December 18, 1991

"Is there anything else?" None of the teachers spoke, so Albus gathered the scattered pieces of parchment on his desk from the end-of-year faculty meeting, calling it to a close and waiting politely for them to clear out of his office.

"A moment, if you would, Albus?" Slughorn asked, lingering behind, and Albus held back a sigh.

"Certainly. Feel free to take a seat." Slughorn did so, waiting while Albus reversed the expansion charms that allowed the entire faculty to fit into the Headmaster's office. "Now, what's on your mind?"

"School business, unfortunately. Merlin knows that two gentlemen of our austere age should be discussing more pleasant matters!"

Albus held back a sigh, offering Fawkes a treat and stroking its plume. "And why did you not raise this business during the two hour meeting that just concluded?"

"Well," Slughorn huffed. "I hardly thought it an appropriate venue to air out my students' personal issues."

"Just the other students' personal issues, then?"

"Exactly."

"Very well. Go on."

"It's about Malfoy."

Horace hesitated, and Albus motioned for him to continue, eager to get through this. There were appointments to keep, after all. "What about young Draco?"

"I'm concerned about him. The boy is more antagonistic than any I've seen in the last twenty years."

"It's not uncommon for students from a privileged background to struggle to conform to Hogwarts' social environment. It is only his first year."

"And yet, the environment at Hogwarts is no longer the sort to tolerate his particular brand of unpleasantness." Slughorn ran a finger over his mustachio, a tell of his own discomfort. "Albus, he's made a habit of mocking those who've lost family to the Death Eater insurgency."

"That's a rather poor decision. Have you attempted to dissuade him of such a thing?" he replied in a noncommittal way, raising a single eyebrow at Slughorn's silence. "Have you at least spoken with his parents about this disturbing behaviour?"

"What, me tell Lucius his son is an abhorrent little git? No, I don't think that'd go over very well, not at all!"

"And why, exactly, is that? You're his Head of House, are you not?" Slughorn shifted in his seat and Albus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "No doubt you're disinclined to offend someone who has… what, Horace? Provided you with extravagant gifts? Or simply the promise of such things?"

"It's nothing of the sort!" Slughorn replied, but the defensiveness in his voice told Albus his accusation wasn't far off the mark.

"I've overlooked your dalliance with the more… radical elements of our society for precisely this reason. I wanted the children of the Dark Lord's followers to feel they have someone in their corner, a 'safe' person in authority they could look to for mentorship. Keeping Lucius' son from being cursed by a grief stricken student goes hand-in-hand with that role, Professor."

"But- but you're the Headmaster! Surely it'd be more appropriate coming from-"

"Coming from a man with whom he crossed wands multiple times during the war?" Albus icily finished for him.

"He says he was under the Imperius."

"If you're unwilling to jeopardise your favour with the elder Malfoy, then you'd better make certain the younger one understands what is and is not appropriate behaviour at Hogwarts. Are we clear?"

"Yes, Albus, I understand."

"Excellent!" Albus clapped his hands together, rising from his desk to usher Slughorn out. "Now, you'll have to excuse me. I'm running late for my next appointment."

"Of course, of course. Have a happy Christmas," mumbled the portly professor, clearly disturbed by the results of their conversation.

Alone at last, Albus pushed away any thought of the problems at Hogwarts. There was an entire staff of capable witches and wizards to deal with those problems. No, he had more pressing concerns that needed addressing, of far more gravity.

"Fawkes? Shall we depart?" With an excited trill, the phoenix launched itself from its perch, latching onto Albus' shoulder and vanishing in a ball of flames.

Harry's breath fogged the air in front of him, clouds of moisture the only movement in the frozen forest.

"That's it?" Maksim, so bundled with layers of furs and winter cloaks that only his eyes were visible, spoke with a muffled voice. "It's… not what I expected."

"Be careful. It has some sort of protective field around it."

The other boy nodded his understanding, hesitantly approaching the enormous tree. As Masha predicted, Generations of Might held the information they sought. The history book detailed how the school's founder, Nerida Vulchanova, selected this location for the castle's construction in order to 'capitalise on existing protections that would ensure the school's continued safety.' These included the forbidding weather, the great distance from muggle settlements, and a mature vǫrðr - also known as a Warden Tree.

Though armed with new information, they'd been delayed in conducting their own inspection. First by Semonov Assembly dropping in the rankings and then by mid-term examinations. Now, the day before returning home for the winter holidays, Harry finally returned to the site of the school's mystery.

