Seeing as Harry is no longer under the protection of the wards on Privet Drive, Albus is left with two new courses of actions: invoking protective magic so ancient that even his great-grandfather never dared whisper its name…and hunting and murdering Voldemort. Surprisingly, the second task is much less frustrating than the first. At least with the Horcruxes, he has a lead. With Grimmauld Place, however…
Remus finds him hexing the front door with rage. Remus stares. He says, "All right, why don't we go inside and have a nice cup of tea?"
"There is nothing 'nice' about this blasted neighborhood," Albus seethes, though he follows Remus inside. The entryway has been cleared out—it was the second thing that Remus, Sirius, and Harry had cleaned up after dealing with the bedroom situation—but the decor is still shit. Sirius seems to have taken on the philosophy of "chuck out everything I don't like" to heart and, of course, Remus is too nice to tell him otherwise and Harry is too young to care. Where does that leave Albus? In a poorly-decorated London townhouse, sipping tea while trying not to incinerate the entire neighborhood from the intensity of his ire.
Remus says, "You know, there's nothing wrong with asking for help."
Albus stares at him blankly. "I understand that you have the best intentions but there are probably less than a handful of people who can actually help me and they're either dead, evil, or my ex-boyfriend—or a mix of all three. I am not contacting any of them."
"Right," mutters Remus. "You know, I sometimes forget how insanely powerful you are."
"It's not that I'm powerful," says Albus, "it's just that I'm old and I had nothing better to do…"
"Oh—so what you're saying is that you have no social life."
Damn brat has gotten too cheeky ever since Albus stopped being his boss.
Sirius Black is sitting across from him. Albus does not like Sirius Black—not for any particular reason, just because Sirius's personality type is not the one Albus prefers to interact with.
He'd probably tolerate him a lot more if he'd stop interrupting him. Albus is currently in Grimmauld Place's sitting room, pouring a list of the possible hiding places Voldemort could have placed a Horcrux. It is not going well. Sirius bounds into the room and immediately gets way too close for Albus's preference.
Albus grits his teeth, ready to order him out as kindly as possible, when Sirius declares, "Harry's had a nightmare!"
Albus raises his eyebrows. "A nightmare," he repeats. Why the fuck is that Albus's problem?
Sirius looks wild-eyed. "It was a nightmare about Voldemort!"
"Considering the boy's parents were murdered by Voldemort in front of him and Voldemort has actively tried to kill him twice within the last three years, I'm not surprised."
"That's not what I—ugh!" He throws himself onto the sofa. The sofa dips tremendously under his wait. There is a reason Albus is sitting on the floor of the sitting room. He eyes the sofa, wondering if it will finally fall, but it holds up remarkably well. Sirius is unconcerned. "I'm very bad at explaining things."
"I haven't noticed," Albus says dryly.
Sirius scowls and then tries again. "He had a dream about Voldemort killing some old dude, but the dream was from the perspective of Voldemort!"
"Yeah," says a new voice, "but it was more than that."
Harry is standing in the doorway, arms crossed, looking supremely unimpressed. This seems to be a constant theme with Harry when he's interacting with adults other than Remus, Minerva, or Severus—and even Severus is on thin ice.
Albus finally stops, deciding that the Wool's Orphanage's outhouse is probably not hiding a Horcrux, and gives Harry his full attention. "Explain."
"The dream wasn't just from Voldemort's point of view…it was like I was Voldemort. I was sitting in a chair talking to some weird, disheveled man, and ordering the old man to get murdered by the Killing Curse."
Albus says, "That certainly sounds alarming. Is this a repeating dream?"
"No, no, it just happened this once."
"Right," says Albus. Then, delicately, "Harry…perhaps you'd benefit from a Dreamless Sleep potion."
Harry stares. He says, "You think it was just a dream."
Albus says, "Listen—dream-sharing is very real but it also takes a great deal of power to accomplish. It's not the kind of thing that can happen by accident and it's certainly not something Voldemort could do while as weak as he is. In all likelihood, this is nothing bizarre or magical." He pauses. Then, "Also…how open are you to…counseling?"
"Counseling?"
"Yes. It's just that you've been through quite a bit and Remus and I think—"
"Remus?" demands Sirius, cutting in. "He didn't talk to me about this!"
"It was an off-handed remark that he made. Neither of us thought much of it at the time but now I am beginning to see the potential benefits…"
"You want to send me to a shrink," Harry says slowly, "because I'm dreaming of being Voldemort."
"Well, that's far from the only reason but I admit this is a catalyst."
Harry purses his lips. "I want to be upset but I also can't think of a reason to disagree. Let me think about it."
"Of course."
When Harry leaves, Sirius mutters, "'Let me think about it,' he says. Since when are fourteen-year-olds so mature?"
"Fourteen-year-olds have always been mature," Albus says dismissively and picking his list back up, scowling at the crossed off entry for 'outhouse'. "I was fourteen when I lobbied my first piece of legislation through the Wizengamot."
"Was this before or after you attempted to incite an insurrection?"
"After," says Albus. "The insurrection was just the wild fantasies of a young boy…"
"Right," says Sirius. "You know, you're really hard to talk to."
"Likewise."
"I have officially taken the hint. I am leaving. Good day."
Thank Merlin.
Apparently, Wool's Orphanage has been burned down. Built on its foundations is Sunshine Children's Daycare and Albus stares at it for a very long time before a suspicious old lady shoos him off.
He eventually gets some coffee from a cafe a few blocks down and sits on a metal bench outside, pondering the existential irony that is opening a daycare on the decaying corpse of an orphanage. His mood brightens slightly when a young waitress compliments his outfit—a bright green and purple muggle suit, because he means business—and he eventually pulls out his list and begins crossing off the entire section dedicated to the orphanage.
The next item on the list is Hogwarts itself, but Albus will have all the time in the world to search Hogwarts during the school year. The summer is when he's free to travel around a bit more so he skips Hogwarts for the moment.
Perhaps Little Hangleton? Albus is reasonably sure that Voldemort is somehow related to Morfin Gaunt, who is currently rotting in Azkaban for the murders of an entire family—the Riddle family, no less. In fact, one of the members had been named Tom Riddle and Morfin's father was named Marvolo.
Incidentally, Marvolo Gaunt had also been carted off to Azkaban for heinous crimes against muggles.
What a charming family this is.
With this in mind, Albus decides to call it a day—he's had enough revelations for one afternoon.
"I want to go to the Quidditch World Cup," Harry announces at his bi-weekly dinner at Hogwarts.
Albus, who had been trying to enjoy his (spiked) orange juice, freezes. "What?" he demands.
