A/N: Okay loves… new chapter!
Before we dive in, I do apologise because this chapter ended up becoming far too lengthy, and I decided to trim it rather than delay posting to put up an obscenely long instalment. As such, the chapter focuses on a smaller span of time than I'd originally intended, though this should mean that the next instalment is quick in coming. However, I need to apologise to some of my readers, to whom I know I promised Minerva this instalment as well as Sirius and the Harry's friends – I swear on Merlin's tomb they will all be back next chapter in full force.
As a point of interest, the title is an Oscar Wilde quote, from The Importance of Being Earnest. The full line is 'The Truth is rarely pure and never simple.'
Also, if you are looking for the referenced conversation in the Severus POV, you can find it in Part II, Chapter 4: 'The Homecoming.'
Enjoy 'Rarely Pure, Never Simple' – and please read and review!
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DISCLAIMER: Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.
Chapter 30: Rarely Pure, Never Simple
The Ring… the Stone… the Hallows…
Albus' dreams were disturbed, more so than in decades, in the weeks that followed his visit to Morfin Gaunt. He had trained himself to compartmentalise years ago: to take even the fears that chilled him to the bone and stow them firmly away each night; because though he slept little, it was always essential that he sleep well. That was what was needed, when one was the general in a decade of war. It was vital, when one ran a school where hundreds of young lives were entrusted to his care. It was paramount, when one spent so much waking time scheming for every contingency – protecting as many as he could. And shielding the one that mattered most.
Not for the first time, however, thoughts of the Deathly Hallows were keeping him up. Thoughts that intermingled with those of the Horcruxes… and thoughts of what it all might mean, if these paths intersected.
By the end of the first week of December, there was still no word from the Ministry on Morfin Gaunt's culpability. But Albus knew he needed more information: on the woman who had become Voldemort's mother… and on the ring. He'd leafed through every page of the file Alastor had brought him a dozen times by now. He knew every word by heart. But the reports were focused on the Ministry actions, and the suspects they'd arrested. There was next to nothing on the two items the headmaster cared about.
So he decided he would go straight to the source.
Albus had never much liked St Mungo's. Though most of the wizards who came bustling through the hospital doors were merely there for the usual mishap, drippy nose or poorly performed charm… for Albus the place held much more sinister memories.
It was, perhaps, the by-product of spending most of one's time in the company of highly-capable wizards, or perchance living in a castle with its own infirmary. Even in the war, they'd usually managed between them with Poppy's assistance, or Lancelot's when something had been quite serious.
St Mungo's hadn't been safe. St Mungo's was a last resort – a desperate shot in the dark that nearly always ended badly. And, near the end, they'd stopped even chancing the risk.
He shook the recollections as he approached the front desk and the Welcome Witch. She was bent over a journal, flicking through in a routine sort of way with two-inch long talons. Only the top of her dyed-blonde head was available to meet the arrivals.
'Good morning,' he greeted her. 'I have come to pay a visit to a patient in your Rastrick Memorial Ward. Bed 327, I believe.'
The witch moved the journal aside, and scanned a scrolling list on a clipboard in front of her without looking up. 'Mr… Ogden, yeah?' she enquired, perusing the names.
'That is correct,' Albus agreed. The witch tapped the name with the point of her wand, and a second scroll appeared in front of her. Albus presumed this held information on Mr Ogden's care and condition.
'He's quarantined,' the witch said with a frown, reading a scarlet-inked note at the top.
'I was informed,' Albus assured her. 'I have already taken the precaution of immunity protections. His son, Tiberius, ought to have put me on an approved list?' he prompted.
The witch taped the bottom of the second parchment, and a third, smaller scroll popped up.
'Name?' she asked, peering at the list.
'Albus Dumbledore, Ms Heatherway,' the headmaster replied in amusement.
The girl gave a start, glancing up to take him in for the first time. 'Oh, professor, I'm so sorry, sir,' she apologised, going pink. 'I should have recognised you sooner.'
'No matter,' Albus said with a small smile. 'I know the floor – might I show myself up?'
'Oh, of – of course, sir,' the witch stammered, still blushing. She gestured a flapping hand toward a set of lifts to her right, and quickly looked away, shaking her head. Albus might have reassured her again, but at that moment her attention was distracted as a harried-looking woman burst through the doors – three small children covered in strange-coloured Bat Bogies wailing as they clutched at her skirts and pulling a fourth, scowling boy firmly by the arm.
Albus couldn't suppress a chuckle as he called the lift.
At times, he loved accidental magic.
He alighted on the second floor, which was a sea of closed wards, odd sounds and bustling Healers in lime green robes. He nodded to a few guiding a green-tinged wizard by the elbows through a set of heavy white-washed doors as he passed. The taller Healer, Palmer, called out a friendly greeting in reply. Albus had spent a fair amount of time with Palmer in the summer of 1991, when he'd perfected a new curative potion for this very disease. He hoped this patient's Dragon Pox were not so far advanced that he couldn't benefit from it.
Striding past the unfortunate fellow, Albus found the ward he sought at last. It was one of the smaller units, and there was only one visible occupant within the room: a little wisp of a man with very outsized spectacles, laying unmoving and facing the opposite wall. The headmaster pushed through the door silently, hoping not to startle the man awake if he was resting.
But the wizard turned immediately at his entrance.
'Hello?' he called in a thin, reedy voice, squinting in the dim lighting toward Albus' figure. Albus wondered if he could discern him at all: the glasses he wore were so thick they reduced his eyes to mere specks.
'Mr Ogden,' Albus greeted the man respectfully, 'I am sorry to disturb you. I am Albus Dumbledore.'
'Yes,' the man said, adjusting his spectacles with a slightly trembling hand. 'Yes, I can see that, now. My eyes are going a bit, I'm afraid. Could you?' He gestured toward a lamp on his bedside table with an age-spotted hand that looked faintly translucent. Albus inclined his head, and swept a hand over the table obligingly. The candle flickered to life.
'Better,' the man said with a contented sigh.
Albus smiled. 'I do not believe we have ever been properly introduced before,' he noted, taking a seat in a visitor's chair. 'Your son serves with me on the Wizengamot, of course. And he was a contemporary of mine during my own school days.'
The old man smiled. 'Tiberius was always a good boy,' he commented. 'And he is a good man. My children… my grandchildren… my great-grandchildren… I will leave this world in peace, knowing I have brought good people into it.' He took a laboured breath, though the discomfort did not penetrate through his obvious contentment. 'He speaks highly of you, you know,' he added, turning to face Albus again. 'Tiberius. Always has, almost a century now.'
'He is a dear friend,' Albus assured him. 'I was grateful that he – and you – agreed to allow me a visit. I know you must be feeling tired.'
Bob Ogden gave a short chuckle. 'I've been tired for years,' he said lightly. 'Long before this Vanishing Sickness began. There was no point putting you off, of course. Healers can do what they can do, but… it's near my time now. And I've made peace with that. Nobody lives forever.'
'No,' Albus agreed with a faint smile. 'Nobody does.'
And this man's death, so unlike the violent travesties Albus had witnessed on other levels of this hospital, would be peaceful. Vanishing sickness at such an advanced age was unlikely to be cured… but any pain could be easily alleviated with potions. Family members could visit even in quarantine with the proper immunity charms. Love could be expressed, shared and preserved. Bob Ogden would fade; but he would slip peacefully into Death's arms after a century and a half's well-lived existence. The way lives were supposed to come to conclusion.
He was just grateful Bob Ogden hadn't quite reached this conclusion yet. He still needed him.
'While I appreciate all visitors that might break the monotony of St Mungo's,' the man said, still smiling softly, 'Tiberius did not mention why it was you sought an audience with me today. And I must admit some curiosity… what could the great Albus Dumbledore want with an old man at the end of his days?'
Albus straightened a little. 'I have… a request to make of you,' he said, carefully. 'Many years ago, while you were head of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad, you paid a visit to a family called Gaunt. Do you recall?'
Bob Ogden fidgeted with his glasses again, the smile fading. 'Vividly,' he confirmed. 'One sees many cases, of course, over nearly a century of service to the Ministry. But some stand out more than others. The Gaunts were not an experience I would soon forget.'
'I can imagine,' Albus said. 'I have heard a bit about what happened on your second visit, after the Riddles' murders,' he said judiciously, not wanting Ogden to know he had read the Ministry file. 'But I wondered about what you saw on your first call – after Morfin Gaunt apparently attacked Tom Riddle.'
