Chapter 15. The Unbeatable Wand
Harry and Ron's feet touched the pavement as they emerged from the thick darkness that had enveloped their bodies. To see if there was any danger, Harry looked left and right along the cobbled High Street of Hogsmeade. No one came into view except for a drunken old witch staggering alone in the distance, holding an empty bottle and giggling. The quiet weekdays in town were unfamiliar to Harry, who was used to seeing Hogwarts students all over town on their weekend trips. Madam Rosmerta stood alone at the bar of the Three Broomsticks, wiping glasses and humming to herself. Her eyes occasionally wandered to the flat, square screen on the wall of the shop where wizards and witches on broomsticks were playing Quidditch.
"Isn't that a television?" said Ron, his eyes wide with amazement. "Our world really is changing. . . . Now you can watch a Quidditch match at the bar, butterbeer in hand!"
"Exactly. It's like watching a live game," Harry agreed enthusiastically, unable to take his eyes off the vivid movements of the players. One of the Bludgers even jumped off the screen and back on again as he watched.
"How about having a drink and watching the game?" said Ron, turning slightly toward the Three Broomsticks.
"We can't, Albus and Scorpius are waiting for us at school," said Harry firmly. "They would show us how Hogwarts has changed. Remember — the official purpose of our visit is to inspect Hogwarts in its present state."
"All right, all right . . . Then let's have a drink when we're done," Ron said, smacking his lips and looking longingly at the pub. Harry and Ron trudged down the street, resisting the temptation of the welcoming shops. Around the corner, they saw a deserted path leading to Hogwarts and hurried along it.
"We'd be there by now if we took a carriage," Ron grunted after a long walk, his eyes widening at the straight ahead. "Oi, I can see the gates!"
Following the road gently uphill, they reached the gates, flanked by two tall pillars, each topped with a statue of a winged boar. As they approached the majestic wrought-iron gates, they creaked open and Harry felt at home. He scanned the grounds, hoping to see Hagrid nearby, but could not find him — the only moving thing he saw was a thestral flying out of the trees and diving back into them. Hagrid would probably be teaching his class in the Forbidden Forest right now.
Harry and Ron finally reached the wide staircase that led to the castle's massive front doors. They heard hurried footsteps just as they passed through the double oak doors. Harry looked up to see Albus and Scorpius hurrying down the marble stairs into the vast entrance hall.
"Dad! Uncle Ron!"
All three of them almost fell to their knees when Albus ran and hugged them. Harry barely kept his balance, tangling his son's black hair even messier than before.
"Hullo, Albus. How have you been?"
"Still busy studying for my O.W.L.s; I just hope the effort is worth it."
Ron rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a shiny gold coin as Albus turned around with anticipation in his eyes.
"Oi, here's your pocket money." Ron handed Albus the Galleon and turned to Scorpius. "It's been a while, Scorpius. How have you been?"
"Can't complain, Mr. Weasley. Thanks for helping us back then, by the way," said Scorpius awkwardly. Two years ago, he and Albus had been temporarily trapped in the past by an illegal Time Turner, only to escape with the help of Harry, Ron and Hermione.
"Never mind — just don't mess with time again."
"I do miss the Time-Turner these days," said Albus. "The more time I have to study, the better."
"I'm even more touched if that's the case . . . that means you're still willing to serve as our guide when you're so busy," Harry said, grinning at his son.
"We can always make time for the greatest hero this school has ever had," said Scorpius sheepishly, stroking his white-blond hair. "Besides, Professor McGonagall said she'd give Slytherin twenty points — we don't do it for free, Mr. Potter. . . ."
The bell rang and young students poured out of their classrooms once Harry and Ron followed Albus and Scorpius up the stairs. Harry had been to Hogwarts several times before for other reasons, and at those times the corridors were always filled with students lining up to get his autograph, take pictures with him, or just get a glimpse of him. This time was different. With their attention focused on something small and shiny in their hands, most of the young students paid no attention to anyone, not even Harry.
"What in Merlin's name is that?" said Harry, looking at the transparent spheres the children were floating in the air and peering into. The students held flat, thin objects in their hands inside the orbs, which glowed faintly like stars.
"Inside each sphere is a smartphone," said Scorpius. "This protective sphere shields the device from magic in the air once it has been enchanted."
"Harry, haven't we seen this kind of defensive magic before?" A frown appeared on Ron's face, as if he was trying very hard to remember something. "I'm sure I saw someone use that orb . . ."
Hearing these words, Harry was vividly reminded of a clear but rather unpleasant vision: The sight of a large snake floating in the air, unsupported, inside its enchanted, starry sphere. . . .
"Voldemort!" cried Harry. Ron flinched beside him, and the passing children stared at him in horror. "Yes, it was just before the end of the last war. . . . To protect Nagini, Voldemort encased her in a magical orb just like that!"
