Mastermind Hunting

by Louis IX

This is a story of the life of Harry Potter. From his disappearance with his friendly relatives to Dumbledore chasing after him around the world, while Voldemort and muggle secret services loom in the background. Technology, Prophecies... one word: power.

11. Hunting Gifts

MASTERMIND HUNTING, by Louis IX
Check first chapter for summary, disclaimer, and other warnings.

Chapter 11 – Hunting Gifts
posted August 17th, 2005

During the week following the troll incident, Dumbledore found a replacement teacher for Quirrell. The Defence Against the Dark Arts position was now filled by a French woman going by the name of Peronille Fortin. Despite the suddenness of her recruitment, she succeeded at least in interesting the students, which always helped in furthering their studies. It was unsure, though, whether the older male students were interested in her subject or the teacher herself. Believing that, especially in her subject, experience came from experiment, she split the courses between theory and practical, with an emphasis on the latter. Defence Against the Dark Arts quickly became one of Harold's favourites, except that he often had to hold back not to send opponents into walls or furniture.

He summed his adventures in a few mails between him and his family. Before starting school, he had thought that he could have Apparated back and forth between Hogwarts and Geneva, and hadn't bought any mail familiar. He had quickly found something strange, though, and realized that Hogwarts: A History wasn't just discouraging the students to Apparate. It really wasn't possible to Apparate in Hogwarts. He had gone to the gaseous reality once, only to find himself held in a transparent mould, as if the air had solidified. The walls he saw around him had been the same grey colour as usual, but they seemed hard as steel, not cloudy like before. He had returned to normalcy before someone could walk in, and since then resolved to use the school owls for his regular mail.

Soon after the Quidditch match, the Potion Master recovered enough health to take his professorship back. Or so it seemed. Severus Snape had left the Hospital wing during the night following the game. When the Headmaster enquired about his leave, he curtly answered that, now that he was fully capable again, he would take the lessons back, thank you very much. And it was true. The potion lessons continued with Snape, like before. There was a difference, though.

Snape wasn't giving them the right potions to brew.

He was still following the program with most of the students, but the older students found themselves brewing increasingly difficult potions, some of which were downright nasty. One of them, for instance, looked exactly like a Blood Replenishing potion when finished, but the effect was exactly the opposite. Charles Wragham, a fifth year muggleborn student from Hufflepuff, experienced the potion troublesome nature when, while brewing it, he inadvertently breathed on top of the fuming preparation, and his nose started to bleed uncontrollably. He had to get out of the classroom, losing House points in the way, in order to be healed in the infirmary. During the whole incident, Snape was sporting his usual scowl and it added to the man's reputation of evilness.

He also didn't give everybody the same potion to brew. Instead of writing a recipe on the board, he handed parchments for each of the working pairs, and several people noticed that they seldom used the same ingredients than their neighbours. It could be interpreted as a way to prevent cheating, but Snape wasn't even grading them anymore, and some of the students began to whisper that the potions the Slytherin brewed were already dark and highly illegal.

On top of that, the man skipped all public meals, and some gossiping students inferred that Snape's vampire side had awakened and that he could only consume blood. Several graduates who had siblings in the school even reported him strolling in Diagon and Knockturn Alleys – especially the latter.

For strange reasons, the man also began delivering detentions at random. Only when Harold got his, a week short of December, did he understand why. The man made him scrub cauldrons and, as soon as he had his back turned, he used Legilimency to browse his mind. It brought quite a shock.

The Potion Master had been skilled and brutal in his bout of Legilimency last time. This time, it was different. It wasn't brutal, but very efficient. And it didn't leave the same sensations. As if it was someone else casting the spell. Someone not just skilled in the art of reading minds, but an expert. And it was cold. As cold as ice.

Harold, though, had had a vision one day, of his mind being read like that, and of the possible consequences, and he had taken a long time to rebuild his fake mind completely. The teacher read his mind without anything transpiring from the underlying Harry Potter, and the boy finished his detention without any other happenstance.

In the meantime, the study group was faring pretty well. Students stronger in a subject would help the weaker ones, and got help themselves in return. Globally, the grades of first-year students were rising a bit – although the Slytherins, not mingling with the study group, experienced nothing of the sort. Susan and Harold had put their disagreement behind them, and became friendly again, despite Harold's almost constant absence from their common room. When confronted about it, he merely said that he was meeting people in the Library or elsewhere in the school. That was the truth, as several of the boy's acquaintances were in other houses, and the school didn't have an inter-house common room. It was one of the things Harold wanted to discuss with his Head of House, but he had other fishes to fry, first of all, their Slytherin friend.

Tracey had stopped going to the study group's meetings. At least openly. On Saturdays, instead of meeting in the Library or another open place, the troll-witnessing foursome grouped in a hidden room, conveniently "found" by Harold and called Room of Requirements, to discuss about the school events, the studies, and the Houses. The other week days, taking advantage of the position Slytherin was concerning grades, Tracey had succeeded in setting up a study group for the Slytherin first years. After several days, a few second years were interested and came regularly too. They were reviewing the bases of their education, while helping the others understanding them. After all, one never learns a subject so completely than when forced to teach it. From the first years, the only persons not coming were Crabbe, Goyle, and Malfoy, of course. The blond boy, who had begun sulking after the troll incident, was becoming more and more insufferable and proud as the weeks passed by, as if he knew something the other didn't.

On one of the "reduced inter-house study group" Saturday meetings, Ron didn't turn up and the three others discussed the recent events as usual while waiting for him. When they finished, he still hadn't shown himself, and they separated, Tracey stealthily returning to her dungeons, while the two others went to Gryffindor tower – Harold knew where it was thanks to Cassie's presence at the back of his mind. When they stopped in front of the portrait of an overly large lady in a frilly pink dress, Hermione looked at Harold inquiringly.

"Now what?"

He didn't answer, and addressed the Fat Lady. "Good day, milady."

"Good day, dear boy. I wish everyone was as polite as you."

"I'm sorry for them. Would it be possible for us to enter if we aren't Gryffindor?"

"I must apologize, but you shall not. The rules had been enforced fifty years ago, after the Chamber incident, and only members of the House may enter."

"The Chamber incident?" asked Hermione inquiringly.

The lady in pink looked as if she was biting her tongue. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't even have mentioned it. Please be kind and not ask about it again."

Hermione looked like she wanted to anyway, but Harold looked at her with a frown, and she huffed before turning around.

Despite not given entry, Harold suspected that Cassie could help him circumvent that. He didn't want to raise suspicion, though, and lowered his expectations.

"If we cannot enter, can we ask if a certain person is inside, please?"

"And what it the sought person's name?"

"Ronald Weasley."

"I will see what I can do." she answered, standing from her plush seat before walking through the edge of her portrait.

A minute later, a damaged version of Ron Weasley opened the portrait, behind which the two others could hear music. It closed right afterwards and the singular boy looked at them. He had singed hair, his sweater was soggy, and he was unsuccessfully trying to remove an unrecognisable green goo from his face with a towel.

"What?" he asked through the cloth.

Harold and Hermione looked at him in wonder, then at themselves, before erupting in laughter.

"What?" the distraught boy asked again.

Hermione was the first to recover her breath. "Honestly, Ron, what happened?"

"The damn Lady appeared in an empty frame and called me." At his words, said Lady huffed and left her frame again, but Ron didn't notice her and continued. "I was so surprised I dropped my cards. Honestly! As if empty wooden frames were designed to hold messengers, and-"

"Cards? You were playing cards instead of... you know?" asked Hermione crossly, the two last words uttered in an angry whisper.

"What?" Ron enquired, and Hermione's stern stance reminded him of the "club" meeting he had just missed. Looking at his feet, he mumbled "Sorry, but I was playing chess with Seamus, and I forgot about the time, and then the twins came with an improved deck of Exploding Snap, and we were playing..."

"Improved?" asked Harold.

Ron shrugged. "Yes. The twin pranksters calling themselves my brothers added other effects to the cards. As you can see." he gestured toward himself, and the other two chuckled again.

"What was that music?" asked Hermione, her previous outburst not forgotten, but kept for later.

"Oh, it's just Kenneth, playing the guitar."

"That was... unusual." said Harold, thinking aloud.

Ron looked unmoved. "What can I say? He plays what he wants to play, what's the matter?"

"I meant that, until now, I have never heard music in this school. It has been two and a half months since we came here."

"We could start a group." said Hermione, before giggling as the two boys looked at her with wide eyes. "It's a stupid idea, forget it."

"No, it's great!" said Harold.

"Yeah. It would be called "Hogwarts' Chipmunks" and we'd play at weddings." added Ron, smirking.

Harold looked at him. "I was being serious, Ron."

"Me too." Ron countered automatically, before registering the dark looks coming his way. "Alright, alright. Sorry."

A short pause ensued.

"What did you mean by being serious, Harry?" asked Ron through his towel, still trying to wipe the sticking goo.

A longer pause. Much longer.

"What did you call me?" asked Harold.

Ron shrugged. "Well, you're Harold; we can call you Harry, right? Like I'm Ronald, and you call me Ron. Are you alright?"

Harold wasn't exactly alright, but calmed himself quickly. "I'm alright. My name is Harold, though, and I'd rather you call me that."

"Same here." stated Hermione. "Nobody called me anything other than Hermione and lived to tell the tale."

The theatrical effect was annihilated when the portrait hole opened into her and she fell on the floor.

Recovering quickly, she stood up, wincing, before rubbing her sore bottom, blushing at the same time. In the doorway, two identical redheads looked at them with a wide grin.

"Looks like we made another victim, Gred." said the first.

"I'd say, Forge. I'll also say it's my job." was the answer.

"Mine."

The two continued in front of Ron's blasé look. Hermione looked offended, and Harold was amused and a little surprised that anyone could ask for the responsibility in such an event. Generally, people skirted responsibilities. But the bantering twins weren't normal people. They weren't normal wizards either.

Said twins went to the stairs, still discussing about the number of victims each of them had made. That's when Ron noticed their attire.

"Hey! Why are you holding your bats?"

The twins turned around, and Fred – or was it George? – answered "In case you forgot, we have a Quidditch practice right now."