Bob Ogden considered him. Though the man was so old and frail, Albus could tell that the Vanishing Sickness had not yet affected his mind.
'That was years and years ago,' the man said. 'At least fifty, now. What interest could you possibly have in a Muggle-baiting so long gone? What purpose could my recollection serve you now?'
'It could mean a great deal, Mr Ogden,' Albus said seriously. 'In fact, I believe there is every possibility that information you may have would aid the Wizarding World in keeping darkness from rising again.'
Ogden looked sceptical. 'Every one of them is dead,' he said slowly. 'Or, at least, Marvolo Gaunt and his daughter, as I understand it. He died shortly after his release from Azkaban, and she was never heard from again that I know of. I took an interest… after what I'd seen her experience at his hands. After his release, I looked for her. And again after his death. I was never able to find her. Morfin Gaunt still rots in Azkaban for his later crimes. I'm not sure how their family history might help anyone now.'
'Please, Mr Ogden,' Albus said, looking seriously over the top of his half-moon spectacles. 'I assure you, the memory may be vital.'
The wizened man sighed, but he seemed to accept the headmaster's plea this time.
'It was to be a fairly routine visit,' he began. 'Just to see the son – Morfin. The Muggle had been attacked outside the Gaunt home the previous day. He was put right and his memory modified, but he identified his assailant before the charm was performed. We sent an owl requesting a response, indicating a date and time for Morfin Gaunt's hearing at the Ministry. We received no reply, so I paid a call. Marvolo Gaunt informed me that they did not receive owls. There wasn't much sense in him, or the son. They spoke almost entirely in Parseltongue, so I didn't get much of a clear idea what was going on… I remember Mr Gaunt became very angry – insulted that I did not think Morfin ought to have more lenient treatment because of his Pure-blood status. He tried to strangle the girl, Merope, in an attempt to show me a necklace she wore. He claimed the locket was Salazar Slytherin's. The situation became violent shortly thereafter. I left for reinforcements, and both Morfin and Marvolo were arrested. The girl – Merope – was offered the chance to press her own charges as well but declined.'
He looked exhausted from the long reminiscence. Albus gave him a minute to recuperate, stroking his long beard as he thought.
'Was there a ring, that you recall, Mr Ogden?' he asked, when at last it appeared the man was somewhat recovered.
Bob Ogden frowned. 'I… yes, I believe there was,' he said, looking confused. 'Marvolo wore it – black-stoned, set in gold. He brandished it at me while he was shouting. Said there was some sort of coat of arms engraved.'
'Hmm….'
Albus took a pause again, thinking hard. He knew he had all that Ogden actively remembered… and it was enough, really, for the greater purpose. He knew what had happened to Merope Gaunt in the end. He knew she'd died in a London orphanage, birthing the baby who would become Lord Voldemort. And now that he had her name, he would be able to trace her through the intervening year or so before her death.
And yet…
He told himself his request was about the Parseltongue. And the locket. The need for more information – to have all the pieces that Voldemort might have had. That Voldemort might have used.
It was not about the Ring.
It was not about the Stone.
'Mr Ogden,' he prodded lightly. The man gave a small start, apparently having been drifting into sleep. 'I have just one more favour to ask of you, if you would be so kind,' Albus said gently. 'I wonder if you would oblige me by secreting the memory in this,' he asked, pulling an empty phial from mid-air. 'It would assist me, I think, in a project I am trying to complete.'
Ogden reached out a shaking hand again, taking the proffered phial. He frowned at the glass a moment. 'I have no objection,' he said at last. 'But I'm afraid you shall have to assist with the spellwork,' he admitted. 'The Vanishing Sickness… I cannot do much with a wand these days. It is far too taxing.'
'Of course,' Albus said. He shifted forward in the chair, and pressed the tip of the Elder Wand very lightly against the old man's forehead. Bob Ogden closed his eyes, and Albus chanted silently as he drew the wisp of silvery gossamer from the man's memories, catching it in the little phial. When he'd finished, Bob Ogden looked ready to drop off again. Albus pocketed the precious phial and stood.
'Thank you, Mr Ogden,' he said sincerely, resting a hand briefly on the man's shoulder.
He swept quietly from the room, leaving the man to his peace.
He'd viewed the memory as soon as he returned to the castle. it hadn't been a long recollection – maybe twenty minutes. But all Albus could see in its aftermath was the Ring. The Stone.
For it was the Stone… he was almost certain. 'The Peverell Coat of Arms'… that's what Marvolo Gaunt had called it.
The Peverell Coat of Arms.
But, of course, it wasn't a coat of arms at all. It was a symbol. A legacy.
The Hallows.
And Albus still could not sleep. He was kept awake by desires… temptations… and, most of all, regrets. They ate at him like slow-acting venom. And Albus was grateful that Harry was not staying in his quarters, at the moment, for he did not know how he would have explained his insomnia. Minerva, luckily, was less frequent an overnight visitor during term. She had her own charges to attend to. He waved her off cheerily each evening. And then he lay, staring at the ceiling for hours.
He knew he had to see Gellert. Knew he had to run new theories by him…. and see what else the dark sorcerer had come up with in his absence.
The Horcruxes. Those were what was important now. That was what mattered.
But… should he tell him?
All Albus' instincts screamed No.
And he didn't want to. Did he?
He hated this man…
Aberforth had been right – Albus needed him. He needed Gellert… a thought that churned his stomach. Needed his information; his assistance. But trusting him… that would be a very, very foolish idea. And no matter what he'd told his brother, Albus knew he had already given far too much of his own trust to Gellert. And he knew how that had turned out, last time. He knew what lay at the end of this road. Mixing up the Hallows in whatever relationship this was they had rebuilt so many years later was a very bad idea.
So he came up with a new plan.
A fortnight after his visit to Bob Ogden, on the last Saturday of term, Albus spent the morning testing a former student. Bill Weasley was good – excellent, even. Albus would not have expected as much from a young man only a few years out of Hogwarts, particularly given the fact that Bill had not begun studying Occlumency until after leaving the castle.
'You have a gift for this magic,' he remarked near midday, pulling out of yet another attempt to penetrate the man's mind.
Bill groaned, rubbing lightly at his brow as he took the cup of tea the headmaster passed him. 'I dunno about that, sir,' he said wryly. 'You've got though every time.'
'True,' Albus acknowledged. 'But my own skills in Legilimency are more than a century in the making. I would not expect you to keep me out indefinitely. There are very few who could.'
'You said Grindelwald was one of the best there is too,' Bill pointed out. 'If you can get in –'
'I am testing your defences quite rigorously, Bill,' Albus reminded him. 'Grindelwald is prodigious, that is true. But he would not dare to force a full-blown attack on your mind… not if you are there as my emissary. If you are able to keep your shields in place during this exercise – even to the point you have managed thus far – it will be more than enough to carry on interaction with Gellert. His attempts will be surface, at most.'
'If you say so,' Bill muttered, looking doubtful. Albus smiled.
'We should have a break,' he decided. 'Have a rest, perhaps. There is a guest chamber upstairs to the left, if you would rather not go all the way back to the rooms you stayed in last night. I'll send for lunch in an hour or so, and we shall depart afterward.'
Bill dropped his hand from his temple, looking suddenly nervous. 'Already?' he asked with a frown.
Albus stood, squeezing his shoulder. 'Time is of the essence, my boy,' he said lightly. 'And you are prepared, I promise you.'
He showed Bill up to the guest bedchamber. The young man was asleep in moments. Albus wished he too could lie down for a spell… but he knew it would be a fruitless effort. Instead, he decided to tackle some of the correspondence he'd been avoiding, which was growing ominously on a corner of his desk.
Fawkes trilled as Albus sank into the high-backed chair, fluttering down from his perch to sit on the edge of the carved wood. The headmaster stroked his plumed head gently. The phoenix's eyes were judgmental.
'It cannot be helped,' he said quietly, still stroking. 'I must see this through.'
The phoenix gave one more long trill and stared dolefully back.
He used Disillusionment Charms on them both to get to the edge of the grounds when they set out that afternoon, not wanting any curious students to spot them through the castle windows. The wind was howling and bitter, and the flakes of snow swirling from the sky were threatening a blizzard at any moment. But his phoenix patronus circled around them, bringing a bit of warmth to their spot.
He took Bill's arm as they reached the other side of the gate. 'I will need to guide you,' he explained. 'Until you are keyed to the wards, you will not be able to apparate there on your own.'
