“Minerva! Minerva, come quick!” The sound of Poppy Pomfrey’s voice through the Floo brought Minerva McGonagall stumbling from her bedroom.

“What on earth is the matter, Poppy?” she asked, bracing herself against the stone fireplace. “It’s half past three in the morning!”

“Oh, Minerva, it’s a disaster!” Poppy wailed. “Albus ran out of lemon drops!”

“Poppy,” Minerva sighed, “that is not a disaster to anyone other than Albus—”

“No, you don’t understand!” Poppy interrupted. “I used them to get Albus to take his medicine, and his lemon drops have run out because he ate them all at once!”

Minerva’s jaw dropped. Albus Dumbledore had been suffering from a very rare condition for years. Similar to Muggle Alzheimer’s, it caused the affected witch or wizard to revert to a childish mentality whilst their magic and knowledge remained intact. In someone of Albus’ age, the results could be deadly. A potion to help counter the effects had been created, but taken over a long period of time caused the sufferer to become immune to it, and large doses of it somehow cancelled itself out. Severus Snape had been working on a new and improved version for the last decade, but hadn’t quite managed a version that was safe for human consumption yet.

“Obviously his dosage needs upping again, but he never told me,” Poppy said. Minerva couldn’t see her, but her tone made it clear the medi-witch was wringing her hands. “He was in the Hospital Wing last night for a routine check-up, and must have taken the entirety of my lemon drop stock then.”

“We’d best be after finding him, then,” Minerva started, but Poppy interrupted again.

“Minerva, he’s locked me in!”

“Pardon?”

“He’s locked me in the Hospital Wing. I can’t break his wards on the door, and he’s sealed the windows, too. I can’t even access the Floo properly . . .”

“Oh, dear,” Minerva groaned. “Let me fire-call Filius, and we’ll round up some of the others. We need to find Albus quickly. Merlin knows what’ll he do!”

“Hurry!” Poppy urged, and closed the Floo on her end. Minerva spared a few seconds to locate a Pepper-Up potion. If she had to go traipsing all over the castle looking for a Headmaster with the current mind-set of a five year old child, then she needed something to boost her energy. Then she reached for the small pot on the mantel and threw a pinch of Floo powder into the fire.

“Filius Flitwick!”

There was a long pause, and just as Minerva was about to call again, there was a loud boingggg sound from the fireplace.

“Goodness me!” she heard Filius squeak from the other side. “Minerva? What’s going on? I can’t access the Floo properly . . .”

“Oh, no,” Minerva sighed, then explained the situation to the diminutive Charms professor. “Albus must have locked you in as well.”

“I can try to break his wards,” Filius said, sounding doubtful. “But it’ll take me quite some time if he’s got wish-magic powering them too.”

“I’ll contact the rest of the professors,” Minerva said. “If he’s locked us all in, then I don’t know what we’ll do . . .”

Albus Dumbledore crept back down the corridor towards his office, giggling merrily to himself. Oh, this was such fun! Now he had the run of the castle. Of course, he’d had to lock all his professors away in their rooms. They’d never allow him to play his games – they were too mean and grumpy. They were all so old, they’d forgotten how much fun it was to play games.

Now, what to play first . . . ?

Ah! Snickering, Albus changed direction and made his way to the Great Hall. “Hogwarts, I want a trampoline!” he called. “A BIGGGGG trampoline!”

With a shudder, the House tables slowly sank into the stone floor, and a massive metal-framed trampoline rose in their place. Albus popped his last lemon drop into his mouth and crunched happily as he made his way over to it and clambered up. Wheeeee! He bounced as high as he possibly could – why, his head almost brushed the ceiling he was going so high!

But after a while, his bouncing became less exuberant, as his skin slowly got paler, and then started turning green.

“Ooh,” he moaned, clutching his stomach. “I don’t feel so good.” And with a last bounce, he was lurching for the edge of the trampoline, where he was violently sick on the floor. Then he lay back on the still trembling trampoline and cried.

A soothing trilling heralded the arrival of Fawkes. Albus stopped crying as the bright red and gold bird landed on the metal frame beside him, and let one tear fall onto the top of his head. A warm glow spread from that point, and washed down his body, taking away all the aches and pains. Albus laughed, and clapped his hands together gleefully.

