I was still reeling a bit from the past hour, but the feeling of cold stone under my feet and against my back served as a panacea, grounding my thoughts and allowing my mind to more efficiently catalogue the events of the day. It was an oddly eventful day, for all that it had just started. I sighed and massaged my temples, fending off the headache I could feel gathering behind my brow. Thankfully, it was quiet, disturbed only occasionally by my own shifting feet and the movements of an oddly intent cat that was seated at the foot of a gargoyle statue.
At least my clothes were back in one piece. It was probably two universes ago that I had decided theft to be an answer to my wardrobe situation. I consoled myself in that I had taken the jeans and t-shirt from a bin meant to be donated to charity. After all, if having no job, home, or money made one needy, I certainly fit the bill. I could only imagine how this meeting would have gone in my previous attire, ripped and grimy with sweat and blood. I grimaced, realizing that jeans and t-shirts were still not the best attire to be adorned in when meeting people who, by all appearances, were important political figures.
They were clean. That had to count for something.
Glancing at the cat, I muttered, "Don't suppose you could give me any tips here, hm?" To my amusement, the cat stood taller and met my gaze. "I mean, I know that he's Albus Dumbledore, and that the boy is Harry Potter, but I don't have a solid idea of what exactly that means." The cat made as if to groom itself. "And now I'm talking to a cat," I said in a breathy half-chuckle. The feline turned its ears towards the gargoyle statue, and I managed to hear crashing just within the ability of my hearing. "Hope nothing's too expensive up there," I mused.
It seemed that the cat winced, and I began to firmly scold myself regarding anthropomorphizing. "I need more human contact," I said to myself. The cat looked affronted, admittedly not a difficult expression for a cat to make. "Not to imply anything about you, Your Felineship," I sketched a quick bow, "but I imagine conversation would flow smoother could my partner respond to me." The cat sniffed and turned its head away. "Verbally," I added on, "Respond verbally I mean." I sighed and allowed myself to sink to the floor.
"The thing is," I continued, for want of better company, speaking to the cat. I blinked, shrugged, and continued. "The thing is, I'm not from around here. I know I need to help that kid, but I don't have any clear idea of how. I know a fair bit of history, what with my station and all, but I don't know how much of it is relevant to this universe." The cat whipped around to stare at me, jaw hanging loose. I nodded and made a vague gesture towards it. "Yeah, that's something I should probably clarify. When I said I wasn't from around here... I may have been understating the distances involved." I pushed myself back to my feet and began pacing, the cat's eyes never leaving my form. "I'm a fairly accomplished mage," I continued, essentially thinking out loud at this point, "so maybe I can do something there." The cat was giving me a look that I interpreted as haughty disdain.
"No, really," I said, "I've never had an apprentice before, but I've taught plenty of times. I'm a professor at a university back stateside," I deflated and continued, "at least, in my home universe I was. Although, I don't think that poetry and mythology will help against that Voldemort fellow." The cat visibly flinched. I blinked. "Wow. The guy's so feared even animals balk at his name. What a bastard."
And again with the gape-mouthed surprise.
Happily for my sanity, the gargoyle slid off to the side and a staircase formed in the hollow where it once sat. The boy, Harry, stormed down the stairs and stomped away under a cloud of fury, either not noticing or not deigning to acknowledge my presence there. Neither would have surprised me. I had been in his head literally minutes after he had lost his godfather, who was the last of his family if I understood correctly. "He's going to need to grieve, and he's going to need the support of someone understanding," I said to the cat. "I hope he finds someone to turn to for help in dealing with this." The cat looked back and forth between me and the hallway that Harry had taken. "Don't let me hold you up," I said as Dumbledore come down from the steps. With a quick look at Dumbledore, the cat ran off down the hallway.
Still looking down the hallway after the fleeing feline, I uttered, "That is one weird cat you have there, Professor."
With a mildly amused expression lifting some gloom from his face, Dumbledore replied, "I can assure you that Minnie is neither mine nor owned by any other witch or wizard. Come, we have much to discuss," he added, gesturing towards the stairway. After being settled into chairs near the fire (and stepping over various trinkets in different stages of obliteration), Dumbledore waded right into the heart of the conversation.
"Let's begin with introductions, shall we? My name is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he started, "although you may call me Albus."
