Chapter 32: Bumblebees and their bumbling
For disclaimer and author notes please see chapter 1.
1988-06-22 23:00 UTC, Hogwarts
Dumbledore was almost gleeful! He had just come back from a very interesting conversation with Dedalus Diggle. While he no longer had an official reason to even go to the ministry, that did not mean he was without contacts willing to go the extra mile for the wizard who defeated Grindelwald.
Dedalus Diggle was one such. His family and Dumbledore's family had been allies for generations, and he was young enough (only fifty-four) that his father and Dumbledore had actually been friends, a shared love of the muggle sport of bowling cementing their friendship even more.
When Dedalus was a kid, and Dumbledore would visit his father, he could remember being awed by the man, long flowing red hair, an air of learning and mischief about him. This was still a very young man, by wizarding standards - barely over fifty, if he recalled. Perhaps he was the age that he, Dedalus, was now.
Some years after that, Dumbledore had gone off to fight Grindelwald, and by the time he returned the elder Diggle had passed away. Dumbledore was very sad, even more so because he was not around when his friend was taken away by an illness, so he transferred his affection to the young man. Said young man was very depressed over the untimely death of his father, and the general atmosphere of war, plus Dumbledore being away on the continent, did not help his mental state.
It fell to Dumbledore, when he returned, to take care of this - his friend's children needed him and that was that. Dedalus and his younger sister Deleria both regarded Dumbledore as something like an uncle anyway, so it was not altogether strange.
Diggle was, thus, firmly a Dumbledore supporter. Albus could do no wrong, as far as he was concerned. Such was the extent of his support for Albus that he was, if that were possible, even more affected by the events of February and March two years ago. He moped around for weeks after, as if the world was ending, and it fell to Dumbledore, yet again, to bring him back to his senses.
Yesterday evening, somewhat later than was normal, Dedalus had floo-called Albus. Poking his head into the fire, he called out for his pseudo uncle, and waited for him to answer. When he did, he said, "I've got very important news for you; would you prefer we talk in my study or should I floo through to your office?"
"I would much prefer your study, Dedalus", he smiled broadly. Especially if your elf Lonsy is going to make her excellent after-dinner coffee!"
So he floo-ed through, shook off the soot, and followed Dedalus into his study.
They first called Lonsy, and asked her if she wouldn't mind terribly making up a platter for the two gentlemen to snack on, and two cups of her special coffee. (Dumbledore was nothing if not polite and gentle to elves).
Having dispensed with that, he turned to Dedalus and asked, "so what's the big news?"
"Harry Potter has been kidnapped from his muggle home", said Dedalus succinctly.
During the two years or so since his "fall", Dedalus and some of his other sources had often spoken about the Phantom - some in glowing terms, which only served to turn Dumbledore even more against him - but many in negative terms.
As for Dumbledore himself, it was a toss-up whether he hated he Phantom because he was a vigilante, or because he was looking all set to be more popular than Dumbledore himself!
And so, when he heard that Harry had been kidnapped, he immediately said "it must have been this Phantom!"
Dedalus had not been expecting Albus to fret and worry and show a lot of concern, considering his history with the boy, or rather the boy's guardian, but this was a bit too nonchalant for him. He raised his eyebrows significantly, then immediately composed himself.
"No", he said blandly. "The kidnapper's demands are that the Phantom expose himself in the Wizengamot tomorrow."
Oh well, Neville it is, then he thought. Dumbledore put on a very sad face, and said, "that means the boy will die. The Phantom is a cruel, evil, person, who does not appear to care too much for life", he said sadly.
"On the contrary, the Phantom has promised to do so tomorrow! A special meeting has been called!"
Dedalus was smirking as he said this; it was not often he got a chance to completely counter his pseudo-uncle with facts. And Dumbledore was clearly shocked. He, of course, considered dealing death to anyone at all - even death-eaters - as "evil". There were no shades of gray.
This bears thinking about, he thought, fighting to hide his joy. With a muttered goodbye to Dedalus, he floo-ed back to Hogwarts.
1988-06-23 06:00 UTC, Little Whinging, Surrey
Dumbledore was sure this would spell the end of Sirius's claim on Harry, since he clearly was unable to protect Harry. Despite being on the outs with most of the current power base in the ministry, he was pretty sure he could wing this if he went directly to the public first, and pleaded for the boy-who-lived to be protected.
