Everything was going wrong. Albus understood perfectly well he shouldn't try forcing the situation—just change it. Slowly, methodically, subtly moving all his game's participants to the right positions. Thank goodness Snape finally finished the potion. He'd be the first to test it actually. Just had to thoroughly mask the taste and smell—unfortunately quite specific. It reeked like someone's breath after seriously gorging on onions while completely neglecting oral hygiene. And tasted exactly like onions. Or rather, onion juice.
The director's personal potions master was disgustingly indifferent to his creations' taste and aroma qualities. If the potion worked, he considered his job done. If only Dumbledore knew the true reasons for such indifference...
The headmaster grimaced, carefully corking the potion vial. Well fine, Snape already got his order to eliminate the burning sensation. Albus would handle the rest himself somehow. Add mint at least—known to eliminate exactly this type of smell quite well.
Altering a Master-invented potion so the Master himself wouldn't recognize it turned out difficult but quite fascinating. True, achieving acceptable results kept failing. But managed to create one very pleasant aroma along the way. Albus himself wasn't indifferent to it. Started spritzing first his handkerchief, then his robes and himself.
By the way, not only did he like the smell. During his last Ministry visit, Fudge carefully but clearly sniffed around, then even asked where to buy such incense. He had to promise a little bottle. After which the conversation went miraculously smoothly. After all, the sweetish-sandalwood smell with a slight pine bitterness coming from his own beard was simply marvelous!
The headmaster sniffed away another failure at neutralizing the vile smell of such a promising potion and thought.
He'd always considered Snape dark—enough information about his family. Lucky that Eileen turned out to be a weak witch with quite the wind in her head. The Princes as well-born mages finally lost all influence. The main thing was keeping Severus away from the old Prince while he was alive. Fortunately, thanks to certain circumstances—including accidental ones—that succeeded quite easily.
The headmaster's thoughts returned to the present. To Harry Potter. Severus overdid it with him again. Though he was obligated to keep the boy alive, so no complaints there. No, the director felt, even saw, that their story was just a legend. But from the boy's fine motor skills and Snape's long-learned intonations, he understood perfectly they were only hiding that the situation had been even more serious than presented.
He pretended to believe and dismissively released both. Still, no mage had been born yet that he, Albus, couldn't expose! Something else bothered him. What did the soul of a boy who chose a repentant dark mage as his Patronus now represent? Had it stayed light? Doubts plagued the headmaster. More and more.
Also Albus, watching the gradually improving relations between Gryffindor and Slytherin third-years, started suspecting even more serious changes in Harry. Especially since Potter hadn't exactly become the unspoken leader in his house—definitely couldn't allow that—but... other kids seemed to be listening to him.
Only Ron Weasley, true son of truly light wizards, started somehow distancing himself from his friend. Also alarming. Wasn't this exactly what should happen if Harry still became dark? Or if the Horcrux, despite everything, somehow started affecting the boy? This was all completely unnecessary.
The headmaster drew parallels with Tom. But Harry kept drawing one hell of a curve. Stubbornly wouldn't fit any framework. Seemed to behave just like Riddle, then turned out his goal was the most Gryffindor one... Even last time he used Parseltongue to try establishing contact with Miss Parkinson's Patronus—a magnificent boa constrictor shimmering with rainbows even in incorporeal form.
Result—students from all houses spent half the lesson petting the ghostly boa that Parkinson and Potter dragged between desks, admiring the shimmer and reflections of its incorporeal skin. Hell, Albus himself petted it a bit. Fingers felt surprisingly pleasant warmth. Eyes seriously stuck on the play of color flashes. If only he could find robes that color!..
And Potter beamed like a birthday boy. Hardly less than the proud happy Patronus owner herself.
A bit more and the houses will start fraternizing. Starting with third year. Need to urgently separate the kids. Have Minerva redo the schedule, the headmaster thought on his way to his office.
