Albus crept warily through the foliage, eyes peeled, making not a sound as he drew closer to the treeline. He clutched his wand tight, sweat dotting his brow.
Nearly four years of searching had led him there, to a remote forest surrounding a small manor not too far from Salisbury.
Unsurprisingly, he hadn't seen anyone for hours.
He had, however, encountered protective enchantments the likes of which he'd never seen before; not as intricate and powerful as Hogwarts', of course, but these were fresh. Several years old at the most, if he had to guess.
Were he any other wizard, the charms would have trapped him or worse; as it was, the heel of his left shoe had been quite badly singed.
Moreover, if he hadn't been accompanied by faithful Fawkes, he would not have made it nearly so far. Fawkes had been required to rescue him from a tight spot, and several times had guided Albus away from a path that would have led directly to a snake.
None of those snakes had belonged to any species native to these lands.
Another confirmation, if it was needed, that he was on the right path.
Something interesting as well: none of the traps had been lethal. A hopeful sign indeed.
Finally, he could see the home. A long, squat building with vines crawling up the ivory pillars at the entrance. It, like the snakes, did not belong here.
A pitch-black dolmen stood between the forest and the property, so dark it seemed to consume the light. It was covered in writing, none that Albus could make out from this distance.
Five years ago, there was no manor here. Five years ago, this was part of the forest. Per the Muggle records and maps, it still was.
It radiated menace, the home. From the odd, blurry carvings in the walls, to the unshapely gargoyles perched on the roof, it felt wrong.
Everything about this situation was wrong.
Hopefully soon he would be able to put it right.
"Be careful, my friend," he whispered to Fawkes, who shot toward the house in a burst of golden flame.
As Fawkes began to reconnoiter, Albus found his thoughts turning once more toward the enormity of the task before him. He'd been on this trail ever since Mrs Figg's first owl, ever since examining the ruins of the Dursleys' home and determining that it had been a magical fire and that Harry had survived. Other than that, and an enigmatic large number of snakes seen in the area the night of the fire, he'd had nothing. Not a hint, not a clue.
It was impressive, really, that he'd found his quarry from such sparse information.
He'd searched frantically of course, in a bewildered, urgent rush. The blood based protection he'd placed on the Dursleys' home had been as close to perfect as possible, of that he was sure. Every piece of research, every ounce of arcane knowledge all confirmed that. Even Voldemort, at the height of his power, would have found them impenetrable.
The implications were rather worrisome.
The snakes suggested Voldemort, but that was impossible. Not that he was dead, to be sure. Albus had been quite certain after that fateful Halloween that Voldemort lived, and that certainty had only strengthened with time. Alive, but weak and without form.
No, it couldn't have been Voldemort, and none of his followers were near skilled or intelligent enough to pull it off. The fire, for instance, was something related to Fiendfyre–almost like the basic theory of Fiendfyre had been taken and molded down an entirely different path. It had been tightly controlled, not even leaking ash on neighboring houses, and the Dursleys' bodies were burned entirely from the inside, but those internal burn marks were very interesting, shaped as if by fangs and claws.
That was Albus' first clue.
For the Dursleys to have been harmed and Harry taken suggested that it had been willing on Harry's part. True willingness, not something induced by spell or potion.
That was Albus' second clue.
Finally, the fact that he could find absolutely no other hint of who had taken Harry, was his third clue.
He was dealing with someone entirely extraordinary.
How he had searched, in the years since, for any sign, any evidence of the mystery wizard. He'd delved deeper into his research of arcane magics than ever in his life, sent Fawkes searching the earth, consulted with scryers and the like, had Mundungus consorting with the criminal element, admittedly with little need of convincing.
He'd even reignited his communication with Gellert, in his tower prison, and still nothing.
The ministry had their own search, of course. In an uncharacteristically intelligent move, Fudge had ordered the investigation kept deep under wraps: indeed, even Rita Skeeter had never reported on Harry's disappearance. A quiet international manhunt was underway and had been for four years, with the vast majority of the wizarding world entirely unaware.
And yet, with all those resources, neither Albus or the ministry had gained any ground.
