Trouble in the Pigsty

"I wonder if I heard that correctly," said Bella, "or is there a disturbance in the corridor?"

"I'd say your imagination is playing tricks on you, Bella," Sylvia replied, "unless I heard it myself. How peculiar!"

Sylvia was preparing for bed when she responded to her cousin, who was already tucked under the covers. Undaunted by her curiosity, young Greengrass ventured into the hallway in search of the source of the disturbance. The girls were understandably surprised and there was good reason for it. Firstly, the protective spells cast on their door and walls blocked out ordinary physical noises, indicating that the disturbance originated from a magical source. Secondly, this was the first such occurrence in their memory within the confines of the school, particularly at this late hour. It could only mean that something extraordinary was afoot.

Sylvia, clad in a dressing gown atop her nightgown, peered out from the confines of the dormitory, situated within the secluded realm designated for the female students. Her gaze met that of Matilda Burks, the acting head girl of Slytherin House, who was hastening towards the faculty drawing room.

"Good evening, Miss Burks," she inquired, "whose voice is that and do you require my assistance?" At the precise moment when Sylvia's query captured attention, another shriek, imbued with pain and the essence of magic, emanated from one of the chambers reserved for the young ladies.

It was only when Matilda hastened to the dean's office that she heard Sylvia addressing her, accompanied by the piercing shriek of a victim, who, it turned out later, had recently dared to pull the tiger's whiskers. The poor headmistress nearly gave up her soul to Merlin in fright, recoiling from worried Greengrass.

However, her fright did not last long, and she quickly regained her composure, attempting to maintain a dignified demeanor as she concealed her fear and outlined what had transpired in their section of the dungeons. Matilda did not wish to become the enemy of one of the potential causes of Elizabeth Snow's current suffering, which likely resulted from unbearable sharp pain leaving her incapable of uttering a word beyond screaming.

"Elizabeth Snow, she is the one crying out now," Matilda thought. "And I am in haste, Miss Greengrass." With a swift nod, Matilda briskly walked towards the dean's chambers.

"Howdy," Bella inquired of her cousin as she cocooned herself in bed and settled into slumber.

"Nothing of note, really. It's just that Elizabeth Snow is in excruciating agony, her cries keeping everyone in the vicinity of her chamber awake." After a momentary lull, Sylvia addressed her sister. "How many minutes have passed since we informed our tutor of Elizabeth Snow's affront? Fifteen, at the most? Definitely no more than twenty! Of what am I speaking?"

"Well, yes, it would indeed be peculiar if our mentor were to take any longer in meting out the retribution he has long overdue," Bella responded. "What is your opinion on the matter at hand? It has all transpired so swiftly that neither you nor I have had the opportunity to deliberate on it. Our days are now occupied with a perpetual succession of tasks, all of which are intimately tied to our academic pursuits and personal growth. There is scarcely any time left for anything else!"

Even as she broached such a significant topic for both sisters, Bella found it difficult to suppress a yawn. The pair had been on their feet for nearly fifteen hours, during which time they had not only endured a great deal of physical strain but also experienced no less of emotional fatigue, leaving them utterly spent.

Bella, I must ask you a question: who is our teacher? I have no doubt about the veracity of my mentor's words. My head spins when I think about all the guises he has assumed before the world. Svyatozar, Salazar — it's like comparing the light of an angel and the deepest darkness! And is he recognized by some of the archimagery as a god of biblical proportions? We, together with you, received confirmation of this when we were in the egregore of the One.

In general, thanks to our recent lecture, in which our teacher spoke about the world order and levels of spiritual development, he also discussed the gods and their pantheons.

— What can I say, Cee? I know no more than you! And I would add something to what you've said. Since I was closer to the Nine-Tails than you were, I heard May whispering several times when she looked at our mentor, calling him Nurarihyon. If my memory serves me well, and it usually does, Nurarihyon is an Asian demonic god who loves to play tricks. And considering how many illusory forms our teacher can take, the question about how he managed to leave his mark on everything disappears.

— Hey, Bella, after thinking about all this, I've come to another conclusion. Look at it this way. Our teacher enjoys being both the bright image of a paladin and the darkest Lord equally. That's right! If we add to this his gift for illusion, Nurarihyon's penchant for playing pranks on everyone he encounters, then when we add up all these qualities, we get the image of Scandinavian Loki.