"You're right, Dad, that's where the magic spell comes from — from Voldemort himself. Someone rediscovered that forgotten spell, and now every smartphone user in this castle knows how to use it," said Albus. "The same magic the Dark Lord used to protect his pet snake is now being used to protect fancy Muggle toys. . . . Don't you think that's funny?
"Agreed. Voldemort would've turned in his grave if he'd known," Harry said, once again examining the shiny orbs wrapped around the hands of passing students.
"Could you please stop saying such creepy things, Harry?" Ron shuddered. "One resurrection was more than enough for him."
"Lily! Come on — Dad's here!" yelled Albus, looking down the corridor. A red-haired girl, holding a mobile phone like other boys and girls, raised her head and ran toward them.
"What's up, everyone?" Lily said, then blushed when she made eye contact with Scorpius. A grin spread across Harry's face at the sight; he remembered Ginny having a similar reaction whenever they had met in their childhood.
"We're here for an inspection, my dear nephew. It seems the school has changed a lot over the years," said Ron darkly, his eyes fixed on Lily's phone. "So have you, Lily. Because of that thing, you didn't even notice that your favorite uncle is here. . . . This is so sad."
"Well, I noticed now. Better late than never," Lily said sternly, still aware of Scorpius's side.
"By the way, Lily, where were you going?" asked Harry. "Looks like you were going upstairs. Do you have any more classes?"
"Ah, no more classes today. I was just going to rest until dinner." Her hair was twisted into a loop with her fingers as she said this shyly. It seemed she was still very much aware of Scorpius.
"Really? Then why don't we go to the Gryffindor common room together?" suggested Harry. "I haven't been there in a long time. . . ."
"Seriously, Dad? Playing something like chess in there will look extremely old-fashioned." Lily shook her head and looked sympathetically at his father. "There's a new generation of students like me who rest elsewhere these days."
"Do you mean the Room of Requirement? We were just about to go there," Scorpius said, and his smile made her face blush again, down to the roots of her flaming hair. "Would it be all right if we went together? To give these valued guests a glimpse of the place."
"S-sure, Scorpius," Lily murmured. As Lily and Scorpius chatted and took the lead, Harry climbed the stairs with Albus and Ron following.
"Tut, tut — she just got that phony thingy recently . . ." Albus grunted, looking at his sister's back. "And now she belongs to a new generation, while I'm old-fashioned?"
"If you're interested in getting a smartphone yourself, Albus, just let me know. I'll get you one too."
Albus looked up at his father with a somber face and said, "No thanks, Dad. . . . Muggle devices are forbidden in Slytherin."
"Good to know. We out-of-date blokes should get together for a game of chess sometime," Ron said, looking grumpy. "I've always thought wizard chess is the most brilliant game ever invented. . . . There has been an uncanny change at Hogwarts, I suppose."
"Maybe we're behind the times," said Harry wisely. "We've already seen how useful a smartphone can be in Bulgaria. I'd like to give one to each of my Aurors if possible."
It took them a few more flights of stairs to reach the seventh floor. A large crowd of students had gathered around the section of wall in the corridor opposite the tapestry of the foolish Barnabas the Barmy teaching trolls ballet. The wall would normally be empty, but now there was a highly polished door through which people came and went.
"Make way! There's an inspection team from the Ministry of Magic here," Albus said loudly, pushing his way through the line of students.
The children, who had at first roared in discontent, quickly closed their mouths and quietly moved out of the way when they saw Harry's lightning scar. Albus and Scorpius led Harry, Ron and Lily into the Room of Requirement, muttering thanks to the bewildered students. As its name suggested, the Room of Requirement changed its appearance according to the needs of its visitors, but its current setting was so alien to Harry's eyes that it was hard to believe it belonged to Hogwarts at all. On all sides of the room, which was subtly lit by orange electric lights, wire mesh was attached to the walls, giving the room the appearance of a giant prison cell. Like the Faraday cage, the wire mesh was probably there to protect Muggle electronics from being destroyed by the surrounding magic.
A series of hammocks hung from the ceiling around the left wall, with students lying on them, staring intently at their smartphones. Next to them, plush armchairs and sofas were filled with boys and girls equally engrossed in Muggle-made smart devices. On the right side of the room, another group of students sat in soft leather chairs playing computer games, hurriedly tapping away at keyboards in front of their monitors. A skinny, blond boy was so engrossed in his game that his upturned nose almost touched the screen. With large headphones covering his ears, it seemed that even Barnabas's trolls dancing a ballet and making a mess of the place would be impossible for him to hear.
"That's Smith, the former Hufflepuff Keeper." In response to Harry's interest, Scorpius told him about the blond boy who was engrossed in the game.
"Why the former?" asked Harry curiously.
"His team kicked him out after a disastrous match," Albus said this time. "He was sitting on a broomstick in front of the goalposts, fiddling with his phone, not even thinking about blocking the Quaffle. . . . According to him, only the Seekers' performance would determine whether they won or lost, so he insisted there was nothing to be done."