All his pronouncements about terrible dark mages and meaningful looks toward Slytherins had no effect. The "greens" sat calmly, faces like bricks, as the inappropriately remembered Sirius Black would say. The "reds" he'd counted on, along with two always-neutral houses, looked at him slightly confused.
Well yeah... Parkinson beaming like sunshine. Happy proud Malfoy. Bulstrode nearly squealed with delight, petting her still quite small long-legged Moon Calf. Amazed Crabbe and Goyle who'd produced a pair of battle piglets that immediately started hilarious antics with five other hoofed babies—authored by Puffs and one Claw. Somehow it didn't look like "dangerous and scary darks." And he could do nothing about it. The Patronuses were right there...
Albus never managed to finally determine darkness and light in one particular Potter. So decided to arrange Harry's introduction to Tom Riddle—via Pensieve, of course. Plus he'd ask the boy to let him see a couple of his recent pleasant memories. Not hard to delight an old man, right?
Maybe worth showing Tom's childhood to someone else? Like Harry's friends? It would be interesting watching their reaction. And by the way, could invite Snape too. Let him admire. Why not... quite a way to better understand how all the working pieces' relationships had changed and were developing.
***
Next week the school buzzed. Schedule changes significantly increased free periods but also pushed back the school day's end. Snape, seeing practical lessons with each house separately in his schedule, almost kissed (mentally, of course!) Minerva McGonagall's wrinkled cheeks. More hours, true, but how much simpler to work! Separate Slytherin, separate Gryffindor—just a dream!
Only less and less time remained for detentions. Though... could accept other students during "free periods"—why not? He smiled at shocked Minerva and dove into the schedule, composing his own plan. Plus Harry had already gotten used to dragging Granger everywhere. She turned out not just a walking reference book but an equally active kid with a clear sharp mind. However after Monday dinner, Harry came alone. Kept nervously bouncing like on pins. His friend had gone to the headmaster...
Snape had to remind the student the girl now always carried an excellent antidote mixed with Muggle lemonade. The main thing—make sure she drank it.
"No problem," Harry finally smiled and relaxed. "She loves lemonade! So she'll definitely drink it. Ah... think that potion still reeks?"
Snape shook his head. They continued working on Harry's nonverbal defense.
***
Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, despite some trepidation before the headmaster, simultaneously and completely involuntarily grimaced, bringing tea cups to their mouths. The girl even looked at him pleadingly.
Now she'll gather courage and say you can't drink this, Dumbledore thought and sighed. I have to settle for old methods.
"I recently received this variety as a gift." The headmaster always preferred playing ahead. Weasley nearly spilled the cup on himself. Apparently appreciating the gift. Then rather squeamishly shook off splashed liquid. Granger's eyes went practically cup-sized each.
No, these kids are still wonderful! Dumbledore decided. Everything, absolutely everything they feel and think is written right on their faces. Good friends I chose for Harry, he praised himself.
"For some reason nobody likes it. I keep looking for someone I could... gift it to in turn," he merrily flashed his half-moon spectacles.
"You don't like it either?" Ron asked sympathetically. "Why brew it then?"
"I said I'm looking for someone who'd like it to gift it to." Teaching notes flickered in the headmaster's voice.
"Doubt you'll quickly find those who enjoy the smell of stale socks and, it seems like, onions," Hermione sighed sympathetically. "Can't you just throw it out?"
"It's a gift." The headmaster poured the children tea from another pot. This one smelled like tea and, actually, was. A drop of trust potion—just in case—a trifle that would only slightly strengthen these children's attitude toward him. How pleasant watching them! Wonder what else they'd say?
"Then maybe just put it somewhere farther away?" Granger suggested. "Only label it so you don't accidentally take it later. Maybe it'll air out with time?"
"Perhaps I'll follow your advice, my girl," the headmaster smiled. "More tea?"
When the children drank a cup each, he started the conversation...
Sparkling orbs spun. Bells in his beard jingled melodiously—frequently stroked by the headmaster. It smelled pleasantly of some southern forest. The headmaster's speeches seemed to penetrate straight into their brains...
