Thanks to those that reviewed the previous chapters. We press on, with a chapter that is strongly mixing the old with the new direction. please, R&R, and enjoy! ~F
Chapter Two
An Eventful Summer
The moon hung low over the small knoll as Albus Dumbledore appeared out of the darkness with a little pop. The village of Little Hangleton spread out before the hill that Albus chose to apparate to. The quaint muggle village seemed as ordinary and unmemorable as the others Albus had visited over his lifetime, and even if he was here for recreation and not important business that may pertain to the war against Tom Riddle, he knew of many better towns or cities to visit.
As he had told Alatar during the meeting of the White Council, he had a small lead that would help prepare Harry for his final fight with Voldemort. But before Albus would inform either Harry or the ancient Istari of his thoughts and suspicions, he needed to come here, to Little Hangleton and investigate the sites that Albus believed Lord Voldemort's parents lived.
The first place that Albus had found was the Riddle Manor, located near the graveyard that Harry and Alatar had been transported to, two years previously, and the second was a small dwelling nearer where Albus had apparated to, which was the home of the Gaunts, whose family Albus was nearly certain that Voldemort must be heir of, mainly because of his gift of Parseltongue, which the Gaunts were definitely noted for possessing.
As Albus approached the location that he knew where the home of the Gaunts was located, the feeling of something dark and menacing grew. The scent of powerful magic was growing more intoxicating the closer he got. By the time Albus could see the small, dilapidated shack, the presence of Tom's brand of dark magic was thick enough to coat the ground in a sinister miasma.
It was no wonder that no one had disturbed the shack in all the years since its abandonment, as the wards and sheer power of evil that surrounded it would drive even the more moderately powered wizards away in a stupor of why they came in the first place. But for someone as powerful as Albus, it shone as a beacon that something of great importance to Voldemort was here, and Albus was determined to find whatever it was.
Unfortunately for Albus, dismantling the ward surrounding the shack was a strenuous task, even for a wizard as great and powerful as himself. Voldemort, there was no guess as to who had placed them, had wove the layers of warding with so many subtle and cruel intricacies that any one of them alone could have had disastrous consequences should Albus not have taken the time and used the power to unravel them all carefully.
Even when the surrounding wards were down, and Albus had passed within the filthy shack, passing the long dead serpent nailed to the front door, there were still more wards to deconstruct. Voldemort clearly did not expect people to make it past the outer wards, as the ones inside were not nearly as strong, albeit still way beyond the average wizard capabilities to remove without using a group ritual, but he must have been desperate to protect whatever was here to add so many more within the structure. Albus had to exert a great deal of magical energy in the act of subtly peeling each and every one away without triggering the whole lot.
After the last of the wards were finally dismantled, hours later, Albus was surprised that the stench of Voldemort's dark magic was still emanating from some place within the half collapsed shack.
After a few moments of searching, Albus discovered the source of the magic, hiding under a loosened floorboard. Hands trembling slightly, Albus removed a small golden box that radiated the pure hatred and the ambitious power that acted as a clear stamp of Voldemort's identity.
His suspicions confirmed that this was a definite link to Voldemort's past, Albus prepared to apparate back to Hogwarts, but… something… drove his curiosity toward opening the box to see what the Dark Lord had been so desperate to protect and hide.
The light of Albus' wandless lumos glinted off the slightly warped gold and black stone of the Gaunt family ring, and Albus nodded, pieces of the mystery behind Tom Riddle's past falling into place… but… looking closer at the ring, Albus noticed something that made his old heart skip a beat.
The symbol etched into the small black stone imbedded in the ring, like a coat of arms, was so familiar… a straight vertical line, within a circle, within a triangle. Widening his eyes in astonishment, Albus dropped the box container as he brought the ring and its precious stone to his chest, the stone that he had searched for years to find: the resurrection stone of the Deathly Hallows.
Without even thinking Albus slid the ring onto his right hand's ring finger. The ring grew cold as Albus relished the thought of speaking with Ariana once again…
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Bright sunlight poured through the opened window of Draco's room of the tower of Orthanc, granting him a perfect view of the snowcapped mountain of Caradhras. It was the same mountain Faykan had told Draco and Harry that orcs and dark wizards loyal to Voldemort had been using to cross around the open plains of Rohan until Faykan sealed the pass by causing an avalanche to destroy it.
Harry and Faykan were currently out scouting with the Rohirrim raid parties, searching for any trace of minions of Voldemort preparing to cross the pass of Isengard and proceed closer to Britain, but Draco had declined to join them, opting to use the free time to read a letter that had just arrived by a large golden owl from his mother that morning.