“Pretty bird!” he cooed at the phoenix, and made a grab for it. Fawkes let out a loud, trilling screech that was abruptly cut off as Albus’ hands made contact with his plumage. “My pretty bird!” Albus continued, nodding emphatically, and clutched the plushie phoenix to his chest. Then he clambered down from the trampoline, having lost his enthusiasm for it now, and decided to go see if the house elves wanted to play. He toddled out of the Great Hall, the soft toy that had been Fawkes tucked up under his arm.

“Almost every professor is locked in their rooms,” Minerva reported to Filius and Poppy an hour later. “Of course Hagrid is still free outside, but he’s not connected to the Floo. And Severus doesn’t appear to be in his rooms, either. It’s possible he’s in his lab, but that’s not connected to the Floo, either! And my Patronus can’t get out any more than I can; it just stands in front of the door.”

“How long could it be before either Hagrid or Severus discovers what Albus is doing?” Filius asked. Minerva sighed.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “It’s Saturday. Hagrid doesn’t usually come to the castle at the weekend, and Severus may spend the entirety of the next two days shut away in his lab brewing.”

“Minerva, what happens if – or when – Albus runs across a student?” Poppy asked, worriedly. “I can’t imagine that every student will go along with him, especially the prefects and Head Boy and Girl.”

“And their enthusiasm may not match Albus’, either,” added Filius. “Or his might run out before theirs. We have to find a way to get a message to Hagrid or Severus, preferably both.”

“Well, I’m open to suggestions,” Minerva said, shrugging even if the others couldn’t see her.

“What about Fawkes?” Poppy said. “Couldn’t he go and get help? Or get one of us out of here?”

“He’s not answering,” Minerva informed her, wearily.

“What about the portraits? Or the ghosts?” Filius tried.

Minerva looked to the door of her quarters, where Nearly Headless Nick’s arms were stuck through the middle of it. “No, I’m afraid the ghosts are just as vulnerable to Albus’ magic as we are,” she said. “I haven’t been able to try any of the portraits, since I don’t have any in my rooms.”

“There’s several here in the Hospital Wing,” Poppy said. “I’ll go and see if they can leave. Be right back!”

Albus wandered down the corridor, kicking sulkily at the floor, dragging Fawkes along by the tail. Nasty, mean house elves, he grumbled to himself. None of them would play with him! They said they were “too busy”. Well, he’d shown them! Albus cheered up briefly, thinking of the many new statues that decorated the kitchen.

Now to find someone who would play with him!

Harry Potter was sitting in a windowsill on the third floor, his snowy owl, Hedwig, perched on his upraised knee. She’d just returned from the Burrow. Mrs Weasley had invited him to stay with them for Christmas, but it was just too soon after losing Sirius in the summer, so he’d declined.

Harry was just reaching out to stroke the feathers on her neck when she gave a soft, quizzical hoot and turned her head, large golden eyes blinking into the corridor. Harry turned his own head, and jolted. The Headmaster was standing barely two feet away from him, and smiling in a manner that uneasily reminded Harry of somebody under the Imperius.

“Headmaster, I—” he started, and then noticed the red and gold phoenix toy the elderly wizard was casually dragging behind him.

Albus was thrilled. He’d finally found somebody to play with. The boy had noticed his plushie. Albus held it up, grinning wider. “My bird!” he said, proudly. “My pretty bird!”

“Um . . .” Harry looked between the toy and the Headmaster. “Is that a likeness of Fawkes?”

“No, silly!” The Headmaster giggled, and Harry felt dread shiver down his spine. “Is my bird!”

“That’s . . . that’s actually Fawkes?!” Harry croaked in dismay. He tried to clear his throat. “Er, then, maybe you shouldn’t be holding him like that.”

“D’you want one?” Albus asked, ignoring him completely. He fixed his eyes on Hedwig, who hooted and flapped her wings in alarm.

“No, that’s – Hedwig!” Harry yelped, barely catching his owl as the snowy plushie tumbled off his knee. He cradled her against his chest, turning horrified eyes on the Headmaster. “What did you do? Turn her back!”

