Chapter Thirty-Four: The Alchemist and His Prodigy.
Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by J. K. Rowling, or her publishing company, or Warner Brothers.
*Note: First, and bear in mind that I have never done this before, a shout out to HemsonTenths and their story 'The Devolution of Cedric Diggory (AKA:How A Hufflepuff Became Popular).' Heck, what can I do other than spread the news about how awesome Dark!Cedric is. I haven't giggled at fanfiction in ages. Please, please give it a chance!
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Also, I am trying my hand at a dystopian!Hermione fic after I fell in love with them earlier this year. It is called, 'The Whore's Daughter.' You can find it with my other stories. If that sort of thing interests you, feel free to check it out!
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Summary: There has been another attack at Hogwarts. Except, this time it was during a Hogsmeade trip by actual Death Eaters. Tom Riddle and Voldemort are both out there on the global scene. Both manipulating the world in whatever way they can to regain power. The Society of Scum has been instituted by Hermione and her band of friends to counteract the resurgent Knights of Walpurgis. Hermione has been invited to the Grand Alchemical Conference in New York with Nicolas Flamel.
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"I hate those things," Harry shivered, "I hate them so much." They had been situated in the library for their first Society meeting in two weeks. Daphne was pale as snow and still bound in bandages, Hermione sported deep cuts across her face, Cedric had barely gotten into physical therapy, yet still needed his cane. Only he and Luna were physically unscathed, but now both of them were under assault by the Dementors patrolling the land around Hogwarts. Where Harry felt absolutely miserable all of the time, Luna was completely morose. According to her, there were dark things in the Dementors, abominations, that constantly whispered in her head. All five of the friends observed as this particular Dementor swirled almost tauntingly in the library window.
Hermione choked out a weak, unintelligible response, her eyes wide with misery and her face, far too young for such a thing, etched with lines of agony. Finally the beast left and they all felt the light return slowly to their corner, though the lamps had gone out. "Everytime they pass me I see Ron." A tear slipped down her cheek as she turned her head momentarily. They all moved quickly to respect her wish for privacy. Except for Harry who slipped closer and squeezed his adoptive sister's shoulder supportively. Her own hands scrambled desperately up into the air to hold him in place.
"Professor Lupin offered to teach me the Patronus Charm," Harry admitted, "After they came at me in Quidditch. I'll pass along what I learn. We all could stand to feel at least a bit of security when it comes to those things."
"I want you to go home over the holidays, Harry," Hermione rasped out suddenly, sternly, "You can practice and teach us when you come back. But I will not have you here alone, not when Dumbledore, of all people, can't even control the Dementors. Not with the Knights of Walpurgis plotting away."
"I watched them again last night," Daphne piped up, "They are planning something big. Gathering all sorts of herbs. Packages coming and going, all of them being secreted away to Tracey Davis." There was a thick pause, "She and Cassius Worthington are definitely lovers. They hold court over everyone, but not in the typical way."
"How so?" Cedric asked carefully.
"Cliques are typically established by purity of blood, or who served Voldemort in the last war," Daphne answered in a flat tone, "This dynamic sometimes changes, though it is incredibly rare. Sometimes someone comes along with enough power that they can subjugate any opposition when they have grown in strength after several years here. I'm no longer welcome in those circles, but I can see the signs. Burns, ligature marks, violent hand tremors from excessive exposure to the Cruciatus Curse, mild Jaundice stemming from time spent under the Imperius Curse. She has them firmly under her control. I doubted you, Hermione, but I am under no illusions at this point. Tracey Davis has either come into her own, or she has always been hiding her power. Though the bitch hides it well. Equal distribution of punishments by the leaders means that the Dark Magic they are using doesn't leave a noticeable trace. Most of the School Governors were not disgraced during the fall of Fudge. We have no evidence to prove it beyond my word and observations."
"They are certain Voldemort is Possessing Davis," Hermione added, "At least Parkinson was convinced."