Draco was very uncertain how to take this abrupt start in correspondence from Narcissa, as it had been nearly three months since the end of the previous year, and Draco had received no letters from anyone in his family. Plucking up his Slytherin courage and turning back to his mother's letter, Draco read swiftly, noting the quick and scratchy handwriting that was so very unlike his mother to put to parchment:
My Beloved Draco,
Firstly, I want you to know that I am so proud of you, my dearest son. You have made your own choice, throwing off the will of your father and his Lord in your life. Even as I write this, I have left Malfoy Manor and moved to one of the Black properties hidden away in France. I shall, now that I am finally settled and secluded from your father, be more available to send you help and advise should you ever request it. Stick by your convictions my beloved dragon, and keep your friends close to you.
Your loving Mother
The smallest bubble of warmth emerged from the sea of tumult inside Draco when he finished the letter. While his father had disowned him, rejected and spurned him completely, in addition to removing his heritage as the Malfoy scion, his mother was proud, even to the point of being inspired by her son to leave her husband and his Lord. Draco's rebellion had, in effect, torn his own family completely asunder. But yet… if what Faykan had told him was true… Draco chanced a glance at the sword now lying on his bed, gleaming in the sunlight… If it was true, then the Malfoy family was only a tiny blip in Draco's future.
'Sgiathatch Telcontar…'
Whirling, Draco stared, open mouthed in the direction the sound of his new name had originated, his eyes landing on the sword. Even as he watched, it rose from the bed and floated in midair, sunlight sparkling and glinting off the cool metal surface. Slowly, a figure materialized in front of the sword, tall and strong, and disturbingly familiar to Draco. As he rose and moved to stand before the phantasmal man, the figure bowed as he approached.
"Who are you?" Draco asked, only a touch of surprise and fear in his voice.
What he heard in response, came not in any verbal sound, but resonated from within his own mind, as if the figure planted the words directly into Draco.
'I am Eldarion Telcontar, the Mage-King of the Reunited Kingdom, and son of Elessar Telcontar,' sounded the voice of the specter, 'I am the first of the Edan Istar and the spirit guardian of Andúril, and now, your new mentor...'
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Severus swore inwardly as he finished attempting to reverse the curse that Dumbledore has foolishly allowed to take effect on him. It was a failure, and Severus glanced angrily at the ring the old man had acquired from Merlin-knew-where. Even more irritating, Dumbledore was being rather tight-lipped with the information of where he went these days, and even why he risked putting on this ring in the first place. Severus had had his work cut out for him to say the least.
"It's a miracle you managed to return here at all," Severus said angrily, decided to try once more to get the old man to talk, "that ring carries a curse of extraordinary power. All I can do is keep it restricted to your hand for now."
Dumbledore glanced at the limb in question, as someone examining an interesting curio. What really shocked and confused Severus was what was said next by his old mentor, as calm as one discussing the weather, "You have done well Severus. How long do you think I have?"
Hesitantly, Severus replied, "A year, maybe… there is no halting such a spell as this forever. It will spread eventually, as it's the sort of curse that strengthens over time."
Dumbledore had the audacity to smile. Severus couldn't understand what was going on through the old man's head anymore. It was as if the fact that he had less than a year to live meant nothing to him. "I am fortunate then, extremely fortunate that I found you in time Severus."
"But why was it necessary?" Severus said, diving straight to the core of the matter. "For what purpose did you even acquire this cursed ring?"
Dumbledore paused for several minutes before speaking, staring at the tiny gold ring and its black stone, lying silently on the Headmaster's large desk, "Harry and Lord Alatar will need it, before Voldemort can be defeated…"
Severus glared at the old man, but the aged Headmaster refused to say any more about the subject, claiming that he would explain to Faykan and Harry when the school year recommenced, and shooing Severus out with the excuse that he was exhausted and needed to rest. Severus knew that he would do little to no resting, but he was powerless to stop him, and decided to let the old man have his way for now, and departed.
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Lord Voldemort surprisingly was not as furious at the news that Bellatrix had brought to him as his servants obviously feared he would be.
His devious mind had already formulated a new plan to incorporate his newly acquired Necromancer. The inferi that had been with Abdurahman and Bella as they traveled through Germany may have been destroyed, but there were still plenty of muggles in the British Isles to supply a vast army of the dead for their Lord's use.
"My Lord…" Bellatrix asked imploringly, from her and the Middle Eastern wizard's positions prostrated on the floor before him, "What are your orders?"
Voldemort glared down at her for a moment, and then turned to Abdurahman, "Come forward Necromancer, and hold out your left arm…" when the Arab had done so, Lord Voldemort began the ritual to brand his newest servant. "Do you, Abdurahman, Necromancer, do by your own free will and choice commit to take upon yourself the Dark Mark, and serve the Dark Lord Voldemort until you join your brothers beyond this world?"