"How irresponsible! There's no doubt that the Keeper plays a crucial role in Quidditch!" said Ron angrily, who had always taken great pride in his role as Gryffindor Keeper during his time at Hogwarts. "His last name is Smith, right? Then Zacharias Smith must be his father. I always say — like father, like son!"
Zacharias Smith, once a member of Dumbledore's Army, had almost always behaved rudely in the D.A. meetings and had failed to gain a good reputation among Harry and his friends. When Lily's glare and Scorpius's darkened face caught his attention, Ron added hastily, "There are exceptions, of course."
"What made the boy a Keeper in the first place? It takes passion to be a player," said Harry. During his time at Hogwarts, he had had to spend an entire day conducting trials to select a new Gryffindor Keeper due to the high level of competition. Albus, in turn, made eye contact with Scorpius and Lily. They seemed to be silently discussing who should speak first.
"The thing is, Dad," began Lily carefully, "Quidditch isn't as popular among us as it used to be. . . . A lot of young students think the rules of Quidditch are absurd now that they've been exposed to other Muggle sports through their smartphones."
"It's true what Lily says, Mr. Potter — whether a team wins or loses a game of Quidditch is largely determined by who catches the Snitch first," said Scorpius. "That's why no one wants to play any position other than Seeker these days. . . . Hufflepuff had to draw lots to choose their new Keeper."
Hearing this, Harry was quite disturbed. Quidditch was one of the most important ties that bound him to his late father, and had given Harry a boost of confidence at Hogwarts. It was now easier for Harry to understand the resentment among the members of the Wizengamot who had sided with Markus in the court. . . . It was heartbreaking to see a tradition he had known and cherished for most of his life come to an end.
"I've seen enough of this place. There have been many changes at Hogwarts, as you mentioned," said Harry cheerfully, despite his heavy heart. "Lily, stay here. We're going to take Albus and Scorpius to their dormitory. I need to listen to those who are against Muggle technology as well."
Leaving Lily in the Room of Requirement, which had become a common room for the younger students familiar with Muggle equipment, Harry followed Albus and Scorpius down the marble stairs.
"Er — Dad? I don't think it's a good idea for us to go there together," said Albus anxiously. "As you may know, the pureblood students aren't very supportive of the Ministry at the moment. . . ."
"I'm well aware of that, son. We live in a very divided world these days. Still, it's part of politics to listen to and consider the other side's point of view."
"That's a very wise thing to say, sir," Scorpius said, his eyes glittering in his direction. "I want to be a politician like you one day. . . . I'd like to imagine a history professor at Hogwarts mentioning my name hundreds of years from now."
"Even then, Professor Binns might still be teaching History of Magic, I suppose. And being famous isn't always a good thing," said Harry honestly. "I used to get tired of hearing my name called in the corridor."
After crossing the large entrance hall on the first floor, they reached a dark entrance to the dungeon. Only the dungeon remained unchanged from the way Hogwarts had looked in Harry's memory. Their footsteps echoed loudly in the labyrinthine corridors, dimly lit by sparsely placed torches, deafening their ears.
"If I had to live here, I'd rather drop out of school," Ron shivered as they descended deeper into the stone staircase. Summer was fast approaching outside, but the dungeon was as cold as ever. Harry felt goosebumps creep up his arms as icy winds swept through the dark passageways from time to time. Strange, inhuman howls occasionally erupted from deep below, as if wild trolls were still trapped somewhere in the dungeons. After more turns to the left and right, they finally stopped in front of a damp stone wall without any decorations.
"Make the Wizarding world great again," muttered Scorpius. This was apparently the right password, for the stone door hidden in the wall slid open to the side.
" . . . My father tells me of a new school being built. Like Durmstrang, it will only accept purebloods, of course . . ." Someone's voice could be heard through the open door. Harry slowed down to listen more and the voice continued, "There will also be a new regime. Look at the last trial of the Wizengamot — public opinion is already on our side. . . . It won't be long before Eisenbein takes over the Ministry of Magic, just as the Dark Lord did."
"Shh, someone's coming," another voice said.
Harry followed Albus and Scorpius into the Slytherin common room without further hesitation. Greenish lamps hung on chains from the low ceiling of the long room surrounded by rough stone walls. Despite the glowing fireplace beneath an intricately carved mantelpiece, the subterranean room still had a dark and eerie feel to it. Several Slytherins sat in high-backed chairs around the crackling fire, all glaring at the intruders with open hostility. There was a suffocating tension in the common room, and even the firewood burning brightly in the fireplace could not seem to warm the icy silence.
"Hello, Slytherins. This is Ron Weasley, Special Advisor to the Minister of Magic, and I am Harry Potter, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement." Harry finally broke the silence.
