A/N: Be patient with me, please! I know it takes
me an incredibly long time to produce a chapter, but just today I had
to discard two pages of text, because while it was nice and funny, it
was of absolutely no importance to the story… So bear with me,
please!
Also, the plot is becoming more twisted, so I wonder what
you think is actually going on. Review and satisfy my
curiosity!
Brynn
Chapter 14: Galahad Dumbledore
At seven o'clock Harry was running his second lap. Half an hour later he was properly warmed-up and stalking back to the castle. Already from the distance he sensed Fawkes's familiar presence.
He met with the phoenix in the Great Hall. It pecked on the oat flakes, though didn't seem content with the lack of chocolate, while Harry ate his breakfast. He picked up a jar of milk and they retreated into the quiet of the library before any stray member of the staff could come across them.
Once the door was closed behind them Fawkes disturbed the silence.
'Are you feeling well?'
Where did that come from?
'I'm fine, thanks. Why do you ask?'
'You were troubled yesterday. When you asked me to go. And I cannot read you anymore.'
Harry shook his head.
'I'm sorry for yesterday. It's just… When I found that Snape hates me because Voldemort caused my scar to hurt in the worst moment imaginable…'
Fawkes descended on the working desk next to the spot where Harry had put the jar and took a peek of the book the boy had currently opened in front of him. Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy.
'Hmm… I didn't quite expect you to read that one.'
Somehow Harry wasn't surprised to find that Fawkes was literate.
'I'm trying to find somebody.'
'Why don't you ask?'
Harry smiled and steered the conversation in a slightly different direction.
"I wanted to thank you."
'Thank me for what?' inquired the phoenix.
"For the… vision or memory or what it was… for letting me meet Vivax."
'I did no such thing.'
Harry looked up from the page. Of course, he couldn't have been certain, but he would have bet it had been Fawkes's doing. If not… What else? Or was Vivax's other assumption right – was it a residue of mixed memories? Had Dumbledore stored the recollection of someone older than himself among his own? Maybe the phoenix would know…
'Then how was it possible?'
The bird cocked its head to the right, while its reflection in the jar did the same to the left.
'I am not sure. However, the pensieve did not originally belong to Albus; he inherited it. It might be storing memories older than what he remembered… or it was merely caused by mixed oddments of whatever the annoying man dared throw together in there. Well, I must admit that his idea of combining memories from different sources did turn out to be working in our advantage…'
Harry lifted an eyebrow, but Fawkes didn't bother to elaborate.
"Did you know him? Vivax, I mean," he asked after a while of silence. It would indeed speed up the process of searching.
'Yes.'
Harry's heart leapt. He gave up on the book, slammed it shut and directed his attention to the phoenix.
'Was he your charge?'
'No, I had another at the time. And he wasn't magically that strong, rather… genius. Yes, Felix was undoubtedly a genius…'
'Felix?' asked Harry befuddled.
'That was his name.'
'Yeah, I figured 'Vivax' was just a pseudonym when there was not one information on him in the entire library… So, who was he? What was he like?'
Fawkes bethought it for a while. Harry already began to get impatient when the phoenix answered.
'He was a good father. And would have been a great grandfather…' Harry saddened, probably receiving the emotion from Fawkes together with the words. He was disappointed, though; he had expected to find out much more, and a very different kind of information.
'What happened?'
'He invented a potion that killed him.'
"Lucretia's Vengeance?" suggested Harry.
'I had no idea you knew about that one.' It sounded rather uncertainly. Harry had a bad feeling that it was something that Fawkes didn't particularly like.
'I just stumbled upon it. Seemed… uh… interesting?'
Fawkes spent another while eyeing his reflection in the jar. His charge re-opened the book and started reading from where he had stopped. Felix. That might help…
'No. It was a different one. Lucretia is dangerous, but only to those who do not pay enough attention. The thing that killed him was far more vicious.'
"Is there something wrong with the Lucretia's Vengeance?" he asked. Fawkes clapped his beak several times and then annoyedly beat his wings.
'I don't think so, not morally. It's been banned for more than half a century, but the young Malfoy – Abraxas's son – payed for it to be scratched off the list of illegals.'
"But?" Harry asked because it was apparent that there was a 'but'.
'Since Felix himself I've never heard of it being used for any good.'
Harry couldn't think of anything to say. He wouldn't lie, certainly not to the phoenix, but he wasn't sure how to classify his intentions with the potion. He would have to wait and see the effect his actions.