"I do my Lord…" the Necromancer replied, kneeling and thrusting out his left forearm as he pulled back the sleeve of his black robe.
Voldemort smiled. "Then be branded as a Death Eater… Morsmordre!"
The man screamed as the Dark Mark burned itself permanently into his flesh, cauterizing instantly and flaming red as the skin reacted to the magic suddenly implanted inside it.
Lord Voldemort told them now of his plan, and where they were to carry it out, and to take with them a legion of orcs, and several of the giants that had most recently swollen his ranks, to go destroy villages of muggles and raise an army that would show no fear to do their Lord's will.
"As you command my Lord…" his servants sang in unison.
The Dark Lord of the earth simply smiled as he dismissed them both to carry it out, finally leaving his throne room himself and descending to the basement of their hideaway to continue watching the final training exercises of his new apprentice. The boy was practicing the Cruciatus on a muggle prisoner as he entered, the man having lost the strength to scream during the torture. The only show of emotion on the young man's face was the grim smirk set amidst the deep concentration required to keep the spell going.
"Enough, my boy…" Voldemort commanded, and the boy quickly obeyed, leaving the muggle to writhe and moan in pain. "Now for your final lesson… kill him."
"As you command my Lord." Theodore Nott replied, before turning back to the miserable muggle, "Avada Kedavra!"
The muggle only had time to widen his eyes and the sickly green jet of light snuffed out his worthless life. The high, cold sound of Lord Voldemort's laughter echoed off the walls of Malfoy Manor's dungeons as two nameless Death Eaters came to remove the body.
The boy would make a perfect assassin, and one that Dumbledore would least suspect to have such mastery of the Dark Arts.
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Harry thought that he would eventually get used to messages arriving to Faykan throughout the days by the many Crebain that flocked around the forest and onward, but once again he jumped as a small group of them came hurtling into the main room of Orthanc while he, Draco and Faykan were eating their morning meal with several of the key individuals of the refugees from Rohan. The black birds swirled madly above them, cawing incessantly until immediately turning about and disappearing through an open window and back out to the open skies.
"What was this one about?" Draco asked, slight annoyance evident in his voice. Harry learned quickly that Draco was not a morning person, and it was best to wait for him to have a full meal before engaging him with anything less than that which was of utmost important.
"That was probably the best news that could have possibly come this morning," Faykan said, before calmly standing up from the table and moving toward the stairs that lead to their private quarters.
Harry looked between the retreating form of his best friend, and his half finished breakfast, and quickly moved to follow. As they climbed the spiral staircase to the residential level of the tower, Harry heard the lighter footsteps that signaled that, poor mood or not, Draco was going to tag along to discover the full meaning of the message.
As they entered Faykan's bedroom, Harry and Draco immediately noticed the distinct lack of anything that was clear decoration of the room.
It seemed rather like Faykan had removed anything that was not of some practical use from the room to make space to maneuver between the many mounds of books and scrolls that filled bookshelves, piled on top of tables, and built up along several areas of the floor.
Effortlessly, Faykan waved his staff and summoned a small medallion engraved with a large bear on it, before turning back to Harry and Draco. "You don't have to come if you don't want to, you know. I don't expect you both to divert yourselves from important things like nutrition…"
"Nonsense!" they both argued, "We'd rather go wherever you're going more than anything!"
Faykan looked at them both, slightly puzzled, and then shrugged, holding out the medallion to them both. They took it, and the small token glowed blue. Harry felt the all too familiar pull of an activating Portkey.
When they landed, far more gracefully than Harry ever remembered landing after a Portkey ride, they looked around, taking in the new scenery. It seemed relatively similar to the fords of Isen, but the mountains, which were to the west instead of the north, were much closer, and Harry could almost see their bases through the trees. They had arrived on a great flat rock set directly in the middle of a large, lazy river.
Turning to Faykan, Harry noted that his best friend was gazing to the southeast, as if waiting for someone or something to appear, "Fay," Harry started slowly, "Why did we come here anyway?"
"The White Council has been granted audience to meet with the Beorning chieftain about the mighty men of the mountains joining out fight against Voldemort." Faykan replied, before nodding in the direction he was staring, "They have arrived…"
Harry turned, and was surprised when he saw the large shapes of half a dozen bears ascending to meet them. As they crested the final steps carved into the stone hill, the foremost and by far largest of the massive bears stopped before the three wizards, before rearing up on its hind legs and shifting, finally transforming into a large bearded man, easily rivaling Hagrid in height, but his eyes lacked much of Hagrid's warmth as he scrutinized the three apparent boys in front of him.
"Well," the man half-grunted, his voice gravely and loud, "what do you want?"
