Chapter 9: Bathilda, Gellert, and Cadmus
"Ah, Aberforth," said Dumbledore as he sat down across from his brother in the common room right before lunch. The common room was packed, but somehow the other Gryffindors seemed to gravitate away from Aberforth as he leaned in close to his paper and whispered to his quill, which jumped across the page at almost the same speed as he talked.
His blue eyes moved up, then he said, "Finite Incantatem," and the quill dropped down and rested on the table like any other quill. It didn't surprise him that he was about to use magic without a wand. "What do you want?" he asked irritably. "I was in the middle of an essay."
Dumbledore shook his head at his tone, but smiled with half-amusement, half-impatience. "Why always so angry, brother?"
"I wouldn't be angry if you just left me alone," Aberforth muttered. "Please get on with it."
"Look," Albus said, glancing behind him to make sure no one was listening. No one was, but it still bothered him to discuss anything in here. "Come up to my dorm, alright? Around eleven, if you will."
"Why?"
"I'm giving Bathilda Bagshot a tour after she has lunch with Professor Black. She has a note from mother to give me."
Aberforth stared at him with his piercing eyes. Albus only stared right back.
"I'll come," he said finally, picking up his quill and his wand. "I'm usually up that late doing work, anyway."
"Thank you," Albus said. "Care to join me at lunch?"
"No, I have to finish this." Then, he muttered a spell and the quill pulled away from his hand, ready to listen to what Aberforth had to say.
Albus shook his head and wondered how Aberforth would ever pass his O.W.L.s doing that. Honestly, he couldn't tell if Aberforth was just bluffing about his inability to read or if he just found talking to a quill easier.
Albus met Elphias in the Entrance Hall and they entered the Great Hall together. The only reason why they were separated was because Professor Garside asked Elphias to stay after. Elphias didn't look grim or anything, just neutral, which told Albus he didn't have the best time.
"What did Professor Garside want with you?" Albus asked him as they sat down across from each other at the Gryffindor table.
Elphias shook his head and reached for the bowl of potatoes. "He had a problem with my last essay. He said I copied from your paper. I swear he has it in for you, Albus. I mean, he's nice and all to you when he's with you, but I don't think he likes you all that much."
"I noticed," Albus said. "He helps me a lot, but I believe he's bitter. I've surpassed him." he paused and glanced up at the Head table, looking for Garside. He was there, right next to Professor Merrythought, who sat right next to Bathilda Bagshot. Garside was watching Merrythought and Bagshot quite contently as they chatted. "What section did he say you copied?"
"The part about the brain and human transfiguration, that people don't have animalistic qualities when they're transformed into an animal."
"He must believe you're thick enough to confess to something that's not true. I certainly don't believe that. Anyone could have gotten that out of a book."
"No, I think he's just trying to get you in trouble. I don't know why."
Albus gave another shrug as if waving it off. "As long as you're not in trouble."
"No, I said I got it out of a book that you had. That is the truth, anyway."
"Yes, it is," Albus said, glancing up at the double doors. He turned away, but then took a double take.
Harry had just entered the Great Hall for the first time Albus had ever seen him. He wore a different expression of what he normally had, one that looked like a cross between anger and misery. But, he walked calmly up to him and sat down right next to the auburn boy and across from Elphias.
"Hi, Albus, Elphias," he said. Albus glanced at the latter, raising an eyebrow. Elphias didn't notice it, though, because he was shaking Harry's hand. What confused Albus the most was the fact that he'd never called him by his first name before. "Is it alright if I talk to you after this, Albus?"
"I wish I could, but I can't," Albus said, watching him as he piled food onto his plate and filled a goblet with pumpkin juice. "You're a staff member, Harry."
Harry sent Dumbledore a confused expression, but then glanced up at the head table. "I'd rather- is that Bathilda Bagshot?"
Dumbledore snuck a look at her as if he needed another confirmation that she was up there. "Yes, that's Mrs. Bagshot."
Harry stared up at the table for a little longer, his green eyes set on something up there. Albus could only assume it was Bathilda.
"You said you knew her earlier?" Albus asked.
