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AN: I've been trying really hard to set everything up so this doesn't require much suspense of disbelief, but I had to write this chapter even if someone judges it a misfire. It's too badass.
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In the office of the late Lord Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy looked at Dumbledore, Dumbledore looked at Charon, and Charon looked at Narcissa.
They only needed a set of flintlock pistols to partially recreate the Pirates of the Caribbean meme.
Harry was sitting in place, trying not to move, as if doing so would prevent him from being noticed.
What the fuck was he supposed to do here? Was he intruding on something? Should he just say 'cavus' and have Dobby port him away? Wouldn't that be awkward as fuck? Pop in, say, 'What a fortuitous encounter,' and leave?
Would that be, dare he say, based? Or was it cringe? If anything, it would make it look like he was running away.
He panicked, looked at Narcissa, and did something he'd only ever done with the hat: He extended a tendril to create a telepathic two-way street. The woman, however, while smart enough to realise what he was doing, wasn't good enough at the mind arts to reciprocate. Instead, she simply showed him a series of blurry scenes containing the requisite information.
Flashes of information interspersed with garbled words flashed through Harry's mind in an offensive packaging.
He got the gist. Narcissa was lucky he'd been practising with the hat, or else it would have been impossible to decipher that mess.
Dumbledore had recently been trying to create laws allowing for searching and seizing dark artefacts. The process had stumbled a bit politically, and now it seemed like he was tired of waiting. He wanted the diary…
The only thing was that Harry had already destroyed the diary and had had Dobby inform the man of this fact. It seemed like Dumbledore was a tad paranoid, however, and wanted to confront the person who'd done it, or at least find out who'd done it.
His best clue then, also provided by Harry, was Malfoy Manor.
This was what Narcissa had wanted to meet him in person for, to warn him that Dumbledore was sniffing around.
There had also been something about Fudge in the memories, weirdly enough, but that was irrelevant.
"It is a grand coincidence indeed that we should meet like this," Dumbledore started slowly.
"I already wrote you a letter. Do you have trust issues, old man?" Charon asked in an annoyed tone of voice.
"Someone appearing who can identify what you did, destroy and know who to inform…" Dumbledore muttered. "Suffice to say that it piqued my curiosity."
"You'd think that a man with so many titles wouldn't have time to follow up on such crude, idle curiosities," Harry bit out.
"I've been a horrible host. Would you like some tea?" Narcissa suddenly interrupted, drawing a confused glance from both the men in the room.
"No worries," Charon muttered, flexing his magic while sitting perfectly still and not moving his hands even an inch.
The teapot sitting on a low table between Narcissa and Dumbledore suddenly rose up and poured a perfect cup worth into a conveniently placed third teacup. Then, one of the little silver spoons rose to take a bit of sugar and start mixing it in; at the same time, under Dumbledore's curious gaze, the pitcher of milk rose up to mix a bit of the white liquid into the black tea. When it was done mixing in the sugar, the silver spoon rose and tapped itself on the rim of the teacup to disperse the last droplets of liquid before coming to rest on the little plate underneath the cup. The whole ensemble then steadily rose and floated over to Charon and came to rest on the table in front of him.
This was when he raised a hand to take the cup and took a sip of the tea. "Black rose," he muttered. "A good one, Madagascar vanilla bean aftertaste, if I'm not wrong. Your hospitality does you credit as always, Narcissa," he ended up saying.
"Oh, thank you," Narcissa said with a confused blink.
Dumbledore coughed. "Back to the matter at hand," he paused, turning to Narcissa, "could you perhaps…"
"You wouldn't be so rude as to ask a woman to leave you her own parlour," Charon interrupted acidicly. "Where are those fabled old-world manners I've heard so much about?"
"Ah, excuse me," Dumbledore said with a bit of playful chagrin. "At my age, manners start to slip occasionally. You know how it is." The two of them locked eyes.
That was when the attack that Charon had been expecting came. It was subtle, but to someone like him, who'd been dealing with Godric Gryffindor himself for years now… It was as obvious as a truck full of shit.