Faykan waited a moment before responding, "You are Beornhelm I presume, Chieftain of the Beornings?"
"And if I am?" Retorted the man angrily, glaring down at Faykan.
"Then I would have valuable information that you are keenly interested in, which I am willing to give in exchange for your support against the Dark Lord." Faykan replied smugly.
Beornhelm glowered at Faykan, half yelling at this point, his voice booming across the river surrounding the large stone hill, "The only information I would want, wizard, is the whereabouts of my long lost daughter! And we still wouldn't help you in your war even if you did have that!"
"I know exactly where your daughter is, and how you can get into contact with her and her family," Faykan said quietly.
"I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU…" the huge man roared, catching himself when he processed what Faykan had actually said, "You… you know where my Augusta is?"
"I do, and if the Beornings pledge themselves to opposing Voldemort and his army of orcs and other evils…"
"ORCS!" Beornhelm was back to shouting again, and Harry had to cover his ears to avoid them ringing. "WHY DID YOU NOT SAY THAT YOU WERE FIGHTING ORCS?!" he softened slightly, after glancing at Harry and Draco wincing, "We'll fight for the chance to exterminate the foulness of orcs from this world, and myself for the knowledge of what became of my daughter."
"Excellent," Faykan said happily, before turning back to Harry and Draco. "Wait!" Beornhelm said, taking a massive step forward, "What of my daughter…?"
Faykan turned back, grinning cheekily at the mountain of a man, "All in good time, but first, these two," he gestured toward Harry and Draco, "need to return to Orthanc, and to their breakfasts that they poorly neglected…" in response Draco's stomach gave a particularly loud rumble.
Beornhelm looked ready to explode again, but grumbled, "You could come and eat with us, the honey-cakes are particularly good this time of year…"
Faykan merely raised an eyebrow, "So generous Beornhelm, we will graciously accept…" and together, surrounded by the other giant bears, they made their way down the hillock of stone and toward a large manor made of wood on the boarders of the forest.
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Hermione gaped in awe of the massive spire that comprised the Tower of Orthanc. Even though she had seen it before in the Palantír that Faykan had brought to Hogwarts three years previously, it did not compare to seeing the elegant structure in person.
After several long discussions, and even appealing to Dumbledore, Faykan, Harry and Draco had managed to get Mr. and Mrs. Weasley to permit Hermione and Ron to come to 'the mysterious fortress where Harry was hiding for his safety' as Dumbledore had told the Weasleys, and the five friends were set to be reunited just in time to celebrate Harry's sixteenth birthday.
Hermione was personally glad to be away from the Burrow, for several reasons.
Firstly, as much as she loved Mrs. Weasley, she was currently being a bit overbearing, due to the presence of her son Bill's new fiancé, Fleur Delacour, the same girl from Beauxbatons that participated in the Triwizard Tournament, and the clash of personalities was terribly unpleasant to everyone nearby.
In addition, Ginny had become slightly tiresome after learning that Hermione and Ron were going to be allowed to go with Harry, Draco and Faykan for the rest of the summer. It was very apparent that Ginny and Draco had grown some kind of a budding romance ever since their fourth year, but with all that had occurred during that and the succeeding year, the two had barely had any time to themselves, and it was clear that Ginny was resentful of this fact.
But as Hermione and Ron followed Faykan and Dumbledore up to the large entrance door to the tower, all thoughts of Ginny or Mrs. Weasley were dashed from her mind as she struggled to take in everything that the vale of Isengard had to offer all at once. As they entered, Hermione saw Draco and Harry at once, and with a squeal of delight, wrapped them both in a tight embrace.
"Let them breathe Hermione," Ron said jokingly, brushing aside to pat his best friends on the shoulder. Hermione rolled her eyes in return, but she released the two boys and turned to continue observing the ancient architecture of the tower.
"What's wrong with Dumbledore's hand?" Harry asked, sneaking a glance toward the aged wizard, now locked in conversation with Faykan.
"Don't know," Ron replied, "Wouldn't say when my parents asked him, something to do with the war I reckon though."
Hermione's eyes were drawn to the Headmaster's hand as Ron, Draco and Harry continued to talk about Quidditch and school, and she grimaced slightly at the blacked and cracked skin of the limb. It must have been very painful. Faykan and Dumbledore were so locked in their discussion that they weren't even aware, or did not care, that they were being watched. Eventually, they must have come to some agreement, as they shook hands, and turned to approach the rest of them.
"So, I have good news and kinda sort-of good news…" Faykan announced.
"What's the good news?" Ron replied automatically, and Hermione saw Harry and Draco smirk. Clearly she and Ron had been missed over the past month.
"Well, the good news is that we have Albus' permission to stay together here until the beginning of the school year, where we will be given direct transportation to King's Cross," Faykan said, pausing to take a small breath, allowing the Headmaster to pick up the conversation.
