Meticulous paperwork was an efficient remedy to unease. After an early breakfast, Albus collected the teachers' reports and engrossed himself in the pages of text. But whenever he straightened up to pet Fawkes or take a sip of tea, his eyes would linger on the Hogwarts coat of arms. It had been engraved on the back of every chair, on the lid of every water decanter, on every canvas bearing the likeness of a previous headmaster, and on the back wall of every fireplace in the castle. There was no avoiding it, not even on purpose, and each glimpse made him muse on the mysterious room on the seventh floor. He wondered how many students knew of its existence and regularly spent time within its walls. Despite his best efforts, his imagination ran wild when he thought of the Founders—the four historic figures so deeply respected by the wizarding community that sharing even a fraction of his suspicions with the public would lead to rumours of his failing mind.
The arrival of an unexpected visitor came, in truth, as a relief. It was the miniature gargoyle on his mantelshelf—a replica of the statue guarding his office—that broke the tension with its articulate croak.
"Aberforth Dumbledore is waiting to be admitted."
This happened to be the only morning when Albus felt no surprise at the news. He lowered his quill and gave Fawkes an absent caress.
"Let him in."
How many years had passed since his brother had paid him a visit? It had been fifteen, perhaps twenty years. After their latest meeting, he had expected silence.
Aberforth marched in with an air of determination. He was wrapped in a cloak, having walked the distance between the village and Hogwarts. Mornings at his inn were seldom as busy as evenings.
"I won't take much of your time," he announced without preamble.
Albus considered him, intrigued and alarmed in equal measure. The matter had to be serious.
"What can I do for you?"
For once, the other wizard shuffled, as if wondering where to start.
"A girl from that Karkaroff's school comes to my pub to play darts. She is bored, I think. She has told me Karkaroff plays some sort of game on that ship of his. Every evening, the winner gets to drink wine from his cup. You make it stop, Albus. That's all."
The headmaster stared at him. His blood had run cold. After a few seconds, he was confident enough he had not misheard, and his voice came out sharp and shaky.
"What game?"
"That's what I asked. And that's why I'm here." Aberforth held his gaze, as wilful and unyielding as their mother had been. "You make it stop. Make sure Karkaroff gets no more wine. I don't give two shits if his old friends want to poison him, but he has no right to risk those students' lives, even if they are from that school. Not all of them are bad. The girl is not."
Wine-testing: this was what his brother suspected Karkaroff of doing. Calming down slightly, Albus found the accusation valid: the former Death Eater was terrified of his master's return. Fear could render people paranoid. It certainly appeared to have rendered Karkaroff more ruthless, more indifferent to his charges' wellbeing. Come to that, if Voldemort had ordered his spy to poison the school supplies of food or drink, surely he would have had Albus killed first. He would have wanted his path towards Harry cleared. Karkaroff, no matter how traitorous, was not his primary concern. Nevertheless, the wretched man had crossed the line once and for all.
"Minty!"
A house-elf with round blue eyes and a pear-shaped nose materialised before them with a pop.
"As the leader of the group chosen to tend to the needs of our Durmstrang guests, you have been bringing wine onto the ship, is that correct?"
Minty nodded fearfully. One could only assume she had been criticised or even berated by their demanding "guest". With some effort, Albus suppressed his desire to Transfigure the other headmaster into a mouse and set him loose in the Owlery.
"Well done, Minty. Here is what I will ask you to do. As of this moment, you and the other members of your group will stop supplying the Durmstrang ship with spirits of any kind, including Butterbeer. If Professor Karkaroff asks questions, tell him this is due to the new budget cuts at Hogwarts. In case of more questions, you can refer him to me. Do you understand?"
A vigorous nod and a bow later, the house-elf was dismissed. The wizard turned back towards his brother.
"I heard that girl speak to a classmate during the Yule Ball. Nothing here is impressive, she said, but the barman of Hog's Head is nice." Even though no muscle moved in Aberforth's face in response, Albus could tell he was pleased. "To your knowledge, is this everything Karkaroff has done?"
His visitor shrugged.
