“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. 

Harry was sitting cross-legged on a cushion in the middle of McGonagall’s office, a doll’s tea-set on the floor in front of him, and Hedwig perched on another cushion beside him. When Snape burst through the office door, Harry had never felt so relieved in his life.

“Professor, thank Merlin!” he said. Snape stumbled to a halt and stared at Harry. Then his mouth twitched. Harry scowled at him. “It’s not my fault!” he said vehemently. “Professor Dumbledore thought it’d be a good idea to ‘have a tea party’, so he stuck me here!”

“You can’t get up at all, or are you just stuck to the cushion?” Snape asked, not quite managing to hide the tremor in his voice.

Harry’s scowl intensified. “Professor, if I was just stuck to the cushion, I wouldn’t still be sitting on the floor,” he pointed out.

“Well, I’m afraid you’ll just have to stay there, Potter, until I can get this medicine into Professor Dumbledore,” Snape said. Harry thought that if he held in his laughter for much longer – and really, how strange was that idea? Snape . . . laughing – he’d end up seriously hurting himself. “At least this way I know where you are. I’ll be back shortly!”

“No . . . no, no, Professor!” Harry made a wild grab at Snape’s robes, but only ended up stretched painfully sideways on the floor, arms stretching towards the door as Snape disappeared through it.

Two minutes later, as Harry levered himself upright and crossed his arms in a pout, hysterical laughter floated in from the corridor.

Once he’d managed to pull himself together, Severus headed towards the kitchens. Hopefully Albus would have left something that he could disguise the medicine in. He hadn’t made it any further than the next floor down, however, when he spotted a very strange sight through one of the castle windows.

A group of what looked like first years were all in the middle of the grounds, just in front of the Lake. They were all jumping up and down, waving their arms madly over their heads. Either they had all been struck by the urge to do jumping jacks, Severus mused, or Albus had struck again and they were signalling for help. He hurried outside to them.

“Oh, Professor, Professor, we’re so glad you’re here!” they all shouted as soon as they saw him. Except perhaps shout wasn’t quite the right word, since it seemed a very . . . harmonious shout. “Professor Dumbledore’s gone right round the bend!”

Severus held up a hand. “One at a time,” he instructed. “Without the singing, if you can manage it.”

“No, Professor, sorry, Professor, it was Professor Dumbledore’s idea,” trilled three girls in perfect unison. Severus felt a muscle beside his left eye twitch, but gestured for them to continue. “He thought it would be a perfect day, a lovely day for a picnic.”

“Then he said he’d like a choir, and next thing we know, we can’t stop singing,” added two boys.

Severus rolled his eyes heavenwards. “Oh, Merlin, why me?” he groaned. Then he looked back at the impromptu choir. “How did you get out here? No, never mind,” he added quickly as no less than seven of the group opened their mouths at once, “let’s just stick to a nod or shake of the head. Did Professor Dumbledore bring you out here?” A simultaneous nod from them all. “Are you able to leave this place?” A shake of their heads this time. Severus rubbed his temples and sighed. “Very well. I’m afraid you’ll have to remain here for the time being, whilst I try and locate the Headmaster.” And throttle him with his own beard, Severus added to himself. He spun on his heel and strode back towards the castle. All Slytherins, too. Oh, the shame of it!

Once he’d reached the kitchens, it took quite some doing, but Severus finally found one measly little cupcake that had been neglected at the back of an oven. Severus didn’t know how Albus had managed to overlook it when he’d cleared out all of the ovens in the kitchen, but he wasn’t about to challenge a gift Hippogriff.

Covering the cupcake with the medicine, he then conjured a bowl of melted chocolate to dip the whole thing in. Hopefully Albus wouldn’t quibble about taking the thing from him, and wouldn’t realise it was spiked until it was too late. With the treated cupcake securely wrapped and placed in a pocket, Severus took one step out of the kitchens, and realised he had a serious problem.

How was he supposed to find Albus in the first place?

The castle was too large, and Albus’ five-year-old mind no doubt thought hide and seek would be a wonderful game to play. He needed a way of tracking the old fool. Drawing his wand from his sleeve, Severus laid it flat on his palm. “Point me, Albus Dumbledore!” he said firmly.

For several seconds, the wand did absolutely nothing. Severus was just about to try again when it suddenly quivered, and then spun round with so much force that it actually cart-wheeled itself off his hand, and only a quick “Accio wand!” prevented him from losing it down a corridor.

Obviously that wasn’t going to work.

Severus tapped his chin with an index finger. If the Point Me spell didn’t work, then it stood to reason that no spells would work on Albus. He couldn’t contact Fawkes, because the bird was in no state to answer him, let alone help.

