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Exactly What You Deserve


Albus Dumbledore sat behind his desk, his eyes cast downward at a sheath of papers, his fingers steepled before his face, eyes looking out the window that shone off over the tops of the Forbidden Forest… It was early on Tuesday, 4 November, and he was waiting for a visitor, watching as Fawkes preened his feathers carefully with his long, sharp beak.

There came a knock upon the door.

“Come in,” Dumbledore called and, as he did, he rose to his feet, standing tall behind the desk, staring down upon the new arrival. “I trust you found your way along without much trouble, Mr. Rosier?” he asked.

Evan Rosier adjusted his tie, “Yes sir, no trouble at all.” He looked around, “This is a very spacious and interesting office, sir. What do all these instruments do?”

Dumbledore watched as Evan Rosier inspected a silver ball on a sort of suspended string that wiggled and wove about in various directions. “That one detects liars,” he said. “The pendulum swings faster when a person tells a lie.” Evan looked at it, then backed away slowly. Dumbledore smirked discreetly. “Have a seat, Mr. Rosier,” Dumbledore announced and he waved for Evan to take the seat opposite his desk.

Evan glanced at the wall of funny instruments again wistfully, then walked over to Dumbledore’s desk and sat. He sat in a conservative matter, his hands on his knees and back straight. He stared at Dumbledore expectantly, his eyebrow cocked.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, “Mr. Rosier, I wanted to speak with you about an incident that has recently come to my attention concerning a student who was recently attacked in a boys’ toilet near the library. Perhaps you’ve heard about what happened?”

Rosier worked very hard to keep his face perfectly straight. “No, sir. What happened?” He even played at concern, his forehead wrinkling.

Dumbledore said, “Well, a young man was… mocked… for his sexual orientation, and subsequently physically attacked, resulting in the loss of his hair, and a good many minor injuries, and a severely damaged self-esteem.”

Rosier stared at Dumbledore.

“Are you certain you don’t know anything about what happened to Sirius Black, Mr. Rosier?”

It was clear in Albus Dumbledore’s eyes then that he knew the real answer, that he was asking as a formality. Evan Rosier drew a deep breath - it was time to spin this a different direction. He closed his eyes, mustered up a bit of moistness so that they shone when he opened them back up, and he whispered, “I might… know a… a little.”

Dumbledore stared at Rosier.

Evan then gave the performance of his life. “I tried to stop Mulciber, sir. It was his idea - all of it. We were in the hall, just passing by, and he saw Remus and Sirius in the library and - and he saw Sirius go to the toilet and he was just enraged sir! I’ve never seen anything like, like a bull. He… he ran after Sirius and by the time the rest of us got there, he’d already beat Sirius up and he had him by his hair, it’s how he was holding him still, you see, sir, and the only way to save Sirius -- we had to cut his hair, sir, to get him away from Mulciber!”

Evan Rosier felt quite proud of himself then, as actual tears fell over his cheeks. He’d managed to explain it all - including the hex if they did the priori incantatem on his wand!

Dumbledore sat, contemplating this answer.

Evan made sure to continue on crying, waiting for Dumbledore to comfort him…

“That is quite a different version of the story than we have heard from Sirius, Mr. Rosier,” Dumbledore said simply.

Rosier sniffled for good effect. “What?” he asked blearily.

“Mr. Black’s version has quite a different hero, quite a different villain.”

“Well Mr. Black is… lying,” Rosier said simply.

Dumbledore’s eyebrows raised. “Oh?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“He’s had it out for me for ages, sir. Every time something goes wrong, he attacks me for it, claims it’s me that’s done it, but it’s been him all along. If I were you, I’d - I’d look into those scars his boyfriend’s got, sir. I’d look into why it is he always gets new ones every time he and Sirius disappear together. They were together the time he came back with that one across his face, wasn’t he? He’s always bruised and cut up and Sirius has some weird control on him. I’d look into that, sir. Sirius Black is, after all, sir, a Black, and certainly you know about that family, sir… followers of the Dark Lord, they are.” He trembled. “Sir, everyone’s afraid of him… him and James Potter… Look at Peter Pettigrew, how scared he always is…”

Dumbledore’s mouth was a tight line. “And why then did you save Mr. Black when you saw Mulciber abusing him in the toilet, as you have previously said?”