Maksim, his arms crossed to conserve warmth, stared up at the imposing tree. "It doesn't look like it's failing."

"That's not what the voice said, and the professors seemed to think so, too."

Seeming to gird himself for what was to come, Maksim took a deep breath. "Let's find out."

And with that, he stepped forward with as long of strides as he could muster.

Harry was momentarily caught off-guard by this bold move, and didn't object until the other boy was several feet away. "Wait! You can't!" Despite his words, Maksim pressed on. He walked with purpose, hunched forward as though in the face of strong winds, pausing when he was less than a half-dozen feet from the thick trunk.

Reflexively pursuing him in his worry, Harry immediately felt the pinprick sensation, morphing into the agonising stabs of pain he'd felt previously.

"You-" Harry started to say, words failing him as he gasped at the thousands of invisible needles digging into his flesh. Maksim turned to regard him with a quizzical expression. "Get… back…!"

"Harry, stop." Maksim took hold of his arm, guiding him away from the tree. When they reached the periphery of the glade, Harry collapsed to his knees, sucking in lungfuls of icy air.

"What was that?" Maksim asked.

"I- *huff* should- *hah* be asking you- that," he stuttered, spitting the words out in between deep breaths. "You shouldn't… have put yourself through that. I warned you!"

"Harry," Maksim repeated his name calmly, patting him on the back. "I didn't feel any pain. I didn't feel anything."

"What?" That didn't make sense! "But- I'm not making it up!"

"I didn't say you were," he said. "I don't think you could fake something like that. But… maybe the tree's protections don't target me for some reason."

That didn't seem likely, but Harry couldn't immediately come up with a denial. He watched Maksim turn and begin the walk back to the Warden Tree's trunk, this time going all the way up to it and laying his hand upon the wooden surface.

"What do you see?" Harry called out, itching with a desire to approach and inspect for himself.

"I don't know…" Maksim replied, walking a slow circle around the base of the trunk. "Wait! I see- there's something here."

Harry impatiently stalked around the perimeter of the glade to get a better view. From his position, he could barely make out what Maksim saw, a slight discolouration on the trunk's surface. "What is it?"

"It's like…" Maksim stood on tip-toe seeking a better look, then began shucking his outer layers. Once he was down to his jumper and trousers, he found some handholds among the knobby bark and hoisted himself up, clambering up the tree with a well-practiced ease. "This section here, it's sort of… mushy. Soft."

Harry thought back to Professor Nielsen's and the Headmaster's conversation. "Like it's rotting?"

"Yes! Like that!" Maksim called back, shimmying further up the tree. "There's more! Here, too, and…" he paused for several seconds. "I can see four other spots!"

In short order, the two of them reunited at the glade's edge.

"So it is dying," Harry said.

"Well, we don't know how deep the rot goes. Trees - especially magical ones - live a long, long time, after all. Maybe it's just sick."

"The professors wouldn't be worried if it was just sick," Harry pointed out.

"Yea."

"I suppose we've got something new to research, then," Harry said, already feeling resigned to future hours in the library.

"For what?" A new voice asked, stepping into the glade. It was Masha, wearing an elegant, fur-lined, blood-red cloak.

Maksim quickly updated his sister on what they'd learned that morning. "I see."

"I don't think the library would have much information about, er, tree disease."

Masha shook her head. "No, that's true. East of Olenek, however, there was a timber camp. You may learn something there."

"How far to the east?" Maksim asked sceptically.

"Far enough you cannot walk. Tell Grandfather to apparate you."

"He won't take me!"

"He will if you tell him I ordered you to go," Masha said evenly, then she more closely examined the two of them. "You look cold. Let's get inside."

The three of them set out for the castle, their walk silent but for the crunch of their boots in the snow. The mystery would have to wait until his return in January.

"Hello, old friend."

Albus ducked his head as he entered the library. Bookshelves lined every wall, with loose tomes covering every available surface. "Hello."

"Don't just stand there, take a seat!" Perenelle said, gesturing to a nearby chair with a stack of books nearly as tall as Albus. "Would you care for a cup of tea?"

"That would be lovely." Albus removed the uppermost book from the stack, eyeing the cover while absentmindedly flicking his wand at the rest, the stack floating off the chair and carefully coming to rest on the floor. "Enjoying some light reading on… cooking?"

"When you live as long as we have, culinary delights are harder and harder to come by," Nicolas murmured, nose buried in a different book. "Even exotic recipes grow dull after you've had them a few thousand times."