'Try to find a book writted by Rayburn Longbottom.'
Harry's jaw dropped.
"Longbottom?"
'Yes. Rayburn-'
"Is he related to Neville?" Harry interposed rudely. He was chastised by chilli, which he considered inappropriately cruel. He poured himself a glass of milk, despite knowing that it wouldn't help.
'Rayburn was Neville's grandfather and, coincidentally, Felix's apprentice for quite some time. If I remember correctly, they perfected Lucretia together. Then Felix died… and after Augusta returned from Germany, Rayburn married her and abandoned the research… shame. He was such a promising boy…'
Harry mentally nominated the fact that a Longbottom was a promising potion maker as one of the most precious slapsticks of life. Snape would…
Harry sighed. Snape would just torment poor Neville all the more. Or maybe he had known it all the time and tried to scare some semblance of the old Rayburn out of the boy… Bad train of thoughts. He didn't want to ponder the former Potions Master.
Fawkes disappeared in a whirlwind of flames and Harry stood up to peruse the library for a book written by his friend's grandfather.
popopopopo
When Fawkes returned, late in the evening, Harry had Rayburn Longbottom's book propped open on his desk in the Gryffindor dormitory, and was in the middle of writing out the ingredients and their masses.
'So you are going to brew it…' Harry looked at the bird perching on his bed, and lay down his quill.
'I thought you didn't mind.'
'It's up to you, Harry. You are going to become the leader of my Order. You need to make people trust your judgement and to do that you have to learn to trust it yourself.'
Harry closed his eyes, leant back in his chair, and sighed. It would have been so much easier if Fawkes simply forbade it – he would just have to decide whether to obey or not. With so much faith put in him he felt compelled to carefully consider all the aspects of his plan yet again. He didn't like the responsibility the least bit.
"I need to go to Diagon Alley. Do you think we could synchronise it with the Weasleys?"
'The Weasleys have already completed their shopping. And… I think you should go alone. I would attract far too much attention.'
Harry nodded.
"Do you think tomorrow is agreeable?"
Fawkes gave him the mental equivalent of a nod.
'Go disguised. It is a perfect opportunity to test your skills in action. By the way, how did you proceed with the pensieve?'
Harry sighed again. So that was the reason for Fawkes's visit.
"I've seen things that need a bit of healing. I don't think I'd be able to look into it today. Give me some time… please…"
Fawkes studied his face closely.
'I should have warned you. Albus's memories are darker than you might expect.'
Harry suppressed a bitter laugh. It would have been inappropriate at the moment, but he felt sarcastic about the late warning. The conversation brought out the pictures and emotions he had buried and let him once again relive the experience.
This time he didn't cry, though. It took a lot of self-control, but Fawkes's training had made him stronger in this way. He didn't wish to forget anymore – he didn't want to close his eyes when facing the truth. He could cope with that. One day he would be able to face Dumbledore and look him in the eye, with the knowledge of the crimes the old wizard had committed.
The phoenix watched him for some time, then hung its head, hopped closer and embraced him in its wings. The warmth was welcome, but the elevation not. Harry felt he needed to deal with this, not escape it. If he kept escaping, what would stop him from becoming what Dumbledore once became? What would stop him from torturing and killing Ron or Hermione if they refused to do his bidding because it was against their better judgement?
'I've seen Galahad," he admitted. Fawkes gave him an obsidian gaze filled with regret, pain and guilt.
'It was a mistake on my part to let Albus go on his own. I had very much wanted to trust him… And yet, Galahad was not the only one. There were many like him – before and after that. But this was the only time I know of when Albus killed kin.'
"Oh. But he was- I mean, Galahad…"
'Galahad was a spy, much like Severus. The difference between the two of them was that Galahad joined the Unspeakables with the intention to spy on Grindelwald.'
Harry fell into a contemplative silence, but eventually gathered enough will to voice the idea that seemed to haunt his subconsciousness.
"People worship Dumbledore because he killed Grindelwald. But it could have just as well been Grindewald killing Dumbledore… It would have been just the same."
Fawkes shifted and the warmth around Harry wavered, intermixed with a different emotion – one of the phoenix's own. It was unexpected and unprecedented… the closeness was something Harry had learnt to accept and appreciate, but the alien feeling seemed to seep within his marrow.
'Yes, Harry. And that is where you are so completely different from my last charge.'
popopopopo
Breakfast the next day was a quick affair, and then Harry forced himself to at least fake that he had a warm-up. Half-way through the first lap he changed his mind and went through the entire exercise. Upon returning to the Tower he felt more energetic than when he had been leaving it.