Not even the mind arts, but occlumency in particular. That was the only field in which Harry was comfortable testing himself against an adult wizard. Had Dumbledore picked any other discipline, he would have quickly discovered that Charon was a fraud.
But he'd picked legilimency. Harry looked at the mental probe. It was… The best he'd ever seen, if you ignored the hat, of course. Subtle, small, powerful. But the thing about the mind arts was, it was always harder to legilimise someone than it was to defend. After all, coming into his mind. They were fighting on his territory.
He grasped the probe, and he saw the moment that Dumbledore felt his attempt being caught. He sat up straight and tried to retreat.
Harry didn't let him. He started exerting pressure on it, increasing, so to say, the gravity of the situation. The only option for Dumbledore was to abandon the tendril, but it would be admitting defeat and lead to a mental backlash.
Harry twisted the probe painfully and saw the old man's eyebrows twitch.
"With teachers like this," Harry muttered. "No wonder that boy's manners were so non-existent." A fire started in his mind, and because Dumbledore was still unwilling to let go, Harry decided to try and bluff to intimidate the man from ever trying to do this again.
He let the tendril go, and as it retreated back towards the old man, he followed, crudely and simply as he could due to his lack of skill.
Dumbledore furrowed his brows, the discrepancy in skill between legilimency and occlumency too obvious to ignore.
Harry allowed his attack to dissipate before it reached the old man.
But that didn't mean he couldn't pretend that he had entered his mind.
"Guilt, shame, a terrible amount of things you've done wrong whenever you dared hold power in your hands, Albus," Harry suddenly said.
"What do you mean?" Dumbledore asked.
Charon slowly shook his head and tsked. "The poor girl, killed either by one of her brothers or the lover of the older one." He paused, pretending as if he was receiving a revelation. "And setting the boy's closet on fire the first time you met? Isn't that perhaps sending the wrong message? Those with strength can burn the things of those who can't defend themselves. I see that your pedagogical skills are as outdated as your wardrobe."
"Stop," Dumbledore croaked with wide eyes as he quickly pulled out his wand to hold it to his own temple, causing Harry to once again almost shit his pants.
"Why should I? Was it not the same thing you were trying to do to me?" Charon asked in an amused voice. "What's a secret between friends? Just an opportunity to get closer."
"φύλαξον τὸν νοῦν, ἀντιλέγειν τῷ πνεύματι, φύλαξον τὴν ψυχήν," Dumbledore started muttering quietly under his breath while the tip of his wand glowed. "φύλαξον τὸν νοῦν, ἀντιλέγειν τῷ πνεύματι, φύλαξον τὴν ψυχήν."
"So you know the spell, but you still almost put on the ring?" Charon asked curiously as the old man grew paler and paler. "I can understand the temptation, after all, for someone who's made as many mistakes as you… You have a lot of dead people to apologise to. Although, would there have been a point?" he asked as Dumbledore clasped his hands together, and a burst of fire illuminated the room.
"After all," Charon said as Fawkes appeared on the man's shoulder and protectively covered his head with a wing. "You don't even have the courage to apologise to the living."
His magic senses revealed a fiery bubble of magic covering Dumbledore's head. It seemed that this was his last resort to protect his mind. Harry stopped pretending that he was reading it; after all, it wouldn't do to make Dumbledore desperate. He couldn't help but make one last quip.
"From one old man with a lot fewer regrets than you," he said. "I would apologise to your brother. One day, you won't be able to anymore."
"Thank you for the advice," Dumbledore said stiltedly as he seemed to reevaluate his life.
Narcissa, for her part, was sitting in her chair trying to appear as small as possible and looking at the scene as if her entire world-view had been smashed and broken.
"But, going by the skin composition on your hands, you're not a day over 21," Dumbledore accused.
Charon shook his head and tutted. "One would think that with your friends, you'd be more open-minded to someone appearing younger than they are," he said.
"The stone…" Dumbledore said breathlessly.
