Time's Child 6

[draegyn]

Another 'oops, I should have posted this a while ago'. Same deal, not really edited so don't expect perfect spelling and grammar. Comments and insights are welcome.


Time's child 6

Severus Snape was mightily displeased when, after nearly three months, they finally had a completed list to give to that bastard Dumbledore and said bastard refused to be located. He had appeared at the teacher’s table the night before so he was still hanging around, settling Severus’ fear that the blighted sod might have hightailed it before Severus had had a chance to shove his precious list up Dumbledore’s scrawny arse! Unfortunately, Hogwarts was large and Dumbledore was, as previously stated, small and scrawny and so finding him was not so easy as it could have been. If only he’d been haunting McGonagall’s private library as he was supposed to, then Severus would not have been wasting his weekend looking for him!

“No luck either?” Lupin shouted.

Severus sneered, “Of course not, you imbecile! Would I still be wandering around like a lost first year if I had found him?”

“My sincerest apologies,” Lupin murmured sweetly and completely insincerely. An unfortunate consequence of the time they had been force to endure together had been the gradual decrease in the efficacy of his glares in regards to Lupin. Of course, Lupin’s ability to drive him into incoherent and frothing fury was now almost non-existent… not that there weren’t still moments…

“So where else? He’s not up in the headmaster’s office, no one is, actually. Do you think they’re in their private quarters?”

Exasperated, although surprisingly not with Lupin because it had been a reasonable suggestion for a Sunday morning, he turned on his heel and began striding towards the office of his own head of house. “No. The old coot was dressed pretty warmly at breakfast. Since he’s not in his office, he’s probably outside, maybe at Hagrid’s hut or something.”

“Would his son be with him, though?”

“McGonagall’s missing, too.”

Lupin looked thoughtful as he kept pace with Severus’ long strides. “Peter did say she’d asked him if he would mind moving his lesson this morning to this afternoon as she had a conflicting engagement.”

Snape frowned. “Animagus lesson?” He had not forgotten what he had heard on that night when Black and Potter had attacked him. Nor had he forgotten what his fellow Slytherins had gossiped about concerning significant fines from the Ministry.

Lupin glanced at him warily. “Yes, McGonagall insisted he take them after she learned about James and Sirius.”

Severus merely nodded, obviously surprising the Gryffindor with his lack of antipathy. Not that it was not still there. He continued to loathe both as the scum they were but scum wasn’t worth wasting his time over and, after several weeks of thought, he’d come to realise a certain inevitability that he was confident Lupin and Pettigrew had never considered. Potter and Black would have to repeat the year. No matter how smart they were, or how quickly they could learn, not even the infamous duo could learn eight months of work in less than one. More than likely, when they were due to return, Potter’s parents would keep them at home until the next school year when they could begin fifth year again. It was more sensible than dooming them to the double black mark of suspension and poor OWL results.

Severus might meet them in the corridors or in the hall, but they would never have to share a class again. There was a great deal of difference in the power held by a fifth year and the power held by a sixth year student and not all of it was theoretical. Severus would be free of them for good. Severus found that to be punishment enough for the two arrogant bullies.

He had also not forgotten his first conversation with the missing Dumbledore and how it had made him think a little more objectively about things. Not that he would ever say so to Lupin. “Wise of the little worm,” he said, “A half completed animagus transformation is dangerous until mastered.”

“That’s what Professor McGonagall told him.”

Severus rolled his eyes. “She would know,” he drawled sarcastically and watched with pleasure as the dense Gryffindor flushed.

“You don’t mind?” Lupin asked after a moment, his curiosity burningly evident.

Severus sniffed. “He is being monitored by a teacher, he is following all the rules laid down for such lessons,” now anyway. “He will register and be accountable for what he does as whatever it is he becomes.” And people would know to hold him accountable. It boggled the mind what Potter and Black could have gotten away with had they never been found out. He glared at Lupin. “I loath favouritism, Lupin, but Pettigrew is not receiving any.” Potter and Black, on the other hand, could have gotten away with murder.

“Not just anyone receives animagus lessons.”

