"I am delighted to see you again, Head Auror," Ambrose smiled.
Harry stepped over the threshold from the porch into Ambrose's entrance hall.
"Please come through into my study," Ambrose exhorted him.
Harry looked around. "No house-elf today, Ambrose?"
"Indeed not. He is taking his day off to visit friends, I understand. And Catherine is on a shopping trip to purchase more clutter with which to adorn the house, I do not doubt. She is in a permanent state of moving in and nest building, it would appear. The upshot of all this is that we are quite alone, my dear friend, and may do or say whatever we please."
Harry did not miss the tone of hidden meaning in the old man's words. He smiled at his host and followed him into the ground-floor study.
The room was dimly lit and warmed by an open fire in a hearth with an impressive stone surround and mantle. The curtains were partly closed and only the trunks of the trees outside were visible. The room felt cosy but, as his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, Harry realised that it was larger than he had expected. A few armchairs were arrayed around a low table in front of the fire. Beyond this were tables and benches around the room. Some, Harry could see, were covered with old scientific instruments – barometers, microscopes and the like. It reminded Harry of somewhere he had known years before, though he could not place it at that moment.
Ambrose took to one of the armchairs and gestured to Harry to join him.
"I have a large flask of mulled wine," Ambrose beamed, "which is far beyond my capacity to imbibe. I wonder if you would help me out by joining me in a glass or two?"
"Thank you," Harry nodded as he lowered himself into the soft embrace of the armchair.
Ambrose rose and went to a side cupboard, returning with two glasses and a large insulated flask.
"Just the thing for this weather, I feel," the old man smiled, setting the items down on the table and retaking his seat.
Ambrose poured the wine and Harry took his, expressing his gratitude.
"Your good health, Harry," his host smiled, raising his glass. "Now, how may I help you?"
Harry took a sip of his wine. He pursed his lips and took a deep breath before asking, "Have you heard from Lydia his term?"
"I have indeed, Harry. More than once, in fact. But I rather doubt you have come to ask me that. To what do I really owe this pleasure?"
Harry took another deep breath and looked past Ambrose towards the windows. A shaft of rare sunlight, shattered by the bare branches on the wintry trees beyond, slid in through the parted curtains. It glinted on one of the polished scientific instruments. In that moment Harry recalled the room of which the study reminded him. The implications made his head swim.
Ambrose was regarding him with his head lowered and his eyes looking up through his eyebrows. Those eyes seemed to see inside Harry's head.
"Are you?" Harry began, his whispered voice faltering. "Are you, well, Dumbledore?"
Ambrose leaned back in his chair, his face warmed by a smile. He took another sip of his mulled wine before replacing the glass on its coaster and looking towards Harry.
"No, Harry. Albus is dead, I am afraid. He told you that himself."
"Yes, he did, but," Harry began, then checked himself. "I've never told anyone that. Not even Ginny."
"No, Harry, you have not," Ambrose smiled, brushing a speck of dust from his waistcoat. "Albus told me that he had informed you… at King's Cross, apparently."
Harry sat as still as stone for a few moments. He reached for his glass and took a long draught of the soothing warm drink. The trembling which had threatened to seize his hand faded away.
"Who are you?" he croaked.
Ambrose looked to the ceiling for a few moments then looked Harry in the eye, once more.
"I will tell you, if you will tell me what it was that prompted your visit, today."
Harry wanted to press for an answer to his question but found himself blurting out, "There are two things, or possibly they are the same thing. Draco has detected a huge… current of Old Magic. Also my aurors have found evidence of a surge of Death Eater activity. There are meetings, people are being pressured, others are being recruited. Draco and I, well, we thought we would like your perspective on what is happening. I'm not sure why, but…"
"The reason why you wanted to include me, Harry, is very simple," Ambrose explained. "It is because I needed to know as soon as it became so obvious that even you noticed. I am sorry, that sounded disparaging. I merely meant that Lydia and I have been aware of this upsurging for some time. It has taken you longer, because you lack our connection with the Old Magic. If the High Magic community is beginning to notice then we can be certain that it is almost time to act. Thank you for letting me know, Head Auror. I suppose, in return, it is only fair that I answer at least some of your questions. If I give you an answer it will be truthful. If I cannot, I will endeavour to explain why not."
Questions were rising in Harry's mind like a swarm of bubbles in a glass of beer. He asked the first one to reach the surface.
"Why do you remind me of Dumbledore?"
Ambrose gave a warm smile and a light sigh. "Albus and I were friends for many years. I became his mentor when he was around the age you are now, Harry. It is possible he modelled himself on some of my attributes, perhaps.
"I had watched him, on and off, since his days as a student at Hogwarts. He showed promise from an early age. He was, arguably, a little too intense – even arrogant – for a while. Then his… disappointment with his friend, Gellert, and other factors in his unfortunate times tempered his manner. That left a very worthy ally for me. I did my best to give him the knowledge and the wisdom that he needed without directing his actions.