At least, until six months previous, when a name was whispered to Mundungus, a name repeated by Grindelwald, told to him by a former follower with an interest in forgotten mysteries.
A name, and a whisper of Salisbury.
Albus was broken out of his memories as Fawkes returned, calmly coming to rest on his shoulder.
All was clear.
"Thank you," he said softly, and began to stride toward the manor.
He felt the change immediately as he left the forest, a near-overpowering dread settling into his bones, a burning urge to simply turn tail and run.
He quashed it and continued on, treading lightly on the grass, eyes peeled in every direction.
Slowly, he came to the dolmen. It stood not far from the building, and it, Albus realized, was the source of the gloom pressing down on the rest of the clearing.
He could make out the writings on it now, not that he could understand very much of them. An enormous number of runes, many of which were in languages he'd never never seen before, interspersed with disturbing, creeping shapes that hurt his eyes to look at.
Against his better instincts, he reached out and laid a hand against the black stone.
And gasped, his mind reeling as he pulled back as if burned.
There were enchantments buried deep in that stone, enchantments the like of which he'd never encountered, enchantments of which he knew nothing.
And yet…there was a familiarity to them. Similar to some of his more arcane knowledge, but somehow alien at the same time.
Trembling, he placed his hand once more against the cold stone.
Yes, the enchantments generally bore a familiarity to some that he knew, like a dementor to a lethifold. One, however, stood out, for Albus could easily sense a powerful component in its working.
"Love," he whispered to himself, shocked almost beyond words. "That's love."
Shaking himself off, he pulled away from the stone, mind racing.
Could it be, somehow? Could Harry's kidnapper somehow have noble intentions? After all, none of the traps around the manor had been lethal…
Fawkes trilled, just within Albus' range of hearing.
Right. He was allowing himself to be lost in thought.
That wouldn't do at all.
He looked around again. The clearing was quiet, peaceful. A strong smell of pine wafted over the gentle breeze, the grass waving lazily.
Having passed the dolmen, he didn't even feel the crushing weight of it's emanating terror.
Breathing deeply, calm once more, he took a step toward the house, and a dozen gigantic figures exploded from the bowels of the earth.
Drat. It had all been going so well.
Before any of the beasts had come to rest, Albus' wand slashed upward, tapping each of his eyes on its downward stroke.
A thick fog appeared instantly, so dark a gray it was nearly black, so heavy Albus would not have been able to see his own fingers were it not for his preparations. He had, however, been prepared, and so could not only see his fingers but could see the shapes of all the monsters around him. Only their shapes, near as indistinct as shadows.
Exactly as he'd planned it. It would be poor luck to gaze into one of their eyes, if his theories were correct.
He paused for a moment, utterly still, and took stock. There were at least three dozen of the creatures around him, all of them, unsurprisingly, different varieties of snake. They ranged in size from the length of his pinky to what must have been fifty feet, and were as varied in form as imaginable: many were winged, several had rudimentary feet, and quite a few had uncomfortably large horns.
Albus smiled. Now this was an interesting and exciting change of pace indeed. He wouldn't be able to simply kill the snakes either, not if he wanted to ingratiate himself to their master.
No, this was a challenge.
Fawkes screamed across the sky, crashing into the largest snake's head with a flash of flame and talons. The snake reared up to its full height, hissing in agony and biting at Fawkes.
Albus shook his head. For all that Fawkes seemed to have the situation under control, he would greatly have preferred to not harm any of the snakes, particularly not that splendid monstrosity.
Well, nothing to do about it now.
Albus jabbed his wand repeatedly, conjuring dozens of pairs of blindfolds and shooting them around the field. Most of them hit their targets, with only very few of the winged snakes quick enough to barrel out of their way. One flying snake, amusingly enough, got its wings tangled in the small blindfold and fell to the ground from at least twenty feet up, making Albus wince.
Then, with utterly no fanfare, his perfectly cast blindfolds vanished.
"Rude," Albus said, appalled. "Very rude."
A quick wordless disillusionment charm later and Albus spun, jumping through the air while simultaneously sending several large rocks flying to disguise the sound of his landing.
His disillusionment charm disappeared, and he distinctly felt the charm he'd cast to hide his scent vanish along with it.