Evan Rosier had caught himself up in his own web, but he expertly maneuvered, “Well, nobody should be beaten, sir,” he said, and he tried at his teary eyed expression again, “Not even murderers.”

“Murderers?” Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.

“Surely you know Sirius Black murdered Eileen Prince, Severus Snape’s mum.”

Dumbledore stared at Evan Rosier over steepled fingers.

“I’m telling you, sir. Sirius Black’s the spittin’ image of his father, Orion. He’s trying to take Orion’s place in the organization they call the Death Eaters.”

Dumbledore got up, walked slowly around the desk over to Fawkes, who he stroked gently. The bird nibbled his finger and he took a deep breath as he petted him. Finally, he turned to Rosier. “Why are you lying, Mr. Rosier?”

Evan stared at Dumbledore’s desk, trying to calculate what to say.

“The truth, Mr. Rosier,” Dumbledore said, “Please.”

It was as though Dumbledore could read minds. Rosier turned and looked at the headmaster as he stroked Fawkes’s head and the bird cuddled against his knuckles merrily. Suddenly, something about the way the headmaster moved, the way he stroked the bird, the way he stood there, smiling through half-moon glasses, calmly accusing him of lying - even though he was, in fact lying - filled Evan Rosier with a stroke of blinding rage. His eyes landed on the silver instrument he’d inspected upon entering the office and saw how Dumbledore knew - no mind reader at all, but the ball was whipping in fast circles as though it were caught up in a cyclone. Evan’s rage burned all the brighter and he ran over, grabbed hold of the instrument and slammed it onto the floor with a horrible ferocity.

“HE’S LUCKY I DIDN’T KILL HIM!” Evan Rosier screamed, “THAT’S WHAT HE DESERVES! HE DESERVES TO DIE FOR BEING SUCH A PATHETIC EXCUSE OF A WIZARD!!”

Dumbledore stared at the enraged boy before him as all pretenses fell from Evan Rosier’s face and he shouted, “Him and his bleedin’ little Puffer Fish, they both deserve to be strung up and cruciatused until they go mad! The filthy blood traitor and his filthy half-blood boyfriend… Their little friends too, the other blood traitor Potter, and that disgusting little mudblood brat, Lily Evans! The lot of them deserve to die! But especially the two faggety, filthy bits of pondscum -- I’d love to do it, love to! And one day, I will. One day, I’ll murder’em both… I’ll kneel’em down and I’ll put the avada kedavra right to their heads -- like they deserve. Like all the blood traitors and faggots deserve.”

Dumbledore’s face was unreadable.

“One day, the Dark Lord will rise to power, and he will destroy the blood traitors and all of the filth like Sirius Black. The Dark Lord will give the filthy lot of them exactly what they deserve!” Evan Rosier turned for the door.

Dumbledore waved his hand and the door locked.

Rosier actually had enough stupidity to raise his wand and try the alohamora - as though Albus Dumbledore wasn’t too keen to think he might try that. When he discovered it did not work, he turned to face Dumbledore. “You foolish old man,” whispered Rosier, “They’re right about you, old crackpot. Got all your priorities out of whack, they say, gone mad when your mum and sister died, they say. Treasuring muggles more than yer own kind! Thinkin’ the mudbloods and filth are worth teachin’, worth keepin’ about… My father’s right about you… Says you’re the worst headmaster Hogwarts ever saw, says you’re destroying the school from its very foundation up. He’s right.” Rosier hissed these words from the door, where he fruitlessly held the handle.