The students gathered around the fireplace bore the characteristics of the old Slytherins Harry knew from his years, from a girl with a pug-like face to a massive boy with thick, hairy forearms. Though they did not look exactly alike, they were no different from their parents in the contemptuous grimaces they wore at Harry.
"I'm Elijah Zabini, a Slytherin prefect." A tall black boy stood up among the Slytherins and said; hearing his voice, it was obvious he was the student who had been leading the conversation up to that point. His cheekbones were high, and his long, slanted eyes seemed even more so as he scowled at Harry. "What brings you here?"
"It's nice to meet you, Elijah. Albus has told me a lot about you."
Harry reached out for a handshake, but Elijah would not budge, simply looking at the hand with disgust, as if it were dirt on his shoes. He gave Ron a sideways glance and shook his head to keep him from doing something stupid in his anger.
"As part of our inspection, we want to make sure that everything at Hogwarts is running smoothly. As you know, there have been several riots recently —"
"And thanks to them, our world is on the right track," a large boy growled, interrupting him. He looked to be the son of Graham Montague, former Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team who had attended Hogwarts with Harry. "The Muggle-borns are unfit to rule. The younger generation will right your wrongs!"
The Slytherins murmured, sympathizing with his words and glaring at Harry even more coldly. Harry glanced at Ron's face. His hand was twitching. It looked like he was about to pull out his wand at any moment. Having to read in the paper tomorrow that a Ministry employee had injured several Hogwarts students in a fight was a situation Harry wanted to avoid at all costs.
"We could always use some new blood at the Ministry," Harry grinned as he grabbed Ron's arm. "Ron, everyone seems to be fine — let's go."
Cautiously, Albus and Scorpius followed Harry and Ron out of the common room.
"Best wishes to you both. Make sure you study hard for your O.W.L.s, Albus."
"Sure, Father," Albus said tensely to Harry. "I'll write to you over the weekend."
"Write to him, Potter? Why not text him with a Muggle toy like your sister?" a pug-faced girl shouted, and several Slytherins made mocking faces.
"The time will soon come for the blood traitors to be expelled! Scorpius, I hope you are on the right side when that day comes," the burly boy said smugly. "What else do you Malfoys have to offer, anyway? Apart from switching sides every now and then!"
Scorpius's pale face turned red as the giggling grew louder. Ron finally drew his wand, his patience wearing thin, just as the stone door closed in front of them. Dazed, Harry stared at the bare and rough stone wall where the entrance had just faded away. It looked as though Albus and his best friend had been swallowed by a rock monster.
"Let's go to the headmistress's office, Ron," Harry said to Ron, who looked still furious and glaring at the empty wall. "There's a meeting scheduled with Professor McGonagall — keep our real purpose in mind."
With all classes finished by late afternoon, there was a great deal of silence in the school. Harry and Ron climbed the marble stairs to the headmistress's office, lost in their own thoughts. No one was there, not even the ghosts — maybe they were having a meeting. Filch's cat, Mrs. Norris, was their only encounter on the way. When Ron saw the dust-colored cat staring at him between the banisters, he almost fell down the stairs in astonishment.
"Aargh!" He backed away from the cat with glowing eyes and leaned against the wall, gasping for breath. "What, were you still alive?"
Mrs. Norris did not seem to enjoy the meeting either, for its claws were raised and she growled. It was as if it was telling them to get back to class or the dormitory.
"Back off — we're not students anymore," said Harry firmly. Looking closer, the cat was plumper and its eyes less bulging than he remembered, though it still had the lamp-like eyes like Filch's that made you feel uneasy. The cat stared at them for a moment before sprinting down the stairs and disappearing.
"Why is it only the bad things in this school haven't changed?" said Ron, clutching his chest. "I'll make Filch pick up every piece of cat fur on these stairs if I run into him . . ."
Filch, however, did not appear until they reached the seventh floor, so Ron's attempt to repay Filch for the detentions he had given him failed. Halfway down the corridor, Harry and Ron faced a stone gargoyle guarding the headmistress's study.
"Hello, I'm here to see Professor McGonagall," Harry told the gargoyle. But the gargoyle remained silent, tilting its head to one side.
"Harry, don't you know the password?" said Ron, slapping the gargoyle's hard head. "Oy, pea-brain — step aside! We're going up!"
"Feel free," the statue groaned and hopped aside. An escalator-like spiral staircase appeared behind it once the wall behind it split in two.
"See? Sometimes the answer is your fists," Ron said, triumphantly stepping onto the moving stairs. The moment his feet closed in, however, his body bounced off the wall, the air on the stairs swelling as if it had been trapped by an invisible barricade.
"There you are, Potter — Weasley. I was wondering when you would arrive," a familiar voice said in a solemn yet friendly tone behind them, as a tall witch in emerald green robes walked toward them. Minerva McGonagall smiled faintly, her stern face a little more wrinkled than Harry remembered. Although her black hair had turned half-white, her upright posture made her appear younger than she actually was.