Severus, who had also been trying to enjoy his drink (straight up wine because he refuses to keep up appearances like Albus), hisses, "Absolutely not!"
Harry scowls. "Listen, I asked Sirius, and he said to ask Remus, and he said to ask you two. Here's the thing, though—I'm not asking. I am going to the World Cup. Ron and his family invited me. I have been cooped up in a house with a bunch of idiotic adults and petty house-elves and half-animate portraits and I refuse to spend my entire summer like this. I have nearly made it two months here and I have not complained once. I am going to the World Cup."
"Have you forgotten that you're literally on the hit list of a genocidal dark lord?" Severus demands. "Albus, say something!"
"That sounds like a very bad idea," Albus agrees.
Harry glares at him. "It's the World Cup! The Minister for Magic will be there! And several other state sovereigns! You've been messing around with your weird ancient magic all summer and you still haven't succeeded—I bet that stadium will be better-protected than Grimmauld Place!"
Severus says, "That 'weird ancient magic' is not the only protection meant for Grimmauld Place! Albus has layered several other wards, more powerful than you could possibly imagine!"
"Are you going to the World Cup?" demands Harry, gaze zeroing in on him.
"N-No!" sputters Severus. "And that's beside the point, Potter!"
"I bet the only reason you're not going is because you can't afford tickets," Harry says offhandedly. "You're just as much of a Quidditch fiend as I am and everyone knows it. I see the look in your eyes during games. You're not half as subtle as you think you are."
"I literally deceived the Dark Lord!"
"Small potatoes."
"This is insane," Severus says to Albus. He turns back to Harry. "You're insane."
"Like you're any better. Come on—I bet Dumbledore got invited. He could chaperone me."
"I have better things to be doing than chaperoning a child at a Quidditch match," says Albus.
Harry raises an eyebrow, waiting. Albus stares him back down. Nothing is said between them for a good while. Finally, Albus says, "All right, I don't have other plans—but I could!"
"Not if we solidify this one. Come on, we'll have a great time! You can make nice with the Minister."
"I hate the Minister."
"I know! It'll be good fun!"
Albus does not want to go to the World Cup. In fact, he does not much like Quidditch at all, an opinion he keeps to himself because every time he voices it someone stares at him as if he'd murdered a small child. Severus, meanwhile, is clenching his fork tightly in his hand, jaw tense.
Severus says, "Albus, are you really allowing this?"
"I think I am," says Albus, a bit dazed.
Severus's knuckles go white. "Then you have tickets to the World Cup?"
"Of course. Cornelius Fudge sent them to me for free."
Severus is silent for several beats. Then, meekly, "Do you happen to have an extra?"
Oh.
Oh.
"I'll mail it to you at the soonest opportunity."
For the first time in forever, something close to joy flits over Severus's face. It's quite nice. Perhaps Albus should be kinder to him.
…Nah.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck—
There are Death Eaters marching on the campgrounds around the stadium. Luckily Severus left the moment the final was over, unwilling to play nice with various politicians or the assorted Weasleys, so he's not subjected to the supremely awkward position of standing against his apparent-allies.
Albus, meanwhile, storms out of his meeting with Terracotta Boot and glares down at the terrorists setting fire to tents.
The terrorists notice. There are a few moments of silence before they all apparate away.
Ah, the luxuries of being widely feared.
"I knew this would happen!" Severus rages. "I knew it! But would you listen to me? No! You just let Potter march to his doom!"
"It was hardly his doom," Albus says dryly. "There was only a thousand galleons worth of property damage."
"And fear-mongering! They could have been planning to do anything until you showed up!"
"But I did show up," Albus reminds him.
Severus scowls fiercely. "You're completely incompetent! I'll keep Potter safe myself if I have to!"
"Have fun with that," Albus says.
Cornelius Fudge sends him a letter. Albus nearly burns it on sight but decides to play nice since the man had given him free tickets to a highly sought-after event. He opens it.
After he finishes reading it, he immediately sets it on fire.
This is the kind of thing you have to tell the Headmaster of Hogwarts before negotiating to enter a school into a death tournament under an irrevocable contract—
Albus pays a visit to Little Hangleton four days before the school year starts. He decides to approach the Riddle house first and he asks a local for directions. The local in question is a strapping young man at the local pub.
The young man—John Johnson, poor boy—says, "Oh, that place."
Albus asks, "What's wrong with it? Any strange occurrences?"
John Johnson says, "Well, the entire Riddle family got murdered there, so I'd say so."
Right. Fair enough. "Anything else?"
"Well, no one goes around there much other than the rowdy neighborhood children—you know how they are. They usually get chased off by the groundskeeper…or used to get chased off, anyway. Poor man died a week or two ago…of natural causes, as far as anyone can tell. Not a single health issue, it's like he was alive one moment and dead the next. I suppose that's what it's always like, though."
That's concerning. Albus says, "Could you point me in the direction of this place? I'm a writer, you see, and I enjoy such intrigues as this."
And John Johnson says, "Sure, but don't go inside—the building is abandoned but still owned by some rich folks for tax reasons."
Hm.
Albus comes upon the Riddle house and immediately recognizes the anti-muggle wards. The Riddles were a thoroughly muggle family, though, so the wards are very suspect. Albus trudges onward, now a bit more weary. His wand is clutched tight in his hand.
The front door is locked. No number of Alohamoras will make it open. When he lets his senses feel out the house, he feels someone inside. Ah, so it's inhabited. Albus gets the hell out of dodge, knowing there will be no Horcrux discovery when someone is guarding it.
Scowling, Albus heads back to the pub. John Johnson is still there. Albus says, "Do you know where the Gaunt house is?"
John Johnson blinks. "Gaunt? As in the man who killed the Riddles? Sure I do. It's just I wouldn't call it a 'house' so much as a 'hovel'. Very off-putting, it is. Literally falling apart. I think the murderer's father died there a while ago…over fifty years, at least. No one's lived there since." And then he dutifully gives directions.
The Gaunt hovel is not protected by wards and is, blissfully, unoccupied. It takes him a while to dig through the debris but eventually he comes across something that makes his breath stutter.
It's a ring. It has a mark on it. The mark is of the fucking Deathly Hallows.
For Albus, who had always associated the mark with Gellert Grindelwald, it's only natural to assume that it's the Horcrux. He grasps it delicately and holds it up, inspecting it. The closer he gets, the more sure he is that the gem is, in fact, the Resurrection Stone.
Albus wonders why the fuck Voldemort just left the Resurrection Stone lying around his mother's old house. Surely he knows of its importance…right?
Either way, Albus stares at it in awe.