He didn't noticed yeasterday, but Fawkes had dropped a parchment on his bed-side. He found it when absentmindedly reaching for his glasses.
'Honestly… should have figured.'
It was his annual school-letter, though, obviously, lacking the envelope, the address, and the train ticket. Harry wondered whether McGonagall knew that he was going to stay for his seventh year, but then realised it wasn't a question. Of course she knew… He wished he didn't have to, or at least that he was told why.
Then again, should a need arise, escaping the school was easy once he shook off Fawkes… Not that he would enjoy doing that. But it was an option, and he was sure it wasn't a bad one. He would be free; maybe even some of his friends would join him… scratch that, Hermione and Ron would kill to join him…
'Maybe they'd have to,' he thought darkly, glowering into the mirror. His reflection's eyes stretched a bit and slanted, his nose shrank and he gained a few years by making his face seem thinner.
Harry grinned, setting his mind on the task before him. His hair shortened in the front and grew long in the back, and then, in a blink of an eye, its colour – as well as the colour of his eyebrows – changed to a brown-reddish. He considered leaving his eyes green, but that would be a provocation, and he yearned to avoid any possible troubles – it was going to be the first time he went out on his own.
In the end, having discoloured his eyes chocolate brown and shifted his scar along his hairline, making it perfectly lost under the coppery-glinting mess he had on his head, he looked… Asian. Not a Harry Potter. Not anyone important. Not recognisable.
For the first time.
Forgetting about the grim prospects of his future for a while, he decided to pretend that it was just a normal trip to Diagon Alley, like those four he had done in the past (he didn't count the first one, because it didn't fit the definition of 'normal'). He transfigured one of Dudley's old T-shirts to fit him and after a while of hesitation decided to add a copy of the picture of Weird Sisters from the poster that hung on the side of Seamus's case. It was not an easy charm, but certainly it was not too difficult. It presented a challenge, though, and Harry found himself willing to spend another twenty minutes on it.
Half an hour later he scrutinised himself in the mirror and contently stated that no one would recognise him like this. It could have caused some troubles in the Gringotts, but fortunately he had yet enough money left in the bag to buy what he needed.
popopopopo
Hagrid had let him out of the gates with the promise to let him back in. Harry in turn promised to send a Patronus ahead.
He was enjoying himself, for once. He could Apparate, which made the journey much easier, and once he arrived nobody stared at him, nobody approached him, and he didn't feel at all hunted. By neither side. The freedom was intoxicating, and he found himself willing to try something new, step into shops he had never visited and talk to people without the hindering lack of anonymity.
"Can I help you, sir?"
Harry looked away from the back side of the window and up at the woman. She didn't smile, but didn't quite frown either and he found himself grateful for the cold professonalism. She must have been a Slytherin once; he was starting to consider that an advantage by his business partners.
"I have a list of things I would like to purchase. Do you have all these?"
He handed her a parchment with a careful mixture of the ingredients he needed for Potions and those for Lucretia's Vengeance. Even if she had heard of the brew, she wouldn't make out what he was up to. Not that she would be likely to try and figure it out – after all, he was just a random customer this time.
"It will take a while; I'll have to bring the runespoor scales from the stock. Feel free to select the herbage in the meantime."
She left through the door in the back of the room and Harry approached the huge shelf with glasses. Then he realised she had taken the list with her. Having to remember all he needed it went slowly – he was in the process of bottling the Michelia when she returned. The scales seemed an average quality, but it was good enough for him.
"It would be twenty and seventeen, plus three times fifty-seven plus… oh, forty-eight times seven – twenty-one Galleons, one Sickle and two Knuts… make that twenty-one Galleons and three Sickles and I'll pack it for you."
Harry nodded glumly, amazed by how quickly she could count it, watching her expertly wrap jar after jar in anti-cracking bags and setting them one by one into his Weight-Lifting Backpack. It would have been too much to carry without Hermione's brilliant gift; now he was glad they had planned to escape, and not only because of one of the best parties he had ever attended… The woman had thin hands with long fingers – quite like those he had seen when he awoke after drinking the tea with the Allaboszorkany Por(7). Hands of a Potioneer… Vivax had hands like that, only little more muscular. Strong, as he supposed hands of an Auror would be.