But in order to do that, he needed to get the Dursleys back. He knew Sirius had hidden them away somehow (he didn't think Sirius would have killed them), so they needed to be found.
He wandered around Harry's old neighbourhood, under a powerful disillusionment charm, looking for someone who might have known the Dursleys well enough to have kept in touch.
He very quickly realised that he would get nowhere without legilimancy, so - still under the disillusionment charm - he snuck into the nearest neighbour's house. He petrified, legilimenced, and then obliviated them when he found nothing of importance.
Four more times, in four more houses, he did this, before he found the next link in the chain. Number 7 was occupied by an elderly gentleman whose memories told Dumbledore that the Dursley boy's best friend was a Piers Polkiss, who lived a couple of streets away.
Dumbledore made his way there, and similarly interrogated the boy and his parents. Unfortunately, other than knowing he had been transferred to the United States, he was unable to get anything more concrete. Sirius had been, it seemed, pretty clever about this.
1988-06-23 09:00 EST, Washington DC
Dumbledore waited a few hours, due to the time difference, and, shortly after lunch, apparated to see his long-time friend Bathsheba in the US Department of Magical Affairs.
Actually, that statement needs two amendments. The word "friend", applied to the relationship between these two, was largely in Dumbledore's mind. Bathsheba did not truly consider him a friend - she had long ago realised that he was much too manipulative to ever be anyone's friend. However, she tolerated him, and let him think she thought as highly of him and he did of her.
The second amendment to that statement was that Bathsheba was not her real first name. She was born Elizabeth Everdene, but some fan of Hardy had nicknamed her Bathsheba in school, and the name had stuck.
On this bright and sunny day, she looked up at the knock on her door, and somehow knew who it was even before she called, "come in".
Dumbledore walked in, a broad smile on his face, his long beard neatly plaited and combed to a shine, his robes a much more sober colour and cut than he would have been wearing back home in the UK.
She stepped out from behind her desk to greet him as he simultaneously flung his arms wide to pull her into a loose hug - purely platonic, thankfully. (She often thought, however, that she was lucky Dumbledore was gay. Otherwise, being one of the few women of his age, he would have probably tried something, and she would have had to quickly disabuse him of the notion that she would ever consider him even a true friend, leave alone someone to get emotionally entangled with!)
"What brings you to our backwaters, Brian", she asked him.
While she may have gotten used to being nicknamed Bathsheba, he had never managed to get used to being called Brian, despite the fact that it was at least one of his middle names. It was - always had been - her way of subtly reminding him of the American policy of wizard-kind blending in as much as possible with the normal world.
He smiled at her, nevertheless, and said "How have you been, my dear? It has been far too long since we met or spoke".
"I am good Brian, never better. I hear your life has become a little quieter and less exciting?", she teased him. She, herself - despite her almost similar stature in the US to his in the UK - had always refused to become a "big-shot", as she called him. Gently rubbing it in that he was now the same as her - though not by choice - was fine; Dumbledore was too consummate a politician to be needled by teasing from a friend.
"Yes it has, Bathsheba, indeed it has', he replied. "But of course life is never simple, and one's responsibilities do not cease with a resignation or two".
"Yes, I've heard of your responsibilities", she teased again, though now she wondered if she was crossing lines she had not crossed before. Did he have a breaking point for criticism from friends? Well, we'll find out now, I suppose. After all, she had been warned he would be coming.
"But let us speak of that later; it's time for my breakfast. Come", she said, and led him out to the department's cafeteria. Like many employees, she preferred to arrive very early, get some serious work done, and then go for a long, leisurely, breakfast. Besides, if she had breakfast at home, it would be alone and somewhat boring, while here - here was where her life was.
Eventually they came back to her office, after Dumbledore was waylaid by no less than a round dozen senior employees of the department, an unusually high number considering his last few visits hardly one or two had even bothered to look up and notice him accompanying their elderly colleague. How many of them were genuinely curious and wanted to hear his side of the story, and how many knew more than they let on and were goading him, was uncertain.
"So what is it that brings you here, Brian", she asked, once they had both sat down with a cup of tea each.
"I need to find someone, my dear - a family", he said. "A family that is, I dare say, very important, even vital, to the war effort".
"What war? Unless you are waging one, I am not aware of any war in any part of the magical world at this time".
"You know very well, Bathsheba, that Voldemort is not truly dead. As long as that is so, we are - whether we realise it or not, whether we accept it or not - at war", he said grandiosely.