Then, the ring says, Hello.
Albus, who does not fuck around with talking magical objects, immediately shoves it into his pocket and escapes that awful town. Finally—success.
"It's cursed," Severus says heavily.
"Even I could have told you that," Sirius grumbles. "The thing reeks of dark magic. Did you touch it? You touched it. You definitely shouldn't have done that. It should be fine, though—our cabinet is more cursed than this thing." He proceeds to nearly reach out and touch it, only for Severus to swat his hand away.
Severus says to Albus, "Why did this one have to stay awake? At least Lupin is tolerable and Potter seems to like Black enough to be read a bedtime story by him."
Albus responds, "It had to be Remus because Sirius is, in Harry's own words, 'a little bitch' and gives in too easily to all of Harry's demands. If he were getting Harry to sleep, the boy would have already charmed his way out of bedtime and would be listening in from the stairway."
Sirius grumbles but doesn't disagree.
Severus, for his part, nearly smiles at the "little bitch" comment. Perhaps Severus and Harry will finally bond over the one thing they have in common—relentlessly making jokes at Sirius Black's expense. Albus must say, he enjoys it quite a bit.
Sirius ignores them and continues, "I must say, it definitely isn't talking to me, though. What about you, Snivelly?"
Severus aims a hex in his direction and Sirius yelps. He doesn't take his eyes off of Albus as he says, "I do not hear it speaking, either."
"Well," says Albus, "that's concerning."
It's nothing, says the ring to Albus.
"Shut up," says Albus to the ring.
Severus and Sirius exchange a mildly concerned look. Severus says, "Albus, I understand that you've been under a considerable amount of stress for a while now…"
"I'm fine," insists Albus.
The ring says, No, really, you do seem very tense. Perhaps some chamomile?
"Absolutely not!"
"Ookay," says Sirius, using a handkerchief to swipe the ring up, "I am taking this into custody for the time being. Feel free to come back to it once you're ready to destroy it."
No! screeches the ring. Please! I have a wife and children!
"You're a ring, you can't have a wife or children!"
I would be dearly missed if I was gone!
"I'm sure you would be but that is not my problem."
Just then, there's a pitter-patter of footsteps walking down the stairway. Harry says, "Remus finally fell asleep. I guess even he thinks a muggle textbook on sediments is boring. Anyway, why are we threatening someone with a wife and children?"
Oh fuck, says the ring, there's another one! Where do you all keep coming from?
Harry stares. "That," he says faintly, "is a talking ring."
Albus slouches into his seat. "Oh thank Merlin you hear it, too."
I don't want to die!
"Do shut up."
It's not until two days before the school year starts that Severus corners him. Harry has just left his bi-weekly Hogwarts lunch and Albus is reasonably sure that he can destroy the Horcrux with some basilisk venom—which shouldn't be too hard to access considering there is currently a basilisk corpse in Hogwarts and Albus has a Parselmouth on hand—but his ruminations are rudely interrupted by Severus asking, "So, who's the new Defense professor?"
Albus stares. "What?"
"The Defense professor," Severus says slowly. "I'm assuming that you have one lined up since you haven't even held interviews this year."
Albus stares at him in horror. Severus says, "You do have a Defense professor lined up, right?"
"Oh no," whispers Albus.
Why is this his life?
After once again fighting off Severus's attempts to become the Defense professor (over Albus's dead body!), Albus does the only thing he can think of: he begins to ask literally everyone he knows who would qualify. Remus turns him down soundly and all but kicks him out of Grimmauld Place—which is rude, by the way—and none of the other previous professors are the kind of people Albus wants back in his school.
When he exhausts the list of people with masteries in Defense, he goes to the next best thing: Aurors, professional Dark Arts fighters.
Kingsley Shacklebolt laughs in his face. Nymphadora Tonks rolls her eyes and says she's not stepping a single foot back into Hogwarts unless she has to. Gawain Robards just gives him a haggard, exhausted look before downing an entire cup of coffee in a single gulp. That last one sufficiently intimidates him away from contacting any other active Aurors.
And then he finds Alastor Moody. Alastor is limping along Diagon Alley, eyes flitting around wildly, when Albus grasps his arm and drags him into the nearest cafe. "Alastor!" he says brightly. "How wonderful to see you again!"
Alastor just stares at him.
Albus, undeterred, continues, "I was just wondering—how would you like to be the Defense professor at Hogwarts this year? Think about it: guaranteed wage stability and year-long board. An opportunity to shape the youth. Hogwarts meals for free. It's quite a deal, you know."
Alastor says, "I am going to end the year half-dead."
Albus winces. "If there's anyone I'm sure won't end up half-dead, it's you," he offers.
Alastor snorts. "Flattery will get you nowhere. Anyway, isn't it a bit late to still be searching for a professor?"
"It slipped my mind."
Alastor considers him, then his gaze goes distant. He says, "Fine."
Albus perks up. "Really?"
"I'm a man of my word. Besides, at least I'll be able to instill something of use in the next generation before I die in agony."
"The last professor didn't die in agony," Albus points out.
"And, correct me if I'm wrong, the one from two years ago did. And the one from last year is a permanent resident of St. Mungos."
Albus sighs. "Let me just get you the contract."
"Yes, you do that."
Remus stares at the ring. The ring stares back at him. Remus says to Albus, "Get that thing out of my house."
"Now, Remus—"
"I can smell the death and decay on it. Either get it out of my house or ward it so thoroughly that a werewolf won't be able to pick up its scent." And then he leaves the room.
Albus glares down at the right. "You couldn't stop smelling for a single moment?"
It's not like I can use deodorant or something, the ring responds petulantly.
Albus sighs and slips it into his coat pocket.
"Do you have all your books?" asks Severus.
"Of course he has his books," says Sirius. "What, you think we'd send him unprepared?"
"Sirius, Severus…" Remus says warningly. Too late—Sirius and Severus are already frothing with rage and yelling insults across the entryway. Remus sighs and stares off into the middle distance.
Harry, meanwhile, is ignoring all this and instead going through his materials list, doing one last check of all his supplies, just as he had done yesterday. "You know," he tells Albus while Sirius and Severus engage in a fist-fight and Remus leaves the room altogether, "the Defense textbook this year seems a bit…interesting."
"I admit it's more intense than usual," says Albus, "but the Defense professor is also more intense than usual. It's more his style."
"Well, as long as we're learning something useful, I guess," says Harry. He looks back over at the other adults in the room. "Where'd Remus go? I need someone to take me to King's Cross."
"I could," offers Albus.
Harry scoffs. "I would not trust you within touching distance of me." He pauses. "Please take two steps back."