“Shan’t!” sang Albus. He giggled again, and took a step backwards. “Can’t catch me, I’m the gingerbread man!” And he took off running down the corridor, leaving a stunned Harry gaping after him.

“Well, most of the portraits are stuck, same as we are,” Poppy reported. A soft whump suggested she’d settled herself in front of her fireplace. “Only the two that have other portraits elsewhere in the castle can leave.”

“We have another problem,” Minerva informed her. Poppy groaned. “Yes, I know. Pomona just fire-called me. The Fat Friar informed her that the fifth, sixth and seventh years are also all locked in their dorm rooms.”

“Albus doesn’t want anyone free who might stop him,” said Filius. “Like the prefects. At least they’re all still asleep at this hour.”

We hope, Minerva added silently. There were several students – mostly her Lions – who were notorious for being out of bed after curfew. Severus took great delight in informing her of that fact each and every time he caught one of them.

“So what do we do now?” Poppy asked.

“There’s nothing else we can do right now,” Minerva said. “Except hope that the portraits are able to find Severus sooner rather than later . . .”

Harry had been running all over the castle for the last hour, trying desperately to find someone – anyone – that could help him restore Hedwig. He’d tried himself, but his magic wasn’t strong enough to cancel out the Headmaster’s.

Seriously, where was everybody?

He hadn’t even run into Filch or Mrs Norris – heck, he’d even be happy to see Snape at this point! Had Dumbledore done something? Harry suddenly had visions of dorm rooms filled with plushie toys, and shook his head. Surely that was just his imagination . . . hopefully.

As if the very thought had conjured him – and in this place, it may well have done – Harry barrelled around a corner and ran straight into Snape. Harry ricocheted backwards, and landed awkwardly against the far wall, but Snape didn’t do more than sway in place.

“Potter!” he spat, glaring at Harry. “What are you doing out of your dorm this early? 10 points—”

“Professor! Thank Merlin!” Harry interrupted. Snape’s glare intensified, but Harry carried on. “It’s Professor Dumbledore; he’s gone insane!”

“What are you on about, Potter?” Snape crossed his arms. “And does it have something to do with why you’re out this early and carrying a soft toy?”

“It isn’t a soft toy, Professor,” Harry corrected. “Well, it is at the moment, but it’s actually Hedwig, my owl.” Snape raised an incredulous eyebrow at him. “I told you – Professor Dumbledore’s gone mad. He’d already turned Fawkes into a toy, too, and then he changed Hedwig . . . and he was acting really weird . . . and I can’t find anybody else . . .”

“Stop rambling, Potter!” Snape snapped. “Come along, we shall see what your Head of House has to say.” And grabbing hold of a shoulder of Harry’s robe, Snape spun around and stalked off towards McGonagall’s office. Once inside, with a muttered password that Harry didn’t catch, Snape strode towards the fireplace and dashed a handful of Floo powder into it. “Minerva!” he called, but the only thing that happened was a loud boii-iinn-nngggg sound, and Snape looked surprised. “Minerva?” he called again, cautiously.

“Severus? Oh, thank heavens!” came McGonagall’s voice.

“Minerva, what’s wrong with your Floo?” Snape asked.

“Oh, Severus, it’s Albus,” said McGonagall, sounding distraught. “He’s taken his entire dose of medicated lemon drops all at once!”

“You mean Potter was right when he said Albus was insane?” Snape spluttered, casting a sideways glare at Harry.

“You’ve spoken to Harry?” McGonagall asked, sounding surprised. Then, “Wait a moment, Harry’s spoken to Albus?! Is he alright? How did he get out of the dorms?”

“One question at a time, Minerva!” said Snape. “He’s fine. And what’s this about getting out of the dorms? He wasn’t in his dorm . . . which has earned him a detention,” he added, glaring at Harry again.

“Professor McGonagall, Professor Dumbledore did something to my owl. He turned her into a stuffed toy!” Harry burst out, unable to hold back any longer. “Can you please turn her back?”

“I’m sorry, Harry, none of us can undo Professor Dumbledore’s magic right now,” McGonagall told him regretfully. “Hopefully once he’s returned to his . . . normal self, he’ll be able to fix her. And if not, we will ensure she is looked after, and that you get a new owl.”