"I simply can't believe that," Daphne snapped, "He is in Albania and they are useless schoolchildren. Davis has never been advanced enough to accomplish such a thing. Nor does it answer the question of why Voldemort would choose to inhabit the body of a half-blood. What sort of message does that send to his loyal followers. Mark my words that girl is conning them all somehow. I just haven't puzzled it together entirely yet."
"Regardless," Cedric interrupted, "We know who their top leaders are. They must have passed along information regarding the security detail to Voldemort through their families. We've already agreed that the attack was directed towards the students rather than the Aurors or Hogsmeade itself."
"I still say that they wanted to capture as many children of influential figures as they could," Harry reiterated his point, "Susan Bones, Hermione, Daphne, and who knows who else. Has the Wizengamot said anything about the breach in security?"
"No," The Greengrass witch sighed tiredly, "They delegated the matter of security for Hogwarts and vulnerable institutions to Pius Thicknesse. Rufus Scrimgeour got the blame and they demoted him so hard he quit the Ministry altogether." They all seemed to realize that Daphne had been summoned for quite a few meetings at the Ministry, more than usual at least. "Madam Bones is much too busy working with the DIMC to have the slightest care about the Dementors. Honestly, there is not much choice. We are at the brink of war with Albania. There have been attacks all over the continent. The Aurors and CWO's are being massed in preparation for the worst. I also have some unexpected news." They could all tell it would not be good news. "The elder members of the Wizengamot were impressed by how Hermione and I held off the Death Eaters. They are initiating me onto the Special Council of Foreign Affairs. To replace Lucius Malfoy's vacancy. Grandfather would withdraw me from school and marry me to Goyle if I declined."
"Father says that the Ministry forces members of the Special Councils to take a vow of secrecy." Luna interjected, eyes owlish as ever, yet haunted by the Dementors. "He suspects it is to keep secret the unconstitutional army of Heliopath agents. They are coordinating with the Galactic Toads, not the Martian or Lunar variety, but still. A grave threat to global security nonetheless."
None of them were particularly happy, but a bit of brightness filled their space as they snickered and giggled at that. "We understand Daphne. You could only be our secret intelligence agent for so long." Cedric smiled tightly, "Besides. You need to focus on something more important than the Society's intelligence briefings for now. We are about to go to war. People our age need someone who will fight for them, for our best interests. Daphne, you give the Society an extraordinary level of influence, something the Knights lack. That is what is important. Focus on growing into the public figure we need."
"Funny," She answered in a cool voice, "How I always wanted to be a Champion Duellist. But fate is forcing me to become a politician." Flipping her blond braid over the shoulder Daphne glanced at Hermione, "Enjoy your trip Hermione. Take New York as an opportunity for a break from all of this... Shit. America is threatening to close its borders to European wizardry. This might be your one chance to go abroad for a while."
"I'll send you clothes, Daphne," Hermione sighed, finally smiling, "Lots of chic, American, muggle clothes."
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Harry peered at his Magizoology notebook on December eleventh. Gradually he had gotten more confident slipping into the Forbidden Forest unaccompanied during the day. Hagrid's lessons were brutal, groups of students trailing out alone, learning how to survive with nothing more than their knowledge and wits. That had been his last final, and he was quite certain that it was also his highest test score too. Blinking away the thought of nerve wracking exams he leaned forth quietly. The wolves of the Forbidden Forest were quite famous actually. Harry had been curious upon learning that the conditions of the full moon could affect the reproductive characteristics of Werewolves.
Fittingly, a silvery, hulking wolf lurked alongside him as he advanced into the forest line. The Professors were well aware by now of Harry's work alongside Scamander and Hagrid. At first they were mostly supportive, Snape dissenting as he always did. Then the Dementors came along and even Dumbledore forbade him from leaving the castle alone. Lupin stepped in though. Harry felt a smile light his lips at the memory of the DADA Professor offering to send him out with a Patronus at scheduled times, after gaining Dumbledore's permission of course. They still hovered though, overhead, cautiously circling, waiting for the Patronus to vanish or fade from sight.
