Chapter 1. The Hagels.
"That's a pretty morbid fascination you're developing".
As usual, the strong aroma of whiskey alerted Harry to Eugene's presence well before he plopped next to him at the paddock railing. Ironic, really, Harry thought. Eugene Morley was the only adult in Harry's new (and improved) life that never drank any kind of alcohol. It was one of Eugene's duties as his father's stable hand to serve Abrahan horses with large quantities of single malt every morning. As a result he forever reeked of spirits as much as Mundungus Fletcher had ever done. Not for the first time Harry wondered whether the man's rigidly proper, well-born wife found that irksome. Paula Morley, nee Churwell was the estate's magical creatures' healer.
"Thestrals are fascinating", Harry pointed out.
"Yes, well, you can't even see them, kid", lately Eugene had taken to calling Harry 'kid' to his everlasting embarrassment.
As a matter of fact, Harry had been able to see the creatures ever since he woke up on his eleventh birthday suddenly remembering his whole "other" life. Back then his parents attributed his shell-shocked demeanour to worries over the Hogwarts letter. The letters were usually sent the beginning of August they reasoned; there was no cause to be anxious. Truth to be told, his father was a bit impatient with the whole reassurance routine. Harry's accidental magic kicked in before he even started to walk. Any lingering doubts they could have were dispelled once and for all when he fell into a friendly conversation with a cobra in a muggle Zoo in Berlin. Parseltongue ability had always run in the Hagel family. Julius, Harry's grandfather was one too, but it skipped the generation in between. Much as Martin Hagel was proud of his so obviously gifted eldest son he couldn't help wishing these gifts were distributed more evenly between his children. By the time Harry got his letter his brother Ralf was eight and had yet to display a single spark of magic. Now, at ten, everyone pretty much accepted that the boy was a squib.
"What with the brooding, anyway?" Eugene persisted. "Ralf is supposed to be the Pombrook's resident introverted loner".
"Ralf never broods," objected Harry. "He's far too intense for something so unproductive."
Though that was no longer the truth, Harry was startled to realise. As scary smart and gifted mathematically, as Ralf was, his brother was forever immersed in some project or another, but lately he had taken to exhausting himself physically with elaborate exercise routine as well as traversing the sprawling estate on horseback. Not the most obvious occupations for a ten year old, even a genius one, Harry conceded.
Though the brothers were fairly close, (as close as brothers could be with three years between them, Harry supposed) they never once discussed Ralf's apparent lack of magic. The younger boy never complained or showed signs of resentment, but the unfairness of it all must have finally got to him.
Harry sighed. If he was of no use to his baby brother, how could he hope to right the wrongs of his previous life?! In a few short days Lily and the marauders would start Hogwarts, a development would put them on the collusion course with Voldemort. In a few short days the new chapter of his life would begin. He had two years to prepare for that moment and right now he felt like he'd wasted them. He felt woefully unprepared.
Thanks to the whole Master of Death thing he was given a chance to start anew and save all those lives lost in the two wars. Back then he had snatched at the opportunity determined to save all those he had failed, arrogant in the belief his knowledge would prove an unbeatable secret weapon. Now he was wandering whether the offer hadn't been a poisoned chalice.
He was still a Parseltongue, a half-blood, and as soon as he'd been allowed to, he purchased his old holly and phoenix feather wand back. He was magically talented, and his family was both wealthy and well connected. Yet he felt sadly inadequate. He didn't know how much his mere presence in this timeline would alter the subsequent events. Would James and Lily still have a son named Harry? The idea alone weirded him out, until he gave up on that particular question. Still the whole issue of the Prophesy kind of depended on his birth.