"I personally find great joy in enjoying the comfort of a familiar meal," he cheerfully replied, setting down the book he held as he sat down.

"Live a few more centuries, young man, and your tune may very well change. Milk and sugar?" Perenelle asked as she rose from her own seat, marking her page and leaving the book she'd been reading atop her workspace.

"Thank you. Nicolas, I've come seeking your counsel on a matter of great importance."

"Of course you have," he said, his sallow eyes still following the words on the page in front of him. "What is it this time?"

"Chaos has taken root in another wizard. He must be stopped, but I have yet to locate him."

Nicolas glanced up from his book for the first time since Albus arrived, then heaved out a great sigh. "I suppose that means I'm to fetch the tea, then, dear?"

"I should say so!" Perenelle dropped back into her seat while Nicolas stood and left the room. "So. Another chaos mage? So soon after the last?"

Albus nodded. "I fear he may have stumbled upon materials Gellert hid away, instructions for corrupting oneself. I have to stop him."

"Why?"

He was momentarily dumbfounded by the question, sputtering out a reply. "Wha- you saw… Countless lives were lost in the last war! It cannot be allowed to happen again! I will not stand by and watch another disaster unfold!"

"Grindelwald was trouble from the start, you know that better than anyone. He would have mounted his crusade regardless of whether he meddled with forces better left alone."

Albus shifted in his seat, uncomfortable memories of how he himself had been party to that 'trouble' in his younger years rising in his mind. "He was always ambitious, certainly, but the chaos-"

"Was a means to an end, just like everything and everyone Grindelwald touched," she interrupted calmly.

"I didn't come to discuss him," Albus said in an attempt to get the conversation back on track. "If another wizard is following the same path, I will stop him. I won't allow more to die by my own inaction."

"Here you are," Nicolas returned, setting a cup of tea atop the pile of books in front of Albus. "What are we talking about?"

"He's preparing another crusade," Perenelle replied.

"What, over this rising chaos mage?"

Their levity seemed inappropriate to Albus, given the catastrophic events only a few decades before. "I need your help to find him, to stop him."

Perenelle sighed, leaning back in her chair. "You should tell him, Nicolas. He was your student, not mine."

"You know the story better than I," he protested. "And if we're going to eat sometime this week, I need to find a good recipe."

"What are you talking about?" Albus interjected.

The centuries-old spouses stared at each other in mock-conflict, before Nicolas eventually sighed. "As you wish, my love." He turned to face Albus. "We've seen this several times over the years. More likely than not, the problem will solve itself."

Rather than immediately respond, Albus took a sip of tea. By far the most frustrating part of interacting with the Flamels was not reacting to the disinterest and boredom that resulted from a lifespan that stretched more than a half a millennium. "You're saying you've encountered others? Like Gellert?"

"Albus, I was more than five hundred years old when you were born. The magical world is full of secrets, but it isn't that large."

"And you never told me? Why?"

Perenelle answered that. "You never wanted to talk about Grindelwald. There was obviously some personal history there."

Albus nodded hesitantly. It was true, even in the midst of the war, Gellert was a sensitive topic, a burden of guilt and some semblance of responsibility he carried for many years. "We were close. I… I always wondered if I could've done something, somehow guided him away from his path of destruction."

Nicolas reached out and patted his hand sympathetically, but Perenelle went on as if he hadn't spoken. "Besides, he didn't fit the archetype we were familiar with. Grindelwald was… unusually focused. In our experience, chaos mages only gain visibility after their deaths."

"I don't understand."

"Neither do I," Nicolas admitted. "And it was Perenelle who had personal experience with this. Obviously, neither of us are foolish enough to attempt to channel primordial forces. There are some things not worth knowing."

"When you say primordial-"

"I mean it literally," he said, the familiar dynamic of teacher and student falling into place between them. "What was before what is? The land, the forests, the oceans, this entire world. From where did it spring? What lived before there was life?"

"I am neither a scientist nor a theologian," Albus replied. "And while I heartily enjoy philosophical debate, I didn't come for a Socratic lesson."

Nicolas laughed. "Concerning the notion of channeling pure chaotic energy, I should think abstract, ephemeral questions are precisely the sort we should be asking." Albus raised a single, bushy eyebrow rather than reply, so Nicolas went on. "The point is, we all came from something that was here first. What we are, the magic we use, the world we inhabit - it is different, altered from what was. Regardless of how that came to be, the fact remains that wizards and witches are ill-suited to harness that primordial force. Doing so carries certain unavoidable risks."

