15 January 2010
8:15 pm, Friday

The week had passed like a foggy blur.  It was only a week ago that she'd heard of the strange death of Hector Harrison and tracked down one Bethan Ellis who'd witnessed the strange scene.  Old Hooch had come away from the dark night with a feeling of dread and had spent the week oscillating between fear and a bashful suspicion that it was all in her head. 

Old wizards die.  Accidents happen.  It couldn't be related... could it? Of course it was! But how would it be possible...?

She'd done her duties in the light of day, and closed her shutters at night.  Should she find the others from those days? Or let sleeping dogs lie?

But it wasn't long before the dread grew and the solitary old which had no choice but to seek the counsel and company of witches she admired most.  She mounted her broom in the frigid night and flew over hill and wood to Hogwarts castle. 

She'd owled ahead, identical notes sent to Minerva McGonagal and Sybill Trelawney.

Meet me in the Headmistress's Tower. 
Urgent business.
We three is safest.

The night had an eerie feeling for some reason. Sybill couldn't quite put her finger on it. She had been pacing her room nervously as the feeling increased. She finally went and fixed herself some tea, her hands shaking. Something needed to be done. She lit some incense and candles and sat in her chair trying to ease the feeling surrounding her.

She looked to the window in time to see an owl fly over and perch on her windowsill. She opened the window and pulled her shawl tighter against her as the frigid night air nipped at her. She took the letter from the owl and closed her window back with a shiver. The letter was short and to the point. It had been a while since she'd had a real conversation with Hooch and McGonagall. They had spoken at school about classes and such, but this was urgent. Something certainly had to be wrong.

She walked through the halls of the school looking around in the paranoid way she always did. She felt as though a million eyes were on her. It could have been the people in the paintings she often forgot were there. She approached the headmistress's office with caution. She lightly knocked not knowing if the others were there yet.

Hooch sped through the castle, dark torches and candelabras lighting only when she approached.  Up the stairs, through the corridors, broom in hand.  She felt safer in the castle than anywhere else, but Hogwarts only held more secrets.  No answers.

"Sybill."  Hooch approached the witch who stood at the stone griffin, and Hooch could see the concern in her eyes behind those large, thick glasses. 

Hooch was a practical witch, but had been an ally of Trelawney's even through the years when Divination was looked down upon.  Hooch knew that power and skill didn't always lie in the most sane of heads. 

"You got my owl.  But where is Minerva?"  The normally stoic, business like old witch would have seemed nearly frazzled to Sybill, anxious in a manner that was rare for her.

Where was Minerva, indeed?

Truth be told, the aged headmistress was in no hurry to meet with the most tenured of Hogwarts staff. She’d had a busy day, filled with both Hogwarts administrative duties as well as a hefty load from the Wizengamot. She truly meant to send in her resignation, but hadn’t had time for that either. Plus, she quite enjoyed ruffling the feathers of the old traditionalists with her ‘unconventional’ views on werewolf rights. And the witch had no qualms about telling them how ridiculous their outdated idiocies truly were.

As it was, Minerva was enjoying a late meal in the Great Hall, seated alone at the head table when a large owl plopped its correspondence directly into the head’s soup. After wiping the stray droplets from her stately robes (and spectacles), she picked the letter out and after a hurried read (made more difficult by the running ink) she headed for the grand staircase.

By the time she’d reached the second floor corridor, Minerva was puffing rather irritably. She wasn’t as old as she had once been that much was for certain. Turning down the hall, she noticed her two coworkers waiting rather impatiently by the statue – who was obviously not admitting passage, with the absence of the headmistress. She waved her hand, both in greeting to the other witches, as well as to the stone gargoyle that leapt aside quickly, opening the passage to the head’s inner sanctum beyond.

“I’ve not missed much, have I?” She asked as she reached the group, nodding to both in respect and greeting.

Hooch was relieved to see Minerva arrive as if her question aloud had summoned her, and she sighed in patient greeting as the Headmistress approached. She peeled off her gloves and tucked them under her arm.  She was very glad indeed to see Minerva who was looking puckered and grim as usual.  But Hooch knew Minerva in a decades-long way - she had little judgement for her fellow old timer and tonight's business was desperately grim.

"Nothing," she responded, but was eager to share what she'd learned and find some peace.

Shortly, they were all in the lofty tower office, with it's vaulted cielings and ancient trappings.  Candles lit their discussion and the tea was brewing. [1]  Hooch had no desire to sit.  Indeed she felt ready to mount her broom (which she'd leaned against the door frame) and speed off to action at a moment's notice!

"You've heard about Hector, haven't you?" she asked the other witches.  Surely they must have.  "Hector Harrison.  Dead in Hogsmeade last week.  Hector Harrison."

Her voice was almost a whisper.  The blunt old flier exhibiting an intensity she rarely found herself in this last half-century. 

1.	I hope you don't mind me hand-waving us up to the office.

Before Sybill had a chance to respond, the headmistress was turning the corner. She could tell the woman was irritated about something. What that something was could be an array of things. The owl who delivered her letter could have interrupted something important. A student or professor could have earned a scolding for some reason. She was sure there were many stresses attributed to the role of headmistress. She knew of the stresses of being a professor and couldn't imagine handling more than she already was. It seemed more so that the headmistress was just winded or tired from coming up all the stairs to get to the office. None of them were getting any younger. That was certain.

In the office, Sybill was pacing the floors. The energy she was feeling in the room was so tense and she still couldn't shake the odd feeling. She looked around the room, remembering what it was like so long ago. She still felt uneasy every time she had to be in that office.

"You've heard about Hector, haven't you?" she asked the other witches.  Surely they must have.  "Hector Harrison.  Dead in Hogsmeade last week.  Hector Harrison."