Should he interfere with his former parents' friendships? If so, how? There was no way he could measure or predict the ways his interference would change the whole landscape of the Resistance movement, was there? And what of Dumbledore? Harry never seriously considered confessing the whole business to the old Headmaster, but he was still undecided about joining the Order of the Phoenix. On one hand, he thoroughly disliked the idea of submitting once again to the old codger's questionable leadership. On another, Dumbledore was the leader of the Light, and Harry knew better than anyone the dangers of shouldering the entire weight of the world alone. Beside which, Lily and the marauders would almost certainly join Dumbledore's merry band. Harry would have a much better chance of saving them if he were a comrade-in-arms.
And finally, the thorniest issue of all, one that could prove his undoing in this life as it was in the other one. The Horcruxes. At the moment Hurry could only be reasonably sure of the ring's whereabouts. Nigini was probably not even made into a Horcrux yet. Harry's greatest fear was that his presence in this time would somehow prompt Riddle to create a different Horcrux, or hide the existent ones in different locations. Without the advantage of his prior knowledge Harry would be powerless to stop him. His second attempt at defeating the Dark Lord would prove even less successful than the first one in that case.
"Is Ralf up anyway?" Harry queried.
"Saw him riding Loki about an hour ago. Probably be back already. You should have some breakfast, or Nutty'll immolate herself on the kitchen stove."
"Right."
Harry has long since concluded that Nutty used self-punishment the same way muggles use emotional blackmail. Whenever his French mother tried to introduce some continental delicacy to their menu Nutty managed without fail to botch it spectacularly only to make a subsequent show of contrition and punishment. Martin, his father, usually avoided the resulting commotion by simple expedient of hiding in his study, but Marie, a gentle hearted muggleborn invariably ended up distressed and disturbed. In fact, Harry often thought that the elf bullied his mother mercilessly, since any attempt on Marie's part to do cooking herself ended up in even more disgusting theatrics, with Nutty wailing and howling and begging not to give her cloths despite her apparent uselessness. Marie actually liked cooking now and again but only had a chance to do so when they visited with her French muggle family or stayed at Eisenschoss with Grandfather (Julius's elves being far too disciplined to guilt trip humans.)
Even worse in Harry's opinion was Nutty's attitude towards Ralf. Marie chose to call it 'overprotective', but that was far too charitable. Harry thought even 'controlling' was putting it mildly. Though she was bound to obey Ralf as much as she was the rest of the family, Nutty was forever finding loopholes and excuses to smother the boy with unnecessary magic. Or simply ignored the orders she deemed wrong, and then made the poor boy squirm with ostentatious displays of burned ears or bandaged hands. Harry could see how the whole thing set Ralf's teeth on edge, but there was little he could do to alleviate the situation. Nutty was after all a very sly elf, and she had long since decided that her young master was to be protected. Short of giving her cloths there was no stopping her now, Harry supposed. He was just glad that for whatever reason she never interfered with him, even when the dangerous duo – Fabian and Gideon Prewetts came to visit. Dexter and Sinister intercepted Fab when he tried to steal one of Father's Abrahan horses for a ride, and Sinister kept vigil at the Thestral paddock, whenever the twins were in residence, but Nutty only cleaned their rooms and did their laundry while otherwise paying them no heed. Seeing how she never once forewent the opportunity to badger poor Ralf, Harry knew himself to be fortunate.
"Master Harry, Miss Audrey is calling. Is you at home?"
"I am now" grumbled Harry. Sinister would have put Lena off so that Harry would have a room for manoeuvre, but Dexter was the most straight shooting elf in existence. Either that or he didn't want to give Harry a chance to skip the call. Suddenly Harry recalled some of his house mates' tales of match-making elves and shuddered with horror.
"Coming," he yelled.
"Finally. Did you get lost on the grounds?" Lena Audrey, a chaser and the Gryff's team captain quired in what she clearly thought was a playful manner. For some reason Lena thought that teasing Harry about his family fortune and status was cute. Harry thought it was anything but, especially since his captain started lately to conflate teasing and flirting. She was a pretty girl, but at thirteen Harry had yet to take notice of fairer sex. Besides Lena was two years older and far too much interested in the Pombrook estate for Harry's taste.
