In a little corner of Hogwarts, a tower room off the headmaster's chambers high up in the castle, Albus Dumbledore gazed through the windows. There were four, crude-carven squares. The room in which they sat was old, with many cracked stones in the walls and a fine dust in the high rafters that eluded cleaning charms. It had the look of a place that had fallen into disrepair and been hastily restored, which was fitting, since it was the truth.
The Watching Room had appeared off his office during the war, neatly displacing the storage closet containing several piles of student records and an excellent bottle of gin. This kind of thing happened with some regularity at Hogwarts- a particularly spectacular incident involving the Quidditch pitch came to mind- and he and Minerva had spent several days reasoning with the castle- enchanting, cajoling, and trying previous fixes such as tickling the door- before accepting that the room was here to stay. As it turned out, the room had its uses.
He walked forward now, his hands behind his back. The window frame behind him was icy. The sky was still dark over the mountains. At the top there glistened some ruins; an old, worn-down statue with a snake at the base. It was quiet; though every so often the sound of a thrown rock or a tree being uprooted would explode through the silence, echoes from far-off fights. He spared it only a glance. It was not his concern.
The window to his right showed only pale whiteness- the blinding gray of the sun behind clouds, or a bright snowfall, or perhaps some malfunction of the spell. Albus did not know which. The window had never shown anything else.
To his left was an obsidian tower whose sheer sides met at an angle, throwing a long shadow across the choppy sea. The sun that rose behind it glinted crimson. Though few had ever come close enough to see it, the shape of the black tower was imprinted in the mind of every magical British citizen before they were old enough to fly a broomstick.
With a pang, his mind traveled to Severus, perpetually reliving the worst memories in his short, unhappy life. He could see the regrets in his mind like atramentous points radiating outward- he should have spoken kindly to the boy, watched him closer, rebuked him earlier, spared him his bleak fate. Failure after failure after failure, spiraling to a fate worse than death in the dark tower. Even he had been spared that.
The dark sea shimmered with the ripples of water rising and falling with hardly a sound. His mind traveled back to Flamel. It was in these moments that he missed his mentor most; Flamel, who considered dwelling self-indulgent; perhaps the only voice Albus had trusted completely for many long years. At the very least, he'd have had some words of wisdom about the current predicament.
Albus turned, at last, to the fourth window. The sun shone white, wisps of cirrus clouds feathering across the sky. Waves lapped at the shore, tumbling over each other in the chill December wind. It was peaceful, though without beachgoers or even cheerful pedestrians, somewhat austere.
The sun rose higher in the sky. Albus kept his eyes trained on the horizon, waiting.
Sure enough, a speck appeared, almost invisible against the clouds. As it drew closer the features resolved into a white, feathered horse, topped by a white-robed rider. An Abraxan. As it reached the beach, the rider slowed the horse to a trot, scanning the coast and casting quiet spells before wheeling the horse around, back over the sea.
Dumbledore sighed. He cast a patronus, knowing its recipient would be awake.
Minerva, I'm afraid you'll have to attend to the reports today, he said, sending it out. There has been a… situation.
"Minister," Lucius said, with the air of one who had been pondering his words for quite a long time now, "I know that you are a wise and prudent leader, even if you do not always share the reasons for your decisions. I believe that I... understand the message you were trying to send, where Jorkins was concerned."
"Excellent," Loki said. He was leaning against the manor wall, lazily pushing and pulling Harry's stroller. One of Harry's fur boots rose up lackadaisically and then fell below the level of the hood.
"And I think, perhaps, that her presence in my retinue, however assistive, is… no longer necessary." Lucius said cautiously.
"Hmmm…" Loki said. He cast a tempus with Voldemort's wand. A quarter past. They were running late.
"So-"
"Narcissa! You look lovely," Loki said, cutting him off. She was, in fact, resplendent in sky-blue robes. Behind her trailed Baby Draco in matching colors, a little hat on his head. "And the little one too, how nice."
He patted Draco on the head, ignoring Lucius's glares.
"You and Harry look quite well turned-out yourselves," Narcissa acknowledged.
Loki had foregone his usual battle-garb for blue-gray wizards' things.
The two of them glanced at Lucius, who stood apart from the pram with his arms crossed, still in his black velvet robes. His silver-snake topped walking stick glinted in the pale manor light. His gray eyes flashed with haughty irritation. The only concession he had made to their outing was tying his hair back in a black ribbon- an effect, Loki mused, quite like putting a bow on a basilisk.