"And I wouldn't be surprised if it were true, and if it were one of the masks our mentor wore, in which he deceived people," Sylvia said, hesitating for a moment. Her face betrayed that she had remembered something important.

"Ha, that's right! I remember now! You and I were practicing going into a deep trance together, but I was quicker than you, and our teacher pulled me out of it. And then, when you were still searching for the way into that deep place within yourself, he sat across from us in a chair and said, seemingly enjoying something in his cup, 'I stole a useful idea from Thor!' Thor, you see. Who else could it have been but Loki?

I was a bit disoriented at the time and didn't pay much attention to his words, but now, after all our regular meditations and mental exercises, if I think about our teacher's personality, the episode comes back to me."

After Sylvia's interruption, the room fell silent for a moment, and each cousin was lost in thought, pondering the extent of their ignorance regarding their mentor and the surprises he might have in store for them. The girls had never encountered him in the guise of a serpent, nor even suspected such a possibility, and in his true form, Svyatozar resembled Quetzalcoatl.

The tutor, however, responded swiftly and forcefully to the insult that had been directed at him through our actions and Miss Snow's misguided attempt to humiliate us. In my opinion, Elizabeth's current outburst is highly deliberate and intended to draw attention. Do you not agree?

It seems that the tutor sought to make a statement, but it is none of our concern. Let us retire for the night. Tomorrow morning will bring us early awakening, and I intend to rise refreshed. Our morning exercise remains unchanged.

*******

"Professor, please open up!" came the voice of Slughorn, head of the faculty, from behind the door. His poor state of health, once aided by the charms he relied on in his daily life as Dean of Slytherin, was no longer providing him with relief, leading to unpleasant thoughts and further exacerbating his already sour mood.

"Good evening, Miss Burks. I hope you have a compelling reason for disturbing me at this late hour," said the Potions professor, allowing himself, for the first time in Matilda's memory and throughout Horace's tenure at Hogwarts, to express his true emotions, which were all negative at the moment. There was no trace of his signature fatherly smile or encouraging tone; only irritation and anger were evident.

"Professor, if you will excuse me, this matter is of utmost urgency. Elizabeth Snow is in a dire state, and she is screaming continuously. We, the girls and I, have not approached her, as we are not experts in such matters. What if she has been cursed or infected?"

"Wait," the professor bade, and with a decisive slam of the door in the face of his student, he proceeded, overcome with a sudden weakness, towards the cloakroom for a change of attire. What else could be done? After all, Horace had been roused from his restless slumbers by the knock on Matilda's door, and he had been compelled to rise from his cozy bed and don a dressing gown over his pajamas to greet the untimely visitor.

Even in his befuddled state, in which his mind was clouded and his thoughts were hazy, Slughorn did not fail to observe the necessity of maintaining decorum. After only five minutes of frantic dressing, he emerged from the cloakroom and encountered Miss Burks in the hallway.

«What can you tell me about the situation at hand? Have you observed anything unusual about Miss Snow today or has she been implicated in any peculiar incidents?»

Horace, while engaged in his duties as Dean, found himself preoccupied with contemplating the cause of his deteriorating health. Before leaving, he had subjected his blood to a comprehensive analysis using his own innovative poison detection device, but the results were negative, suggesting that he was in good health, save for moments when he became irate with the Potions master or the Alchemist. This was a surprising revelation, as he knew only two individuals who had attained such exceptional proficiency in these branches of the magical arts. However, their paths had never crossed, rendering him immune to the machinations of such malevolent individuals.

Horace, bereft of any tangible evidence of external malevolence, was left to ponder the enigma of his predicament. The diagnostic artifact, like the poison indicator, provided no definitive proof of any curse. While neither instrument could offer absolute certainty, Horace maintained confidence in their accuracy, assuring himself that he remained untainted by either poison or curse.

His paranoia dictated that he never removed his protective artifacts for even a moment, and his meticulous approach to food and drink, subjecting them to rigorous scrutiny, further mitigated the risk of contamination. His aversion to touching magical objects belonging to others, which precluded the possibility of attracting misfortune through their connection with his aura, reduced the threat to an almost negligible level.

Horace's mind was now consumed by the conundrum of his unsettling condition. However, moments later, he found himself in the bedroom of Elizabeth, where she lay curled in bed, incapable of utterance, her strength spent, lost in unconsciousness.