Dumbledore was calm as he ignored the words Rosier was saying. He waved his wand and a ghost-like version of Fawkes flew from his wand and through the door over Rosier’s head. Rosier looked up to watch it go then turned back to Dumbledore, who had crossed back to his desk and sat down… signing a parchment with a silver-tipped quill.

“I have sent for the Prewetts, aurors the both of them, and they will be taking you to the Ministry to be seen by the Minister for Magic to determine the punishment for your crimes for, I am sorry to say, you have just brought the severity of your intentions far above the academic level of punishment. Luckily for you, Mr. Rosier, you are fifteen, and therefore not of age and too young to be sentenced to Azkaban for your threats and attacks against your classmates. However, there are other punishments that you do face. And, on the academic level, I am sorry to say that you, sir, have officially been expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

Evan Rosier’s eyes widened and his face paled as his mind processed this information. “No. No - you can’t do that - you can’t expel me.”

“I can, Mr. Rosier,” Dumbledore said, “And I just have.”

Evan Rosier’s face paled even further as Dumbledore held up a parchment - the expulsion documents - and he took several quick steps toward the desk… he dropped to his knees before it. “Sir. Please.” Now there were true tears in Evan Rosier’s eyes, “Please. Don’t expel me. My father - he’ll - he’ll be so angry with me…”

“Perhaps he can find solace in the fact that his son will not be taught under the rule of a crackpot old fool,” Dumbledore said levelly.

Evan Rosier stared with horror, realizing that there were no words he would say to undo what Dumbledore had decided. His father would be horrifically angry. He could see the dark eyes of disappointment and hatred that his father always wore when he looked upon his son. He could hear the cracking of the cruciatus curse that his father would lay upon him the first chance he got, as punishment for what he’d done. Evan Rosier could feel the nerves twitching already from the memories of all of the times it had been done before. Ignotus Rosier was a cruel man. After all, Evan Rosier had learned it all somewhere.

Evan Rosier covered his face now, his palms splayed across his face. “I’m sorry,” he choked, “I’m sorry for what I’ve done. I’m sorry, headmaster.”

“You are sorry because you’re receiving punishment,” Dumbledore murmured, “Not for what you’ve done. You are sorry for yourself, for being caught and getting -- what were the words you said before? -- exactly what you deserve… You are not sorry for Sirius Black or Remus Lupin, or the things they have suffered at your hand. Please, Mr. Rosier, let’s be honest in something, at least.”

And they waited for the arrival of the aurors - for Gideon and Fabian Prewett - who came and Dumbledore told them what had happened as Evan Rosier’s tears continued to fall and the Prewetts took hold of Evan’s arms and they used Dumbledore’s connection to the floo network to bring him away to the Ministry for Magic.

Dumbledore sat, staring at the broken instrument on the floor, staring without seeing, his mind racing over the terribleness of what had just happened, his heart breaking for the corruption and hatred that so filled the world… He looked at Fawkes on his perch and Fawkes shed a tear himself. “Oh Fawkes,” Dumbledore whispered as the tear slipped over the sharp black beak of the bird and fell to the ground, silver and shimmering. “If only that were powerful enough to heal all of the world, my friend, I would send you off to cry over all the hearts of man.”




That afternoon in the Great Hall at lunch, Sirius held his stocking cap on his head with one hand while he ate with the other. Whispers filled the hall, quiet at first, beginning at the Slytherin table, but growing, rippling through the Slytherins first, then catching at the Hufflepuff table before spreading to the Ravenclaws. It was Marlene McKinnon that ran over to the Gryffindor table, inserting herself on the bench between Sirius and Remus. She grabbed Sirius’s hand, looking up at him. “Sirius. They’ve expelled Evan Rosier.”

Sirius looked up at her. “What?”

“He’s gone. They’ve taken him away. Just look - there’s an empty space at the Slytherin table.”

Sirius turned back to look and there it was, sure enough, Evan Rosier’s place on the bench - conspicuously empty. He felt a trembling jolt in his stomach and he looked over Marlene’s head at Remus, whose eyes were wide.