"It appears everybody's ready, then?" He said brightly.
"I still don't see the point of this excursion," Lucius grumbled. "These boys have more possessions than half the children in England put together."
"Think of it like a paid holiday," Loki suggested, grasping Harry's carriage to apparate out.
They arrived in the middle of a busy Diagon Alley- store fronts and peddlers' stalls alike were bedecked with ornaments and lights from that inane Midgardian holiday. Loki was nearly blinded by a flashing, home-made advertisement blaring Meet Everyday Hero Gilderoy Lockhart! When they stepped out, the street fell into a hush, the crowd spreading to let them pass. Loki felt several hands brush against his robes and stiffened, casting an illusion of himself and Harry a second behind them, so that the hands would pass through.
"Let's go to Rosa Lee's," Narcissa said, beckoning them to a small shop with a wide window.
Rosa Lee was in the better class of inns in Diagon Alley, and its owner happy to usher people away from the doors. They were ushered to a secluded corner around an arching window facing the street, and a waiter dispatched. The room was quieter; besides for the murmuring that rose up when they entered and the occasional clink of china, it was quite the opposite of the alley.
"Oh look, they're playing," Narcissa said, watching as Draco prodded Harry curiously. The other boy inched toward Loki until the warm weight of him was pressed into Loki's side.
"Draco, stop that," Lucius said, and the bigger boy complied. "Loki, what are we doing here?" he murmured, checking his timepiece.
"Christmas," Loki said, smiling innocently.
"Yes, but why are now?" Lucius asked, lowering his voice. "France is on the verge of fighting us for a magical item we may not even possess."
"And what would you have me do about that?" Loki said, giving Harry a bite of his french toast.
Lucius fell silent.
"He thinks we should do what you think," Narcissa said, stirring her soup. "And smile for the cameras."
"Charming wife," Loki said, smiling prettily at her.
"But then- surely you're not trying to start a war?" Lucius murmured, batting Draco's hand away from the cupcakes.
Loki smiled widely.
"You gathered the soldiers, Lucius. What is that saying about having a hammer?"
"What if we lose?" Lucius hissed.
Loki raised an eyebrow. "Don't."
"Are you sure that it will come to that?" Narcissa murmured. "What if France sees through it?"
Loki shrugged.
"The stone is the kind of trap you can see through and fall for all the same," he said. "It was practically made for it. I doubt there's a soul on earth that could persuade them this is not worth pursuing."
Loki caught the Malfoys' exchanged glance in his periphery, the bulk of his attention on the shape working through the crowd.
"Smile," he said, as the white flash started behind the window.
"Perhaps we should try a different approach," Albus said. "I don't believe Nicholas even knew of the Gwyddion Cipher."
It was his and Albus's third night on Flamel's notes, trying to decipher their code. Loki had seen his fair share of cryptanalysis in Asgard; had even done research in the area. This, though… he could see the magic shifting and pulsing over the pages, forming shapes that were almost letters and almost glyphs, but always teasingly out of reach.
The only thing he could read was the Asgardian passage, but that told him nothing; some old poem about a tree and a church. Until he knew where it had come from, though, he couldn't write it off as innocuous or even coincidental.
Loki frowned.
The longer he considered it, the more it bothered him.
Flamel had ties to Asgard.
He fiddled with Voldemort's wand, twisting it idly between his fingers. The philosopher's stone story had never quite rang true to him. If he had such a toy, he'd be ruling all of Midgard before lunch. That a person- a mortal, could discover the secret to infinite wealth and eternal life and simply… walk away stretched the bounds of believability to the breaking point.
Unless, of course, it was all a farce. An Asgardian, living- hiding amongst mortals. In that case-his eyes swept the room, taking in the starlight in the false windows, high wooden rafters, Dumbledore peering over the notes- in that case, nothing was certain. Had Flamel seen through his schemes? Perhaps he wasn't even dead, perhaps- Loki's heart sped up- perhaps he reported to Odin. It wouldn't be the wildest scheme the old king had ever devised.
If he is… Loki thought, glaring out into the false starlight, I will burn this world and every last person on it to destroy him.
Black motes rose into the air at that mental pronouncement, and Loki realized he was still clenching Voldemort's wand. His chest felt numb, like he had exhausted all his anger in a burst.
He returned it to its place, and glanced back at Dumbledore, who had put the notes down and was watching him quizzically.
"Just trying something," Loki said. A thought occurred to him and he asked, "Did Flamel use his wand? To cast, I mean."