"I would have told you if I knew something else. Students, at least, you occasionally protect, even if they're foreign. Yyhely is very tight-lipped. She doesn't trust easily. If she lets anything else slip, I'll let you know." He took a step towards the door. "Good thinking with the budget cuts excuse. This way, it won't come back to her. Well, that was all."
Taken aback by the praise, Albus acted spontaneously, calling after his brother before he even realised it.
"Wait! There is something I wanted to ask you." His voice dropped unwittingly. "During the time you spent in this castle, did you ever encounter anything strange or frightening? Anything you couldn't explain? What I'm truly asking is… have you ever come across a room you couldn't locate afterwards?"
Aberforth stopped. Slowly, he spun around.
"Why?" There was suspicion in his tone. "You are the headmaster. You should know better."
"The truth is that I still know very little. Only last night…" Albus hesitated, drew a breath, and decided not to pursue the matter. "I feel Hogwarts has a… Dark side."
This was met with a scoff. "You are the one with a 'Dark side', not Hogwarts."
The door snapped shut, leaving a resigned older brother to his paperwork.
The news of Karkaroff's experiments on top of preoccupation over the school's secrets, however, had claimed their due: there was no focusing on his endeavour. Loath to waste time when so much needed to be done, Albus checked his schedule, summoned a cloak, and threw a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace. The moment had come to render a certain Ministry official a visit. The Third Task would not be left to chance.
Ludo Bagman was notorious for his chaotic direction. Instinctively, the headmaster knew he ought to come unannounced, to take the man by surprise. Sure enough, the section of the floor dedicated to the Department of Magical Games and Sports was bustling with activity, wizards and witches rushing down the corridors with papers in hand. The door to Ludo's office was ajar. One could see Quidditch posters on the walls, and more sticky notes than there were candles in the Great Hall.
"Good afternoon, Ludo," Albus called with a knock. "I apologise for this intrusion. Do you mind if I join you for a quick word, or is the timing unsuitable?"
Caught mid-stretch, the young man hastily righted himself, blinking in astonishment. A second later, his wide, professional smile was in place.
"Not at all, Dumbledore, come in! Can I offer you something?" He opened his drawers, pushing stacks of mismatched parchment around. "Let me have a butcher's… Firewhisky? Jesting—maybe not. I think I've misplaced all my teabags."
"A glass of water will do. Thank you, Ludo."
Albus settled in a spare chair and smiled.
"I would like to congratulate you on the Second Task. I know we started it with a disagreement, but after a month of intense work, the result was spectacular. I am impressed."
Contrary to his expectation, Ludo was not cheered. His energetic expression was quickly slipping away to reveal some of his strain.
"Look, Dumbledore, I didn't know they were so dramatic. It could have been avoided, there was no nee—well, either way, I didn't mean to. You know, it… it was a lot of work." He sighed. "Can't believe I'm saying this, but I miss old Barty. He was boring and rude, but not pushing his own agenda, you know what I mean? And Weatherby has moved on from his eternal love faster than you can say Bob's your uncle. Surprised me, as a matter of fact. If I may be blunt, I've met ladies of the night more loyal than this."
The words were unquestionably a test: Ludo was attempting to find out which side Albus was on. There was no reason for playing games at this point. He had all but confirmed Gellert's prediction.
"I had this suspicion when Percy came to the Task," the headmaster confessed. "Dolores Umbridge had him questioned by the Aurors. She then visited him in the dungeons, brought him breakfast, and released him. He probably views her as his saviour."
He was granted an unusually shrewd, penetrating look. Ludo lowered his voice to a whisper.
"Have you checked the door? There are curtain-twitchers all around."
Holding a finger to his lips, he walked to the door and peered out before locking it and applying the Soundproof Charm. Only then he relaxed.
"I'm not exaggerating." He made a wide hand gesture as he regained his seat. "It's politics, all right, mate? She aims to be a president—like on the other side of the pond—and she'll stop at nothing. That's not even the worst of it. Did you know she's a pure-blood supremacist? I mean, so are many, but she would take it to the extreme. If she ever gets formal power… let's just say her idea of our society is rather perverse. Oh, and she hates me—really hates me. Now that Barty's gone, I'm on shaky ground. He had some authority. And now, even Weatherby is in the toad's fan club. And since I don't intend to join that snake nest, well..."