The fog he had called into being disappeared too.
One of the flying snakes barreled toward him. A quick banishing charm solved that issue, but he was being surrounded.
"I would prefer to cause no lasting harm," he called, immediately before spotting what Fawkes had done.
The giant snake (certainly a basilisk) was prone, its face in ruins. Large gashes were open all along its side, letting its blood pool to the earth where it sizzled and smoked. It was alive, Albus could tell that much, although it seemed quite dazed and would likely not be a problem for the immediate future.
Fawkes was in the middle of a dogfight with no fewer than three of the winged serpents. The phoenix was winning, of course.
Enthusiastic as Fawkes was, it really wouldn't reflect well on Albus if he arrived with a pile of corpses.
Meanwhile, the circle of snakes around Albus was closing, their fangs dripping hungrily. Was that normal snake behavior? Hadn't he read something about their salivary glands recently?
A rather beautiful gold and onyx scaled thing with nothing but a toothy gaping maw atop its neck lunged at him, crashing off his hastily cast shield.
His shield charm, like his other spells, vanished.
What a bother.
"I speak nothing but the truth," he shouted, as the snakes, as one, hurled themselves at him.
A deft flick of his wand and everything–serpents, stones, dirt, and unfortunately Fawkes–within twenty feet of him was blasted away.
"Do not take my politeness for fear or inability," he shouted, "I wish only to talk with you. I do not wish to harm your friends. But I will not allow them to hurt me and I will not leave before we have spoken."
A deafening chorus of sibilant hissing and unearthly screeches erupted at his declaration.
The snakes were regrouping, surrounding him again. As he watched, dark bubbles broke the ground around him, monstrous shapes twisting and writhing within.
The bubbles began to pop, wyverns, wyrms -and was that a small dragon?-along with things he never had heard of joining the snakes.
Albus sighed and stamped his foot.
This was just becoming ridiculous.
One of the flying serpents managed to evade Fawkes, coming close enough to Albus that it caught his beard in its fangs as he twisted away.
The damn thing tore off half of his beard! He'd been cultivating it for decades!
That was enough!
A twirl of his wand brought the dust up, spiraling and spinning at dazzling speed. With a jerk of his wrist, he shot his tornado at the creatures.
Not done, he reached out to the ground, pulling out a dozen, then a hundred, clumps of dirt, enlarging and forming them into roughly bearlike figures and animating them. He tossed in a few mongooses for the fun of it.
Fawkes swooped in and alighted on his shoulder, singing a self-satisfied tune.
"I'd have preferred you to have not killed them," he said, "though I am quite impressed. You never cease to amaze me."
His golems began to roar. He waved his wand
lazily, conjuring up a dozen fireballs.
The assembled creatures seemed to hesitate, cringing back slightly.
"Please," he shouted, "Do not force this to continue. Let us talk."
The winged serpents took to the sky, while the other snakes and assembled creatures began to slowly advance. Albus' golems roared and pawed at the ground, his will the only thing holding them back.
Fawkes leapt forth with a shriek.
"I'm truly sorry," he called, preparing to unleash his golems, flames, and a nasty curse he'd been considering. "But I will not leave without talking with you."
The door to the manor opened.
Everything went still, the wind itself ceasing to blow.
A handsome man stepped out.
He stood tall and proud, disregarding the age his face showed. His bright yellow eyes with their vertically slit pupils seemed to glow. He wore a cloak of darkness, as if the primeval night had been given form, and in his left hand clutched a hollowed out femur–a child's, given its size–stuffed with…
Nundu hair, Albus thought, eyes widening. How remarkable.
In his right hand he held a staff, cut from a wood Albus did not recognize.
Far too many things I have been unable to recognize today. Perhaps, if all goes well, I will be able to remedy that.
The man suddenly began to hiss and splutter, gesturing curtly at his creatures and then toward the ground.
They hissed back in response, even as they slunk into the ground.
Albus watched with growing curiosity. The earth turned viscous around them and they sank, vanishing from view in moments.
He was suddenly quite in the mood for a nice bowl of jelly. Maybe some custard too.