"I think you have a Churchill complex, Brian. You want to be like Churchill, and you are - in more ways than one. You've been chucked out of office pretty much the same way he was, after the war was over. Except it took a lot longer in your case".
"I do not..." - he paused. He was not getting into childish "I do - I do not - do too" arguments with his oldest friend.
"Be that as it may, my dear, I do need to find the Dursleys, and I would be very grateful if you would smooth my way through your excellent government to do so".
"I'm sorry, Albus, but you'll have to give me a heck of a lot more than that if you want me to go to the NWLO - I assume the Dursleys are not magical - and ask them for help."
Dumbledore stared at his cup for more than a few seconds. When she appeared to have stopped staring expectantly at him, and looked ready to turn back to her computer, he spoke up.
"The Dursleys are the rightful guardians of Harry Potter. I placed him with them when his parents died, but he has since been removed from their charge, and they themselves have been sent to the US. Harry Potter needs to be returned to their care."
"Where is he now?"
"He is with his godfather, who is, I am sorry to say, quite an unsuitable guardian", said Dumbledore sadly.
Bathsheba saw right through that, but didn't react. Instead, she said, "but he's magical?"
"Yes but Harry does not need to live with magic right away. There's time enough for all that when he turns eleven", he said.
"I don't think so. If you're really right about Voldemort, I'd say that's even more reason to make sure the boy-who-lived has a head start on his magical education".
She turned really serious now. "Look, you've always been very cagey about these things, and I know you. You're hiding something. Unless you're willing to come clean - and I mean really clean - you're not going to talk to the NWLO."
"Aah, there you ask me things which I cannot divulge, my dear. Truly, I had not expected you to be so intransigent. Can you not trust me that I have good reasons to ask what I do?"
Bathsheba held his gaze for a while, then said, "first, I'm as old as you are". "Second, although I eschew being a big-shot, for some inexplicable reason I am as much of a big-shot here as you are in your little island across the pond". What the heck, in for a penny, in for a pound, she thought, and add, "an island the size of one of our smaller states, don't forget".
"And third, you ask me to trust you, but you apparently don't trust me. I have no stake in this, and I am just as much of an occlumens as you are, and I'm no stranger to keeping secrets, so why?"
She didn't wait for him to respond. "The only reason I can think of is that your conniving, manipulative, mind is upto something I would not agree with if I knew the truth. You think I wouldn't see through that?"
Dumbledore was shocked. She had never, ever, spoken to him like this. Sure there had been lots of banter and teasing, but this was in a whole different category.
"I am hurt, Bathsheba. I thought you were my friend". He thought he could guilt her.
"I am your friend, Albus, which is another reason why I am not letting you con me into this", she said.
And he was so struck by the fact that she had called him Albus - she had never done that before, this was literally the first time in the many decades he had known her - that he completely missed that fact that she had accused him of trying to "con" her. Much later, when replaying the conversation in his head, he caught that, and realised a bridge had been burnt today, though he wasn't sure who had burnt it.
At that moment, though, he looked at her even more sadly, if it were possible, and said "Then I shall take my leave, my dear, because clearly we are at an impasse". Having said that, he reached forward, gave her a perfunctory hug, and left.
Bathsheba sat back down, waiting for the door to close. She tapped a few keys on her computer, popping up a video feed of the front door of the building. Once she saw Dumbledore leave, she picked up her phone and dialed a number, waiting for the other party to respond.
"Our 'friend' visited me, just as you said he would, but answer me this: why did it take him two years to do this?"
1988-09-01 18:00 UTC, Hogwarts
Dumbledore was unhappy. He'd been unhappy for more than two years now, of course, so this was nothing new. The staff had gotten used to it by now - Minerva and Filius especially were very happy with the turn of events two-and-a-half years ago, when Dumbledore had been viciously out-maneuvered by Sirius Black and his lawyer, and Madam Longbottom had not wasted the opportunity thus presented to her.
He knew there were four powerful women arrayed against him: Griselda Marchbanks, Augusta Longbottom, Amelia Bones, and - the unkindest cut of all - his own deputy, Minerva McGonagall. What was it with all these women - were they taking lessons from Bathsheba?
The deterioration of his relationship with Minerva was what would have troubled him the most, but it paled compared to Bathsheba's attitude, so he really couldn't complain. Still, he had always been someone people looked up to, and there was never any unpleasantness between him and his staff until now.