***
"Um... Hermione... I don't get something," Ron started uncertainly after they'd wandered the school for half an hour searching for Harry after leaving the headmaster's office. Or rather, Hermione dragged Ron along. He'd resisted at first. But didn't refuse sipping delicious lemonade from her bottle, so felt embarrassed to leave right away. Plus plenty of drink remained. When they finally headed toward the dungeons, he calmed completely. Well... The kitchen was getting closer. Only strange thoughts started coming to his head. Couldn't help voicing them.
"What exactly?" The girl turned to him, stopping.
"The headmaster... wants us to watch Harry?"
"Yes, I understood that too. And?"
"But he said we should tell him anything unusual?" Ron continued. "So... we're supposed to snitch? On... Harry?"
A calm and making-conclusions Ron Weasley was definitely a new variable in the difficult equation of her life. So Hermione decided to first hear everything he'd say. Nodded for him to continue. Didn't miscalculate.
Five minutes later before her stood a quite recognizable, scandalous, seething-with-righteous-anger Ron Weasley. Only the cause of his boiling was... exactly what was needed. For once in his life. Just balm on wounds...
"He... How could he think that about Harry?! Him—dark? Can't be! That's... complete nonsense, with all my... respect for the headmaster," the guy was genuinely outraged. Roses, hemlock and something else, possibly aconite, bloomed in Hermione's soul. It felt good anyway.
This collection in someone's tea, the girl thought and smiled. Ron Weasley was definitely on Harry's side. Their side. She caught a clear questioning intonation at the end of his fiery rambling speech. But for now he decided not to lay out all the cards.
"I think he's just concerned Harry isn't badly influenced," she said carefully.
"Really? I understood he's the one influencing us. And we should pay attention to that. And tell me about it too. Wait..." Ron paused and suddenly changed expression. "Listen, could someone have replaced the headmaster?"
Hermione bugged out her eyes. Unexpected conclusion.
"Ah... don't think so. But..." then she realized she could use this situation. "Let's observe just in case? And not tell him anything about Harry for now, okay?"
"Exactly," Ron beamed, pleased that the model student and simply brainy girl completely fully approved his decision. "Even if we notice something, we won't say it just in case, right? If anything... we can always do it later!"
Guy solidarity turns out to be a good thing, the well-read girl decided. Wanted to probe her friend deeper.
"Maybe tell Harry himself? I think he has a right to know. It concerns his life... What do you think? Would you want to know in his place?"
"Of course," Ron approved hotly, completely not noticing they were moving farther from the kitchen toward their own common room. "Isn't that why we're looking for him?"
Hermione breathed with relief and changed the conversation topic.
"Ron, will you tell me what's up with your runes? If it's not a secret, of course."
The guy unexpectedly blushed.
"See... it's personal. Just a couple small mistakes there. But the result... well, you saw. I even started feeling completely different. I really changed, right?"
"Of course! It's so great everything's gone now! Why didn't you say? Harry and I would've been happy for you!"
"Just unclear where it all started. Mum... she's no rune expert. Just copied embroidery. Can't remember where she got the pattern. There."
"Do you have enemies?" The girl frowned. Ron surprisingly felt how pleasant she was worried about him. She continued: "Maybe your family does? Or just your mum? But... wait, what about the others—everything okay? Did you check?"
"The twins' embroidery is a bit different and no problems apparently. Ginny has the same as me. Only affected her differently for some reason. The problem is it still takes quite a long time to fix. Because the influence was long too. From the age three, it turns out. Professor Babbling says that's exactly why I had strong outbursts. Often. Even weakened my magical core. So... don't be surprised if Ginny or I get carried away again, okay?"
"Can I help somehow?"
"Professor Babbling showed me something. But everyone has to do it for themselves," Ron sighed. "Eh, I'd definitely ask you otherwise. I'm—" he grinned embarrassedly "—a totally shit embroiderer. Half a millimeter off or a stitch slightly angled—and that's it, start over. From the very first one, can you imagine? Awful. Just... don't tell anyone!"