"Sometimes," Dumbledore said. "He was proficient with nonverbal magic, but I think he preferred wand-work."
Loki frowned. Perhaps not then. Perhaps it was all an act. He tried to focus.
"What did he know?" Loki asked, trying to trace the glyphs on the page in the air, but they were changing too fast for even him to confirm.
"Everything, it seemed," Albus said, smiling sadly. "He was a master of Transfiguration, but he would be considered a Master of any subject at Hogwarts and quite a few that are not."
"Ancient Runes?" He traced another symbol he saw, or at least; he thought he did.
"Certainly," Albus said. "Do you think there is a runic component?"
"Perhaps," Loki said indifferently. Ancient Runes- Midgardian Ancient Runes- fell under the list of Midgardian magic he couldn't do. He traced a third glyph.
"Hm," Albus said. His gaze settled on the letters in the air. "I would love to learn how you do that," he said, his eyes twinkling.
Loki opened his mouth to prevaricate, then reconsidered.
"Why don't we trade?" he said. "A lesson for a lesson."
Albus paused, considering.
"I will disallow certain topics," he said.
"Agreed," Loki said. He was fairly certain he could get something fruitful out of Dumbledore, even disregarding the Dark Arts he shunned.
"Then I'm happy to consent," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. He leaned back in his chair, looking curious, as Loki got up to speak.
He stretched, relieved to be out of his chair, and deliberated over how to proceed.
"Illusioncraft is... different from most forms of magic," he said at last.
"How so?" Albus asked.
"You're skilled in Transfiguration, like Flamel, are you not?," Loki said. "Transfiguration is about creativity- imagination in precise detail."
He raised a tiny Dumbledore figure, wearing the same pensive look as the one currently seated across from him. Transfiguration had never posed much of a challenge to Loki- it was mostly a mental task, with some annoying limitations. He continued.
"Illusion is similar- less present, but more powerful. For instance, you cannot transfigure the weather." He raised his hand and the wooden ceiling darkened with storm clouds, casting a shadow over the room. A moment later, the illusory rain began to fall, drops flecking their hands and faces, wet as the rainstorm he'd taken it from. Albus glanced at the floor, watching the ink appear to run, but said nothing.
Loki dismissed the illusion and the notes returned, the room lightening again.
"You cannot transfigure sounds, or smells, or sensation. That is the domain of illusion alone."
Loki cast again, this time altering the echo of the sound of his steps as he walked. The effect was eerie, as if he walked across a large hall, rather than a wooden office.
Albus looked up, looking genuinely curious, then pleased as he unrolled the rest of the room- marble floors, tiered balconies full of books, the spiral skylight high above. Dust motes rose, flickering in the sunlight.
"Where is this?" Albus asked, stepping forward. Loki raised a hand, not wanting him to bump into the very real office wall.
"It's not real," Loki said, amused. "It only resembles."
The edge of his good cheer diminished slightly, and he cancelled the illusion, returning them to the office.
Albus blinked, adjusting to the relative dimness of the candles and the starlight peering through the windows.
"An example," Loki said. "Though you'd be better served starting small."
"Is there an incantation?" Albus asked, raising his wand.
Loki laughed.
"No incantation would serve," he said. He traced a 'p' in the air, trying to articulate the process. "You must picture the result and let the magic follow. Not enough for a full conjuration; just a touch." He finished the r, neatly ending the curve. "Just enough to trick yourself into believing it's there."
Albus moved the page of notes before him to the side, conjured a fresh parchment and put his wand to the paper, creating a large S. Loki summoned a droplet of water- a real one this time, and let it fall off his fingertip onto the page, blurring the ink.
"Transfiguration," he said.
Albus didn't try again immediately, instead pausing to think.
Loki glanced down at his hands.
"Understand," he said, "You are not trying to bend the world to your magic, but your magic to your mind. You need to see it. And once you believe you see it..."
"The vision unfolds," Albus finished, tilting his head.
He put his finger to the parchment again and this time there appeared the face of a young girl, like a still portrait, looking up at Albus with sad eyes.
Loki stopped, somewhat taken aback. He hadn't truly expected the old professor to pick it up so quickly.
Albus was not looking up, but gazing at the parchment, watching the face dissolve, only to be followed by another; less ethereal, more detailed. The progression of faces sank into the page before them- thatched blond hair, black eyes like tunnels, a skeletal old man, a solemn young boy.
Albus watched as the images changed, transfixed.