Albus obediently does so and is rewarded with a cheeky grin. What a brat.
Alastor is late. The other professors keep shooting looks to the empty seat at the High Table and then looking questioningly at Albus. Severus just looks accusing—he probably still thinks that Albus hasn't hired a new Defense professor. Albus would defend himself but the Great Hall is filled with students and he refuses to show weakness in front of literal teenagers.
When the Sorting is over, he rises to a stand and makes his announcements, ready to feel the vicious glares of everyone in the room.
First: there will be no Quidditch. Immediate screeching. Fuck them. The emotion throws off the weather charm and Alastor finally arrives in time to spell it back to normal. Brilliant.
Second: the new Defense professor is Alastor Moody, former Auror, current paranoid bastard. No one seems to know what to make of him except Severus, who had been on the wrong side of his wand during the end of the war and thus glares fiercely at Albus's back. Fuck him—Albus did the best he could.
Third: "It is my very great pleasure"—lies lies lies—"to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year." Only because Albus could not figure out how to get it moved without accidentally leveling the school with the magical repercussions.
The students burst into whispers. The professors all stare at him accusingly. Albus keeps smiling.
Everything is fine.
Albus squints at the Goblet. He looks at Cornelius. "And you're absolutely sure that no underage children can put their names in this? That no one of age can place an underage child's name in it? Or that no underage child can use an aging potion to get their way?"
"Of course," says Cornelius imperiously. "And besides, the Goblet chooses the most fit candidate for the Tournament, so there's no reason an underage wizard should be picked at all."
Albus says, "I'm sure you'd understand if I asked to double-check—"
"It's been checked over by the very best charms experts in Wizarding Britain," sniffs Cornelius.
Albus debates whether or not to push on it. The Goblet glows menacingly, reminding him once again that the continued structural safety of his school is at the mercy of the magical contract associated with it. He eventually says, "Of course, Cornelius. My apologies."
If Cornelius is wrong then Albus will personally track him down and murder him. He makes sure his stare communicates that. From the way Cornelius pales, it does.
Wonderful.
"He turned a student into a ferret!" Minerva screeches.
Severus yells, "Either you fire him or I tell Lucius Malfoy. Do you want Lucius Malfoy to sue you? Because he will and he will sue you into the ground."
Albus, face in his hands, says, "I literally have no other applicants for the position—other than Severus, who will not be getting it. His contract states that I cannot fire him unless he does something heinously illegal. Oddly enough, non consensual human transfiguration is not even mildly illegal. I have no grounds to fire him on." He wants to, though. He really, really wants to.
Severus says, "Then Lucius will hear about this!"
Thank fuck—maybe Lucius Malfoy can force his hand. That counts as extenuating circumstances enough to get Alastor fired.
This was such an awful idea—maybe he should have gone back and begged Kingsley. Kingsley wouldn't do this to him.
"He's not pressing charges," Severus says blankly.
Albus pauses, glancing upward. "What?"
"Lucius Malfoy isn't pressing charges against the man who transfigured his son into a ferret."
"Why?" Albus asks in horror.
"I don't know," Severus moans. "He wouldn't explain himself! He looked mad about it but said he wouldn't do a thing!"
"If he doesn't press charges then I can't fire Alastor!" Albus comes to a stand and begins pacing the room. "We need to think of something. Lucius Malfoy is the only one with enough power to invoke the extenuating circumstances clause of the teaching contract."
"Why can't you just throw him out? Is adhering to the contract necessary?"
"The magical contract that I created specifically to ensure we would have a Defense professor for the longest amount of time possible?" Albus demands. "Yes, we must adhere to it if we want functioning organs!"
"You're insane!" Severus accuses. "This is insane!"
Albus ignores him. He needs to figure out how to back Lucius into a corner.
Harry barges into his office with a scowl. "Reese's Pieces," he says. "Muggle brand. They're not even produced in the UK. I was standing out there guessing candies like an idiot for half an hour. Reese's Pieces!"
"I thought you'd give up," Albus offers by way of explanation.
"I don't give up on things," Harry sniffs. He pauses. Sniffs again. "Are you drinking brandy on a school day?"
"You know, I'm concerned by the fact that you're familiar enough with it to know it by smell."
Harry rolls his eyes. "You're an awful Headmaster."
"Thanks, I try. Now, why are you here?"
Harry glares at him before walking over and dropping into the seat across from him. "Something's wrong with Malfoy," he explains.
"Well, he did get turned into a ferret and I suspect that was traumatizing."
"No, no, there was something wrong with him even before that. He's been acting shifty ever since the beginning of the year. He hated Professor Moody even before the ferret incident. Something's off."
Albus sighs. "Harry, while I trust you, there is also the matter that this is highly subjective. And even if his behavior has changed, it's not like I can do anything about it. None of it is necessarily alarming."
"All right then," Harry says lightly. "I'll come back every now and then to give you updates, though. When everything falls apart and Malfoy ends up either evil or dead, I'll say I told you so."
"You seem very sure about this."
"I'm very sure about everything I do. I don't make decisions lightly."
What a light-hearted young man.
"Anyway," says Harry, "second order of business—what is going on with Professor Moody?"
Albus mutters, "What isn't going on with him…"
"No, no—you don't get to say that when you signed off on him demonstrating the Unforgivables to a class of children."
Albus pauses. Stares. "What?"
So. Alastor Moody has been using Unforgivables on spiders and terrorizing the children of war veterans. He got Albus's permission because Albus had been lulled into a sense of security by Remus last year and ever since has not been properly reading through the lesson plans before signing off on them.
Astoundingly enough, Unforgivables are forgivable as long as you don't use them on humans. In other words: Albus still can't fire him.
What the absolute fuck—
The ring is burning a hole in his robe pocket—a metaphorical one, sure, but a hole nonetheless. Sirius had campaigned that he keep it safe, disturbed by the knowledge that it's talking to both Albus and Harry, and even Severus—in a rare show of comradery with the other man—agreed. Remus staunchly refused to allow it to remain in Grimmauld Place longer than necessary, however, claiming that he could simply tell it did not belong on this plane of existence at all.
In the end, it was Harry who made the decision of who it went to. "I mean," said Harry, "what if it starts talking to someone at Grimmauld Place? Dumbledore is a super powerful wizard and I am not an idiot. If one of you got caught up with it, though, we'd all be screwed."
And so, Albus acquired the ring. It whispers to him sometimes, promising him power—the power to save others, the power to fix the world. Once, Albus nearly slipped it onto his finger, entranced.