There was another heavy sigh.
"You've always been bright, Dumbledore. I'm sure you know all this. You have come here for a reason. Unless you're after a poster with shirtless blokes after all, eh?"
Albus had listened attentively. He appreciated the other man's honesty.
"You are a clever wizard as well, Ludo. You know I'm as good as married." The mirth fled from his gaze. "My circumstances could be compared to yours. Miss Umbridge is working on gaining access inside Hogwarts. She tracks my movements, waiting for any misstep on my part. If she succeeds in taking over, I agree with your prediction. She recently told me magic was a rare gift bestowed only on those who were special." He shifted slightly. "However, she isn't yet as powerful as she would like to be. And I have ties to the Italian Ministry; through them, I could communicate with Norway. If you and I collaborated with them on the Third Task, we could ensure a safer, smoother end to the Tournament, which would work to our advantage."
This brought on a much more enthusiastic reaction. Ludo grinned, sitting up straighter.
"You know, I've always liked you. What do you propose? I'll be straightforward: I'd really like to keep my job. If my hunch is true, that's why that minging toad has dug her claws into Weatherby in the first place—to have me replaced. With Barty out of the way, she's surrounding herself with obedient people. She knows I'm not one of them. If I were, she'd have me find ways to eliminate the pretty French champion no doubt—because, you know, blood status. Her new boy toy doesn't get it. He won't see what's going on until it's too late."
As sad as this thought was, what with Arthur Weasley working at the Ministry yet being unable to get through to his son, Ludo was most likely correct. Percy was too ambitious to accept healthy influence. The longer he rubbed shoulders with pure-blood elitists, the more quickly he would grow ashamed of his modest family.
"I have a suggestion on the Third Task," Albus started. "Back in August, Barty told me a maze would be involved. Is this still accurate?"
Ludo shrugged thoughtfully.
"If we insist. Here is the thing: the toad thinks it's been too much embarrassment for the Ministry. Harry was chosen as a champion, then the whole dragon incident happened, and Karkaroff complained—it was him, by the way, don't be fooled. Pretty colourful descriptions too. Not that the toad needs more pretexts to hate the French headmistress. In fact, if anything else happens on the school grounds—and I mean anything at all—the toad will attack. But fine, I digress. What helps is that I'm still officially in charge. It's up to me to come up with a good, Ministry-approved proposal for the Task. So yes, we can work with that."
With a nod, Albus gathered the ideas he had discussed with Gellert, careful to formulate them in a fashion the commentator would find most convincing.
"If I'm not mistaken, the Ministry has been blamed for the biased nature of the Tournament. What is done is done. Now is our chance to reverse our unfavourable reputation and ascertain that all the champions would have an equal standing: they should have the same tools to succeed. If we opt for the maze, let us discard the secrecy and inform the champions in advance. This will leave them several months to prepare. If, in addition, we station creatures in the maze and use enchantments as obstacles, the children will be compelled to study a variety of spells. The quickest and best-prepared champion will win; no one can claim then the odds were uneven. All in all, we will have a fair competition that will be interesting to watch if we find a way of projecting memories for the pubic to see. Also, I will be secure in the knowledge that the teenagers haven't neglected their studies. They have, after all, been excused from exams."
For a few instants, Ludo revolved on his chair, his blue eyes fixed on the ceiling. The proposition had clearly gained his approval, for he began reasoning aloud.
"Hmm… Does it mean the two of us will be responsible for the creatures? Barty had some notes… His original idea was to import a sphinx from Nubia; the rest of the list is mostly blank… Do you want to fill it?" He straightened up to meet Albus's eye. "I mean, it's your school. Of course, Weatherby will be reporting back to the toad—unless she deems fit to remove him from the project altogether, which I'm not excluding. I can sell it as my idea, along with some compulsory security clauses, and you'd make a show of approving it."
"Very well." It was the headmaster's turn to pause in contemplation. "I have no objection to the presence of a sphinx, as long as adult wizards are allowed to patrol the maze for precaution. The Forbidden Forest boasts many creatures, and Hagrid will be happy to lend us his knowledge and experience. With Mr Scamander's help, if the latter approves. Miss Umbridge may not approve of Hagrid, but I'm certain she won't say a word against Newt."
