AN: You have been blessed by my Patrons voting for an extra Harry Evans chapter on the Christmas poll. Happy Holidays friends.
-/-
It was after Dumbledore had disappeared that Harry was stuck sitting behind the desk, wondering what to do. It was perfectly possible that Dumbledore had left behind some sort of magical listening bug that he wasn't good enough to detect.
Nothing was pinging on his magical sensing, but unlike his occlumency, which he would say was approaching low S tier, his magical sensing was a B at most. It wasn't a category in which he could compete with Dumbledore.
But… he really needed to take a sip of the ageing potion, or else he was going to revert to his 13-year-old self. If Narcissa found him like that, things might get a bit awkward.
Suddenly thinking of something, Harry pulled out his wand, his second one, and simply cast the strongest finite that he could. After all, any listening spell subtle enough could be dissipated by the cancellation charm, whereas anything resistant to that would be picked up by his magic sense, right?
Well, whatever, now he was just jumping at shadows. He took out his ageing potion flask and took a sip to keep up the transformation, grimacing at the taste but smiling at the freedom.
He stood up from his seat and decided that if he was already here, he might as well teach Draco, the thing he had originally come here for.
He was sure that even if Dumbledore had some sort of super-bugging spell, he couldn't have hitched the whole mansion, so there was surely one room to do the session in that he hadn't entered.
It was a fretting Narcissa that he found waiting on him in the opulent corridor when he exited the office.
"Thanks for coming and resolving the issue so quickly. I didn't know how to dissuade him at some point anymore," she admitted with a sigh, acting more collegial than she had ever been. "He's quite good at being intentionally obtuse," he muttered with a frown.
"Some conversations are not worth avoiding, I guess," Harry muttered in return as he fell into step next to the woman, who was presumably leading him to wherever in this huge house Draco resided.
Lady Malfoy seemed to want to say something but couldn't quite get the words out while Harry was still reeling from the random Boss encounter he'd just gone through.
He imagined that if he'd pulled that interaction off, Narcissa was likely a bit confused why a wizard whose mind arts skills seemed on a level that even Dumbledore couldn't deal with was teaching her son for a fraction of the cost that such an instruction level would actually merit.
Harry, meanwhile, was just glad he hadn't actually pooped himself when he appeared randomly in the same room as Albus fucking Dumbledore.
"I have to ask," Narcissa suddenly said. "Is it possible that?"
"Possible what?" Harry asked.
"That he's coming back," she whispered.
"Who's coming back?"
"You-Know-Who…"
"No I don't, who?" Harry's brains were a bit fried, thanks to the interaction he'd just had, so he literally didn't know. Then it dawned on him. "Oh, that guy."
Narcissa stuttered in her steps, likely at the fact that someone had just referred to Voldemort as 'that guy'.
"Yes," she hissed. "That guy."
Harry shrugged. "He might, doesn't seem all that dead to me, or at least he shouldn't be."
"The diary you took, it was… his?"
It suddenly dawned on Harry that. Well, after Voldemort had come back in the books, he'd probably asked Lucius for the diary. When the man had likely been unable to procure it… Well, Harry imagined there had been quite a lot of the torture curse involved in that one. That fate, technically, would not fall on Narcissa. Just, that, well, she hadn't even been a Death Eater, so maybe it would be more of a killing curse. "Yes, his school diary, if you'd believe it."
"It said Tom Marvolo Riddle, though," Narcissa muttered with a frown. "I haven't heard of that family before."
This was getting a bit awkward for Harry. Was he supposed to say it…
"He's a half-blood," he blurted out.
"Oh Merlin, a mudblood grandparent," Narcissa gasped.
Harry just stopped to turn and stare at her.
"What?"
"A half-blood; one of his grandparents is a mudblood, right?"
An awkward silence descended on the two of them.
"Right?" Narcissa pleaded.
"The Gaunt family had, uh, a squib daughter back then. She fell in love with a muggle named Tom Riddle. She used a love potion to ensnare him but died during childbirth when she stopped dosing him," Harry muttered awkwardly.
