Dumbledore knew at that moment he may as well have been a muggle for all the good his vaunted Elder wand would do him. Before his hand even managed to pass a quarter of the distance from its current location to where his wand was tucked into his belt, he would be dead.
"Y-you would then be causing your own demise, Filius," he tried. "You are, after all, only a half-breed."
That's when Sprout also leaned over the desk from her side to look over at Dumbledore. She calmly rested a hand on Flitwick's shoulder and gave her own vicious smile at the old man. "Actually, Filius Flitwick of the Wick Clan of the Goblin Nation is my named champion," she explained. "His heritage, therefore, becomes irrelevant - as you well know. Only my own is relevant.
"And, Albus Dumbledore of the Minor House of Dumbledore, I am a pureblood of the Elder House of Urquhart; while you are, after all, only a half-blood."
"I.. I'm―" he tried.
Interrupting him she magnanimously said, "Oh, don't bother apologising for your boorish, uncouth behaviour, Dumbledore. No one here any longer believes a word out of your mouth. Therefore, any apology you attempt to make will likewise not be believed."
Still glaring down at Dumbledore with a glare so filled with imminent death showing the old man still expected the Charms master to attack him anyway, Flitwick snarled, "Heed my words."
He then snapped back up straight, gave the haft of the axe a powerful flick of his wrist loosening it in the wood, then yanked it out before he spun about and jumped off the other side of the desk away from Dumbledore.
Dumbledore next heard in a falsely pleasant voice from Sprout, "Don't get up, Headmaster Dumbledore. We'll see ourselves out. Toodles!"
Dumbledore waited until he heard the office door slam shut behind his two senior Professors before he began to struggle to his feet.
As he did so he remembered he needed to go and change his robes. He now stank of his own fæces.
"Albus, are you alright?" asked the portrait of Headmaster Everard.
Dumbledore ignored it and quickly went through his private door and up to his apartment.
_‗_
―==(oIo)==―
ˇ
After Dumbledore disappeared through the door, slamming it shut behind him, the Sorting Hat chuckled and said, "There goes one very frightened and very unhappy manipulative old man."
From the walls, Headmaster Fortescue said, "The idiot allowed his temper to overrule his common sense. Did you notice he never even noticed Flitwick and Sprout constantly addressed him only as 'Headmaster Dumbledore' and not as 'Albus' for about three minutes? That should have been clue enough for him."
Headmistress Derwent added, "Plus, the way they were sitting, plus that they had their wands drawn, plus a lot more than that. Flitwick was also holding his wand in his off hand, right from the start!"
"They were baiting him," snapped one Headmistress portrait, Merriweather.
"No, they weren't," said Phinneas Black. "They were expecting trouble and were prepared for it. Very Slytherin of them."
"He's right," said Everard. "There was not one thing either of them said that could be considered 'baiting'. They directly answered his questions, as he asked them. The only part of that you could consider baiting was they didn't 'sugar-coat' what they reported."
"What about their remarks like 'someone' harmed Poppy, that's why she's not coming back?" asked Merriweather.
"That one I'll give you," said Black. "However, they know it was Albus who at least constantly obliviated the woman because of Mister Potter's memories. Those obliviations, alone, brought the woman into conflict with her oaths and, therefore, harmed her. Was it that much of a stretch to also figure out it was Albus who potioned her with loyalty potions?"
Fortescue said, "Did you like that trick with the battle-axe? That was obviously prearranged."
Even the dour Black chuckled at that one. "Finger snap. The elf is right there holding it out to him. Then he moved."
"Not seen a goblin in battle mode before, Phinneas?" asked another portrait.
"No," he replied. "I knew, from my family history, that they were unbelievably fast for such small folk. But, even then, I had no idea how fast."
"And, just think, Filius Flitwick is only a part goblin," said the same portrait.
"Agnetha is correct," said the portrait of Dilys Derwent. "Goblins in battle are a fearsome thing. And it's not just because of their ability to wield their weapons; it's because of just how fast they move."
_‗_
―==(oIo)==―
ˇ
While Harry was being a 'sticky-beak' on the 'ground' floor; the main and public floor of the house that contained the office, parlour, formal dining room and a combined kitchen informal dining room; the aurors seemed to be setting up extra wards and the like both within and without the house.
The servants' quarters, media room, laundry with adjacent toilet, another guest room, a few other rooms plus the garage itself were all on the lower ground floor, almost basement.
Hermione came down while he was 'exploring' and headed immediately to the telephone wall-mounted in the kitchen above the bench that separated the kitchen from the informal dining room. Before he was able to reach her to ask why she'd run off so suddenly earlier, she'd already lifted the handset off the telephone cradle and was dialing a number it looked like she'd read off a whiteboard tacked to the wall alongside it. It had a list of names with associated telephone numbers.
Instead, he diverted to the kitchen and began to check out what cooking equipment, implements and the like were available before then moving on to the fridge/freezer and pantry. He'd already decided he would cook while he was there. It was something he was good at, enjoyed when he knew his cooking was appreciated and would be a way he could pay back the Grangers for their hospitality. He didn't think either Granger parent should be 'forced' to cook for what had become triple the number of mouths to feed as it would be if it was just Hermione and her parents.
A quick peruse of the three food storage areas and he was already compiling a food shopping list in his head.
He tried not to listen in on Hermione's call but it was obvious, even to one not trying to overhear, that she was talking to her father and letting him know they'd safely arrived and were settling in.
When she hung up she turned to Harry and said, "Mum and Daddy are running a little late but they'll be here together about 6.30. Daddy said we should order something in."
Harry brightened up at that, grinned and said, "Nope! I'll whip something up!" It was just after 5.15.
Hermione frowned back and said, "You don't need to do that, Harry."
"I want to," he said. "It was about the only chore I had to do at the Dursleys I actually enjoyed. I'm also quite good at it."
Hermione looked uncertain; whether that was because she didn't know if he could actually cook well or if it was because she didn't want him doing chores, he didn't know.
"Relax, Hermione," he soothed. "Trust me."
When she nodded back he grinned and asked, "Now, what sort of meals do you normally eat while you're at home?"
"I... don't really know," she replied. "I was often more focused on study and getting homework out of the way than on the food on the plate."
"Now that's just sad, Hermione," he mock scolded her. "Cheffing, at the level I do it, is an art. And it is experienced and enjoyed by tasting or dining on the resulting gastronomical delight.
"I'll just check the pantry, fridge and freezer again to see what your parents have. That'll give me an idea as to what sort of foods they like to eat."
"Plain English fare, Harry," she quickly said. "But Daddy enjoys the occasional Indian or Thai dish.
"Any food allergies?" he asked.
"No, just keep sugar to a minimum," she replied.
"By that I take it you mean processed sugar," he said. "Don't worry, any sweeteners I add will be natural sugars."
"If you're sure," she hesitantly said. "If you don't know where something is, ask me. I'm pretty sure I've got a fair idea in which cupboard, drawer or shelf you'll find it."
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