'Wonder what I'll be doing after finishing school… in the case I do Voldemort in…'
"Thank you, Ma'am," he said when she handed him the Backpack, apparently unsurprised by its lack of weight.
"Come back again," she responded, with the interest of a shop-keeper advertising his business. Harry decided he liked this place better than the Apothecary up the street. This woman – Ms Carrow, according to the plate in one of the windows – was faster, less verbose, and had the shop better organised.
As he glanced back at the name, a large man that was walking down the half-empty street in the opposite direction growled and violently pushed Harry into the wall as he passed. He staggered, but kept his balance, and looked up. The brute was simply walking away, not giving his victim a single glance, but growling again instead.
"What's your problem?" Harry snapped at the meaty back, clad in an expensive velvet coat despite the heat. The man stopped and he belatedly realised it might not have been the cleverest thing to say.
He turned around and Harry found himself staring at an aristocratic face filled with fury. Dark blue eyes blazed with anger when the man spoke.
"You."
'Damn. So much for staying low… Fawkes is going to put me through another of those speeches… complete with something sticky…'
He frowned, both inwardly and outwardly, and the man sneered.
"You and your lot, going around as if the place belonged to you… Filthy Chinesse infestation…" Harry gulped, thinking that he looked more Japanesse, but not suicidal enough to argue. He realised he had forgotten to greet. Too late now.
"What do you want?" he inconspicuously Accioed his wand into his hand. The man's gaze never left his face, but Harry noticed him reaching inside the heavy coat. He gulped.
"I'll have to bath myself now, being touched by the filth- Scru-"
"You don't want to be doing that."
Harry blinked. He had peripherally noticed someone approaching, but he had been concentrating on the immediate enemy, disregarding the presence as unimportant. Well, it turned out it was someone stupid or powerful enough to attempt to stand up for a young man of a different race.
A boy that could have been the same age as himself or younger stood a step away from the aristocratic bully, with empty hands (one of them put on the man's wrist). The next thing after the age that surprised Harry was that while he seemed properly nourished, his brown hair was neatly trimmed, and he wore an expensive black robe, that robe was much too long for him. Its edges were dirty with dust and earth, dragging on the road behind himself.
Their eyes met for a second and Harry couldn't believe how calm the boy was. As if it was perfectly normal to meet a moneybags harassing an Eastern kid. As if it was perfectly easy and without any possible consequences to stop that man… Those eyes were hazel. Not exactly twinkling, but glimmering.
"Don't you say," barked the man, freed his arm with a jerk and brought out his wand.
"Expell-"
Harry's spell was stopped before he had even completed it. The man smirked self-consciously.
"Exp-"
Harry paled. There was a jinx aimed in his direction, and he had no idea what it was. He ducked…
…but it turned out unnecessary. The brown-haired boy had put up a block without even getting his wand in sight. Harry's eyes widened.
'Is he so much better than me? At that age? Why me, then? Why didn't Fawkes foster somebody with such skill?'
"Cruxoppress-" muttered the man, this time aiming for the other boy rather than Harry. The spell met another shield and was reflected into the air, taking off the top of the rich man's hat with a sizzle. Harry stood perplexed – he couldn't think of what to do, other than try another Expelliarmus…
"Condi Extemplo," said the boy and immediatelly frowned, as though berating himself. The aristocrat's wand left his hand and Harry had a distinct feeling he had managed a half-intentional wordless Disarming Hex… The boy looked angry with himself, despite having done nothing wrong, nothing other than self-defense to be exact, and that spell didn't sound like dark magic.
'Well, maybe it does a little…' thought Harry, watching the cracked cobbled stone around the shredded fancy boots… But it was in fact making things grow, not destroying them… anyway, he was sure he had heard of the spell before, just never learnt it or researched it.
"Are you injured?" the boy asked flatly. Harry shook his head. "That was incredibly stupid. Get out of their way if you can't handle them." He gave the stunned, rooted, weaponless man an appraising scrutiny, then shrugged, and squeezed past Harry.
"Wait!"
He did halt, but looked back with such annoyance that Harry had to fight to voice his next sentence.
"Thanks for the help. Can I… buy you an ice-cream?"
The boy sighed, closed his eyes, opened them again, and with forced patience looked back at Harry.
"I don't have time. Be off, and watch who is it, whose nerves you are grating on. Farewell."
Harry was lost for words, staring after his rescuer long after the door to Ms Carrow's shop closed after him. He considered going back and inquiring more about the identity of the boy, but then he realised that he might be asked for his own identity. Eventually he gave up and went back to the more frequent part of the Alley to visit Flourish and Blott's.
popopopopo
'How did your errand go?'