"I, Hermione Jean Granger, give my word that I won't pass on information Ronald Weasley just told me to anyone. May the world's magic witness and my magic be the guarantee."
Ron's mouth dropped open.
"Granger, did you... you gave me a real oath?!"
"What should I have done? Written a Muggle receipt?"
"Well... thanks... didn't expect it."
Hermione just shrugged. Internally wondered about the Weasley family's oddities.
"How else?"
***
When friends told Harry about the result of their tea with the headmaster, he seriously thought. Then he also started reasoning aloud.
"Wait... So if I'm supposed to somehow defeat Vol... Riddle—meaning kill him—who will I be after? What do you think?"
"Well... A hero, probably," Ron shrugged.
But Hermione stayed silent. Already quite clear what catch might lurk here. Though Harry understood too. Even if he didn't want to believe it. But had to stop Ron's wavering about trusting the headmaster. Or finish wavering him to the right state they needed.
"I'm more interested in who the respected headmaster will call me then. Universal savior like he already did once? Or universal threat? I'm supposed to become the killer of England's strongest dark mage, right? So what will they declare for me?"
Harry himself went cold imagining certain options. He didn't want people fearing him at all. And definitely didn't plan spending his whole life under constant surveillance. Plus there was still Azkaban...
"Whew..." Ron drew out and buried his fingers in his uncombed mop. "I still think someone replaced Dumbledore! He couldn't have said that about you, mate! You... You're... You can't possibly be on the side of whoever killed your parents!" The ginger smacked his fist against the wall from excess feelings. "Ow-w-w!"
"You're absolutely right there, friend," Harry smiled sadly.
He felt really off and wanted to urgently consult Snape. But knew slipping to the dungeons today would be impossible. Just the notebook, yeah... But that was too little!
"So let's watch the headmaster. I'll go first!" Ron declared. "Gotta find the real one and free him! Then we'll all be heroes!"
Hermione sighed. When Ron Weasley got worked up, nothing could stop him.
But after they agreed Ron would watch Dumbledore (or whoever was pretending to be him). A couple days later the guys gave him a special artifact bracelet blocking mental influence.
"Of course this thing isn't that strong. But heats up fast even with weak influence. At least you'll be warned," Harry explained to his pleased friend. "Just grab your stomach and bolt. Got it?"
"It's probably crazy expensive..." Weasley nodded and stroked the bracelet that seemed too foreign on his wrist.
"A friend's more valuable," Harry cut him off, making his friend happy. Pressed the last curl, making the trinket invisible. "What the hell do I need all the galleons my ancestors left if I'll have nobody to trust?"
Ron thought. Galleons were great, of course. But there was something else that could protect them all.
"Let me give an oath, maybe..."
"How about Unbreakable?" Hermione suggested. Ron flinched.
"However he decides," Harry looked at his friend. Or was it a friend after all? Either way, it wasn't worth risking.
"Either way we need to think through the text carefully," Hermione bent over some paper, immediately getting to work while their friend pondered what to choose.
When the text was ready and everyone approved, Harry wondered whether to give it to Snape for review. Only how would Ron react—he'd always been in extreme opposition to the Teacher? But worth consulting. As usual, his friend saved him by suggesting showing it to Flitwick. When they dragged surprised Weasley to the Ravenclaw common room where they were greeted quite friendly, the ginger was a bit stunned.
"So that's where you've been disappearing," he realized.
"You couldn't find us in the library? Actually we're most often there, not here. Plus you practically moved into Runes class now yourself."
Weasley smiled. Runes... He really was getting a lot done. But he wouldn't tell yet. When he could present them something... something equal to at least Hermione's Patronus, then of course he'd share. If only he could make something... like Harry's invisibility cloak. He preferred not thinking about his friend's Patronus...
And Ravenclaw's dean still fixed one slightly slippery formulation...