Charon laughed. If he had the philosopher's stone… Well, considering what he was starting to suspect as to how it was made, he didn't really think he'd make it even if he had the opportunity. "You will find that most people have a moral fibre strong enough to not touch the one thing we should not simply because it promises to deliver us from fear. In the end, it is being afraid of something that grants it the most power over us. Death is not as much the sleep as it is the waking, and those who run from the inevitable stand still in life. If you fervently believe that tomorrow is a hope, never a promise, you might suddenly find that tomorrow never comes," he said cryptically.
"Those who run from death stand still in life," Dumbledore muttered, seemingly calming down. "A fitting way to describe the subject of the conversation I wish to have."
"Are you convinced now that I am not he?" Charon asked curiously.
Dumbledore slowly nodded, but Fawkes did not lower his wing. "What you have done is… impossible."
Harry completely agreed. His and Dumbledore's occlumency was probably good enough that no human could breach their defences if they were actually trying to defend themselves. Dumbledore was failing to apply Occam's razor. Rather than someone reading his mind, it was more likely that they simply knew his well-hidden past. But, if the well-hidden past was so hidden that only the author had known about it, then wasn't it akin to having one's mind read?
In the end, the bluff had seemed successful.
"It is not that I am against indulging your curiosity," Harry said. "It is simply that I am usually against the idea of indulging unwanted guests. If you had wanted an audience, you would have asked for it through the proper channels."
"Oh, I apologise; I did not know your address, so I could not send an owl," Dumbledore said apologetically.
"Perhaps you should have taken the lack of address as a sign of disinterest in conversation," Harry replied coldly. "It's not that I'm not old enough to know by now that age does not equate wisdom, but you truly do lack even the most basic manners. I am beginning to somewhat pity whatever teachers were saddled with you back when you were still a student."
Dumbledore seemed to think about that for a second before putting down the wand he had been somewhat suspiciously still holding to his temple. He put the wizened old hand to scratch at Fawkes' chin.
"Alas, my youthful impetuousness is one of the few things I did not grow out of," he waved a hand over the rest of himself. "I never did find a particularly suitable skincare routine or felt the need for one, as you obviously have."
"You should always moisturise," Charon muttered chidingly.
Narcissa coughed awkwardly. "Perhaps it would be better for me to leave," she said, making to stand up.
"Don't tell me the topic of skincare is what scared you off in the end," Charon said. "My dear, you don't look a day under 30, so I hardly think you need bother."
At that, Narcissa gave Charon a… complex look before promptly excusing herself again and exiting the room.
"Some things are not meant for all ears," Dumbledore commented.
"Knowledge should be free; it is only like that that an egalitarian and empowering society can be created," Charon shot back.
"Considering that I never found many books explaining soul anchors, it seems you didn't put too much effort into upholding that principle," Dumbledore said accusingly.
Charon shrugged. "Some knowledge is simply not worth remembering or passing down. An asinine concept, really. I see it wasn't purged to a sufficient degree if people are still mutilating themselves with it."
"What do you know about Horcruxes?" Dumbledore asked. "I have been researching the topic myself, but information has been truly hard to come by. It wasn't until a particularly helpful letter that I was able to truly start understanding the magic behind it."
He was obviously digging to see if the letter informing him of the Horcruxes and the letter informing him that Charon had been destroyed were sent by the same person. Considering that it didn't make sense, after all, why send a letter informing him of the location of something you were planning on destroying? Harry wasn't going to engage and make it make sense. "Obviously," Charon muttered. "In terms of utility and results, Horcruxes are some of the stupidest magic ever created. Almost impressive, honestly, how anyone could think they are a good idea."
"But how are they created?" Dumbledore urged.
Charon threw him an odd look. "You don't know?" he asked.
Dumbledore half-nodded his head. "I think I do, but knowledge can be complementary."
"Hmm, I don't mind filling in the picture then," Charon said, knowing that he couldn't say the exact same thing as Dumbledore already knew since it was from Dumbledore in the books he had this information. It was better to supplement it in the way he understood magic to work. "You've probably heard the asinine theory that the soul splinters when it commits murder."
Dumbledore slowly nodded.
