Schooled

Screwed

Dumbledore just stared at Auror Moody, feeling a shiver of genuine intimidation run down his spin at the dichotomy between the man's icy control and the almost unbearable rage in the eyes that stared him down unblinkingly. Merlin, if the Auror was this frightening at roughly a quarter of a century old, he could not begin to imagine what Moody would become in another fifty years. It would be best to get on his good side, and quickly.

With that thought, Dumbledore smiled sadly and said gently, "I do apologize, of course. I was startled, and acted ungraciously and with a lamentable lack of judgment." His disarming smiled dropped at Moody's uncompromising, "Yes, you did. Now, summon McLaggen – without any warning or I will arrest you, old man – or we will go down to the Great Hall and arrest him right in the middle of dinner. Your choice."

Dumbledore huffed in irritation and turned to look at Flint. "Surely, Mr. Flint, this hostility toward me is unnecessary? And can we not discuss this situation rather than summarily arresting young Cormac? Are you entirely certain that none of the evidence has been ... tampered with, perhaps by Mr. Morgan in his effort to retaliate against the harmless antics of our Lions?" He had just spotted a wonderful opportunity to control Hadrian Morgan and was employing his vast experience in manipulating people through his harmless, grandfatherly persona. He had done this literally thousands of times in his life, and had every confidence that he would be successful here. Hadrian was as good as arrested.

Which is why his jaw literally dropped in shock as, with a single gesture from Flint, Moody had cast a disarming and cuffing spell on him. Before Albus could do more than sputter, Flint shoved him back away from his desk and stood nose to very long, crooked nose with the old wizard, glaring all the while. "No chance, old man. Four Slytherins here. Now, you have a choice to make. Summon Cormac, or get marched through the Great Hall with us while we arrest him and you. Your call; make it now."

Dumbledore stared helplessly into the venomous eyes of one of the most frightening men he had ever met. He seemed to be meeting a lot of them lately. Perhaps he was getting too old for all of this. Striving for wounded dignity, he raised his chin and said quietly, "Please release my hands so that I may write the note."

At a nod from Flint, Moody expressionlessly released the cuffs, but did not return the Headmasters wands, portkeys or charms. Privately, he thought to himself that at least the old wizard showed intelligence regarding his plethora of weapons and means of escape. Visibly, however, not a shred of emotion or opinion passed any of the four faces that stared coldly at Dumbledore. He would have felt much better if at least Moody had smirked a little in triumph. This cold control and lack of desire to either impress or cow Dumbledore was unsettling. They were Slytherins; they should either want his favor or his defeat.

Sighing heavily, he seated himself and wrote in his familiar, loopy scrawl,

My dear boy,

Please come to my office immediately. I require your assistance regarding your submission to Hadrian Morgan's writing contest.

Albus Dumbledore.

PS: Meltaways are my choice of the day.

A sneering Auror Moody seized the note and sealed it in an evidence spell, confusing the Headmaster. Placing another piece of parchment in front of the old wizard, Flint said commandingly, "Write exactly what I tell you. One word out of place and I explain to your students exactly why I am arresting you along with Cormac." Albus noticed that neither Flint nor Moody used Cormac McLaggen's, but the silently enraged Head Auror's presence explained why. The second auror remained silent and stalwart, a strong, shadowy support to the Head of his department.

Albus took up his quill again and wrote the simple order that Flint dictated. Summoning a house elf, he was angered when Flint took the note from him and inspected it before giving it to the elf and ordering, "Take this to Cormac McLaggen. He is to come here immediately. Keep him under watch the whole way, and if he tries to run, jump him here to us."

Albus was on his feet as the elf flashed out, shouting, "Now see here, Flint! I will not allow you to manhandle my students! I...." He stopped in shock as the cuffs were once again spelled on his wrists, his bony old arms secured behind his back uncomfortably. Gaping, he scrambled for words, but only managed an appalled, "What...?" On the wall behind him, Phineas Nigellus Black was laughing uproariously.

Flint simply waved at Moody, who promptly told Dumbledore, "Albus Dumbledore, you are being detained until such time as we have secured the suspect by the order of Marcellus Black, Head of the DMLE, due to your attempt to assist suspect Cormac McLaggen to evade arrest and escape justice." His smile at the astonished old wizard was not comforting.

"How do you justify this? When I sue you for false detainment, what can you possibly say that anyone will believe of me?" Albus was smug, certain that this was simply a ploy to intimidate him. His certainty faded somewhat into vague unease when Moody issued a harsh laugh. To Albus's surprise, it was Head Auror McLaggen who clarified.

"I am here to ensure that everything is done correctly, Headmaster. As Head Auror, I am an Incorruptible Legilimens and Occlumens. My memories will be pensieved for trial. One of those memories now includes your detainment for attempting to render illegal assistance to the suspect. Your actions were enough to raise suspicions; the note you wrote secures your legal detainment and possible charges. Really, Dumbledore; you insult us greatly. Explaining precisely why he needs to run immediately? 'Meltaways are my choice of the day?' You might as well have just said 'melt away is my best advice to you, Cormac.' How much more obvious can you possibly be? How can you be so insulting as to underestimate us this badly?" He glared at Dumbledore, who, after considering everything, had to agree with him. But how could he vindicate his own intelligence by explaining that he had to take into account the extreme thickheadness and slow wit of Cormac? Even with what he had written, he very much doubted the boy would have taken the hint. He had intended to charm the parchment with a covert compulsion to run, but had not had the chance before he was taking dictation like a clerk and then being re-cuffed.

He was just opening his mouth to try to talk his way out of this mess when the house elf popped back into the office with a securely bound, screaming, struggling, crying Cormac. The boy took one look at the aurors and sank to his knees, snot running down his face from the pressure of his sobs at the sight of his grim, tightly-composed father. Pleading blue eyes turned upon the Headmaster, widening in disbelief at the sight of the cuffed old wizard.

Dumbledore looked pityingly upon the poor child, who after all was merely a victim of his own hormones and the unwise flirting of an enamored twelve-year-old. To a strapping young man like Cormac, whose popularity led to frequent liaisons in the shadowy alcoves and closets of Hogwarts, even the naïve attempts at flirting by a boy new to puberty would naturally lead to intercourse, or at the very least, fellatio. After the incident, Dumbledore had tried to explain the concept of apologizing to Cormac's unwitting young paramour for the older boy's lack of self-restraint, but the twelve-year-old had hysterically refused to even accept the older boy's presence, much less his apology. Dumbledore sighed heavily, saying gently to Cormac, "Oh, my dear boy. Remember, the course of true love never runs smooth."

He did not see the incredulous looks aimed at him by Flint and the aurors, as he was lost in thought, thinking of another pair of boys, long ago, when he was simply Albus, and he misunderstood the innocent flirting of a golden-haired boy named Gellert.

Behind him, Phineas offered a succinct summary. "Cormac, you deserve everything that's coming. Straighten up and act like a man. As for you, Albus – pardon my vulgarity, gentleman – you either have a screw loose, as the muggles say, or you're just, plain screwed."

Moody's snort as he released the barmy old git from the cuffs was agreement enough.