"The 'sort-of' good news that Lord Alatar has called it," he said, glancing at Faykan with an amused twinkle, "is that I would like to request Harry's presence for the afternoon as I go to try and hire a new teacher for this year at Hogwarts."
"In addition," Faykan finished, "We have our O.W.L results…" he said, flourishing out the five letters bearing the Ministry seal. Hermione gasped, snatching hers within a matter of seconds, tearing open the letter to read before anyone had time to react.
Ordinary Wizarding Level Results
Pass Grades:
Outstanding (O)
Exceeds Expectations (E)
Acceptable (A)
Fail Grades:
Poor (P)
Dreadful (D)
Troll (T)
Hermione Jean Granger has achieved:
Ancient Runes: O
Arithmancy: O
Astronomy O
Care of Magical Creatures: O
Charms: O
Defense Against the Dark Arts: E
Herbology: O
History of Magic: O
Potions: O
Transfiguration: O
Hermione was not, however, so absorbed in her own results to miss the excited whoop from the three other boys, who each announced their respectable number of passing O. .
"I figured it would be quicker to deliver these in person," said Headmaster Dumbledore, chuckling slightly at their shows of delight at the results of their exams, "especially as I would be here regardless to transport Hermione and Ronald and to take Harry for the afternoon.
Hermione could understand why Harry had been hesitant to go with Dumbledore on this expedition, but with a small glance at Faykan, who nodded reassuringly, Harry agreed, before tucking the OWL results in his pocket and following Dumbledore out of the tower.
After they had left, Faykan turn to the three of them grinning madly in that fox-like way that Hermione knew meant that he was scheming, "Now that Harry's out of our hair," Faykan snorted at his accidental and poorly made pun, "we can prepare for his birthday surprise…"
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Harry knew he definitely preferred flying as his mode of transportation. The squeezing, suffocating sensation of apparition was not at all pleasant, but mercifully it was short. Together, Harry and Dumbledore landed in what appeared to be a deserted village square, in the center of which stood an old war memorial and a few benches.
Without a pause, Dumbledore set off at a brisk pace, past an empty inn and a few houses, not noticing at all the glances and odd looks he was receiving by the few remaining people still outdoors. The clock on a nearby church read that it was around nine at night.
"So tell me Harry," said Dumbledore casually, "Your scar… has it been hurting at all?"
Harry frowned, not expecting this line of questions, and unconsciously raised his hand to feel the lightning bolt scar. "No," he said, and then thought about it for a moment, "that is odd though, now that I think about it. Wouldn't it be burning more often now that Voldemort is getting so powerful again?"
Harry glanced up at Dumbledore, and saw that the old Headmaster was wearing a satisfied expression, "I, on the other hand, thought otherwise," Dumbledore replied. "Lord Voldemort has finally realized the dangerous access to his thoughts and feelings that you have freely used against him. He must be employing Occlumency against you."
"Well, I'm not complaining," said Harry, who missed neither the disturbing dreams nor the startling flashes of insight into Voldemort's mind.
They turned a corner, passing a telephone box and a bus shelter. Harry looked sideways at Dumbledore again. "Professor?"
"Harry?" the Headmaster replied cheerily.
"Where exactly are we?" Harry asked.
"This Harry, is the charming village of Budleigh Babberton." Dumbledore explained.
"Oh…" replied Harry, "…and were here to find a new teacher for this year at Hogwarts?"
Dumbledore smiled slightly as he explained, "Yes and No… You see Harry, Horace Slughorn is actually an old colleague that retired before you were born, and I need your help to persuade him to come out of retirement and return to Hogwarts."
Harry looked at Dumbledore in confusion, "How can I help with that sir?"
"Oh, I think we'll find a use for you," said Dumbledore vaguely, "Left here, Harry."
"Professor," Harry asked, "why couldn't we just Apparate directly into your old colleague's house?"
"Because it would be quite as rude as kicking down the front door," said Dumbledore. "Courtesy dictates that we offer fellow wizards the opportunity of denying us entry. In any case, most Wizarding dwellings are magically protected from unwanted apparators. At Hogwarts, for instance…"
"…you can't Apparate anywhere inside the buildings or grounds," said Harry quickly. "Hermione told me."
"And she is quite right." Dumbledore replied with a smile, "We turn left again."
They continued chatting for several moments, varying from one neutral topic to another, until they finally neared a small, neat, stone house set in its own garden. As they reached the front gate, Dumbledore stopped abruptly and Harry nearly walked into him.
"Oh dear, Oh dear, dear, dear…" the Headmaster said, looking at the house.
Harry followed his gaze up the carefully tended front path and felt his heart sink. The front door was hanging off its hinges.