Well, except for what was a really minor difference of opinion. They never could agree about Severus - Minerva had never forgiven him for hiring a death eater. Thank god she did not know Severus was the one who pointed Voldemort at the Potters - she would have eviscerated him long ago, and fed his entrails to the giant squid.
He had realised too late that this was not a "minor" issue at all, as he had always claimed. Minerva had always claimed that Severus's behaviour was quite inappropriate for a Hogwarts professor, or indeed anyone in the teaching profession. He used to dismiss it out of hand - often with an amused laugh. God that must have really angered her, even if she didn't openly show it, he thought.
He had always maintained that she was merely sore over Gryffindor losing the house cup several years in a row. Worse, he had refused to believe that either Filius or Pomona felt the same way. Why didn't they speak up if they thought there was a problem, he mused, quite unable to realise that if his old friend Minerva could not get him to do something, what hope did they have?
Where the past few years of complaints about Severus were dismissed by him - erroneously, as it turned out - as a lioness's hurt pride (I wonder if I can use that pun and get away with it?), he knew the real damage had started when he had made exactly the opposite mistake. He had failed to recognise her depth of affection for Sirius, and had called him a "waste of time", and she had reacted in a way that he simply could not have predicted.
While he would always regret that his high-handedness had caused the sedition charge that lost him his two positions of power, he now knew full well that the seeds of his downfall were sown on the day when Sirius and Minerva had popped in to ask for his pensieve. That was also - as he found out much, much, later - the day that Sirius got to say his piece to a much more sympathetic audience. An audience that he could easily charm his way around, if charm were needed.
And it was Longbottom and Bones who had gleefully hammered the nails in the coffin of his political career. They, and Black.
He was interrupted in his reminiscing by Minerva's cough. He was supposed to address the new students, and his attention had wandered off while the sorting was going on.
With a visible effort, he shook off his depressing thoughts. Would not do to be anything but his usual self - genial, amused, amusing, grandfatherly.
"Welcome to Hogwarts to the newest members of our little community here", he smiled, sweeping his arms wide as if to encompass everyone in the room in its embrace. "If you're as hungry as I was when I got sorted, you must be annoyed at the idea of listening to an old man's speech before dinner".
He looked around as if for confirmation, but except for some of the older children who were nodding and grinning at him, there was stoic silence all round.
"And so, we will do our mandatory bits of speaking after dinner", he said. A bit of a pause, for effect, or for a reaction - no one would know - and he said, a bit more loudly, "Let ... the feast begin!"
Minerva looked at him funnily. Does he think this is impressing people? Oh sure the first years, and especially the muggle-borns, but everyone else knows by now what he was, and what he is. It was indeed amazing how he managed to cover his failures and put on this mask.
Dumbledore, of course, did not notice. He served himself some meat and some vegetables, and a couple of rolls, and went back to his musing.
The Potter boy being kidnapped proves that he should have stayed with the Dursleys. And now the Dursleys can't be found at all - there's no telling what happened to them, or if their move was forced in some way, he thought. If I could only figure out where they are and get them back, in three years time I will have Harry here and be able to work on the problem of getting him back to the Dursleys.
If Dumbledore had been asked why he wanted Harry there, he would have been at a loss to come with any clear, cogent, reasons - at least not one that he was willing to share. That was partly why he had not answered Bathsheba when she asked. His core reasons were, of course, that Harry was a horcrux, and he had to die, but he could not very well say that to anyone. He, himself, did not believe in divination, so Sybil's trance - which he suspected was faked, somehow - did not bother him too much.
(After she had come out with the prophecy - how convenient that it happened during a job interview! - Dumble investigated Sybil's movements for the preceding few months. Sybil had been very active, especially in the Hall of Records, and there were several RFIs (requests for information) filed by her or on her behalf. She also had a few friends on the auror corps, and it would not be hard to come up with something).
No - the prophecy could not be brought up. Besides, it appeared Voldemort believed in it, so speaking about it - which may result in the full version being released - was out.
His best defense was that there were blood wards around the property since Lily's "blood" lived there, but Croaker would shoot that out of the water pretty quick.
And that is another problem. It's not just the four most powerful women, the one most powerful man after me in the government is also acting against me.
There was literally no one else who was as powerful. Oh well other than Nick and Penny anyway.
Thank God they're not getting into the act, too!. On that bright note, Dumbledore smiled again, turned his attention back to the hall, and stood up to do his opening feast speech.