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SD: CH77 - Good Intentions
🕑 Added 2023-08-07 18:41:41 +0000 UTC“I must say,” said Albus Dumbledore brightly, “this is quite the warded property. Whoever has worked on this is certainly skilled. Please pass on my compliments for a task well done.”
I smiled. In about fifteen minutes of Hestia sending him a Patronus, Albus Dumbledore had appeared outside my apartment in a flash of flames. Unlike Nymphadora, or Emmeline Vance, he seemed perfectly content to display his usual flamboyance in his dressing sense, complete with the pointed wizard’s hat and Fawkes on his shoulder.
I idly wondered if the Newt Scamander movies that came next were just a fanon buildup of the original, and if not, just what kind of hideous curse altered Albus Dumbledore from the smartly dressed man into this weird Gandalf wannabe.
“I certainly hope you have been enjoying your summer well, Harry.”
“I have, sir. Hestia has been quite helpful in that.”
I gave him a knowing look.
Dumbledore didn’t look the least apologetic. Instead, his bright blue eyes twinkled madly. “It was necessary, Harry. Miss Jones is indeed part of an organisation I created to stave off Voldemort’s actions during the last war. Regardless of the clandestine approach, I hope you realise that my actions were aimed for your safety.”
I scowled. “I’d have liked it if you had just been upfront with me, Professor.”
“Ah, but that would defy the entire purpose of your newly-found independence, Harry. You wanted to live by yourself, as is your right. Somehow, I did not think you would appreciate being saddled with a chaperone.”
“So you arranged for her to be appointed as my secretary instead.”
The elder wizard shrugged. “It was the most convenient option. You are young, Harry, and I believed you’d find it more comfortable to trust your regular needs with someone closer to your age than someone older. I did consider Remus for the job, to be honest.”
That flea-bitten mangy, beta male over a hottie like Hestia? Only Albus Dumbledore would think of that as a good choice.
“If it is all the same, sir, I’d rather deal with Hestia than Professor Lupin. He never struck me as the… responsible sort.”
Dumbledore nodded his head like an old elephant. “I said I considered him, but he was not… in the right mindset for this. Seeing his best friend being killed by dementors has affected him quite hard. He blames himself for it. I encouraged him to take a sabbatical to free himself of his inner struggles.”
I scoffed. What did Lupin even do except running away or blaming himself? There was beta behaviour and then there was this. Hermione was right. The man had rejected the wolf within him, and the wolf rejected him in return. With Sirius dead, chances were he would never see Remus Lupin ever again.
Which disappointed me a bit, to be honest. A part of me was actually looking forward to letting Tonks get involved with Lupin for a bit before snatching her from him and seeing him suffer in silence.
Oh well, you can’t get everything.
“But we digress,” said Dumbledore. “Hestia mentioned you had a most interesting dream.”
“More like a nightmare,” I said, and sat opposite him. A part of me wanted to take this discussion to my office, where I could sit on the boss chair, with Albus Dumbledore on the other side of the table, but I determined that it would make things uselessly complicated. Best to let the old man think he still had his pawn where he wanted. The fact was, ever since he had revealed his Divination perk, I had grown massively paranoid when it came to dealing with the man. Like any sensible strategist, I wanted to limit the number of factors he could add to get his divination mojo done right.
Plus, Hestia had placed a listening charm on me, and both women were listening to our discussion from the other room. Emmeline wanted to disillusion herself but even she knew better than to risk the plan. Dumbledore was a master of magical sensing after all, and the Cloak wouldn’t work as well as her as it did for me, its original owner.
“Tell me about this dream.”
I considered playing the part of the ignorant and socially inept Harry Potter of the last three years, but it would only make me look more suspicious. Hestia had made it clear that she had gotten entire dossiers on his character and history. I had no doubt that Dumbledore was having me watched with greater scrutiny now that I was freely making moves in the open.
“I was asleep and dreaming, but it wasn’t like an ordinary dream. I saw… Voldemort.”
My words reverberated in the air and Dumbledore looked at me sharply in the eyes. “You saw him?”
I shook my head. “No, not saw him. I was Him. I felt like a baby, and someone, a woman, I think, was cradling me. I saw Pettigrew, and he said something to me that displeased me, I mean, him, and I — he cruciated him. And there was another person, but I can’t remember it properly.” I took a pause long enough to pass as anxiety, and continued. “I — he was talking about the Quidditch World Cup. And there was a snake. His snake, though it felt like… well, more than just a snake.”