"Obviously, considering that humans have been killing each other since time immemorial, this is unlikely to be true since many supposedly soulless individuals later went on to live virtuous lives. Although it is, of course, difficult to verify. Murder, however, is an act that, generally speaking, destabilises the soul, partially because it makes the owner of the soul be in the presence of a soul departing to the beyond, and partially because it is one of the most significant acts that can be committed. Creating a Horcrux, a soul anchor, is taking advantage of this time window of soul destabilisation to halve the soul and stick half of it into an object. Of course, a better wizard might be able to remove a splinter, but it's not like one gets to practice dividing one's soul particularly often. The fact that the soul is present on the material plane then causes the death of the owner of the half to not pass on properly. Living on as a shade, they can find a way to create a new body for themselves, or alternatively, the Horcrux itself can possess a person and drain their life energy to manifest a body."
"Are you sure?" Dumbledore suddenly interrupted.
Harry thought back to how Tom had drained Ginny to start becoming corporeal. More than a memory. "A life for a life, the most basic principle of dark magic, or any magic, really," he thus said dismissively. He idly scratched at his chin, thinking back and wondering why the locket Horcrux in the books hadn't drained Umbridge to become corporal itself. Were Voldemort's soul pieces all content to remain locked away in objects forever as long as the original was running around?
"Considering that it is possible to halve the soul several times, theoretically, perhaps only the first Horcrux has the ability," Charon theorised. "After all, even the most powerful wizard will find it difficult to win a battle of the souls against even a baby with less than half a soul." Explaining neatly why Voldemort hadn't just possessed Harry. The other explanation being the mother's love shit.
At this point, Dumbledore startled, as if he was having some sort of revelation.
"So you think it is possible to create several?" Dumbledore asked curiously.
Charon nodded. "Of course, you can do anything, really, as long as you're willing to suffer the consequences. It's not like god will appear in front of you and ask if you're sure before you make a stupid mistake; that would be very convenient, wouldn't it?" He chuckled.
"Where was I? Yes, splitting the soul through the act of murder. You could probably do something similar through the act of birth, another destabilising act, although destruction is more conductive to separation than creation. Rituals, anything's possible, really. Herpo should have stuck to basilisks. Everything else he made was sort of idiotic," he ended up commenting.
Dumbledore looked at him expectantly.
"What?" Charon asked.
"Is that all you know?" Dumbledore queried.
"What do you want, an instruction manual? Destroy them with the killing curse, Fiendfyre, or basilisk venom." Charon complained. "Magic will have to be a bit more impressive than that to be worth remembering. Anything else? Otherwise, you can be on your merry way," he said dismissively.
Dumbledore paused as if debating. That was when Fawkes lifted off of his shoulder and flapped over to the late Lord Malfoy's desk, where the bright red and golden bird looked up curiously at Charon.
Harry tilted his head and looked at the creature. It was beautiful and, well, why not? He extended a hand and stretched the top of his head. "Who's a beautiful flaming chicken? Yes, you are, yes, you are," he said sarcastically so as to keep in character.
Fawkes trilled angrily and snapped at him, Harry barely avoiding the sharp beak. It wouldn't do to give Dumbledore some of his blood. The bird flew back to its master, huffing.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, and he seemed to relax a bit. "He likes you," he said.
"Yes, well, he should be smart enough to appreciate a bit of humour," Charon muttered, idly snapping his fingers to produce a lick of green fire.
"This conversation has been most productive," Dumbledore eventually said while the fire grew and formed the shape of a skull, the deathly hallows, before finally settling on Horus's eye. Had to keep the old man guessing after all. "I do have two last questions, however."
Chorus pointed the finger holding the green eye of Horus at the old man, as if he were holding a gun. He put down the extended thumb. "Shoot," he said as the fire poofed away, leaving behind no clue that it had ever existed.
"Would it be possible to make a…" Dumbledore hesitated. "A living Horcrux."
"It seems a bit of a waste," Charon commented. "A living subject would die at some point after all. Although, considering how fragile that diary was, maybe two powerful wizards turning each other into their Horcruxes in addition to other age-extension methods and functioning on two separate parts of the world…" he trailed off.
"Wouldn't one soul displace another?" Dumbledore asked.