"We've met," Harry said, but his eyes seemed to grow dark as if he was remembering something horrible.
"I'm guessing not in the best circumstances?"
"No," Harry said.
"You seem to have met a lot of people," he said almost suspiciously. He really didn't understand how he knew him or Elphias. He had a clue, of course, that he was a professor, but how could he know Bathilda Bagshot as well? It seemed so strange, since he knew Harry hadn't grown up in Godric's Hollow like the other Potters. Albus wondered what other people he knew or met.
Harry drank from his goblet, and then said, "Yeah, I have. I doubt as many as you've had."
Albus could tell he was lying, but decided not to pursue it, especially since he could feel someone behind him all of a sudden. He looked up and Professor Black stood there with Bathilda Bagshot.
"Mrs. Bagshot," he said, standing up to greet her kindly. "How are you today?"
"Great, just wonderful," she said with a large smile on her face. "And you, my boy?"
"Excellent," he said.
Professor Black cut in at that moment, his hands behind his back. "Mrs. Bagshot has requested you, Mr. Dumbledore, to give her a tour, if you will be so willing."
"Of course," he said, standing instantly.
Mrs. Bagshot nodded curtly, said, "Hello, Mr. Potter," and started walking. Albus glanced at Harry; both were quite surprised at her mention, but a figure passed by him, a figure with dark, unruly hair.
"Hello, Mrs. Bagshot. Good to see you," Atticus Potter said before giving a kind smile and continuing on to sit with his friends down at the end of the table. It was, in fact, true that the Potter's lived in Godric's Hollow. Even though Albus knew that, he had never heard or seen Bagshot talk to the Potters, but then again, Albus didn't wander much while he stayed there.
"Well, Dumbledore, go on," Professor Black said, giving a slight glare before turning and stalking down the lane between the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tables.
Albus glanced at Harry once more, but only found him saying something to Elphias, and Albus caught up with Mrs. Bagshot at the wide doors leading to the Entrance Hall.
"Your mother and sister are doing well," Mrs. Bagshot said as he led her to the marble staircase.
"Wonderful," Albus said, nodding. They were trailing the stairs now and Albus honestly didn't feel much like talking about his mother to Mrs. Bagshot. His thoughts were still on Harry in the Great Hall. "Would you like to see anywhere in particular?"
"I would really like to see the library, actually. There are maps of the school from the founders, you know," she said. "I was hoping Madam Foer would allow me to copy them for my book, then, maybe you can show me about? I haven't been in this castle for a very long time."
Albus didn't dare ask how long, knowing that that would be incredibly rude, but he nodded and led her off to the library. He hoped that he would get a chance to see the maps as well.
Harry watched Albus exit the Great Hall with Mrs. Bagshot, and then turned back to Elphias sitting across from him with a large book suddenly out on the table.
"Elphias," Harry said.
"Yes?" he asked, glancing up.
Harry stabbed an egg with his fork. "Does Dumbledore know anyone named Gellert Grindelwald?"
Elphias's eyebrows furrowed and as he thought about it, he picked up his goblet and swished the contents around for a moment. "I don't believe so… No. I haven't heard of that name. Why?"
"No reason," Harry said. He glanced down the table toward Atticus Potter. He'd seen him in a couple classes before. Harry didn't normally go to that many of the classes, only when Merrythought was doing big demonstrations, but when he was in the same room as the third year, he couldn't help but study him. His features were very Potter-like, but with almost deliberate flaws, such as his eyes and nose shape. He doubted if anyone saw them together and didn't know their last names, they wouldn't have any idea they were distantly related. "Excuse me. It was nice seeing you."
He nodded, but still his eyebrows were furrowed as if trying to figure out who Gellert Grindelwald was. Harry didn't blame him as he picked up his plate and made his way to Atticus.
Harry glanced up at the Head Table before he got to him and caught Merrythought watching him. He smiled at her, trying to reassure her.
Atticus wasn't with his friends, instead he was writing on a piece of parchment with a barn owl standing on the table, drinking from his goblet.
"May I sit here?" Harry asked.
