The way back to Dumbledore's office was just as confusing and winding as Moxxie remembered.
He wondered how long he had been talking to his friends and how long he would have to be talking with Dumbledore.
McGonagall kept side-eyeing him, clearly distraught by his appearance even though he was still in his human form.
Finally, she arrived at Dumbledore's office, said the password, and left Harry to enter by himself.
The office was different now that it was him and Dumbledore alone. The man stood by the weird sink, looking into it as if hypnotized. He only snapped out of his trance after Moxxie had been there for a few seconds.
"Ah, Mr. Potter. Or, Moxxie, would you prefer?" Moxxie was about to ask him to address him by his imp name, but for some reason, he felt it appropriate for this man to call him by his human name. "As you wish," he replied, surprised by his formality.
Dumbledore gave him a tight-lipped smile and signaled that he should sit on one of the chairs before his desk.
Moxxie took a seat immediately, and Dumbledore sat before him on the desk opposite to his own chair.
He certainly seemed like a rather cooky fellow. "I'm sure you have quite a lot of questions, Mr. Potter, but before I begin answering them to the best of my ability, I must ask you something that has left me… well, quite stumped." "Sure thing." "How old are you, Mr. Potter?"
Moxxie frowned at the question. "I'll be twenty-eight in July. Why do you ask?" Dumbledore stood from his desk and paced behind Moxxie, which put him a little on edge. "So it has been twenty years for you since you entered Hell, correct?" "How did you know-" "I know a great deal of things, Mr. Potter.
I know, for example, that though it has been twenty years for you, and your physical body has certainly grown to that age, that Harry Potter has only been missing for the past six years." Moxxie froze. "What?" "That's correct.
By my count, you should be around fourteen." "But I'm not." "Of course… well, that is not the pressing matter at hand, right now," Dumbledore said, though clearly, he was thinking of it anyway as if he had a theory that had been disproven and now had a new one concocting in his mind.
It was perplexing to Moxxie as well, and he thought that at the back of his mind, he could maybe fathom how such a thing was possible, but he simply couldn't remember it right at the moment. "What I wanted to discuss," Dumbledore finally continued, though Moxxie's mind was on other matters, now, "was the question, of course, of the tournament.
But that may wait until I've answered some of the inquiries you must have," Dumbledore finally removed himself from atop the desk and sat behind it, twining his fingers together serenely and regarding Moxxie with calm and reassuring air. Moxxie felt strangely comforted by this stranger and considered simply spilling his guts or starting to cry.
He did nothing of the sort, however. Instead, he swallowed hard and thought of the strategy the questions he posed should have, but he was so in the dark surrounding everything that it was hard to know where to begin, what to say. "How do you all… know me?"
He finally asked. He had inferred that it wasn't just because he had somehow been entered into this tournament thing - he thought that there was a deeper meaning behind it because all the other wizards acted strangely when his name was uttered when his scar was shown.
And that was the weirdest part of it all. "Do you know anything of your birth parents, Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore asked back. Moxxie didn't miss the fact that Dumbledore explicitly said 'birth parents': did he somehow know of his family back home? "Just what my aunt and uncle told me.
That they died in a car accident." Dumbledore's face betrayed no expression. "I'm sure you've deduced, Harry, that this here is a community of wizards - quite a large one. And this," he held his hands up to the air, "is a wizarding school."
Harry gulped. "Kind of hard to swallow, but sure, I understand it." "Hard to swallow?" Dumbledore leaned a bit forward. "Would I be wrong in saying you yourself have some capacities that other Hell-dwellers and humans do not?"
Harry looked down at the floor. "No. You wouldn't be wrong." "Ah." Dumbledore paused for a moment. "Your parents were two great wizards, Harry. They were not killed in a car accident, Lily and James Potter.
They were murdered by one of the most powerful, darkest wizards of our time."
The man stood and paced to the window, his hands held behind his back in a great, regal posture.
Moxxie thought over Dumbledore's words. He took it in as one would take in some great tragedy - that happened to another person.
He felt a deep sadness for these people that he did not know and lamented over their loss like it'd happened to him in some other lifetime, but not this one. He even wished he could be a bit more emotional over what the man was saying. Still, if he was perfectly honest with himself, deep down, he felt angry at the entire world because this part of his life, which he was so content to keep buried, which rarely kept him up at night anymore, had now come to bite him in the ass.
He wished he could keep this all hidden, just as it had been. He even had the impulse to stop this Dumbledore fellow, to ask him not to go on with the sob story he was clearly intent on telling.
He couldn't blame him, though, since Moxxie himself had asked. Now, he wished he hadn't, and he wished he had asked him to please leave him alone and let him be. But he didn't, and he didn't stop Dumbledore when he continued with his story. "The night that this wizard came for your parents, his real target was you." "Why me?" Moxxie let out, almost against his will.
"A prophecy, stating that you would be the cause of his undoing," Dumbledore replied promptly, "a prophecy that came to pass, but only partly." "What do you mean?" "When he tried to set his wand on you, Mr. Potter, your mother's love, her protection, saved you from a killing curse that no other being on this earth has survived.
The spell bounced back upon him and nearly killed him." "But he isn't dead?" "No, Mr. Potter, he isn't dead. And I have cause to believe that he is seeking you." Moxxie almost groaned - great, so not only were these weirdoes obsessed with him, but now the greatest dark wizard of the time also wanted him dead. "How do you even know that?"
Moxxie demanded. Without responding, Dumbledore stepped away from the window. "You understand, Mr. Potter, your name is a legend among the wizarding community. All thought you lost." "So you're telling me I'm like some sort of celebrity here?" "Of sorts." "So this whole tournament thing is like an All-Stars season of RuPaul's?" Moxxie questioned, pensive.