"If it was only a splinter of a soul, perhaps it would lack the power," Charon mused. "Similarly, if the Horcrux had no ill intent towards the body it was inhabiting, it's not like it couldn't decide to not attack its host. Or perhaps, if there was some sort of magic dividing the two souls, not strong enough to banish the parasite, but to contain it."
"Do you think a Horcrux could be made… accidentally?" Dumbledore asked.
"I imagine if someone were foolish enough to create several in a short enough span of time, their soul would be unstable enough that the act of murder would actually become an automatic splintering," Charon said. Had Voldemort intended to use Harry's death to make a Horcrux? It wasn't like he'd been carrying a notable object with him. "At that point, however, you truly would be something less than human. A slobbering beast with the face of a human. To be left with so little soul… What's the point?"
"Do you believe that a Horcrux could ever be reintegrated?" Dumbledore asked.
"That's the third question," Charon chided.
"I apologise," Dumbledore said with a low chuckle. "But I do find myself enjoying the conversation. It's not often I get to learn something."
Charon snorted. "You didn't try particularly hard. Mugwump and headmaster, on one side, you have schoolchildren; on the other, politicians; who exactly are you supposed to learn anything from? You spend your time between the magical equivalent of elementary school and a mental asylum for pathological liars."
"You seem remarkably caught up on muggle terminology," Dumbledore praised.
"Yes, well, I don't think the wizarding world has much to offer beyond the magic these days," Charon grumbled. "All the art, philosophy and gastronomical wonders are in the muggle world. When did we become the less educated ones? Ridiculous!" he grumbled.
"A lack of a university, perhaps?" Dumbledore said with twinkling eyes.
"You're the one working in the education sector. Figure it out."
"One thing tells me that you'd make a good professor," Dumbledore threw back. "After all, you have been instructing young Malfoy to a high standard. I'll ignore that it is something illegal, as he seems to be in good hands."
Charon paused. Was Dumbledore trying to… No… "One issue with the idea is that nobody in the world could gather up enough to afford a month's salary to make me deal with so many children," he said. "Let's go back to your question. I imagine we have places to be."
"Regrettable," Dumbledore muttered.
"As for the reintegration of a Horcrux, I don't think so," Charon said bluntly.
"But remorse could perhaps…"
"Symbolically, the splintering was tied to a murder; you cannot reverse a murder, so why could you reverse the splintering? In addition, someone with a broken soul likely loses the capacity to feel the ability to experience remorse, if they ever had it in the first place; after all, they made a Horcrux." Harry had always doubted the supposed capacity to reintegrate a Horcrux. Voldemort hadn't really seemed capable of even the most basic emotional self-awareness. Feeling remorse… That would have really been beyond the man.
Dumbledore sighed in frustration, taking off his glasses and rubbing tiredly at his eyes.
"I see. I was hoping that…"
"Hoping that reveals you to be a reckless idealist, I'd suggest you stop before you hurt somebody," Charon said bluntly.
Dumbledore laughed quietly. "We all have our weaknesses. In a world where a child survived the killing curse, maybe everything is possible, no?"
Charon waved him off. "Everyone miscasts a spell sometimes, especially when one's sanity is slipping due to a lack of half the soul, or as you theorise, more than half. Similarly, a mother's last accidental magic and the veil between death and the living are thinnest. If it was ever going to happen, it was going to be then. A dark lord experiencing remorse, however, that is something I likely won't live to see."
Dumbledore remained silent for longer before eventually sighing and standing up. "Well, it was an enlightening conversation, I must say."
"Don't let the door hit you on the way out," Charon said dismissively.
Dumbledore paused before laughing. "I will try." Then, Fawkes lifted off his shoulder and spread his wings. Dumbledore clapped his hands over his head, and with a burst of fire, he was gone.
"Drama queen," Harry said out loud after the last wisp of flames had disappeared.
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AN: You'll notice the ambiguity. It's feasible that someone can defend their mind against Dumbledore. It's also feasible that Dumbledore is so good the person didn't notice their mind being breached and Dumbledore simply conversed to extract all he needed. If you liked this chapter you can support me on my Patreon to get early access and vote on interlude polls :)