Bill nodded, shifting his arm so his wrist griped the headmaster below the elbow. Albus gave him a half-smile, and spun them into nothingness.
The weather in the mountains was, if possible, worse. Snowbanks reached halfway up the imposing gates, and they could not see but a foot or so in front of their noses through the white. Albus cast a warming charm over Bill, then over himself.
'Come,' he beckoned. And Bill followed in silence, wand out and eyes vigilant. Albus appreciated the cautiousness, though he knew they were in no danger here.
He paused as he reached the gates. Bill's eyes were squinting upward, as he tried to see the words.
'For the Greater Good,' he read aloud. He turned to face Albus, his face grim. 'So this is Nurmengard, then?'
'Yes,' Albus affirmed quietly. 'This is Nurmengard.'
He stepped forward a pace or two. 'You will need to place your hand, please, upon the bars. Your wand hand, if you would.'
Bill Weasley did as he was told without comment, and Albus raised his wand. He began to chant in a low voice. An orb of golden light appeared around Bill's clenched fingers, then expanded slowly… growing wider and wider until Bill's entire body and the gates themselves were bathed in a golden glow. Albus gave one final verse, and the glow brightened momentarily before dissipating entirely. Bill shuddered a bit as he released his grip on the iron.
'A strange sensation,' Dumbledore acknowledged.
'It is a bit,' Bill agreed. 'But I take it it was successful, sir?'
Albus inclined his head. 'You should have no difficulty apparating here yourself in future.'
He held up his own hand and the gates parted, allowing the two wizards to pass.
Albus considered the young wizard from the corner of his eye as the pair made their way up the winding path. The reasons he'd given Bill Weasley for requesting his aid were genuine… he didn't feel comfortable leaving the castle if it could be avoided, these days. Not with Black still at large and Harry still in danger. And he did need an additional hand, for research purposes. Even if he was not quite sure yet how much he could risk confiding in another.
But there were other reasons too. Deeper reasons. Whatever Gellert had said about Albus understanding him, knowing him… Albus was not sure he did. Or, perhaps more accurately, he was not sure he completely knew himself.
He needed a new perspective – a safeguard in the room. He wanted the extra conscience. And Bill Weasley was the optimal choice. He knew Occlumency and could perform it well. There were few remaining, even in the Order, who could boast such a skill. He worked abroad, so his absences would not be noticed by other British wizards. He was young, energetic and intelligent. He came from a good and loyal family. And he was unconnected with the horrors of the last war… he did not have horrifying memories or racking guilt which could be exploited. He did not have conflicting allegiances with the Ministry. He did not have teaching responsibilities at the castle, and he wasn't leading a life of secrecy and shadows.
He was pure, but he was not naïve.
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Bill was silent as the headmaster led them up a path. Dumbledore kept his wand in front of him, sweeping away the snow at regular intervals to ease their climb. They were high in the mountains – somewhere in southern Germany, he expected. Snow-capped peaks were visible all around them… if one squinted hard enough through the driving snow. The fortress, of course, had been enchanted to be unplottable years ago, so Bill had no idea of their exact location. He wondered how Dumbledore had worked it out of Grindelwald, or if the headmaster had simply used his own powers to discover a weakness in the enchantment.
This was not what he had expected, when Dumbledore requested assistance. This task was far more intriguing and far more worrisome than any he could have imagined. And Bill had a million questions.
He hadn't realised, before tonight, that Gellert Grindelwald was still alive.
Everyone knew Grindelwald's story. Or the highlights, at least. He'd been the most powerful dark wizard in modern history, until You-Know-Who had come onto the scene. His reign of terror might even be considered worse, in many ways. He'd ransacked continents: most of Europe, bits of Asia and Africa, and even some damage in America. And he'd been at it for decades before Dumbledore finally stopped him in 1945. His decision not to kill Grindelwald, but to imprison the dark wizard in the fortress instead, had caused something of an uproar. To his knowledge, nobody had seen him since.
Grindelwald had never really done much in Britain, which was – perhaps – why British wizards had never allotted him the status of unspeakable infamy they had assigned You-Know-Who. For most back home, the stories of Grindelwald centred mainly on Dumbledore's ultimate triumph. But Bill had spent enough time with foreign wizards by now to recognise that for most, this wizard was even more fearsome. Had torn even more lives apart.
For the Greater Good…
He shivered slightly in spite of himself.
Pull it together, he chastised himself sternly. They had nearly reached the end of the path now. The immense fortress loomed before them, its heavy front doors bolted shut. Dumbledore repeated the ritual he had performed at the gates, keying Bill's magical signature to the entryway.
'Master has returned,' a House-elf greeted them in a thick accent, stepping from the shadows as Dumbledore led Bill into the entrance hall. His bulbous eyes widened farther as they took in the newcomer. 'And… he brings a companion,' he noted. He bowed in turn to Bill.
'Lakai, this is Bill Weasley,' Dumbledore introduced. 'He shall be visiting, from time to time. You may consider him my emissary.'
'Of course, Master Dumbledore,' the elf said dutifully. 'Vill you be vanting tea, today?'
'Lovely,' Dumbledore agreed with a smile. The elf disappeared with a crack, and the headmaster swept toward a winding staircase. Bill followed, his nerves growing as they climbed.
Dumbledore led them to the very top of a high tower, to a door of gnarled wood. He knocked three times on the panels.
'Enter,' a voice called out. And the headmaster unlocked the door with a flick of his wand.
Gellert Grindelwald awaited them, seated in a rickety old chair as though it were a throne.
He was not what Bill had imagined. Though of course he'd known, intellectually, that Grindelwald had to be as old as Dumbledore now, the last images of the man he'd ever seen were from nearly fifty years ago. That Gellert Grindelwald had been at the height of his power: with golden hair, strong shoulders and agility in both the magical and physical sense. They said his duel with the headmaster had lasted hours… but this man did not look up to Dumbledore's par any longer. He was gaunt – emaciated with years of confinement and age. His hair had gone grey and scant, and his clothes were ragged. But his eyes, as they snapped to the doorway, were a bright, vivid violet. They did not twinkle – as Dumbledore's did – but there was a vivacity and calculative gleam in the gaze that told Bill, quite plainly, that the man's intelligence had not faded with his physique.
Bill repressed another shudder as the man's eyes swept past Albus to pierce him, locking his shields in place. He thought he felt the slightest pressure… but it was quickly withdrawn.
'You've brought company, Albus,' the man said, leaning forward toward the shabby table as a tea service popped into existence. 'How diverting. Though this one is too old to be the child I'd hoped to see…'
'This is William Weasley, Gellert,' Dumbledore said shortly. He conjured two armchairs with a wave of his wand, and nodded to Bill to sit.
'Charmed,' Bill said stiffly in greeting, inclining his head toward the wizened sorcerer.
'Not yet,' Grindelwald replied with a slight smirk as he poured the tea. 'But do not worry. I tend to grow on people. And our acquaintance is young.'
He handed Dumbledore a cup. Bill wondered at first that they were well enough acquainted for the dark wizard to note the headmaster's preference… until he found a second cup in front of his own nose.
'How did you know what I take?' Bill asked dubiously, accepting the cup Grindelwald held out with a frown.
Had his shields already failed him?
Grindelwald gave a crooked smile. 'A talent of mine,' he admitted.
'Family trait,' Dumbledore murmured as he sipped his own cup. Bill looked curiously at the headmaster, but he did not elaborate. Grindelwald smirked.
'So it is,' he said. 'But you aren't here about Godric's Hollow, are you Albus?'
The headmaster's expression did not alter, but Bill thought he could read warning in Dumbledore's eyes. 'No,' he said slowly. 'I am here about Little Hangleton.'
'And the boy?' Grindelwald asked, as if Bill were not two feet from him. 'Really, Dumbledore, I had thought our little chats were going so well… have you come to doubt them already?'
The headmaster crossed one leg. 'Nothing of the sort, Gellert,' he said bluntly. 'But with Black still at large and the situation at the castle tenuous, I did think it best to involve another… we neither of us can be much in the field at the moment, and I do so dislike lengthy correspondence.'
Grindelwald shifted a bit, considering Bill with those unnerving eyes. 'Who is he?' he asked, speaking to Dumbledore but continuing to hold Bill's gaze.
'William Weasley,' the headmaster repeated. 'Though he does prefer "Bill."'
Grindelwald's gaze did not falter. 'Who are you, boy?' he asked Bill this time, ignoring the headmaster's answer.
Bill stared back, determined not to show anxiety. 'Bill Weasley,' he said firmly. 'As the headmaster stated.'
