Disclaimer: I own neither the Dresden Files nor Harry Potter.
A/N: A bit late, and a bit short. With any luck I'll finish the story before finals. Either way, enjoy!
Albus walked up to the desk and cleared his throat. "Excuse me?"
The wizard sitting there looked up. "May I help you?"
Albus shrugged and fingered the hem of his shirt. "Well, actually, I was wondering if I could have an audience with the Hat of Judgment?"
The wizard's eyebrows furrowed, then he made a noise of comprehension. "Oh, you mean the Sorting Hat?"
"Is that what they call it?" Albus asked, but the wizard wasn't paying attention.
"That's quite an unusual request, young man. Unprecedented, in fact, as far as I know."
Albus gave the paper-pusher a bland smile. "Is there a rule against it?"
The wizard frowned, disgruntled. "Not specifically, no. But there's no paperwork for such a request, so it'll have to go straight to Senior Council, and they don't like to be bothered by trifles like this -"
"Oh, it's no trouble, I'm sure," said a voice from behind Albus.
"Ah, Mr. Listens-to-Wind, I'm sure that this is quite unnecessary," the wizard stuttered.
Albus turned to face the Senior Council member. If he remembered what Nicolas had told him, Listens-to-Wind was a recent appointment, and the resident healer.
"You are Albus Dumbledore?" Listens-to-Wind asked, having finished his own appraisal. "Nicolas' former apprentice?"
"Yes, sir," Albus replied, sketching a short bow.
"None of that, now," Listens-to-Wind said. "Come along."
Albus fell in step behind the older man.
"So, Albus Dumbledore, tell me what has you seeking the Hat of Judgment," Listens-to-Wind said. His words were kind, but it was not a request.
Albus hesitated. He doubted he could get away with lying to a Senior Council member, and he wasn't sure he wanted to in the first place. In the end, he felt he had no choice but to answer with honesty. "I wanted to ask it about my father."
The silence that stretched from that point had Albus reconsidering his judgment.
"Nicolas tells me you are very capable," Listens-to-Wind said, startling Albus.
Albus nodded, unsure of the tangent the conversation had taken.
"I am inclined to trust his judgment," the wizard continued, "but are you sure you wish to look to the past, instead of the future?"
"I -" Albus cut off with a helpless shrug.
Listens-to-Wind nodded. "Think on it. You are a full wizard of the council now, Albus Dumbledore, and your talent should not go to waste."
They stopped in front of a door. At first glance, it was unremarkable, no different from any other door in Edinburgh.
Letting his eyes slide out of focus, Albus felt the magic of the wards press in on his senses. There was something different here, something beyond the usual bulwark of protections, but he didn't want to open his Sight for such a trivial reason.
He followed Listens-to-Wind through the now-open door and into a store-room that was no larger than a closet. On top of the left shelf sat the Hat. The elder wizard picked it up and tossed it to Albus, who squawked and grabbed it.
"Enjoy," Listens-to-Wind said with a laugh, and walked out of the store-room. "The door will seal itself behind you when you leave."
With that, Albus was left alone with the Hat. For a moment, he just looked at it, doubts flitting through his mind. But he'd already decided – decided five years ago, really, that he'd come back to talk to the Hat that had judged his father worthy of execution.
He placed the hat on his head.
A second later, the wind blew through his mind again, like it had on the day of his own judgment.
Young Albus Dumbledore... still young. Come seeking me, have you?
I have, he responded in kind. Why was my father executed?
His murder of three young boys wasn't enough? The hat sounded almost amused. It doesn't matter what they did to your sister, however terrible. The Council doesn't abide murder in malice or vengeance.
It abides murder for other reasons? Albus asked, growing weary of the conversation..
In war. The wind was quiet. The magic doesn't twist you, if it's impersonal.
Albus grabbed the hat off his head and threw it onto the shelf. He knew enough.
=(.o0O0o.)=
Albus walked into the break room, intent on grabbing a sandwich. Today's session had been tiring, and he was fed up with the politics already. How his mentor had managed for two hundred years was a mystery to him.
A voice stopped him at the sandwich tray. "Dumbledore."
He turned around, only to find the last person he wanted to talk to. "Warden Morgan."
"Council politics getting the best of you, eh?" Morgan asked, filling himself a cup of coffee. "All those bloodthirsty savages a bit difficult to convince?"
Albus ignored the mocking lilt to his gruff tone. "I'm sure we'll be able to come to some sort of agreement." Turning around, he busied himself with the sandwich selection.
"Will you?" Morgan's voice asked from behind him. "Didn't hear much agreement back there. Really, Dumbledore, do you listen to yourself sometimes? Rehabilitation?"
"Better than beheading every accident that drops itself onto our lap," he muttered. It had been the same argument for the last ten years. On one side, Albus Dumbledore, the Great Reformer. On the other side, every other wizard in the White Council. He wasn't having much success.
"Hear about that gang of necromancers we took down in Africa?" Morgan asked.
"I have," Albus responded, taking a bite of his sandwich. The bread here was excellent; the meat, not so much.