"Long time no see, Minerva," Harry said with a welcome in his voice. "It's been a while since we met at school."
"How are you, Professor?" said Ron, standing up awkwardly. He looked down resentfully, his hands clasped over his buttocks, which had just hit the wall opposite the spiral staircase. "The door opened on its own, but the stairs just kicked me out . . ."
"My apologies, Ron. I tried to wait for you beforehand, but I seem to have arrived too late." The gargoyle coughed and turned its head when McGonagall looked at it pathetically. "This statue hasn't been the same since the last battle, and it finally broke down not long ago. . . . Anyone can access the entrance now by simply asking."
In the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry had witnessed the stone statue being toppled, and it seemed that its condition had not improved much since then. Hearing of the poor gargoyle's illness, Harry felt a pang of sympathy; he had passed it every time he visited Dumbledore's office.
"It seems you have implemented a new security measure," Ron said with dignity, as if to make up for the embarrassing encounter with her. "We would appreciate it if you could demonstrate its use. After all, Hogwarts is under our supervision."
McGonagall's nostrils flared and she transformed into a tabby cat with circular markings around her eyes. She leapt up the spiral staircase that Ron had just bounced off of without resistance, then pressed down on a bulge in the wall and disappeared upward. Harry took a deep breath and then stepped carefully onto it. This time he had no trouble getting in and climbed in circles. He heard the wall close behind him, with the stairs leading to the top of the tower.
The gleaming oak door was already open when they stepped down the stairs. McGonagall, who had already turned back into human, was waiting for them in her study. As usual, portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses adorned the walls, all snoring softly in their frames. Once Harry had closed the door with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin, McGonagall led them to sit around her large, claw-footed desk.
"I hope Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter did a good job showing you around the school," said McGonagall beadily.
"Yes, they did; Hogwarts has changed quite a bit from what we remember," said Harry.
"It's an understatement to say that, in my opinion," Ron said matter-of-factly, "there's a fundamental change going on all over this school —"
"Weasley, could you please stop talking like a Ministry bureaucrat?" McGonagall said sharply, interrupting him. "Mind you — that tone does not suit you at all."
"Sorry, Professor — I was just trying to imitate Percy . . ." Ron scratched his head in embarrassment and continued, "By the way, I heard you allowed Muggle machines to be used in the castle. What inspired you to do that, I might ask?"
"Well, it's a delicate subject, but it can't hurt to share it with you two," said McGonagall uncomfortably, pulling a piece of parchment from the pocket of her robes. An emerald green address was written on the outside of a yellowish envelope with a purple wax seal of Hogwarts — it was a letter of acceptance. "I sent this letter to a Muggle household last summer, and no matter how many letters I sent, they always came back to me. This is not uncommon for Muggle-born students, as many people mistakenly believe that our letter was sent by a swindler. . . . You experienced something similar when you were a child, didn't you, Harry?"
McGonagall nodded at Harry and he smiled, remembering how hard Uncle Vernon had tried to stop him from reading those letters when he was ten years old. For Harry, reading the letter from Hogwarts and realizing that he was a wizard was still the happiest moment of his life.
"So what, Professor? Try as I might, I don't think there's a more paranoid Muggle than my late aunt and uncle."
"In this case, however, it was a different story . . ." McGonagall paused for a moment; her shoulders trembled and her nostrils flared. With a wave of her wand, she summoned three teacups and a kettle, took a large sip of tea, and continued. "Typically, a Hogwarts professor would perform magic in front of Muggle parents to convince them to enroll their children. There has never been a failure. . . . Moreover, the parents of the boy who greeted me were actually in favor of sending him to Hogwarts. Some of their relatives were wizards, so they had some knowledge of our world. I went to the boy's room, thinking there was nothing to worry about. It was a dark, gloomy room with curtains that smelled musty. . . ."
Taking a sip of his bitter tea, Harry waited to hear what her story would be. After pulling the tartan tin of cookies to his side, Ron began to eat a biscuit from it without asking permission. McGonagall took a moment to collect herself and continued.
"The boy was fat and had acne all over his face. Even when I walked in, he showed no sign of recognition. He was playing with what Muggles call a computer, sitting close to a square screen. Standing next to him, I told him all about Hogwarts, including the fact that electronics do not work there. Instead of responding, the child just manipulated the input devices in an irritated way. I thought it was because he didn't believe my words, so I turned the flat device he was holding into a gerbil . . ."
"And?" Harry swallowed. McGonagall sighed, pulled out a handkerchief and blew her nose.
"Despite everything I've been through, I've never seen such anger in my life . . . He started cursing at me and smashing everything in the room. I managed to protect myself and the gerbil I had made, but there were no intact objects left in the room when the boy finally calmed down enough to talk. He told me to get lost because he would never go to a rural school without a single computer."
There was a long silence in the study. Ron dropped his cookie and stared, speechless; McGonagall blew her nose again.