Dumbledore glanced up and down the street. It seemed quite deserted.
"Wand out and follow me, Harry," he said quietly.
He opened the gate and walked swiftly and silently up the garden path, Harry at his heels, then pushed the front door very slowly, his wand raised and at the ready.
"Lumos." Dumbledore's wand tip ignited, casting its light up a narrow hallway. To the left, another door stood open. Holding his illuminated wand aloft, Dumbledore walked into the sitting room with Harry right behind him.
A scene of total devastation met their eyes. A grandfather clock lay splintered at their feet, its face cracked, its pendulum lying a little farther away like a dropped sword. A piano was on its side, its keys strewn across the floor. The wreckage of a fallen chandelier flittered nearby. Cushions lay deflated, feathers oozing from slashes in their sides; fragments of glass and china lay like powder over everything.
Dumbledore raised his wand even higher, so that its light was thrown upon the walls, where something darkly red and glutinous was spattered over the wallpaper. Harry's small intake of breath made Dumbledore look around.
"Not pretty, is it?" he said heavily. "Yes, something horrible has happened here."
Dumbledore moved carefully into the middle of the room, scrutinizing the wreckage at his feet. Harry followed, gazing around, half-scared of what he might see hidden behind the wreck of the piano or the overturned sofa, but there was no sign of a body.
"Maybe there was a fight and… and they dragged him off, Professor?" Harry suggested, trying not to imagine how badly wounded a man would have to be to leave those stains spattered halfway up the walls.
"I don't think so," said Dumbledore quietly, peering behind an overstuffed armchair lying on its side.
"You mean he's…?"
"Still here somewhere? Yes."
And without warning, Dumbledore swooped, plunging the tip of his wand into the seat of the overstuffed armchair, which yelled, "Ouch!"
"Good evening, Horace," said Dumbledore, straightening up again.
Harry's jaw dropped. Where a split second before there had been an armchair; there now crouched an enormously fat, bald, old man massaging his lower belly and squinting up at Dumbledore with an aggrieved and watery eye.
"There was no need to stick the wand in that hard," he said gruffly, clambering to his feet. "It hurt."
The wandlight sparkled on his shiny pate, his prominent eyes, his enormous, silver, walrus-like mustache, and the highly polished buttons on the maroon velvet jacket he was wearing over a pair of lilac silk pajamas. The top of his head barely reached Dumbledore's chin.
"What gave it away?" he grunted as he staggered to his feet, still rubbing his lower belly. He seemed remarkably unabashed for a man who had just been discovered pretending to be an armchair.
"My dear Horace," said Dumbledore, looking amused, "if the Death Eaters really had come to call, the Dark Mark would have been set over the house."
The wizard clapped a pudgy hand to his vast forehead.
"The Dark Mark," he muttered. "Knew there was something... ah well. Wouldn't have had time anyway, I'd only just put the finishing touches to my upholstery when you entered the room."
He heaved a great sigh that made the ends of his mustache flutter.
"Would you like my assistance clearing up?" asked Dumbledore politely.
"Please," said the other.
They stood back to back, the tall thin wizard and the short round one, and waved their wands in one identical sweeping motion.
The furniture flew back to its original places; ornaments re-formed in midair, feathers zoomed into their cushions; torn books repaired themselves as they landed upon their shelves; oil lanterns soared onto side tables and reignited; a vast collection of splintered silver picture frames flew glittering across the room and alighted, whole and untarnished, upon a desk; rips, cracks, and holes healed everywhere, and the walls wiped themselves clean.
"What kind of blood was that, incidentally?" asked Dumbledore loudly over the chiming of the newly unsmashed grandfather flock.
"On the walls? Dragon," shouted the wizard called Horace, as, with a deafening grinding and tinkling, the chandelier screwed itself back into the ceiling. There was a final plunk from the piano, and silence.
"Yes, dragon," repeated the wizard conversationally. "My last bottle, and prices are sky-high at the moment. Still, it might be reusable."
He stumped over to a small crystal bottle standing on top of a sideboard and held it up to the light, examining the thick liquid within. "Hmm. Bit dusty."
He set the bottle back on the sideboard and sighed. It was then that his gaze fell upon Harry.
"Oho," he said, his large round eyes flying to Harry's forehead and the lightning-shaped scar it bore. "Oho!"
"This," said Dumbledore, moving forward to make the introduction, "is Harry Potter. Harry, this is an old Friend and colleague of mine, Horace Slughorn."
Slughorn turned on Dumbledore, his expression shrewd. "So that's how you thought you'd persuade me, is it? Well, the answer's no, Albus."
He pushed past Harry, his face turned resolutely away with the air of a man trying to resist temptation.
