"This isn't one of your usual cases Opal. There's a…catch." he sighed, for the first time in years showing his true self, he'd kept secrets of his past, lies of his childhood, things he would certainly die with. But he felt secure, sitting there allowing this assassin to see the true horror in his electric blue eyes. He showed her the age on his face as it paled, turning translucent, sagging. He showed her the ghosts of his past that swam around him, that attacked his mind threatening his sanity, that tore him apart every single waking moment.
She studied him, and this sudden weakness, convinced she was one of few to witness it, and was glad. Upon her investigating she had come across material claiming Albus Dumbledore to be the only one who this Voldemort feared. Clearly morale was alive because of him, and his strength.
"Who?" she spoke gently, though the sound cut through the silence like a gunshot. She wasn't renowned for emotional attachments, no assassin was.
"Leave your feelings at the door." The voice of her mentor Jay rang through her head.
But she saw the pain across the old man's face, and knew, better than anyone, that everyone needs a moment of weakness. A moment of horrifying reflection that comes hand in hand with grief. "Who makes you feel like that?" The man was a genius, he understood, there was no way he didn't. But it took him years to answer her, months and months and months for him to tell her that it was his dear mother, and his poor, poor little sister who caused him so much pain. It took him that long to voice the answer, to form words that would rightly portray his meaning.
"The catch," he said instead, "is that he will die. Harry must die, but at the right time. Not before, and till that moment you will do all in your power to prevent it."
She nodded. Questioning wizards was never advisable.
"There is however, the small matter of my inability to perform magic. As this is a school of magic, and as my identity will remain hidden from all except you and Potion boy, I will be expected to present said abilities to students and teachers alike."
Albus Dumbledore nodded and disappeared under his desk. He re-emerged, holding a wooden box with carvings of intricate ivy vines winding their way around it, and placed it in front of them.
"When I created this," he said, his hands still over the lid. "I questioned whether it would ever be used. Whether it ever should be used. And I need your word Miss Turner, that it should only be done so when necessary. And destroyed when called for." his silver eyebrows rose.
"Consider it done," she nodded, following orders was something she had done her entire life.
He lifted his hands, and with them the lid. Inside lay a short stick that she presumed to be a wand, and a gold necklace. He gestured that she should remove them.
Hanging on the necklace that swung before her eyes, was a clear glass pendant that looked like a scarab beetle, the size of her fist.
"I don't understand," she stated.
"Put on the necklace, and I will explain." she obeyed. "Every magical being has a power source, that is the store where their magic is kept, the wizard or witch subconsciously draws from that source their magic. However it is unlike any other power source, in that it is infinite, a wizard cannot 'run out' of magic, it is constantly refuelled and replaced, like blood in the body I guess to an extent. It is uncertain where in the body the store lies, perhaps, like the soul, it is untraceable." he looked pensive for a moment or two, contemplating the inner, most complex workings of souls and stores. He nodded to the pendant now hanging around her neck, "This necklace, or rather the glass beetle, is a replica of said store. It can hold magic and power, it can have power drawn from it and, to a certain, although lesser extent, it can replace magic. I had sudden inspiration one day, to discover if Muggles could possess magic, and set out to find an answer. I came up with this. It's beauty is that it will only obey the wearer if the magic was given freely, it will not tolerate thievery.
"When the beetle is empty and clear, there is no magic inside, and none can be withdrawn from it. However when the beetle is full…" he placed the tip of his wand in the crease between the wings, they sprang open, and the pendant began to load with fine gold dust, filling up like a glass vial. When it was three quarters full, Dumbledore withdrew the wand, and the wings snapped shut, encasing the magic that glittered lustrously between the crystal bodywork of the scarab. "…you can take magic from it, and shape it. Simple spells work best, and the magic is weak, but still you will receive the desired effect."
She nodded intrigued. "Can I try it out?"
He nodded "Remember, you have to concentrate of drawing the magic, be conscious of it, be aware.
Try this." he removed his own wand from inside his robes flicked his wrist and muttered "Wingardium Leviosa!" the box levitated into the air and hovered a few inches of the desk.
She looked at him open mouthed. "I'm sorry what? Win-what?"
"Wingardium Leviosa." he said slowly. "Swish and flick." he repeated the wand movement. "Place the tip of the wand to the store, it is designed so that it will draw out magic on its own. What a wizard or witch would do subconsciously, you have to do consciously. The longer the wand is there the more magic is taken, in time you will learn exactly how much to take with each enchantment." She still looked sceptical so he continued. "The magic does not go through you, it is transferred from the store to the wand. The reason the wand will obey a non-magical being such as yourself is because it is now in your possession. Wands have a funny sort of loyalty to their owners, and because the magic it contains was drawn from a store that is connected physically to you, it will obey your incantations."
She simply widened her eyes, placed the tip of the short stick to the beetle and peered as some of the gold dust trickled away.
She spun her wrist and muttered. "Wingardium Leviosa!"
The box jumped off the desk as if it had been shocked by electricity, but did not stay in the air. She looked at him in disappointment, but he looked positively ecstatic.
"It worked," he hissed like a small child in absolute awe of the best Christmas present. "Try again."
She shrugged and this time concentrated hard on the box, willing it to stay aloft on her magic. As she swish and flicked her wrist and the Latin spell left her lips she felt a peculiar sensation emanating from the skin beneath the necklace, it was a tingling feeling as if she was beginning to get pins and needles, and then it grew warmer. She nearly yelped when it felt as if her skin had broken and the tiny specks of golden dust was seeping into her body, entering her veins traveling with her blood all the way down to her toes and back up again. She gasped as she looked at the box, levitating effortlessly above the desk, lower than Dumbledore's but no less impressive. She threw the wand down and the box fell with a slam.
She had performed magic. Actual magic.
She was no stranger to the concept, magic was part of her everyday life, but she had never herself experienced the exhilarating feeling of performing it herself. It was strange, she could practically feel her adrenal gland working overtime. "Wow." she said staring at the box in disbelief, holding the scarab in her hand.
Dumbledore smiled. "It will remember the spells you have used." he said "The more you use them the less you have to concentrate on drawing the magic." she grinned, performing the spell again and watching with glee at her magic. "There is one more thing." he said, his tone darkening slightly "The magic will disappear when the owner dies. It will return to its rightful place."
She nodded sombrely, wondering if she would still be around when he died. She hoped not, she wanted to fulfill her task and get out of his debt as soon as possible. She wanted to get back to that horrific place she called home, she wanted to hear Jay's roaring shouts as he trained new agents to kill, she wanted to get back to her lab and create a cure for lycanthropy. Not stay here on a protection job. "May I leave Professor?" she asked. He nodded and she left, running through the facts of Chloe Turner, the fifteen year old witch she had now become.