"Harry!" A voice caused him to startle. He spun around and smiled upon locking sight on Luna. She had been wild before, when he first noticed her with Hermione and Daphne last year. Now though there was something shiny about her. Light glimmering under her skin, a confidence rather than the typical wistful indifference. "Hello. I was just off to feed the Thestrals." She smiled breathily at him, white frost filling the air as she spoke. "I saw you from the top of the hill and ran so we could walk together."
"I don't mind the company," He grinned back, "I have been trying to find the den for the wolf pack."
"Oh, yes! They are such sweet, intelligent things!" Luna smiled chipperly, twirling with her arms spread, satchel of Thestral food swinging wildly. Suddenly the Patronus fuzzed slightly, a little too quickly. The Dementors above drifted incrementally closer from overhead, only to be driven backwards immediately as the Patronus illuminated just as brightly as before. Luna's smile faded, dark lines crossed her normally carefree face, and a tear rolled down across her suddenly noticeable, all-too pronounced cheekbones.
"Expecto Patronum!" Harry snapped firmly, a violent burst of light, still far from corporeal, but effective nonetheless, shooting upwards like a rocket. The Dementors screamed and hissed in their particular way before fleeing into the treetops from the joint threat of his, weaker, Patronus, and Professor Lupin's. 'I'm sorry Luna. Sometimes it flickers just a tiny bit and gives the sodding lot ideas. Are you okay?"
She shook her head, pulling her coat tighter. "No. I can hear what they are saying, see the dark threads that hold them together." Her lips tightened, "The things they would like to do to us, all the children at Hogwarts are the purest evil. They are not able to, however, so they simply settle for taking our souls when they can."
"You say you can see things, Luna?" Harry ventured cautiously, stroking the handle of his wand idly, "Is that because of what Hermione says happened to you in Scandinavia this summer?"
Suddenly she stopped, "We all see things, Harry Potter. It is just that some of us see those things more clearly than others." With that, the girl suddenly knelt, reaching into her bag, pulling free a stale pumpkin pasty, and tossed it into the shadowy, snowy treeline. A snuffling sound before unnoticed by his ears suddenly grew louder as a sleek, grey wolf, much larger than was normal, slipped into view. Harry felt his heart drop instinctively as Luna neared with obvious intent. Then much to his emotional surprise, the wolf he logically understood to be of a more intelligent nature allowed her the gentle contact. "Are you simply going to stand there? Or do you intend to scribble in your little journal Harry?"
With that he was jolted from his spot, treading over to kneel by his strange friend, and the wolf that had all-too knowing, big blue eyes.
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The word awestruck did not truly, truthfully it never could have served such a high purpose, capture Hermione's present emotion. There was of course, pure amazement at being in America. Where people drove on the opposite side of the road, spoke in thick versions of her own accent, and strutted proudly at the head of the world. Both magically and non-magically America was a force to be reckoned with. Then on top of this sense of wonderment was something she was far more familiar with; Hunger. Everyone knew that the Grand Conferences were for the best of the best. Dumbledore. Flamel. Those invited to these forums were the brightest minds in the entire world. Part of her shivered at the realization that she was in some ways already accomplishing things some of her professors had not. Would not. Then the remaining half trembled with fear.
While Monsieur Flamel was focused exclusively on the Alchemical Conference, that did not mean Hermione kept her eyes narrowed forth so firmly. In fact, she explored the Piquerey Memorial Building and all of its wonders quite thoroughly. The teenager met powerful wizards, knowledgeable academicians, and learned so much about magic. Perhaps more than she had in an entire semester at Hogwarts in a very long time. There was the shocking development of the year in Potions that victims of severe Memory Charms could be cured, at least partially, with very strong doses of Forgetfulness Potion. In the field of Transfiguration someone had had the clever idea to slaughter cows transfigured from inanimate objects and compare them to actuaL, butchered cows. The differences between the specimens were astonishing, in all honesty. In Astronomy, someone had managed to prove that a ninth planet of massive proportions existed behind Pluto.
Charms, however, did not inspire her with envious amazement. Instead it filled her with a blistering rage that potentially could have caused a disastrous, accidental outburst of magic. The Ministry of Magic had assured her, and the others, that they were examining the results of their findings carefully. Testing for safety standards, watching for any unanticipated after-effects in the Department of Mysteries.