'I did not ask what you are called,' the wizard said with the hint of a leer. 'I asked who you are… what sort of wizard are you. What sort of man….'
'If you're asking what my blood status is,' Bill said through gritted teeth, feeling his revulsion grow, 'Then I am Pure-blood. Not that it should matter in the slightest.'
Grindelwald's leer grew. 'I care not what your parentage is,' he disagreed. 'Pure-blood, Half-blood, Muggle-born… it makes no difference, in the end. Magic is magic. Magic is power. You have it – or you do not. You take it, or you do not. Great wizards have been born as often in shadow as in heaven's light, boy… our gifts are what give us the right to rule. So I will ask you again: who are you?'
'My choice,' Albus answered, before Bill could think of a proper reply. 'Highly intelligent, highly resourceful, and loyal to the right side of magic. And that is all that matters, Gellert.'
There was warning in the tone, and neither of the others missed it. Grindelwald looked away from Bill at last, but Bill had a feeling the conversation was not at an end.
'Little Hangleton,' Grindelwald redirected. 'What did you discover?'
'Our suspicions were accurate,' Dumbledore said. 'Tom Riddle certainly visited the village, and he almost certainly killed his father and grandparents, blaming the murders on his uncle.'
Bill listened sharply. Dumbledore had given him some background late last night on his arrival… explained You-Know-Who's true name… told him that he'd gone to Grindelwald last year, when Ginny had been possessed by You-Know-Who, to discuss the diary… and admitted that he theorised that You-Know-Who had somehow tethered himself to life using a number of artefacts, the diary included. Grindelwald, Dumbledore had explained, was a necessary player in this working theory.
Why Dumbledore had involved Grindelwald at all was a mystery to Bill. But he did not ask. His job was to listen, to aid, and to keep the secret.
So he did.
'His uncle,' Grindelwald repeated, floating his own tea in mid-air as he stroked his chin in thought. 'That is… very interesting. The mother is dead, of course. Any other family members?'
'No,' the headmaster said. 'The uncle, Morfin Gaunt, was the only remaining relation. He is in Azkaban still, though I have advocated his release since learning the truth. The charm on his memory was crude… anyone with Legilimency training could have discovered it.'
'You visited the fortress?' the wizard asked interestedly. He leaned forward a bit in his chair. 'And how did you find Gaunt?'
'Very poorly,' Dumbledore admitted with a sigh. 'But it is no wonder… stuck in the prison as long as he has been. It is my belief that his own innocence was the one thing keeping him from succumbing completely to the Dementors effects. Even repressed, it is not the sort of reality they can feed off of.'
'And yet it would be enough to keep him sane,' Grindelwald continued the thought. A gleam of intrigue was evident in his eyes now. 'Or, at least, prevent him losing his mind to the point of forced starvation or vegetative existence. A reasonable posture, Albus. And here I thought you might be losing your touch…'
'So Riddle created the diary with the death of his father,' Grindelwald recapped. 'As we had suspected, of course. It is rather a poetic tale.'
Bill made a noise of contempt before he could stop himself. He reached forward to refill his tea as a cover up, but Grindelwald had already caught it.
'You are young, boy,' he said, shaking his head at Bill. 'You do not –'
'I am twenty-three,' Bill corrected. 'I'm not a student. And I've heard Riddle's story. But I fail to see poetic justice in murder, no matter the circumstance.'
'You are young,' Grindelwald disagreed. 'And you have not yet lived through trials. You see the world in black and white – but in time you will learn that nothing is so. Everything is a shade of grey, Bill Weasley. You wish to keep it neat and simple, but you cannot. You are less than two years from war… you will learn.'
Bill felt the hairs on his neck begin to prickle. Beside him, Dumbledore put his cup down with a sharp tinkle of china.
'What are you talking about, Gellert?' he asked in a low voice.
Gellert drew his gaze from Bill again, turning to face the headmaster. 'There will not be enough time, Albus,' he said. 'He will return… before your boy is grown. That is all I know.'
Bill looked to Dumbledore at once, highly unnerved. The professor was frowning deeply.
'I'm not sure it was the Diary,' the headmaster said. It was such an abrupt return to the prior conversation, it took Bill a minute to refocus.
'Why?' Grindelwald asked. 'Did you find another?'
'Not precisely,' Albus prevaricated. 'But I did not see a trace of the book, in Morfin Gaunt's memory. And there were at least two other items of note: a family ring and an heirloom locket that apparently belonged to Slytherin. Both missing. The locket I suspect was taken by Riddle's mother on her flight from her childhood home. The ring… it appears more than likely that Riddle himself took it as a sort of trophy, the night he killed his father. To do so would have befitted his character, and it disappeared after the attack on his uncle.'
'A family ring…' Grindelwald mused. 'More fitting than an old diary, I must admit. For this conquest in particular. So, you proffer that he created the Ring that night instead… and the diary was a later addition?'
'Not quite,' the headmaster disagreed. 'The diary, if you recall, persevered Riddle at sixteen. Which means it must have been created in that year. It is possible, of course, that he stole the ring from his uncle and never used it for such a purpose. It is also possible that he enchanted it later, I suppose. But I think the more likely scenario is…'
'That the Ring was the second Horcrux,' Grindelwald finished. Bill could not help but notice that while Dumbledore's expression had grown graver throughout his speculation, Grindelwald's was turning more and more intrigued.
'Interesting…' he repeated. 'Two, before he'd even left school? Two before magical maturation? Of course, it is possible. He'd murdered a girl before.'
'No,' Bill piped up, catching up to the conversation a bit. 'Riddle killed Moaning Myrtle with the Basilisk. Ron told the family about it over the summer. Harry said Riddle told him it was an accident. So… it wouldn't really count as a murder, would it?'
'An accident, I think, that Myrtle found him out that day,' Dumbledore countered. 'I do not think he'd set out with the intention of killing her. But once she was there…'
'He took the advantage,' Grindelwald finished. 'She would have been the perfect test, of course. In an isolated location… end of term, when he knew he'd have to move on for the summer holidays. He might even have been plotting his father's demise already. She might have been the rehearsal.'
'Yes,' Dumbledore agreed darkly. 'That is my inclination as well.'
'And so there is at least one other,' the old wizard summed up. 'The Diary is destroyed… the Ring missing. And two by sixteen, Albus… it does not bode well.'
'No,' the headmaster said with a sigh. 'I expect this is only the beginning.'
They sat for a few minutes in silence, sipping their tea. Then Grindelwald spoke again.
'You should trace the locket,' he opined. 'Slytherin's… it seems he was rather obsessed with the family legacy, was he not?'
'I expect so,' the headmaster replied. 'But it vanished well before he was born. I do not know if even Voldemort would have thought to trace it so many years.'
'On the contrary,' Grindelwald disagreed. 'If he believed it to be his by right, he would have stopped at nothing to obtain it. He would have scoured the Earth, if he had to. If he wanted it badly enough.'
Dumbledore frowned at his contemporary. But it was not a frown of disapproval, this time. There was contemplation in his expression.
'Perhaps,' he admitted. 'Obsession, after all, drives men to madness.'
Grindelwald was smirking again as Dumbledore checked his watch.
'We ought to be going,' he said, glancing over at Bill.
Bill, all too ready to depart, jumped to his feet. He nodded at the old wizard grimly before turning for the door. But Grindelwald ignored the gesture, lunging instead toward Dumbledore. Bill had his wand half-drawn before he realised the man was not attacking, but merely gripping the headmaster's arm. Dumbledore's eyes glanced at the touch, then rose to stare at Grindelwald's face.
Gellert Grindelwald leaned in slowly and Dumbledore bent forward, almost automatically it seemed, so that the other could speak at his ear. But he did not whisper the words… and Bill heard them as clearly as the headmaster could.
'What happens now then, Albus?' the man hissed out. 'Is this what it comes to? Will we die… just a little?'
Dumbledore leaned back suddenly, almost as if he were recoiling. His face was blank, but his colour had drained visibly. Blue eyes flashed without a trace of twinkle.
'Until we meet again,' he said softly, breaking Grindelwald's hold on his arm. 'Mr Weasley, we should be going.'
'Yes, sir,' Bill said, stepping forward. He followed the headmaster from the room. Grindelwald did not move from the centre of it, his unusual violet eyes watching them out the door. As it swung shut behind them, Bill could have sworn the old man gave half a smile.