"To what do I owe the honour?" Harry settled on the stone floor in front of the fireplace.
"Seen the Prophet today?"
"No, why?" Harry frowned. "Has something happened?" Lena was more exited than upset, so he figured it couldn't be that bad.
"The Germans have just unveiled a shiny new Perseus model! Lena handed him the paper.
The entire page was occupied by a picture of a strong-jawed wizard fondling a spectacular racing broom. The lettering read Perseus-Sieg.
Harry shrugged. As good as it looked it was no Firebolt.
"Um, what of it?" he asked.
Lena huffed impatiently:
"You should bully your dad into buying it! We'll be unstoppable with this beauty".
Harry rolled his eyes. "My Nimbus is the last year model," he said. "There is no way I can justify such request."
Lena pouted and seemed ready to argue but thought better of it. "Just think of it, OK?" she asked instead. "Do you think your Dad would agree to sponsor the Rivers kid for a decent Comet?"
Ok, so that must have been the real reason for call.
Rivers was a fourth year reserve chaser. A pretty talented one, from what Harry could see from the try-outs, but as a muggle-born his family balked at spending a small fortune on frivolities like racing brooms.
"I'll ask", Harry promised.
"Thanks. Call me when you know one way or another," Lena instructed. "I'll need to know before the try-outs."
"Fine", Harry ended the call and went to the breakfast parlour.
Marie and Ralf, early risers, were not in evidence. Martin was on his second cup of coffee and deep into the Prophet.
"Morning", Harry helped himself to kedgeree.
Martin nodded his greetings.
"Why didn't you invite Lena over?" his father asked. "You haven't taken the Nimbus for an exercise in ages."
"Just a few days," Harry said defensively. Ever since the twins had left for that Mexico trip with their parents, in fact. "It was a business call anyway."
"Oh?"
"She asked whether you'd be up to buying a Comet for our possible new chaser."
"Has she asked McLaggen?"
Wulfric Mclaggen was a year older than Harry, and a keeper. His folks would be a more obvious choice, since they were both Quidditch mad and wealthy, whereas neither Martin, nor Marie could boast of any talent on a broom. Martin had always maintained that no broom could possibly compare to a winged horse.
"Wulfric is not that keen on helping Rivers," Harry explained. "His best mate hopes to make the team."
"Hmm…" Martin flicked a page to admire the German ad. "Why a Comet? I made sure she'd want this new Perseus."
"Her idea was a Perseus for me, and a Comet for Rivers", Harry clarified.
Martin snorted. "How about you tell her I'll buy a Nimbus to whoever outflies everyone else at the try-outs."
"Thanks, Dad."
Suddenly Sinister materialised at Martin's elbow holding a heavily embroidered formal robe.
"Are you going to the Ministry?" Harry was surprised. The Wizengamot was still in recess. In fact, even when it was in session Martin went there only sporadically. Martin's mother was the last Pomprington, and along with the Pomprington estate he inherited their hereditary seat in the assembly. Yet, for all his lofty social standing his father had but little taste in politics, preferring staying in Wales instead and breeding muggle and magical horses. He'd had a brief stint as an Auror after Hogwarts, but it hadn't taken long for Marie to convince him to retire.
"Yes, Barty wants to run something by me", he said. "Well, I am off. Get some exercise, Harry, or you'll soon look like a vampire in a muggle cartoon."
Wondering what the aggressive new head of the Law Enforcement could possibly want with his father, Harry finished his breakfast and went back to the fireplace. Lena answered immediately.
"Dad says he'll splurge for a Nimbus for the new chaser," Harry informed her.
"What about that Perseus?"
"What about it? Don't be greedy, Lena. We'll still have three Nimbuses on the team." The third one being McLaggen's.
"Couldn't you hit your grandfather for a start-of-the-year present?"
"Your lack of patriotism is disturbing," Harry was getting rapidly fed up with the conversation. "Right, I've got to be off," he lied.
"OK, OK; just think about it. See you soon."