They stole her project, the greatest discovery of the decade in Charms from her. From Cedric, Daphne, and Luna too.
Oh, yes, there she stood one afternoon in the crowded, gilded atrium as everyone cheerily babbled about her work. About the 'brilliant' Unspeakable Sepius and his team of 'dedicated' staff. Her aura flared violently, wind beginning to howl tempestuously, the building shook. Startled bystanders raced out of the way as her fury made their very world rattle. Then a hand fell on her shoulder, a magical presence, though just a bit smaller but far older, ancient almost, managed to subdue her wild magical core. "Hermione," Monsieur Flamel glared openly at the vulgar display of theft, "You are misdirecting your attention. They are mere pawns. Cut the head off the beast when you return to England."
She nodded sharply before the immortal Alchemist tugged her away from the Charms convention. They navigated through the bustling building in silence, probably because both of their minds were racing. Finally they reached a far less crowded portion of the Picquery Memorial Building. The attendant opened the mahogany door for them swiftly, and they entered into a circular conference room of sorts. Table after table positioned on ledges which whirled far above, almost out of sight. This was the Alchemical conference room for the day. Every Alchemist worth their salt would have been invited to brag, learn, and criticize. Hermione felt her breath flutter as the academic theft incident flittered out of her brain momentarily. The displays she had visited before were merely the most impressive discoveries of the year. Here was where those discoveries were deliberated upon and scrutinized until a victor was decided upon.
"If you would, Master Flamel, Miss Granger," They were guided to their seats by a balding American wizard with a flustered, cherry-red face. She appreciated that Monsieur Flamel was not favored with a seat on the ground floor. Furthermore, it was quite nice being able to stare at everyone from her new perch.
"Master Flamel!" A sharp, husky-voiced German woman appeared beside their table almost immediately. "I was surprised to find you in our presence today. Looking so very… Refreshed!" That much was true. Where he had once had delicate, frail white flesh, Monsieur Flamel was looking quite renewed. Golden hair, strong musculature, handsome features that looked to have almost been carved from marble. His renewal upon utilizing their Serum of Youth was impressive.
"Yes, my apprentice, Miss Hermione Granger, and I made an impressive, last minute discovery this summer." He gestured towards her, and the German woman's eyes hardened like stones.
"Yes," She smiled cooly, "I know of her. British. Powerful. Hopefully she does not hold the same political attitudes of her people."
"What attitudes might those be, madam?" Hermione smiled dangerously.
"That all eastern nations are inclined to Dark Magic. That we are the sort who would hide Voldemort and shelter him. That Britain has the imperial authority to ignore eastern autonomy whenever it likes. Dumbledore's days are numbered. Once he is gone we will no longer have to live beneath the threat of his wrath." Her pretty, old face was suddenly quite rabid, furious and fanatical.
Monsieur Flamel placed a hand over Hermione's own as he smiled up at the woman warmly. "Well, Mistress Fischer," His voice was reassuring, calming, "Better to have lived under threat of Dumbledore's wrath than that of Grindelwald, no? A man who was corrupted by the Dark Arts in Durmstrang. One who very nearly would have conquered the entire world were it not for Dumbledore. Who murdered millions."
Mistress Fischer glared openly at him, "I knew the moment I heard that this schlammblut was your apprentice that you were forever lost to the continent that nourished you. Still a pet to the monster you helped create. Ready to replace Dumbledore with something worse." With that she strode away. Once again, Hermione and Monsieur Flamel were left in an awkward silence. Only, it very swiftly faded. The lights dimmed, and the first presentation began.
The conference had begun.
