A/N - This story will begin sharply diverting from canon in the next few chapters. Please enjoy, and as always, feedback is appreciated.
Warning(s): Foul language.
August 1, 1996
Harry sat on the second-to-last step of the stairwell waiting for Dumbledore's arrival. His trunk had quickly been packed the previous day and placed off to the side of Harry's current seat. He'd spent the intervening time tossing a ratty old baseball around and contemplating his plans for the coming school year.
Death had mentioned that he'd be stationing a Reaper at Hogwarts this year, but Harry couldn't think of any position that was unstaffed… unless Dumbledore hadn't yet found a teacher for the Defense position? It seemed unlikely, as there was only a month left before term started, but Harry supposed there weren't too many candidates lining up for the job. Lupin was the only Defense teacher he'd had that had left in a way that didn't leave permanent physical or mental damage. He couldn't speak to the years preceding his arrival, but to hear Oliver tell it, the Defense position had been cursed for as long as anyone could remember.
He wondered if that curse would hold if a Reaper held the job. You can't kill someone who's already dead after all. At least, he assumed Death's Reapers were dead. There was still so much that confused him about Death, Fate, and the interplay between the two.
Harry sighed, looking over at the clock mounted on the wall. His questions would have to wait until he met the Reaper in person. Dumbledore's letter had said eleven and it was already five past.
Harry's fingers drummed an irritated pattern on the thigh of his jeans. Aunt Petunia was in the kitchen and Uncle Vernon was in the living room. Both had decided to stay up so they could ensure that he was actually out of the house before they turned in. Good riddance to bad rubbish, Aunt Petunia would say. Dudley had no such compunctions and was snoring away in his bedroom.
While Harry's had been wandering, the doorbell gave a sudden chime. Harry leapt up from his perch on the stairwell to answer the door before either of his relatives could.
"Ouch! Bloody hell." His right pinky toe was in absolute agony. His foot had caught the corner of his sturdy school trunk and bent in a way that Harry was fairly sure was unnatural. Hedwig gave an amused hoot from inside her cage on top of the trunk, or as amused as an owl could sound anyway. Ignoring the throbbing pain, he limped the rest of the way to the front door and opened it, revealing Dumbledore standing on the front stoop in all his wizardly glory.
"Ah, Harry! It's marvelous to see you, dear boy." Dumbledore exclaimed jovially.
"You as well, Professor." Harry returned, backtracking to pick up his trunk and Hedwig's cage and returned to the doorway with both in hand, well out of reach of any vulnerable toes.
"I don't suppose your Aunt and Uncle are available for a quick chat?" Dumbledore inquired, peering around Harry into the entrance hall. "I was hoping to have a word with them."
"I'm afraid not, Professor. They're getting ready to turn in." The elderly wizard had a disappointed mien about him at that response, but brightened up rather quickly.
"It matters not, we've more important things to be getting to tonight." Dumbledore's attitude was that of a man on a mission, an attitude that Harry was more than passingly familiar with. Harry dragged his trunk out of the house, closing the door behind him with an air of finality. Hedwig was strangely quiet, no hoots or rustling to be heard.
"Would you mind terribly if I sent your things ahead to the Burrow? I see no need to encumber you with them on our little detour."
"That's fine with me, sir." Harry set his trunk down fully and settled Hedwig's cage on top.
"Before I forget, do you have your Invisibility Cloak on you?" Harry nodded in response and patted the pocket of his jacket where it was currently stashed. He was of the opinion that it was better to carry it around and not have need of it rather than leave it in his trunk and miss an opportunity to use it. Especially if it may save his life. Likewise, his wand was in his back pocket.
Dumbledore drew his wand and sent a nonverbal spell at the items, causing them to vanish. As he drew his wand, Harry noticed his sleeve slide back toward his elbow, revealing a blackened hand. The skin looked leathery, as if all moisture had been sucked from the hand. Harry decided that discretion was the better part of valour and he kept his mouth shut. If Dumbledore wanted Harry to know about the circumstances that had led to his right hand being so grievously injured, he would have to bring them up. Harry would not give Dumbledore the satisfaction of inquiring about it.
"Let us be off, Harry." Dumbledore stashed his wand back on his sleeve and set off down the street, Harry scrambling to keep up with his long strides.
"Er... sir? Where exactly are we detouring to?" asked Harry. He was eager to get to the Burrow and he wasn't all that excited to be roped into another one of Dumbledore's schemes. Merlin knew he'd had his fill over the past five years.