"And you'd better hurry." continued the other twin. "Oliver like his players on time. And proper. You are still..."

"Sticky." they both finished, before heading downstairs, laughing.

Ron muttered darkly, and Harold, judging it would be best to leave the somewhat livid boy alone, prodded Hermione and they took their leave. Ronald Weasley wasn't going to be happy. Especially as...

"Where in the Hell has this damn lady gone?" Ron's yell pursued them.

---

By mid-December, the snow had covered the stone castle and its dwellers had two minds about it. It was difficult to get outside more than a few minutes without catching a cold of some sorts, but, at the same time, it provided interesting opportunities for outside games. After all, they were all wizards and witches, and what's a mere cold against the Hospital wing's paraphernalia?

SPLASH!

The snowball crashed on the side of poor Hannah's face. Ernie Macmillan, a Hufflepuff who was always around her, took offence of Terry Boot's well-aimed shot and retaliated, throwing snow at the laughing Ravenclaw without even forming proper snowballs. The fight was in full swing, and very few of them didn't have a few "scars" in the form of snow sticking in places and melting slowly.

Earlier that morning, the study group had grouped to – as Hermione stated – "get the holidays homework out of the way." Harold, Ron, and several others suspected that, for the studious Ravenclaw, that meant more time for extracurricular studies during the holidays. However, after twenty minutes of unsuccessful concentration, Harold discreetly put the picture of an unwinding snowball fight in her mind. She had frowned, of course, because this wasn't the kind of thoughts she was used to have, but had dismissed the group nonetheless, and was now on the fight sidelines with the Patil twins. It hadn't meant they were going to be left unscathed, as a snowball or two had headed their way, but, after the first hit on her person, Hermione had drawn her wand, and efficiently Banished several other menacing snowballs toward their source.

After forty minutes of frolicking, the fifteen-or-so children were interrupted by a deep voice.

"Aye, firsties… Make way, please."

Several students stood up and turned around to look at the voice owner. It wasn't a wise thing to do in the current situation, though, and several snowballs crashed into Ron's lanky frame, transforming him into a thin-looking snowman.

A booming laugh erupted from the giant in front of them. Most of them had already recognized the man who had led them through the lake to Hogwarts on their arrival.

Hagrid was chortling good-naturedly, but stopped when he saw Ron's disgruntled and snowy look.

"Sorry, me lad. Didn't want teh get ye drenched. Come to me hut, I'll get ye a good fire and tea."

The enormous man dropped his load on the ground with a thundering sound, only a bit muffled by the snow, and the students' eyes widened. The man had been dragging a Christmas tree no smaller than he was, and thicker than any of them.

However, Ron was shivering, now, and he readily accepted the invitation. The others noticed the cold, as well as the advanced time, and they returned to the castle, commenting on the fight. Only Hermione and Harold stayed to help the quivering Ron on the way.

Once inside, Hagrid made them take a seat, pushing his dog, Fang, out of the way. Ron removed his cape and stood by the hearth, while Hagrid picked his pink umbrella.

His umbrella?

In front of their surprised gazes, the large man aimed at the fireplace, uttered a word, and fire erupted from the umbrella's tip, lighting a blazing fire in seconds. Magic wasn't what surprised the wizarding children, and Hagrid, registering their presence, quickly hid his umbrella, mumbling something in the lines of "Shouldn't have done that, no, I shouldn't have done that."

Harold smiled. It didn't take a mind-reader to guess what the man was thinking. Hagrid was as subtle as a mother bear. But he was gentle as one, too, and got them tea and cakes. After almost breaking their teeth, they preferred to stay with the tea, surreptitiously putting what remained of their rock-hard cakes in their pockets.

While Ron and his hung cloak were getting warmer and better, the two others discussed with the amiable giant. It seemed that only a few people took the time to do so, and the man was practically babbling his life story. In regard of the man's numerous tasks for Dumbledore, that meant that Harold and Hermione learnt many interesting things. Like the Gringotts break up and why Quirrell died. Well, Harold knew a bit already, but Hagrid's input was another voice confirming several doubts.

Now, why would anyone be interested in a mere stone? Why would the most powerful wizard alive remove said stone from a well-guarded bank vault – just in time, it seemed – and hide it in Hogwarts' depths? And who was Nicholas Flamel? Wait a second... he knew that name!

Geneva. A shop. A wand. His wand, now. Well, one of his.

Nicholas Flamel. One of the few Alchemists who succeeded in creating the Philosopher's Stone. And the owner of the last one. Which had disappeared, it seemed.

Half an hour later, they left Hagrid and returned to the castle for lunch, while the giant resumed his task of setting the tree in the Entrance Hall.

That afternoon, they all started to pack their belongings. In the few months he had passed in school, Harold had made friends with the three other members of the study group's "inner circle", and had learnt that Ron wasn't going home for Christmas, as his parents were leaving to see his brother Charlie in Romania, and weren't going back before the start of the next term. Right away, and not thinking about it, Harold had offered him to stay at his place. Ron's crestfallen expression had disappeared and he had eagerly accepted, telling Harry that he had to ask his parents first before leaving the room in a hurry. As they had been in the Room of Requirements with Hermione and Tracey at that time, Harold had extended the invitation to them too, and the two muggleborn girls answered that they would see with their parents at the train station. Harold had warned Alison as well, and he knew the young woman would take care of enlarging his parents' house to lodge every possible guest.

After a brief exchange of owls, Ron's parents accepted, informing him that they would still be there at the train platform. After all, the twins were going with Lee already. Percy was the only one staying at Hogwarts during the break, and he had informed them that he was glad to stay to study more. What the red-headed prefect didn't say, though, was his main reason to stay was because Penelope Clearwater, a fourth year Ravenclaw, stayed as well.

On the morning of Monday, December 23rd, the students who weren't staying in Hogwarts got onto the Hogwarts Express for the last time of the year, and headed to London. Harold didn't understand why people living, say, in Aberdeen, had to take the train to the capital, but it seemed such a deep-seated custom of Hogwarts that no one questioned it.

On the long trip there, Harold spent time with the twins and Ron, playing Exploding-drenching-and-generally-dirtying Snap, and learning a bit from the twins. Apparently, their dear Potion professor was staying at Hogwarts, since he had snapped at them once, saying that he'd be better during the incoming two weeks, without brats messing up his potions. Harold tried to check that bit of information but, apparently, the connection to Cassie wasn't usable when he was out of the warded grounds.

How concentrated can you get on a game like Exploding Snap when you close your eyes to check a distant mental connection?

After losing spectacularly, Harold got into the train's bathroom to get the slimy goo off his body, and to cast a quick cleaning spell on his clothes. He bumped into Ron on his way out, and the redhead looked at him in wonder.

"Did you change clothes?"

"No, why?"

"Because they were completely useless and now they are as good as new!"

Harold thought about it for a bit, before smiling. "It's just a little spell Hermione and I found out when you were obsessed with Quidditch practise." He would remember to update Hermione's memory about it later. "Are you interested?"

When Ron's head bobbed up and down, obviously needing the spell right now and perhaps on many more occasions later, Harold smiled.

"Its incantation is Scourgify, and the wand movement is like this." He swished his wand in a particular pattern, which Ron repeated twice before trying on his own person. As he wasn't focused enough, he had to repeat the spell a few times to get rid of all the mess, before smiling gratefully.

"Thanks, mate. This one will be very useful, especially with the twins around. I just hope..."

"Yes?" asked Harold after a few seconds of silence.

Ron blushed. "Nothing, nothing."

Harry looked thoughtful, before speaking again. "Speaking about unkempt furs, where is your hamster? I thought you had one."

The redhead looked at him, blinking, before remembering. "Oh! You mean Scabbers, my rat?"

"Yes, well... rat, hamster, it's not that different."

"I didn't find him when we packed." Ron replied. "The damn rat must have fallen asleep in a corner again, or better yet, it has been eaten by Mrs Norris. Or it just died of old age. It's quite rare for a rat to live that long, you know? It was Percy's for as long as I remember but my parents bought him a new owl because he became Prefect and I got the darn rat." He shook his head. "I never liked it, anyways."

They both smirked, before heading back to where the twins where. Once there, Harold informed them he wanted to explore the train a bit, to get in touch with his acquaintances from his own House and others.

He greeted Susan and stayed a bit to discuss the incoming holidays with her. When he left, wishing her a happy Christmas, he vowed to find something to owl her in two days. After all, despite their bout over Snape, she was his best friend in Hufflepuff.

At the very end of the train, he noticed that Tracey was in a compartment full of Slytherins, although she was looking through the window pensively. He didn't want to disturb her already unstable status in the serpents' House and left swiftly. After all, he would see her on the platform afterwards.

He also saw Hermione in another compartment, agitatedly discussing with Padma Patil and Amanda Brocklehurst, two Housemates of her. The Patil twin noticed him through the door and prodded Hermione who, upon seeing him, blushed a bit. As their conversation had stopped, he figured it was safe to open the compartment door.

"Sorry. I just passed through the train to wish a Happy Christmas to everyone."

A silence. Obviously, the conversation the girls had had was very private. He refrained from rifling through Hermione's brain, though. If it was that private, there were chances that he would blush.

"So." he spoke again. "Happy Christmas, and have a Happy New Year too."

His greeting was returned after a few seconds, the girls almost whispering. When he left, he couldn't help wondering what all that was about. He forgot about it upon meeting the woman pushing the candy cart on his way back to the twins, and bought an array of sweets for himself, his friends, and his family.

When he arrived in the only train compartment with three redheads in it, he spread the sweets on the seat, motioning to everyone to help themselves. That's when he realized something.

Something disturbing.

Malfoy wasn't on board.

---

A month before, Harold had asked that Jorg pick him up at the platform, so as not to raise suspicion. Alison had answered, in covert words, that she would be there also, although concealed in some way.

Harold wasn't ready for the sight that greeted him when he disembarked from the train, though. He recognized Jorg at first sight, but not the woman at his side. When he took a cursory glance at both their minds, he suddenly gasped. Either Josh or Alison herself had gone overboard with the glamour charms, and the young woman Alison appeared as was now looking quite older and very different. In fact, she had remembered almost everything about his changed face, and had made it so that she looked like him, darkened skin and all.