Dumbledore cocked his head. "I'm afraid I don't quite understand the reference, Mr. Potter, but the contestants are all students, and how your name came to be drawn from the Goblet is still a mystery even for myself.
However," Dumbledore looked down severely at Moxxie. "I must urge you to participate in this tournament, dangerous though it may be. It is of the utmost importance that we see these events unfold." "Listen… Mr. Dumbledore," Moxxie finally said, squirming a little in his chair. "I understand that this is important to you, probably to all the people here.
But I don't know you. Any of you. And I'm not about to get dragged into some whack-job tournament and set myself as bait for the homicidal maniac that killed my parents. I'm not taking part in any of this." Moxxie almost expected Dumbledore to lash out at him, but the kindly-looking old man seemed neither surprised nor upset, but just as understanding as ever. "I understand your situation. I assure you that I do.
I understand that you owe nothing to the wizarding community, as it has done nothing for you so far. But the consequences for failing to participate in this tournament could be as dangerous for you as they are for us. Additionally, I'd ask you to consider how you intend to return to your home." Harry thought over his words. "I am working on a means of transportation for you to reenter Hell, but for now, I believe you are stuck here.
In the living world." "If I stay here, I'll just be a target." "Mr. Potter," Dumbledore's gaze bore into Harry. "Now that the world knows that you are still alive, you will always be a target. And Hogwarts is the safest place there could be." Harry sighed deeply. "What about my wife, my friends? They're stuck here, as well," he said, not realizing that by asking this, he was committing to staying. "I've had quarters arranged for you to be comfortable as you wait for transportation." Dumbledore gestured for Harry to get up from his seat, and Harry followed his indication without hesitation.
He didn't want to feel so whipped by this man, but at the same time, he felt awfully compelled to listen to him and trust him. "I'm sure they have been shown there by Professor McGonagall by now and that they, yourself included, are quite tired.
I am sure, also, that this has been a stressful situation for all of you. There will be more opportunity for conversation in the future, Mr. Potter, I assure you," Dumbledore told him, leading him to the door. "But for now, I may suggest a good night's sleep if you will take it."
Moxxie remained silent, his head swimming.
Why did he feel like he had so many questions, and yet none surfaced into his brain? Why was he suddenly so sleepy the moment Dumbledore mentioned it, but not in any of the other moments in the conversation, during which he had felt awake and alert? Was this Dumbledore man really just some sneaky asshole who was manipulating him? And, worse than that, manipulating him with magic?
Moxxie didn't yet understand what magic could do, where it could reach, or what its limitations were. He held raw power himself, but he had never understood it, had never wielded it in a way that felt right, and therefore hardly practiced it, repressing it as best he could. "One more thing, if I may," said Dumbledore before opening the door. "What is it?" "I simply ask for your discretion, both for your sake and mine.
The wizarding world is as clueless as to the existence of Hell as the muggle world-" "Muggle?" "Humans," he replied simply. "In any case, such news could cause an upheaval as not even yourself could make.
So I ask that you and your companions refrain from giving away any information about your past and where you come from. If they, too, can bear human form whilst interacting with others, I ask that of them, too." "But what about today? Already, hundreds of people have seen us." "No matter, you may leave that to me," he answered.
With that, Dumbledore opened the door to his office, Professor McGonagall standing outside, looking more than a little tired. Had she just been waiting there this whole time, or was being psychic part of these wizards' little tricks? She nodded to him politely, and Harry stepped out. 'Wait," he said to Dumbledore, unable to refrain himself. "Yes, Mr. Potter?" "The wizard - the one who killed my parents. What was his name?" Dumbledore looked at Harry hard once again. He squirmed under his gaze. "Lord Voldemort."
-0-0-0-0-00-0-0-
"I trust this shall be to your liking," Professor McGonagall said stiffly, leading him to a warm-looking living room. Ornate rugs were hastily arranged on the wooden floors, massive fireplace crackling merrily off to one side.
It was all well-illuminated, golden, with red armchairs here and there, topped with soft-looking pillows. There were three doors on the walls. Loona was missing, but Blitzo was lounging on a long, plush couch, and Millie sat looking into the fire, worried, a blanket draped around her shoulders. When she spotted McGonagall and Harry, she stood up, but she wasn't as energetic as the last time, and she didn't spring up on Harry. "This is perfect, thank you… Professor." McGonagall nodded approvingly. "Do let me know if you lot have any sort of… special need.
I'd ask your companions, but I'm afraid they're a tad uncivil," she huffed. "Goodnight, Mr. Potter," she uttered, clearly irritated and maybe a little flustered.
Once she left the room, Moxxie went over to Millie immediately. She held his hands and looked deep into his eyes. He knew she wanted answers, that she wanted to be home, and he didn't even know how to begin explaining what he had been told - it was all crazy enough for him, he couldn't even imagine what it must be like for them. "So, how did you guys upset the… McGonagall woman?"
He asked, trying to ease some tension. "Blitzo asked her what wizard pussy felt like," Millie replied, rolling her eyes. "Just curious," Blitzo said, twirling a small dagger around his hand. "What happened, Moxxie?" Millie asked, her eyes crowded with anticipation and small amounts of fear.
Even Blitzo looked on edge, even though he attempted to hide it.
None of them liked being stuck in this weird, unknown world where it was evident nearly everyone was more powerful, capable, and in the know than them.
Moxxie hesitated before answering. He knew they wouldn't like what he had to say, and he wasn't sure how they would feel about the all-powerful dark wizard that was fixated on him, that had apparently dictated his whole life before Harry had any consciousness. "I think we will have to stay."