Speech Is Silver, but Silence Is Golden

I set one foot through the doorway into the circular room, trying to be quiet as not to disturb the academic calm, my hands sliding slowly off the brass knocker in the shape of a griffin. Soft snoring was coming from the witches and wizards in pictures of various sizes covering the walls, their eyes all closed as they slept, or at least pretended to. My eyes slid over the pictures to one of the windows allowing a view of sun setting behind the mountains which surrounded Hogwarts, before my attention was drawn to the many shiny instruments standing on small tables in the room, some of them moving, others making hissing sounds or emitting little puffs of smoke occasionally.

Stepping fully into the candle-lit room, I closed the polished oak door behind me quietly, searching for Professor Dumbledore. But the office seemed to be deserted, and I wondered why he was nowhere to be seen after calling me to him while I slowly stepped further into the room. A movement caught my eye and I turned my head to see what it was.

A rather large bird sat upon a golden perch, its feathers dark scarlet. Long feathers, gleaming golden made up its tail, moving slightly as the bird tilted its head. Pitch black eyes settled on me and a soft screeching noise was heard as the golden beak opened for a moment.

I turned away from the phoenix, expecting the professor to show up any moment and stepped towards the enormous, claw-footed desk. A lone blood red feather lay atop an empty roll of parchment, looking as if it had been taken from the phoenix. But I was drawn to the shelf behind the desk. An old and battered looking hat laid there and for a moment I remembered my first day at Hogwarts again, how nervous I had been when I had put on the Sorting Hat and how proudly I had told my parents in a letter that I had been sorted into Slytherin.

A sound brought me back into the present and I looked up, seeing Professor Dumbledore appear his long robes sliding across the floor as he walked, watching me carefully over his half-moon spectacles. His clear blue eyes weren’t twinkling for once and he seemed tired as he addressed me.

“Good evening, Ms. Hitchens. Please, take a seat.” He said and gestured towards the lone chair in front of his desk. I nodded in return to his greeting and sat down, hearing the rustling of his robes as he sat down himself. He folded his hands on his desk and his eyes darted around in my face, only the occasional hissing sound heard in the office for a few minutes in which he seemed to try and read my mind.

But all I was thinking about was talking to him about what had happened. And since I couldn’t imagine any other reason he would have called me into his office for, I guessed he knew about it already.

“How did you fare?”

I blinked at him as he finally broke the silence, drawing my eyebrows together in confusion. His question didn’t seem to fit to anything related to the incident nearly three weeks ago.

“Sir?” I asked him and he leant back in his chair, his hands still intertwined with each other.

“How did you fare in your exams?” he rephrased patiently.

“Oh.” I made, finally understanding though still a bit confused as to why he would ask about something like that, which somehow seemed horribly trivial now. “I guess I did fine.”

“That is good to hear.” He said with half a smile on his face, which I didn’t return. Only a moment later, his expression turned darker and he sighed quietly, his white beard shivering. “Eileen. I must apologize.” He began his voice sounding grave and giving away his exhaustion, which seemed to be greater than I had assumed. “I should have talked to you sooner. But as you may imagine, there was a lot to take care of.”

I nodded, the wrinkle upon my nose growing deeper as I tried to imagine what had kept the headmaster busy. Perhaps Umbridge who had been transferred to St. Mungo’s after having been attacked by centaurs - all Potter’s making, no doubt. And of course Potter himself must have been one of his concerns. After all on the last day of OWLs the boy had left school premises and somehow gotten to the Ministry of Magic. And as usual, he had gotten himself involved with Death Eaters, and even the Dark Lord himself. Now the whole world knew of his return. Even Fudge couldn’t deny it anymore. The fight between him-who-must-not-be-named and Professor Dumbledore had been in the Daily Prophet for days, along with all of his reinstatements and pictures of the Death Eaters which had been captured, one of whom was Draco’s father. Draco had been insufferable ever since.

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions about what happened to you.” The white haired professor continued, his voice grave and with a sighing undertone. I felt how my eyes widened as I focused my attention, finally having answers in prospect. Shifting my weight on the wooden chair, I sat up straighter.

“Actually, Sir,” I began respectfully, my hands orderly resting on my lap. “there is only one question I would like an answer to.”