“More than just a snake?”
I frowned, and made myself look confused. “Like I, I mean he, he held a special love for it. Like it was important. Somehow. Also, I felt weak. And stuck in a baby form. But I — he, had his powers. And his wand. Sir, the prophecy Professor Trelawney made, about the servant finding his master, it’s coming true, isn’t it? Pettigrew’s found Him, and now they’re planning something.”
Dumbledore just stared in my general direction, though his pupils were constantly flickering. Like he was deeply thinking about something.
“Sir?”
“Harry,” he asked out of nowhere. “Are you absolutely certain that you saw it from Tom Riddle’s point of view? That you weren’t standing or sitting next to him? Or perhaps, away from him? Looking from above? Did you see his face?”
I shook my head. “No. I told you. I was him. I could feel him — me thinking. Thinking about how he couldn’t trust them. Why is that so difficult to believe?”
Dumbledore stayed silent for a moment, his eyes now focussed on his own interlocking fingers. I wondered if that was because he feared Voldemort was taking over me. It would fit in perfectly with his behaviour in canon fifth-year.
Wait. Fifth year. The horcrux only began acting out after Voldemort took Harry’s blood, didn’t it? So why was it acting out now when Voldy was nothing but a weakling stuck in a child’s body? Had my actions somehow… accelerated the future?
“What happened then?”
I noticed the sharper edge in the old man’s voice and prepared myself. Dumbledore’s actions were always mysterious and often unpredictable, thanks to his divinatory powers. If I had to one-up the man, I would have to play it by the ear.
“When I woke up, I was freaking out. I — ever since the dementor accident, I’ve been different. I can remember things, perfectly recall spells and recite textbooks verbatim. I thought that I’d be able to remember the dream, but I couldn’t. So I started panicking, afraid I’d lose vital information. So I asked Hestia if she knew Legilimency. She didn't.”
“You’re aware of Legilimency.”
“Only a cursory study at best. I know Madam Bones is an accomplished Occlumens, so my next thought was to approach her."
"You are acquainted with Amelia Bones, too," he observed.
I shrugged. "Is that a problem? I spent a weekend at the Bones Mansion. I went to ask Madam Bones if she could help with getting Sirius vindicated and proven innocent. It would get me the Black Lordship, like Sirius wanted.”
“You wish to become the Black Lord,” said Dumbledore with a soft frown. ‘I would have thought that the call of power and prestige does not affect you.”
‘It’s about respecting my godfather’s wishes, Professor.”
“Your godfather is dead, Harry. I doubt it is a sensible thing to try wrangling the Black Lordship from Lucius Malfoy’s hands. His son is the Heir Apparent.”
“Not if Sirius gets proven innocent he’s not,” I shot back. “And please do not forget, I have Black blood in me as well. Dorea Black was my great-grandmother, sister of Arcturus, the previous Lord Black. And Sirius chose me as his heir. And this… is proof.”
I held out my right fist at his face. The Black ring, proof of my being the Lord Conditional shone proudly.
His glasses flashed. “I see. You really have been quite busy.”
I shrugged. “The first step of being independent involves knowing what I am and what I have.”
“True,” he agreed. “I agree with your sentiments, Harry. But Alas, the wheels of our government turn slowly and with imprecision. Lucius controls the majority of the Wizengamot, and not even I, could help you prove Sirius’s innocence, now that Pettigrew is out in the wild.”
“You could do that by using your Order to find him.”
“The Order is already spread thin, Harry. And with Sirius dead —”
I stood up. “Don’t downplay what happened to Sirius just because he’s dead and gone. My godfather was sentenced to lifelong imprisonment despite being a loyal member of your Order of the Phoenix, and not one of you tried to check if he was truly guilty or not. You cast that man to a fate he did not deserve, and he escaped Azkaban just to protect me from Pettigrew, and died from the dementor onslaught. Again, while protecting me from Lupin who forgot he was a werewolf who needs to take a blasted potion on a full moon. No offence, sir, but Sirius has gone to greater lengths for me than anyone else I know of. Including you, sir.”