"Thank you," he said, making a show of vanishing his fireballs and allowing his golems to dissolve to the dirt that had formed them. "I appreciate this opportunity -"
Herpo, for of course it was Herpo the Foul, wasn't listening. His eyes, discomforting though they were, seemed to have softened somewhat and were trained on Fawkes, watching as he fluttered back to Albus' shoulder.
"If I may-"
Herpo waved a hand imperiously and Albus swallowed his words.
So that's what it felt like to be on the receiving end. What an interesting experience.
Still staring at Fawkes, Herpo coughed wetly, cleared his throat, and then whistled, humming at the same time while bopping his head to the beat.
Now that was interesting. Very interesting.
The pitch was entirely wrong, but it could have passed for something Fawkes might have sung on a bad burning day.
Fawkes seemed just as taken aback as Albus. After a moment, he trilled out a reply in a similar tone to Herpo's.
"No, no. Too fast. Always too fast. Again, but slower."
Herpo's voice was not what Albus had been expecting. It was far too joyous, far too…alive, to be coming from a monster from the depths of history.
As Fawkes repeated the song, Albus found himself re-evaluating Herpo. Perhaps an easier accord could be found.
"I understand," Herpo said, nodding his head solemnly. "If you happen to see him again, please tell him I miss him. And remind him that he owes me–and so do you! Aegeus will take a while to heal, and poor Iago and his spawn…"
Tutting and shaking his head, Herpo spun on his heel and walked back into the house.
Albus shared a bemused look with Fawkes as the wind began to blow again, the unnatural stillness passing as suddenly as it had come.
"Well?"
Herpo's head popped out the door.
"Aren't you coming in? All that blather about wanting to talk, come already."
Herpo's house, like everything else about the man, was not what Albus would have expected.
It was well lit, and no matter what else it contained, felt homely and welcoming.
Albus wanted desperately to stop and examine everything, to let his hours be consumed in study and learning.
The ancient Greek seemed to have a tad magpie in his family tree. The house was absolutely stuffed, with all sorts of interesting books piled haphazardly next to magical instruments the use of which Albus could only guess at. There was a beautiful moving model of the solar system arrayed next to a table covered with objects, many of which Albus also owned in his own office, but then there were the bones.
An infant's skull, etched with writing and holding a candle where its fontanelles would have grown. A spinal cord, belonging to something much larger than even a giant, its vertebrae coated in shimmering gold. An entire human skeleton, whose neck creaked to turn with Albus' passing.
There were chairs and couches galore, all looking well used, but such fine embroidery…
Jars filled with unidentifiable liquids sat atop shelves that had been affixed at eye level. There were things floating in them, things that skittered and swam in their murky darkness.
Albus itched, despite himself, to just stop for a moment, to reach out and grab a book from a pile, settle into one of the armchairs, and lose himself for a while.
Alas, he had more pressing matters.
Harry was undoubtedly here. Along with the rest of Herpo's possessions, there were toys scattered along the floor: a rubbery ball, something that looked to be a board game, a gobstones set; even a few chocolate frog cards. A few editions of Marvin Miggs poked out of the cushions of one of the couches.
Yes, Harry was here, and by first glance, did not seem to be deprived of amusement.
How very interesting.
Finally, they arrived in a sitting room that was empty of all but furniture and a single leather bound book. Herpo was lounging on a throne-like chair with the book open, his right hand splayed across an empty page.
"I recognize you, I think," he said. "Tell me your name, boy."
Albus couldn't help himself. He chuckled at the form of address.
"Albus Dumbledore. And you are Herpo, I take it?"
"The Foul, they call me," Herpo replied, offhandedly. "Ungrateful swine. I tell you, in my day, we treated our elders with more respect-ah, Dumbledore, Dumbledore, Dumbledore. Here we…"
His voice trailed off as the pages fluttered under his hand. His eyes rolled back their sockets, and that was a disconcerting sight indeed–there were no whites to them, only more of that golden-yellow.
"Albus Dumbledore," he mused, shaking himself off and blinking rapidly. "Supreme Mugwump, eh. Well, if the Confederation wants to try me again, they will see that Tambora was just the start! By the forgotten gods, I will-"
"I am not here on behalf of the Confederation," Albus said.