This too sat well with Ludo, who nodded.
"That will do. What about security? The staff of Hogwarts?" He coughed. "Since we're frank… most of the budget was splashed out on the Second Task. The French side picked the most expensive wizards they could find. That Polytard—just look at his taste in witches—high maintenance! And then fetching that little French girl—well, that was my cock-up."
Suppressing a chuckle, the older man reminded himself to transmit those words to Justice, who was bound to find them amusing.
"I'm confident we will have volunteers for the patrolling duty among my teachers. I will train them if necessary."
"Cheers! And I could get some trainees from the Auror Office, just to represent the Ministry. It's a matter of pride, you know—even if Karkaroff sees the budget cuts, we can't show him we're out of Galleons."
Satisfied with this consensus, Albus drank his water and stood up. They shook hands.
"Excellent. I'm relieved to know the Third Task will be organised with the champions' equality and safety in mind. Thank you for receiving me."
Ludo held up his hands in mock surrender.
"I've learned my lesson: no more posh guests. Next time we see each other, let's act the usual way: I make suggestions, you and the others accept them. Will you handle Madame Maxime and Karkaroff? All they need to do is nod. I will stop by so that we can figure out how to communicate from now on—you know, bypassing the toad and her shiny new toy."
With all the details settled, it was time for Albus to leave. An elusive thought lurked at the back of his mind: a sense of doubt, or perhaps of discomfort. He could not quite fathom it out; he only felt certain it would grow clear with time. He was almost at the door when another idea, a much more tangible one, dawned upon him, causing him to turn around.
"I have never asked what Fleming and Cooper were hiding," he admitted with a frown. "What was Harry doing in the lake while we couldn't see him?"
The question was answered without dawdling.
"Well, he wasn't taking a leak." Ludo smiled mirthlessly. "The fact is, he was cheating. Moaning Myrtle's ghost appeared and gave him directions. If they'd shown this memory, he would have been disqualified on the spot." At Albus's arrested silence, he hastened to add, "He's doing great, Dumbledore, honest. You have to be a bit cheeky to make it among the older, stronger champions—and don't we all want Hogwarts to win?"
Cheeky was one way to describe the situation, though the headmaster was much keener to apply the word to Myrtle than he was to Harry. She had feigned ignorance while being interrogated alongside the other ghosts. He no longer quite believed her trustworthy. Naturally, there was no point in scolding her once he returned to the castle.
As the hours went on and he examined the bank statements the goblins had sent to Hogwarts, he could not help but muse on the possible outcomes of the Second Task, had the spirit not come to Harry's aid. The boy might have swum in the opposite direction and become lost. He could have spent his hour swimming without finding the hostages. One could not deny he had approached the Second Task irresponsibly. And luck did not last forever.
His jaw clenched, Albus wrote and dispatched a brief note requesting a meeting with Sirius the very next day. He knew the young man would not deny him; they had moved past petty arguments. It was twenty to seven when he finished with the overview of the school finances, and he immediately slipped on his travelling cloak. He meant to dedicate the evening to his children, who had asked him to dinner.
The first creature to greet him at the Tuscan villa was Giufà, Justice's little black cat. As soon as he rang the bell, the door slid open, allowing the graceful animal to slip in. No one was standing on the other side. Puzzled, the wizard entered, listening to the sounds of commotion.
"Good evening, tesorini," he called towards the sitting room. "Is everything all right?"
A few seconds later, Justice emerged, attired in a neat coat and with a purse in hand. She approached to hug Albus, her high heels tapping on the floor. Everything about her countenance revealed she was in a hurry.
"Ay, so good to see you!" She kissed him on both cheeks. "I have to go, but dinner is served—tarta de limón, your favourite. Giaco will take care of the rest. I have to go and see Santi; he's hurt. Luz had to take him to Sanatorio Mágico del Isidore. I need to be there."