I could see how his mouth opened slightly, his long white beard shuddering with the movement, while his eyebrows rose, the deep wrinkles on his forehead growing even more prominent. His bright blue eyes shone with newly arisen curiosity and after a moment, he lifted one hand from the tabletop and gestured for me to continue. I followed the movement of his pale palm, which was turned upwards, with my eyes, before looking up at him again.

“Professor Snape told me you had sent him to me.” I started, my eyebrows drawn together, expressing my confusion as I spoke slowly, not really knowing how to phrase the question.

“Ah.” The old wizard made, nodding slowly, the corners of his lips turning up very slightly, expressing either amusement or empathy. “You wish to know how I was able to know that you were in danger.” He stated calmly.

I averted my eyes, staring at the tabletop without really seeing it, while I wondered if that was what I wanted to know. When I began to realize I wanted to know his answer to that question, I began to nod thoughtfully, before catching his gaze again.

“Yes. That and how you knew where to find me.” He held my gaze easily and as he stared at me over his glasses, I began to feel intimidated. Grabbing the black cloak which hung over my thighs, words burst out of my mouth. “I mean did you know about the portkey?”

“I did not.” He answered, his voice still calm, exhaustion creeping back into it.

“Then how did you know?”

I saw the soft heave of his shoulders, as he sighed inaudibly, his eyes glittering with some emotion I couldn’t decipher. “That I wish to keep secret.”

Involuntarily, I raised my eyebrows giving the headmaster a disdainful look, before leaning back in the chair. It took a lot of willpower not to cross my arms at his refusal to answer my only question. He watched me for a long moment in which a small puff of smoke wavered over to where we sat, before he spoke up again, his voice sounding more unburdened than before.

“You know, it was quite some time ago when I last said to a young boy that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.”

Apparently he thought he had given me some kind of satisfying answer, but I only furrowed my brows in confusion, pondering his words, trying to remember if I had asked for help. And even if I had, I hadn’t been at Hogwarts. I had been somewhere, in a hiding-place of him-who-must-not-be-named. And even as I had received the port-key, I had been outside the castle-walls in Hogsmeade. And then there was also another issue with that statement.

“But it’s impossible you knew I had vanished. You were gone.” I said, putting extra emphasis on the ‘impossible’, by leaning forwards in my seat.

All I was met with at first was a slight chuckle and a merry twinkle in Professor Dumbledore’s bright blue eyes. “I will only truly have left this school, when none here are loyal to me.” He said, sounding utterly light-hearted, no trace of his initial exhaustion left. Then I watched as he leant towards me, putting his weight on his elbows, resting on the desk. “And I think we both know it has not come to this yet.”

I blinked a few times, before averting my eyes, wondering if he was implicating my loyalty towards him, or something else, though it was intimidating to wonder how much he knew about what was going on in Hogwarts without ever being present himself.

“But now,” He started and pulled me from my thoughts, my eyes snapping to his. “let’s not dwell on this topic. I am sure Mr. Malfoy is quite eager to hear where you were.” I nodded shyly answering his unspoken question so clearly displayed in those piercing blue orbs. “You may tell him,” he said while nodding his head. “But I must ask you to keep Professor Snape’s involvement, as well as mine, to yourself.”

I nodded again, my eyes never leaving his as he held my gaze an invisible force not allowing me to look away. “Can you do that?” The nod I gave in response was curt but firm.

“Of course, Professor.” But even while I said that, I wondered why he didn’t want me to talk about Professor Snape’s appearance to rescue me. I could imagine why he didn’t want his involvement known, but why was it so important to him not to reveal Professor Snape finding me and taking me back. After all Draco knew that Professor Snape was a Death Eater. And it wasn’t a secret that he worked under Professor Dumbledore either.

“Good.” He said with the ghost of a smile on his lips. Leaning back in his high-backed chair, he pressed the tips of his fingers together, looking at me along his hooked nose. “Then, if there is nothing else, you may go now.”

I nodded, a quick smile crossing my lips while I rose from the chair. “Good evening, Professor.” I turned around and walked past the chair back to the spindly tables, my mind still trying to come up with an answer as to why he did not want me to mention Professor Snape. Walking past a small golden machine, which continuously emitted two white hot, hissing columns of steam, I suddenly stopped, the black cloak swishing against my legs.