For once, she was happy she didn't have her tea. If she did, she was sure she would have dropped the cup. She had the utmost respect for the man and everything he had done. His passing was something she could barely fathom. He had been a dear friend and never seemed to doubt her abilities.

"Of course. It was in the prophet. Sad news, very sad news. The young girl that was there said she saw smoke of a sort? And they believe it was something along the lines of a dementor that was there? I hate that the man was there in that terrible moment."

She looked down and made her way to the kettle as it began to whistle. She needed a distraction more than anything right now. She carefully picked up a teacup and plate, the cup rattling against the plate a bit as she was having problems keeping it still from her trembling hand. She poured herself some tea and made herself somewhat comfortable in one of the chairs.

A mixture of respect and admiration kept the headmistress from snorting her displeasure – but just barely. Harrison? Of course she’d heard, hadn’t they all? A death in Hogsmeade didn’t escape anyone’s attention – the wizarding world was as gossipy as ever… or perhaps that was just Thursby and her team of reporters that made the rest of the world appear as gossipy. The intensity that Xiomara used when saying the man’s name (thrice, if you were wondering) caused Minerva to hesitate, but she still made her way to the ancient desk and sat herself regally behind it before opening her mouth.

She’d need to choose her words carefully if she were to avoid offense. “Xiomara, you knew Harrison well, then?” She asked, offering the uptight witch a sympathetic look. It could be hard losing one that you knew, even if that relationship had been strained for years. “I don’t mean to sound rude, but people die. It’s the way of life. Everyone can’t be Nicolas Flammel, not everyone wants to be. Ms. Ellis isn’t a bad witch, but smoke simply doesn’t kill people, unless you know something that I don’t? And what is this about a dementor?” Minerva turned her gaze to both the witches.

“Now why don’t you two sit down? It might make explanations easier, and it certainly helps me to not crane my neck. Why is his death such a shock to you, unless it’s this dementor nonsense, it seems that he had a heart attack. After eating at the Three Broomsticks for as many years as he had, that’s not hard to believe,” Why was this such a big deal? Of course, anyone’s death was a big deal, but the reasoning behind it all seemed on the up and up to Minerva.

Hooch did as asked by the Headmistress.  She was wise enough not to be unsettled by hierarchy even among longtime friends.  With a glance at Sybill, she took on of the chairs, but sat upright on the very edge.

If she hadn't heard the dismissal a few times already, she might have been offended at Minerva's words.  But it was plain that Old Men Die was a common sense.  At least under normal circumstances.

"I just haven't ever known Hector to be the sort to die.  In all the years I've known him, he's never once.  And a heart attack! Pah! I'd like to see his heart or anyone else try! No, this is something old come to haunt us.  This is a bad omen."

If anyone who knew old Hooch could be sure, it was that she was absolutely serious.

"And furthermore, I spoke with that girl Ellis and she swears it was no Dementor.  She said it was... Something called dybbuk."

Hooch looked between the other witches.  Would the word mean anything to them?

Sybill's cup clinked on the plate as she sat it down and on a table to keep from dropping it all together. She seemed to feel tingles of electricity across her arms as the hairs on her arms stood up.

"I... have only heard of a dybbuk before. When I was on my travels, I went to many different areas. There was one place I visited and I heard people speak of a dybbuk. From what I understood from them... it's an evil spirit that was once human that has been misplaced. I know lore changes from area to area... but if this is the sort of creature that s going around... we are going to have some serious problems to come."

Sybill stood and made her way to the window to look out again. The night air seemed to get thicker and it was getting harder for her to breathe.

Minerva kept her eyes trained carefully upon the athletic witch, looking to pick any additional information from her expressions. Had anyone else come to her office babbling about nonsensically, the headmistress might have found it quite comical, but Xiomara Hooch was not a nonsensical witch. Her fears caused Minerva pause, and that wasn’t something that happened often.

A shocked look crossed Minerva’s features at the mention of the dybbuk, quickly masked. How the barmaid had even heard the term, Minerva couldn’t be sure. The creature was extremely uncommon, so uncommon Minerva had only ever heard mention of a live sighting once, long ago, in a land far far away.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, Sybill started speaking and it took the head of Hogwarts more seconds than she cared to admit for her to grasp the fact that their clairvoyant expert was indeed a bit more world weary than the witch she’d held contempt for so long ago. Even so, Minerva scoffed at both witches, trying to keep the room from erupting into mass panic.

“Xiomara, are you sure you heard the word right?” Even as the words left Minerva’s lips, she knew they were false. The only thing that rivaled the flying instructor’s hawkish gaze was her blunt honesty, and dybbuk wasn’t a word someone just made up on a whim. “I don’t mean to cause insult, but the dybukkim are an extremely rare species, the chances of one being found in all the country is about as likely as there being nargles in the gardens,”

“If, as Sybill suggests,” She paused to offer the witch a stern look, “There is a member of the dybukkim in the streets of Hogsmeade, we do indeed have a problem. However, until there’s more proof, there’s no reason to panic. None at all.”

"She spelled it for me." 

Hooch set her jaw and crossed the room to emphasise her point, standing close to Minerva and giving her a stern look.  Minerva was always careful, to be sure, and not the sort of witch prone to fly off the broomhandle.  But neither was Xiomara Hooch.  She had to know it.

"If Hector Harrison is dead, then we all have need to panic.  And if it's this... dybbuk, then the more's the need."

She turned round to include both witches in her gaze.  "Don't you remember what he told us? What he said about Count Waldgraff?[1] This has to be connected."

Perhaps the only thing that kept Hooch from flying out the window on her broomstick right this moment was that Hogwarts was the safest place in all the world. But if her friends, these wise witches, couldn't hear her, then she may need to find some other means of justice.

1.	Hector at the wiki, flying by the seat of my pants here!