She had delivered the words in one breath, and so urgently that he barely noticed when Giacomo joined them. All things considered, it was not surprising, for his son had always possessed a stealthy quality. Even when they had first met at Durmstrang, Albus had seen and heard Justice before taking note of Giacomo.
"Luis is likely to join us soon, but I believe we could already start dining," the younger man said.
Justice nodded her agreement. "Of course, you won't solve anything by staying hungry. And I doubt Luis will want to eat when he comes. What he needs is company. If only Muggles were allowed in hospitals for wizards… well, you know how it is. I'll keep you informed."
She was about to run out of the door. Gently, Albus put a hand on her arm to delay her for another minute.
"What is wrong with Santi, dear? What happened?"
With a vocal sigh, the witch threw her hands in the air.
"Oof, where to start?"
"Santi did something foolish," Giacomo began, but she silenced him at once.
"No, he didn't. He said he didn't do it, and I believe him."
"Amore, who else could have done it?" her husband reasoned patiently. "Boys do stupid things for a dare; just no need to get into an arg—"
"He didn't!"
Holding up a hand to stem his objections, Justice turned her attention to Albus.
"I'm not sure how it happened, but Pancito… someone gave him a taste of blood." She was referring to her sister's familiar, the elderly bat. "As you know, it's not allowed, and Luz has always been strict about it. Anyway, Pancito attacked Luis—bit him. Nothing too serious happened, but Santi was grounded anyway, even though he swore he hadn't broken that rule. Since he was grounded, he couldn't go out with Dominique. You know teenage boys—you can't really lock them up. He thought of the trick your Hogwarts champion performed in front of the dragon and tried to do the same. He picked the lock on his window the Muggle way, Summoned his broom, and almost got away. I think he must have lost his balance, though: he fell down three stories and broke nearly every bone in his body. What's even worse, he fell into the garden patch where Luz grows her poisonous plants. So he lay there bleeding, and Pancito flew over and… started drinking all that blood oozing out of poor Santi. Bello quadro, you would say. This is how Luz discovered them. Pancito has been locked up in a cage, Santi is at Sanatorio—both have poisoning—Luz is beside herself, and Luis is going insane with worry. And amore, before you say anything, this is a mess Santi did not cause."
Giacomo heaved a sigh.
"All right. All I'm saying is that I don't know who else could have fed blood to the bat. It's something a boy would do for a bet, but if you believe him, I'm with you. Just… try not to argue with Luz. She will be very emotional right now. It's best to simply be there for her."
With an absent nod, Justice leaned in to give a petrified Albus another hug.
"I will be back soon, hopefully with Luis. You boys enjoy your dinner."
The headmaster embraced her on instinct, too horror-struck to muster a reaction. He had never expected his undertaking to result in such misfortune. When he had asked Pancito to bite Gellert, he had believed it to be an innocent request, certain the bat would listen to his pleas and refrain from biting anyone else. And now, Justice's nephew was in a hospital with poisoning and broken bones, his parents were out of their minds with distress, and the poor animal had been caged and needed treatment. He struggled to take all of this in.
"I'm so sorry." The words had finally come out. "Is there anything I can do?"
His daughter patted him on the shoulder and shook her head. "I'll be back soon. We don't know anything for sure yet."
"We will take care of Luis," Giacomo promised. "He can have my best whisky, and Albus will keep him entertained."
Rolling her eyes, Justice headed for the door.
"No Firewhisky please—and yes, just calm him down. What torments him most right now is being in the dark. As a Muggle, he thinks broken bones and poisoning are deadly. They're not—at least not for us. You'll tell him that, sì?"
"You can rely on us, amore."
With one last wave, she hastened out, and the two wizards as well as the cat were left alone. Giacomo gestured towards the dining room.
"Well, let's go to table."
Wretchedly, Albus followed suit. He wondered where he had forgotten his brain when the idea of involving the bats in blood extraction had occurred to him. He had brought them to Nurmengard on impulse and had thought nothing through. In hindsight, it made perfect sense that once Pancito had tasted blood and enjoyed it, he would want to taste it again. And had it really been so impossible to find an alternative means of drawing blood? There were needles. What a reckless fool he had been! His actions had seriously harmed a child.