Atticus looked up slowly and his eyes went wide. "Of- of course, Mr. Potter," he said and his ink that he had been dipping his quill in tipped over. Harry got out his wand and cleaned it up quickly for him. He never imagined a relative of his to be nervous.
"Thank you," Harry said, dropping his plate down and sitting across from him.
"Do you need anything, sir?" he asked. He closed his ink tightly and signed his name. His owl stuck out a leg for him.
"No, I just noticed you were alone. I wasn't sure… I mean."
Atticus seemed to calm a little at that. His tense shoulders dropped as he tied the letter to the owl's leg with a leather string.
"What's your owl's name?" Harry asked, reaching out. The bird stare at his hand in front of his face before he nipped at his finger carefully. Harry ran a hand over his soft feathers.
"Harold," he sighed. "My dad named him before I could."
"Did he?" Harry smiled, though he hoped that his own dad didn't name him after a hundred year old owl of all things. "How'd that happen?"
"He bought him for my birthday in April. He had to keep him in his office for a few days before he could give him to me. The name just sort of stuck." He paused for a second as the owl spread his wings. Harry lifted his hand at the same time Harold flapped them and flew off. "Can I ask you something, sir?"
Harry nodded and chewed a bit of his egg carefully, ready to listen.
"Is your name really Harry Potter?"
"Yes."
"Oh. I told my dad about you, but he didn't know you. He figured there was another branch of Potter's that he hadn't heard of."
"Maybe," Harry said slowly, glancing back up at Merrythought. She was studying them. "I don't know what your father's name is. Horace Slughorn told me about he was pretty important in the Ministry."
"Oh, his name's Cadmus Potter and he's in the Wizengamot. He always says that for generations there's only been one son each for the Potter's. There have been daughters, but just one son each. That's why he finds it strange he never heard of you before." He paused again, reaching down to the floor to grab his school bag. He tucked his quill and inkbottle into a side pocket. "Can I ask what your father's name is?"
"James Potter," Harry said, knowing that his father wouldn't be born for another sixty years, so he figured it would be okay to say that. "I grew up in Surrey."
"I've lived in Godric's Hollow my whole life," he said. "The Potter's have had a house there for a long time. I guess you aren't related to me, then, if you're from Surrey."
"I guess not," Harry said. He resisted a sigh, because, really, he had never met any Potter before, and here was one right in front of him, someone that was most likely a grandfather of his or something. He had no idea. He suddenly wished he had looked into his family tree.
"Sir, can I ask you another question?" Atticus asked.
"Sure, but only if you stop calling me 'Sir.'"
He smiled, but bit his lip to hide it. "This is probably really rude, but how old are you? Sorry, you look like you're a lot younger than the other professors."
"I'm eighteen, and I'm not really a professor. I'm an assistant. I'm way too young to be an actual teacher."
His face grew red. "Right. Sorry."
"It's alright." Harry pushed his plate away from him, finished with lunch. "I should go. Professor Merrythought wanted me in the Defense class for the fifth years."
Atticus nodded and Harry went on to Defense.
Madam Foer hovered her wand over the old, perfectly preserved vellum showing the castle plan from a thousand years ago. Albus stood in front of the table in a side chamber in the library in awe of the map. He didn't understand the measurements or the Old English too well, but he still found the amount of detail fascinating.
"Careful, Dumbledore," Madam Foer said sternly.
It took him a second to realize that his nose was extremely close to the vellum, the better to see with to try to make out the writing. Blushing, he stood up straight. "Sorry, Madam."
She swept her wand over the parchment again, and then carefully lifted it away to a new sheet laying flat on the table. She tapped her wand against the edge and slowly, a web of ink filled up the pages, drawing out the lines in an exact replica of the original maps.
"Can you teach me that?" Albus asked, moving to study the new parchment. He'd never seen that particular charm before.
"Certainly, come tomorrow and I'll show you. It's much more complicated than it looks," Madam Foer said, her lips tight as if she didn't want to show him her secret formula. Albus nodded, even though he doubted the difficulty of a copying charm. She turned to Mrs. Bagshot again. "When will this book be published? I'm quite excited for it."
"About two years or so," Mrs. Bagshot said. "I'm about done with all my research. I saved Hogwarts for last."