Narcissa's eyes just glazed over at that point, and she mechanically nodded.
"He grew up in a muggle orphanage," Harry added helpfully.
The woman swayed in place and looked almost ready to sit on the floor. The only thing preventing her was likely a lifetime of etiquette lessons.
"I'm going to have to flee the country, aren't I?" the woman said weakly.
Harry opened his mouth and then closed it again. Actually, well. "That's not a bad idea," he eventually said.
"The Malfoys still have holdings in France. Draco can go to Beauxbatons. We can say that Dumbledore has finally lost his marbles. A troll... in the school."
"Switching schools might be annoying in the short term, but some things are better in the long term," Harry mused.
"Exactly, Hogwarts has gone completely down the drain anyway since that half-blood was allowed to advance in classes, ridiculous. And a mudblood, best in the year in Draco's batch," Narcissa sniffed.
"The standards truly have disappeared completely," Harry commiserated.
"I'm glad at least someone gets it," Lady Malfoy said with a smile as they finally stopped in front of a rather large wooden door. Then she frowned. "I have to ask, however, why is someone of your calibre willing to teach if you are indeed at the level of the mind arts where you give that old codger trouble then…"
"Narcissa, Narcissa, Narcissa," Harry tutted. "Why does anyone do anything?" he asked. "I felt like it." He opened the door and entered the room.
"Are all powerful wizards like this?" He heard Narcissa mutter as he closed the door behind him.
He found himself in a winter garden-type room, one wall made entirely of glass. Draco was sitting in a comfortable armchair, doing what looked to Harry like his History of Magic homework.
"Did the old man finally leave, Mom?" Draco asked, absorbed in scratching away at the parchment on the small table beside him.
"I would assume so," Charon mused as he took large strides to sit down opposite the boy.
The platinum-haired child froze before looking up and almost dropping the tome he'd been holding.
"Ah, teacher!" he exclaimed.
"Sorry for being late," Charon replied, "but as you know, an old goat was sniffing around."
"I don't know who he thinks he is," Draco sniffed derogatorily, just like his mother. They had both mastered the facial expression of looking like they'd just stepped in shit.
"The most powerful wizard in the country, I guess," Harry said idly. From what he'd seen, Dumbledore had basically just politely forced his way into the house. "To those who have a big hammer, others tend to look like nails," he mused.
Draco grimaced at the reminder. "Could you beat him in a duel, I mean? You're not from here," he then blurted out.
Harry froze and almost laughed at the stupidity of the question. Finding someone who could beat Dumbledore in a duel. Draco hadn't even witnessed their most recent showdown and would likely be in for a shock when his mother pulled him aside after this lesson and told him to be extra polite to his tutor.
"At that level, nobody wants to get into a fight because the results can never be predicted," Charon replied evasively.
"What do you mean?" Draco asked with a furrowed brow.
"I mean that you should focus on your occlumency," Charon replied. "Unless you want me to see what exactly you're hiding under your mattress."
Draco blushed and finally noticed that his mind had been invaded. He quickly found the probe and started pushing against it. Harry eventually relented and retreated.
It made sense that he wouldn't notice the intrusion. After all, he'd been off his practice for one whole school term while Harry had been doggedly working with his legilimency with Tonks and the hat.
"I think that the brute force teaching has reached a point of diminishing returns," Charon said while his pupil panted from exertion. "You can identify a probe and push against it now. That's already good enough for most situations. Now, we need to train you to be sensitive to more stealthy attempts. After all, the scariest legilimens are those who are in your head without you even knowing, not those who can simply overpower you."
"I see," Draco muttered and steeled himself.
"Good." Charon nodded. "For practice, I will ask you about your school year. You have to lie to me while hiding the truth. First of all, have there been any interesting magical beasts in the castle recently?" Harry asked.
Draco paused, then shook his head. "No," he claimed, but at Harry's intrusion, a vision of what Draco imagined to be a troll flashed through the connection. It was much bigger and uglier than it actually had been. It also looked remarkably like a scaled-up version of Hagrid.