Severus wondered if Lupin was trying to stir him up. “Not just anyone has blundered through the first part of the transformations on their own. Although it would serve him right to get stuck halfway through, the registration forms will be torture enough for my satisfaction.” Not to mention the fees.

“And the registration fee,” Lupin echoed Severus’ unsaid thought with a grimace.

Severus concealed a smirk. Unlike Black and Potter, the remainder of their little gang did not have ancestral vaults to dip into. Pettigrew’s family would not necessarily be universally pleased if their son was successful.

“Are you curious about what he is?” Lupin asked him.

Severus had to admit that he was slightly interested in what Pettigrew’s form would be but not enough that he fancied asking Lupin. “I will find out in time,” he replied easily, showing none of his impatience. “It will be recorded on his registration, after all.”

Lupin looked amused. “So you would go to all the effort of checking at the Ministry rather than ask me?”

Severus didn’t have to think about it. “Yes,” he stated flatly, just as he wouldn’t ask Lupin why he wasn’t learning with Pettigrew, and then added, “Not that I think it will be necessary. He is a Gryffindor. As soon as he can, he’ll show it off for the whole school to see.”

“Gryffindors don’t all show off.”

Severus noticed that Lupin didn’t deny that Pettigrew would. “Could have fooled me.”

Lupin opened his mouth, probably to retort something juvenile like they had fooled him, but thought the better of it and remained silent. Severus smiled to himself, they could be taught.

He relished the silence for the rest of the way. Although, they may be able to work together without homicidal urges overwhelming them, it did not mean they’d ever seek each other out for conversation.

When they reached Professor Thoth’s office, the door was open. Severus stepped inside. “Professor?”

His head of house was alone and she looked up from the essays she was marking. “Mr. Snape. And, dear Merlin, Mr Lupin!” Her left eyebrow arched up delicately. “What has brought you both to my humble office, together and un-maimed?”

Severus did not appreciate her sarcasm at the moment, not that he would tell her that. She could make a bad day much, much worse. “We were wondering if you knew where Dumbledore was.”

“The elder of the younger?”

“The younger.”

“Out with his father. I believe he is being taught new tricks.”

Lupin frowned. “If they’re together, why did you need to ask which one?”

Severus could have killed him.

The professor’s lips twitched into what a generous person might term a smile. “Why I simply wished to know if Mr. Snape was disrespecting his Headmaster.”

He would have if he thought that he could get away with it.

“Now, I wonder why you are seeking Mr. Dumbledore… ah, of course!” She regarded them patronisingly. “Could it be that the infamous list has been completed at last?”

“Infamous?” Severus and Lupin exchanged confused looks.

The sharp smile returned. “When something turns a single detention into a term long project, it does get discussed. The list you say you do not deny finishing has a lot of your professors interested. We all look forward to seeing the final product.”

Severus stared blankly for a few seconds and then, with a lot of relief, thanked Merlin they hadn’t surrendered to temptation and lied. They might have been able to get away with it with both Dumbledores but the Slytherin head of house would have seen straight through them. “Can we give it to you, then, Professor? We can’t find D… Mr. Dumbledore and, if he is out, then we are hardly likely to.” He wanted this off his hands now. Forget any vengeful plots he might have constructed, he did not want to have the eyes of the entire faculty on him. They had more power, more authority and for those like Professor Thoth, more imaginative vindictiveness. Lupin looked like he agreed fervently.

“Now, now, Mr. Snape. Mr. Dumbledore really should have the honours.” She capped her ink bottle and rose with a rustling of her dark robes. “Come, I will help you search.”

She swept around her desk and towards them with her typical flair and Severus was not the only one to stumble hastily out of her way. Lupin darted a wide-eyed glance at him as if to say, ‘what the hell?’ and quickly fell into step behind her. Severus was no more likely to argue, not only had he learned some discretion because of this blasted list, but he had enough self preservation to know when to shut up. Head of House or not, Professor Thoth could and would dock points from her own students and then leave them to explain themselves to the rest of their house.