They talked for a long while. Albus hardly listened as they talked about the publishing process. He knew about the magical process already, since he frequently wrote articles for Transfiguration Today.
Instead, Albus took his time to study what was different about the school. All four towers were still present, but the school was only three stories. Somehow the school formed four more stories by itself, probably to accommodate hundreds more students.
"Thank you very much," Mrs. Bagshot said. The papers suddenly disappeared from under Albus's nose and he glanced up. Mrs. Bagshot held them in her hand, though the original copies were still lying out on the table. "It was lovely to talk to you, Elaine."
"You as well. Take care."
"You're a very curious young man," Mrs. Bagshot said once they stepped out of the library. "My nephew I talked about on Saturday is the same way."
Albus had forgotten about him, Gellert she called him. He nodded along with her.
"My niece, his mother, says he wants to come to England after he finishes school. He won't graduate until a year after you, but I think you would have lots him common with him. I don't know how independent he is, but I think he'd appreciate a friend here when he does come."
"His name is Gellert…?" Albus asked, searching for a last name.
"Grindelwald," she said, nodding curtly. "His father's German."
"Do you know him well or-"
She shook her head, "No, he's my sister's grandchild. I haven't seen him in a couple years, but my niece writes about his marks and what projects he likes to work on. There's one project. I'm actually not sure what exactly he's doing. I know it involves some kind of wand, but-"
Abruptly, Albus slammed into something as they rounded a corner. The person in front of him fell, being quite shorter than him.
"Oh, dear boy!" Mrs. Bagshot said, slipping down to her knees to couch beside him. It was only as he was rubbing his chest that Albus realized that it was Harry who hit him.
"I'm okay," Harry said, grunting as he stood up. "I'm sorry, Albus."
"It's quite all right, Harry," he said, though he realized he still felt shaken.
Harry smiled as if caught in an old memory, but before Albus could really catch anything from him, Mrs. Bagshot said, "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, I'm great."
Albus looked between them for a second where Harry stood straight and Bathilda watched him worriedly.
"Er, this is Harry Potter. He's Professor Merrythought's assistant and a friend," Albus said to her. "And this is Bathilda Bagshot, Harry, the magical historian."
"Nice to meet you," said Harry. With a half-smile, he stood up straighter. "Sorry about this. I shouldn't have been running."
"It's not a problem at all, at least for me," she said. "You and Albus, however… Are you hurt, Albus?"
"Not a smudge," he said, smiling kindly. "We were just-"
"Talking about my nephew!" Mrs. Bagshot said, turning to Harry with a smile. "I was just telling Albus he should meet him when he comes to England."
Harry caught Albus's eye, and without knowing it until after it happened, he caught a flash of Harry out in front of a tent. It was snowing in the forest where he sat there, with a green covered book in his hand. There, on the page, was a picture of Albus and another boy around his age. But, quickly, that memory was gone as Harry looked away as if realizing what Albus had just done.
"What was-" but Albus stopped, realizing that Mrs. Bagshot was standing next to him.
"Er, well, I should let you go," Harry said, stepping away, though he sent him a confused look, he still turned to Mrs. Bagshot and said, "Nice to meet you." Then, he went on his way, slowly descending the staircase that Albus and Mrs. Bagshot had climbed up just a minute before.
"His name is Potter, you said?" Mrs. Bagshot asked, watching him.
"Yes, but he's not related to Cadmus Potter, if you're wondering."
"Oh, I was," she said. "He looks like he'd be related to the Potters. That hair. Sometimes I wonder if any of those Potters own a comb."
The way she said it wasn't harsh. Albus would have laughed if his thoughts hadn't roamed back to what he saw in Harry's mind. That other boy in the photograph had to be Gellert, since they had been talking about him. And, to be completely honest, Dumbledore couldn't help but feel a shiver in his chest as he thought about that, one that he had never felt before; a shiver that he couldn't quite place. But, he knew that it wasn't from nerves. It was more like elation.
As Bagshot and him continued on, all he could think about what that memory. He studied the face in his mind and all he could think about was the boys eyes, how they seemed to gleam even more so than Albus's did. He could see just from those eyes that he was brilliant. A sort of hunger filled his chest, but again, it wasn't from anything by elation. Somehow, Grindelwald looked perfect.