***
"No, lady, this dog is not for sale," the solidly built stocky Muggle puzzled Narcissa Black. The lady barely suppressed indignation. She had to negotiate. Couldn't leave her brother—cousin, even—with this... she couldn't.
Marjorie Dursley watched with surprise as her hope and future champion fawned on an unfamiliar lady clearly belonging to high society. Though defending the doggie would be quite difficult. She started from afar. About exhibition plans, registrations, training. After all, ruining a dog was so easy!
The aristocrat nodded, sometimes frowning slightly. Marge already hoped she and Charlie would be left alone after all. But... The lady still insisted. Most importantly, proposed a simply wonderful compromise! And a simply very, very tempting sum. The dog would belong to her. Be exhibited from the kennel at first. But all rights would be Lady Malfoy's. She'd have everything basically except... the dog itself.
"He'll still live at the kennel," Narcissa outlined the prospects to happily nodding Miss Dursley. "Prize documents can be duplicated. But the right to determine his further fate will be mine."
"What about breeding?" the lady asked immediately. "You understand, breed improvement..."
"I think the first proposal should be canceled. He's still too young. Plus payment after he becomes champion will be... more adequate."
The dog behaved almost like a human. Sighed, squeezed his eyes shut and laid his muzzle on the lady's shoes. She didn't even flinch. Marge imagined not just herself but the dog felt clear relief...
"You warned me about all the exhibitions. About all movements around the country and abroad, naturally too. My lawyer will send you the contract."
After the blue-blooded lady left, Marjorie Dursley ruffled Charles Alfred Bester White Pearl's dense withers.
"Now you're worth your weight in gold, noble dog... Strange she liked you so immediately. Though you dogs know how to recognize people. Seems she's not indifferent to you either. Just not rushing to let you in the house. And knows how to count money no worse than me. Are you sure you weren't acquainted?"
Sirius barked.
"What are you trying to say? That you won't fart when the lady decides to show off with you on a leash? Charlie, what's wrong? Are you coughing or... laughing?"
The sounds the dog made were too strange. Marge was seriously worried.
Black mentally pulled himself together. Remembered Sybill Trelawney. Briefly cursed Snape with a non-mean word and blessed Harry. Barked again and pretended to cough.
"Should take you to the vet..."
Sirius made Miss Dursley smirk with one look.
"Fine, fine. But if you keep coughing, you'll meet our doctor up close."
Yeah right, not happening, Sirius thought and sprawled grandly on the carpet.
***
Hot working days arrived for the headmaster. He'd already prepared the Pensieve. Sent a clever invitation to Harry hinting he should bring those who, in his opinion, should learn something important. Sent a house-elf for Severus. He personally brewed several tea variants... And invited Lupin as taster. Worth watching him too. Plus wanted to see Snape's and Harry's reaction to him in person.
"Severus, you... overdid it with Harry again," Dumbledore presented the potions master with a complaint that seemed to be becoming standard.
"Have I ever performed your tasks carelessly?" he answered with a question in the best Slytherin tradition. Nothing to counter with, though he really wanted to.
Dumbledore's heavy sigh almost stirred Snape's hair. But he didn't even raise an eyebrow. Continued impassively listening to the boss. Though actually nothing left to listen to.
From the corner, Professor Lupin contemplated this scene in quiet prostration. Finally enlightened about who was Harry Potter's Patronus—his main student. Whom he should not only teach but enlighten, protect and save. It seemed they'd managed perfectly without him. Quite quality management, judging by the Patronus. And most importantly, WHO!
The pause didn't last long. The door flew open. Before them appeared Harry Potter with quite a large company. The boy politely greeted first the headmaster, then Snape, then Lupin, whom he didn't notice immediately. His other companions limited themselves to nods and short bows.
Dumbledore responded to greetings, barely holding back from throwing the whole company out of the office.
"But you yourself said there'd be something everyone should know! Or did I misunderstand?" Harry was surprised, seeing the displeased expression on the headmaster's face.