He was still in her mind, and he could hear a few words there before her internal laughter shook him off his shock. 'Come greet your mum, you.'

"Mum!" he yelled, and threw himself forward to hug her.

The scene, despite not being true, wasn't the only one around, as the young first years met their parents after almost 4 months of school.

They then proceeded in gathering the four families in one of the Muggle station's waiting rooms. Tracey brought her parents by herself, making sure that they weren't followed by any Slytherins in the way. Once everyone was in the little room, a round of presentations occurred, after which Alison spoke up.

"Well, it seems that, a few days ago, Harold proposed to his friends to spend several days at our House. As it was on such a short notice, young Hermione and Tracey's parents haven't been informed. We wanted to repeat the offer and make sure that we supported it as well."

In the silence that ensued, Ron's mother, Molly, stood up. "In our case, we already accepted. Otherwise, Ron wouldn't be there, as we are going to leave the country for a month. Ron, you are going to act more mature at Harold's house, you hear me young man? No eating with your hands, and no going to the loo naked." she finished, looking squarely at her youngest son.

At that point, Ron was beet red of shame, while the other children were part smirking at the quite comical situation, and part anxious that their own parents would repeat the disgracing attitude toward them.

Edward Granger looked at his wife and then at his daughter, before clearing his throat. "In our case, Hermione perhaps told you that we take most of the holidays to travel somewhere, and we had a trip to Savoy planned since August."

At that, Harold nodded. He had the feeling that the man wasn't finished.

"But we have received an invitation for a conference on experimental dentistry, and, well... darling," the man continued, looking straight at his daughter, "we planned on asking you to stay with Mrs. Damian, you know, your old babysitter."

Hermione looked ready to burst at this outrage, but Harold held her arm, as her mother continued her father's talk. "So, you see, we have no problem with you spending a few days with your friends. After Christmas, though. As we didn't receive much news from you, we want to spend some quality time together with our little girl."

Despite not being asked for her opinion, the girl thought about it, before nodding. She was blushing about the 'little girl', though.

Harold grinned. "Excellent! What about-"

He was interrupted by his "father" patting his shoulder with his valid arm. "That, dear," said Jorg with an amused glint in his eyes, "is my line, I think."

Harold looked at him in wonder, but he relented. They had a public image to keep, after all. "Okay, dad." and, in the man's mind, he projected a falsely angry comment '...you're lucky I'm in the mood.'

Jorg shuddered for half a second, before catching the witty nature of the answer. He then turned towards Tracey's parents. "Mr and Mrs Davis, the invitation has been extended to your daughter. Do you have other plans for the holidays?"

The addressed couple looked at each other, before answering.

"We planned on spending Christmas together, and go to Grandma for the New Year. You know how she is, Tracey." Selina Davis stated.

The girl nodded, seeming reluctant to accept the decision.

"However," started his father, "there is a whole week in between, during which we both happen to work, unfortunately. You could take a few days off, out of that, to visit your friends. What do you say?"

Tracey was now looking happier than before. She hugged her parents, who then asked Jorg the only question Harry hadn't thought about.

"Do you live far?"

Jorg and the disguised Alison looked at each other. "Yes and no." he answered.

"Clever answer, dad." said Harold sarcastically.

Alison cleared her throat loudly to prevent the incoming fake row. The others weren't in the secret of Harry's web of relationships, and it wasn't the moment to start leaking their true personalities. "What George wanted to say was that we actually live far, but it's easy to get there through magical means."

"We live in Switzerland." stated Harold when the silence obviously meant that they hadn't understood.

"The Swiss Magical Law is less restrictive on portkeys, and we can take you there whenever you want, to return the same." Alison lied smoothly. Even if it was true, they wouldn't be using that mean of transportation.

Harry then remembered that he hadn't fetched the Grangers and Davis' addresses – he didn't need Ron's since the redhead wasn't returning home for the whole vacation – and he asked them to write them down, at the same time copying their memory of it. It was easier to direct oneself in the gaseous reality by using real memories rather than hand-written instructions.

After agreeing on dates for pick-up and delivery, the four families parted ways, and Harry smiled at Ron. "Ready, mate?"

"As ready as one could be. Why, you think I'm afraid of portkeys? I've already used them, you know. For Quidditch matches and such."

Harry sensed their surroundings. Nobody else. Good.

"It's a different kind of portkey, Ron." he said, before motioning to his "parents."

The two adults grabbed hands with the two boys, so as to make a ring.

And they all disappeared.

---

At the same time, in Hogwarts' Headmaster's office...

The old man, and supposedly most powerful wizard alive, looked at the vial in front of him. Its crimson content was swirling and made the Headmaster uneasy.

"Are you sure, Severus?" he asked.

"Positive, Headmaster. The potion is quite rare, and it will enhance the spell power. You know the spell already, I think."

"Yes I do. The World Location Revealer is the most powerful spell usable to locate a person by name, and it gives the caster a precise idea of where in the whole world that person is, as well as that person's health status."

"I'm not a student anymore, Headmaster." Snape huffed. "I don't need a lesson in a spell I know perfectly well. Know that the potion will enhance your results, giving you his complete address and Apparation hints to get him. That is, if you still want to get the Potter brat here." he finished, sneering.

Albus Dumbledore sighed. "How many times should I say it, Severus? If we want him in Hogwarts, you shouldn't use such negative expletives on him, especially as you don't know him at all. He could be much different from his father."

"Dogs don't breed cats, Headmaster. And I'm still asking myself why you want him here."

"Because his parents would have put him here." Dumbledore said, turning back to his desk and the vial on it.

A long pause ensued.

"Are you sure that it's safe?" he asked the Potion Master again.

Said Potion Master scowled, albeit discreetly. "Yes! Do you want to do that in the Hospital wing so that you'll be tended to, afterwards?"

"No, no." answered the Headmaster, despite his intuition screaming the contrary. Uncorking the vial, he prepared to do, for the second time of the year, something against his instincts. But he could trust Severus Snape, right?

He downed the potion, and, while it spread in his aged body, chanted the required incantation. A wave of magic exited the Headmaster, quickly spreading in every direction. It left the old man panting and quite exhausted. Albus Dumbledore closed his eyes and waited for his magic to come back with the result. He didn't notice his Potion Master smirking and imbibing another potion.

An hour afterwards, the returning wave came, and centred on the Headmaster. His eyes still closed, the trusting old man waited for the results. He couldn't understand them, though.

Harry Potter was alive and well. He was travelling southwards at the moment. But he was nowhere.

It didn't make sense.

Albus Dumbledore, exhausted because the spell took so much magic out of him, fell into unconsciousness. He didn't even notice that the waves of magic around him, which should have returned into him, went to the Potion Master instead.

A few minutes later, said Potion Master was standing in the back office of a certain Potion classroom.

"So, now that the old muggle-loving fool is out for the count, let's find the office entry." the man mumbled with an undercurrent of hissing. "The creature's sledge wasn't very clean the last time I found it and it certainly hasn't been washed since then."

He straightened up. "Reveal yourself." he hissed in perfect Parseltongue.

And a door shimmered into view. It was black, and adorned with silver snakes around it. The handle was also a snake, fangs protruding ominously. The man knew the step was necessary, though. He grasped the snake-like knob and felt the teeth piercing his skin. It lasted several seconds, more than the last time he had done so, and he was starting to feel his head throbbing, when the door finally opened with a click. Examining his hand, he found no traces of being bitten whatsoever.

It would have been different if he hadn't been deemed worthy to enter Salazar Slytherin's office. In the past, several lucky Potion teachers had found the door by accident, but their luck had stopped right there as most of them hadn't lived more than a few seconds after trying to open it. Those who lived were those who hadn't dared to touch it.

"Great." muttered the man as he crossed the threshold. "Let's find that recipe and be on my way. If that old fool really finds Potter, I'll need the castle's help to monitor him."

---

Geneva...

The four of them landed in a large room with posh furniture in a warm orange and yellow colour set. Harry looked around, as if searching for something. He had felt observed during the long-distance jump, but the feeling had ended before he could have identified it. He didn't have time to ponder it, though, as three children threw themselves on him at once.

"Harry!" they screamed, while Ron was looking around, astounded. Was he in Switzerland already? And why did these children call him Harry while he couldn't? 'Oh well,' he thought. 'Family has different rights. I wish my mother could refrain from putting me on the spot each time we meet people, though.'

"Jason, Emma, Kathleen! Please leave Harold alone, he had just arrived!" scolded a stern woman, whom Ron thought was the kids' mother. Harry instantly remembered all about his family's real identities and hugged his siblings back.

"But mum," the boy whined, "it has been so long." He turned toward Harry and tugged at his sleeve. "Want to see the new computer George and I built?"

"Jason!" said a man who had just entered, using a cane to walk. "Listen to your mother."

"Sorry, dad, mum." the addressed boy said meekly. Turning toward Harry again, he whispered "You'll come?"

At Harry's nod, the smaller boy stopped clutching him and sat on a sofa next to Jorg, sporting a wide smile.

"Everyone," started Harold, "this is Ronald Weasley, one of my closest friends at Hogwarts. Ron, here are the people I am the closest to. My family of sorts."

"Of sorts?"

"Well, do you remember that talk we had on the lake shore? About the sorting Hat?"

"Yes, it wanted to put me in Hufflepuff, but I argued with it until he put me in Gryffindor. All my family has been Gryffindors. I am already the youngest – apart Ginny – and being in Hufflepuff on top of that..."

"What's wrong in being in Hufflepuff, Ron?" asked Harold with an amused glint in his eyes.

Ron blushed, before shrugging. "We discussed this already, Harold."

"Right. And, I told you that Hufflepuffs were renowned for their loyalty, remember? And that certain things were better kept hidden."

Ron nodded, and was going to say something else, when 7-year old Emma – whom Harry remembered as Eva – grasped his leg.

"Hey, mister, why you call him Harold?"

Ron was taken aback for a second. "It's his name, isn't it?"