He watched his son levitate a large pot of black pasta with truffles and basil onto the table, but his appetite was gone. It was all he could do to render his voice even; shame threatened to consume him whole.
"How have you been, Giaco?" he asked quietly.
The younger man Summoned a bottle of wine.
"Well, tonight's drama aside, I have so much to tell you. Karkaroff's days are pretty much counted, you know. He won't be headmaster for long."
Knowing this was the reason Giacomo had been impatient to talk to him, the Englishman attempted to focus on the topic. His shock had not yet subsided, and his fingers trembled.
"Have the Swedes gained most influence on the board of governors?"
"Indeed, they have." The words were accompanied by a smile full of meaning. "You've noticed no doubt that two Swedish divers were sent to assist at the Second Task. That's not all they were doing. They were supposed to observe Karkaroff and find his… ah, shortcomings. They found none. Still, they are trying their hardest to build a case."
Albus frowned. "He must have taken care to watch his behaviour in their presence. Yet only this morning, I found out he had been testing wine on students. Needless to say, I am done supplying him with beverages."
Having incidentally poured some wine for them both, Giacomo glanced up.
"How come? That would suggest he is afraid. Surely our Swedish friends wouldn't go that far; they merely want him removed from his post. Unless… ahh, it's about his past, isn't it?"
His guess was reaffirmed with a nod.
"What about the Italian fraction of the board?" the old wizard enquired.
"There is no Italian fraction… yet. That's precisely what I wanted to discuss with you." With the table laid, the host sat down and reached for his cutlery. "You may not be a politician, but you know what the situation has been like up there. The funds have been drying up for years. The Slavic fraction made a mistake by choosing Karkaroff to represent them. He maintains the discipline, I'll give him that, but he also has a taste for extravagance and a rather murky past. I've gathered some intelligence on him. The way he came to power… he promised reforms many felt were due." Giacomo paused. "Durmstrang has always been exclusive. With the best education gold could buy, the opulent premises, and their rigorous maintenance, came elitism. After the forties, more and more parties were becoming convinced the school was a breeding ground for Dark wizards with revolutionary tendencies."
Gellert's fate had had a severe effect on Durmstrang's reputation. However hard they had tried, none of the headmasters had succeeded in dissociating the school from his name. Albus had known it, and the knowledge still stung.
His son went on, "Karkaroff used the public mood to advance his candidacy for the headmaster's post. I will replace decadence with order, he claimed. All those privileged teenagers will be treated equally and taught to work instead of relying on their parents. With our mindset of discipline and labour, we will transform your children into strong, hard-working duellists. Not that he lives by his own motto. Rumour has it he is, in a way, an admirer of Uagadou—did you know? There are African wizards who have accused him of appropriating some of their rare pieces of art for his personal collection. And the last I heard, there weren't many diamonds left on the wall in the dining hall."
Far from surprised, the headmaster nodded again.
"However, he hides his tracks well," Giacomo concluded. "The Swedes have trouble gathering any factual evidence. What their little spy mission has shown is that, while stern, he doesn't violate the students' rights in any way. All they have on him is the fact that he is unpopular and a little stingy when it comes to the maintenance of the school. So if the Italian fraction ceases to exist, they will take its place to expand even more."
It was clear where the speech was headed. His knife and fork loose in his hands, Albus gazed at the other man, conscious of what ought to be done. He had offered as much at the start of the year, and it was the very least he could do.
"I can help you," he said simply. "You need allies to enter the board of governors, isn't it so? And you need more money so that Gia's political campaign wouldn't suffer while you provide help to Durmstrang."
The look in the Italian's eyes made it plain this was true.
"If… if we don't act now, there will be no Italian influence at all left at Durmstrang. The Swedes already insist our presence in the North is unnecessary—hardly any Italian students in attendance, you see. They are also working on weakening the Slavic fraction. Sooner or later, they will find something to use against Karkaroff, and they will blame the Slavic governors for letting things get this far. A massive number of resignations will follow, and the resulting board will likely be a combination of Norwegians, Germans, and Swedes with the latter as the majority. I would like to prevent such an outcome. But Gia needs me. I can't leave her alone against those vicious politicians. She is as harmless as a kitten, you know—same as Giufà here."