Harry looked up from the cauldron and shrugged. He didn't feel like admitting that he was harassed, stirred up a commotion, and ended having his neck saved by a queer kid with ill temper, whose powers were incomparably greater or better developed than his own.
"I wasn't recognised," he said aloud, trying to make himself believe it was the answer the phoenix wished to hear. It was pretty close, anyway. And it was the truth – not even Hagrid wanted to believe it was him at first. In the end they hadn't spent too much time together – the half-giant was hurrying back to his cottage to supervise hatching of the new generation of fire-newts.
He Occluded his mind permanently now, so it wasn't suspicious, but he felt uneasy picturing how Fawkes might react were he to find out about the confrontation. Plus, there was another thing that bothered him afer he had time to think about it – he had never seen the boy before. He had never been attending Hogwarts… finally he settled wih the idea that he had been tutored privately, which might also explain the difference in the level of skill between them.
'That does calm me. Did you find everything you need?'
"Yes. Well… everything but the Periodically Vanishing Ink, but I guess Slughorn wouldn't have gotten the joke anyway," Harry said lightly and didn't mention that creating such ink was the question of three quick spells.
Fawkes seemed torn between amusement and reproaching, but eventually decided that since Harry had not actually done anything, there was no need to chastise him. He watched the preparation of ingredients quietly, not daring to disturb the much needed concentration, for which Harry was grateful – Lucretia's Vengeance took less than a day to brew, but otherwise it was a much more complicated concoction than the Polyjuice Potion.
"I've got time now. It's going to simmer for a while," he said after adding the thin stripes of Bowtruckle skin. They immediatelly dissolved with a low hiss. Harry gulped, took off his gloves and wiped his sweaty hands. Then he put the gloves on again, and went over to the opposite counter to sort the scales.
'It took me a rather long time to locate you, fledgeling.'
Harry set two bowls in front of him and nodded.
"I know. Sorry. But I don't have access to Slughorn's lab and this is the next best thing."
'I uderstand. I am not berating you."
The scales were better than Harry had thought at first. Only about one fifth of them was peccant; those went directly into a separate bin – they weren't safe to dispose of just as they weren't safe to touch. The good ones were further sorted by colour – black into the right bowl, orange into the left. Harry felt a bit like Cinderella, but it was a relaxing activity.
'Do white wizards often hate wizards of other races?' Harry asked just as Fawkes was about to speak. 'Sorry. What did you want to say?'
'Not often. Sometimes it happens, but its not quite as frequent as discrimination based on blood-purity. At least in the last few centuries… Why do you ask?'
'I had a… friend who was Chinesse,' he muttered, immediately reminded of Cho. 'I wonder if they perhaps sometimes treated her badly.'
Fawkes shook his head.
'I doubt that. Though… Children are often cruel.'
Harry nodded and stepped up to the cauldron to extinguish the fire. The potion had to cool before he could add the scales, otherwise they would be scorched and wouldn't melt properly. He shuddered, thinking of how aggressive the concoction already was, and how aggressive it was going to be when mixed with the de-crystalised poison from the runespoor scales.
"Fawkes?" Harry asked quietly when the phoenix didn't make a sound for a while. He looked up and found it watching him.
'I wanted to know whether you are making the potion. It seems that you are; and it seems you are doing it carefully enough. I have faith in you. Do try and not disappoint me, alright?'
Harry smiled.
"I will."
'Do you think you could use the pensieve again today?' asked the bird with a series of chirps. Harry's smile wavered, but he acquiesced. He needed to know all that he could learn about Voldemort, Dumbledore, the Order, and its members – including Snape – before he went on the hunt. A suspicion crept into his mind.
"Can we make a deal about it?"
'I hoped that our relationship was past that point.'
Harry frowned, but reached out to stroke Fawkes's neck gently.
"I didn't mean it like that. Just… when I go through this obediently – well, more or less at least-"
'I do not dispute that you do.'
"I thought you could tell me at least why do I have to stay." Though he had an idea now. What happened to him in the Diagon Alley was illustrative enough.
'I didn't realise you were wondering so much.' Harry received the mental image of the bird scratching the back of its head with its wing. He burst in laugh. Fawkes seemed content to see his glum expression disappear.
"I can tell you that anytime."
popopopopo
(7)The substance that triggers the first stage of becoming an Animagus. I guess you all figured, though…