Kathleen immediately answered in her twin's stead "Perhaps with his ugly head, but we prefer him as Harry."

"Huh, Ron..." started Harry. "It'd be best for you to call me Harry around here."

Ron looked at his friend unsurely, but a sharp nod convinced him he hadn't heard wrongly.

"So, Harry," he said, a bit too forcefully, "what were you saying about hiding things?"

"First of all, Ron, I want you to swear that you won't tell a soul about what you'll be seeing while on this holidays."

Ron looked at everyone around, and everyone was looking back at him with a serious expression, even the kids. 'Where did I land now?' did he ask himself. The only people not looking at him were the little girls and her mother, the latter scolding the former silently.

Silently?

He noticed Alison's wand. What was so important to justify a Silencing spell on a mother scolding a kid? Was it...? He looked back at Harold. No, Harry, now. Could his friend make up his mind?

Ron took a moment to think about his friendship with Harold, and about the chat they had had about Hufflepuff, and concluded that, even if he wasn't sure about the results, his loyalty streak was pushing him to accept Harry's words unconditionally.

He took a deep breath, and spoke. "I, Ronald Bilius Weasley, solemnly swear not to tell anyone, living or dead or in between, about what I'll experience until school starts again."

A silence.

"Wow," said Harry, "I think it was quite complete."

"It was." confirmed Alison, reminding Harry that she had the longest experience of living in the wizarding world.

"Time to drop masks, Alison?"

"Time."

Ron looked at the two of them. Why did Harry just call his mum by her given name? He looked in shock as Alison's face quickly melted under the Finite Incantatem spell, revealing a woman in her twenties. Ron's eyes were wide as saucers. This woman couldn't be Harry's mum! He looked at his friend and noticed that his face was melting, too.

The deeply tanned skin cleared, the hair shortened, blackened, and began sticking in places.

"Ron, you will learn Occlumency during this holiday." the boy said through thinning lips, his voice changing as well. "It's necessary."

The redhead looked as the boy he had thought his friend was disclosing himself to him. Even if he didn't know the reasons behind the masquerade, Ron felt honoured to be included in the circle of people who knew.

Harry's transformation was finished, now. He was taller, and his face had morphed into a completely different one. Even the eyes were different. They were now green. Emerald green. And they contained far too much wisdom for a kid his age – even if they weren't Harry's true eyes: those would really make Ron uncomfortable.

Ron did a double take. He knew that face! He squinted his eyes, trying to remember where it was.

It was at home... in old newspapers... from his sister's room... articles about the Potters... James Potter. There were just the glasses missing.

He looked up, gasping.

"You are... you are..."

"Not quite, Ron. I'm not James Potter." Harry paused, as realization dawned in his friend's eyes. "I'm Harry Potter. Nice to meet you."

Ron fainted.

---

The next morning...

Ron woke up and found himself in a small bedroom with orange walls and a Quidditch poster.

"What, where?" his eyes scanned the small room until they fell on Harry.

A long pause ensued.

"You remember me, Ron?"

A prudent nod.

"This is my secret, Ron. I don't want to be seen, heard, or be known as Harry Potter until I'll find it necessary."

"Why?"

"For several reasons. What do you think of Harry Potter, Ron? What would you have done, yesterday, if he had walked in on you?"

The redhead thought about it, before answering. "I would have been surprised, I think. Nobody has ever seen him... I mean, you... alive, and, well, there's also that hero status. I'd have asked for an autograph, perhaps a picture with the Boy-Who-Lived and his famous..." he looked up, searching. "...scar?"

Harry nodded. "That's why I don't want it. And I'm thankful that my adoptive parents took me to a plastic surgeon to remove the ugly scar. I want to have a perfectly calm education for a change. I already spent many years in a swinging basket."

"What do you mean?"

"I have been chased, Ron. Chased half my life. Around the world and back. I have met people you wouldn't dream about, and others you wouldn't meet even in your nightmares. I want to rest for a change."

He smiled, and the sombre mood dissipated somewhat. "That's also why I'm quite happy to be in Hufflepuff. If the damn Hat had waited before yelling the Voting thing, I'll have argued to be in it. I got lucky, in a way."

Ron snorted. "Only you, Harry. Only you could say he 'got lucky' to be in Hufflepuff. They have such a negative history..."

"Exactly! When I read Hogwarts: A History – and don't make that face, I'm no Hermione – I noticed that Hufflepuff has almost never won the Cup. How can people cope when sorted in it for seven years by a damn Hat? Would you have?"

Ron thought about it for a few seconds, before answering an honest "No."

More seconds passed by, and Harry helped himself to a plate of sandwiches nearby.

"Huh, Harry?" Ron started again.

"Yes?"

"Since your parents are... you know..."

"Dead?"

Ron looked at him with wide eyes again.

"Beware, Ron, your eyes are going to pop out soon." Harry said before biting into his sandwich in earnest.

Ron looked at him, trying to form a coherent sentence. Harry was munching on the salad-ham sandwich while looking back at him, and Ron had the eerie feeling that Harry could hear his thoughts.

Unexpectedly, Harry nodded, before swallowing his mouthful. "That's why you need to learn Occlumency, Ron. Your mind is too easy to read. I'm not even trying."

"You... you can-"

A nod. Ron hadn't even needed to finish his question.

"And... how..."

"I don't know, really. No wizard explained magic to me until I met Alison. Well, if you don't count Bill."

"Bill? My-"

"Yes. When I said that we moved around the world, it wasn't figuratively. I met your brother in Egypt, but had to leave quickly because another wizard wanted my hide."

A pause.

Ron frowned. "You're annoying when-"

"I'm sorry. I won't read your mind again."

"You did it again!"

"Oops." Harry smiled, before frowning. "Well, I will have to do it again during these holidays, in order to test you. With Snape and all..."

"Snape? What does it have to do with him?"

Harry looked at Ron with a piercing gaze. "He tried to Obliviate me! Have you been in a detention with him yet?"

"Yes! He bloody caught everyone in the classroom."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "That's what I thought."

"What?"

"He took people in detention to read their minds. He is in search of something, but I don't know what. And there's more."

"More?"

"As McGonagall told us after the troll incident, she spoke about it to the whole school."

"Yeah, I remember. With Quirrell dying because of the monster rampaging the dungeons and such."

"Well, that was a lie."

"A lie?"

"Did you notice blood on the troll club when we were... there?"

"Well... no. I was too occupied levitating... wait a second, here."

"I'm sorry Ron. Since there were so many mind readers around, I have to alter your memories of that particular incident. Quirrell didn't die because of the troll, but because of something else."

"What something else?"

"I don't know yet, but I would like to ask Dumbledore."

Ron was thinking back about something Harry had just said. "Hey! Did you just say that you modified my memories?"

"Yes."

"Without asking?"

Harry raised his hand. "Guilty, your Honour."

Ron looked ready to burst, before he deflated. "Well, if it's the famous Harry Potter who did that..."

Harry frowned. "Do you have faith in me, Ron?"

The redhead looked at him absently for several seconds, before nodding.

"I'll restore your memories when you'll have learnt Occlumency. You'll understand why then."

Ron looked unsure, but he nodded.

Harry munched on his sandwich again, and Ron picked one as well. After several bites, Harry smirked.

"Besides, you aren't the first to whom I did that."

"What do you mean?"

"I modified memories of several people, mostly to flee my chasers. And I modified my family's identity. Their real names aren't what you heard, but changing it in their mind was easier for them to cope. And no fear of a mind reader picking on them. In this house, the only persons living with their own names are Genevieve, Josh, and Alison."

"Well, I already met Alison. Who are Josh and Genevieve?"

"Genevieve is the particle physics scientist who helped my patch my mind after an incident involving a complicated and buried muggle appliance 27km wide."

"Dad would love that." muttered Ron, while looking at him with wide eyes again. "What did you say?"

Harry smirked. "I swear, Ron, your eyes will pop out soon."

The addressed boy blinked a few times, and absently brought his hand to his eyes, as if to check Harry's words. He stopped his move halfway, though, and looked at Harry with a dark look. "Ah ah ah. Very funny. Who's Josh?"

"He's Alison boyfriend, a wizard, and a surfer."

"What's a surfer?"

"It's a... hold on."

Harry was feeling tired of speaking, and merely sent images of people surfing waves into Ron's mind.

"Whoa!" exclaimed Ron. "Wicked!"

"Surfing or getting the pictures?"

"Both, mate. Both."

Harry finished his sandwich, while Ron looked absorbed in his new memories.

"Alright, mate. Time to go."

"Go?" asked Ron.

"Christmas is in two days, remember? I need to shop for gifts and you're coming with me."

"Why?"

Harry looked at him with a wide smile. "Because I'd love a present from you. And I'm sure you can find other people to treat."

Ron wasn't smiling, though. "You know, Harry..."

"I know."

"What? You read my mind again?"

"No. I generally refrain from reading the minds of friends and family. Your family's... ah... lack of funds is a well-known fact in school. And don't blush or cry or shout, please, I'm not insulting you, just stating a fact. Besides, judging from whatever little knowledge I have of your family, I'd say that you have something else in spades. Something that people like Malfoy would kill to have, if they could admit they were missing it."

"What is it?" asked Ron, his eyes shining.

"Love." Harry answered simply. "Now, let's get started. We do have all day, but I have the feeling it won't be enough. Here are the rules: you can buy any gift you want. Money will come from me – my parents left me a bit of it before dying – and, as I know you wouldn't accept it any other way, I tell you right now that it will be put on a tab, to be repaid anytime later. No interest, no fee. Do we agree?"

Ron was too shocked to say anything. He looked at Harry's proffered hand, and absently shook it.

Harry then morphed his face, and cast a glamour on Ron's noticeable hair to darken it.

"Let's get hunting."

And they did.

---

Christmas...

"Harry! Oi! Harry! Presents!"