"I suppose we can have a drink, at least?" asked Dumbledore. "For old time's sake?"
Slughorn hesitated. "All right then, one drink," he said ungraciously.
Dumbledore smiled at Harry and directed him toward a chair not unlike the one that Slughorn had so recently impersonated, which stood right beside the newly burning fire and a brightly glowing oil lamp.
Harry took the seat with the distinct impression that Dumbledore, for some reason, wanted to keep him as visible as possible. Certainly when Slughorn, who had been busy with decanters and glasses, turned to face the room again, his eyes fell immediately upon Harry.
"Hmpf," he said, looking away quickly as though frightened of hurting his eyes.
"Here…" He gave a drink to Dumbledore, who had sat down without invitation, thrust the tray at Harry, and then sank into the cushions of the repaired sofa and a disgruntled silence. His legs were so short they did not touch the floor.
"Well, how have you been keeping, Horace?" Dumbledore asked.
"Not so well," said Slughorn at once. "Weak chest... Wheezy... Rheumatism too... Can't move like I used to… Well, that's to be expected. Old age... Fatigue..."
"And yet you must have moved fairly quickly to prepare such a welcome for us at such short notice," said Dumbledore. "You can't have had more than three minutes' warning?"
Slughorn said, half irritably, half proudly, "Two. Didn't hear my Intruder Charm go off, I was taking a bath. Still," he added sternly, seeming to pull himself back together again, "the fact remains that I'm an old man, Albus. I'm a tired old man who's earned the right to a quiet life and a few creature comforts."
He certainly had those, thought Harry, looking around the room. It was stuffy and cluttered, yet nobody could say it was uncomfortable; there were soft chairs and footstools, drinks and books, boxes of chocolates and plump cushions. If Harry had not known who lived there, he would have guessed at a rich, fussy old lady.
Dumbledore and Slughorn kept on talking for several more minutes, simple niceties that Harry knew was merely a screen for the real debate going on between them, having watched Faykan and Draco argue in the same manner several times over the years.
Harry was so wrapped up in his other thoughts that he almost jumped when Dumbledore stood up suddenly.
"Are you leaving?" asked Slughorn at once, looking hopeful.
"No, I was wondering whether I might use your bathroom," said Dumbledore.
"Oh," said Slughorn, clearly disappointed. "Second on the left down the hall."
Dumbledore strode from the room. Once the door had closed behind him, there was silence. After a few moments, Slughorn got to his feet but seemed uncertain what to do with himself. He shot a furtive look at Harry, then crossed to the fire and turned his back on it, warming his wide behind.
"Don't think I don't know why he's brought you," he said abruptly.
Harry merely looked at Slughorn. Slughorn's watery eyes slid over Harry's scar, this time taking in the rest of his face. "You look very like your father." He said at last.
"Yeah, I've been told," said Harry.
Slughorn kept staring, "Except for your eyes. You've got…"
"My mother's eyes, yeah." Harry had heard it so often he found it a bit wearing.
"Hmpf… Yes, well. You shouldn't have favorites as a teacher, of course, but she was one of mine. Your mother," Slughorn added, in answer to Harry's questioning look. "Lily Evans. One of the brightest I ever taught. Vivacious, you know. Charming girl… I used to tell her she ought to have been in my House. Very cheeky answers I used to get back too."
"Which was your House?"
"I was Head of Slytherin," said Slughorn. "Oh, now," he went on quickly, seeing the expression on Harry's face and wagging a stubby ringer at him, "don't go holding that against me! You'll be Gryffindor like her, I suppose? Yes, it usually goes in families. Not always, though. Ever heard of Faykan Undol? You must have done, you were in the Triwizard tournament with him two years ago… whole family had been in Slytherin, all named the same for that matter also… but anyway, this Faykan went to Gryffindor. I taught his father and grandfather, and without reading what the prophet reported about the tournament, I knew he would have had their same prodigious talent. Might have returned if that boy was still at Hogwarts…"
He sounded like an enthusiastic collector who had been outbid at auction. Apparently lost in memories, he gazed at the opposite wall, turning idly on the spot to ensure an even heat on his backside.
"Your mother was Muggleborn, of course. Couldn't believe it when I found out… Thought she must have been pure-blood, she was so good."
"One of my best friends is Muggleborn," said Harry, "and she's the best in our year."
"Funny how that sometimes happens, isn't it?" said Slughorn.
"Not really," said Harry coldly.
Slughorn looked down at him in surprise. "You mustn't think I'm prejudiced!" he said. "No, no, no! Haven't I just said your mother was one of my all-time favorite students? And there was Dirk Cresswell in the year after her too… now Head of the Goblin Liaison Office, of course… another Muggleborn, a very gifted student, and still gives me excellent inside information on the goings-on at Gringotts!"