'I am sure I need hardly tell you,' Dumbledore said in a low voice as they left through the gates again, 'That everything you have heard this night – everything about this task you will be assisting me with – is highly confidential. For the safety and security of everyone, we must ensure that it is never spoken of, outside our own conversations.'
'Of course, sir,' Bill promised at once. 'I shan't say a word. To anyone.'
'Be sure to understand me,' the headmaster said. 'You must keep the confidence always, Bill. Even if something were to happen to me. Tell nobody what you have learned this night, unless I ask you otherwise.'
'I swear it, headmaster,' Bill said, meeting the bright blue gaze with open sincerity.
Dumbledore gave a small smile. 'Good,' he said simply. 'Then let us return to Hogsmeade. I am sure Molly would be delighted if you make it home for supper.'
Bill nodded, and they disapparated together.
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'Albus.'
The headmaster had not been back in his office three minutes when the voice rang out from the hearth. He turned at the base of the staircase – having been about to go up and remove his cloak – to see Kingsley Shacklebolt's head in the fire.
'Mr Shacklebolt,' Albus greeted the head in the flames. 'You have come bearing news on our prisoner, I expect?'
'Yes,' Kingsley agreed, in his deep voice.
'And has the Ministry reached the conclusion of its investigation?' Albus asked, pouring himself a glass of whisky from the decanter on a side table and stepping closer to the hearth.
'Not yet, headmaster,' the wizard admitted. 'But I'm afraid it hardly matters now.'
Albus paused at the mantle, studying the face in the flames. He gave a deep sigh.
'When?'
'Early this morning,' Kingsley admitted heavily. 'I was just informed. He was buried an hour ago.'
'Another life cut short; another casualty of Lord Voldemort's making,' Albus whispered, shaking his head. He turned back for the table and his whisky. 'Be sure that Rufus has Fudge issue an acquittal nonetheless,' he said to the Auror. 'Alive or dead, we owe him that much at least.'
'I shall,' Kingsley promised. But he did not pull immediately out of the fire. Instead, his brow furrowed as he watched Albus' sadness. 'Don't beat yourself up, headmaster,' he said kindly. 'You did your best for him… and even without those murders on his account, Gaunt was a Muggle-baiter and an abuser. He was not a good man.'
'No,' Albus agreed, looking up from his glass. 'But whatever he was, he did not deserve his lot. He did not deserve fifty years of unending torture, or an unmarked grave in the middle of the sea. And his death is as much on the conscience of wizarding society as on Lord Voldemort's hands.'
Kingsley made a noise that might have indicated agreement, bid the headmaster goodnight, and disappeared from the flames again. Albus drained the rest of the whisky in one large swallow, wondering how much more was to be piled on him this day.
He was just headed for the stairs again, thinking he might try to rest an hour or so before supper, when a second voice shouted from the floo. He whirled to see Remus's head this time, his eyes wide even in the dancing flames.
'What is it?' he asked, startled by the urgency evident in Remus' expression.
'You'd better come,' Remus said, frowning. He gazed behind him through the flames… to something Albus could not see.
'Remus?' he pressed, his brow furrowed.
'Harry,' Remus explained, refocusing on the headmaster.
Albus hurried for the hearth. 'Is he injured?'
'No…' Remus said carefully. 'Not physically, at least. But Albus… he knows about Sirius. About everything.'
Albus ran a hand along his forehead, heaving a great sigh.
Severus had been right. He should have told the boy sooner. He'd meant to… meant to lead up to it. Meant to get him ready, gradually. But this was the problem with such schemes.
They did not account for the loose lips of others.
'I will come through,' Albus said. He threw the travelling cloak onto the sofa in front of the hearth instead of returning it to its place upstairs. Remus' head vanished, and Albus threw a handful of powder into the flames.
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Harry downed the potion Snape handed him with an irritable haste, not even registering its flavour. He was too busy glaring at both professors. The effect was nearly immediate. But though the potion slowed his heartrate and spread a warm sort of fuzz about his thoughts, it could not completely drown his temper.
Snape seemed to notice. His obsidian eyes were wary as he considered him.
His was the first query. 'How did you learn about Black, Potter?' he demanded.
Harry crossed his arms. 'Ron and Hermione overheard Minerva, some of the other professors and the Minister in the Three Broomsticks,' he said, shifting his gaze to Remus' face so that the Potions Master would not catch the omission. He hoped Ron and Hermione had also come straight back to the castle, in case their later arrival spoiled his cover. And that he'd be able to tip them off. He probably should have thought of that sooner…
Remus rubbed a spot on his forehead. 'That is not how we would have preferred you to –'
'Does it really matter, Remus?' Harry interrupted. He would have shouted, but the potion was dulling his volume a bit. 'I don't care how you wanted to tell me… I want to know why you didn't. And I want to know everything.'
'You do not get to know everything, Potter,' Snape snapped back. 'As for why you were not told, I do not suppose you have considered the fact that you are thirteen years old, with a track record for trouble that puts even your father to shame.'
'Severus,' Remus warned as Harry bristled again. The Potions Master scowled, but jerked his head in Remus' general direction.
Remus sighed deeply. 'Sirius Black,' he began in a rough whisper, 'James, myself and Peter Pettigrew all became close at Hogwarts. Your father met Sirius on the train to school, Harry. The rest of us became acquainted at the feast. We were fast friends, and nearly inseparable throughout our time at the castle.'
Snape gave a derisive snort at this, but did not comment. Remus sent him a sideways glance before continuing.
'James and Sirius were closest,' he admitted grimly. 'The four of us – we were all best mates… but it was more between Sirius and James. They were family.'
Harry swallowed hard, remembering Professor Flitwick's words: 'You'd have thought Black and Potter were brothers!'
'Why?' Harry asked, almost pleading. 'What made him so great? Why couldn't my dad see…' he trailed off, unable to complete the thought.
Remus shook his head in sympathy. 'I don't think he was always bad, Harry,' he said gently. 'No. Things changed, later. But I can't believe he was evil while we were young. He was loyal, almost to a fault. He was always there – always had our backs.'
Snape scoffed again. And this time, it seemed, he could not help himself.
'Black was an arrogant, conniving, petulant ingrate from the moment he entered this castle!' he disagreed through gritted teeth. 'What Saint Potter and his little friends missed was obvious to many of the rest of us, Lupin!'
Remus opened his mouth angrily, but Harry wanted to hear the rest of the explanation.
'I don't care,' he interrupted, before Remus could retort. 'I – tell me about what happened, Remus,' he insisted.
Remus shot another glower at Snape, but he continued. 'Sirius came from a… difficult family. They were cruel to him, as a child. He had never fit in. He had a younger brother, Regulus, who was the centre of his parents' world. Regulus followed in the path the Blacks had set out for him, to a tee. But Sirius was different. Or he was at that time, anyway. Things were miserable in his home as a result, especially after he came to Hogwarts.'
Harry felt uncomfortable… the way Remus described it, Sirius Black had lived like Harry had lived. He didn't like the correlation.
'When Sirius was sixteen,' Remus went on, 'He'd had enough. He ran off during the holiday – went to James' home. Your grandparents took him in without question, and treated him like a second son. He was nearly as cut up as James when they passed away. Meanwhile, James and Sirius grew even closer. James was an only child, and I think Sirius sort of began to fill the role of the brother he'd never had. They took a flat together after Hogwarts, joined in the fighting against You-Know-Who with Peter and myself, and eventually Sirius was made best man at James' wedding to Lily.'
'All very touching,' Snape said sarcastically. And Harry noticed his eyes were gleaming again. 'But let's jump forward to the relevant history, Lupin.'
Remus scowled again, but turned to face Harry without looking at Snape. 'I told you once before,' he reminded him, 'That things were confused at that time. Very dark, very dangerous. It was hard to know where anyone's allegiance lay. I do not know myself the moment when Sirius' loyalties turned. Or even if there was a specific moment.'
'At least a year before the Potters' deaths,' Snape put in curtly. He spoke with such certainty that both Harry and Remus stared, but offered no further explanation.
'In any case,' said Remus, 'Sirius lived with your mother and father for a time, even after they were married. A bit of an odd situation to you, I suppose,' he added – smiling slightly at the expression on Harry's face. 'But there was a war going on. People kept close to their loved ones, where they could. He stayed until your mother became pregnant with you. And he was at the house the day you were born.'