Ron's shouts could be heard in the whole house, and Harry smirked in his pillow. Some things wouldn't change, and Ron's loudness was one of these. It woke the other kids as well, and everyone was soon facing the pile of gifts practically hiding the Christmas tree. With thirteen persons to take care of, five of whom were children, it was guaranteed that it would be. Next to the pile, several other presents were wrapped in a distinctive wizarding paper, with moving items on it: shooting stars, snowmen, and other Christmas-related icons. Some of these presents even moved, quivering slightly, and everybody understood that these were containing magical items. There were several owls resting on the fireplace mantel, a living – although sleeping – proof that some of these came from abroad.

After a lengthy beginning, where everyone looked and admired gifts taken at random in the pile, the laughing free-for-all was inevitable and torn wrapping papers began littering the previously impeccable living room.

Ron and Harry exchanged Quidditch-related gifts, and each of them got cakes from Mrs. Weasley.

Harry got several interesting presents, one of which was a package which obviously contained something alive judging by the sounds and movements coming from it. When opened, it revealed a large hawk. Everyone looked on as it screeched when freed of his confinement. It was a silvery Peregrine Falcon, almost 2 feet in size, and it looked impressive.

"It's one of the fastest birds of his category." said Josh softly. "And this one is magical too. I know you had to use school owls, but this bird will outclass them. Have you seen his wingspan? It's twice his height!"

Harry was silent for a few seconds, before he turned toward Josh, eyes shining in happiness. "Thank you. I'll give him a name, though. 'Bird' sounds definitely too mundane. What about Quicksilver?"

"It's your choice, Harry." said Josh. "However it's a she. Females of this specie are largest than males."

"I still think Quicksilver suits her. What do you think, girl?"

The falcon screeched again, and jumped on his shoulder before anyone could react. Harry winced, but he quickly increased his skin toughness on his shoulders and soon didn't feel anything more than the bird's presence. Josh looked apologetic, though.

"I'm sorry Harry. It must hurt like hell. Don't move, I'll remove it. Come, bird! Come down!"

Harry laughed at the man's antics and Josh looked at him as if he had lost his head. In fact, everybody was looking at Harry at that moment, and it unnerved him a bit.

"Well..." he started. "I guess I do have a tough hide, after all."

"That's for sure!" Jorg joked, and the present unwrapping session took up from where it had stopped.

Several gifts later, Ron went to see Harry with a card in his hand.

"What is it?"

"I don't know." answered Harry innocently. "What does it say?"

"It says "Coupon for a free wand." I don't need a wand, do I?"

Harry looked at his friend inquiringly, before Ron relented.

"Alright, alright. I already told you I had Charlie's old wand. But it's okay, really."

"Ron, do you have any idea how a wand adapted to you would be different from one merely 'okay'? Look. Here is my Hogwarts wand, which they asked me to buy at Ollivander's. Lumos."

A light came from the wand tip, lighting the area around it a bit more. Like a powerful flashlight.

"It's a good one." commented Ron. "I don't even-"

Harry snorted, effectively interrupting his friend. "And here is the same spell with a more adapted wand. Everyone!" he spoke louder, so that everybody could hear him. "Please look somewhere else. Done? Lumos." he said, using Flamel's wand. The light encompassed the whole room, leaving no shadows, and it was so bright that nobody could look at it directly. Harry stopped it at once, not wanting to attract undue attention from outside, and spoke again.

"And it's not even the most adapted wand for me. I never used that one, though. For all I know, it could create a little sun in here." he continued.

Ron looked at his friend in wonder. "Just... how many wands do you have? And how do you know a wand is adapted to you if you have never used it?"

"Well... let's say three. And your other question will have an answer soon."

"Why "let's say three"? Do you have something else in store?"

Harry frowned. "Let's just not enter that discussion now, alright?" He started to use his fingers to enumerate. "Wand one, the one I just used. Wand two, the one I fear to use. Wand three, Hogwarts. Gotten from Ollivander's. Tracked by the British Ministry."

"What?"

"Wands bought at Ollivander's are spelled with a tracking spell by the Ministry of Magic. However," he smiled, "I don't think they could track yours efficiently, since it was Charlie's. Thinking about it, you could do magic during the holiday, you know. With Charlie being of age and all…" A pause. "Whatever. You'll have a new one soon, though. Just wait for the others to come."

"The others?"

"I want Hermione and Tracey to have one as well. I had a vis-" he stopped for half a second. "I have a feeling that they could be useful later on."

Several rounds of unwrapping later, Harry was looking at a small stone bowl in wonder, and Alison came behind him to explain.

"This is a pensieve, although the smallest model. It doesn't allow projection, and the number of memories it can contain is quite small. To store the recuperated memories, you'll have to use these tubes." she pointed at a box containing a few dozens tubes with labels and corks. "They are Unbreakable, of course. You can either copy a memory in the pensieve, or displace it. The former could be used to store valuable information like your adoptive parents' true identity. In case you lose your mind again, these would be safe." Harry's eyes started to water at the thought, but Alison, being behind him, didn't notice it and continued. "Displacing memories could prove useful if you have to... how can I say that... "cross enemy lines." Like, if you know you are going to face a powerful Legilimens, you can move your important memories out of your mind, and recover them later."

Harry turned around, and hugged her tightly. "Thank you. Thank you. I'll do it as soon as possible. Can you keep the memories about the identities? You are the most proficient in the art around."

"No problem, bro."

He smiled contentedly.

"Is she your sister, Harry?" asked Ron. "Your family never ceases to amaze me."

"Well, no." answered Harry, looking at Alison with a grateful eye. "More like first cousin."

"Once removed, Harry." she threatened mockingly.

"Yeah, whatever. She's like a big sister to me."

After unwrapping some more, Kathleen found a slim package wrapped in brown paper.

"Harree?" she asked, and her tone of voice brought him quickly, wand drawn.

On the paper, written in a distinguished handwriting he had never seen, was his name.

He took it, and tore the brown paper away. A book emerged from it. A slim although ancient-looking book.

Wand to Staff: an enlightening experience.
by Myrrdin Emrys

---

Two days afterwards...

Harry hadn't opened the booklet, afraid it might be a trap. He had put it in a book-preserving sleeve and stored it in his locket. He had seen the booklet author's wand in the process and supposed that the booklet was made to reach the current owner of Merlin's wand – after all, he had seen weirder things being done with magic, so… summoning a book? He wanted a better control on his wand waving before trying Merlin's wand, though.

He had gone to collect Hermione and Tracey and, after the usual explanations about his identity and life, started teaching them Occlumency. It was done in his own way: a tube of aspirin, and copying memories. He not only gave them almost everything he knew about Occlumency and Legilimency, but he also sent them a new language: Tomacheck, the language of the Touaregs. With reason, he thought that, by using a rarely-used language, they would be able to discuss without their words being understood by eavesdroppers.

Once they all had what was needed, he began to browse their minds, one after the other, never going into the memories themselves, but helping to build the defences. He had suggested his own method of protection, explaining that it was about concealing as well as protecting, and everyone had agreed that it was perhaps the best way to do it.

It would take them time, though, and they made numerous pauses. During one of these, he went with the three of them in Anether Road. And their first stop was, as promised, the wand shop. Marig remembered him and greeted him, asking, in covert words, if his wands were up to his expectations. He smiled and answered in not so covert words that yes, they were "outstanding."

The three children, having bought their first wand by trial and error at Ollivander's, looked stunned upon witnessing Marig's spell and its effect. It sure cut the purchase time, and allowed the customer to get the most adapted wand.

In the little store, each of them tried a Light spell with their two wands, and the results were similar to Harry's demonstration, although less impressive. When prodded about it, that evening, Harry would admit that he had bought used wands from already powerful wizards, but he wouldn't elaborate.

After the wand shop, they all headed for the Sports Section, and found that there were more sports in the world than just Quidditch. There even were international events in the like of the muggle Olympic Games – or were the Olympics copied from wizards? Ron found several interesting items, but a look at the prices convinced him to leave quickly. He still bought a small book on Quidditch called Alternate Strategies to Counter Alternate Strategies, byZantine Tortuous. He had browsed the booklet and its content had made him smile. His team wouldn't win by sheer luck anymore, and the Slytherin's usual strategy was going to slap them back in the face.

Their next stop was the local Pets and Supplies shop. Harry couldn't have hidden his hawk even if he had wanted to, and they wanted something as well, at least to communicate with their families. While they browsed the birds, Harry unconsciously hovered toward the snakes. Most of the slithering animals were sleeping, and those who weren't didn't move much either.

"See anything you like?" asked an oily voice nearby. Harry whirled and found himself face-to-face with a small and portly wizard, whose hands were clutching a handkerchief nervously. Every few seconds, the older man would use the cloth to wipe his forehead, never departing from his smile.

"Well, I'd rather you help my friends, over the owls." he stated, before turning back to the snakes.

"My employee is already taking care of them." the man answered. "I seldom see people interested in snakes, and I wanted to..."

"To?"

"To help you choose, of course." the shopkeeper said.

Harry looked at the man intently. Those beady eyes... the sweaty forehead... it wasn't even warm in the shop.

He projected himself in the man's mind, overriding the feeble defences, and checked, in the memory slabs connected to the consciousness by "immediate memory" strands, why the man would really help him.

It wasn't out of kindness.

The man knew that snakes, especially familiars, were mostly sought by evil wizards. He had prepared a good-looking stack of snakes and was waiting for dark wizards to come by. Harry didn't know if there was really that much dark activity in Switzerland, but the man was hoping so, definitely trying to get contacts to one or more dark groups.

Harry spent a long time deciding upon what to do. Half a second, to be precise. Then, as subtly as he could, he wiped any memory or wish of dark activity from the man's mind. Exiting it afterwards, he found himself in front of the man again, who was staring at the snakes quite stupidly.

"Why did I buy those creatures?" he was muttering.

"Can you tell me more about them, sir?" Harry asked.

"Well..." started the man, continuing by a detailed explanation of each of the snakes. "But I don't want them, now." he finished. "I don't even remember why I bought them. I'll make you an offer: you take three cases for the price of one. I'd give them away, but I have to get a little money out of them, you understand."

Harry nodded, looking at the glass cases, which were reinforced by shining metal bars. On the one hand, he wanted snakes. It was something which appealed to him. On the other hand, he knew that these weren't the usual familiars dwelling in Hufflepuff cellar. He could take them home, though, but he would have to let them alone for a long time...