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There was that sort of flusteredness that accompanied overindulging champagne. Hermione was well acquainted with that after having accompanied so many parties with Daphne, who was admittedly something of an alcoholic. This was different in every way. Not physical, but intellectual. Not quite enjoyable, but absolutely nerve wracking. In the aftermath of it, she surely could not be blamed for roving over every word, considering every possible flaw. They had waited patiently, listening as presentation after presentation was given over a period of five days. Hopeful researchers either crashed and burned, or soared like swans. Finally it was her and Monsieur Flamel's turn. He went first. Masterfully articulating his contribution to their, already-patented and perfected, discovery. The entire hall stood to thunder their applause for him after he sat down. The ancient man had been working on this for at least two centuries.
Then it had been her turn. First Hermione carefully pressed the tip of her wand to her throat, casting Sonorous with supreme ease. "The opportunity to address this most illustrious order," She began, ignoring how the reporters eagerly snapped photos, "Is an honor I cannot even begin to comprehend. My name is Hermione Granger, apprentice to the Flamels, and today I will share with you my role in the development of this groundbreaking development." Nervously she caught the supportive smile on Monsieur Flamel's face, and tapped the first page of her research paper. Filling the cavernous, poorly lit air before them all was a projected illusion of epic dimensions. Mostly boring background information all of the Alchemists were incredibly well-acquainted with. What had been done historically, what had been done successfully, and what had been done unsuccessfully. "I was inspired initially by the permanence work of Walters et al," She admitted, "Though soon I ventured into territory entirely unsupported by his work, and of a fundamentally different nature altogether."
The slide changed, showing her first results. All of the ingredients of the serum had been tested individually. "Master Flamel had discovered an alchemical product which could create the illusion of youth, yet it was unable to recreate the real thing. Walters believed that utilizing Runes from every region and culture of the world had a stabilizing effect on such unstable magic as this." There was a pause, "My idea, at first was to combine these two different approaches. Though I soon learned, disastrously, that there needed to be a bridge of sorts, a middle ground. Alchemy does not meld well with blunt Runes. Thus, I utilized a self-derived amalgamation of the Velaquois and Werndt methodologies." The Arithmantic proofs suddenly replaced the former image. "My new method worked perfectly to cover the immense errors yielded by the two methods when they were applied separately. From these new calculations I began to determine sacrificial values. What is the price of youth precisely?"
A range of values, all graphed pleasingly by her steady hand popped up into place. "Now I utilized a more muggle approach. Grinding ingredients down to base components, determining their chemical structures. Small, contained reactions allowed for me to determine what resulted. Still, using even more muggle instrumentation I was able to begin determining a reaction forwards. The merging of wizarding Arithmantic methodology and muggle science is the only reason Master Flamel and I are standing here today." Whispers had broken out. Some were not pleased by the overlapping of separate, distinct fields. An old man nearby even muttered, 'Hogwash,' in a distinctly unhappy tone. Ignoring them, she then proceeded to describe the runes chosen, how Master Flamel's illusory serum was altered, and then how they were all sealed together by the bridge. There was a complex, comprehensive description of how Golpalot's Third Law was implemented, as well as Transfiguratory considerations.
When she finally finished, peering out into the dark conference hall, silence reigned. Then there was clapping, followed by stomping, and cheers of praise from all around. Yes, some did not stand up, but most of the Alchemists from the rest of the new world did. Perhaps, in a sobering moment, Hermione realized that her mind would never be truly accepted in ancient nations. For the first time, she longed to live in America, or some other young nation where muggle blended easily enough in some ways with the magical.
OOOO
Monsieur Flamel was otherwise occupied with an old friend, Eulalie Hicks. Hermione had been excited to ask her questions of the famed Charms Mistress, but then she slipped away soon after. It was hard to breathe, to accept all of the things that had come out of this trip. There had been theft, unadulterated learning, cultural expansion, and international fame. Monsieur Flamel had warned her that every magical paper in every country would bear her name to some degree by the next morning. She was about to become catapulted into fame the same way Dumbledore had, at a younger age, overnight. How could she not, after all? Their discovery had been displayed shortly after the deliberations following the conference were completed. The Masters of the Conference, seven prior winners from the last seven years, had done something almost entirely unheard of.