Morgan snorted. "Think we should let them off with a slap on the wrist, too?"
Albus brushed a stray crumb off himself. "I'm sure we shouldn't." He wasn't about to indulge Morgan in an argument.
"Damn right," Morgan growled, and stomped out of the room.
Albus sighed. Perhaps he'd try a different strategy at the next meeting.
=(.o0O0o.)=
"...they ran into a pack of zombies, just wandering around the countryside. What kind of necromancer just leaves his toys out?" The grey-haired Warden grunted. "Maybe it was just a gang of malnourished locals?"
Albus sighed and walked by the conversation, taking his seat. It could have been a false alarm, he supposed. The last dozen could have been too, but it seemed unlikely. Somebody was stirring up trouble.
A few minutes later, most of the stragglers had arrived. The Merlin chose to skip his usual grandiose introduction, jumping straight to the heart of today's discussion. "We have noticed an increase in necromantic activity in Europe, focused in Germany and Russia in particular. This is accompanied by an increase in tensions between nations around Germany..."
And that just about covered it, Albus discovered. It wasn't a coincidence, according to the Senior Council.
Nobody said it aloud, but Albus knew he wasn't the only one whose thoughts strayed to Kemmler, the long-dead necromancer.
In his ever-increasing experience with necromancers, he found that "dead" tended to be a subjective turn-of-phrase.
As the meeting wrapped up, Albus made to leave, but was intercepted at the door. "Captain Luccio. What can I do for you?"
"I have a task for you, Albus. If you're free, of course," the Captain of the Wardens replied.
"I have no pressing engagements," Albus allowed. He had to admit, he was curious what she could need from him.
"We've found a young child with some considerable talent in an orphanage in England. We'd like you to pick him up," Luccio said.
Albus raised an eyebrow. "Isn't there a division of the Wardens for that sort of thing?" He wasn't busy, true, but that didn't mean he would stoop to being an errand-boy.
At this, Luccio looked uncomfortable. "There is, actually. The Senior Council requested you specifically for this pick-up."
"Oh?" Albus allowed his gaze to travel to the seven wizards talking in furious whispers near the center of the room. He couldn't remember the last time he'd talked to one of them, let alone done something to irritate them outside of his usual rabble-rousing during meetings. And this seemed rather bizarre for a punishment, anyways, so he struck that out as a possibility.
Curiosity getting the better of him, Albus nodded. "Very well."
=(.o0O0o.)=
The air was thick with exhaust as Albus walked down the street of central London. He wrinkled his nose at the grime staining the sidewalk and buildings. There was a reason he didn't venture into the city very often.
A minute later, he arrived at his destination. A dilapidated townhouse stood before him, grim architecture highlighted by the gloom of the late-afternoon. If he hadn't known better, he'd have thought that this was just another family home, down on their luck.
The screams and wails of children gave it away for what it was, though, and Albus stepped up to the doorway and knocked.
A moment later, a harried-looking girl opened the door. "Can I help you, sir?"
"I have an appointment with the matron of this orphanage," Albus replied. He didn't, but that was a small matter.
"Right," the girl replied, wiping at a smudge on her cheek. "Just a minute."
She closed the door, and Albus heard quick footsteps on the other side of the door. A few minutes later, the door opened again to reveal a significantly more harried-looking woman. "May I help you? I'm quite sure I don't have any appointments today."
"I may have neglected to call," Albus said, affecting unconcern. "Nevertheless, I have urgent business here today."
"Do you, now?" the matron questioned, eyes set in suspicion.
"I do," Albus replied, giving her his most genial smile. Ignoring her protest, he brushed past her into the hallway, avoiding the detritus underfoot. "I understand that you have a young child in your care, a Mr. Tom Riddle."
Her attempts at barring him entry having failed, the matron glared at Albus. "So I do. What business do you have with him?"
Glancing around, as if to check for any listening ears, Albus shifted closer to the matron. "Mr. Riddle is a very gifted child. Our country could use somebody of his... talents."
Eyes widening, the matron performed her own check of the corridor. Albus hid a smile.
"You're not from the church, are you?" she hissed under her breath.
"Not at all, Madam," Albus replied, tone grave. The notion was amusing, however.
"Our country, you say?" she asked, suspicion softened with curiosity. "And if you take him off my hands, I won't hear from you again?"
"I daresay you won't," Albus said. As she held her own counsel, Albus kept quiet. She had already arrived at her decision, he knew. She just needed to justify it to herself.
Finally, she looked up. With nary a word, she motioned for Albus to follow her. They traversed the house, navigating amongst the screaming hordes of children and their desperate caretakers. As they stepped into a corridor near the back of the house, the matron knocked on the first door. "Tom, somebody to see you!"
A vague reply could be heard from inside. Giving Albus a significant glance, the matron walked away.
Albus sighed and shook his head. Humans were so easily led about by their fears and insecurities. Perhaps it was for the best, though.
Opening the door, he stepped into Tom Riddle's room.