Then, the voice in his head—which sounds remarkably like Aberforth—screeched, "Don't you dare, you fucking moron!"
So, Albus's finger remains ringless and everyone is all the better for it.
He takes Harry down to the Chamber of Secrets, eventually. It's very creepy and, quite frankly, cringe-inducing—honestly, Salazar Slytherin had no eye for decor whatsoever—but Harry barges through the space without a care in the world. Fair enough.
The basilisk's corpse is…not looking great. Since it's so large, its body takes longer to decay, so the entire chamber reeks of rotting flesh. Its bones are practically pristine compared to the rest of the creature and so Albus harvests several basilisk fangs with minimal hassle.
"I can help," Harry offers.
Albus scoffs. "I am not letting you touch a basilisk fang."
"But I've done it before! It was fine!"
"The basilisk bit you and the only reason you survived is because Fawkes cried on you!"
Harry rolls his eyes but gives in. Albus ends up having to spell a few hundred balloons to fly them out of the damn Chamber but, all in all, it was a rather successful trip.
When they arrive back at his office, though, both Albus and Harry are apprehensive to actually go through with the deed. The sound of the ring begging for mercy and tearfully exclaiming that it doesn't want to die is…scarring.
"Let's try it later," Harry says haltingly. "Like…on a long weekend or something. In case something goes wrong and we need to recuperate."
"Right," replies Albus, relieved to have an excuse to put it off. "Let's do that."
Thank god—he really doesn't want to hear about how much the ring's wife and children will miss it again.
Cornelius is not attending the unveiling of the Goblet of Fire because he is a little bitch. That's fine—Albus can find him in whatever corner he's run off to hide in.
It's Halloween. Albus has no idea who decided that the names will be announced on Halloween but he already knows that shit is going to go sideways. It starts simple enough—Viktor Krum gets chosen for Durmstrang. Large, burly, man—professional Quidditch player. He'll do well. Then there's Fleur Delacour from Beauxbatons—small but well-built, undeniably athletic. She'll go far. From Hogwarts, Cedric Diggory—agile, intelligent, charming. The charisma of a champion, if Albus does say so himself.
This is fine. He almost thinks that everything is going all right until the Goblet of Fire flares for a fourth time which should be physically impossible—
He snatches the piece of paper. Stares at the words. He only vaguely hears his voice as he announces, "Harry Potter." His head snaps up. "Harry Potter!"
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck—
Olympe Maxime and Igor Karkaroff have the audacity to claim that Albus is attempting to cheat. In a death tournament. That he didn't want to participate in in the first place.
"How dare you," seethes Albus, composure cracking.
Olympe, absolute wretch that she is, declares, "I will not allow this injustice to—"
Albus cuts her off, not interested in whatever she has to say. He turns to Harry and demands, "Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?"
"No!" yells Harry.
"And you didn't get someone else to do it?"
"No!"
"And you—"
"If I said I didn't do it then I didn't do it!" Harry snarls.
Albus deflates and puts his arms up placatingly. "My apologies," Albus says. "It's simply that putting your name in the Goblet of Fire while underage is exactly the kind of thing I would do at your age."
"I'm nothing like you!"
"Yes, yes, I know—you haven't even deposed your first Minister yet." He then thinks of Cornelius, who will soon be very deposed and very dead. "We'll get to the bottom of this, anyway."
"It could be a murder attempt," offers Alastor.
Albus shoots Alastor a glare. His paranoia is not appreciated and, anyway, Alastor casting-Avadas-in-Hogwarts Moody does not get to talk about murder attempts. He is promptly ignored.
Bartemius Crouch Sr. steps in to make his—quite frankly useless—opinion known. He says, "We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament."
"Okay, but how tight are those rules?" asks Harry. "Like…are there no loopholes whatsoever?"
"Of course not! You must compete in the tournament—that's just how it is!"
"No," says Albus. "No…the First Task will not happen for a while yet. I'll think of something." He looks at Harry fiercely. "We'll figure something out."
"You better," Harry threatens, looking generally incensed at this entire situation.
Albus takes a deep breath. "Now, either the Goblet was flawed or tampered with. If it was flawed, that's one thing…but if it was tampered with and the person who tampered with it is in this room…" He glares at the room at large. "If that person is here, I want you to know that your petty drama nearly blew up the school. You're luckier than you could ever hope to appreciate…we all are. It's a miracle anyone in the castle is still alive. Fuck you."
He promptly grabs Harry's arm and drags him out of the room.
He needs to fix this, and he needs to fix this now.
Turns out, the contract is very immune to loopholes.
Albus, Harry, and Remus (Harry's sole pseudo-father-figure who can sit still for long enough to read through legal contracts) are all collapsed at a table that Albus has erected in his office. Remus has his head in his hands. Harry is staring at the ceiling. Albus is clutching a copy of the contract to his chest.
He says, "Harry…"
"Yes?" murmurs Harry.
"How attached are you to your lungs?"
"Very!"
"What about your brain stem?"
"I can't live without it!"
"Perhaps your liver?"
"Dumbledore!"
Albus sighs. "Fine," he murmurs. "I can't think of anything else."
"What if we got a lawyer?" asks Harry. "Wizards have lawyers, right?"
Albus frowns. "Harry, I am a lawyer. I've been awarded the greatest defense and greatest prosecutor awards by the Ministry every year for the last two decades." Except for 1977, when Annalise Bubbles received both before promptly fucking off to the United States. Good riddance.
Harry squints at him. "Hold on—you're a Headmaster, a lawyer, a magical researcher, an expert duellist, and head of the Wizengamot and ICW." He then very conspicuously examines Albus's robes. He's very proud of today's selection—bright pink, to reflect how serious the occasion is. Harry's eyes widen. "Oh my god," he whispers, "you're Barbie."
"Who is Barbie?" asks Albus, bewildered.
"She wears pink and has like a hundred different jobs," Harry explains.
"Oh," says Albus. "Good for her."
"Please shut up," Remus moans, speaking his first words in a solid hour.
Harry, who actually listens to Remus for reasons Albus does not comprehend, obediently quiets down. Remus sighs and says, "I'm sorry, that was harsh. But is there really nothing we can do?" He sounds absolutely heartbroken, looking straight at Harry with undisclosed sorrow.
Albus says, "I've tried. I'll keep trying. For now, though…all we can do is go with the flow."
Perhaps he can devise a spell to regenerate lost organs…
"Harry wrote," Sirius says dangerously.
Albus stares at the man. "How did you get into my office?"
"I Flooed."
"The Floo is warded."