He bounced up and down a little, smiling in a self-satisfied way, and pointed at the many glittering photograph frames on the dresser, each peopled with tiny moving occupants.
"All ex-students… all signed. You'll notice Barnabas Cuffe, editor of the Daily Prophet, he's always interested to hear my take on the day's news. And Ambrosius Flume, of Honeydukes… a hamper every birthday, and all because I was able to give him an introduction to Ciceron Harkisss who gave him his first job! And at the back, you'll see her if you just crane your neck, that's Gwenog Jones, who of course captains the Holyhead Harpies... People are always astonished to hear I'm on first-name terms with the Harpies, and free tickets whenever I want them!"
This thought seemed to cheer him up enormously.
"And all these people know where to find you, to send you stuff?" asked Harry, who could not help wondering why the Death Eaters had not yet tracked down Slughorn if hampers of sweets, Quidditch tickets, and visitors craving his advice and opinions could find him.
The smile slid from Slughorn's face as quickly as the blood from his walls.
"Of course not," he said, looking down at Harry. "I have been out of touch with everybody for a year."
Harry had the impression that the words shocked Slughorn himself; he looked quite unsettled for a moment. Then he shrugged.
"Still... the prudent wizard keeps his head down in such times. All very well for Dumbledore to talk, but taking up a post at Hogwarts just now would be tantamount to declaring my public allegiance to the Order of the Phoenix! And while I'm sure they're very admirable and brave and all the rest of it, I don't personally fancy the mortality rate…"
"You don't have to join the Order to teach at Hogwarts," replied Harry, "Most of the teachers aren't in it, and none of them has ever been killed, well, unless you count Quirrell, and he got what he deserved seeing as he was working with Voldemort."
Harry had been sure Slughorn would be one of those wizards who could not bear to hear Voldemort's name spoken aloud, and was not disappointed: Slughorn gave a shudder and a squawk of protest, which Harry ignored.
"I reckon the staff are safer than most people while Dumbledore's Headmaster; he's supposed to be the only one Voldemort ever feared, isn't he?" Harry went on.
Slughorn gazed into space for a moment or two: He seemed to be thinking over Harry's words.
"Well, yes, it is true that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has never sought a fight with Dumbledore," he muttered grudgingly. "And I suppose one could argue that as I have not joined the Death Eaters, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named can hardly count me a friend... in which case, I might well be safer a little closer to Albus... I cannot pretend that Amelia Bones' death did not shake me... If she, with all her Ministry contacts and protection..."
Dumbledore reentered the room and Slughorn jumped as though he had forgotten he was in the house.
"Oh, there you are, Albus," he said. "You've been a very long lime. Upset stomach?"
"No, I was merely reading the Muggle magazines," said Dumbledore. "I do love knitting patterns. Well, Harry, we have trespassed upon Horace's hospitality quite long enough; I think it is time for us to leave."
Not at all reluctant to obey, Harry jumped to his feet. Slughorn seemed taken aback.
"You're leaving?"
"Yes, indeed. I think I know a lost cause when I see one." Dumbledore said cheerily.
"Lost...?" Slughorn seemed agitated. He twiddled his fat thumbs and fidgeted as he watched Dumbledore fasten his traveling cloak, and Harry zip up his jacket.
"Well, I'm sorry you don't want the job, Horace," said Dumbledore, raising his uninjured hand in a farewell salute. "Hogwarts would have been glad to see you back again. Our greatly increased security notwithstanding, you will always be welcome to visit, should you wish to."
"Yes... well... very gracious... as I say..." Slughorn stammered.
"Goodbye, then." Dumbledore said, stepping out of the room.
"Bye," said Harry.
They were at the front door when there was a shout from behind them. "All right, all right, I'll do it!"
Dumbledore turned to see Slughorn standing breathless in the doorway to the sitting room. "You will come out of retirement?" he asked.
"Yes, yes," said Slughorn impatiently. "I must be mad, but yes."
"Wonderful," said Dumbledore, beaming. "Then, Horace, we shall see you on the first of September."
"Yes, I daresay you will," grunted Slughorn.
As they set off down the garden path, Slughorn's voice floated after them, "I'll want a pay raise, Dumbledore!"
Potential Spoilers Ahead: You Have Been Warned!
And so the Skin Changers have come. while still squeezing in the slughorn scene from canon. the reveal that the son of Aaragorn and Arwen was the first human wizard (of the line that resulted in the Wizarding World) which indeed, yes I did my homework and King Elessar had only one son before he passed away. it was most interesting how well the two canons meshed together when I looked at them. Everything is sizing up for the first major jar out of the canon mold, which should be within the next few chapters! until next time everyone! ~F