Horace was not an expert in the field of enchantments, but he was familiar with a few universal and diagnostic spells for the most prevalent cases, which he frequently employed to test for curses and poison. Indeed, every time he found himself in the company of others, as soon as he found himself alone, and after each meal, despite the fact that he meticulously inspected everything he intended to consume prior to partaking, he invoked these healing spells from the realm of diagnostics.

Horatio, having cast these spells on Elizabeth, was left with no clue as to why Slughorn's ward had been so ineffective. With no other option, he resorted to employing levitation charms on his apprentice's blanket and carrying her to the infirmary. Horatio was loath to make a spectacle of himself, for each incident served as a reminder of his failure as the dutiful dean of Slytherin.

As he emerged from the subterranean corridor housing the girls' dormitories, crossing into the communal living area reserved for faculty members, Horatio encountered James Travis, the headmaster.

Good evening, Professor. I have come to your attention that Miss Snow appears to be unwell. I am here to assist you in escorting Elizabeth. Miss Snow and myself are close friends,» James clarified his relationship with the young lady, «and also to share with you an incident that I witnessed today, of which Miss Snow was a participant. There may be a connection between this incident and her current state of health.»

James, though he did not truly believe it, thought it prudent to provide Slughorn with a reason to chastise the troublesome young woman.

Following in the wake of the dean, who showed no inclination to slow his pace towards the realm of Madam Pomfrey, James, expressing his dismay at the decline in moral standards in their house that bore the very name of Salazar Slytherin, launched into a verbatim recounting of the events that had transpired between Snow and his kin.

Horatio, it must be admitted, did not appear to care one jot about Travis' foolish presence or his heartrending account of the trampling of centuries-old traditions on their faculty. In the moment, Slughorn was more concerned with his own well-being than with that of his ward. With no objections or interruptions to his initiative forthcoming, James delved into the details, recounting in full the incident involving Miss Snow, Miss Black, and Miss Greengrass, occasionally interjecting his own thoughts into the narrative.. Earlier, when the professor found the courage to inquire of Matilda, who was on her way from her chambers to Miss Snow's room, about any speculations regarding the cause of Elizabeth's ailment, Miss Burks did not mention the incident, as she herself was unaware of it at the time. At that moment, Mary was present in the room, communicating with her mother via the mirror.

Today, there was a confrontation between Miss Snow, on the one hand, and Miss Black and Miss Greengrass, on the other. However, from the outset, Miss Black informed the newcomers that their honor, dignity, freedom, and well-being were now under the tutelage of their instructor, and that every word Elizabeth spoke to them would be relayed to Professor Drake. Miss Snow had challenged the authority of their teacher with her outburst, and she could expect retaliation and consequences from him.

Slughorn considered himself a cunning schemer of great sophistication, a man of exquisite intellect, and the very embodiment of the ideal Slytherin. He possessed all the virtues associated with the serpentine house, and his cunning and duplicity prevailed over all else. However, what he was witnessing and hearing from the headmaster of his faculty caused him to involuntarily recoil at such a blatant attempt to implicate Miss Black and Miss Greengrass. It was not even designed to cause trouble for them, but rather to create a minor embarrassment.

Even if he were to imagine for a moment that he might take this assertion seriously as a potential cause of Miss Snow's illness, it is clear that he is not the type to engage in such actions. Regardless of whether Miss Black and Miss Greengrass were truly at fault, he would never bring such matters to the public's attention. It would be foolish for him to antagonize two of Albion's most prominent and influential aristocratic families.? As Horace contemplated James, he began to question the incorruptibility of fate, for some reason, the fool had ended up in their department. Slughorn also wondered what had transpired between Miss Black, Miss Greengrass, and Heir Travis that had led the degenerate to implicate the first-year girls.

On the journey to the hospital wing, the professor and their heir travelled in silence after James concluded his account of the altercation. It was difficult to engage in conversation, given that most of their route to Madam Pomfrey's office was up stairs, and neither Slughorn nor his student was in peak physical condition, leaving them breathless upon arrival.

Upon entering the hospital wing through an open door, which remained accessible at all hours, days, and weekends, Madam Pomfrey received an alert from her charms, signalling her presence in the designated room.

Upon encountering Slughorn, the matronly witch did not even deign to exchange greetings, but rather immediately set about assisting the patient, still shrouded in blankets and reclining on one of the hospital cots.