“Harry, I do not insinuate —”
“I suggest we drop this conversation while we can, Sir,” I finished coldly. “If you and your blasted Order cannot or will not deal with it, I will. If I need to spend every knut in my Potter fortune to find Pettigrew and prove Sirius innocent, I will.”
I probably was being a little too over the top, but hey, when was emotional drama ever anything less?
“Harry, I know you are taking it hard but we must be pragmatic —”
“I’m being pragmatic. I just see him as my godfather and not my pawn.”
None of us spoke for the remainder of the minute.
“...I’m sorry,” I said softly. “That was out of line.”
Dumbledore nodded his head slowly, still not meeting my eyes. “Very well. Let us move on. What happened after?”
“I went to the fireplace to Floo-call Madam Bones. But the Floo was closed. I guess because it was late at night. I guess in hindsight, I was already acting weird, I was frantic, I was…” I swallowed. “It really was frightening, come to think of it. Hestia must have seen or felt something, for she said she’d call someone who could help, and asked me if I could go back and try to relax. So Hermione took me to our bedroom and…” I looked down, and added a touch of embarrassment to my tone. “We made out. And somewhere in the middle of that, something surged within me. The next thing I know, a pungent, twisted magic was all over my room. Hermione had gotten the full brunt of it, and her entire body was pale, like she was dead, only her heart was beating softly. Very softly.”
I paused. “It was the stench of death. Of Necromancy.”
The atmosphere was thick enough to cut with a knife.
“I imagine you got her admitted to St. Mungo’s then?” asked Dumbledore after an anxious moment of silence. I didn’t quite look into the old man’s eyes, afraid of what I’d see in them, and instead looked down at my feet. If nothing else, I could play it as shame.
“No.”
“No?”
I looked up and looked in his general direction. As expected, he didn’t meet my eyes. “No.”
“Why?”
I clenched my fists and pulled off a troubled look. It wasn’t difficult. Just thinking of what happened before was enough to make me want to throw up. “I cannot explain it, sir. The power was everywhere, and I just… knew that it wouldn’t dissolve with the general counter-spell. Hestia tried it too, when she barged into the room, but it didn’t work. It — it was just like with the snake. I didn’t know I was speaking a different language, but I did anyway. That energy, I knew I could control it. I didn’t know how, but I knew I could. So…I just did.”
“Excuse me?”
“I took control of it. I commanded it to come to me. To leave the room, leave Hermione, and come to me.”
This time Dumbledore stood up, and unless I was mistaken, he looked genuinely angry. His eyes looked stormy, before a calmness prevailed over him, and they regained their blue sheen.
“Harry,” he said with a sigh. “I do not think I need to tell you how massively dangerous and utterly stupid that was?”
I barked out a laugh. “You don’t, Professor. It was insanely stupid of me to try what I did. One moment I was calling it to me, the next moment the shadows were in my head, trying to trickle through the walls I created in my head to stop them. I was— I was losing my sanity, but then I had an idea. I called for Dobby, that’s—”
“The Malfoy elf.”
“I asked him to get me goblin-forged weapons from Grim — the Black Townhouse. I knew there’s a giant stock of those there.”
“You’ve been to the Black Townhouse,” he murmured, his moustache quivering. “You really have been quite a busy little bee this summer.”
“Yes,” I said. “Hestia tried to help me. She conjured a Patronus, but it was draining her. So I told her to let it go. It gave me some breathing time with the darkness eating the Patronus up. I knew I would lose myself, and Hermione would die if I didn’t do anything, so I tried to take control a second time. I concentrated, syphoned it all out of her and focussed all that power into the palm of my hand.”
“You were able to focus dark energy into a constrained shape…”
I nodded. “I was lucky that Dobby popped in right then. You told me that goblin-silver only imbibes what strengthens it. So I channelled it into those weapons. They are in the other room now, if you want to see it.”
Dumbledore shook his head. “I will take your word for it. I imagine they will be quite deadly after being exposed to raw necromancy like that.”
“Hestia said the same thing,” I quipped. “Guess I’ll know where to look for next time I need to destroy another Diary.”
I swear Dumbledore stiffened right then. “Yes, I imagine it would be quite effective on such things.”
I tried not to smile. I knew exactly where to use those weapons. And soon.
And now, it was time for the clincher.