I nodded and performed the gesture of respect towards important personages that was practiced by my tribe. My hands formed fists, the back of my right fist being placed against my forehead while the back of my left rested against my sternum. "I am the Chronicler known as Jon, of the Far Western Tribes of the Amazon Nation." I returned my hands to my sides, and finished, "I would be honored if you referred to me as 'Jon'."
"Indeed…" Dumbledore intoned as he assessed me. I got the impression of a massive intellect working behind those eyes, hidden behind half-moon spectacles. Those eyes were chips of ice set into his wrinkled face, the eyes of a warrior with the soul of a scholar. Dumbledore continued, "I'm afraid that I'm unaware of any Amazon Nation, Far Western or otherwise."
"That," I spoke with a tired, resigned sigh, "is not unexpected. I will tell you my story, but ask that you keep an open mind."
A glimmer of curiosity lit in his eyes, and his robes shifted slightly as he leaned forward in anticipation. The motion would have gone unnoticed by most, and was the only thing that betrayed his eagerness. His inquisitiveness was tempered with caution, preparing to be neither credulous nor dismissive. It was more than I could have hoped for.
So, I told him my story. I spoke of my childhood, of being chosen as a Chronicler by my mentor, of the duties such a position entailed. I spoke of my folly, the subsequent death of Klaus and my removal from my home universe and joining with the demonic entity known as Zarach Bal-Togh. I spoke of the atrocities performed while Zarach held control of my body, of the goddesses and their suffering and mercy. I spoke of my geas, the prophecy whose fulfillment I was charged with preventing. I spoke of Rachel, known as Raven, the Nephilim turned Valkyrie through her unwavering dedication to the ideals of justice. I spoke of my death at her hands, and my subsequent return to life in yet another universe that was not my own, and my newfound abilities to cross through the Null World to enter new universes at will.
"... and when I realized the import of Harry being a Childe of Prophecy and the far-reaching ramifications of his success or failure in the multiverse, I decided to help in any way I could," I finished.
Dumbledore remained silent for a few moments as he digested my monologue. Some tension eased out of his brow and shoulders as he leaned back. "That is quite an extraordinary tale, Jon," he finally commented.
"All the more for being true, Albus."
"Yes, indeed. You mentioned being a wizard?" Dumbledore inquired.
"Not exactly," I hedged. "I'm a mage, yes, but I don't work magic the same way that you do. For one thing, I don't use a wand. Most of my abilities are tied to formulaic verse in one form or another. It's not impossible for me to use magic without it," I explained, "but it is easier. Where I come from, there's a large faction of mages called the Order of Hermes who have some superficial similarities to the manner in which you use magic: wands, potions, alchemy, that sort of thing. Officially, I don't belong to any established Tradition, but unofficially the post of Chronicler is widely respected amongst the Traditions. I'm occasionally called upon as a neutral negotiator during disagreements between them." I shrugged. "Generally speaking, the way I practiced magic tended towards subtlety due to restrictions on magic's mechanism of action in my home universe. Recently, that has become a non-issue."
"Truly fascinating, Jon," Dumbledore replied with a smile. "I can imagine that your insight regarding a different way of manipulating magic could prove useful and illuminating."
I shrugged. "Maybe as a curiosity, or academically. In my experience, once someone learns a manner in which to use magic they are not easily able to learn others."
"I wonder if I may have a demonstration of your abilities?"
"I suppose. What sort of demonstration did you have in mind?"
"I must admit to being most curious regarding the shield spell you used at the Ministry to protect yourself and Harry…" he trailed off with a smile.
In answer, I motioned towards the center of the room and intoned, "Bastille Fortississimo," the golden dome of my strongest shield spell springing into existence in the center of the room. "Go ahead and try it out. I've never seen this spell get breached- it takes more than a fair bit of energy to conjure up."
"Fascinating," Dumbledore murmured as he moved to examine the spell. "Does it require concentration or additional energy after it's formed?" he inquired.
I shook my head. "It's a self-sustaining pattern. It draws on ambient magical energy to fuel itself. That's actually one of the things that's troublesome about the shield," I commented, "it absorbs energy from the spells that hit it. It's theoretically possible that it could absorb so much energy that I would be unable to dispel it. Actually," I said thoughtfully, "I've never cast it in such a magic-rich environment." I probed it with my mage sense and stated, "If you cast at it, I should be able to counter it for another two minutes. Probably five if you don't."