"Student, vacate the hospital ward at once and retire to bed. This matter shall be attended to without your presence," Pomfrey commanded, her fingers deftly weaving a complex diagnostic spell to discern any deviations from the patient's optimal energy and physiological parameters. With a swiftness that belied his age, James departed the hospital ward, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Known for her fiery temperament, Madam Pomfrey's reputation at Hogwarts was such that no one dared to challenge her authority. James obeyed without question, hastening to comply with her instructions, yet even as he departed, she did not cease her ministrations, turning her attention to Slughorn to inquire about the events that had transpired.

"What is amiss with the young lady? The cause of her state is unknown. Can you offer any speculation, even the slightest?" Madam Pomfrey's countenance grew increasingly grave as she received the results of the diagnostic examination, and her displeasure was evident.

"Nothing, save for Elizabeth Snow's altercation with Miss Black and Miss Greengrass. However, it is unlikely that the first-years' quarrel could be the root cause of Miss Snow's current condition. The incident occurred just prior to dismissal, and there was no further interaction between the girls, as they proceeded directly to their dormitories. Oh… hmm… perhaps it could be attributed to Professor Drake, the tutor who has been recently assigned to oversee my two first-year students. He might have responded to Miss Snow's outburst, but even this scenario seems improbable. Less than an hour elapsed since the altercation, and yet something has befallen Miss Snow? How could he have accomplished such an act in so brief a timeframe, without access to the school premises?"

"Did you find any suspicious artifacts in her room following the incident?"

"No, and it's not possible that they brought anything hazardous past the entrance to our vault, which was enchanted by Salazar Slytherin himself. Had any of my pupils possessed an artifact or any other magical item that could harm those around them upon entering the vault, the enchantments would have alerted me immediately. However, nothing of the sort has ever entered our prison. Thus, I do not need to inspect my students' chambers for dangerous objects or artifacts."

"That's clear," the other replied, "but what needs to be clarified is about your student. Could they have been expelled from the coven? Or could they not? What if... But then..."

Horace decided to address Madam Pomfrey, as it was evident that she had arrived at some conclusions, albeit ones she hardly seemed to believe in.

It is difficult to state with certainty. Without conducting an analysis of Miss Snow using diagnostic pentagrams, I am limited to conjecture, but after casting the spells on the subject, the results were consistent with what one might expect from a mage who has just been excommunicated from their clan. However, this does not make sense. What possible reason could there be for her father to excommunicate his daughter? Moreover, he would not have done so without a reason, as it would inevitably become public knowledge. If he truly wished to disown her, he would have done so while she was at home.

In the snowy radiance, a diminutive beaver emerged as the embodiment of Horace's inner world. As Slughorn addressed the dean, he began to recite a message:

"Good evening, Bill. It is Horace Slughorn, your former head of Potions and dean, who is troubling you at this late hour. I apologise for sending this message so late, but it is concerning your cousin. She has suffered a mishap and is currently unconscious in the infirmary, suffering from severe magical exhaustion and an injured aura. I felt it necessary to inform her family, of which you are part, and seek any additional information regarding the state of her health."

Perhaps the professor had intended to impart some further instructions to his familiar, seeking counsel from his former pupil and Miss Snow's cousin, in the hope of garnering insights that might elucidate the current state of affairs concerning Miss Snow. However, he was momentarily startled, and had it not been for Madam Pomfrey's steadying arm, Horace might have been rendered prostrate upon the stone floor.

Madam Pomfrey refrained from posing any queries to her colleague regarding his work at the school, and after laying him down on the couch, she commenced her work with the precision characteristic of a skilled curse-breaker, employing specific and highly specialized enchantments and spells.

The first spell Madam Pomfrey cast upon Horatius was an artefact-detection spell. Once she had pinpointed the precise location of the artefacts within the professor's body, she proceeded to meticulously examine each one, seeking to discern their purpose and devise a method to remove them without causing harm to either herself or the bearer. Following the removal of the final artefact from Slughorn, Madam Pomfrey conducted a direct assessment of Horace's condition. Once again, she observed a pattern similar to the previous one, albeit with milder effects and a shallower depth compared to Elizabeth's case.