Severus suddenly remembered Potter’s map. The Death Eater disguised as Alastor Moody had gotten his hands on it in Potter’s fourth year, and had waved it around the staff room. As far as Severus knew, Potter had never gotten the map back. Of course, that didn’t mean that Potter hadn’t gotten the map back . . .

Nodding decisively, Severus strode off towards Minerva’s office.

Harry was not having a good time.

“It’s about time, Professor!” he huffed when Professor Snape finally came back through Professor McGonagall’s office door. Snape stopped dead, and looked at the supposedly empty room. Harry sighed. “Up here, Professor.” Snape’s eyes tracked upwards, and then his mouth fell open.

Harry was currently floating with his back a bare half an inch away from the ceiling. He folded his arms and gave a sarcastic wave of his fingers at Snape.

“What on Merlin’s green earth . . . ?” Snape spluttered.

“Professor Dumbledore came back,” Harry said casually. “He decided it would be fun to pretend to be balloons.”

Snape’s mouth opened and closed for a minute, but no sound escaped him.

“Did you manage to get the medicine into the Headmaster?” Harry asked. His voice turned plaintive. “Because I’d really like to get down now.”

“Ah, no, I didn’t,” Snape managed to respond, finally, his brows drawing together. “That was why I came back. Do you still have your map?”

“What map?” Harry peered down at him warily. “I don’t have any map.”

“Don’t be such a foolish Gryffindor, Potter! You know very well what map I mean!” Snape snapped at him. “Unless I have a way of discovering where the Headmaster currently is, it may take me more hours to find him than you’d care to spend up there.”

Harry’s mind raced. Did he dare give the Marauder’s Map to Snape, of all people? Would he ever get it back if he did? No, was the likely answer to that, but if he didn’t hand it over, then he could be stuck up here for quite some time. With a space the size of Hogwarts, even without a mischievous Headmaster who wanted to play games, trying to find someone could take hours, or even days if he was spectacularly unlucky – which, let’s face it, he always was.

“Fine,” Harry sighed, and his head drooped in resignation. “The map is in Professor Flitwick’s classroom. He was trying to see if he could duplicate it, or make a map that worked the same way but showed a different place.”

“Good. While I go and find Professor Dumbledore, you stay right there,” Snape said, and hurried out of the office.

“Oh, yes, because I can really go anywhere else!” Harry retorted sarcastically, but the empty room didn’t answer.

A simple accio charm brought the map floating through the air towards Severus. Thankfully, Filius had been working on it, so it was activated, otherwise Severus would have had to return to Minerva’s office to ask Potter.

The very fact that Albus had locked most people in their various rooms actually worked in his favour this time, as did the early hour, since it meant that almost everyone was congregated into four places. There were the few odd ones, like Potter and himself, not to mention the poor Slytherin first years stuck outside on the grounds, but apart from that, Severus thought that if he saw a solitary dot – especially a moving solitary dot – then there was a greater likelihood that it was Albus.

Sure enough, there was one lonely dot apparently skipping around several corridors on the fourth floor. What in Merlin’s name Albus was doing there was not something Severus wanted to contemplate. Folding the map and storing it in another pocket of his robe, Severus strode towards the Grand Staircase.

When he finally rounded the corner onto the fourth floor, Severus stopped dead. Albus had conjured a pencil and was currently scribbling – Severus really couldn’t call it drawing – on the walls. On the stone walls, no less. In multi-coloured ink. Pixies and fwooper birds of all sizes and colours decorated the walls as far down the corridor as Severus could see.

Severus cleared his throat. “Ah, Albus, what are you doing?” he asked cautiously. Albus swung around and beamed at him.

“Dwawing!” he exclaimed happily, and then turned back to add a random blob to another pixie.

“Wouldn’t it have been better to . . . dwaw . . . in your office?” Severus asked. “I’m not sure Hogwarts would appreciate you . . . dwawing all over her walls.”

He discovered his mistake almost immediately, as Albus turned to face him again wearing a ferocious scowl.

“Hogwarts likes me!” Albus bellowed. “Hogwarts lets me do what I want!” He advanced on Severus, waving the sharp pencil at him. Severus took several hasty steps backwards, hoping he wouldn’t end up falling down the Grand Staircase.

“I’m sure she does,” he started to say in a placating manner, but Albus was too fired up with childish rage at the attempt to deny him to be placated that easily. He waved an arm behind himself, and to Severus’ horror, his artwork sprang to life.

“I’ll get you!” Albus howled, and the overwhelming cloud of pixies and fwooper birds arrowed straight at Severus.