"Are these autonomous?" he asked.

He didn't receive a response immediately and turned around to meet the inquiring gaze of the shopkeeper. "Can I buy the glass case with the snakes in it, and are they self-cleaning and their food supply self-refilling?"

The man understood and nodded. "They sure are self-cleaning. I wouldn't have done otherwise. I'm not going to open these cases, you know. Snakes give me the creeps."

'Sure does,' thought Harry.

The man continued. "However, their food supply must be filled, externally, once a week. Meat, which has to be inserted through that trapdoor, and which will be processed magically."

"Are they bred in captivity? I mean, if I let them out, they can hunt by themselves?"

The man shuddered at the mere thought, but reflected about it, before nodding. It was all Harry needed. He would see with his family, though. In fact, as he only had to effectively see them once a month, he could hide them in his trunk...

...if it was large enough. He swore internally. He should have bought the enlarged trunk from the start. He knew how to enlarge and reduce things, though, and would still be able to use the trunk, but trunks already made enlarged were less prone to react badly to a Finite Incantatem. Now that he thought about it, he really wanted another trunk, in which he could hide large things, and even himself. Looking back at his friends, still discussing over the avian creatures with the shopkeeper's assistant, he made up his mind and turned toward the serpents again.

One of the cases had seemed empty, but the man had explained about them. They were the result of magically-controlled breeding, resulting in apparently highly intelligent snakes, very slim, and displaying silvery-like light grey scales. They were also able to sleep in unusual positions, and Harry had thought that they were straight lines of metal.

When he looked around for a second case, Harry noticed a large reticulated python. It wasn't moving much, merely sensing his surroundings with his tongue. Harry got a flashback of himself scanning his surroundings mentally, and decided to buy the snake on the spot. It was a young one, the shopkeeper was babbling, and it could grow. After all, apart magical and magically-enhanced beasts, pythons were renowned to be the longest snakes in the world, reaching 30 feet.

As he could take a third one for free, he looked around, and his gaze passed over the only specimen able to eat snakes. The King Cobra's diet was mainly snakes, but the shopkeeper had assured that the protecting cases processed the food so that the snakes inhabiting them would find it to their taste. The King Cobra's bite was also highly venomous, and it was able to stand on its tail before attacking. Once again, it was a young specimen, and Harry learnt that it would grow to a length comprised between 10 and 20 feet.

Extracting his wand, Harry shrunk the three cases – a useful spell he learnt from Alison along with the appropriate enlargement and feather-light ones, a long time ago – and pocketed them, before following the man to the counter to pay for them.

This done, he returned to his friends, who were discussing of the compared merits of the bird species relative to mail distribution and eating habits. So far, Hermione was defending owls, while Ron wanted something larger, like an eagle. Tracey wasn't defending anything, as she preferred direct contact to mail, something which had caused her German grandmother to label her as schreibfaul – lazy to write. She had her bit to say about each choice, however.

Harry smiled. "Hey guys, no need to argue. You take what you want. It's my Christmas present for my closest friends."

Ron's face was red in confusion, and he started to say "Mate, I already got-"

"I know, Ron." he answered, not even needing to read the other boy's mind to guess how the sentence would have ended. "Consider it an allowance for our little club, then. I don't want its members to miss each other just because they live in separate Houses."

"Our club, Harry?" asked Tracey.

"Our club." he nodded, and they understood that the "inter-house study group" was going to be something more important.

"We need a name, then." stated Hermione.

Harry smiled. "Sure. In the meantime, why don't you choose a messenger bird?"

"But, Harry," said Tracey, "how can we stay secret when owls come over the Great Hall each morning?"

"I learnt about something in Hogwarts: A History." Harry started, before rolling his eyes at their antics. Ron was expressing his annoyance with the exact same facial expression; Hermione was looking overly interested; and Tracey was looking... as herself.

'She must have learnt how to hide her thoughts from showing on her face,' Harry thought. 'That will make her a really good Occlumens soon. Each of them will be, as they duplicated and buried half their mind already.'

He shook himself out of his reverie, and returned to the subject at hand. "I learnt that inside mail will travel immediately. Classrooms are off limits, of course, but the owls will be able to find someone as soon as it is possible. If you want to use extra comments for the mail delivery, though, be sure to buy an A-class owl. Or... eagle." he finished, seeing Ron's disgruntled look.

"What's an A-class owl?" asked Hermione, always seeking information.

"It's more intelligent than regular mail owls, which are already more intelligent than non-magical ones. It can understand things like "be sure that Ron is alone before delivering this." and the like. I think there's a way to charm any bird to do it, though, although it's more complicated than just buying one."

A short pause ensued, broken by the returning sales assistant – the young man had left the bickering young customers the moment Harry had arrived. "Do you need more assistance?"

Harry looked at his friends, and they all nodded, before launching into a detailed description of what they wanted.

An hour later, they exited the Pet shop, quite proud of their birds. Hermione was holding cage housing a regal-looking brown horned owl, which she christened Athina.

Tracey had got her own falcon, of the Herpetotheres cachinnans species. With its 15 inches, it was quite small, but the assistant had assured her that it was at least as fast as a regular mail owl, and Harry had made sure he was knowledgeable and honest. However, what had initially drawn her to that particular bird wasn't anything relative to speed, beauty, or intelligence. It was its feeding habits: it was almost exclusively eating snakes. She figured that it was the proper bird to innocently display her anti-Slytherin tendencies, and she named it Wotan, the Old German name of the Norse god of hunting.

Ron had got the only eagle the shop had, a brownish wedge-tailed Arrawa. The ruddy bird – in almost all the senses of the term, as it wasn't made of metal – was flapping his large 1-yard long wings dangerously, eager to take the air. Harry had noticed the bird's agitated state, and had suggested to Ron that he should take another bird, or at least wait until they found another one, but the boy had been adamant. An eagle he wanted, an eagle he would get.

"You'd better name it, Ron, before he flees." said Harry, his eyes dancing with mirth.

"Easier said – ouch – than done!"

Hermione and Tracey looked at each other, smiling, before the latter spoke. "I suggest Rudy."

"Alright! Rudy it is." uttered Ron, before releasing the large bird. "I never thought those birds were so heavy." he said, turning around and massaging his shoulder. He then noticed his friends' looks. "What?"

"Nothing. You just named your ruddy bird Rudy." said Harry, before laughing outright, quickly joined by the girls. Ron's disgruntled expression furthered their hilarity, and, after several seconds, the red-headed boy realized his predicament and joined his friends in laughter.

After calming themselves, the four of them walked away, and, at the first recess, they followed Harry as he Apparated home.

Once there, and before starting another of their Occlumency sessions, the four friends went to their rooms to settle their birds, and, in Harry's case, his snakes too. He didn't want them eaten by Tracey's raptor. Fetching the reduced snake cases from his pockets, he went through his possessions to find them a place to stay. None came immediately to mind, and he just stored them on top of his wardrobe.

After the mind-burying session, Harry took a bit of beef from the fridge, and went back to his rooms to feed his snakes. He fed the venomous snake first, inserting the read meat in the slot, before doing the same for the small ones, then the python. When that last animal saw the meat landing in front of him, though, it lifted his head toward him, and his tongue darted out, as if to feel him.

"Thsssk ysss, hsssmsssn."

Harry jumped as the voice reached him. What was that? It was faint, and had an echo to it, as if coming from a closed room. He looked around, and found nothing except... the snake? He shrugged and closed the trapdoor. The python must have been hissing and he must have thought he understood something. Said python looked at him through the glass for a few seconds, tongue darting in and out of his lipless mouth, before going to the meat.

That night, Harry experienced a strange dream, involving serpents and birds, as well as a plane plunged in darkness. When he woke up, in the early hours of the next day, the only thing he could remember of it was an unfathomable sentence.

"Get glasses for the king of snakes."

---

Hogwarts' Headmaster office, a week later...

"Are you sure, Albus?" asked Minerva McGonagall. "In your state..."

"I'm aware that I lost quite a bit of power, but I'm not diminished!" Dumbledore answered agitatedly. "I'll go there. I need Harry here!"

"Don't you move, sir, if you please." said a woman in front of them. "I'm not quite finished and these sleeves are a little tricky."

A long pause followed, during which the Headmaster was finishing being dressed up.

It was a strange sight to behold, as the supposedly most powerful wizard in the "Wizarding World" – which didn't encompass the whole planet, as Dumbledore remembered himself for the umpteenth time of the day – was standing on a stool and the official tailor of the wizarding world of Britain, Madam Malkin herself, was adjusting his outfit on him.

The Chinese wizarding society, which Dumbledore had studied without having been allowed to enter it a century ago, was very strict about their garments. They had to depict the wearer's status, power, and achievements. And, in the case of Hogwarts' Headmaster, it was quite a bit.

"You still haven't told me why we need him here, Headmaster. After all, he's not dead, and, well..."

Albus Dumbledore turned his head suddenly and stared at her with an annoyed expression, before looking down pointedly at the tailor working at his sleeve. McGonagall understood the hidden meaning. The man wouldn't answer until they were alone. But she also guessed that she wouldn't have a full answer either: the old man had always refused to answer that particular question. She was right, of course, but that didn't give her any clue about his reasons.

Once the Headmaster's robes were finished, he stepped down from his stool, looked at his reflection on the full-length mirror, and nodded. Madam Malkin left the room soon after, knowing that she would be paid later through Hogwarts' usual monthly payroll.

He then straightened up, and, grasping his wand in both hands and bowing like he had learnt to do so long ago, he whispered "Wish me luck, Minerva."

"Good luck, Albus."

"Thank you." he answered, before throwing a handful of Floo powder in the fireplace, yelling "The Leaky Cauldron." From there, he could Apparate anywhere.

Several jumps later, he found himself at the wizards' gate of the Forbidden Palace, in China. He didn't know much about the country, except that their magical governing body was situated there. He knocked, three times, and a short and bald man opened the bull's-eye, rapidly speaking something in Chinese.