Very interesting. Official Confederation history has few mentions of Herpo, and none leading up to Tambora's eruption. And that book–why, that's some form of pensieve. But how is it so dynamic?
How is he absorbing the memories by touch alone?
I can learn so much from him.
"Your Wizengamot, then. Tell them-"
"I must apologize for the repeated interruptions, but I am not here on behalf of the Wizengamot either. Nor the Ministry of Magic. In truth, I am not here in any official capacity."
Herpo locked eyes with Albus, such intensity in his gaze that if Albus were not sitting he would have taken a step back.
"The boy is mine. He is a treasure who deserves and must be raised by someone who appreciates what a gift he is. He is mine, and you will not have him."
"I do not-"
Herpo leapt to his feet, gripping his strange, abominable wand.
"Oh, you think you know, but you don't! He is-feh, this language- he is everything!"
"I came to ascertain his safety," Albus said, deftly letting his wand fall into his hand. "I do not mean to battle with you over his custody."
Herpo laughed, jutting out his chin.
"Is that so?"
Albus met his eyes, shivering as he did.
The legilimency attack happened instantly. Before Albus had so much as a chance to think, Herpo was in his mind, so cold he burned, brushing away Albus' Occlumency defenses like they never were.
But this was not legillimency as Albus knew it. Every single one of his memories, every one of his thoughts, his intentions, his hopes and dreams and shames, they all played at once, a migraine inducing cacophony that overwhelmed and assaulted his very soul.
It was over seemingly as soon as it had begun, though Herpo had his hand in the book once more.
The man was grinning fit to split his face, hopping from one leg to another in excitement.
"We must discuss how you created those enchantments around his home," Herpo said, "why, they were delightful! Tied to the aunt, yes? His mother's blood? Brilliant!"
"Y-yes." Albus flopped in his chair, his head aching horrifically. Everything hurt, and fatigue threatened to bowl him over.
"I took a vial of her blood, but it wasn't enough," Herpo continued, oblivious to Albus' state. "Then I tried to bind her spirit, but it had been more than three days and, well, muggles you know. What a pity. I hope you noticed I copied you, somewhat at least."
"You-" thinking, thinking was very hard right then. Albus mind was like taffy, stretched in every direction. What had Herpo been saying? He'd copied him? How? Oh.
"The dolmen," Albus murmured. "But how did you harness the power of love?"
Fawkes was looking at Albus with grave concern. Tenderly, he laid his head on Albus' and began to cry soft tears that burned their way into Albus' skull and set his thoughts ablaze once more.
The pain receded, although not vanishing entirely.
Albus elected to ignore it for now. It wasn't every day that something like this happened.
"I used my own love for the boy, of course."
"So you love him?"
Herpo laughed maniacally, appearing to find the question hysterical.
"How could I not? He is remarkable in every way, and yet…so terribly normal. So naive and happy. He is a miracle, and will grow to be a most potent sorcerer. "
Herpo leaned closer to Albus.
"He makes me remember what it was like to be a father. It's been a breath of fresh air having him."
Albus' thoughts raced, the cogs in his head spinning madly. All his previous plans would have to be discarded. If Herpo truly did love Harry, and if Harry wasn't being mistreated…
Harry would certainly be as safe here as at the Dursleys. Albus had no doubts as to how a duel between him and Herpo would go, particularly not after that dazzling display of legillimency.
Perhaps, if Albus had time to prepare, and had the entire auror corps supporting him, it would be a fair fight. Perhaps.
No, neither Voldemort nor his Death Eaters would be able to harm Harry here. The question, of course, then became whether Harry was safe from Herpo.
For all that Herpo assured him so, he could not rely on that, not until he had met with Harry.
But if Harry was being raised well, if Harry was happy and safe, then this could be a marvelous opportunity. An opportunity not only for Harry, but for some form of redemption for Herpo as well.
And, to be frank, Albus was rather excited by the prospect of learning hitherto unknown branches of magical theory and practice, something he could attain if he worked with Herpo and not against him.