It appeared that Slughorn had experienced a gradual dissolution of his connection with Hogwarts, similar to what Miss Snow had suffered when she lost her connection to her birthstone due to the Lord's flawed attempt to renounce her daughter's magical connection.. He is no longer the acting dean, having been stripped of this exalted position. Now he holds the role of an ordinary professor and Potions master. His teaching contract with the school remains in place. This is why the former dean found himself unwell. It was not akin to breaking one's back to sever ties with Hogwarts's source without Horace's consent. However, the repercussions were felt throughout the professor's magical and astral bodies, and had he not been wearing his artifactual protections, the consequences could have been far more severe. Slughorn was fortunate to escape with only minor injuries, but after such an incident, one could easily find themselves in Mungo's care for a month, or even half a year.

"This is most peculiar and suspicious indeed! How can it be that two individuals with similar symptoms have presented themselves at the school on the same day? While it is readily apparent why his aura now resembles a fine sieve, the cause of the other's condition remains obscure. We must summon Albus; this is sure to give him a severe headache!" I mused over the situation and resolved to seek guidance from Poppy Pomfrey.

She possessed an artifact in her office that, when imbued with magic, would immediately summon the Headmaster to the Hospital Wing.

"What is it, Poppy?" Albus Dumbledore arrived at the Hospital Wing mere ten minutes after receiving the summons, flying in with a sense of urgency. His appearance suggested he, too, was not in robust health. He swiftly confronted the medical expert with a query.

Headmaster Dumbledore, I must insist that you address me with due respect! We have not imbibed together, so you are not entitled to address me by my given name, and generally, our relationship is purely professional and business-like. Please, Madam Pomfrey, be so kind as to refer to me by my title from now on! — the honey exploded.

Wasn't it the fact that we both entered Hogwarts at the same time, long ago, and over the course of seven years, often crossed paths during our studies, a reason for my familiarity? Dumbledore detested it when things did not go his way, or when he felt crossed. Now, Madam Pomfrey had shattered the delicate balance in the headmaster's mind, where he had the right to be affable, and to punish not only the younger generation, but also his colleagues. He was so immersed in his own fantasyland that he had begun to blur the lines between what was real and what was imaginary.

There is no excuse! Do not attempt to deceive me with your facade of innocence — Poppy Pomfrey did not receive her mastery in healing from the Greek guild, which is the primary source of healers in magical enclaves, but from the Roman guild, which trains the majority of clerics and magicians, closely connected to Rome, the Vatican, and Italy as a whole.

Poppy Pomfrey began her independent healing practice long before receiving her official recognition, in a remote mountain monastery whose abbess once was none other than Maria Badoer. Poppy was honoured to receive valuable lessons and work under the guidance of the present abbess, a former student of the esteemed Vatican scholar known as the «Chain Bitch», as the previous first chairwoman of MCM was once called.. "So those paltry ploys with which the aged sycophant, for whom her true insight was no secret, endeavored to influence her interlocutors in a manner akin to brainwashing, were as effective as a fly swat.

"That's it!" Albus capitulated, raising his hands in surrender, attempting to dismiss it as a joke. "What was the reason for summoning me here? What's the problem?" He sought to ascertain the reason behind his interruption from his work on the documents, specifically the latest batch of incriminating evidence his agents had unearthed on certain members of the House of Lords.

The mediwizard delivered the news in a matter-of-fact tone. "Well, in essence, you no longer have a Head of Slytherin."

Albus nearly erupted in anger at the unexpected revelation, misinterpreting the information and assuming that Horace had met with a fatal accident. The Headmaster's relationship with Slughorn was of paramount importance, and losing him so close to the grand event, the culmination of his meticulous planning, was a devastating setback for Albus. "...Why?"

Poppy allowed herself a moment to pause, to savour the depth of the headmaster's sorrow, before taking pity on the simpleton who had managed to deceive most of Albion's magical scholars.

The precise cause of this event remains a mystery to me. I became aware of it when I realized that Slughorn exhibited similar symptoms to those of Miss Snow: a unilateral, unconsensual rupture of the magical bond, followed by a magical backlash. Madam Pomfrey further elucidated this by drawing the partition curtain, dividing the ward into individual beds, where the former Head of Slytherin House lay unconscious.

Albus Dumbledore was on the verge of celebrating the recovery of his «ward», but then he suddenly realized that someone had circumvented him and removed a member of the staff from their position, and this had occurred in a manner that Albus only discovered after the fact. How could such a thing be possible? He is the ultimate authority within the realm of Hogwarts, a world steeped in magic. And who is Miss Snow?

"Who is Miss Snow?" Albus addressed her without turning to Poppy. Meanwhile, he was engaged in verifying the information at hand, casting a series of diagnostic spells to Slughorn. Once he had personally verified Madam Pomfrey's report, he commenced his own examination.