"I'm sorry." said the old professor. Unlike most British wizards, Albus Dumbledore knew several wizards in the higher circles of their reclusive society. Of course, one would argue that it was only thanks to his advanced age. He supposed that one of them could have a high enough position to help him. "I don't speak your language. Can I see the Chamberlain Aixinjueluo?"

The guard looked at him with wide eyes, before slamming the little door. Dumbledore waited for five minutes, before deciding to knock again. Before his hand made contact with the wooden door, though, the bull's-eye opened again, and another man appeared, taller, and more muscular as well. The man had to bend down to look through the hole, and Dumbledore noticed that the man's beard was littered with meal remains.

"What yeh want?"

Dumbledore thought about it for a moment, before answering.

"I am Albus Dumbledore. I make the humble request of being shown to the Chamberlain Aixinjueluo."

He knew that the concept of presenting himself was redundant with his attire and the "humble" request wasn't, but in his recollection of wizarding China, it was necessary to at least continue the conversation.

"Why thun?" the brute replied, clearly upset at having had his lunch interrupted.

"It is for a private problem. Is he available?" Dumbledore asked, pushing his luck a little bit.

In fact, the elderly man was getting borderline impatient. After all, he could always cast spells in the middle of a street to attract attention. The guard wasn't fazed by Dumbledore's attire, though. He wiped his beard silently, while looking at the occidental wizard for a full minute. Then, just as Dumbledore felt he was going to shut him off, the door clicked open.

He crossed the large doorway and noticed that the man, now standing straight, was easily over Hagrid's size and weight.

"Yeh follow." the giant said, before heading toward the Palace itself. The great building was the same one the muggles knew about, but Dumbledore immediately noticed numerous targeted notice-me-not charms over doors, people, and miscellaneous items.

They entered the main building and the man navigated through the corridors, before meeting two men in uniform, obviously standing guard – despite the fact that they were in the middle of an otherwise empty corridor. The giant guard bowed until his head was lower than the others', something which seemed difficult to do, and uttered several words in a rapid although halting Chinese. One of the guards haughtily looked over toward Dumbledore, who bowed as well. In that posture, though, the old man missed the guards' surprised gaze.

Once he was back upright, the same guard motioned him to follow, and began to walk away briskly. Catching up with difficulty, Dumbledore began to pant, inwardly cursing his heavy garment. He was just asking himself how many corridors he was going to run in, before stopping abruptly beside a door, through which the guard went without knocking. He hesitantly followed, and saw the man discussing with a young woman. The room was small, and decorated with several frames of dragons. There was a desk, a row of comfortable-looking chairs near a small table, and another door.

It was a waiting room.

After a quick and whispered conversation, the guard left, and the woman looked at him. Visibly impressed by his résumé – after all, it was displayed on his robes for the world to see – she indicated the chairs. He sat, and soon after, was offered a fuming cup of tea. He thanked her, but got the feeling that she was deaf, as she didn't react.

After sipping the strong tea, he waited for a very long time, while the young woman was sitting at her desk. The sun was getting lower in the sky, and the old man was wondering if he should head back to find a place to rest, when the other door opened, and three men entered. Despite the fact that he had stood, they hadn't noticed him, and were continuing their conversation. They were all Chinese but, to his surprise, were dressed like occidental businessmen.

After a moment, two of them left and the third returned through the door he had come from. The young woman, who had stood up when they had entered, picked a small notebook and followed him, and Albus Dumbledore was left alone.

He was considering sitting down again, and was halfway through the move when the same door opened again.

"Mr Dumbledore?" asked a male voice, sounding cultured, and with only a slight accent.

He straightened up immediately, and bowed at the man before him. "I happen to be him."

"No need for such formalities, now, Mr Dumbledore." He smiled. "Nowadays, few people display their achievements on themselves, especially since you visibly lived a long and fruitful life."

The old man felt himself blush. If only he hadn't been focussing on what happened in Britain, he would have known. Speaking of which...

"I didn't know." he answered. "My last contact with China dates back more than a century ago. I asked for him at the door, but I actually don't know what he became."

The man smiled again, and motioned him forward, into his office, where the young woman was still there, standing. It was a large room, with a wide window overlooking a bamboo-planted garden. The grand desk was littered with papers, pencils, and general office tools. Albus Dumbledore felt as out of place as a muggle would be in his Headmaster office. The man sat on his own chair and indicated a chair before speaking again.

"You are speaking about the Chamberlain Aixinjueluo, I have been told."

"You were told well."

"My great-grandfather had this position, yes. I am Chen Shui-Wang, Undersecretary for Muggle relationships." He shrugged. "It's merely about controlling them than communicating, though."

Dumbledore looked nonplussed at having been directed to a "mere" undersecretary, and his stance was easily read by his interlocutor.

"Don't be disappointed at having been directed at me. My position is the only one requiring a contact with the muggles and I have been duty-bound to learn many foreign languages in the process. The whole rest of the wizarding government of China only speaks Chinese. They only deal with Chinese people, after all."

A short pause followed, before Dumbledore put the conversation back on its track.

"You said that your ancestor had the Chamberlain position. Shall I conclude he passed away?"

Shui-Wang smiled again. "In fact, you shall not. But he's not Chamberlain anymore. I doubt that you'd be able to see him, though."

"Why so?"

"He is one of the closest advisors of our Emperor. The usual waiting queue to see one of them is currently…" he frowned, before nodding, "3-year long."

Albus Dumbledore had known about the Emperor when he had been in China before, but that was so many years ago that he didn't know how things had changed. His blank look compelled the young man to continue.

"You see, China has always had an Emperor, even when the muggles thought him finished. He simply retired in the Forbidden Palace, from where he rules the wizarding world – I mean, our wizarding world: China. He is the wisest man, but the worldly affairs require that he surrounds himself with counsellors, like my dear ancestor. My great-grandfather is..." he looked at Dumbledore and smirked, "quite old, but the Emperor is even older. It is rumoured that he is the only man to have brewed the Great Elixir of Immortality, as he is rumoured to have lived more than a millennium, changing names as he progressed in his life."

A pause followed, during which Dumbledore calmly processed this new data, while the man sipped his tea.

"Now that you know this, can you tell me why you came here?" asked the Undersecretary, still holding his cup.

Dumbledore hesitated, before answering. "I'm searching for someone."

"Don't we all..." muttered the man.

The visiting old man blushed, but he quickly recovered. "I just meant that there is a young boy who is missing, and we have to find him."

"Why?" asked Shui-Wang, putting the cup back on the desk before leaning forward and stapling his fingers in a gesture of attention.

'There it goes.' thought the old man. 'It passes or it fails... I really should stop thinking in academic terms.'

"You see, his name is Harry Potter, and we've been without news about him since... a long time ago, actually."

A brief glint had passed through the man's eyes at the mention of the boy's name, and Dumbledore could have sworn it was recognition. He continued through his tale, though.

"We have no clue about where he is. I recently used a very powerful spell to locate him, without result."

"Is he dead?"

"No. The spell I'm talking about also gives insight about his health. He's very well."

"So, why do you want him back?"

"Well..." Dumbledore was getting uncomfortable. Not only was the Undersecretary pushing the conversation into directions he didn't want to follow, but he was also completely impervious to light Legilimency. His usual eye twinkle, generally able to extract surface thoughts from the people talking to him, was useless. He suspected that, even if he drew his wand to cast the real charm on the man, it would be difficult as well. On top of that, he had been relying so much on his eye thingamajig that he had a hard time interpreting the other man's expressions. He wasn't even sure they were genuine either.

"Do you know the situation in Britain?" he asked suddenly.

"About what?" the Chinese man asked back.

"Harry Potter defeated one of the deadliest Dark Lords in History..." seeing the annoyed gaze sent his way, he corrected himself quickly. Old habits die hard. "...British History. The boy defeated him while he was only one year old, but his parents died."

Shui-Wang nodded once, but didn't elaborate, and Dumbledore was left to ponder if he had to continue the story or not. He decided to.

"I put the boy into his aunt's care, and got no news from him or the Dursleys since then. When it was time to start the boy's magical education, we couldn't reach him. After some research, we found out that his relatives had left for America, and from there, they went to China."

"How long, between leaving the boy and finding him absent?"

"Ten years."

"I know about Britain magical education." said the man, looking through the window absently. "After all, I have a distant cousin in your school. I'm still wondering why you wait so long to bring them to school, however."

"Ah yes? Who?"

"Cho Chang. Her British mother didn't trust our schools and sent her to her alma mater."

Another embarrassed silence occurred, before Dumbledore answered the previous question

"Well, the school has been set that way by its Founders. I know it has to do with the children developing better control over magic at this age."

"How long have you been employed at Hogwarts, Headmaster Dumbledore? Have you visited other schools?" as Dumbledore was opening his mouth to answer, the Chinese man added "...and I don't speak of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang which, as you sure know, were built by Hogwarts alumni thus following the same code."

Dumbledore performed a quick computation, before answering. "I guess I've been either teaching or managing the school for around 140 years, now. But, except the two you mentioned, I've never visited the other schools."

"Congratulations for your long service to the school." said the man. "However, you should visit our schools some time in the near future."

"What do you mean?"

The Undersecretary looked at him with a piercing gaze, and Dumbledore suddenly wondered if the man was able to read his surface thoughts. After all, he was a good Legilimens, but a moderate Occlumens. Lack of practice, surely. After all, after 140 years in the same setting, one tends to get lazy with something.

"Tell me." said Shui-Wang, interrupting his thoughts. "What happens in the life of a muggle-raised wizard, before entering your school? Magically, I mean."

"Well..." Dumbledore reflected about it, while wondering about the question. "They display accidental magic at random stages, but that's quite all."

"So, you mean to say that there is no one to inform that wizard – or witch – about their talent before they are 11?"

Dumbledore wished he could leave. But the man was the only person able to help him at the moment, and he continued to answer.

"Well... yes, that's pretty much it."

"And, hypothetically speaking, what would happen if an extraordinary gifted child displays a rare control over his magic? Is your system designed to take that into account?"

"It's generally reported by the parents, who-"

"I think I said muggle-raised."