"Who…" Loki began, but stopped. The canvas had settled, at last, on an old face with piercing gray eyes. The last one was Flamel.
Albus gazed down, frowning, and then at once his face relaxed.
"Ah," he said softly. "Of course."
"What is it?" Loki asked.
"I understood," Albus said with a wry smile. He stood, raising his wand. "Flamel wasn't interested in clever tricks. He was a teacher, much like you and me."
Loki started. It had been a while since he had been addressed thus.
With the scrape of chair against floor, Albus stood up. With a practiced movement, he brought his wand to his temple, drawing out a silvery tendril of magic. He let it pool in his wrinkled hand, like a bead of mercury, until it had collected, then blew on it lightly.
Paper-thin silver moths sprang out of the pool, swarming across the room and settling gently on the surfaces.
The wards concealing the parchment were crumbling away, but Loki found himself strangely transfixed, watching the iridescent moths fade. It wasn't that they didn't have this on Asgard. It's just that they would never have bothered with something so frivolous. Something sad, perhaps.
"That was a memory," Loki said, looking back at Dumbledore for confirmation.
He inclined his head. "Gone, now, I'm afraid."
He could not refrain from asking. "Would not a cleverer solution have kept the memory preserved?"
Albus was smiling, as if he had just expressed something particularly deep. "Wouldn't it? It is not a always bad thing, to let a memory go."
"Foolish," Loki said. More knowledge always trumped less.
"Perhaps," Albus said. "In this case there was a particular message in it as well- 'Do not miss me too much.' It is something of a comfort to know he had time to get his affairs in order, before the end."
Loki turned back to the notes, chilled. What would he do if Flamel was an Asgardian? If he was Odin's spy? The thought that he may have been toyed with this whole time; that he could, right now, be in one of the Allfather's elaborate tests was turning his stomach. He reached for the papers with the script, but Dumbledore raised a hand.
"Better we start at the beginning, I think," he said, and there was a gleam in his eyes that forestalled argument.
The matter had waited three days. It could wait a few hours.
And so Loki sat, dully conscious, as Dumbledore read.
"And so I plucked from the ether a magic stone. I read my death in the crimson of the twilit sky, and I knew that no one is truly immortal..."
Despite the imminent danger their author perhaps represented, Loki actually lost track of time in the notes. Flamel was a fairly intelligent mortal, and quite a few of his notes had dealt with intriguing magical theory. There were even some new ideas about one of Loki's specialties, magical substructures, that he had never encountered. He could see Albus was curious too, especially about some of the earlier theories, to which Flamel had later abandoned interest.
The early morning sun was just peaking through the windowpanes when the warning system Loki had set up around his office prickled.
"It seems we have a visitor," Albus said.
"You're early," Loki said, when the door opened a moment later. From the sound of a walking stick and his tracking spells he could tell it was Lucius without turning around.
"You'll want to hear this," Lucius said, his footsteps stopping just inside. He paused and Loki raised a forearm, beckoning him on tiredly.
"It's France," Lucius said. He still hadn't moved. "They've announced their cooperation in recognition of the theft of the stone."
Loki went cold.
"Who told them?"
He whirled towards the door. Lucius stood still. His hand clutching the walking stick was white.
But the voice that did speak came from behind him.
"I did," Albus said calmly.
Loki turned, the fingers curled over the notes suddenly more like marble than something attached to his own body.
That accursed meddler.
The dark spots of magic on his chest jumped to his fingers and he gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to incinerate the old man where he stood.
"Why?" he bit out.
"They were ready to go to war over the issue," Albus said.
"We would have won-" Lucius started, but Loki cut him off.
"It would not have come to that," he said, enunciating coldly. "However, making them think we had the stone would have forced them into a weaker spot diplomatically. Moreover, it would prevent them from attempting to search for the stone themselves."
"I apologize," Albus said, but Loki read the unspoken finality in the words. It had to be done. Better to interfere and ask for forgiveness later. Even after Loki had shown him good faith- had made concessions, even- after the headmaster had consented to some measure of trust. And- his hands were numb, not quite trembling, against the hard table, it was never going to change.
Loki stood up abruptly, setting the notes down.
"Please excuse me," he said, his voice calm, if cold. "I have some plans to adjust."
AN: These two... tsk. Tell me what you thought of this chapter- likes, dislikes, thoughts, theories. At the risk of sounding cliche, reviews inspire me to write more, faster.
Special thanks to Prevaricator's Penchant, who was a major huge help debugging this chapter.