"Is that why you allowed the use of Muggle equipment? To prevent further refusals?" said Harry finally, and she nodded.
"It wouldn't have been so terrible if it was just the boy. . . . Even at Hogwarts, there were a lot of students who had been waiting for holidays to use their smartphones, who would rather drop out than not have access to Muggle technology. It was Dumbledore's belief to accept anyone with talent, and mine was no different. That is why I had to take radical measures to keep Muggle-borns in school."
"Of course, there are a lot of people who disagree with you. Especially those who live down there," Ron said, pointing down to the dungeons.
"It's true. I get owls every day from pureblood parents complaining about the way I run this school. To be honest, even I am not sure if what I did was right," said McGonagall thickly. She sighed and turned to the bookshelf next to her desk. Beneath the shelf that displayed Gryffindor's sword in its glass cage and the shabby, tattered Sorting Hat, she gazed at an arrangement of three books. Harry narrowed his eyes and read each cover, which said: Armando Dippet: Master or Moron?, The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore, Snape: Scoundrel or Saint? These three volumes were biographies of the three former Hogwarts headmasters, written by Rita Skeeter.
"When I look at these books, I often wonder what my own biography would be called. . . . I am sure Rita Skeeter would come up with a very original title if I were to die."
As McGonagall spoke with a hoarse voice and tears glistening in her beady eyes, Harry felt sad and dejected. She had been a strict but fair professor that Harry could always count on, but now she was just another helpless castaway in the changing world, just like Harry and his friends.
"There's nothing to worry about, Professor," said Ron briskly. "You can always outlive that Skeeter woman."
"Weasley, you call that comforting? Just like when you were young — you have no tact at all . . ." Still, McGonagall smiled weakly, and there was a sense of relief in Harry as well. "I apologize — my complaints only get worse the older I get. . . . Now let me hear what you have to say in person, Harry."
Eisenbein's misdeeds and the recent unfortunate events in Bulgaria were described in detail by Harry, while Ron offered support whenever he could. McGonagall's expression brightened slightly when she heard about the more familiar topic for all of them — fighting Dark wizards — and listened with earnestness.
"That's why you're here, to get Dumbledore's old wand back. Or, as a matter of fact, it might still be yours. . . . If I remember correctly, being the true master of the Elder Wand enabled you to defeat Voldemort."
"You're right, Professor. We're here because of the unbeatable wand," Ron declared, his chest swelling with pride. "Eisenbein's got no chance against Harry with that wand in his hands."
"I believe in you too, Harry. It is because of you that we live in such a peaceful world. Now let me talk to the right person."
McGonagall stood and turned around. On the walls behind the desk were portraits of the Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses, and all but one were asleep. The sallow face of Severus Snape at the top right, the most recent addition, was the only exception. Snape sat motionless in the frame with his eyes open, as in a typical Muggle painting, for the portrait was lifeless — its subject had died prematurely before he could give it his personality. Severus Snape, the man who had aroused Harry's intense hatred, but who had also secretly tried to help him all along, was still the subject of his complex feelings, whether he was alive or not. Perhaps Ron felt the same way, for he kept his face averted from Snape.
"I have a favor to ask of you, Professor Dumbledore."
Albus Dumbledore, who was sitting on Snape's left, woke up to McGonagall's words. Seeing Harry and Ron, Dumbledore smiled broadly. "Of course, Minerva. It's good to see familiar faces again."
"Good afternoon, Professor. How are you?" Harry grinned back at him. He always found it comforting to have a portrait of Dumbledore to confide in whenever he wanted, even though the real Dumbledore had died many years ago.
"There's nothing new about staying here, my dear boy. I doze off most of the time, pretend to be asleep when someone comes who I might overhear, and then doze off again." His twinkling light blue eyes winked at him. "I have inadvertently overheard all of your conversations. So you need my old wand, Harry?"
"Yes, Professor," said Harry. "I want to get it back before someone with a bad motive steals it like Voldemort did."
"Excellent idea, Harry — excellent idea. . . . Prevention is better than cure, they say." Dumbledore looked at McGonagall and added, "You know what to do, Minerva."
Nodding, McGonagall walked over to Dumbledore's portrait and pulled on the frame. She then removed a large brass key from the hidden recess as it swung forward like a hinged door. By the time she had returned the portrait to its original position, Dumbledore was dozing again, his eyes closed.
"Personally, I think the security measures on Dumbledore's tomb are sufficient to deter any thieves, but I will listen to your opinion, Harry," said McGonagall quietly. She seemed reluctant to open the tomb of her respected friend. The same was true for Harry, but he remained convinced of what he should do.
"Eisenbein will most likely find a way to open it and take the wand," Harry reassured her in a low voice. "I'll keep the Elder Wand with me until the threat is gone — the Dawn Breakers won't dare attack me then."
"Yes, I understand." McGonagall looked at each of them in turn and nodded briefly. "To open the tomb, we need two more keys like this: The first is caretaker's and the second is gamekeeper's. You must bring the other two keys, and I will wait at the tomb with mine."