"Lie," Charon said, "there was a troll. What is your favourite subject?" he asked.
"Potions," Draco said with a grimace, lying at the same time as he tried to find the probe. To his credit, he found it this time; he simply failed in rebuffing it, however, as the real answer was at the top of his mind.
"Lie, it's Defence against the Dark Arts," Charon informed him. "Did you enjoy flying classes?"
"Yes," Draco said, and this time, he managed to identify and expel the probe before it could glean the truth.
"I'm glad you did," Charon said, buying into the lie. "Is the top of your class a pureblood or a muggleborn?"
"Pureblood," Draco muttered, but the emotions attached to the topic meant that his defence was shabbier. Hermione's face, with exaggeratedly bigger buck teeth and even frizzier hair, flashed through his mind.
"Lie, it's a muggleborn. What did you eat for breakfast three weeks ago?" Charon asked.
Draco froze at this question since he couldn't lie if he didn't know the answer. The stealthy probe slipped past his defences.
"You got distracted," Charon informed him. "The thing you're hiding under your bed is the Batman comic book I gave you."
Draco flushed. "Again," he demanded.
"What colour is the hair of the most talented student at Hogwarts?"
"Black."
"Lie, it's red."
-/-
The session lasted an hour, and by the end, Draco was sweating and shaking in his seat. It had been productive but not by any means fun for the young boy.
"Good progress," Charon said as he stood up. "I'll see myself out. Next time, meditate right before the session. It will increase your sensitivity. An artificial feeling we can then make part of your repertoire by practising in the state."
Draco shakily stood up. "Let me walk you to the arrival room, teacher," he said.
Charon shook his head. "No need, have a good rest and see you soon. Suvac," he finished by incanting. The codeword for Dobby to bring him back to the cave. He popped away, leaving behind a startled Draco.
-/-
Once in the safety of his cave, Harry pulled back his hood and turned to look at his butler house-elf. "Dobby," he asked. "Why did I find myself facing Albus Dumbledore when I appeared in Malfoy Manor?
The elf froze, his golf ball-sized bulging eyes fully opening.
"Uh, Dobby is sorry?" he tried.
"Oh, you'll be sorry, alright," Harry threatened with narrow eyes.
"Should I get the iron?" Dobby asked.
Harry shook his head. "Oh no, I have something much, much worse in mind," he muttered sadistically.
Dobby's trembled.
"Your pay…" Harry started.
Dobby covered his ears with his hands as if it would prevent him from hearing what was coming next.
"Is doubled," Harry said, drawing out the word.
Dobby wailed
"For the next three months."
Dobby sobbed.
Dobby was very, very sorry.
-/-
"He did what?" Draco asked quietly once his tutor had left.
His tutor had apparently managed to legilimise Dumbledore without the man having been able to defend himself until he summoned his phoenix.
Narcissa, for her part, was, if anything, still similarly confused. Draco was only a child, so he didn't really understand how harsh the delineations between magicals could be. A wizard- like the dark lord could take on a dozen Aurors at the same time. Even her own sister, Bellatrix, a feared lieutenant, could have taken on five back when she'd been at her strongest. The latest stint in Azkaban had likely reduced that number.
The mind arts were perhaps the greatest equaliser between people of disparate magical skill because, at least while defending, someone who was less skilled at occlumency could still have a chance against someone who was more skilled at legitimacy.
The only thing was that the reverse was, well, the reverse; someone more skilled at legilimency was likely unable to breach the occlumency of someone with a much weaker grasp of the mind arts since they were fighting on what was essentially foreign territory. If she'd had a better muggle education, Narcissa would have likely drawn a parallel to the Vietnam War.
The fact that Dumbledore had seemingly failed to breach Charon's occlumency had thus been a somewhat pleasant surprise.
The fact that Charon had then, in return, managed to break Dumbledore's defences, however, had shaken Narcissa to the core. She'd already known that the mysterious man she'd hired had been a powerful wizard. After all, not many could do magic without a wand.