Severus had a very healthy sense of self-preservation. He turned on his heel and ran.

Harry was getting bored floating by the ceiling. The only thing up there were the odd spider’s web and a vaguely lavender-coloured splotchy thing that he didn’t want to examine too closely. Had Snape found Professor Dumbledore yet? How hard could it be with the map? Unless of course the Headmaster was in the Room of Requirement . . .

Harry’s thoughts were interrupted as Snape burst through the office door and slammed it shut behind him, sagging against it in relief.

“Uh, Professor . . . ?” Harry asked tentatively. Snape was filthy – covered in all manner of gunk and what looked to be fwooper feathers, all of which were various fluorescent colours that in no way suited Snape.

Snape lifted his head to glare up at Harry. “Not . . . one . . . word, Potter,” he hissed. “Otherwise you’ll be in detention for so long that your great-grandchildren will still be serving it.”

Harry swallowed hard and remained quiet. Obviously Snape’s attempt at getting the medicine into Professor Dumbledore had not gone well. Snape crossed to the fireplace and tossed a handful of Floo powder in. “Minerva!” he called.

“Severus? What’s happening?” Professor McGonagall answered him almost immediately. “Have you managed to dose Albus yet?”

“Not as such,” Snape said, sourly. “Is there any way as Deputy Headmistress that you can get Hogwarts to stop listening to him?”

There was a short pause. “What has he done?” McGonagall asked cautiously.

“Apart from creating a flock of fwoopers and a group of pixies from his drawings on the fourth floor? Apart from making the Grand Staircase move into one big loop? Apart from bring the suits of armour to life and setting them loose to “guard” him? Apart from convincing the walls to randomly move around? Apart from conjuring a giant bunny rabbit of all things?!” Snape’s voice was rising with each new item he listed.

“Oh, dear,” McGonagall sighed. “I can try, Severus, but it might take some doing to convince Hogwarts that the Headmaster is actually incapacitated, since he is still moving around under his own power.”

“Except that he now has the mind of a five year old,” Snape hissed. “Surely Hogwarts should not be looking for that characteristic in her Headmaster!”

“Severus, Hogwarts is over a thousand years old,” McGonagall gently reminded him. “To her, we’re all child-like. It’s just a case of degrees.”

Snape made a frustrated growling noise in his throat, then visibly took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. “But Hogwarts can be reasoned with,” he said in a more normal tone. “The students are being made to do things they wouldn’t normally do, or ever do. Almost all the staff and a good number of the students are being locked away, thereby denying them freedom of movement. No school business is being handled at all. The cause of all of it is Albus Dumbledore. Surely Hogwarts would have to agree that this is not acceptable in a Headmaster.”

There was a sudden faint rumbling emanating from the very stones of the castle. Harry looked around wildly. He did not want to be stuck this close to the ceiling if it was going to collapse!

Snape looked around the office. “Minerva, was that Hogwarts agreeing?” he asked.

“I believe so,” McGonagall said. “I don’t believe she’s cancelled any of Albus’ magic, but at the very least she won’t assist him any more.”

“That will do well enough,” Snape answered. He looked upwards. “Thank you, Hogwarts. We will do our best to restore the Headmaster to his . . . usual self as soon as possible.”

There was a faint pop! and something medium-sized and round appeared on the mantel. Harry and Snape stared at it, before Snape began to laugh.

“Severus?” McGonagall called. “What was that?”

“Hogwarts has decided to assist us,” Snape replied. He scooped the item from the mantel and sniffed at it. “She’s provided a medicated lemon drop.”

“Does this mean I’ll be able to get down soon?” Harry asked, eagerly. Snape looked up at him and nodded.

“No doubt, Potter.” He retrieved the map from his robe pocket and peered intently at it. “Albus is on the second floor . . .” He pocketed the map and strode towards the door. “I’ll be back shortly, Potter. Don’t go anywhere.”

Harry grumbled and folded his arms, but said nothing this time as Snape stalked out.

Severus strode down towards the second floor, relieved that he could go straight there this time, rather than having to detour halfway around the castle, as he’d had to do to reach Minerva’s office before. Honestly, Albus owed him a raise. He didn’t earn anywhere near enough for stunts like these.

As he reached the second floor, he pulled the map from his pocket again, but before he could consult it, the ghost of Moaning Myrtle came hurtling towards him.

“Oh, Professor!” she wailed. “It’s so awful! Banned from my own toilet!”

“I beg your pardon?” Severus asked, but experienced a sinking feeling even as he spoke.

“Professor Dumbledore threw me out!” Moaning Myrtle gurgled, and sniffed heartily. “My own toilet! He just wants to make a mess in there!”

