The Scourge

On Interludes and Nargles

- Interlude (Part VI) -

- Headmaster’s Office -

Albus Dumbledore was very much not okay. The aurors had just left after informing him that the body Hagrid had found during his walk through the Forbidden Forest with Fang was that of his missing divination professor. He popped a lemon drop into his mouth as he considered his next actions.

On one hand, he no longer had to worry about the public learning that the prophecy was a fake. On the other hand, this was obviously not just a random attack. Hagrid had said that she was going out there to discuss a new prediction with the centaurs. What could that prediction possibly have been? It wasn’t like the woman could actually predict anything legitimate. The original true prophecy was found in the middle of an obscure verse in Tycho Dodonus’ book(1) back when he was merely a professor at Hogwarts. Even that was up for interpretation. (Not that he would let anyone know that you could interpret prophecies. No, best let them believe that they are set in stone.)

Albus didn’t need this stress in his life. He was an aged wizard who was merely doing his best to get along in life and make the wizarding world a better place. Couldn’t others see that? Now he had to work on finding a new divination professor while wondering why the old one had been mauled to death. And why she had even been out there in the first place.

The centaurs were no help. They merely looked at him and said that he would bring about the future he had written for himself, spouting off some nonsense about the motions of the celestial bodies that had already foreseen what would come about. However, after that obtuse ‘prediction’, Firenze did agree to become an interim professor of divination. So, the conversation was not a total loss, just a total wash on any actual help for him personally.

Albus groaned. Why was everyone against him all of the sudden? Severus sneered when he was told about the death, saying that Professor Trelawney might have been a fraud of a human being, but Albus should have protected her better. Like it was his fault she traipsed off to get herself killed.

Minerva, Pomona and Poppy all were devastated at the loss of their colleague. (Even though they were often inclined to speak ill of her behind her back.) They could not believe that even the flighty divination professor would be so dumb as to walk through the forest alone at night.

‘There needed to be better security, Albus,’ they kept whining. ‘She must have been coerced,’ they pointed out. ‘There isn’t even a pack of wolves on this side of Scotland. Where did they even come from? There must be a sinister reason that they came here,’ they bemoaned.

No, there needed to be smarter professors, Albus thought to himself, exhaling an annoyed sigh.

He stared into the fireplace as he contemplated the loss of Trelawney. Fawkes chirped in sadness at the loss of one of their own. (At least Albus assumed it was sadness.) The Hat glowered in his direction, as if it was Albus’ fault that she was dead. (Stupid antiquated piece of dusty cloth.)

But, there was a niggling thought in the back of his head. What if someone knew? What if someone had found out? What if this was some orchestrated plot to get back at her for the fake prophecy? Did they know about him? Would they be coming for him next??

No, that was inconceivable. That couldn’t be it. That couldn’t be it at all. It was merely a fluke where his professor decided to take a late-night stroll in wolf infested woods. Yes, that must be it. That was the story he was sticking with, if anyone else should ask.

Absolutely, it was merely a devastating and upsetting accident.

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