He thought about Gellert, imprisoned as much by his own madness as he was the Nurmengard castle built around him. "I have seen as much."

"I don't believe you truly have," Perenelle mused. "Nevertheless, you came for help, and you shall not leave empty-handed." She waved her wand, and a small journal zipped off of a bookshelf to land in front of him. Albus reached out and opened it, finding a series of hand-written notes inside. "I wrote that after meeting and conversing with one Javier Rivas."

The name wasn't familiar. "Who?"

Perenelle smiled grimly. "The last surviving member of a cabal of chaos mages."

The ship jostled and bucked as it broke through the water's surface, forcing everyone below deck to brace themselves. A moment later, Professor Nielsen's voice sounded through the hold.

"We've arrived at Lake Velence, Kápolnásnyék. Those disembarking report to the weather deck."

Maksim, looking rather green from their tumultuous trip, looked in askance at his sister.

"Hungary," she said, answering his unspoken question. "Two more stops until we reach Kitezh."

"I don't know how you can sit there and enjoy this," he muttered, casting an irritated glance at Harry, who was excitedly trying to peer out of a porthole.

"It's a magic ship that can jump to any body of water!"

Maksim huffed at his reply.

It wasn't long before Nielsen's voice spoke again, announcing their departure. The ship's bow tipped up towards the sky, then crashed down as it dove beneath the surface once again, accelerating as they were magicked away to the next destination.

"Harry," Masha said quietly once they were underway. "Could I ask a favour of you?"

"Sure!"

"I- I'm feeling rather nervous about meeting your father for the first time. It's important I make a good impression."

He cocked his head in confusion at that. "Why? I'm sure he can't wait to meet a friend of mine from school!" Harry left unspoken that he'd never had a friend to bring home before. "There's nothing to worry about. It's going to be fine, we've got plenty of space!"

She shook her head. "That's not enough. I need to impress him."

"Why?" Harry didn't see what she was worried about, his Father was always so busy.

"Remember? I graduate this year. I can think of no next step that would be better than at the Volga Lord's side."

"Oh. Right, right," he said, feeling strangely disappointed. "I guess- I mean, I thought we could go to Kitezh and explore together while you visited. Dung isn't allowed to take me anymore."

Masha scooted closer to him, putting a comforting hand on his back. "Don't worry, we'll spend plenty of time together. But think of it like this - if my meeting with your father goes well, I'll be in Kitezh every time you come home, not just this time. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Yes!" And Maksim would come visit, too, if his sister were there permanently! Harry quickly warmed to the idea. "That'd be great!"

"So you see why it is essential that your father likes me."

Harry nodded fervently. "I'll tell him all about how you help me at school, and how you're really nice!"

She gave him a warm smile at that. "Thank you. But I was thinking of something more. Something… magical."

"Like what?"

Masha shifted in her seat, pulling her hand back and avoiding his eyes, glancing down at the deck. "Well, remember how you used that spell to make me stronger?"

Harry nodded.

"Do you think you could make a spell that would make me more… likeable?"

"You're plenty-" Harry started to object, but fell silent after a closer look at his friend. He'd never seen Masha nervous, not even before she entered the battle royale at the start of the year. He realised that she must be really worried. "Um, I guess I can try. I don't know if it'll work though."

"If you give it your best effort, I know it will."

Reluctantly pulling his focus away from speculation about Durmstrang's ship, Harry settled into his seat in the hold and tried to work out a solution to Masha's request. Was it even possible? The spell he created to make himself more intelligent - and then modified to make himself physically stronger - was one thing; after all, potions already existed in the magical world that achieved similar results. But to make oneself more 'likeable'? What did that even mean?

Masha grew more nervous as the time of their arrival ticked ever closer, but despite her anxiety spurring him on, Harry couldn't think of a way to accomplish what she asked. By the time the announcement of their arrival at Kitezh sounded, he hadn't even figured out what he thought likeable meant, much less how he could translate that into a spell.

As he grabbed his bag and made his way to the weather deck to disembark, though, it was hard to feel much regret for his failure. Seeing his father standing next to a clearly hungover Dung, his own worries disappeared. It was good to be home.

A/N: Many thanks to Saelora for their excellent editing help!

Next chapter is already in-progress, probably about a week away. We'll finally check in with Lily and Hannah, some family drama in Russia, and Dumbledore's investigation continues.

As always,

Stay safe, healthy, and happy! ~Frickles