"I need to have a discussion with an old acquaintance of mine and I feel that it might be best to catch him unawares. He's been dodging my owls for a while now." Harry could see Dumbledore's eyebrows furrowing, as if the man couldn't comprehend why anyone would want to ignore an owl from him.
"I - " Harry got cut off by Dumbledore veering away from the road and entering the park just off of Privet Drive.
"Sir?" Harry asked in confusion. Dumbledore was heading straight for a copse of trees on the edge of the park that had decent canopy cover. Upon entering the woods, Harry saw that no moonlight was visible in the center, nor was the streetlight.
"There is one small matter that we must attend to before we meet my friend, however." Dumbledore clasped his hands in front of him.
"And that would be?" Harry sighed, already sick of Dumbledore's half-truths and manipulations.
"Sirius' will was discovered last week. He left you everything, all the money and properties associated with the Black name." Harry inhaled sharply, feeling like he'd taken a gut punch. He'd done his best that summer to not dwell on what had happened to Sirius and to everyone else who had fought at the Ministry. The memory was still too fresh and the mental wound was still weeping. Now he finds out that Sirius had left a will?
"I see." Harry's voice came out slightly strangled and Dumbledore at least had the grace to look repentant for being the bearer of bad news. "Is there something I've got to do for that then?"
"Not in as many words. I'm sure Gringotts would be willing to answer any inheritance questions you might have, but my concern is primarily with the properties you now have control over. Namely, Grimmauld Place."
Understanding struck Harry like a bolt of lightning; Dumbledore simply wanted to make sure that his headquarters were okay.
"Generally, wills act as the final say in who owns what when a deceased person leaves something to a certain person in their will, but sometimes magic can interfere with that. In this case, we don't know if Grimmauld Place has some unknown inheritance spells on it restricting the magical ownership to a limited number of people. The Order has relocated until we can answer that pressing question as it's simply not safe to carry on as we have been." said Dumbledore.
"Right." Harry said flatly. What did he care if the Order had lost its headquarters? "How do you expect to verify who owns it?"
In answer, Dumbledore simply jabbed his wand toward the center of the clearing and a house elf appeared with a sharp crack. The house elf threw itself onto the ground, beating its tiny fists against the ground and wailing about evil masters. Harry scrutinized the elf through the flailing limbs. The house elf was old, if the white hair and gnarled fingers were anything to go by. The long, hooked nose was extremely distinctive though.
"Kreacher?"
At the sound of his name, Kreacher ceased his tantrum just long enough to look up at Harry. Harry hadn't thought it possible, but Kreacher's wails grew louder upon recognizing Harry.
"Kreacher won't go with the filthy half-blood, no Kreacher won't! Potter is not worthy of the Black inheritance, Potter won't have Kreacher!" At the increased volume, Dumbledore erected a silencing ward around the clearing, which freed Harry to shout at Kreacher.
"Kreacher, stop!" The elf's entire body froze, fists hovering just above the grass and one foot poised to strike the ground. Harry's eyes widened, he hadn't expected that. Kreacher was only linked to the Black house…
Merlin, he was stupid. If Sirius had left Harry Grimmauld Place in his will and the house recognized him as his Master, Kreacher would as well.
Harry decided to seize this opportunity. Having a house elf bound only to him could be useful. "Kreacher, please go back to Grimmauld Place and start cleaning it up. Make sure it's up to Walburga's standards." If Kreacher could get Walburga's input, he would be more likely to do the job properly. Harry also made a mental note to be clear in his orders with Kreacher; he wouldn't soon forgive Kreacher's betrayal of Sirius.
Kreacher clambered to his feet and shot Harry a deep look of confusion before disappearing.
"Excellent! Now that we've settled that matter, we can go meet Horace." Dumbledore's voice held an undercurrent of frustration. Harry assumed that he hadn't planned for Harry taking charge of the meeting, which only made him gladder that he had.
Harry took Dumbledore's proffered arm and the two men disappeared with a crack, leaving nothing behind, save a few disturbed leaves to mark their departure. The silencing wards fell without Dumbledore there to maintain them and Privet Drive was once more free of magic.
Harry stumbled away from Dumbledore the minute they appeared on a new residential street and put his hands on his knees, trying to get some air into his lungs. Apparition apparently felt like being stretched out and squeezed through a tube. Harry decided that this didn't bode well for future Apparition trips.
"I am sorry, my boy. The first trip is supposedly the worst." Harry straightened and returned to Dumbledore's side. He rather thought that wizarding methods of travel left a lot to be desired in the way of comfort.