But, well, there was a difference between a powerful wizard and a Powerful Wizard.
"This changes nothing. It just means you should try to take more from the lessons," Narcissa warned.
Draco nodded enthusiastically. If anything, he had been very enthusiastic back when Charon first demonstrated his wandless magic, and he implied he would be open to teaching a bit of it if Draco kept up with his lessons. He'd been trying to move things with just a wave of his hand ever since, but other than the spontaneous combustion of the feathers of one of their peacocks when he'd gotten too frustrated, they'd yet to see any results.
"Did we finally get somewhat lucky?" Draco asked childishly, likely referring to the fact that his mother often complained about how the last decade had been a tragedy of unfortunate events.
Narcissa, for her part, looked at the mirror on the other side of the room, from which she could see her silhouette, hidden as it was by the rather comfortable dress she preferred to use when in her own house. If she tightened the straps a bit, she knew that an hourglass figure would emerge.
"Let's see," she muttered in reply to her son. She was a Black and a Malfoy. Anyone marrying her would not supersede Draco as the next Lord Malfoy, even if many had tried, but there were still clear advantages to be had.
"Maybe we could."
-/-
Dumbledore appeared in a flash of fire, not in his office but slightly outside of Hogsmeade. It had recently snowed, and it was quite cold. He breathed out a white mist as Fawkes came to rest on his shoulder.
The headmaster contemplated his previous meeting, and the urge to go to his office and note things down was quite large. But he could always revisit the memory later.
There was one thing that he'd been pushing off for too long.
It was noon, a time when most people were either at home or eating lunch, and thus the Hog's Head was deserted when Dumbledore entered the rather grimy pub.
"We're closed!" A voice came shouting irritably from upstairs, before the sound of angry footsteps came ever closer to the staircase, then descending it.
Aberforth froze as he saw who had entered his establishment, and from the look of his face, he would have preferred it to be a thief. They'd managed to rebuild a somewhat collegial relationship during the war, but, in times of peace, old wounds tended to come up.
"Albus," the man spat, literally, on the floor next to him. A goat bleated somewhere.
"Brother," the headmaster responded. "Any chance of getting some pumpkin juice in this fine establishment? I've had a rather interesting conversation and find myself rather parched."
Aberforth critically appraised his older brother.
"You look like shite," he commented, moving behind the bar and pulling out a bottle of firewhisky and pouring two glasses.
Albus went up to the counter and sat down on a barstool, looking with fear at the two glasses that had been filled to the brim.
"I haven't drunk that much in a while," he muttered.
"These are both for me," Aberforth grumbled as he took one glass and gulped it down within seconds. "We don't have pumpkin juice," he said as he wiped his now slightly wet beard with his sleeve. A pair of distrustful blue eyes peered from behind bushy brows. "What are you here for?" he finally asked.
Albus paused for the first time in a while, not knowing what to say.
Well, the truth was usually a good place to start, no?
"Aberforth, I was wrong, and rather than apologising sooner, I've just been festering in guilt about it all. I'm a failure of a brother and, in fact, of a man," he eventually said.
Aberforth looked at him dumbstruck, the second glass of firewhisky raised halfway to his mouth. "I think this is the first time you've apologised for anything," he blurted out, too surprised to be angry.
"Yes, well, even a broken clock can be right twice a day," Dumbledore replied.
"More like once every hundred years," Aberforth muttered, bent down and came back up with a bottle of pumpkin juice. He removed the top and put the whole bottle in front of his brother.
"Bottled in 1956?" Dumbledore asked with a chuckle before taking a sip.
"Flavour takes time to develop," Aberforth said, smacking his lips. "Now repeat the apology. I want to hear it again. More emphasis on the part where you admit you're a failure."
"Of a brother, or a man?" Dumbledore asked.
"Both."
-/-
AN: I like this chapter. A bit of a calm down from the previous nerve-wracking one. Winter Break is over soon, after which point we'll get to the second half of the year. If you want to support me to read ahead and vote on polls, there's always Patreon ;)