He heard the office door swing shut behind him as they followed the stalking professor. Her ground eating stride was almost enough to make even Severus jog to keep up and his pace was usually more than enough to outdistance others. She led them through the corridors unrelentingly. She might not have said that she knew where the missing wizard was but her unerring path would make it seem so.

Severus was not terribly surprised when she led them out of the castle and started down the path towards Hogsmeade. The only thing he had not expected was when, a few minutes away from the castle, they encountered two laughing professors and a furiously blushing headmaster’s son. All three were windswept and bright and, especially in the case of Dumbledore junior, looking healthier than he’d ever seen them.

“What’d you expect after that?” the younger wizard was protesting loudly.

McGonagall mussed his hair cheerfully and Severus realised that Dumbledore fell vastly short of her height. “I had a point to make.”

“You didn’t need to make it! I already knew to be careful! I was being careful! I was doing fine, better than fine, even!”

“No young wizard or witch ever fully appreciates the danger of apparating until he or she has managed to splinch themselves at least once!”

Severus blinked. Dumbledore was being taught to apparate? He didn’t already know?

“But I was doing fine! You said I was a natural!”

“More reason to make sure you don’t get too cocky!” McGonagall replied equably.

“And that gave you a reason to pinch me? On my backside?”

“Now, Harry, it did teach you not to get distracted,” the headmaster interrupted with that dratted twinkle in his eyes.

“She pinched me!”

“Oh do calm down, Harry. My brother cast a tickling hex on me and, remember, your father said your uncle goosed him.”

“Minerva!” Both father and son exclaimed, scandalised.

“Most amusing, you three, and such marvellous examples you all are of grace and maturity for our students. I was being sarcastic, if you could not tell,” Professor Thoth drawled with a great deal of amusement.

“I had no idea,” McGonagall retorted back after she and the two wizards had recovered from surprise. Apparently none of them had realised they had an audience.

“Now, now, Professor, don’t get catty in front of the students.”

McGonagall wanted to retort but she did take her duties seriously and would not misbehave in front of impressionable teens, despite, Severus realised, the fact that she’d been less than prim in their presence more than once since school had started. It was obviously not because she regarded them as being more mature and closer to being her equals. Severus was willing to gamble that her slips were more likely due to Harry Dumbledore’s presence than anything else.

He wondered what power Dumbledore’s son possessed that he could so easily get the old bat to loosen up. Even more, he wondered why the son needed apparating lessons now, when he had obviously finished his schooling and was, though he may not appear it, an adult wizard. Why hadn’t he learned before?

Did it have something to do with how sickly he had appeared at the start of term? Maybe he was a recently improved chronic invalid whose father had deemed it safe for him to be allowed out only once the dark lord was dead. It would explain why no one had ever known about him before.

Severus would not admit it even to himself and, if ever asked, he would deny it categorically, but, for the sickly and unknown son of a senile muggle-lover, Harry Dumbledore was becoming more and more fascinating… not that Severus still didn’t want to suffocate him by shoving the list down his scrawny neck!

“Here!” he said suddenly, disconcerted by the surrealism of professors as real people as opposed to just his teachers and Lupin being the closest thing he currently had to an ally amidst this gathering of supposed authority figures. He fumbled inside his robes and pulled the thick roll of parchment from an inner pocket. “It’s finished! Are we done now?”

Dumbledore took the roll, bemused, while the three professors looked on with interest, each set of eyes fixed on the parchment Severus had just given him. Dumbledore smiled at him absently as he started to unroll it. Severus tried to back away only to be blocked by his head of house.

“So, Harry, what’s the verdict?” McGonagall pressed.

Dumbledore was quickly scanning through the roll, lips moving silently. At last he said, “One hundred and forty-nine. All here.”

Professor Thoth drawled archly, “But are they all genuine?”

“I don’t think I ever actually said they all had to be,” Dumbledore murmured as he read and Severus froze. He and Lupin exchanged a look of astonishment. Dumbledore looked up from the list to flash a cheeky grin. Severus thought it made him look like a disturbed monkey. “Actually, I half expected them to make up a goodly portion. I don’t have a way to check them and I wouldn’t have let the list get so long if I could have. I didn’t actually think it would be possible to do if they didn’t pad it a tad.”