'That's what you meant,' Harry said, remembering suddenly. 'When you told me you came with someone… over the summer, at the Dursleys. You said you came by the day I was born –'
But Remus was shaking his head. 'No,' he disagreed. 'I came with Peter, Harry. Sirius was there already. He saved your life, and Lily's. She had a…' he trailed off, shuddering a bit. 'It was not an easy birth,' he amended. 'Had Sirius not arrived when he did, I am not sure Lily would have lived. Sirius was the only reason Dumbledore and the Healers arrived in time to save both of you. She let him name you, in gratitude.'
'She what?' Harry asked, incredulous. He heard an odd sound from behind him, and turned to stare at Snape. His face was utterly blank, but Harry thought he looked almost green. Quite uncharacteristically, he did not offer a snide remark.
'Harry,' Lupin explained, 'Was your great-grandfather's name. I wonder if anyone has ever told you? Sirius selected it – they were always close.'
Harry's mind was a whirlwind. 'N-no…' he said, quietly. 'I don't know anything about my family, really. Either side. Aunt Petunia didn't like me to ask questions… and she never talked about her family. I knew my mum's parents were dead, because she told Dudley once that he couldn't have his grandmother in for grandparents' day at primary school because they'd died when he was a baby. She never spoke about them otherwise. And there wasn't anyone around from my dad's side when I was small, obviously.'
He liked the idea that he had something from his dad's family… it was like having a legacy, of a sort. But then he remembered that Sirius Black had given it to him… and he felt vaguely ill.
'Are you alright?' Remus asked, leaning toward him from his chair. Harry supposed something of his nausea must have shown on his face. He shook himself.
'The Sunday dinners…' he asked instead. 'You said you came round every week when I was a baby. Was that with him?'
'Yes,' Remus agreed, still looking a bit concerned though he pulled himself upright again. 'For the first year or so. Then things became… strange. Less certain than ever. There had been rumours for months that Lord Voldemort –' he ignored the Potion Masters' muttered expletive – 'Was considering an attack on your parents. They'd been living under a lot of protective wards. Except when they had to do work for the war, they stayed almost entirely in the house with you. But the war was… we were…' he trailed off again, looking close to tears.
'Losing,' Snape supplied harshly. His jaw was set and his eyes blazing as he glared at Remus. He ignored Harry's questioning gaze.
'Yes,' Remus admitted quietly. 'The Dark side was gathering strength, every day. Even Dumbledore was having trouble making any headway. The Ministry was in shambles. And everyone was terrified. Nobody trusted anybody else. Betrayal was almost expected. Your parents stopped having visitors. Dumbledore didn't think it was safe any longer…'
'Why?' Harry demanded. 'Because He was after them?'
'The headmaster suspected someone had turned traitor,' Snape cut in, picking up the story before Remus could reply. 'The turn of the tide was less gradual than felt natural. He advised precautions in many cases.'
Remus was giving Snape an odd look again. It was not lost on Harry.
'How do you know, sir?' he asked, crossing his arms again as he glared at Snape.
'Because I do,' the professor replied maddeningly.
Harry ground his teeth. He could feel the rushing of magic and anger again… the potion wearing off.
'Is that when Dumbledore did the charm then?' he asked ferociously. 'And he made Black Secret-Keeper, and Black turned them over, and Voldemort killed –'
'Professor Dumbledore did not perform the charm at all,' Snape interrupted in a hiss. 'Your arrogant father chose Black, not the headmaster. That foolish decision is on him, boy. And the opportunistic turncoat ran to the Dark Lord, and he –'
'Enough, Severus,' Remus commanded, jumping to his feet as Harry shrank back.
Harry's heart was hammering again, as if Snape had hurled hot knives rather than insults.
'It's not my dad's fault!' he bellowed, not caring if he sounded childish. The potion seemed to have released him now, or perhaps his temper had merely overpowered it. 'It's Black's! And how do you know the headmaster didn't perform the charm? I – Hermione and Ron heard it. They heard Fudge say Albus told my parents their only chance was the Fidelius Charm. He told me himself it's a complex spell that only those really good at Charms can do. Why wouldn't they have Dumbledore do it, then?'
'Harry, sit down,' Remus urged, pushing him back toward the sofa. Harry hadn't even realised that he'd jumped to his feet. He sat again, but continued to glare at the pair of them. Snape looked ready to skin him alive for potion ingredients, while Remus was rubbing his temples once more.
'Did you speak to Albus about this?' he asked finally, dropping his arm to look at Harry.
'No,' Harry said shortly. 'I wanted the answers from you, Remus.'
'And I'm trying to tell you, Harry, I am,' Remus pleaded, holding his gaze. 'But I don't… I don't have all the answers, Harry. The headmaster knows much more than I ever –'
'Call for him, then!'
It was Snape that interrupted this time. His face was unreadable again, but his arms were crossed tighter than Harry's own.
Harry stared at him, frowning. 'You don't have to stay, sir,' he said pointedly, when Remus had turned for the fire without another word.
But Snape ignored him, glowering at Remus' stooped back.
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Albus appeared in moments, looking a mix of bone-tired and apologetic. His eyes found the boy's at once.
'Harry,' he said softly, almost placatingly. 'I am… so sorry, my dear child.'
Potter's gaze was unforgiving. 'You lied to me,' he said quietly. 'Just like them. Just like all of them. How could you not tell me?'
'I did not lie to you, Harry,' Albus disagreed, stepping closer. 'I would have –'
'You did,' Potter insisted. 'You did, sir. Not telling me is the same as lying! I had a right to know. You should have told me ages ago.'
'Yes,' Albus agreed, cutting off the boy before he could build a head of steam again. 'I probably should have. I meant to, before long. But I wanted to get you ready. I did not wish to spring such information on you, when you are still so young and –'
'I'm not that young!' Potter shouted over him. 'You keep saying that… all of you. But I've faced Voldemort three times now, and I've not been murdered yet!'
'By the skin of your teeth,' Severus muttered. Potter gave him a furious glare, but did not stop in his rant.
'I'm not completely useless!' he shouted, looking back to Albus. 'And others knew… Draco Malfoy,' he remembered, turning to stare down Severus again. 'He knew. He would, of course. His father was close to Voldemort wasn't he? He tried to goad me about it, first lesson back. That's why you got all cryptic with me afterward.'
Severus did not deign to respond.
'I would have told you, Harry,' the headmaster insisted again. 'This term… time has rather got away from us. But I promise you, I did not intend to keep you in the dark forever.'
'You told me about the Fidelius Charm,' Potter reminded him. Severus could see he was itching to jump from the sofa again, but the wolf kept a restraining hand on his shoulder. 'You told them to use it. You made him the Secret-Keeper!'
'I did not,' Albus disagreed quietly. 'I advised them to use its protection, yes. I even offered to be their Secret-Keeper myself. But the decision to use Black was not my own, nor did I perform the charm.'
'Who did, then?' Potter challenged.
'Your mother,' Albus said. His blue eyes were locked on the boy's, but Severus could feel the tiniest flicker in his direction anyway. His own grip on the back of the chair in front of him tightened a fraction.
Of course… Lily. She'd always been brilliant with Charms. And Black had used her… then he'd killed her.
'My… my mum?' Potter asked, looking dumbstruck.
'She was excellent at Charm work,' Albus affirmed, with the merest hint of a smile. 'I told you before, Harry, that there can be duplicates in both roles. The location of your cottage was hidden in Black, and in your father. The idea being that there would be someone on the outside guarding the secret, but James would be able to reveal it where necessary to allow certain visitors without ever divulging who the Secret-Keeper was. It would have been a perfect scheme, had Black's true nature not come to light.'
'But why did they need it at all?' Potter asked, looking confused. 'Why were they being hunted so badly, that wards weren't enough?
Severus felt the flicker of Albus' eyes again, even while he fought to keep his own face mask-like. And he heard, in the recesses of his occluded mind, the echo of their conversation the night Potter returned to the castle in July…
'He will ask questions, you realise, if I tell him about Black and the Fidelius charm. He will want to know why they needed such protection… What am I to do then, Severus, if Harry asks for the truth? Things are quite intertwined, once we pull back the veil on what happened that night.'
'He was after everyone, Harry,' Lupin said with a furrowed brow. But Potter was focused on the headmaster.
'Why?' he demanded.
Albus sighed. 'Remus is correct, Harry,' he hedged. 'Your parents… all of us that were involved in the fight against Voldemort… we were all targets.'
'He said he wanted me dead,' Potter reminded him in a high-pitched tone. 'In that chamber, with the stone… that's what he told me. Voldemort.'