Hermione Granger had been named a Mistress of Alchemy at the mere age of fourteen. The youngest Mastery to have been awarded since Harold Henning left Hogwarts at twelve to independently study Herbology. There was simply no way to cope beyond existing in a state of shock. So she fled the Piquerey Memorial Building and sat on the marble steps outside, beneath the imposing pillars, and the golden statue of the famous woman. Her fingers smoothed over her pretty green dress absentmindedly as she stared out at the glimmering magnificence of New York City.
"Mistress Granger," A distinctly masculine, American voice spoke from above. She startled to both feet, close to tugging her wand free from her purse. He motioned calmingly with his hands, a weak attempt to assure her she was in no danger. The man was handsome, almost like a grown-up Tom Riddle. Her spine quivered at the forbidden memories momentarily. For some strange reason, she remembered the time Cordelia told her she was better than Tom Riddle, than Dumbledore. Now here was the proof, and the shocking realization her grandmother had known her potential all along. "I have wanted to meet you since I read about the events of your First Year in the paper. You have come quite a long way since then. I could no longer resist the urge to meet such a like mind."
"You have never met me," She inhaled sharply, "How could you possibly know our minds are alike, Mr….?
"Tugwood. Nathaniel Tugwood." He answered easily enough, while her stomach promptly dropped to her toes.
This man was an American tycoon. His grandmother had been Sacharissa Tugwood, a famous potioneer. Forced to flee from her notoriously tyrannical Pureblood family after scandalously marrying a muggle. Hermione had hardly seen him before, being from Britain, but she had read his books. He was skilled across a multitude of fields. A Master in no less than six disciplines compared to her measly one. All at the tender age of twenty-six. If America had wanted its own alternative to Albus Dumbledore, then the half-blooded Nathaniel Tugwood was exactly that. "My father was a muggle, and my grandfather was a muggle too," He grinned, "Our ancestry is quite similar, no? I can tell now that I have met you in person that our power is quite well-matched, though you are still wild, untrained."
She could smell the waves of magic rolling off of him too. Though she never would have admitted as much. "Today, watching as you seamlessly combined muggle science with magical mystery, I recognized that we think exactly the same way." He paused with a flashing smile, "Neither of us believe in the separation of the two worlds. We see that things were never meant to be this way. That our societies belong together. Neither of us have the power to accomplish such a thing apart. Together, though, we have a chance."
He was correct, honestly. Hermione had begun to contemplate the broken state of the world, of earth, as she grew more involved in politics. What if muggles could share their advanced democracy and technology, while magic shed magnificent insights upon how nature functioned. Though it was radical, and with all radical changes many people would have to die for such a thing to happen. She was no monster. Spending most of her life as a muggle, and then only coming into her true might after what happened in the Chamber of Secrets had left her principles firm. Just because someone had all of that power did not mean they could simply do whatever it was that they wanted. Hermione glared at him distrustingly. This Nathaniel Tugwood was simply another Grindelwald. She refused to play second fiddle in whatever bloody, devastating scheme he had in his sick mind.
"Mistress Granger." It was Eulalie Hicks, thank the heavens. The formidable, American witch tapped into sight with her crooked, withered wooden cane. "Master Flamel and I were looking for you." Her own considerable magic clashed in the air alongside Hermione's and Tugwood's. Forcing the teenager to realize just how intense her interaction with the older man had been. "Master Tugwood. Do you truly think it proper to corner children for indoctrination? Are you truly that keen to follow in Grindelwald's footsteps?" They clearly knew one another, and she was obviously familiar with his uncomfortable ideas.
"You have been traumatized, Mistress Hicks, by your wisdom. Yet I do not harbor any ill will for non-magicals. I myself am half-nomaj. But the shattering of such barriers is inevitable, especially when the barriers are so very unnatural." His rebuttal was very sharp. In fact, there was nothing in what he had to say that Hermione necessarily disagreed with. Perhaps that was what she found to be so scary. "I have given you much to consider Miss Granger. Perhaps we will meet again in a few years, when you have formed your own opinions. When you are not so skittish. Focus for now on the wars waiting for you at home. Maybe then you will understand what must happen for the entire human race to flourish. What is the price precisely?" With that he moved to go back into the building quite quickly.