"Speaking of brooms, how come you never fly anymore?" Harry whirled around to greet his brother.
Eugene, surely the most erudite stable hand in history, always maintained that Ralf looked exactly like Caligula. In point of fact, except for the blond tresses he inherited from Marie, Ralf looked every inch a Hagel he was. He sported the same strong chiselled features and slate grey eyes as did Martin, Julius and, judging by the portraits at Eisenschloss, most of the Hagels throughout centuries.
Harry himself, though inherited certain of his parents' traits, ended up looking like no one in the family. Instead of bright emerald of his former life, his eyes were paler, colder shade of green this time around. (Though it never looked cold on Marie.) He got his father's and grandmother's Pomprington raven black hair. There was a hint of the Hagel ancestry in the line of his jaw, but overall his features were softer, less finely defined than his father's and brother's. Ever since his eleventh birthday Harry had fancied that he could discern traces of his former self in this new face. And though he was taller than before, Harry was still scrawnier than most Hagel males. Even at ten his nerdy brother had a built of an athlete. He'd be a great beater, Harry mused, admiring Ralf's frame… only to immediately feel guilty at the thought.
"Just a few days," Harry muttered.
"Yeah, ever since the twins had left." Ralf plopped on a windowsill. "I hope it's not on my account, by the way," he said. "If you want to be all sensitive and considerate, ride with me the muggle way."
"What is it, a family intervention?" Harry huffed indignantly.
"Might as well be," Ralf shrugged. "Mum thinks you're depressed, and Nutty's convinced you helped the Terrible Twins to commit some unspeakable crime."
"When I commit an unspeakable crime she'll be first to know," Harry grumbled.
"When you do, be a sport, and let me help."
"It's a deal."
There was a brief pause, when Harry did nothing, and Ralf petted his raven. Gordon (named after Byron, but in a less obvious way, Ralf insisted) was an unquestionably magical pet. That it had showed up at the estate couple of years ago and attached itself specifically to Ralf was taken by the family as a hopeful sign. Until Marie voice her hopes aloud only for Ralf to point out that squibs often had kneazles for pets.
"So what is it?" Ralf persisted. "Have you fallen in love? Discovered you're queer? Acquired debts of honour?"
Suddenly Harry was sized by the urge to confess Ralf everything. Lately he felt positively quashed by his commitments; his anxiety was rapidly becoming a full blown panic. Should his prior knowledge prove useless, what then? He was nowhere near as intelligent as Dumbledore… or Ralf. If only he could confide in his genius brother… No, Harry gave himself a mental shake. No one could possibly believe such a story, certainly not someone with a penchant for logical and rational thinking. Well, Hermione might have, but she had been… what a witch? Merlin's pants, was he turning into a bigot? Harry found himself staring in his brother's concerned grey eyes.
"You'd think I've gone nuts if I told you," Harry said quietly.
"Really. I'd be more likely to end up as a nutter," Ralf said conversationally. "In fact, mum's afraid I've got Asperger's".
"She was afraid you had Asperger's a few years ago," Harry said irritably. "You're alright now."
"Well, you are not. What gives?"
Harry felt like his old reckless self. Well, better reckless, than the Dumbledore's way, he reasoned. 'Secrets and lies', Aberforth had called it. Harry had had enough of that for a lifetime. Seeing as it was his second one… He made a decision. He needed someone to share his knowledge. Too many risks were involved into confiding in former/future Order members. And it would be way too weird to tell his parents that he'd been other peoples' son. Ralf though… Even now, at ten, he was smarter and more knowledgeable than Harry. In time he could prove as much of an assert as Hermione had been. And he was his brother; Harry knew he could always count on him. Assuming he wouldn't think Harry was clinically insane, that was.
"Let's go to the beach," Harry finally suggested. "You'll have to promise you won't try to have me sent to St. Mungo's though. And if you tell anyone, I'll commit that unspeakable crime after all."
"Deal. Why don't you give me a ride?"