Severus could tell he'd reached the crux of the issue now. The boy's face was scarlet with fury and fear… and Severus knew he wanted the headmaster to confirm what the Potions Master himself had snarled at Potter months ago: that it was not his fault… that his parents' deaths were at someone else's feet…
Lupin was looking between Potter and Albus in confusion. He, apparently, hadn't been privy to this bit of information before.
'Harry, your parents died because of Voldemort,' Albus assured him, addressing the plea while dodging the question. 'Voldemort, and Sirius Black's betrayal. It was not your –'
'I'm done with the lies!' Potter interrupted, shrugging off Lupin's slackened hold on his shoulder. He did not rise from his place on the sofa, but his hands gripped the edge of the cushion so tightly they were bloodless. The toes of his trainers barely skimmed the floor, but he looked much older than thirteen as he glared at the headmaster now… his magic – like Albus' own – almost palpable in a way that simultaneously impressed and terrified.
'Tell the truth!' the child bellowed.
It was harsh. A command. Potter's green eyes blazed as he threw the words at Dumbledore, and for a moment Severus could have sworn the glow of the fire gleamed scarlet in them.
Albus suddenly paled, as if the child had cursed him. Quite uncharacteristically, the headmaster's shields faltered. And, for just the briefest of heartbeats, Severus could read deep sadness… and perhaps a hint of fear.
Then the shields returned, though Albus's colour did not.
'Enough, Harry,' Dumbledore spoke. His voice was hardly above a whisper, but the boy calmed at once. Calmed in a way he certainly had not for Severus or Lupin tonight. The headmaster walked slowly over toward Potter's sofa, kneeling in front of him. The boy was breathing heavily, but he allowed the headmaster's touch on his knee.
Severus, meanwhile, was half-tempted to pull Albus upright again, or throw him into a chair. He looked drawn… even ill. The Potions Master glanced sideways at the wolf, but the other professor appeared not to have noticed these disconcerting signs. Lupin's focus was entirely on the Golden Boy.
'I have told you before, Harry, that you are not yet ready for all the information about what happened that night,' Albus said softly to Potter. 'And I stand by that statement now.' He held up a finger with the hand not holding the boy, before Potter could interrupt. 'But I shall not lie to you about it,' he assured him. 'If you give me a moment, I will tell you what I can.'
He waited, watching Potter closely. At last, the boy gave a small, short nod.
'We knew that Voldemort was after your family,' Albus told him. 'We'd known it for some time, but the situation became more and more dangerous as the months went on and you grew older. I suspected that someone on our side was passing information… but we did not know who.'
'How did you not know?' Potter asked. He wasn't shouting anymore, but his voice was pleading and desperate. 'You know almost everything, sir.'
'I have told you before, Harry, that I am far from omniscient,' Dumbledore said heavily. He looked older and wearier than ever. 'And as for why I did not know that Sirius Black was the traitor in our midst… it is a question I have asked myself countless times since your parents' deaths, I assure you. I had suspicions. I advised James and Lily to use the Fidelius Charm in part because of those suspicions… but even I did not dream that Sirius Black would be the one who betrayed them. It was almost as shocking as it was tragic.'
Severus bit his tongue against the retort he so longed to give. Lupin snuffled a bit on the sofa before rising to tidy the mess Potter had made of his mantel so that Potter would not watch him fall apart.
Disgusting.
'Even after the charm was performed, it seemed all was well for a time. Your parents, and you, spent several months under its protection without incident. Then came Hallowe'en night. I do not know whether Black told Voldemort the secret that very evening, or whether Voldemort had been plotting the attack for some time… though I rather suspect the latter. In any case, Sirius Black's allegiance was revealed with the attack on your family. He was tracked by Ministry wizards to Northern Ireland, where he was found in a Belfast street in an argument with Peter Pettigrew. The Ministry wizards moved in at once, but Black blew the street apart with a curse before they could subdue him. Peter was killed in the blast, as were a number of Muggle witnesses. Black was uninjured and taken into custody. He spent twelve years in Azkaban… before this July, of course.'
'You should have performed the spell,' Potter said quietly. 'You should have made my mum and dad use you, instead of him.'
Albus sighed. 'Our choices are always our own, Harry,' he said gently. 'We cannot force them on others. And the consequences of our choices are far too complex to predict. It is not James' fault for choosing Black as Secret-Keeper. It is not Lily's fault, for performing the charm. And it is certainly not your fault that your parents died that night, Harry. Not in the slightest.'
Potter brushed at his eyes. 'He was their friend,' he said dully.
'Yes,' Albus agreed in a whisper.
'He was my godfather.'
'Yes.' Albus repeated.
'And he betrayed us,' Potter said, quietly this time.
'Yes.'
'I… I just don't understand,' Potter admitted, looking at his lap. 'If he loved us… if he'd ever loved us… how could he do something like that?'
Albus did not reply but leaned forward, taking the boy in his arms. Potter buried his head in the old man's shoulder, his own quaking with quiet tears. Lupin, still by the hearth, was openly crying as well.
And Severus, despite his growing concern for Albus… felt an strong desire either to vomit or flee from the room. Only Potter's innocent query, still ringing in his head, kept him rooted to his spot.
If he loved us… how could he do something like that?
At last, the pair on the sofa broke apart. Dumbledore conjured a handkerchief and passed it to Potter to wipe his eyes. When he'd finished, the headmaster took each of Potter's hands in turn, healing the little cuts on the palms without a word.
'I'm still cross at you,' Potter told him in a small voice when the headmaster had finished.
'As is your right,' Dumbledore allowed, inclining his head.
'But… thank you, anyway, for giving me some answers,' Potter continued. 'And for… for being here, I guess.'
'Whenever you need me, Harry,' Dumbledore promised, lifting the boy's chin with one finger. 'There is nowhere more important for me to be.'
'It is past dinner hour,' Severus broke in, annoyed. 'If Potter has finished throwing his little tantrum, we ought to head down to the Great Hall.'
'Severus,' Lupin chastised, his voice still thick. Albus gave him a reproachful look, Potter glared, and Severus smirked back.
Well… he had done.
'We should be going,' Albus agreed with a wink for Potter. He released the boy's chin and made to stand from his knees.
But the headmaster swayed ominously as soon as he was upright, and Severus felt his heart leap to his throat.
'Albus,' Severus growled in alarm, lunging to steady the wizard by the elbow.
Potter, to his surprise, was nearly as fast to pop up and catch Dumbledore's opposite arm. All the boy's recalcitrance seemed momentarily set aside as he gazed at his mentor with deep concern.
'No need for fuss,' Albus said immediately, detaching himself gently from the boy's grasp and attempting to free his other arm from Severus'. 'I merely stood a touch too quickly, I dare say.'
Though Potter relented, Severus kept an iron grip on the man.
'What's the matter with you?' he demanded, his voice harsher than he'd meant it in his agitation and his unease. 'Are you ill?'
'Perfectly fine, I assure you,' the headmaster said, forcing Severus' hand to release him. 'Just a little tired.'
Severus was sure there was something more in it. In all the years he'd known Albus Dumbledore, he could count the times he'd seen him ill on one hand. The times he'd seen him 'tired' on perhaps less. And he'd never seen him falter on his feet before.
This was Potter's fault, somehow.
Potter… who was watching Severus and the headmaster with wide, wary green eyes.
'Do you want an Invigoration Draught?' Severus asked, still frowning. Lupin pushed a chair forward, but the headmaster waved him off.
'No, thank you,' he said. To both of them, Severus assumed. 'We all just need dinner, I expect.'
'I'm not hungry,' Potter piped up at once. His tone was far less insolent now, but no less definite.
Severus glowered. 'You should eat in your chambers, Albus, if you're so exhausted you cannot stand properly. And Potter,' he turned to scowl at the boy. 'You will be eating in the Great Hall with the rest of your classmates, unless you require a trip to the Hospital Wing.'
'No, sir,' the boy said immediately, looking horrified. 'I – I'll go down to dinner.'
'I'll take you,' Lupin offered, moving forward to guide Potter from the room. 'Severus?'
'I can find the Great Hall on my own, thank you,' Severus ground out.
Lupin shook his head, but pushed the boy toward the door. Potter was dragging his feet.
'Are… are you sure you're ok, Albus?' he asked meekly from the doorframe, looking back at the headmaster.
Dumbledore smiled at him. 'I am perfectly well, Harry. Don't worry,' he told him gently. 'You had better hurry, or you will miss supper.'
Potter gave a tentative half-smile, and allowed the wolf to lead him out.
Severus rounded on the headmaster the moment the door had shut.