He had to meet him, no matter what.
Harry glanced behind him as he left the stairs. Silently, he cursed himself for not learning Occlumency when he had a chance. Those piercing eyes of Dumbledore's… he knew what he was doing and he hoped that Dumbledore wasn't able to see what Harry saw in his mind of The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore. That picture of Grindelwald and Dumbledore together…
He couldn't even imagine what the consequences might be if Dumbledore saw that.
Harry continued on his way down to the Defense classroom, still hoping desperately that Dumbledore didn't see what he had seen.
"Mr. Dumbledore, stay back for a moment," Professor Black said.
Dumbledore, whose hand was already turning the bronze door handle to the Headmaster's office, released it and turned slowly, tucking a note from his mother into his cloak pocket.
Mrs. Bagshot had left moments before by the green light of the Floo network, but she left Dumbledore with the note. He wanted to read it before he had to read it to Aberforth that night.
"Yes, sir?" Dumbledore said, stepping up next to the chair opposite his desk. He was leaning back in his chair, almost like a king in a throne, with his hands clasped together by his face.
"I see you have gotten friendly with Professor Merrythought's assistant," he said coolly.
"Mr. Potter?" he asked.
Professor Black nodded, surveying him with grey eyes. "Yes." He paused, picking up a quill. "Mr. Potter. He seems to handle his assistant duties well. It's obvious he's had practice."
"He was taught at Durmstrang," Dumbledore said, at least, he hoped that was Harry's story. He never thought to ask. He couldn't very well say what was true, that he was taught at Hogwarts. That would have been suspicious.
"Yes, about that," he set the quill down and stood up, walking around the desk toward his bookshelf. Albus looked around at the old portraits of the Headmasters and all had their eyes on Professor Black, waiting for him to say more. "Do you believe I am ignorant, Dumbledore?"
Albus blinked. "Of course not, Professor. The Blacks are quite-" he wanted to say cunning, but he realized that that wouldn't be the best word. "Perceptive."
Black turned his head to study him for a second longer. "Do you know that Cadmus Potter, on the Wizengamot- the one you're a junior member of- has no recollection of a Harry Potter in his family?"
"Harry's not related to them," Dumbledore said immediately. Too fast, he thought in his head.
Professor Black narrowed his eyes with suspicion. "Are you sure about that, Dumbledore?"
"Very sure, sir," he said, clasping his hands behind his back. "His parents are Muggle-born." He made a mental note to tell Harry he told Professor Black that. He was sure that Harry was at least a half-blood.
"Muggle-borns at Durmstrang," Professor Black scoffed. "If I had it my way-" But as if thinking better of it, he gave a sigh, turned and stepped carefully back to his desk. "Nevermind, nevermind. Well, Dumbledore, go on now. I'm sure you have school work or outside work to do."
Albus nodded. "Thank you, sir."
Professor Black didn't respond, and once Dumbledore got down to the corridor, he kicked off in a run just because he suddenly felt the need to get away from Black as quickly as he could. Somehow he'd become suspicious of Harry and he had an idea about who had alerted him.
Breathing heavily, he said the password to the Gryffindor Common Room to the Fat Lady. She swung open and revealed the sparsely populated room. He checked his watch and realized that it was a class period, but he had a free period.
He went up to his dorm room to read his mother's letter, but as he did, his thoughts went back to Mrs. Bagshot and that picture Harry had in his memory. He still couldn't shake that feeling that he had when he first thought about it. For some reason, that feeling scared him more than Professor Black had. He didn't see how that was possible, especially when he didn't even know that that feeling was in the first place.
He ended up putting the letter to the side, knowing that he would only have control of his thoughts when Aberforth came to see him.
A/N: Sorry that it took so long to get this chapter up. I don't really have an excuse. Even though she said not to mention her, a friend told me to write this chapter and I got it done in a couple days, so this chapter could have flowed better, especially in the beginning and toward the end, but it gets the point across.
The next chapter will come soon, I promise. I have every intention of finishing this story.