As if to prove her point, the sound of flushing came from a room halfway along the corridor, and a small flood of water gushed out of the doorway. Severus rolled his eyes. Lovely . . .

Splashing his way forward, Severus warily approached the door. “Albus?” he called. “It’s Severus. I have something for you.”

“Have you come to play with me?” Albus asked, sounding delighted. He’d obviously already forgotten that he’d sent a flock of fwooper birds and pixies after Severus.

Severus gingerly stepped through the door. “Something like that,” he agreed.

Albus was standing in one of the cubicles, holding a small toy goldfish in his hand. The other hand was gripping tightly to the flush-chain. “Playin’ swimmin’,” he said, brightly. He dropped the toy goldfish into the toilet and pulled the chain. Severus hid a wince as a flood of water erupted across the room once again. Albus was definitely buying him new robes after this.

“Who’s swimming?” he asked, and sidled closer so he could see better. Albus appeared to have found some old toy soldiers somewhere. Severus really hoped they hadn’t actually belonged to anybody. “Here, Albus,” he said, and drew the lemon drop Hogwarts had given to him out of his robe pocket. “Look what I’ve got for you.” He extended his hand towards the Headmaster.

Albus tilted his head and stared intently at the sweet. “Don’t like ‘em,” he finally pronounced, and turned back to where the toy goldfish was floating in the toilet. He blinked, and there was a brief flash of light, and the goldfish was suddenly not a toy anymore, and swimming under its own power.

Severus blinked at Albus. “Of course you like lemon drops,” he said, impatiently. “Now take it!”

“Nope,” Albus carolled, “and you can’t make me!”

“Don’t be so sure about that,” Severus muttered under his breath. He decided to try a different approach. “Why do you not like lemon drops?” he asked.

“’Cause they made me feel yucky,” Albus said, and pouted down at the goldfish. Another blink later, and it had grown wings, and was flapping them in a frantic attempt to lift itself out of the toilet bowl.

“Well, this one won’t,” Severus said, holding it out again. “It’s full of . . . good stuff.”

“Pwomise?” Albus finally turned his attention back to Severus.

“Yes, I promise,” he said.

“Okay!” Albus snatched the sweet from his hand and popped it into his mouth, chewing briskly.

There was a pause, where Severus was afraid that it wasn’t going to work, there wasn’t any medicine in that sweet, Albus was immune, Hogwarts had tricked him . . . and then Albus suddenly shuddered, slumped against the cubicle wall, and groaned.

“Albus?” Severus asked cautiously. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, Merlin! Severus?” Albus peered at him, then buried his face in his hands. “What have I done?”

“Nothing that can’t be fixed,” Severus said with relief. Albus tottered his way towards Severus, who gripped him by the arm and steered him out of the bathroom. Moaning Myrtle darted past them with a wail of gratitude as soon as they were out.

“I’m so sorry, Severus,” Albus moaned, leaning heavily against Severus. “I don’t know what came over me!”

“Oh, it’s not just me you have to apologise to,” Severus informed him, cheerfully. “I’m sure Minerva will be wanting a word with you.”

Albus blanched. “Perhaps I’d better let her cool down,” he said weakly.

Severus smiled, and it wasn’t a pleasant smile. “Oh, I don’t think she’ll be cooling down any time soon,” he said, gleefully, and if Albus hadn’t been using one of his arms for support, he would have rubbed his hands together at the thought. “Then there’s the house elves, and Fawkes, and Potter . . .”

“Harry?” Albus looked at him, alarmed. “What did I do to the poor boy?”

“Made him have a tea party with you, turned his owl into a stuffed toy, and currently I believe he is hovering near the ceiling because you wanted to play balloons,” said Severus. He suspected his Patronus would be very strong the next time he conjured it, with those images to call on.

As they turned towards Minerva’s office, Albus suddenly appeared to remember something, and he winced. “I don’t think that was all I did,” he said, softly.

Before Severus could ask him what he meant, he suddenly heard Potter shouting at the top of his lungs. “PROFESSOR!! You change me back right now!” he was bellowing. “Professor Dumbledore, I know you can hear me!! PROFESSOOORRRR!!!”

Albus pulled Severus to a halt just as they reached the office doorway. “Perhaps it might be a good idea to let him cool down as well,” he said, and took a step backwards.

Unfortunately, for him, Harry had already spotted him.

“Professor, you turn me back right this minute!” he yelled, his eyes flashing with a murderous rage. Snape stared upwards in amazement, then began to laugh.

Harry was dressed in a blue milkmaid’s outfit.