“Professor Dumbledore, you are a Legilimens, are you not?”
The old man carefully did not look at me. “I am.”
“I was wondering…” I said slowly, “if you could help me extract that dream. It would give us knowledge into Voldemort’s mind.”
“I doubt that is the wisest or the safest thing to do, Harry,” he said. “Dreams are crafted by the subconscious, and tampering with them with legilimency is an intricate and dangerous thing to even contemplate. If you make the slightest error, you could very well be damaging your mind.”
“So you’re saying I should just let go?” I asked, affronted. Inwardly, I was pleased. I had planted the seeds of doubt in the old man’s mind, and he was confused about the level of influence Voldemort had over my mind. Dumbledore was an illustrious wizard, but his knowledge of Necromancy was hardly stellar.
Or at least, that was what JKR painted it to be.
“I have other means of gaining information about his activities, Harry,” he said softly. “I cannot, in good faith, bring you harm while doing that.”
“But sir, surely this is a pressing concern,” I stressed. “You told me that on the night Voldemort tried to kill me, he left a part of himself in me—” Dumbledore stiffened ever so slightly again — “You told me he gave me powers, a future and this scar. That I can speak Parseltongue because Voldemort can speak Parseltongue. And now I have this ability to control Necromancy through this scar. What if — what if Voldemort is trying to make me like him?”
“Harry, having an ability does not make you evil.”
“That’s bullshit!” I slammed the table between us. Despite my fears, I was genuinely getting irritated by the old man’s prevarications. “I’ve felt that power, professor. It’s cold, alien and wrong. I felt like I was growing detached from the entire world, from life itself. It was trying to control me, to corrupt me. Whatever is in this scar, it’s evil, and if you don’t do something about it…. I will.”
That exacted a reaction from the old man. “What… will you do?”
I gave him an intense look. “It’s like you say, Sir. Do what is right, not what is easy. I have access to the Black townhouse. The Blacks have one of the largest libraries when it comes to the Dark Arts. I’m sure I’ll find something there. And even if I don’t find anything about how to get rid of this scar, I’ll find some way to control this power. I refuse to let Hermione, or anyone else suffer if it acts out again, regardless of how unsafe it might be for me.”
Dumbledore nodded and spoke just as quietly. “I do not disagree with your sentiments, Harry. But I cannot stress on how dangerous it can be, for you. And yet, you have raised excellent points. Allow me some time to sleep on it, and I will get back to you. The Quidditch World Cup is later next week, and I hear Arthur has gotten tickets for you. How about we resume this talk once you reach Hogwarts?”
“You’re deflecting again, sir,” I told him bluntly. “Every year I ask you why He’s after me, and every year you shut me up with non-answers. How long? Why don’t you just tell me why he’s so obsessed with killing me? Why did he try to kill a baby on Halloween 1981? Why did I survive? How did I survive? And what by Merlin, is in this freaking scar?”
“I know you will not accept my decision, but regardless, I will stick to it, Harry. Give me some time. You have given me a lot to think about. But I promise the next time we have a talk, we will talk in detail about the scar, and what we can or cannot do about your dreams.”
“So you’ll just let it go? Voldemort mentioned something to do with the Quidditch World Cup. What if he’s planning something? What if people die?”
“Harry,” Dumbledore tried to mollify me. “The Quidditch World Cup is an international event. The Ministry of Magic has called in every single Auror, Hit-Wizard and Trainee to maintain control.”
“The same Ministry that let my godfather rot in prison while Pettigrew roams free? You’re talking about the same Ministry whose Head takes his cues from Lucius Malfoy! The same Ministry that arrested Hagrid instead of finding the Chamber of Secrets because it needed to be seen doing something.”
I was shouting at the end of it.
“Listen to me, Harry,” said Dumbledore quietly. “I understand that you want to act. And believe me, I know what it is like. I was in your shoes, subtle and quick to anger. I too was annoyed by the indecision and slowness of the Ministry, and the magical world, and wanted to take a radical approach to things. And it shattered my life. It lost me everyone I cared for.”
He exhaled. “When that happened, I promised myself something. I promised myself that I would live my life on my own terms. That I knew the difference between right and wrong, and that I would not cross the line. I wouldn’t allow myself to become like…”
“Like whom, Grindelwald?”
Dumbledore pursed his lips.