Harry and Ron exchanged uncomfortable looks. They quietly but vehemently discussed who would go to Filch, and Harry finally gave in.
"I'll go ask Filch for the key," Harry grunted.
"I'll go to Hagrid then," Ron said much more pleasantly.
"Good to hear. I'll see you at the lakeside," said McGonagall.
Harry and Ron went their separate ways once they had descended the spiral staircase. Harry tried to find Filch's small office based on childhood memories. Even he, who considered Hogwarts his second home, had only visited the place once, which was fortunate for him, since most students avoided it for good reasons. Having passed through a narrow passage hidden by tapestries, he went downstairs and stopped at a small door. On the door was a parchment listing all sorts of forbidden items that students were not allowed to bring into the castle.
"Come in!" A blunt voice from inside said when Harry knocked.
Opening the door, he found a cramped and dingy room, just as it had been thirty years ago. The only source of light in the windowless office was an oil lamp hanging from the low ceiling. Filch was scribbling something on parchment with a quill without lifting his head from his desk, as if it were more urgent than greeting his rare guests. To Harry, it looked like paperwork that needed to be done before he could give another student a boring and laborious detention.
Eager to get out of this place, which smelled faintly of stale fried fish, he glanced around the office from the doorway. The walls were lined with wooden filing cabinets, and the one on the left was named after James Sirius Potter and his Gryffindor friends. Feeling both pity and affection for his eldest son, he glanced to the right and spotted a cabinet dedicated entirely to Fred and George Weasley. Remembering the twins, Harry glanced back at the desk with an inner tribute to Fred. The instruments used for imprisonment had rusted everywhere; it looked as if Filch had finally given up on using his precious collection on the students.
Harry stepped closer to the desk, and Filch finally put down his quill and looked up at him. The widening of his popping eyes gave the impression that they were about to fall out. Suddenly shaking his hands, he tossed the parchment into the drawer and slammed it shut. The sunken cheeks and pasty skin of Argus Filch were the same as when Harry had last seen him so many years ago, but the usual contempt and annoyance in his eyes had now been replaced by fear and defiance.
"It's been a while, Mr. Filch," Harry said in a businesslike voice. "The headmistress has given me permission to pick up your key to Professor Dumbledor's tomb."
Filch opened and closed his mouth soundlessly, like a goldfish out of water, and pointed to a moth-eaten chair next to the desk. Harry and Filch stared at each other in silence across the desk, an extremely awkward moment. Just as Harry was about to regret that he should have sent Ron here instead, a large tuft of dusty fur moved under the desk and a cat jumped onto it.
"Looks like Mrs. Norris is doing well — she's put on a lot more weight than before," Harry said, trying to break the awkward silence.
"That's not Mrs. Norris, Potter —" Filch pursed his lips and stopped. He glared at Harry with his bulging eyes before opening his mouth again. "I mean — Mr. Potter . . . she died a long time ago, and this is her grandson, Mr. Norris."
Filch almost whispered the words "Mr. Potter," addressing him like that would be the last thing he wanted to do. Mr. Norris confirmed his master's point with a low meow. The cat's bright yellow eyes, reflecting the light from the oil lamp above, remained fixed on Harry throughout their conversation.
"Right. I'm glad her grandson seems to be doing well at least," said Harry. He was about to pet the cat, but then thought better of it. Filch opened the drawer and pulled out a heavy brass key from the desk. Harry was ready to pick it up when Mr. Norris put his foot on the key, blocking his hand.
"You have to sign the receipt first . . . I'll give you the key after that," said Filch irritably. He took a fresh piece of parchment from his desk drawer and began to write without looking at Harry.
Harry averted his gaze from Filch and his cat, who seemed to be sharing their thoughts with each other, as in the case of the late Mrs. Norris. His eyes were drawn to the silver lettering on the top of a large purple envelope that read, KWIKSPELL: A Correspondence Course in Beginners' Magic. Thirty years ago, Harry had visited this office and found the same envelope; and this time, a short wand and a small vial of red liquid were also placed next to it. It seemed that Filch had an even greater craving for magic than before. Remembering what Faraday had told him about the reason for Filch's stay at Hogwarts, he felt bitter and pitiful toward the aged caretaker.
"You need to sign here."
Filch had finally filled out the receipt and held it out, belatedly noticing that Harry was looking at his belongings on the desk; wand, vial and Kwikspell envelope were hastily gathered and tossed into the drawer by him.
"Not mine — there will be no confusion — confiscated from a student —"
"Very well, Mr. Filch," Harry said, trying not to look at Filch's brick-red face. In his youth, he had hated Filch for being mean and unpleasant, but now that he had matured, he now felt sorry for the caretaker, who was desperately trying to defend his self-respect as a human being.