"What, on a broom?" Harry was taken aback at the suggestion. Ralf had never had displayed any interest in broomsticks before.
"Well, as Father won't let us near Grace…" Grace being Martin's favourite winged mare.
"Nutty'll have a coronary…" Harry cautioned.
"One can hope."
"Yes, let's do it!" Harry grinned.
When they landed on the western terrace several hours later they were greeted by the sight of a harassed Marie applying the essence of dittany to what looked like fresh burns on Nutty's chest.
"Nutty is sorry!" the elf declared tragically, as she glared at Harry. "Nutty was too busy cleaning, she didn't known master Ralf needed to apparate."
The creature turned her reproachful gaze at the blond boy, but Ralf was too preoccupied by the recent revelations to notice.
"Nutty will bath in the magical bleach to punish her more," the elf added menacingly.
"Suit yourself," Harry muttered.
"Harry" Marie admonished. "There is no need for you to punish yourself," she said to Nutty. "Harry is a good flyer; they were never in danger."
"Master Ralf is a good boy," the elf pursued. "He is not one for mischief, not him! Not like those red-haired ruffians!" The elf took a deep brief and increased the volume so that Martin would hear her in his study. "Nutty knows where the fire-peppers gone, she does! And the Goblin-wrought cauldron! Master Ralf needs not to be drawn in your schemes, master Harry!"
That finally roused Ralf.
"Shut up, Nutty," he snapped.
"Oooow!" the elf wailed. "Nutty knows she is not young, like Dexter and Sinister, she knows she is not a fit company for young masters... She –"
"I hate to interrupt," Harry lied, "but Ralf and I could use some supper. What with spending the entire day outdoors…"
"Supper is served in a half an hour," Nutty said resentfully. "Nutty knows when she is not wanted…"
With that the elf apparated with a deafening bang, presumably to prepare supper.
"They say the Blacks behead their elves when they become too annoying", Harry offered.
"You are so not helping," Marie was massaging her temples irritably.
"Do I detect a hint of wistfulness in your voice?" Ralf teased.
"Stop it, you two! Besides, it's your fault. You should have had Sinister to distract her, before taking off like that."
"Sorry," Harry was genuinely contrite. "Didn't occur to us."
"Well, it should have!" Marie said with asperity. "This is so not my day …" she sighed. "Between her tantrum and Barty…"
"Why, what did he want?"
"Never you mind. Run and change before supper."
The supper proved to be quieter than usual. After the intense conversation earlier the boys were back to contemplative silences. The quality of the silence had changed, however. Ralf believed him, Harry thought elated. His brother was committed to the fight. And magical or not, Harry knew in his gut that Ralf's input would prove invaluable. Even now he was bending his brilliant mind in search of all the ways to help.
Harry grimaced as he helped himself to some chicken liver with mushrooms stew. Ralf's favourite. It figured.
"So, what's the deal with Crouch?" he finally asked.
"He wanted me to arrange a meeting with Father." Martin looked uncharacteristically troubled.
"Why?" the boys chorused.
Julius Hagel was one of the German and Bohemian Confederacy's twelve hereditary Electors. Following Grindelwald's coup in the late thirties he had opted to leave his native Pfalz and gone to live with his wife's family in Wales. Though he stayed even after Dumbledore had dealt with the German Dark Lord in 1945, Julius had always kept aloof from British politics, and went back to live in the Hagel's ancestral Eisenschloss following his wife's death. As far as Harry knew, Crouch and Julius had never met.
"Well," Martin was frowning at his goblet. "Barty wants to compare notes, so to speak…"
Harry felt his pulse accelerate.
"Notes on what," he asked quietly. Ralf too was staring at Martin intently, he noticed.
"On dark lords, of all things," his father replied, oblivious to the tension. "Apparently, we have a Grindelwald's wannabe on these shores. A self-proclaimed Dark Lord with the most ridiculous name. Voldemort, or some such. I –"
But Harry never found what Martin was about say, because at that moment a goblet in his brother's hand erupted into the most spectacular fireworks of blue and yellow sparks.