“...Yes.”
“You’re not like Grindelwald, Professor. I’ve read all about the last war. Grindelwald was a man of action. You, a man of procrastination.”
I knew I was trying to prick the dragon in the eye. If things went slightly out of control, I’d be burnt to shreds. But I needed the man to be angry. That was the only way I could succeed.
Dumbledore’s blue gaze met my own, and I felt the flash of something terrible rising within them. And all of a sudden, utter tranquillity washed over us, in the form of a phoenix song. Fawkes had decided to let out a soulful melody before flapping his wings and returning to the man’s shoulder.
He let out a resigned sigh. “You are a strong wizard, Harry. Just like me, you feel it. The allure of power. In your own words, you know how wrong the power of Necromancy is, and yet, you state that you will not hesitate to learn to tame it, despite knowing how dangerous it is. But these are treacherous waters, Harry. If you try to navigate them, you shall lose yourself.”
“Then help me and I won’t.”
“I’m not an expert in necromancy, Harry,” he tried. “But what I do know is that nothing good ever came out of it. Some things are more valuable than power, Harry.”
“Yes, like those people who might die if we don’t take timely action.”
Dumbledore froze.
“Take the high road if you want to, Professor. Choose to walk away from this opportunity to delve into Voldemort’s mind and help me control this power. Call it your principles, call it doing the right thing, as you’re so fond of. But after all that, when the people lie dead, people that could have been saved if we acted on this information… every one of those lives will be on your head.”
Dumbledore closed his eyes.
“You’re the greatest wizard in Britain, Professor,” I pleaded. “And I like to think that I’m no slouch either. I might not have your knowledge or your control, but I have power. We both know it. I don’t know why I was given this scar, and why I have access to Voldemort’s knowledge, but if I turn aside this power — power that only I can take up — then I abandon my commitment to protect those I love. People that are not strong enough to do it themselves.”
“It isn’t your responsibility, Harry —”
“Is that what you told yourself when Grindelwald was massacring thousands while you were teaching in the safety of Hogwarts halls?”
Dumbledore flinched, and for once, just stared at me.
“I’m not you, Professor. I am not going to walk away, and give myself excuses about right and wrong just to make me feel better about it. That’s an act of a coward, and I am not one.”
“No Harry,” he sighed. “That you are not.” His eyes met mine again, and I could see something glistening in them. “But if you open that door, you might not be able to close it again.”
“I will. When the darkness was pouring into me, I tried to defend myself, but clearly, I was weak. But I won’t always be. If you won’t, I will ask Madam Bones. If she denies, then someone else. Someone, somewhere will agree with me and teach me Occlumency. Teach me to gain control of my mind just in case the darkness tries to engulf me again.”
“I believe we have reached an impasse, Harry,” said Dumbledore at last. He pushed the chair back and readied himself to leave. “I cannot, in good faith, condemn you to a future of darkness, and you clearly have strong feelings on the subject. My advice is that you develop a neutral perspective to things, choose the pragmatic approach instead of going ahead with your emotions. We will talk about this after the term begins.”
I absorbed all that. It was less than I had been hoping for, but then perhaps it was naive of me to think that someone so intractable in his ways could be convinced so easily over a single discussion. Still, it was good enough for what I needed, so I took whatever victories I could.
“I suppose we will, sir.”
Dumbledore nodded, and turned to Fawkes. The phoenix gave me a pointed stare before letting out a wild screech, as the duo vanished in a burst of flames, leaving me standing in the living room.
“Well…” I muttered to no one in particular. “That could have gone better.”
“Yes!” said Emmeline Vance, who walked out of the next room, looking utterly infuriated. For a moment, I feared she was angry at my insubordination with the Headmaster. If that was the case, then I’d be better off without thinking of pulling her into my game. Obliviator or otherwise, I did not need a blind worshipper in my team.
“That — that—” She snarled, trying to find the best way to express her aggravation. “By Morgana’s lacy bra, I cannot believe the nerve of that man. He did not even consider extracting the dream, or consulting anyone else. I could have done it. If nothing else, you could have tipped Bones off about what he was planning. And that man… he’s…. Ugh! I don’t freaking believe it!”
I couldn’t help myself and snickered.
“Don’t laugh at me, Harry Potter.”