"I should make clear at this point that bitter experience keeps me from becoming directly involved until… let us say for now, until I am needed. But more of that later."
Harry pondered for several moments, then asked, "How old are you?"
Ambrose chuckled. "Almost old enough to know better, Harry, but clearly, not quite. I cannot give you an exact number, because I do not know. However, I am significantly older than Albus or, indeed, Nicolas Flamel. I imagine you recall that name. Another of my young protégés."
Harry's mind reeled. Flamel, the alchemist who had produced the only known Philosopher's Stone, had been born the better part of seven centuries ago. He slowly shook his head, partly in numb disbelief, partly in a vain attempt to dismiss the implications of what he was hearing.
"The best answer I can give you, my dear friend," Ambrose continued, "is to tell you of my origins and of some of the many hideous mistakes I have made along the way. Feel free to interrupt with any further questions you may have. The story has become tedious for me, having told it a number of times.
"I was born in Central Europe, in an area known as the Carpathian Basin. It is in what is now known as Hungary. My extended family, or 'clan' you might call them, were nomadic herders, hunters and gatherers. We would move between the plains and the foothills of the Carpathian Mountains as the seasons turned. My father was the shaman of the clan. We have spoken of these before. They were wise men and doctors with a degree of skill in the Old Magic. Unusually among the tribe groups of the time, his father and his grandfather had been shamans before him. Even more unusually, they were both still alive. My great-grandfather had invented a ritual to extend the span of his life. My grandfather and father had both improved on it."
"Is that how you became… so long-lived?" Harry felt bound to ask.
Ambrose frowned and shook his head a little. "No, but it allowed me to live long enough to make some truly world-beating mistakes."
"Mistakes?" Harry prompted.
"To shorten the story a great deal, Harry," Ambrose began in a hoarse tone, "I made the High Magic – your wand magic – and, at the same time, accidentally made myself immortal."
Harry felt he should be more shocked than he was. Some part of him, however, must have been expecting to hear this.
"Wait," he said. "Have we had this conversation before?"
Ambrose grimaced. "I am dreadfully sorry, my dear fellow. This is the fourth time we have begun this conversation. However, it is now time that you should hear everything – and be allowed to remember it."
Harry shrugged. "I had no idea, until now. You are good at memory charms."
Ambrose grinned. "I have had opportunity to practise, over the years."
"I'm sorry, Ambrose, I interrupted. You were telling me about your 'accidental' immortality?"
Ambrose hung his head. "Indeed so. It is possible that, as a punishment for the arrogance of wanting to live as long as I chose, I was made immortal and invulnerable. I was forced to live rather longer than I chose. I have tried to remedy the situation on a number of occasions, all to no avail."
"How old, roughly?" Harry asked in a hushed voice.
"I was not taking a tally of the years after the first hundred or so. Then it was several centuries, millennia even, before I was witness to any historical events which have since been dated. My best guess," he announced lightly, "is that I am approaching nine thousand years old."
Harry peered into depths of the old man's eyes. They were kindly and intelligent, with a gleam of humour but also tempered with pain. They were also filling with tears.
"I lost my parents, my godfather, several friends," Harry murmured. "You have lost…"
"Everyone," Ambrose nodded. "If one were to round up the numbers ever so slightly."
Harry felt the weight of his own losses. He sagged to imagine Ambrose's.
"I prefer, these days," Ambrose continued, raising his chin, "to concentrate on the friends I have now and those I have still to meet. It is a small self-deception from which we can all learn to benefit, in time."
"Do you," Harry weighed his words, "have children?"
Ambrose gave a wry smile. "I have had a few, a long time ago. They lived relatively normal lives. It is too painful an experience for me to wish to repeat, as I am sure you can imagine."
Harry nodded. As a father he could understand the pain of such loss.
"On a brighter note, Harry," Ambrose resumed. "I can satisfy myself that most people I ever meet these days are either descended from or otherwise related to me. Obviously, there are several members of our species from whom I would prefer to distance myself, if I could. The reality I must accept is that I have never been wholly good nor anything approaching infallible. My disastrous mistakes have been my own folly and mine alone."
Ambrose was hanging his head again, the tip of his beard resting on his waistcoat.
"Mistakes?" Harry pressed on. "You mentioned inventing the High Magic. Was that really such a terrible mistake?"
"There were many more, Harry, rest assured. But the High Magic was the star of the show, so to speak. Giving such magic to my fellow shamans, simply because I was lonely and wanted them to admire my achievements, was utter foolishness. Creating the magical field which ensures people are occasionally born with magic powers... Ah, was monumentally stupid, in hindsight. Taking on an apprentice with a penchant for volcanoes and earthquakes? Utter madness. Burning the Great Library? Well…
"But, looking back, the High Magic was a 'doozy'. Far worse than my immortality, as it affected everyone."
Harry felt a hot surge of indignation in his stomach. "I admit the wizarding community hasn't always done the right thing, but we haven't been a complete disaster, surely?"