"Why," Herpo continued, "simply having another human to talk to has done wonders for my sanity, even if we mostly talk in Parseltongue."
Yes, Herpo seemed to appreciate having Harry, and the love Albus had felt at the dolmen had been true. Love, after all, was the most powerful magic. And-wait, what?
"You speak Parseltongue with one other?"
"Not all of the time. We have to have one conversation a day in Greek, and when we study Latin, Aramaic, and Sumerian we use only those languages, and we have several hours wherein we only speak English, but the rest is Parseltongue."
Herpo nodded sanctimoniously.
"You're a teacher, you must know this. It's not good for a growing boy to only speak one language at a time."
Albus closed his mouth hurriedly and mentally counted to ten.
"I was simply unaware that Harry is a Parselmouth. There's no record of it in his family, so far as I can tell."
"Oh, that one's easy," Herpo clapped, his smile widening. "He became a Parselmouth when he became a Horcrux."
Albus nearly fainted.
"Could you please explain that to me?"
"Well, I noticed it immediately when I discovered him, blessed night that was, and…"
It was nearly two hours later when Herpo left the sitting room to fetch Harry.
Albus sat heavily, head swimming, not touching the tea Herpo had eventually brewed for him. Not touching it was a wise move, since Herpo had handed it over while saying "I don't think this one is poisoned."
Horcruxes. Of the foulest, evillest, most disgraceful pieces of magic. Invented by Herpo, and taken, apparently, entirely overboard by Voldemort.
Harry was a Horcrux. A half-formed, unplanned Horcrux. Harry, though his mother's sacrifice had destroyed Voldemort's body, was tying him to life.
And he was not alone in that.
Five other Horcruxes, Herpo said. Somehow, he'd been able to get a rough fix on their location using their connection to Voldemort's soul which itself was connected to the piece in Harry. Five other Horcruxes, scattered and hidden beneath layers and layers of enchantments around England.
And Harry was the sixth.
Oh, Herpo claimed he was nearing the creation of a method to safely remove the soul shard from Harry, but for now—
Were Voldemort still in his physical form, Albus would have unleashed a fury upon him that he had kept tightly leashed for fifty years. He would not have granted him the kindness he had granted Gellert, no. He would have destroyed him utterly, binding his very spirit to an eternity of torment.
Harry was a Horcrux.
It was all he could do to keep from weeping.
Of course Herpo would be so taken with him. And of course, living with Herpo would be the best option. There was no one alive, nor anyone who had ever lived, who could claim as intimate and profound a knowledge of the monstrosities that were Horcruxes as Herpo the Foul.
Herpo claimed that Voldemort's 'master soul' was somewhere in Albania. Herpo also claimed that he would help Albus track down the five, the other five, he corrected himself, Horcruxes.
And Herpo would find a way to free Harry from his burden.
Herpo was even willing to allow the boy to attend Hogwarts, as Harry had apparently complained about the lack of friends. From what Herpo said, the Muggle children he'd kidnapped hadn't sated Harry's longing.
All it would take was a promise from Albus that Herpo could retain custody, and Albus' assistance with some yet unknown task.
Albus had given those promises. No matter what Herpo requested from him, he would do it.
First and foremost, it would guarantee Harry's physical safety.
Moreover…
If he hadn't dragged his feet when Voldemort first began to show his danger, so much could have been avoided. All of this could have been avoided.
If he had insisted on casting the Fidelius for the Potter's and on being their Secret Keeper, this could have been avoided.
Albus had power, damnit. He should have used it to protect.
The Horcrux was Harry's burden to bear, for now. But Harry's suffering was Albus' burden to bear, for now and forever.
Beyond all that, however, lay Albus' pragmatism. He did not have the power or ability to remove Harry from Herpo.
So Harry would remain with him.
Herpo was…an interesting man. Not a sane one, that much was clear. Their conversation had devolved into rambling at multiple points, and several times he had engaged in an entirely different conversation with the air at large.
He had also undoubtedly earned his title. He spoke with ease about atrocities he had committed, showed not a hint of remorse when discussing his murder of the Dursleys, and did not seem to have any moral compass whatsoever.