“I told you, Lady Vance. Albus Dumbledore always goes with what he thinks best, often ignoring the obvious.”
Her eyes twitched.
I laughed. “Well then, I suppose that is that. Obviously me being the third-year passout, am in the wrong. The dream is probably not worth it at all. After all, who cares if some nameless and faceless people die in the event.”
“Don’t try to be sarcastic. Mr. Potter —”
“I’m truly not,” I said. “It’s like Professor Dumbledore said. It’s not my responsibility.”
She let out a soft growl. “Don’t play games with me, Harry Potter. I already told you that I’d swear a secrecy vow, didn’t I? I will help you with extracting the dream, and then you can tip Madam Bones. Even better, let me talk to Amelia about it.”
I smiled, and sat down on the couch. “I will, but upon one condition.”
Emmeline frowned as the conversation turned into a direction that she was clearly not fond of. “I would assume that saving you from becoming a vegetable lying in St. Mungo’s while successfully extracting the dream memory would be considered a satisfactory payment. Plus, you might not have noticed, but I have not demanded any remuneration for my efforts either.”
“Oh I am aware of that,” I said languidly. “And let me assure you, money is not an issue, even if you demand payment. In fact, I’d rather pay you than be in your debt, Lady Vance.”
“Then —”
“But the question of payment only arises when you’re offering me a service. But that isn’t it, is it? You need the memory just as much as I do, perhaps even more. And Dumbledore has certainly proven that he doesn’t care two bits about Voldemort’s plan for the Quidditch World Cup. It feels like a very thankless thing to risk my own life and sanity for such a thankless task.”
“You are playing a very dangerous game, Harry Potter,” said Emmeline. “I’m the Lady of House Vance, and the Head of the Obliviator Office. If you think you can worm conditions out of me, you are either very sure of yourself or very foolish.”
I mentally agreed with her, but it was too late to turn back now. “You saw it yourself. Dumbledore won’t take action, and despite my efforts to egg him into reacting, he stays obstinate and firm on his beliefs. And you heard him, about the dangers of the discipline I plan to tread into. As for what I desire in exchange for giving you the dream memory, I believe you’ll find them quite acceptable.”
“Acceptable or otherwise, I do not like being pushed, Mr. Potter.” She paused and frowned. “What do you want?”
“You will teach me the Mind Arts.”
“... That is a very specific request, and not at all something conventional.”
“You just witnessed me peeking into the Dark Lord’s mind, and drawing dark powers out of my scar. Nothing about this is conventional.” I paused, and exhaled, and spoke in a softer tone. “I do not wish to strong arm you, Lady Vance. But I need to master the psychic arts. Occlumency to fortify my mind, and ensure that I’m able to not just hold back the darkness the next time it tries to overwhelm me.”
“And Legilimency?”
I paused, weighing if I should tell her.
“Mr. Potter? Tell me. What do you need Legilimency for?”
I made my decision, and met her eyes.
“To extract information from Voldemort’s shit eaters after my own people capture them.”
“Your own —”
‘I am the last of my line, Lady Vance. I have gold, and I know how to use it. Question is, what will you do?”
Emmeline looked at me, and then at Hestia, and then back at me. Then she threw her head and let out a cackle, reminding me of Amelia. Finally, she regarded me, a soft smile on her lips. “Tell me, Mr. Potter, has anyone won an argument with you lately?”
Hestia broke into laughter as I scowled trying to fight off the smile. “Her,” I said, pointing my thumb in Hestia’s direction.
Emmeline snorted. “I’m sure I will be regretting this, but fine. I’m in. So long as I’m privy to every single of these dreams.”
“Absolutely,” I promised, inwardly pleased at the successful completion of the first stage of my plan. Soon, Emmeline too would be mine.
“Well then, let’s get started. Oh, and Mr. Potter, please call me Emmeline.”
“Only if you call me Harry.”
“Deal.”
Comments
Rolando Estrada
Hope you make it so he siphoned enough of Hermione's curse that she doesn't register as a werewolf anymore, but has full control. When miss Vance goes into his head, she should be bombarded by lust and perversions xD
Fernzyyyy
You've encapsulated canon Dumbledore to a tee. You've captured he's apathy and passive aggressive sanctimonious attitude
Alkole
Wonder how talented he will be in the mind arts after sleeping with her