Even as Marie slid at the driving seat of the ancient Daimler on September 1 Harry was still riding on the euphoria of the last few days. The pandemonium that followed Ralf's first ever display of magic was like nothing he had experienced in his new life. The boys were laughing hysterically, Marie was crying, Martin leapt to the nearest fireplace, only stopping to dispatch Dexter and Sinister to France to bring over their maggle relations.
The Braques appeared not long after, visibly frazzled by the unfamiliar mode of transportation, but bearing a crate of their best wine as a gift. Between the Braques who owned muggle vineyards in France and Julius who owned elves-run ones in Pfalz, Pombrook boasted one of the better-stocked cellars in Britain. Usually the boys were only allowed to drink token amounts of alcohol on special occasions, but this time everyone was too happy to stop them from refilling their glasses. Better still, next morning Martin conventionally forgot his old threat of making them brew their own hangover potion should they ever overindulge. He even agreed, in what he later claimed was a moment of weakness, that it was time for the boys to start learning to ride winged horses.
Harry privately thought that Ada (a mare Martin designated for their use) was a bit too docile for his taste, but Ralf fell in love immediately, declaring that brooms were inferior to horses in every way. Only to be greeted, upon their entering the drawing room, by the sight of their grandfather beaming at him with pride and clutching a shiny new Perseus-Sieg. Apparently Julius had concluded that it was the infamous broomstick-ride that had finally jolted his grandson's dormant magic. Poor Ralf was pretty embarrassed by the whole thing and even tried to press the Perseus onto Harry. It was the sign of the prevailing festive mood, that that their somewhat rigid grandfather didn't take offence.
Harry fancied that Nutty didn't seem to be nearly as jubilant as the rest of the household. Still she whipped a pretty spectacular Schwarzwälder cake that was both boys' favourite dessert. It was as close to apology as they were going to get, he supposed, which was fine with him.
It was also the first time in his second life when he caught a sight of Bartemius Crouch. Barty Sr. came to lunch soon after the Braques returned to France (politely, but firmly declining Dexter's and Sinister's services and booking a flight instead). As the man closeted with their father and grandfather, Harry thought longingly of the extendable ears. Perhaps Ralf would be able to wheedle something from Martin once Harry was off to Hogwarts… The boys agreed that it wouldn't do for them to seem to be too interested in rising dark lords and were grudgingly prepared to bide their time.
Still even though the lack of information was irksome, the recent events filled Harry with new confidence. Ralf was already in the full planning mode and believed that his being magical after all was crucial to their success.
"You know what it means?" Ralf gushed as they settled at their favourite rocky beach to plot and plan.
"Duh," Harry grinned.
"No, I mean for the project V."
"Um. I am sure you'll do great in Hogwarts, but Voldemort is probably the most powerful wizard in existence."
"Don't be daft," Ralf dismissed. "I mean I can study arithmancy now."
"Er… That's great?.."
"You do realise that the reason Dumbledore screwed up was because he relied so much on the bloody Prophesy? Divination is the most imprecise branch of magic, and prophecies are notoriously unreliable."
"Well, he couldn't exactly ignore it either," Harry pointed out. "Not with Voldemort killing people because of it."
"From what I've gathered, Dumbledore was just as obsessed with it. He only cared for your final showdown, didn't he? The Order might as well have disbanded itself once you hit seventeen."
"Yes, but that was just shitty leadership," Harry objected.
"And it was that shitty because for him the war was about the Prophesy. Which put the Light at disadvantage. 'Cause for Voldemort the Prophesy was just a distraction from his main goals. Sure he made a mistake of going after you, but he was able to regroup, since for him the war was never about you."
"Fine. How does arithmancy help though?"
"It helps because it is the exact opposite of Divination," Ralf said impatiently. "I am surprised your brainy friend never thought of using it once you left Hogwarts. You'd never have wasted so much time and resources wandering aimlessly if you had used arithmancy models to plan you moves and calculate Voldemort's. Arithmancy helps to see the big picture and narrow down the solutions."