"That's all right. Where are we, sir?" The street they were on had a few houses lining one side and a church on the other.
"We are in the village of Budleigh Babberton, Harry. I plan to drop by a friend's house and attempt to convince him to return to Hogwarts as a staff member. He's been in retirement for some time now." Dumbledore replied, gesturing for Harry to begin walking.
"For the Defense position?" It was the only one open and if this person - Harry thought he'd heard Dumbledore mention the name Horace before they left - took it, the Reaper would have a harder time getting access to Hogwarts.
"No, Horace Slughorn is a Potions Master. He taught at Hogwarts before Professor Snape came along." Dumbledore indicated a right turn and Harry followed along.
Harry could hardly contain his glee at the thought of Snape leaving Hogwarts. "What about Sn - Professor Snape?"
"If Horace agrees to return, Professor Snape would be taking on the Defense position."
Harry very nearly tripped and fell on his face at that news. Snape as the Defense teacher! The thought alone was enough to give children nightmares.
"Sir, is that really the -" Harry was silenced by Dumbledore raising his non-injured hand and gesturing for Harry to be quiet. Dumbledore pointed at a house that lay off to their left. The house in question appeared to have been broken into as the front door was no longer attached to the house.
Harry mentally groaned; with his luck that would be the house they were meant to be visiting. Sure enough, Dumbledore strode toward the house, wand peeking out of his sleeve.
"Wand out, Harry. Defensive magic only." The tension in the air seemed palpable and Harry drew his wand out from his back pocket. The duo cautiously proceeded to enter the house and a quick Lumos from Dumbledore revealed the scene before them.
It looked as if an epic fight had taken place. Harry could see deep gouges in the walls of the entrance hall, no doubt from miscast spells. Debris from various knick-knacks littered the floor and a grandfather clock lay on its side, watch face broken.
Raising his wand higher, Dumbledore walked into the next room of the house, the sitting room from the looks of it. This room had taken more damage than the hall had and dark splashes of blood decorated the furniture and floor.
Harry felt uneasy. There was something off about this and he didn't know how to describe it. It was as if his mind was expecting to find something but his body was telling him that it wasn't there.
He felt his lotus tattoo heat up, as if confirming his thoughts.
Fuck. It's probably something to do with the spirit powers. Harry knew there was no way he could successfully hide anything from Dumbledore if his powers decided to screw around with him again.
Shaking himself out of his thoughts and tearing his gaze away from a bloodstain that looked particularly like a hippogriff, Harry looked up, only to find Dumbledore examining an old armchair in great detail.
Has he finally cracked?
"Clever, quite clever." The elderly wizard hummed. "An admirable effort, Horace." Dumbledore patted the arm of the chair and Harry's jaw dropped as the chair began morphing into the shape of a portly man.
"Blast it all, Albus!" The armchair-turned-man stood up to his full height and adjusted his robes.
"Impressive transfiguration to be sure, Minerva would be most proud. You missed your pinky toe though." Dumbledore gestured to the man's foot.
"Yes, well, we can't all be bloody prodigies," the man grumbled, taking out his wand and beginning to set the room back to rights. "What do you want, Albus?"
"What, I can't simply call upon a dear friend for a chat?"
"Not at ten 'till midnight! One would think you'd have more sense, and they'd be wrong." His long-suffering tone spoke of a man well used to how the great Albus Dumbledore worked.
"I came to ask a favor of you, and to introduce you to a student of mine," Dumbledore gestured for Harry to come further into the room. "Horace, this is Harry Potter. Harry, this is Horace Slughorn, former Potions Professor at Hogwarts. Current Professor too, if I get my way."
Slughorn's eyes lit up at Harry's name and his eyes performed the traditional flick up to Harry's hairline.
"Harry Potter, is it? Nice to meet you, lad." Harry shook the offered hand and Slughorn turned back to Dumbledore.
"Do you not know the meaning of retirement, Albus? I've no desire to return to Hogwarts!" Slughorn fixed a beady eyed glare on Dumbledore that would have caused a lesser man to flinch away.
"Come now, you won't humour an old man?"
"Old man, my arse." Slughorn grumbled, sitting down on the newly repaired sofa and indicating that Dumbledore and Harry could take the two recliners opposite it. Harry did so, wondering why he was here. Surely Dumbledore could have had this argument in the morning, at much more reasonable hour.
"Surely you'd prefer to be at Hogwarts rather than running around from house to house?" Dumbledore asked. Startled, Harry examined the room, noticing very little in the way of personal effects. There were some obviously magical knick-knacks lying on the coffee table and there was a cluster of moving photographs sitting on top of the piano, but the rest of the room was distinctly Muggle.
