obtain a sample of, and learn to copy, Dumbledore's handwriting. Really, he thought, dipping his quill in the inkpot, after the letters he'd sent Snape, he was getting quite good at this forgery lark.

********

Alina hadn't gone down to breakfast. She had told Severus last night she thought he was ill with worry. Now she knew what was worrying him, it was she who was ill.

She hadn't seen him all day, and by mid-afternoon was going frantic. Lessons finished early on Halloween, and the rest of the school had gone to get ready for the feast, but he hadn't come back to her. She looked in his office and classroom, wondering if he was sitting brooding again, but no. She ran up to check the staff room; it was empty. Evidently all the teachers were getting ready too. In the corridor outside the staff room, she stopped to gather her wits and then called the only person she thought could help: Winky the house-elf.

Dobby's death, last year, had hit Winky hard and, for a while, she had subsided into even more than her usual despair. Alina's marriage, however, seemed to have brought new purpose into her life. Slowly, Winky had pulled herself out of her depression and attached herself to Alina as her new mistress. Alina was delighted to have been, indirectly, instrumental in bringing Winky back to health and now regarded the elf as a sort of tiny, wrinkled, lady's maid.

With a crack Winky appeared, wearing a new, clean skirt suit and an expression of acute devotion. 'Mistress called me?'

'Hello, Winky, yes, thank you,' Alina gabbled, 'go to the Great Hall for me. Go on, quickly! What's keeping you?'

'Winky is not knowing what Mistress is wanting her to do.'

Alina tried to get a grip on herself. She felt faint. She'd told Severus last night he had her confidence, but she wished she had his courage. She took a deep breath and tried to calm down. 'Sorry, Winky, I need you to find Professor Snape.'

Winky paled. Devoted as she was to his wife, the thought of Professor Snape still made her want to reach for the Butterbeer.

'You don't have to talk to him!' snapped Alina in exasperation. Then she caught sight of the elf, whose huge brown eyes had filled with tears at her beloved mistress' sharpness.

Alina dropped to her knees. 'Oh, Winky, I'm sorry. I just need to find out how he is. He...wasn't very well this morning, you see, so I just want to make sure he's OK.'

Winky was just about to Disapparate when around the corner came Professor Trelawney, bringing with her a strong smell of cooking sherry and nearly tripping over them both.

'Oh, my dears, I'm so sorry,' she gasped, flailing her arms wildly in an effort to right herself. 'I was looking for Professor Dumbledore. I have a most important letter for him. Do you know if he is in the staff room?'

'No, there's no one in there. I was looking for Severus.'

Sybill Trelawney regarded Alina soulfully. 'If you don't mind me saying so, my dear, you would do well to distance yourself from Professor Snape.'

Alina's mouth went dry. 'Why?' she managed, eventually. 'Do you know something? Something I don't?' she added quickly.

'Nothing definite, but there are certain events I fear may come to pass. That is why I must find the Headmaster and give him my letter. If you will excuse me.' Trelawney drifted off.

Alina rose from the floor and leant against the wall, trying hard not to pass out. 'Oh, Severus,' she whispered, 'may the gods protect you!'

'Mistress?'

Alina started. She had forgotten Winky was still there and had overheard everything Trelawney had said. 'My husband has a request which we are afraid the Headmaster will not grant,' she improvised hurriedly. It wasn't a lie; after all, they were going to ask for that boy's expulsion to be repealed. 'Go and find him, Winky, and see how he is.'

With another crack, Winky Disapparated, leaving Alina alone in the corridor and feeling more scared than ever.

********

A/N 'To the well-organised mind, death is but the next great adventure' is from PS/SS Ch 17

When I refer to Dobby's death as 'last year', I mean last academic year. My teacher relatives think in academic, rather than calendar, years – I must get it from them.