Mistress Hicks moved closer, replacing the void left behind. "This is a special night for you, Mistress Granger, do not let him tarnish such a special moment." Though the damage was done. Perhaps recognizing such advice was a lost cause, Mistress Hicks instead turned to observe the statue of Piquerey. "I knew her, of course, a resolute woman. Taken too soon. Would have been furious about this 'memorial' building. Probably just a money laundering scheme for some corrupt politician." There was a pause, "Did the British Department of Mysteries truly steal all of that work from you?"
"My friends as well." She answered stiffly, "I couldn't have done it alone. We all managed to do it together. The Charms discovery of the decade. Something that could have finally gotten wizards to the moon."
"Ha." The sharp bark of laughter was shocking, but it left Hermione smiling nonetheless. "You children all lack perspective. This one thing went wrong. Yes. But look at what you did accomplish today, this year, with Master Flamel. You are a Mistress of Alchemy. You have greater days, and far greater discoveries waiting to be tucked under your belt. Besides, I suspect anyone who steals from you now will be an obvious laughingstock once you are more established."
"I would love to work with a witch like yourself," Hermione professed without embarrassment. The muggleborn had learned to ask for the opportunities she wanted. Mistress Hicks had so much wisdom to share, not just of the magical sort, but in general.
There was a smile that flashed across Mistress Hicks' face. "Nicolas once told me that he gives his prodigies challenges. Things that will open their eyes just enough that he can help shape them into great magicians. For Dumbledore he challenged the old fart to learn chamber music, so he would gain some much needed humility. Tonight he told me that he demanded you impress him a second time over. So that you would learn exactly the sort of things you were capable of. In my case, he asked that I discover what my truest passion was, and I never ended up apprenticing for him in the end. I suppose that I will ask the same of you, Mistress Granger. Find what makes your heart soar. Then you can spend a summer with me in Boston."
OOOO
He stared into the darkness. Comforting, fitting for deeds perpetrated long ago. So many dead, all due to his foolishness. Once he had loved the light of his own magic, his worldly splendor almost unmatched by all. Now he basked in the shadows of his very own making. Until there was a click at the iron door. Iron. How very practical of them. How practical of him when he had designed the place. It was easy to forget that it was one's own palace when one had been so thoroughly imprisoned in the deepest bowels. But yes, iron. Iron walls, iron chains, iron floors, and an iron ceiling. He had not felt magic for so very long. Sometimes he imagined he would do almost anything for the sweet companionship. That encompassing feeling of static that had permeated so strongly about his person his entire life.
The heavy door creaked open as a young guard stepped inside the cell. "You should leave, boy," He croaked, "This is no place for you. I cannot be trusted with free air and light." He laughed at that. Even still he had dreams. Saw the things that were happening beyond his cell. Imagined all of the glorious changes he could make if set free. Thankfully the iron was there to keep his head on straight. To sap him of the power which made him do such wonderful things. Wonderful, yet truly, utterly insane. The dreams. Yes, the dreams, he focused on the sight of the boy. Handsome, so very handsome. He had been handsome himself once. Not anymore. That only made him appreciate it all the more when he saw it in his dreams. In the figure of this boy, a true Divination come to life.
"Don't do this, Tom." He wheezed out in a terror-stricken tone. "I cannot be trusted. He should have put me down. You will regret this day for the rest of your life. Please, please don't do this." There was a pregnant pause before the dreaded flick of a wand came to pass. The shackles clicked open as he withered beneath his overwhelming sense of deja vu. An object was thrown to the ground and it rolled across the cell before stopping at his feet. The boy left quickly, likely disinterested in being murdered the moment he was truly released from his prison. Slowly the man reached down, achingly, sorely slow. The first burst of energy caused his broken, psychotic head to rattle in pure ecstasy. That which he had sent so many decades putting back to rights was once more cracked like an egg. His addiction to beautiful, wonderful magic growing again like an insatiable chasm.
Nurmengard rattled, and in that split moment every single guard in the structure knew that they were about to die.
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