“Very comforting, I’m sure,” Snape sneered, massaging his temples with the fingers of one hand. “In the meantime, are you telling me that Albus Dumbledore is currently running amok around the castle with the mentality of a five year old?”

“Yes,” McGonagall said bluntly, “that’s what we’re telling you. All the professors bar you and Hagrid, plus the fifth years up, are all locked in their rooms. The ghosts can’t get past any of Albus’ wards, and neither Fawkes nor any of the house elves come when we call.”

“Um . . .” Harry said, biting his lip. “The Headmaster turned Fawkes into a toy, too. And I think he did something to the house elves, since I spotted one on the sixth floor, but it had been turned to stone.”

Snape covered his eyes with his hand and groaned, then looked up, raising his gaze heavenwards and shaking his head. “Merlin save me from imbecilic Headmasters,” he muttered. He lowered his gaze and looked at Harry. “I’ll go and fetch some more of the Headmaster’s medicine from the apothecary in Hogsmeade,” he said. “In the meantime, Potter, you will stay here—”

“You can’t leave me here alone!” Harry protested with barely a wince at how pathetic that had sounded. “What if Professor Dumbledore comes back and finds me?”

“Then at least as a soft toy you will stay where I put you!” Snape snarled at him, and with a flourish of robes and a slam of the door behind him, he was gone.

Three quarters of an hour later, Severus was striding back up the long drive from the gates. He had a bottle of Albus’ medicine safely wrapped in his pocket, with multiple unbreakable charms on it. Albus would, naturally, be reimbursing him for the expense of it – particularly since he’d been charged a very generous double the amount because he’d had to wake the owner of the apothecary from a sound sleep at just after five in the morning. The man had not been pleased. Although to be honest, neither had Severus.

Now it was just a case of finding something in the kitchens that he could hide the medicine in, and then get Albus to eat it. That was likely to be the easy part. As an adult, Albus had a raging sweet-tooth anyway – which was why Poppy used lemon drops for the medicine. As a child, no doubt every dessert or sweet was fair play.

Severus had just slipped through the front doors of the castle when something was dropped over him. It was large and dark and . . . woolly? Wriggling his wand out of his sleeve, Severus aimed a sectumsempra at it, and a jagged tear appeared in front of him. Stepping out of the remains of whatever-it-was and turning around, Severus’ jaw dropped. It was a sock. A giant sock. A giant, woolly sock!

“My sock!” a voice wailed from somewhere to the right. Severus spun to face it, his wand aimed and ready, only to come face to face with Albus, who now had tears rolling down his cheeks. His formerly-white beard was a sticky mess, indicating that he’d been making free in the kitchens whilst the house elves were . . . incapacitated. The robes he wore were so covered in dust and dirt that Severus couldn’t even tell what colour they’d been originally – which, considering the bright colours Albus favoured, was a minor miracle.

“Your sock?” Severus repeated, eyeing Albus like he would a particularly volatile potions ingredient.

“My sock,” Albus agreed, sniffling. “You ruined my sock!”

“Ah . . .” Severus half-turned to eye the woolly scraps behind him. “I’m . . . sorry?” He’d actually managed to get the words out – and even sound vaguely sincere – without choking on them. Severus internally shook his head. Sometimes he amazed himself.

“I’ll make more,” Albus stated decisively, nodding his head.

Severus felt the blood drain from his face. “More?” he croaked. “Surely, there’s no need—” But the rest of his sentence vanished, as half a dozen pairs of giant socks appeared in the Entrance Hall. Each one was a different glowing colour and pattern, and the effect was blinding. Severus blinked to try and clear the spots from his eyes. Oh, wait a minute . . . that’s the sock pattern . . . No doubt it’d be pointless to try and vanish these monstrosities. He’d have to get Albus to take the medicine immediately, and then he could . . . Oh, Merlin! Where’s Albus disappeared to?

Severus spun round several times on the spot, searching for the figure of the Headmaster. The only thing that met his eyes were the giant socks. They had formed a line in their pairs and appeared to be . . . appeared to be . . . were they marching?! Severus swore heatedly, and hurried back towards Minerva’s office. Hopefully Potter had remained safely out of Albus’ way . . .

This was Potter he was talking about. Potter would be neck-deep in trouble. He began to run.