Sirius scoffs. Albus is suddenly reminded that, as idiotic as the man acts, Sirius Black is quite possibly one of the most brilliant students to ever grace the halls of Hogwarts. Albus groans and says, "All right, fine—you've made your point. Now why are you here?"
"Harry wrote," Sirius repeats, "and he had some interesting things to say."
Oh dear. "Such as?"
"Well, he talked about Alastor Moody's little classes."
Hm—in between all the drama of the Triwizard Tournament, Albus had completely forgotten about the man. He needs to get back on that. On that note: "I currently do not have the means to fire him."
"What do you mean, you don't have the means?"
"The contract is…very thorough. As he has yet to do anything illegal, we're stuck with him." And even if he does fire him, Albus doesn't exactly have a replacement lined up.
"Not illegal?" demands Sirius. "You call casting the Imperius on students not illegal?"
"He's been what?"
"The Imperius curse! On students! On Harry! How do you not know this?"
Albus has been locked up in his office desperately trying to figure out how to create human organs that can safely be placed into Harry's body without causing massive bodily harm. Turns out, it's very hard—Transfiguration is out of the question because the organ would eventually turn back into its original form, and no one has yet discovered how to truly create life with magic. Albus is getting thwarted at every turn and it's so fucking infuriating—
Imperius. On students. On Harry. What the fuck is going on?
"He wasn't like this before," Albus moans, putting his face in his hands. "Sure, he was paranoid, but he was reasonable! He seemed like such a nice man when I offered the position."
Sirius says, "I have to admit, I was confused, too. Moody never really struck me as the type to mess around with Unforgivables."
"On the bright side," Albus says dully, "this might be enough to allow me to fire him…" He pauses. "Say, how would you like to take over the Defense Against the Darks Arts post?"
Sirius snorts. "Yeah, no. That's a you problem, I'm afraid."
Ugh.
"So, yeah, I'm having a bit of a shit time," Harry says, finishing his painfully detailed account of everything that has gone wrong in his life.
"I just asked how your day was going," Albus mutters.
"It's shit," Harry offers.
"I figured. Anything else you want to update me on?" Albus asks sarcastically.
"Yes, actually—you know the badges? The Potter Stinks ones?"
"The what?"
"Oh, um, here." Harry begins to rummage through his pockets, muttering wildly to himself, before yelling 'A-ha!' and presenting a badge to Albus. "This thing! It usually says something about supporting Cedric Diggory or—more regularly, as far as I can tell—about how I stink, but whenever I try to disable them, they just keep making worse and worse insults. I'd be offended but it's kind of brilliant. Do you know how to enchant one of these?"
Albus, who is just trying to fill out the paperwork to fire Alastor in peace, says, "I feel like this question would be more suited for Professor Flitwick."
"Yes, well, I did go to him initially but he just stared at me so sadly and kept apologizing and vowing to figure out who did it, which is all well and good but not what I asked for. Then I went to Hermione and she seemed very sad at first but then she actually started looking into it and…well, she's barricaded herself in the library and hasn't come out yet. I figured my next best option would be you."
"Give it here," says Albus.
Harry hands the badge over and Albus begins to examine the charms on it. They're pretty clever, actually—far from unbreakable but certainly enough to have even a Fifth Year scratching their heads. Of course Hermione is spending so long on it.
Albus explains all of this, and then explains the enchantments. Harry listens in rapt attention as Albus finishes, "Very complex, indeed. Though I don't think I'd ever befriend the individual that made these, I would love to have a purely intellectual conversation…perhaps provide a bit of extra material. This kind of creativity must be cultivated, you see."
"Well," says Harry dryly, "whoever they are, they sure seem to be cultivating it, all right."
It's right at that moment that Severus walks into the office. He says, "Albus, Lucius is—oh, are those Draco's badges?"
"Draco's badges?" Albus asks.
"Yes," says Severus. "Quite clever and witty, if you ask me. He stayed up all night making them, if I remember correctly."
"Of course it's Malfoy," Harry mutters. "It's always Malfoy—or Voldemort, I guess, but I don't think this is his style…"
Albus says, "Don't you think this is a bit mean-spirited, Severus?"
Severus snorts. "Please, it's hilarious. Not Draco's fault that Potter can't take a joke."
"Wow," says Harry, displaying a badge that says 'RIP HARRY POTTER, 1980–1994', "so funny."
"I know, right?" says Severus, delighted.
Harry sighs and puts the badge back down.
Albus shakes his head. "This is beside the point. Severus, you were saying something about Lucius?"
Severus nods. "Yes. He's outside."
Albus pauses. "What do you mean?"
"He's waiting outside your office. Urgently needs to speak with you, from what I understand. Flooed right into my private chambers screaming bloody murder—something about babies and the Dark Lord and Barty Crouch?"
Albus says, "Well, this sounds important."
Lucius Malfoy walks into his office looking haggard and weary and in desperate need of some coffee. He sits across from Albus heavily, staring into the middle distance. Albus waits for him to say something. Lucius does not, seemingly too lost in thought. Albus clears his throat. Lucius startles, looking very similar to a frightened mouse. "Oh," he says.
"Oh," says Albus, mocking.
Lucius doesn't even pick up on it. Instead, he runs his hand through his hair and says, "You can't fire Alastor Moody."
Albus raises an eyebrow. "Why not?" There is also the question of how Lucius managed to find out about Albus's plans but that's a question for another time.
Lucius, for his part, insists, "You can't."
Albus gestures to the paperwork in front of him. "I assure you, I can."
"You signed off on it," says Lucius. "The—the Imperius was in the lesson plans. You signed off on the lesson plans. The Headmaster of Hogwarts is afforded a certain amount of leeway as far as the law is concerned. As long as Alastor Moody has solely been performing the Imperius during class time for educational purposes, you have no grounds to fire him."
Albus stares. "That can't possibly be true," he says. "The Imperius is an Unforgivable."
"This is Hogwarts," is all Lucius says in response.
Albus frowns at him. "I will be double-checking this."
"By all means," says Lucius. His voice sounds painfully hoarse.
Against his better judgment, Albus asks, "Are you all right, Mr. Malfoy?"
"Perfectly all right!" Lucius declares. "Absolutely A-okay!"
"That's a muggle phrase."
"Oh," says Lucius. He stares down at his hands. "Oh no."
"Mr. Malfoy…"
"I must be taking my leave, Headmaster."
Albus leans closer. "Now, now, Mr. Malfoy—our dear Severus mentioned something about babies and the Dark Lord and Barty Crouch?"
Lucius's gaze goes far away again. Then his eyes sharpen, a sudden determination filling them. "Barty Crouch," he says slowly, "has always been a man with a large personality." He turns away from Albus then, drawling, "Right, Severus?"