Ambrose looked at him and blinked, as if surprised to see he was still there.
"I do beg your pardon," Ambrose smiled, returning to himself. "I have not explained myself at all well, Harry. I am frequently proud of the majority of my magical children. No, what I meant to convey, I should have said more clearly, is the tremendous cost of that little trick. I had believed I was harnessing the power of nature – our nature, our world. I was making the convenience food version of the Old Magic. I was mistaken.
"It transpires that there is another nature, another world, which lies in parallel to ours. The two are separated by a membrane, if it helps to think of it that way. In creating the High Magic, I punctured that membrane and stole the power of nature from that other world."
"Is that the 'Other World' we have talked about before?" Harry asked.
"Indeed so, Harry," Ambrose confirmed. "The 'Other World' mentioned in many folk traditions and religions around the world. It is also referred to as the 'Alterworld', which is the term I tend to use, to avoid confusion with the events and characters of folk stories.
"It took some time for the peoples of the Alterworld to determine what had occurred. When they pieced it all together they were more than a little vexed. I am still unsure what effects they suffered but I can tell you they have been displeased with me ever since.
"Over the following several centuries they found ways to come through to our world and began to affect people and events here. My fellow First Wizards and I used our magic to foil and repel them. In their turn they found ways to kill or corrupt my colleagues, hoping to wipe us all out. They discovered that I was immortal and would always be there to thwart their plans. That irked them somewhat, as you can imagine."
The understatement made Harry snort with a blend of mirth and disbelief. Even in this serious context Ambrose was, well, as annoying as ever.
Ambrose raised an eyebrow. "Well, perhaps more than somewhat irked.
"By this time, having lost many fellow wizards, I hatched an ill-considered plan. I would give a small proportion of people access to the High Magic as a kind of birth-right. That way I might always have comrades on whom I could call to help me repel those trying to break through from the Alterworld. These comrades of mine began to recognise each other. They formed their own community, of which you are now a prominent member."
Harry nodded. "So, you made me and everyone I know?"
"Hmm. Not so much 'made you' as 'made you different'. That would be more accurate."
Harry pondered for a while before asking his next question.
"You said that people from the Alterworld got through to our world. What happened?"
Ambrose heaved a sigh. "There were battles in the beginning. Then their attacks became more subtle. People were changed or corrupted, and were turned to do their bidding. There were battles, betrayals, subterfuge. Events occurred which have since passed down into legends, folklore and mythology."
Ambrose stopped. Harry was looking puzzled.
"When you said people were changed," Harry asked. "How, exactly."
"Some were merely persuaded to change their allegiances. Others were physically transformed into what we now know as vampires, werewolves – even goblins."
"Goblins?!" Harry was shocked. "Goblins were once people?"
"To be fair, Harry," Ambrose chided, "they are still people, or more correctly, a people. I do wish wizards would recognise that fact a little more often. Simply because they are a little different from us does not mean they do not belong with us. We have much in common and would be stronger together.
"I have tried, from time-to-time, to nudge the two communities into alliance. Admittedly, most of those attempts did lead to what we now know as the 'Goblin Wars'. Every time, on each side, there are a few who wish to stir up resentments and spoil it for everyone. They do it to create opportunities for their own personal gain."
"Couldn't you intervene?"
"I have in the past, Harry," Ambrose looked pained. "Another reason why I have learned to interfere as little as possible. I feel remorse too keenly to make a good assassin, or even a jailer."
"Did the Alterworlders make house elves and dragons and so on?" Harry wondered aloud.
"A colleague of mine turned his own servants, slaves really, into the first house elves. The magic to ensure their obedience was very cleverly crafted. It is one of the strongest curses I have ever known. I have made numerous attempts to chip away at it over the millennia but it is only recently that I feel it has truly begun to break down. Much of that success is due to the efforts of people like Dobby and Hermione. More effort will be required. We need to break down the habits and erroneous beliefs ingrained in the elves and their tormentors – or 'masters' as they prefer to call themselves.
"As for magical creatures most were created by early wizards. Others were created by the Alterworlders or their agents in our world. Not dragons, however. I am unsure of their origins, as indeed are they. I choose to believe they were created by the forces of nature of our own world.
"I shall, for a moment, sound like a typical old man as I tell you that the dragons we have today could not hold a candle to the dragons I knew as a youth." Ambrose frowned for a moment. "Though, holding a candle to a dragon would be a singularly pointless pastime."
He mimed holding up a candle and breathing fire on it. Harry chuckled for a second but a thought struck him and he froze.
Ambrose's face became deadly serious. He regarded the young man through his lowered eyebrows.
"My dear boy," he intoned, "I do believe you have made the connection you came here to find."
"All of this," Harry breathed. "All the talk of currents in the Old Magic, of Alorea being given a grimoire, of the weird things happening all over. It's all about the Alterworld, isn't it? About them trying to… break through?"
Ambrose nodded.
"It is," he sighed. "Again."
7