Mr. Norris finally let go of the key when Harry returned the signed receipt. Before leaving the room and heading for the lake, Harry took one last look at Filch, who sat there without saying a word. The old caretaker was absentmindedly petting his cat and muttering to himself, his eyes glued to the low ceiling, his shoulders hunched even more than usual.
Harry crossed the entrance hall and walked down the steps to the grounds. Like Dumbledore's funeral, which he still remembered vividly, the weather outside was sunny and clear. It seemed to ease his mind to walk down to the lake and smell the earthy scent of the soft grass. With the golden rays of the afternoon sun illuminating the woods, even the Forbidden Forest seemed cozy and inviting from a distance. Just then, Ron and Hagrid, who were walking near the forest, spotted Harry and ran over to him.
"Good ter see yeh! All righ', Harry?"
Harry's lungs spat out all the air as Hagrid walked over and hugged him. Harry had grown a lot since their first meeting, but Hagrid's head still towered over him, and his wild, tangled beard reached down to touch Harry's face, giving him a prickly feeling. Looking up, he found Hagrid's beetle-black eyes smiling brightly, hidden beneath bushy eyebrows and beard, and long shaggy hair.
"Hi, Hagrid," Harry said as he stepped out of his thick arms and walked with him and Ron toward the shore. "How are you?"
"Well, nothin' to complain abou'. What kep' you from writin'? I've been worried abou' yeh . . . papers kep' mentionin' yer name, yeh know," Hagrid said, slapping his big hand on Harry's shoulder, causing his shoes to sink deep into the mud.
"Sorry — a lot of things have been going on these days," Harry said, massaging his throbbing shoulder.
"It's true — just like I told you at your cabin. . . . That Eisenbein bloke is making a mess of things everywhere," said Ron. "But the Elder Wand will finish him off once and for all, I hope."
"O' course, and we have Harry here." Hagrid turned to Harry with a broad, proud smile. "The Prophet told me all abou' the Wizengamot an' yer Aurors leavin' the Ministry an' all tha'. . . . But yeh know what, Harry? I'm always on yer side. Yeh can always say a word ter me if yeh need help."
"That doesn't mean adopting another dragon to help, does it?"
In response to Ron's worried comment, the three of them burst out laughing. Then Harry suddenly noticed that Hagrid's hair had become slightly whiter than it had been the last time they'd met, and he felt a pang in his heart — even though he didn't look it, Hagrid was almost a hundred years old now. Hagrid was the closest thing Harry had ever had to a father, and Harry wanted him to be with him as long as possible.
Upon reaching the edge of the lake, they found McGonagall waiting for them. On the sandy shore, where the waves of the blue lake now and then gently lapped, the marble tomb gleamed in the sunlight, smooth and white as ever, with no signs of aging. Harry, Ron and Hagrid also stopped laughing when they saw the tomb and looked at it solemnly. At the front of the tomb stood McGonagall, Hagrid on one short side and Harry on the other. Unanimously, they took the brass keys from their pockets and brought them to the tomb, and three small grooves were gradually revealed on the smooth marble surface to fit the keys.
Like the others, Harry slowly inserted the key and turned it. Steam rose from under the marble lid, which slowly floated into the air with the keys in place, then landed on an empty patch of ground. In the exposed interior of the tomb, a light wind fluttered the star-patterned purple velvet wrapping the corpse on the table.
With white hair, a long silver beard, and a wrinkled face, Albus Dumbledore's appearance was largely unchanged from when he was alive, except that his skin was very pale. Behind the half-moon glasses that hung over his very crooked nose, he seemed almost ready to open his bright blue eyes at any moment and give Harry his piercing stare. McGonagall blew her nose, tears glistening in her eyes; Hagrid wiped his eyes with a handkerchief the size of a tablecloth.
"Great man, Dumbledore was. A very great man . . ."
Hearing Hagrid's uncontrollable sobs, Harry leaned forward and carefully pulled the wand from between Dumbledore's clasped hands. Despite having permission from Dumbledore's portrait in his former office, his heart was heavy at disturbing the peaceful rest of the dead.
"I am sorry, Professor. I will return it as soon as everything is done — I know I will," Harry whispered to Dumbledore before he stood up.
Harry stepped back and swirled the recovered Elder Wand through the air, causing the marble lid of the white tomb to rise and land in its original position. Hagrid covered his tear-stained face with the large spotted handkerchief as McGonagall and Ron paid silent tribute. An impulse drove Harry to point his new wand at the sky and wave it. A brilliant flash of red light soared toward the clouds and exploded in a dazzling pattern: In the deep blue sky, a phoenix made of flames spread its wings joyously, shining so brightly that it seemed to have drained the sun of its power.
Harry tightened the hand holding the wand as everyone stared in awe at the mark of the phoenix. An ancient power of greatness emanated from the rough, curved surface of the wood, which felt as if it were on fire. With Dumbledore's unbeatable wand by his side, nothing could possibly go wrong.