Hearing his name uttered, the black cat let out a loud meow and jumped onto the chair next to Albus's. Giacomo contemplated the animal as he spoke.
"It's not a good thing. If I'm to focus on our school, I have to be sure no one is actively trying to harm Gia."
This was all Albus needed to hear. He set down his napkin, his smile reassuring.
"I will speak to Olivia Ollivander. Fear not, she will come around; she loves Durmstrang too. Do you have someone in mind for the position of headmaster?"
"I have the names of a few possible candidates. But do you believe she will agree to meet me?"
"She will."
In reality, there was no other option: Albus was intent on securing this meeting no matter what it cost him. After the pain he had inadvertently caused to his children's extended family, he would ensure Gia faced no adversity.
It occurred to him once again how indignant his pure-blood opponents would be if they could read his mind. They would declare him willing to offer support to every magical school in the world except his own. Only, they would have been mistaken. Nothing could tarnish his love for Hogwarts, not even his inner conflict on the castle's gravity well.
A sudden sense of silence jolted him out of his reverie, and he saw his son watching him, his expression questioning.
"Something about Hogwarts worries me," he conceded. "When I visited Durmstrang, I never saw a single ghost on the premises. There are none, are there?"
Giacomo frowned, disconcerted by the sudden change of topic.
"No, there are none. The closest we ever came to the Higher Magicks was whatever we could summon in Conjuring. Why do you ask?"
A small humph escaped the Englishman. If Durmstrang could exist without feeding on its students, why could the Founders not have resorted to the same design for Hogwarts?
"Last night, I discovered a secret room in the castle," he shared. "On the seventh floor. There have been rumours: it would appear when one needed it most but would be impossible to find afterwards. My peers called it the Come and Go Room. I had never seen it until now. It's a small, bare stone chamber that will take on any appearance a student requires at the time. It's also the heart of Hogwarts: it keeps the ghosts tethered, unable to leave. When students spend time inside it, it feeds on their magic."
Shocked, the Italian gaped at him. It was not fearful astonishment, though, but amazement laced with fascination. Having always possessed the Ravenclaw frame of mind and a lack of prejudice towards Dark magic, Giacomo seemed more than impressed by the Founders' achievement.
"Remarkable," he breathed. "Where do I even begin?"
He shook his head, asking for patience as he pondered this revelation.
"The witch who founded Durmstrang was admirable. I dare say every student from the Slavic countries has the right to feel proud. What I mean is, we should consider what the times used to be like back then. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is even more ancient, and Durmstrang has always been different, exclusive. Nerida, I believe, went into hiding just like your Founders, but she was alone. No one is quite sure, but there are convincing theories that she learned from the Sámi people, who are indigenous to that region, the far North. They are still there today—both Muggles and wizards, some of whom attend Durmstrang. Their ways are as mysterious as those of Native Americans—the vanmaji. And it's widely accepted that all wizards of old—be it the Hogwarts Founders, Nerida, mages from the many Slavic countries, or vanmaji—practiced the Higher Magicks. Something that is no longer practiced today since we have learned to rely on wands. That kind of magic is wandless and so rich, so potent that I can't even begin to fathom…"
The younger man drew a breath, excitement pouring from his every word.
"Take your Sorting Hat. What magic is that? Typically, a spell will dissipate with the caster's death; it's usually the curses that grow stronger once the caster dies. If I were to Transfigure this wineglass into a frog and die tomorrow, there would only be a wineglass left. Yet here we are, resorting to an object with magical properties undiminished by the passing centuries. It's almost as if Godric Gryffindor had defied the laws of magic when he had enchanted his hat. Perhaps he had dealt with something formidable while still alive."
His dark eyes sought out Albus's blue ones, recovering some of their soberness.
"What I think is that all those wizards were more alone than we are now. The lack of support from the wizarding community could have led them to some dubious decisions. You know, after Nerida passed away, Durmstrang almost ceased to exit. And look at it now: it's in peril once again. Maybe she didn't think of what came after her death, or she wouldn't. But the Hogwarts Founders did. They left behind something lingering, ensuring the castle wouldn't have to depend on the wizards in charge but would be able to… defend itself by absorbing all this magic. Maybe Conjuring was taught there once. It's no longer taught at Durmstrang. And it teaches precisely the higher and mysterious aspects of magic, so different from the Druid magic or wandlore. It might have started as a courtesy of the Sámi people."