At the same time, however, he showed no specific desire to cause harm, and had no wish to fight the ministry or seize control of so much as a hamlet.
And he was entrancing. He spoke with confidence and familiarity about eldritch magics the likes of which Albus had read only tattered fragments.
But what type of boy would Harry be after spending a formative four years with the man?
And what options did Albus have if Harry had been corrupted?
Lost in his concerning thoughts, Albus almost didn't notice when Herpo arrived with Harry in tow, only just hearing their hissing and spluttering an instant before they rounded the corner.
There must be a way for me to learn Parseltongue. A magical language at its core, for certain, but perhaps…
He rose as they entered the sitting room, his smile freezing for a moment when he took in the sight of Harry.
He truly was James in miniature. Except for the eyes, Lily's green, and the scar on his forehead.
He even wore the same sort of glasses as James did, Albus noted with a pang.
He looked to be well cared for and in good health. Herpo clearly hadn't been depriving him of food or sunshine or the like.
He also looked happy. Albus' first glimpse of him was mid-conversation with Herpo, and the boy was grinning, his eyes sparkling. Like Herpo, he was wearing a robe made out of what appeared to be woven snakeskin.
He also wore a snake around his neck like a tie, an odd, small creature with a head on either end, both of which were taking part in the Parseltongue conversation with great vigor.
Abruptly, Herpo switched to English, with a lazy wave in Albus' general direction.
"And here he is. The most interesting wizard I've met in centuries, aside from you, dear boy."
Harry turned his smile toward Albus, and he felt his heart crumble.
He should have done better by the boy. Harry should never have been in a position where being raised by Herpo the Foul was a good option.
"It's a pleasure to meet you again, Harry," Albus said.
"I don't think I remember you."
"No, I suppose you wouldn't. You were just a baby, the last time we met."
"Yes, didn't I tell you?" Herpo said. "He placed you with your relatives."
The smile vanished from Harry's face.
"Oh."
"It was, unfortunately, the best option I had available to me to guarantee your safety," Albus said gently. "Voldemort-he was-"
"The one who killed my parents and left a piece of himself in me?"
"Precisely."
"Oh, I know all about him. Herpo got us all those books and newspapers. But he was…he was…shssshhhsh-"
"Discorporated," Herpo translated, patting Harry on the shoulder. "Come on, you know the word. It's an important one"
"I forgot," Harry said, "and you say all those words are important but you don't remember half of them either!"
"I have three millennia worth of memories," Herpo said, in the tone of a well repeated argument, "you have lived but the blink of an eye."
Harry harrumphed and dropped into a chair, the snake on his neck undulating down his right arm in an extremely odd fashion.
Taking his cue, Albus sat.
"If his body was destroyed, why was I still in danger?"
"Voldemort was gone, but his followers were not. They were great in number, and had successfully kept their identities a secret. To this day, we cannot say with utter certainty that we know who all of them were."
Albus shook his head, memories of those wonderful, terrible days crowding his mind. The news of Sirius' betrayal, the attack on the Longbottoms, the trials, all amidst the parties in the streets.
Fawkes crooned something, a haunting melody that melded perfectly with the double headed snake's hissing.
"In fact," Albus continued, "there were still several attacks by his followers after his death. And then, well, there was simply no way of knowing who to trust. There had been betrayals so deep…your aunt and uncle's home was the safest place for you, with the enchantments I placed. I am just sorry that it could not protect you from them."
A long silence greeted his words.
"Herpo told me about those enchantments. He said they were the best he'd seen."
"The best of their kind," Herpo said waspishly. At some point, he'd sat on the floor and was toying with the snake there.
"Ok. What happened to your beard? Half of it is gone, you know."
Albus stroked the remaining half. It would be an easy fix, but he was debating keeping it that way. A reminder to not be complacent and an interesting fashion statement.
"Would you believe me if I were to tell you a snake tore it in twain?"
Harry chuckled, a bit of coldness vanishing.
"Yes. How did you get a phoenix? Herpo keeps complaining that he can't find another one."
"I can find them fine, but they don't want me."
"That," Albus said, "is a very long and thrilling tale. Alas, I do not believe I could do it justice right now. I had wished to ask you-"
"He wants to know what you think about me killing your relatives," Herpo interrupted. "He wants to see how much effect I've had on your morality."