He knew it. Severus closed his eyes and started berating himself. This is what he got for not only listening to a Gryffindor but for acting like one. Damn Lupin’s goody-goody mentality. He groaned. Ten weeks! They could’ve been finished in a day!

“Looking at their faces, I think we can assume that they didn’t know that they could’ve gotten away with it,” McGonagall pointed out.

“Those certainly are not the expressions of two young scamps that have been caught cheating,” Dumbledore, the one that was the headmaster, added.

“No,” Professor Thoth agreed with much amusement. “Those look like the expressions of two scamps that realised they did more work than they had to.”

She just had to rub it in. Severus opened his eyes. McGonagall and Dumbledore, the old one, were both smiling smugly, no doubt laughing their arses off inside. Professor Thoth wasn’t smiling but he bet that she was cackling like mad behind her superior smirk. A Dumbledore, the scrawny, little one, was fiddling with the parchment as he looked off into nowhere, mumbling to himself. He was undoubtedly going to be loonier than his father before long.

“… one for each plus each week they stuck with is… but minus for taking too long… minus the initial problem but plus for not lying… so one hundred and forty-nine and ten and a half, say eleven, less twenty and six but another fifty… so what’s that make? One hundred and eighty-four?”

“My boy?” Dumbledore regarded his son with interest.

“It’s a good effort,” Dumbledore junior said looking around to meet his father’s eyes. Bespectacled gaze met bespectacled gaze and they seemed to commune wordlessly. Severus thought he was beginning to get a tooth ache from the saccharine overload.

“Your suggestion?”

“One hundred and eight-four, split evenly.”

Dumbledore smiled dotingly at his spawn and then turned slightly so that he could twinkle at Severus and Lupin. “Well done, boys. Despite the reason you began with, you have both done outstanding work. Ninety-two points to Gryffindor and ninety-two to Slytherin.”

Severus blinked once and then again. This was unexpected, though not unwelcome. He did a couple of quick calculations in his head. That had almost tripled Gryffindor’s current total, which was still low due to Black and Potter, but they still didn’t have a chance because Slytherin now had the lead at well over two hundred points.

As if in the throes of ecstasy, Lupin whispered, “We’re back in the running!”

“We’re in the lead!” Severus smirked back smugly.

“Only until quidditch season starts,” Lupin smirked right back. Undoubtedly the two of them had been spending too much time together if he was rubbing off on the Gryffindor.

“And only if you don’t start falling back into bad habits,” the headmaster warned them sternly. “Both of you, those points will be automatically deducted again should you be caught fighting as well as more points for the new offences.”

Carrot and stick both at once. Their housemates would worship both of them, so to speak, when they saw the new totals, but Merlin help them if they lost them again. Decidedly sneaky for such a Gryffindorish old coot. Not that Severus minded. At the moment, he thought he’d be able to tolerate Lupin amiably for the rest of the year. He’d have to anyway since they were partners in so many classes and he didn’t fancy being castrated by his housemates. He now thought he could do so without resentment, though.

“Hah! Look at this one, Da!” Dumbledore two burst out suddenly. Green eyes glanced up mischievously. “Something in the 1850s about a Gryffindor, a Slytherin and a goat?”

The headmaster’s eyes widened as he snatched the scroll away to read. “Alliance in 1640s… accidental cooperation in 1830s… 1852, Henry Greentree and… oh dear.” He looked at Severus and Lupin. “Where on earth did you learn of that one?”

They replied simultaneously, “Hogwarts, a history.”

“Alberforth will be so pleased.”

***

Harry rather wished that he was still at Hogwarts, perhaps sitting near his window with a cup of hot tea and a good book to read. It was snowing, which would have been lovely if he had been inside watching it rather than outside moving through it. Not to mention that, for all of his extra layers and warming charms, he was feeling the cold a great deal more sharply than he should. He ducked into the bookshop and shook the slush off his cloak as he did so. The hem was dragging though the muck as it was, he did not need to make it worse.