"Huh." Now that he thought about it, it was odd that Hermione had never thought of arithmancy. And it was her favourite subject too…
"We were too busy trying to puzzle out Dumbledore's clues, I guess." Which he had left to slow them down, as the man himself later confessed. "That, and we were too bloody depressed." Especially after Ron had left.
"Hmm…" absently Ralf sent a pebble skipping.
"Do you think Voldemort uses arithmancy?" Harry wondered.
"We'll have to investigate more to be certain," Ralf replied thoughtfully. "I strongly suspect that he used arithmancy to figure out which of the July babies was the Prophesy boy. Which, actually, would be a good thing, if true."
"How come?"
"I mean that genius or no, if that was what he did he's not a particularly gifted arithmancer. It's like using a Goblin-wrought potion knife to sharpen a quill."
"He is an overconfident bastard," Harry conceded. "Still he's got quite a few followers and some of them could be good at arithmancy. Or he can kidnap one like he did Ollivander."
"He did what?!" Ralf was momentarily sidetracked.
"Yeah," Harry confirmed. "Tortured him too. It was when he needed to figure out our wand connection."
"Bastard. But it shows how his decisions shaped by events. He reacts. More than he plans. Partly because he sort of knows what the big picture should be and isn't too fussy how he gets there. Megalomania and arithmancy don't mix easily."
"Hence Dumbledore being crap at it too."
"Yup."
"Huh, perhaps I should take arithmancy after all…" Harry grimaced. If he opted for arithmancy he'd have to give up either Runes, which would be a pity or muggle studies. There was no way he'd pull a Hermione and exhaust himself with too many subjects. Not unless he wanted to give up on Quidditch, which just wasn't going to happen. Harry had no desire to study Care for Magical Creatures. Growing up at Pombrook he'd been exposed to the best of them and was quite happy to never come near flobberworms and srewts ever again. Thanks to Hogwarts buying thestrals from his father Harry had been able to strike a friendship of sorts with Hagrid before he even started Hogwarts, and he wasn't interested in getting to know Kettleburn. Muggle studies, though…
He wondered how he would explain his defection to the twins. The subject was added only recently to Hogwarts' curriculum and because of its unpopularity Dumbledore had to fight tooth and nail to keep it there. So far not a single pure-blood had signed on, and the students who did chose the elective were those who figured it would be an easy credit. Harry thought that for once Dumbledore was in the right and did his best to persuade Gryffindor's pure-bloods to take the course. To no avail. Fabian and Gideon were the only ones who had agreed, mostly to keep him company, and, Harry suspected, because they hoped to earn an easy owl. Bailing on them now would be awkward to say the least.
"Don't bother," Ralf interrupted his thoughts, "you'd be pants at it."
"Um, thanks," though Harry was more relieved than insulted.
"So you are basically saying that by incorporating my knowledge of Voldemort's past moves in your models we'd be able to figure out his future ones?" Harry frowned. "You know it sounds too good to be true."
"Put like that, yes," Ralf conceded. "I'd have to be much better versed in arithmancy than I am now to know its limitations, admittedly. But generally speaking, we should be able to calculate his possible moves, yes."
"Huh. Isn't it like those mathematicians that tried to use algorithms for gambling and ended up buried in debt?"
"There is a similarity, yes. But," Ralf grinned impishly, "you forget that arithmancy is magic."
Harry was still sceptical.
"Is that so? If arithmancy models were that handy arithmcers would make fortunes at maggle stock market and such.
Ralf gave him a rather pitying look.
"That's exactly what the do, brother dear!" he snorted. "Though there is a legal limit as to the extent of their meddling in most countries. Mind you, it's bitch to implement, since regulators need to be fairly well-versed in arithmancy themselves to spot an offender. It's also why wizards don't have the stock exchange."