Ah. Yes. That accursed legilimency.
"I wouldn't have phrased it quite like that," Albus said, "but you have struck, as it were, to the heart of the matter."
Harry frowned, eyes darting between Herpo and Albus.
"Why? You're not going to try and take me anywhere, are you?"
"Well, I would dearly love to take you to Hogwarts when you are old enough, especially since you've been registered since birth, but there is also the aspect of my unbridled curiosity."
At the mention of Hogwarts, Harry's eyes had gone as wide as galleons.
Wonderful. Some of those books and newspapers Herpo bought must have mentioned it.
"I-" he looked at Herpo, "I could go to Hogwarts? Have other human friends? I could-wow. Really?"
"Maybe," Herpo replied, "it's a possibility, if you'd like it."
"Of course I would!"
"Then you should convince your prospective headmaster that you won't be killing your classmates, shouldn't you?"
"You're the headmaster of Hogwarts?!"
"I do have that honour."
Harry shook his head, unruly hair flying about.
"I-I wouldn't do anything to anyone unless I really had to. And I definitely wouldn't kill anyone. I don't even let Herpo kill anyone unless he really has to!"
"You can be very annoying that way," Herpo agreed.
"And what constitutes such great need? In what case, in your mind, would killing be permitted?" Albus asked.
"In self defence, obviously. Or to save someone else, like Herpo did for me. Or if it's a really bad person."
He seems honest. But many a child has been gifted with the ability to lie.
What a conundrum.
"When Herpo stole those kids to be my friends, I made him take them home. I don't even think stealing is good unless you really have to. Please can I go to Hogwarts?"
What was the worst that could happen?
He could prove to be more dangerous than Tom was. Raised by the greatest dark wizard in history? It could be an incomprehensible disaster if he is even nearly as morally unsound as Herpo.
On the other hand, he's grown up loved, at least for the last four years. That does not tend to create monsters.
And could I live with myself if I denied him?
At least this way I will be able to keep my eye on him throughout the year, and to serve as a counter to Herpo.
In fact, the positive influences and friendships he develops and finds at Hogwarts could be just what he needs.
"As long as your guardian permits, Hogwarts will accept you." Albus said with a smile.
Harry jumped up with a squeal and began to dance a little jig, hissing to the snake who joined in.
Even Herpo clapped a few times.
Albus drew his pocket watch.
Shit.
He was late for a meeting with the Board of Governors.
"I must apologize," he said, "but I have a prior appointment. Perhaps I can come back another time for further discussion?"
Harry kept dancing, but Herpo rose, smiling widely.
"Indeed. You'll find a more welcoming reception in the future. We still need to discuss how you created those blood bonds, and your phoenix owes me. And so do you."
"I know."
"Good. Boy, where have your manners gone? First guest we've had in years and you can't be bothered to see him out of the door?"
"We've never had a guest before," Harry said, still smiling. "I didn't know I was meant to see him out the door. What's the point?"
"It is generally considered polite," Albus said, "but quite unnecessary in this case, I assure you. Before I go-I must say Harry, you bear such a striking resemblance to your father. You look precisely like him at your age, with the exception of your eyes. Those are exactly your mother's."
"You knew my parents?"
Albus nodded, meeting Harry's eyes. The boy looked a bit off-balance, suddenly, a sad longing crossing his face.
"Very well."
"Could you tell me about them?"
Albus closed his eyes for a moment.
The Board of Governors would have to wait.
With a spring in his step and Fawkes' joyful song in his ears and soul, Albus strode toward the dolmen and prepared to Apparate.
The day had gone nothing like he had expected in his wildest dreams, and he was all the happier.
It's not a perfect situation, he thought, but it is far, far from the worst.
Not that anyone else would see it that way.
Just as well that he wasn't planning on telling them who was raising Harry.
Eventually the truth would come out, but by then he'd have formulated a plan to deal with it. And even if he hadn't, it would be worthwhile to keep it a secret just to see Severus' face when it was revealed.
Suddenly, the future looked far more bright and interesting.