The Mordred-cursed kid understood completely wrong. But couldn't say that now! Greetings continued. Albus held his gracious smile, feeling something escaping him. All other house heads came with Harry. Minerva McGonagall now suspiciously squinted first at her student, then at Snape. Granger and Weasley settled in the corner opposite Lupin. And just at this moment Amelia Bones called the headmaster through the fireplace... who after brief thought decided to join.
The headmaster got distracted with her. Then it was too late. Harry Potter started asking questions. He even pulled out a notebook to...
"Please tell me, Headmaster, why wasn't I allowed to visit my parents' grave on the anniversary of their death?"
"What?" Dumbledore raised his eyebrows and looked at Minerva. "When did you ask?"
"I left an application with my dean... Filled it out properly. Professor Snape helped me."
The potions master triumphantly flashed his eyes at Lupin. The headmaster grimaced, immediately turning away for the teapot. The question was unexpected and not particularly pleasant. Plus sixth sense said this was only the beginning.
Looking into her charge's sad honest eyes, Minerva McGonagall finally remembered how after Transfiguration Harry'd handed her some parchment... It seemed to be several days before Halloween. But she'd been so swamped... Plus before the holiday! How could this... How badly it turned out!
"But Harry, why didn't you come to my office? Ask about the decision?" Maybe still manage to save face. Nothing else left anyway.
Though this doesn't excuse me, she decided herself. Swore to be more attentive, especially to notes kids sometimes gave her.
"Why didn't I ask?" Harry was offended. "I came every day. With the guys." Weasley and Granger nodded together. "Your office is always closed. Can only catch you after lessons. And in the Great Hall... See, I wouldn't want everyone hearing. And... everyone stares there." Green eyes grew huge and glistened. A tear ran down his cheek.
Snape mentally applauded his student's artistry, portraying an impassive rock. Granger hid her smile in her fist. Lupin continued quietly suffering. Though now slightly about a different matter.
Minerva McGonagall was ready to sink through the floor or eat her own hat. But ah, if only that could help!
"Albus..." Her voice nearly failed. "Professor Dumbledore! I think we either need to transfer Gryffindor's headship to someone else, or remove part of your duties from me! Or... finding another... deputy headmaster."
There. She'd said it... Strange. Somehow it even felt easier.
And while the headmaster was forced to calm his most devoted ally, Potter, as luck would have it, continued.
"Everyone says I'm the Potter heir. But without inheritance there are no heirs, right?"
Dumbledore just wanted to inform that his parents' vault was in perfect order and all its contents intact—which wasn't his achievement actually—when the boy sighed and continued.
"You know, I've dreamed so long of seeing the house where Mum and Dad lived... That's my house too, right?"
Pomona Sprout frowned menacingly. The headmaster flinched. If anyone, he remembered what this outwardly peaceful lady could deliver when in the mood. How she worried about children. And Potter right now was—a perfect homeless kitten! And Flitwick was frowning, surprised too... Shouldn't have presented himself as Harry's guardian before everyone back then. Oh, shouldn't have. What would they think of him now?
Why, why hadn't he even supposed the boy might be interested in this? The headmaster was ready to spit in his own beard. But had to answer something.
"Er, you see, Harry, it's somewhat... not in that condition."
"What do you mean, not in that?" The boy genuinely didn't understand.
"You see, Harry, there might be danger. The roof... Destruction..."
"Destruction from AVADA? Come on!" Snape quite reasonably didn't believe it. The headmaster, looking at puzzled Bones and frowning deans, understood Lupin should've eaten this brat back then. Despite all his, the headmaster's, efforts, he'd still grown into a big snake.
Snape calmly sipped tea, peacefully chatting with Minerva. And seemed—if he heard correctly—quite approved her protest. And was even calming her! What was happening, for heaven's sake?!
"Mum's birthday is January thirtieth," the nightmarish kid continued. "Can I please still visit her grave, Headmaster!"
Minerva suspiciously sniffled, pulled out a handkerchief and headed to the corner to Lupin. Hermione and Ron exchanged surprised looks.