“Sir?” I asked and turned slightly to the side, so I could look at the headmaster. He hadn’t changed his position at all.

“Yes, Ms. Hitchens?” He asked patiently, waiting for me to speak my mind.

“There is something which bothers me slightly.” I saw how his eyebrows twitched and continued. “Professor Snape got in a...” I trailed off, trying to come up with a word that described the fight between the professor and Bellatrix Lestrange best. “a dispute with Bellatrix Lestrange.” My eyes flickered back to the device in front of me, hissing loudly, before settling on the headmaster again who was sitting still as if he was a statue. Out of the corner of my eye I could see how one of the headmasters in the pictures snuck a curious glance at me.

“Sir, he said he was you-know-who’s most trusted spy.”

The air in the room changed as Professor Dumbledore’s look became grim, his eyes seemingly staring right through me. I shifted my weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other, suddenly reminded of his appearance in the Entrance Hall, when Umbridge had fired Trelawney.

“O-of course-” I stuttered slightly and made a step towards him while I spoke. “it could mean nothing. Perhaps he was just trying to intimidate her.” The headmaster did not react, still x-raying me with his gaze, making me unbelievably uncomfortable. “But she seemed to believe it, which means there has to be some kind of truth to it.”

He still remained silent for a moment which seemed to drag on for hours. When he spoke, his eyes were fierce with determination, his words clear and full of conviction. “I trust Severus Snape.”

Though it was a simply statement, the implications intertwined with it were far-reaching. But at its core, I understood and I found myself believing Professor Dumbledore’s words. Even more, I realized I trusted Professor Snape as well, though I wasn’t quite sure why, as it was not simply due to the fact that he had saved my life three weeks ago.

“Professor?” I asked again, another question crossing my mind. But my tone was soft and inquiring as I was unsure if I was pushing my welcome here.

“Yes?” He answered still with the same patience he had showed to me before.

“If you know where he-who-must-not-be-named is, why do you not attack?” He looked at me with a hidden smile as he answered.

“It is not that easy to defeat the Dark Lord.” After a short pause he added in a more light-hearted and amused tone. “And now go and tell Mr. Malfoy what he waited so patiently for.”

I nodded and smiled lightly, before leaving the Headmaster’s Office. I had just reached the foot of the spiral stone staircase, as a nearly translucent figure swept through the statue of the gargoyle passing me, before stopping suddenly.

The mighty feather atop of his hat shuddered at the sudden stop and began to flutter but a moment later, when the ghost turned to look at me.

“Milady.” I smiled as the Bloody Baron bowed before me, his voice carrying through the empty corridor.

“Good evening, Mylord.” I said and waited until he was hovering upright again, his shoulder’s drawn back, his chin raised high.

“What leads you here so late?” He inquired his gaze piercing.

“Professor Dumbledore wished to talk to me.” For a moment I saw indecision in his eyes as they flickered between the two of mine. Tilting my head to the side slightly, I raised my brows in silent question, urging him to share his thoughts with me.

“I presume he wished to talk about the recent incident.” It seemed he saw the answer in my eyes, because before I could even begin to speak up, his voice reverberated in the hallway again. “But I will not pry. Shall I escort you to your chambers?”

“If you wish.” I said and a moment later, he was bowing in front of me again, his thick curls cascading over the many frills of his collar, while he made a wide, swift movement with his arm, signalling me that he would follow.

I nodded appreciatingly and began to walk, passing him. Only a moment later, he was hovering next to me, his knees slightly bent, the pointed shoes with their sturdy heel not touching the cold stone floor. The flickering light of torches at the walls emphasized the silence we walked in for about a minute, before he spoke up again, his arms behind his back.

“I fear I have not told you during our former talks, but it gives me great joy to see you have returned, Milady.”

I smiled at him, feeling strangely flattered to hear something like this coming from someone as proud as him. “Thank you, Mylord.”

“Yet, I must say,” He started his expression turning very serious, all traces of flattery and joy vanished from his dark eyes. “that I told you, love would be your ruin, my dear.”