Severus, who finally gives up the pretense that he is not eavesdropping from the other room, appears in the doorway and says, "I wouldn't know—my singular encounter with him was decidedly unpleasant. Though I suppose that any politician that has managed to become the head of his department must be in possession of a certain amount of personality."
Lucius stares at Severus, silent. As the seconds tick by, the silence becomes awkward and Severus becomes visibly uncomfortable, shifting his weight on his feet. Lucius finally declares, "Well, I must be off—places to be, people to please, you know how it is." And then he all but bolts out of the room.
Hmm.
"That was odd," says Albus.
Severus, still staring in the vague direction Lucius had run off, says, "He looked like he was about to keel over."
"Perhaps I should have offered him a lemon sherbet…"
Turns out, Lucius was right about the legality of using the Imperius on students.
Albus manages to consume an entire bottle of brandy and regrets nothing.
Cornelius sends Albus a secure message, reminding him to have all the champions' wands checked. Albus, with a snarl on his face, does his best to track down wherever that son of a bitch is hiding. Unfortunately, Cornelius Fudge is a rich man and Albus cannot find him—he also has a school to run, so he can't dedicate much more time to the ordeal.
Soon, Albus promises to himself. The minute the school year is over, Cornelius Fudge is a dead man.
The Prophet asks to interview the Champions. She has been approved. Albus also receives this note from Cornelius Fudge. He amends his timeline a bit.
The minute Christmas Holiday starts, Cornelius Fudge is a dead man.
"Dragons," screeches Harry. "Why dragons? Do you want us to die?"
"I tried to campaign for Hippogriffs but the others thought it would be boring," says Albus glumly.
"I'll show them boring!" says Harry. "I'll forfeit at the beginning of my match!"
Albus says, "No, no, the magic would notice, and then losing a kidney would be the least of your problems."
Harry groans, then asks, "Have you not figured anything out yet? The First Task is in two weeks!"
"I'm trying!" says Albus. "I've been in contact with St. Mungos and several master charms experts! Apparently creating a functioning long-term organ is much harder than I thought it would be. Three people laughed in my face and told me it's impossible. I won't stop trying but it will take a while."
Harry groans.
Bertha Jorkins has disappeared. Sirius goes on a screaming rant, explaining that it's incredibly suspicious. Albus knows this. He is also juggling too many things on his plate to give a fuck, though, so Bertha Jorkins can wait.
Apparently, Harry tells Cedric Diggory what the First Task will be. Albus thinks that is very kind of him. Then Harry says that Alastor tried to drag him to a secluded corner and congratulate him—Harry refused, of course. Albus is just a tiny bit miffed. If Alastor had actually succeeded in doing something legally questionable, after all, Albus could fire him.
But no, the man is toeing the line but still very firmly on the legal side of it. Bastard.
hr
The day before the task, Harry barges into Albus's office and declares, "Let's destroy the Horcrux!"
Albus pauses. "Why now?" he asks cautiously.
"If I get injured during this then they can't possibly make me participate in the Tournament tomorrow," explains Harry. "That would be rather rude of them, I think. Is there a policy for these kinds of things?"
"Yes. The task would be postponed until you recovered."
"Which would give you more time to figure out how to get me out of it," Harry agrees. "It's brilliant, really."
Albus frowns. "There's no reason to believe that you would get injured, though."
"Leave that to me," Harry says darkly.
Albus considers him, then slowly nods. Some light maiming never hurt anyone, after all, and it would be better in the long run. "I reserve the right to save you if things get too awful, though."
"Of course."
And just like that, the two of them are standing in front of the ring, which is sitting on a desk. Please! the ring cries. Please, I have a family!
"You're a ring," says Harry.
Just because I'm not made of carbon doesn't mean I'm incapable of love!
"I never said you were incapable of love, just that you can't possibly have a family."
Of course I can have a family! You don't need to be a human to get married and adoption exists! The ring continues wailing.
Harry stares. Albus stares. Harry says, "I remember why we didn't want to do this in the first place. Those cries are…very realistic." He shudders.
Albus says, "We just need to get through its defenses. I can do it if you want…"
"No," says Harry. "If I do it myself then I'll be more likely to get injured." He raises the basilisk fang. It's dull in his hands, rotting now that it's been severed from the corpse. If they don't manage to find the other Horcruxes soon, they will need to find another reliable method to get rid of them.
The ring goes eerily silent. Then, as Harry's hand begins to descend, it jumps off the desk and onto the floor.
Harry stares. Tries again. This time the ring jumps up and smacks him in the face.
"Okay," says Harry, "you're on!"
The third time goes much worse than the other two, mainly because the ring sends a wave of putrid black magic Harry's way, which he ducks away from on instinct. "Fuck!"
"No cussing!"
"I nearly died! Again!" Harry screams back. He leaps behind Albus's desk to take cover but the ring leaps in his direction too, at which point Albus attempts to make a grab for the thing. Its awful voice laughs as it suddenly swerves out of the way. This is when Severus enters the room.
Severus takes one look at the horrified Albus, the terrified Harry, and the flying ring before bursting into action. The ring sends a wave of magic at Harry again but Harry escapes and the black decay begins going toward Albus's bookcase…the one the Sorting Hat is currently resting on. If he allows a priceless artifact created by Godric Gryffindor to be destroyed, Minerva will skin him alive. Severus snatches it up before anything too bad can happen.
The Hat blearily asks, "What's going on?"
"Albus has fucked up yet again!" Severus yells.
Harry screeches in kind. Albus moves to grab the boy and drag him to safety but he's too slow. He tries to cast a spell but for some ungodly reason, his wand is not responding to him. He watches as the ring launches one final attack at Harry, too close for Harry to dodge…
And then Severus is there, standing between Harry and the ring, and there's a blinding glint of metal before the ring has fallen to the floor, the band broken to pieces. The phantom of Voldemort rises from it, screaming in agony, before vanishing into oblivion.
There is a moment of silence. Then:
"That is the Sword of Gryffindor," Harry says blankly.
Severus stares at Harry, then at the Sword in his hands, and then realizes what, exactly, is going on. "Absolutely not!" he screeches, dropping it as if he's been burned. "Absolutely fucking not!"
"Why does it even work?" demands Harry. "I thought that Horcruxes could only be destroyed by basilisk venom or Fiendfyre or something like that."
"Well," Albus points out, slightly shaken, "the Sword of Gryffindor is infused with basilisk venom, isn't it? You literally shoved it into the basilisk's mouth if the Sorting Hat was telling the truth—"
"I was!" the Sorting Hat cries.