'Take the potion, Albus,' he implored again, drawing a phial from his robes that he usually had on hand for the brat's lessons.
'I am fine, Severus, I assure you,' Albus repeated again, though he took the chair Lupin had pushed forward. 'It was a momentary show of age, nothing more.'
Severus ground his teeth. 'Please,' he said, shoving the draught forward.
The headmaster's eyes twinkled. 'You must be worried,' he noted, relenting at last as he took the phial from the Potions Master's outstretch hand. 'To ask so nicely.'
Severus rolled his eyes, but did not comment. Instead, he watched hawk-like until the old man had downed the last of the potion.
'Bleh, disgusting brew,' Albus commented, vanishing the empty phial with a shiver. 'Well,' he said, hopping to his feet, 'We had better be on our way as well. I've asked for pheasant tonight in celebration of the end of term, and I should hate if Hagrid and Argus have already finished it off before I have had the chance to sample.'
Severus was still concerned. He crossed his arms, not moving to follow. 'You are quite sure you're up to it?' he pressed, trying to discern Albus' state. 'I'm sure Minerva could see to the –'
'Relax, child,' the headmaster said. He turned, squeezing Severus clenched arm in comfort. The strength in the gesture reassured Severus… just a little. 'I am fine,' he promised again. 'And besides, if I absent myself from supper tonight, you can be sure Minerva will fuss the whole of the holiday.'
Severus was about to retort that, perhaps, that was not such a bad outcome… but Albus had already reached the door.
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Review Responses, Chapter 29:
Psitomer: Yay! So good to see you back :) And as a musical theatre child myself, I never think there's such a thing as a bad time for jazz hands. Seeing what you want to see and vengeance v. justice… both big themes of this story, and both things that Snape and Sirius struggle to reconcile with. I think there are times that Snape can see Lily in Harry – few, and far between… but they do flare up occasionally. Most of the time, however, he sees James. Or – far worse, for Snape – he sees bits of the woman he loved, in the face of the man he despised. I agree: the essay assignment was so underhanded and petty. But it goes back to the issue with tunnel vision, I suppose. At least Harry, showing a great deal of wisdom for him, in my opinion, recognises it for the low-blow it is. Glad you liked the Harry/Hermione bit. I think your analysis is spot-on – Hermione doesn't underestimate Harry or Ron's intelligence at all… she's exasperated that they don't always use the brains they were given. And the fit of rage… it's a pivotal moment for little Harry; the weight of disillusionment that tears away the remnants of childhood. Sirius… oh now, you know I can't give that one away! ;) I've already written the relevant sections, however. I think it plays out as it needs to, for the purposes of my story anyway. I suspect there will be an equal amount of thrilled readers and furious ones when we get there, but hopefully it'll be a fun journey either way.
Lol, I like the envisioning of a giant knitting project. Sadly, I am an appalling knitter on my very best day, so I doubt I'll be taking that one on. DIY is something my sister is mad about, actually. She always gifts us homemade things for Christmas. I'm not so talented… but I dabble with easier projects (lanterns and such). I'll try the Coconut oil hint though! Enjoy Chapter 30!
BlueWater5: Thank you for reviewing! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter. As to Remus… it's funny: although I think Remus sees it as he almost killed Snape, I rather think the real villain in that particular tale was Sirius (and perhaps Snape's own curiosity)… Remus couldn't really help his actions at the time. But I agree, I don't think he's really all that surprised at Snape's vindictiveness – he knows Snape hates him, and he knows he's suspicious of him. However, it's against Dumbledore's instruction… so that's something that's both irritating and a bit surprising I suppose. Hope you like Chapter 30!
Temerey: Thanks for your review! Very glad to hear you liked Chapter 29 so much. It's a bit turning point for Harry, and we'll see how that all plays out over the course of the next few chapters. I'll try to keep the updates speedy, and I hope you like Chapter 30!
Pia Athena BlackHeart: Thank you for your review! I'm sorry that it made you cry, but I'm very flattered that you were moved so much! Harry's emotional scenes are always hard on me too – I think I might also have been crying at the end of OOTP (both from the Albus/Harry scene and Sirius's death), so I relate. It's so lovely to hear that you like the stories, and I hope I can keep meeting expectations! I think you'll be happy with the timing on this next update… :) Enjoy Chapter 30!
Valkyrie-Sythe: Thanks for reviewing! Yes… Snape just bursts into the party, lol. Classic Snape, I suppose. Glad you are still enjoying the story, and hope you like the continuation!
Sevsnape: Thanks for your review! So glad you're liking the story. Yes… Albus definitely has his due as well, as will be explored this chapter. Poor Albus… he definitely deserves some anger too, but he's trying to balance an awful lot right now!
AECM: Thanks for reviewing! I'm very happy you're still loving it, and hope you had a great New Year as well!
Anyeshabaner: Thank you for your review! Yes, I think Remus deserves a bit of this too… particularly in light of his recent distancing tactics. Albus' reaction, and Minerva's, will definitely be explored as well. And Severus… haha, I don't know if it's 'rescuing,' but certainly you can count on Severus to barge in at the awkward moment with potions and semi-reasonable/semi-harsh advice! And Bill… so excited to be finally able to explore that storyline. It will be a fun ride, I'd wager. Enjoy Chapter 30!
MoonshineMadame: Thank you for reviewing! I love that you liked the chapter so much – as I too think it's quite a pivotal moment for Harry, and for Remus. Originally, I had titled Chapter 29 'The Betrayal,' so I found your analysis about Harry's reaction being particularly interesting because of who it is he overhears quite poignant. It's a significant part of his reaction, because he does feel that these people have been his family of late, and he can't believe his entire family would lie to him like this. It goes beyond being kept in the dark as a student – this is, to Harry, blood betrayal. And you're right – Harry's reaction (while completely relatable) is very teenager as well… screaming and ranting and pushing yourself to the point where you just don't care what happens next, because you're way off the cliff and you might as well keep falling. It always takes something a bit soft and surprising to break that chain… and here, it's Snape's quiet (and quite honest) admission about Lily's temper.
The wandless lesson was something I really wanted to visit as well, because we haven't seen a whole lot of Harry in lessons this term – they've mostly been summarised. I thought it was important to reveal his progress and have Snape opine on that, at least a bit. And I think Harry is resourceful… not that Snape was wrong, necessarily, to let him work out his own conclusion. Actually, in some ways, that was quite Dumbledore-like of Snape to do.
Apologies for the ending, I know it was cruel… but I haven't kept the wait too long, I hope! We also see some more of Bill this chapter, so I hope you enjoy that!
And thank you for the compliments! You should see my work table… haha, it's legitimately covered in maps, ledgers, character profiles and sketched arcs, earmarked books on mythology, bits and pieces about potions ingredients and wandlore, notes on the properties of wandless magic… basically just heaps of research and semi-OCD preparatory materials, all of which I hope I'll get to include at some point. James thinks I'm mad. But the truth is, if it's just on your computer, sometimes you forget to plot it out correctly.
Guest (First Guest Reviewer): Thanks for reviewing! Glad I could make your New Year a bit brighter :). It's so nice to hear that you're enjoying the story so much, and I hope you like Chapter 30!
Guest (Second Guest Reviewer): Thank you for your review! Very happy you're liking the story – and I do apologise for the ending. I promise we'll get the continuation now in Chapter 30. I tried to keep the update as speedy as I could!
Me again (Chapter 20 reviewer): Interesting analysis… and not incorrect in its assumptions. Of course, I won't comment on whether you are right to dismiss Peter or who are mysterious kidnapper and/or poisoner was… but it's good to be speculating. :)
StormOwlRage: Thank you for reviewing! I'm very glad to hear you've been enjoying the two stories so much, and very happy to see your message! They'll be at least seven in all, so I hope you continue to like the books as our journey moves forward. As to your query… oh yes, I can promise I will…. We have already started laying the groundwork for incorporating Grindelwald's 'Sight' (both in Part I and in Part II), as well as his manipulative nature, and I was quite excited to see it explored by JKR both in Fantastic Beasts and in subsequent comments. And that will definitely be playing out over the course of this series, in both present and past. There is some Grindelwald in this chapter and much to come – and the Grindelwald/Albus story should come to a head in Parts III and IV.
Me (Guest Reviewer, 3 Jan): Thank you for reviewing! Re-reads are an excellent idea… there's always bits and pieces hiding that might be important later… but I'm quite glad you are enjoying the story so much! Hope you like where we go next.