"A fourth-year student from Slytherin house. Slughorn conveyed the news to me only twenty minutes ago. After I shared my conjectures about the unfortunate girl's condition, the professor elected to send a Patronus message to his former pupil and Miss Snow's relative. While dictating the message to his guardian, whom he intended to use as a messenger, Slughorn abruptly experienced a bout of illness. I had to move him to the next bed, beside Miss Snow. Such was the entire narrative. Upon ascertaining that Slughorn was no longer the dean of Slytherin but a professor, I promptly signalled to you, Headmaster."

"What on earth has happened here?" Albus muttered under his breath, so quietly that Madam Pomfrey could not hear him, nor would he speak to her again. Upon inspecting himself, he discovered small nicks and scratches on his magical form, which likely accounted for his current state of disrepair. Had he not been imbibing the elixir of life, which his erstwhile mentor, Nicholas, had been providing him on a regular basis for the past year, he would immediately have discerned the cause of his predicament. Alas, the oceanic surge of vital energy coursing through his being, owing to his consistent consumption of the elixir, had nullified the repercussions of the backlash he had suffered from Hogwarts for relinquishing Slughorn's position.. It is difficult to determine the exact cause of the school's dissatisfaction with the headmaster. Was it due to the fact that Hogwarts had lost their dean without their knowledge? Or was it because the dean's position was taken away by a political maneuver within the local magical community? Or perhaps it was simply due to the dean being absent during the school year, leaving the Slytherins without a champion for their cause?

Dumbledore needed to swiftly appoint a new dean to fill the vacancy, ensuring that no one realized that a capable individual had managed to circumvent the headmaster's authority. Albus, himself, was not the first to become aware of this situation.

"What a trying time this is," he thought to himself, feeling the weight of responsibility on his shoulders.

*******

"Did you say that you had affronted Professor Drake?" The headmaster's mind was struggling to piece together a coherent narrative.

There had been a squabble between the students and a fourth-year, during which Drake had been insulted. Not an hour later, that girl had become an orphan, bereft of both parents, and even worse, she had failed to maintain her birthstone, making her the last remaining mage of her destroyed family. Albus had seen that the girl had lost her parents by consulting the Book of Souls, which recorded the names of every child who had been fortunate enough to be admitted to Hogwarts, with the name of their guardian written against each entry. The girl had no other close relatives, and until the next of kin determined who would assume custody of Elizabeth through appropriate rituals, she would be under Hogwarts' protection and Albus' care.

And if it was not a mere coincidence — which Albus did not believe it to be — the swiftness with which Professor Drake reacted and the haste with which he punished the clan, annihilating them and sparing only Elizabeth, the sole survivor, the cause of this catastrophe, then the whole affair terrified Albus to the core!

He was accustomed to leisurely affairs, without sudden twists and turns, and here there were no intrigues, no games, only a swift response and an entire clan of purebloods destroyed! Why spare a bloodline when Elizabeth is still alive? Her name is no longer in the Book of Souls. There is a dash there as well!

And if the professor was responsible, he could easily leave Hogwarts, which Albus believed to be under his complete control, without any other exit but to leave the castle on foot and then walk a mile and a half from the school. There was no other way to bypass the anti-apparition shield, rendering Drake's involvement in the elimination of the Snow family implausible.. Had one been inclined to take a brisk stroll, it would have taken at least a half hour to traverse the distance from Professor Drake's residence to the area accessible to apparition! Yet, throughout the entirety of the evening, all traces of the school's staff remained within the confines of Hogwarts' scanning enchantments.

Albus could not forget the instances when Ormarr Drake, in some manner, managed to dispatch his female students from the school, circumventing all the enchantments and defenses that should have deterred such an occurrence. They vanished right from his office! How was it possible? After all, even Albus Dumbledore himself, in order to depart the school, had to grant himself access to the portkey platform in his own tower, from which, for a brief window of opportunity, it was feasible to apparate, or he could issue commands to Hogwarts to unlock fireplaces and, through the fire network, travel to the desired destination.

Dumbledore's instincts were shrieking in hysteria, insisting that Drake was at the root of all the present troubles. It was not merely a pike, capable of devouring the local crucians, that lurked in his domain; it was a white shark, swimming in his very aquarium, and he, at best, could only be likened to a catfish, a prey far inferior to such a predator.