Albus ignores it. "It makes sense that the Sword would be able to defeat a Horcrux in that case."
"Huh," says Harry. "Does that mean it's also deadly to everything else, too? Like…if Professor Snape handled it wrong and accidentally gave himself a little nick, he would die in agony from the venom?"
"I believe so, yes," Albus murmurs.
"This is all a moot point because I will not be handling it again," Severus seethes. "It was obviously dispensed to me through an error because I am most certainly not a 'true Gryffindor'—or a Gryffindor at all!"
"The condition of needing to be a 'true Gryffindor' is very vague," the Sorting Hat points out. "Not to mention that definition was simply the interpretation of our dear Headmaster. The true condition of acquisition is performing an act of valor during a time of need. That was certainly enough to be considered worthy in Godric's eyes." It then looks at Severus. "You have completed an act of valor during a time of need. I was nearby to witness it and thus dispensed the Sword to provide aid. Congratulations, you're an honorary Gryffindor."
Severus stares in mute horror.
Harry bursts out laughing.
This is going to be interesting.
The first order of business after the debacle is convincing Severus to keep the Sword of Gryffindor on him.
"Why?" demands Severus, incensed.
"The Sword is one of our few ways to destroy a Horcrux," Albus says evenly, "and the basilisk fangs are decaying too quickly to be useful. Since you drew the Sword, only you can wield it, and it would be much more convenient if you could summon it on demand rather than having to do an act of valor. If you simply keep it drawn and on you at all times, that mitigates all of these concerns."
"You want me to carry around the Sword of Gryffindor," Severus mutters. "You do realize that I am actively a spy, correct? Karkaroff has already been sniffing around me! He even tried to corner me about the Dark Mark!"
"You can say that you stole it."
"It's a bit conspicuous—I think they'll realize that you've noticed."
"Not if you've bound it to yourself."
"Why would I bind the Sword of Gryffindor to myself?" Severus demanded.
"That's for you to figure out."
Severus lets out a frustrated noise. He demands, "Can't we just disillusion it?"
"It has wards protecting it from any charms. Dismantling the wards will likely damage the artifact. I do not want to die by Minerva's wand, and I assume you don't, as well. It will be easier to carry it around your waist in a sheath. You will, of course, have to learn swordsmanship."
"No," says Severus. "No no no no no, I am a spy, Albus! My trade is poisons and secrets, not swords! I will accept a dagger at most!"
"Too bad," says Harry, delighted. "You're a sword-wielding, honorary Gryffindor now!"
Severus says, "Fifty points from Gryffindor for disrespect to a teacher!"
Albus says, "Sixty points to Gryffindor for astonishing wit."
Severus groans. "Fine," he says, "I'll carry the damn sword like an errant knight."
"A knight," says Harry. "I like the sound of that. Dumbledore and I ought to teach you all about honor and righteousness and chivalry."
"As if I'd go to the two Gryffindors the Hat tried to put in Slytherin to teach me your House's values."
Harry pauses, then turns to Albus. "The Hat wanted to put you in Slytherin, too?"
Albus sniffs. "Yes," he says. "It said that I didn't have enough wisdom to be a Ravenclaw or honesty to be a Huffelpuff, and then it said that I had the courage to be a Gryffindor but that my cunning overshadowed it."
"Why did you choose Gryffindor over Slytherin?"
Cautiously, Albus says, "Personal reasons."
Harry smiles cheekily. "Same."
And that's that.
Since Harry is very much not injured—thank you, Severus—he has to participate in the first task. Albus watches from the stands as Harry walks up to the dragon and…begins speaking in Parseltongue. The dragon pauses for a few moments before responding in kind and, suddenly, she's nudging the golden egg out from her nest and offering it up to Harry.
Harry takes it, a serene smile on his face.
…Well, if it works, it works. He gives Harry full points for it and glares down the others when they don't.
Harry just laughs.
"On the bright side," says Albus, holding up the now marginally more normal gemstone, "it's not talking anymore."
Harry is silent. Then, "You can't hear it?"
Albus frowns. "What?"
"It's still talking."
"No, it's not—"
"No, it is," Harry stresses. "I didn't notice at first because it's quieter and the tone is different and it's not sobbing about its family anymore but…it's definitely still talking." He pauses, leaning closer to the gem, and then he snorts. He looks back at Albus, his smile turning dismayed. "Did you really not hear that?"
"Perhaps you're just insane," Severus offers lightly from the side.
Albus cuts a glare in Severus's direction before turning back to Harry. "What's it talking about, then?"
"It's just…joking around a lot. It's very bored. Excited that someone can hear it. Kinda annoying—no, I will not use you to attain ultimate satisfaction!" That last part is aimed at the ring. Seeing it from the outside, Albus must say that Sirius's concern for his sanity was well-founded.
"Perhaps it's an enchantment," Albus mutters. He pulls out his wand to analyze it—the wand is working for him again, no longer lying inert as it had in the battle against the Horcrux—but then Harry goes rigid. "What is it?" Albus demands.
Harry looks pained. He says, "Your wand is talking, too." A pause. "It says hi."
Albus stares at the wand, then at the ring, and then tries to think of a connection between them. Only one shows up: the Deathly Hallows. "I don't know enough about this," he mutters to himself. "I studied them the summer after I graduated but…but that was nothing. I barely scratched the surface. I cannot possibly…I need to find someone else…"
There is only one obvious answer. He feels himself go steadily paler.
Harry leans over to Severus and whispers, "What's wrong with him?"
Severus responds, "He's thought of someone who can help, I think, but he doesn't like the idea of who it is."
Albus sets his wand—the Elder Wand—down on the desk and says, voice strained, "Let's go. Not you, Severus—just Harry."
Severus looks relieved. He's still not used to lugging the Sword of Gryffindor around and it shows in his awkward gait. Several students have laughed at him—those students have detention for a month. Several other students have been shocked into silence by the mere sight of Severus Snape wielding the Sword of Gryffindor—those students have fueled his ego. Either way, Severus does not want to leave the castle.
Harry, on the other hand, immediately rises to a stand, asking, "Where are we going?"
"Austria."
"Who are we meeting?"
Albus smiles a nasty smile. "My evil ex-boyfriend."
A/N: this fic is now officially caught up with the one published on ao3! anyway this chapter was getting...very long so i decided to cut it off at around the 10k mark.
this was really fun to write! all the canon-divergence was fun to mess around with and i have a few background subplots brewing i think? or maybe not idk.
anyway: i hope you liked it! if you did, please FAVORITE, FOLLOW, and REVIEW! especially REVIEW bc they make me so happy
until next time!