The shop assistant, a young witch whose name, Harry had learned, was Maggie Stanton, greeted him with a cheery smile that Harry happily returned. He was in no danger of being harassed or bothered as he wandered off into the stacks, a welcome change from his childhood experiences of which the episode with Lockheart was a particularly odious example. The one attempt of the wizarding world of this time to drag him into the public eye by hailing him as the son of the wizard-who-saved-us-all had resulted in Minerva showing her claws, so to speak, and now no one bothered him. That meant he could do his Christmas shopping in peace rather than surrounded by a protective wall of the very people he was buying gifts for.

He already had his Da’s gift, a muggle magnetic construction set that had not yet gained the popularity and, thus, the price that its kind would achieve in the future. He had the notion to see how difficult it would be to enchant the set to self-assemble and then change at random intervals. He also had hand-knitted a pair of socks, the result of which was that he had surrendered and accepted his adopted parent’s offer of a generous allowance so that he could purchase gifts that would not necessarily scare small children into thinking there really was a sock-monster and that it was carnivorous. He’d still give said horrors, but only to see his father actually wear them.

Minerva was both easier and more difficult. At the same time as he’d ducked out into the muggle world for his father’s gift, he picked a few other odds and ends up for the rest of his new family. The rubber mouse had been simple, the trick was to help her find a foreign book on wards that she had been looking for. It was not a rare item, just rarely seen outside America when written in English rather than the author’s native Turkish.

Bookshops in Brittain could not import from the American publishers because it was out of print and individuals could not purchase directly from American suppliers due to some convoluted reason that Harry hadn’t come close to comprehending when Minerva had ranted about it. On the other hand, that did not stop international travellers from picking it up on their journeys and Richard Pope, Maggie’s boss, had mentioned to Harry that the estate of one recently deceased such traveller had sold several boxes of books on warding and ritual magic to the shop. Harry could only hope that the particular one he wanted was included and, thanks to Mr. Pope, he would be the first to find it if it was.

It didn’t take him long to find Mr. Pope who was sorting through several boxes at the back of the shop. Richard Pope was around sixty, middle-aged for a wizard, his hair and moustache were neatly clipped and groomed, even if his clothes were wrinkled and dusty from the boxes. Mr. Pope looked up when the younger wizard cleared his throat and smiled when he saw Harry.

“Young Harry Dumbledore! I’d hoped I might be seeing you today. How’s your father?”

Harry smiled back happily. “Chipper and full of sugar, Sir. Poppy and Minerva are both quite vexed at the number of sweets he eats. Pythagora says that they explain a lot.”

Mr. Pope gave a jolly laugh. “I expect it might, young Harry. And I hear your exams went well.”

Harry blinked in surprise. “They did? I don’t know, Sir. Da said the results would probably come in the next few days but I haven’t heard anything yet.”

“Ah, but I have an inside source.” Mr. Pope tapped the side of his narrow nose knowingly. “My daughter is married to the son of one of your examiners. The examiner told my son-in-law who told my daughter who told me.”

Harry blinked again. It was like Chinese whispers and he wondered if he should place any faith at all in this gossip chain or if he should be preparing for life as a janitor. “Small world,” he said, leaving out his pessimistic notions.

Mr. Pope chuckled. “Very much so. You probably know that your results will be sent soon but your Da told me you were worrying and I thought I’d pass the good news on. We’d hate for you to worry yourself ill, now.”

It was more proof that his Da was conspiring with his wide network of contacts to have them all spy on Harry. Albus Dumbledore was proving to be a disconcertingly overprotective parent. “Yes, Mr. Pop,” Harry replied rather wryly. “Thank you, but I can assure you that I am doing nothing that might threaten my health. I’m as fit as a fiddle, I promise you.”

“Your Da worries, my boy, and I must say you look like a breeze would bowl you over. Are you completely recovered from that nasty attack?”