"It works, doesn't it? The Death Eaters haven't caught up to me yet, have they?" Slughorn looked proud at that.
"Yet, Horace. You'll find that they won't give up quite so easily." His tone was heavy, that of a man who has seen far too much.
"Be that as it may, my answer is still no. I had a good run of it, Severus is more than capable of remaining as Potions Master - unless he's unavailable?" Slughorn inquired shrewdly.
"No, no, I had meant to ask Severus to take on the Defense position… oh well." Dumbledore stood up from his seat, Slughorn rising with him.
"What, that's it? Are you leaving?" Slughorn somehow sounded happy and disappointed at the same time, his eyes briefly flicking over to Harry before refocusing on Dumbledore. Harry got the feeling that Slughorn had been hoping to interrogate him.
"Ah, I was merely hoping to use your loo?" Slughorn's face fell and he pointed to the side hallway, telling Dumbledore to use the first door on the left.
Once Dumbledore had left in a swirl of robes, Slughorn's full attention settled on Harry.
"The spitting image of your father, did you know? But with your mother's-"
"Eyes, I know." Harry had lost track of the number of times he'd been told that.
"Did you teach my parents, sir? Harry asked, interested despite himself.
"None of this sir business, I'm not a teacher anymore, after all! Call me Sluggy, or Horace if you prefer." Slughorn waved it off jovially. Harry wrinkled his nose, standing up to join Slughorn. The height difference had bothered him.
The air of familiarity that Slughorn wanted to create bothered Harry; it was reminiscent of someone trying to worm their way into Harry's good graces. Unfortunately for Slughorn, he hadn't made the best first impression.
Slughorn seemed to realize that, hastening to fix it. "I taught both James and Lily, though Lily had more of a talent for Potions." He strode over to the collection of pictures, pointing to one in particular. Harry followed, recognizing his mother from the pictures in his photo album. Her long red hair was tied back and she was standing behind a bubbling cauldron, grinning at the camera.
"These are all former students," Slughorn said, indicating the group of pictures. "There's Gwenog Jones, captain of the Holyhead Harpies, and Ambrosius Flume, the Honeydukes proprietor. Oh, and that's Barnabus Cuffe, the editor of the Prophet of course." Slughorn continued to ramble on, listing off names and occupations. Every single one was someone of importance, someone who wielded some measure of influence. Harry knew his type, someone who cultivated connections and used them to his own benefit, riding the coattails of others' successes.
More manipulation, he thought bitterly. He'd bet all the Galleons in his trust vault that Dumbledore had brought him here as a lure, an enticement to try and get Slughorn to accept the job. Well, he'd simply have to fix that.
"You know, sir, I really admire you standing up to Headmaster Dumbledore. He's not an easy man to disagree with."
"Eh, you do?" Slughorn had been winding down on his recitation of names and seemed startled to hear Harry's voice again.
"Oh yes, I've not seen many do that." Harry might've been laying it on a bit thick, but it was worth it to see Slughorn's countenance turn thoughtful. As luck would have it, that was the moment that Dumbledore chose to return.
"Come along, Harry. We've got to get to the Burrow; I daresay Molly is eager to stuff you full of food." Harry turned his back on Slughorn, picking his way across the room to join Dumbledore. Once at the doorway, Harry looked back at Slughorn, who was looking a bit lost.
"I apologize for dropping in so unexpectedly, Horace. I do hope you'll reconsider." With that, Dumbledore swept back out into the entrance hall with both Harry and Slughorn following him. Slughorn shot a Reparo at the grandfather clock as they passed it. It now read as past midnight. Dumbledore stepped out onto the front stoop, waiting for Harry to join him.
"I wouldn't hold your breath, Albus." Slughorn shot back.
Harry stepped out into the cold night air, shivering a bit in his light jacket. He made sure that his wand and cloak were where they should be before looking up at Slughorn. Harry offered his hand to Slughorn.
"It was nice to meet you, sir." Slughorn took his hand and shook it, giving Harry a genuine smile.
"You as well, lad."
Both men missed Dumbledore's brief glare before they broke the handshake.
"Very well. Goodbye, Horace. Harry, let's go." Dumbledore bit out, already walking on the path that led to the sidewalk. Harry followed, looking back over his shoulder at the house. Slughorn had repaired the front door, concealing him and the interior of the house from sight.
Harry stepped onto the sidewalk and Dumbledore silently held out his arm. Harry took it and the two men disappeared from a street for the second time that night.