He made a nonverbal noise of understanding, curiosity lighting his eyes as he assumed the posture and mannerisms of a scholar, the visage of the war leader falling away until it was needed again. He waved his wand over the dome, nodding thoughtfully as he pressed a hand against it. Stepping back, he leveled his wand at it and intoned, "Stupefy." A jet of red light leaped from the tip of the wand to the dome. "Spongify." A pink beam impacted the shield. He turned to a bowl on his desk and retrieved a small yellow candy before tossing it onto the top of the dome. It landed hard and slid off, causing him to hum to himself in thought. He then set his shoulders and altered his stance before jabbing his wand forcefully at the shield.
Dumbledore spoke no incantation, but a blinding jet of blueish-white pulsed out of his wand in a fountain of energy, impacting against the shield with a sound not unlike what I imagine a marble bell of immense size would make. I was startled to my feet, raising one hand instinctively before I caught up to my reflexes and lowered it again. The older wizard never broke concentration, narrowing his eyes as he focused on the torrent of mana that crashed against the shield.
The seconds became a minute, and then that minute bled into more. Dumbledore's teeth were gritted together, his jaw clenched. A spurt of flame flared in the corner of the office, resolving into a bird with crimson and gold plumage. The phoenix settled onto a perch not more than a few feet away from me, cocking his head curiously at the older wizard's antics.
Finally, just as I was beginning to resign myself to Dumbledore having a permanent shield dome in the middle of his office, something extraordinary happened. The dome began to pulse, fading out of luminescence before regaining its previous splendor. Cracks formed across its surface, and those cracks began to dissolve the eldritch bricks around them. Soon, gaping holes were present and then, with a sharp crack, the spell dissolved entirely.
"Holy Hell," I whispered in awe. Dumbledore staggered backwards and slumped into the chair he had vacated minuted before. The phoenix trilled a note and lighted upon the back of the chair, singing a soft song that sounded like liquid gold. "How?" I asked succinctly as I slipped back into my own chair.
"That spell is one of the most powerful shield breaker hexes in existence," Dumbledore stated. "It utilizes the magic of the caster to form a drain upon the shield, grounding it in a manner not dissimilar to a lightning rod." The old man reached behind him and snagged the bowl of candy off of his desk. "Lemon drop?" he offered as he popped one into his mouth.
"Yes, thank you," I replied as I accepted the proffered candy. His grin grew perceptively as I unwrapped the treat.
"I do not doubt that your shield would have held against nearly anyone's onslaught," he continued. "I am, at the risk of sounding boastful, a rather powerful wizard, and few have the raw power or knowledge to achieve a feat like that which you just witnessed." He kept his peace for awhile, stroking the fiery plumage of the bird I would later learn was named Fawkes.
"I wonder if I might ask a favor of you, my new friend."
"I'm willing to hear your request," I responded. The smirk he flashed me showed that my lack of commitment was neither overlooked or held against me.
"You have glimpsed the situation which the wizarding world finds itself in," the venerable headmaster began. "The forces of darkness have been revealed and will soon increase the severity and frequency of their attacks upon the populace. Their leader, Voldemort, will stop at nothing in his attempt to kill our friend, the young Mr. Potter." At this point, Dumbledore looked every one of his (presumably many) years. "In my own attempts to shelter Harry from the darkness of the times and allow him a measure of childhood I have unintentionally ostracized myself in his eyes. This during a time when he will need, more than ever, the guidance and tutelage of an accomplished wizard to train him to face the trials that are undoubtedly ahead. Even were he willing to work with me, alas, I find my part in stalling the forces of darkness to preclude my teaching Harry myself."
"Albus," I interrupted gently, "though we have just met, I believe we have one another's measure. We are men of action, scholars turned warriors in defense of our convictions. Speak plainly." Dumbledore wilted, age and infirmity overtaking the vitality with which he generally presented the world. "There is a saying in my tribe," I continued. "'At times, one finds in strangers the most trustworthy confidants and the truest of allies.'"
Dumbledore visibly gathered himself. "You know of the existence of a prophecy tying Harry and Voldemort's fates together. What you don't know are the contents. The most immediately relevant portion is the following line: 'Either must die at the hands of the other for neither can live while the other survives.' Voldemort has far more experience in magical matters than Mr. Potter who, despite his impressive talents and power is, after all, a school child. Another portion of the prophecy states that Harry will 'have power the Dark Lord knows not.' I wonder now if it may reference your particular brand of magic." The aged headmaster fixed me with his stare. "Please, Jon, will you help Harry?"