He smiled as he delivered his final thoughts.
"I understand if you feel conflicted, Albus, I do. But it is admirable. If the Founders achieved what you just described to me, it's worthy of respect, and we shouldn't judge them too harshly. Durmstrang, on the other hand, exists only as long as there are wizards who take good care of it. No headmaster, no governor, no one leaves a permanent mark on the school; what it takes instead is perfect management. Perhaps that's what Nerida wanted; we will never know."
The remaining pasta on Albus's plate had gone cold, but it did not matter. He had been listening raptly. The older he grew, the more clearly he understood how little he knew. No number of books could possibly outline how rich magic was, how limitless, how powerful. If one was to examine the matter from Giacomo's point of view, one had to admit the Founders' decision had been as prudent as it had been bold. Except, as an educator who loved his charges, Albus could not help himself: he found it callous.
"I understand now why Durmstrang is so special," he replied. "Its concealment and protection spells must be regularly renewed; the wizards in charge are sworn to secrecy; and considering the harsh climate, the castle must be rendered warm and comfortable and inviting. The cost of these necessities can only drive up the student fees. Not to mention that any potential battles would be fought by wizards since the castle is not as… sentient."
He closed his eyes with a sigh. A sensation of helplessness had settled in.
"I hear what you are saying. I understand why the Founders would have wanted the school to be self-sufficient. But it is my duty to protect the students—and the castle. What if more children die within its walls and this gravity well pulls them back, preventing them from moving on? I see the ghosts every day, and they are miserable. Now, it might be that one of the Founders made the Room difficult to find, but I'm certain some teenagers have found it nevertheless. They will go there and spend hours feeding it. How can I stop them? If I tell them not to go to the seventh floor, all four Houses will go there on principle. I am no match for the Room."
Giacomo looked down; a sigh escaped him too.
"That… didn't occur to me," he admitted. "It's true that the more students feed it, the more… lives it might claim. Unless…" His voice regained its confidence. "Ultimately, I believe the Founders wanted Hogwarts to be able to protect itself. That's why everything there is alive including the suits of armour. If your school is attacked, the very walls and foundations will likely fight back. There is nothing like that at Durmstrang: we rely on the secrecy spells and on brilliant people's help so much that it's constant work in progress. All it takes to weaken its image is one incompetent headmaster."
Albus thought fleetingly of Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Would a time come when the castle had to defend itself against hostile forces? Perhaps the Founders' feat, unethical as it might be, was the guarantee of the survival of Hogwarts. All of this at an exorbitant price: more students' magic, more life force to feed upon, more ghosts. He wondered whether he himself might die on the grounds one day. It was plausible. But there was no question of wandering those corridors after his death. He wished to spend his afterlife with Gellert.
"I will speak to Olivia as soon as she consents to see me," he promised. "Durmstrang has been through worse than Karkaroff's tyranny, and it would always return to its full glory. So it will be again."
A large smile lit his son's features.
"Ottimo! Thank you, Albus. And don't worry: the Founders made the Room difficult to find, and there are only six ghosts, which means it's not all that powerful: a lot of magic must be spent on the maintenance and—"
He halted when a corporeal Patronus shaped as a Bengal cat swooped into the room to utter a message in Justice's voice:
"Amor, Luis will be there any minute now. He is very distressed—please console him, and try not to scare him."
It dissolved to Giufà's meows.
"… and now we'll have Luis to console as well," the wizard stated, shifting the curious cat off the table. "It's astounding, you know: he's been around wizards so much, yet when it comes to Santi, he fears a simple Muggle injury might kill him. Then again, we all lose our minds over our loved ones."
AN:
May: Thank you very much! If nothing serious happens, Almanera and I would love to tackle books 5 and 6 after this story.
Rabastan: We couldn't help but think of you while writing Ludo's scene. We hope you will enjoy it!