"How do you even know that?" Harry demanded incredulously.
"You spent last Christmas at the Prewetts', and I went with mother and father to Eisenschloss," Ralf reminded. "Grandfather was in a full reminiscence mode. Talked quite a bit about Grindelwald's rise. Turned out, the Confederacy accords concerning that sort of thing were among the strictest. Grindelwald argued that curtailing wizarding financial and trading activities in order to protect muggles was a good example of hurting our interests and worse, putting us at the mercy of other magical beings, like Goblins and Zwergs. What's more, he kinda had a point there…"
"If you say so." Harry wasn't prepared to agree with a dark lord, even if he couldn't think of counter arguments off the top of his head.
"Oh, I do. Of course, Grandfather says, Grindelwald was very good at arguing both sides of the debate. He preached to the supremacists how the Stature of Secrecy infringes on the wizarding rights and to humanitarians how its removal would be for "the muggles' own good".
"Well, they'd have to have been daft to believe him."
"From what you said, Dumbledore believed him. Think he was daft?"
"Skeeter hinted rather heavily he was infatuated."
"Quite a few people were," Ralf said dryly. "If you think they were all idiots, you are being daft yourself."
Harry felt his brain hurting.
"What are you saying?"
"The Stature of Secrecy was imposed for the wizards' benefit; anyone who says differently is full of it. We preach that every human life is equally precious, but our Aurors and healers are forbidden to save muggles, unless the dark mugic is involved. And even then there is a lot of red tape to go through. Basically Grindelwald's solution appealed to extremists on both sides, if for different reasons."
"Ok, what of Britain?"
"Actually, we don't have a comprehensive law, regulating wizard-muggle business dealing. Partly because the financial aspect of it is covered by our treaties with Goblins. However, Goblins are only interested in banking and finance, which lives us quite a bit of wiggle-room when it comes to trading. Though things would have been limited still further, had Dumbledore's Muggle Protection Act passed last year. Father even went to the Wizengamot session to help to vote it down."
"He did?!" Harry felt his brain melting. He might not have always approved of his former and present headmaster but he rather thought the Hagels were on the same page with Dumbledore where muggles were concerned. "Why?"
"'Cause, it would affect his business of course," Ralf huffed impatiently. "He breeds muggle horses as well as magical ones."
"But he does not sell magical horses to muggles," Harry argued. "How would he have been affected?"
"There are already laws on the books to prevent him from doing so, the Stature of Secrecy, for one."
Harry was still not convinced.
"Yes," he said, sending his own pebble skipping, "but if we don't have a comprehensive stature concerning this sort of thing, what's to stop some arithmancer from wrecking the entire muggle stock market and cause something like the Great Depression?" Harry paused. "Wait, we didn't, did we?"
"No clue. I don't know the New World's history that well."
"Well, everyone knows about Grindenwald and the Nazis. If a wizard caused a major economic screw-up we'd have heard something. Or you would, at least."
"Not necessarily. As I said, it takes one to spot one."
"Surely there were more than one arithmancer overseers."
"Yes, but what are the odds, that they were working for the Law Enforcement? If there was a law to enforce in the first place…"
"Well, doesn't it show that Dumbledore has a point after all?!" Harry said exasperated.
"So does Father. Basically he thinks it's a thin edge of the wedge. We use magic all over the estate, you know. Dexter and Sinister work at the stables, Paula uses healing spells and potions on the muggle horses as well as the magical ones. And technically, since we entertain muggle buyers here on occasion, they are exposed to magic, even if they are unlikely to spot it. And by that bill's logic using magic to breed muggle horses does give us an unfair advantage, just like with arithmancy and stock-markets."
"Hmm. You don't agree?"
"I don't care. Being magical is in itself an unfair advantage, you know. But I, for one, am very happy that I am not a squib after all."
Ralf's pebble suddenly froze mid-leap and started to skip backwards. Reflectively Harry reached out and snatched it.
"Yes", he said. "I am too."