I leaned back and steepled my fingers in front of my face. That I would help Harry was not in question, but the nature of the prophecy as it had been revealed to me dictated the nature of that help. I needed more information. I needed the full prophecy for a start. "Tell me the full prophecy, Albus. Verbatim," I insisted. Sepulchrally, he intoned:
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"
My mind raced as it catalogued and cross-referenced the new information with what I already knew. "Mark him?" I asked absently.
"Harry has a scar from his survival of the Killing Curse cast upon him as an infant."
"Describe this curse."
"It stops all metabolic activity instantly upon contact with the victim."
"That shouldn't leave a mark," I commented as my attention was drawn out of my thoughts and to the elder wizard.
"It usually doesn't. Harry is the only known survivor of this curse."
"What factors are different in Harry's situation than any other?"
"His mother sacrificed herself for him."
I scowled. "I said 'different,' Albus. You can't convince me that nobody has ever sacrificed themselves for a loved one before. That's hardly unique."
Dumbledore shrugged elegantly. "The only other thing I can think of is the prophecy. It stated that Voldemort would 'mark him as his equal.' If he cast the curse prior to marking Harry, magic itself may have intervened."
"I hate prophecies," I stated blandly. "Is there any evidence for immunity to the killing curse being the 'power he knows not'?"
"There's no evidence for immunity at all, actually, as we don't know for certain that the killing curse was used that night."
"Probably not a good idea to test this immunity theory, anyway," I said half in jest.
"Quite."
"What else do I need to know?" I asked as I scrutinized the elderly man.
He hesitated almost imperceptibly.
"Albus," I said sharply, drawing upon my diplomatic experience with various heads of state, "you can't expect me to assure Mr. Potter's survival without giving me all the relevant data!" I paused and let my intuition guide my next question. "Does your reticence have something to do with Voldemort's necromantic aura?"
It was only the honed observational skills of generations of Chroniclers that allowed me to note the surprise that Dumbledore almost immediately hid. "Tell me everything you know," I demanded. After a lengthy pause, he did.
What followed was a lengthy explanation of Horcruxes, and theorizing regarding Voldemort's implementation thereof. It was my intuition once more that led me to ask, "Harry?"
I was a bit disheartened to hear Dumbledore's response of, "Most probably."
"Does he know?"
"No. He just learned of the prophecy tonight, and I did not believe it would be beneficial to give him even more to worry about."
"You're not wrong," I muttered as I leaned back and popped the lemon drop in my mouth. He mirrored my actions and we both sat in quiet contemplation for a few minutes. The silence was broken when I asked, "So what happens with him now?"
"The school year will end, and the students will return to their homes for the holidays. In Harry's case, that is his mother's sister's home."
"It's good that he will be with family after losing his godfather like that," I nodded approvingly before catching the shifty-eyed glance that Dumbledore and Fawkes exchanged. "Crepes on a crutch, why do I have a sudden bad feeling about what I just said?"
"Harry and his relatives… don't get on very well," Dumbledore stated delicately.
"Naturally." My tone could hardly be drier."Well, I'll need to train him anyway, right? Couldn't he just stay with me for the summer? Classic apprentice setup, room and board, chores in exchange for unlocking the secrets of the multiverse, that sort of stuff?"
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "He would need to stay with his relatives for a couple of weeks to recharge the protections there, but after that… I was, however, under the impression that you were… new to the area? Not quite established, as it were?"
I leaned forward and smiled mysteriously, affected a conspiratorial voice and whispered, "I have my ways, Albus, don't you worry. Give me two weeks to get myself set up." Sitting straight again, I continued more seriously. "You need to understand what you're asking of me. I will help him, but I will do it my way, and I will not accept interference. Do we have an accord?"
He turned over our conversation in his mind, looking into my eyes thoughtfully before he finally stated, "Yes, we do."
"Then the deal is struck," I chirped brightly, springing to my feet and startling the phoenix. "I'll see you here in two weeks, Headmaster. Enjoy the remainder of the school term.
"And good luck in your own endeavors for the next fortnight, Chronicler."