Dumbledore thought about it again, and answered "In all honesty, no."

The Undersecretary stood up, and started pacing. Despite the schism between China's official governing body and the rest of the world, his position had allowed him to realize that there were interesting ideas from both sides, and he wanted to prove his point to the aged wizard.

"Let me elaborate, and stop me if I'm wrong." He said, and Dumbledore nodded. "Said hypothetical child could display accidental magic until the age of... let's say 5 years old, and he – or she – could be able to start controlling it, learning alone, without any form of external control because no one around them is a wizard. And, depending on how they are being raised, they could display unusual altruism... or selfishness. Is that reasoning sound?"

Dumbledore reluctantly nodded.

"Now... still hypothetically speaking, if I were to establish a show touring the country, with posters charmed to attract magically able children, I'd be able to locate them, and then enrol them in some kind of activity to keep their magic in check."

Dumbledore nodded again, but he was still not understanding where all this was heading.

"And then... you wouldn't have had a raging Voldemort on your hands." the man finished, dropping the bomb.

"What?"

"Not only that, but that Harry Potter character would have been properly educated too."

"Whatever do you mean?" demanded the Headmaster, who had stood up in the middle of Shui-Wang's last sentence.

The man looked at him, before sighing. "I don't know what to say. My duty forbids me to tell you about our school system and other magical facilities, and you'll have to remember what I already told you."

He sat down heavily, put his feet on the desk, and smiled. "Now, let me tell you an interesting story, which I won't repeat. On August, 3 years ago, a family arrived in a large Chinese town. Their house had been bought and furnished before their arrival, and the man had a job waiting for him at the local factory. They all thought they had moved because of that job. However, by interrogating one of the remaining ones on site, we recently discovered that the people who had helped them had a secondary motive. A motive whom I got the name from your own mouth today. Harry Potter."

"What do you mean? Can I see the person you interrogated?"

The Chinese man raised his hand. "That man has been Obliviated, and I'll finish my story before answering more questions. These people, who belong to one of the numerous so-called secret agencies of the muggle United States of America, had moved the family in a house full of cameras so as to observe their target quietly. Said target didn't give them what they wanted, though. And, more than that, young Harry Potter unexpectedly escaped their watch."

Dumbledore looked ready to ask a question, but Shui-Wang continued, not even looking up from his folded hands.

"The boy got enrolled in one of our martial art schools, and the... people we talk about, the secret agents... they weren't allowed inside the monastery during the 2-month intensive term."

"What did he learn?"

"I don't know. His instructors were very brief on his record. He was said to protect his little brother, and he finished second of the ending tournament. However, I personally know one of the monks and went there to check about the case before closing it, and he told me several interesting things.

"The school's policy is to allow bullies to exist, because they are part of life. It seems that Harry wasn't fond of them, and several known troublemakers left the training grounds without explanations."

"So?"

"It always happened after they targeted Harry's brother."

A stunned pause.

"That old monk also told me that, on the usual exercise with clay tiles, Harry practically vaporized them, ending inside the stone underneath."

"What do you mean?"

The man looked at him with intense eyes. "I mean to say that, in this exercise where only few students succeed in breaking one, Harry Potter, at the age of 9 and with one bare hand, crushed 19 clay tiles and his fist broke through the stone floor. Unharmed. A destructive power unheard of. Do you understand what I said about controlling gifted children, now? If Harry Potter had been able to destroy your Dark Lord at one, guess what he's currently capable of."

A very long pause ensued, while the woman came to refill their cups of tea. When Dumbledore spoke again, it was in a faint whisper.

"It has been two times I failed at reaching him, already, and I can't prevent from wondering… why do people keep saying that young Harry has a brother?"

"Ah. Had forgetfulness got hold of me already?" he asked, smirking, before becoming serious again. "I thought you knew it."

"What?" the Headmaster couldn't help feeling stupid with all his questions.

"If their arrival papers were correct – and I checked – the Dursleys have adopted Harry. In fact, before today, I wondered how a young boy named Harry Dursley could attract secret agents from the other side of the world, as well as display such a destructive rage. I understand a bit better, now."

"And you said he finished only second of the tournament? How comes?"

The Undersecretary shrugged. "I don't know. The old monk only said that the winner's fighting skill wasn't up to his adversaries, but he always seemed to beat them nonetheless because they froze at one moment or another. He even said that this Malfu person hadn't integrated the essence of the Shaolin spirit."

Dumbledore had a dreading feeling at the bottom of his stomach. "You... you don't mean Malfoy, do you?"

The man looked at him, surprised. He then seemed to concentrate on something. "You know what? You might be right. I suppose that the monk mispronounced the name."

Albus Dumbledore sat back, stunned. These were too many revelations. After another long pause, he looked up toward Shui-Wang, who was signing official-looking papers.

"What... where are they, now?" he enquired.

"I don't know." the man answered, not looking up. "They left the country right after that tournament. And, before you ask, all we know is that they took a plane to Nice."

"Neass?"

"Nice, in France."

Dumbledore stood up, quivering. Internally, he cursed the Founders for leaving behind such a rigid code about Hogwarts. He quickly realized that it was also his fault for not having anticipated this. He could have build primary schools for magically-talented children. After all, the purebloods were raised magically, and he was disserving his reputation of "muggle-loving" by not giving the muggle-raised wizards and witches an introduction to magic. Tom Riddle had obviously trained himself in the art of deceiving and treachery. He just hoped that Harry Potter wasn't following the same path.

"Do you have other questions?" asked the Undersecretary, still signing a rapidly declining stack of papers.

"Well... no. You have my gratitude for all the information you provided me with. I don't know how I can thank you."

The man looked up, and smiled, a twinkle of his own in the eyes. Having lived beside a large number of troublemakers, Dumbledore immediately recognized the signs of imminent mischief. He couldn't back away just now, though.

"I just had the perfect idea." Shui-Wang was saying. "Why don't you come eat with me? I will pay for it, but your presence alone should be enough to help me further the signature of an important contract."

Dumbledore wasn't looking very sure of himself. He knew Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. He knew the muggle Chinese cuisine. He just wasn't sure he wanted to taste a mix between the two. He had a new lead, though, and it allowed for a little sacrifice.

---

When he made his last jump, Apparating in an isolated shop in Diagon Alley and directly using the Floo access there in order to reach his office faster, the aged Headmaster was not only panting. He was red-faced, bordering on a not-so-nice shade of purple. For the twenty-third time of the evening, he coughed. And, for the nineteenth time, he removed his hand just in time as a jet of flames erupted from his throat – yes, he got burnt a few times.

"Merlin, Albus! What happened? Were you attacked? Have you-"

The old man raised a trembling hand, effectively stopping McGonagall's frantic exclamations.

"I'm fine." he wheezed, before sitting in his favourite chair. He coughed again, and a pile of paper in front of him was transformed in a pile of ashes in moments.

"I hope it wasn't important." he whispered, barely able to speak louder in fear of coughing. He didn't want to transform his whole office in a pile of smouldering rubble.

The Deputy Headmistress looked at him sternly before sighing. "What happened, then?"

Dumbledore was rummaging through his drawers, and absently extracted a pendant before remembering that he wasn't alone. Pocketing it, he took two vials of potion and gulped them in quick succession.

His exertion and breathing problem taken care of, he was able to answer her question, explaining everything to her. Especially the meal.

Chen Shui-Wang had taken him to his own house, and presented him to his beautiful wife, before heading to the restaurant, specialized in traditional Sichuan cuisine, with wizarding add-ons. Even before the food arrived, Dumbledore knew he would have a problem. The menu was in Chinese, and none of his spells could overcome this in just a second. Bending towards his host, he just told him he'd have the same as he would. The man had smiled knowingly, and the rest of the evening had been pure torture.

They had started with some Fuqi Feipian, thin slices of beef lung coated in numerous spices, and the numbness that invaded Dumbledore's mouth afterwards prevented him from speaking his refusal of the other dishes. His numbness was quickly dissipated, though, when he imbibed a magical version of Zhuye Qingjiu. The green bamboo-based drink was strong and was getting to his head, but at least, he could eat again.

The next serving, at least, was accompanied with plain rice as a side order. Otherwise, the Mapo Doufu pork and Kung Pao chicken would have made an explosive substance in his stomach. After giving a dignified try at eating with sticks, Dumbledore resolved to eating with his fingers like most of the restaurant's clientele.

He nodded along his host's explanations of each dish – after he ate some of it, of course – and involuntarily played the naïve in a game of which he ignored everything, even the language.

When the waiters cleared the last plates and presented the dessert, he was quite pleased that the bowl of fruits-topped Douhua was quite plain. Not having had his full with the mere bites he had taken from the main course, he took another of the proffered desserts too. The Azuji bean cakes didn't seem to have an effect on the other guests, and Dumbledore ate one. It was quite thick, though, and he needed something to drink. His host was entertaining his friends in Chinese, and sitting nearby was a bottle of water, which he grasped. Filling his glass, he downed it in one go.

It wasn't water, though.

It was Baijiu, one of the most potent alcohols in the world. And, more than that, this one was charmed. He coughed most of his glass out, and the most unexpected thing happened. He breathed fire.

The napkin took fire. Some clothes took fire, too. Only the experienced waiters' deft reaction prevented the remaining bottle from exploding and the fire from spreading. The old man continued to cough, though, expelling fire each time. After a quick discussion, the waiters brought him a glass of Meigui Lujiu, another alcohol, this one with roses and sugar. Shui-Wang translated the desperate waiters' words and he understood it was laced with some kind of a healing potion. He downed it as well, and the coughing fit subsided a bit.

After taking their leave, Dumbledore and Shui-Wang went back to the Undersecretary's home. On the way, the Chinese man asked for the aged Headmaster's forgiveness, and received it, alongside a jet of flames he barely escaped. Dumbledore was quite happy, despite his dragged state, because the whole day had been full of surprises, something which, at his age, was quite rare. And he was more than a little inebriated as well.

To be continued in next chapter: Back to Front and Vice-Versa...

What is it with the teacher?
Has he healed or is he tough?
And, lastly, the big matter:
Was the meal spicy enough?