For a moment, it seemed as though Mr. Pope was referring to Voldemort’s repetitive attempts to kill Harry and he wondered in shock if Albus had told the bookseller what had really happened. Then he realised, with a great deal of relief, that the older wizard was referring to the story Albus had spread about a persistent childhood illness that the duel between his Da and Voldemort had caused to flare up again. It had certainly provided a believable reason to have a debilitated teen brought to Hogwarts - to be near his father so said father could reassure him. Unfortunately, it made every witch and most of the wizards who heard it all think that Harry was going to break. It was becoming mildly vexing.

“Da exaggerates, Mr. Pope. I am perfectly fine. I would not dare otherwise with Poppy watching over me.”

“Hmph. See that you stay so then. Now you were here about the Gaunt books, I believe.”

Gaunt? Wasn’t that the name of Tom Riddle’s mother’s family? “I don’t know about any Gaunt, but I was hoping that the new shipment of books you told me of had a copy of the translation of Raka ni Zotaj’s book.”

“Oh! That would be a find, wouldn’t it?” Mr. Pope looked back down at the boxes he had been sifting through. “I have to admit. I never considered that there might be a copy in there.”

“You haven’t had a chance to catalogue everything then?” Harry asked, disappointed. Mr. Pope wouldn’t buy sight unseen which meant that he hadn’t actually agreed to buy these books yet.

“No, it was a set price for all the boxes. I expected quite a bit of rubbish at the price I paid but one or two good finds would make up for that.”

“You didn’t check first?”

The other wizard shook his head. “No. I was made an offer, we haggled for a bit and then closed the deal without ever opening the boxes. I do that occasionally when the debtors are squabbling and all assets are liquidated to appease them. Considering the agent’s haste, I expect that’s what’s happened here.”

Harry frowned at the boxes. “But wasn’t the late owner a bibliophile? Shouldn’t they have had you value the books for them first and then give you the first choice with which to buy?”

Mr. Pope chortled. “If they’d had any sense, they would have but the solicitors fell down on the job this time. They reasoned that, since it was Reginald Gaunt’s private library amassed only in his lifetime and not the family collection and that Reginald himself not having been a wealthy man, why pay the fee for the appraisal when the chances of finding anything of worth were none to slim.”

“But that’s why you get the appraisal, right? So that you find the unexpected treasures.”

Mr. Pope tapped his nose again. “We know that but if the legal people can’t figure it out, then what can one do?”

Harry snickered appreciatively, well aware of Mr. Pope’s aversion to what he called ‘the thrice damned legal hyenas’. Harry was not aware of what had caused this antipathy but bore it no malice as he had a full share of his own generations’ scorn for ambulance chasers and held a more personal grudge, aside, for the legal system’s failings in regards to the years Sirius, his Sirius and not the spoilt brat here, had spent untried in Azkaban. When Mr. Pope had happened across this distaste by sheer chance, it had bridged the generational gab between them to forge the beginnings of an amiable acquaintance. Harry might be out of his time, but Mr. Pope was ahead of his and, to his Da’s regret, they were fully in accord in their distrust of their system.

Harry hoped that this association would develop into a firm friendship over time. If nothing else, being entertained by the occasional subtle snipes Mr Pope made against the Ministry and its employees, inclusive of every witch and wizard in the judicial system, had gotten Harry first dibs on the new stock.

He grinned at the shopkeeper. “Not a thing,” he commented. “They’re professionals, who are we to teach them their business?”

Mr. Pope chortled. “Smart lad. Just the kind of intelligent young man I would feel confident would appreciate such a difficult to acquire volume.”

Score! That was almost a promise that, if he found it, Mr. Pope would keep it for Harry! “I’d appreciate it, all right,” he agreed as the other wizard returned to his task. “But I think Minerva might appreciate it more.”

Mr. Pope looked at him in pleased surprise. “She would? I didn’t now the professor was interested in that kind of thing.”

“Neither did she until she started studying Hogwarts’ wards.” Harry shrugged. He wasn’t going to mention that Minerva planned to adjust the wards to warn the appropriate people if unknown of uninvited animagi were about. The trick, which she hoped Zotaj’s book would explain, would be to tune them so that they also warned about students attempting the transformation, both successfully and unsuccessfully.

With a fond smile, Mr. Pope mused, “She is adjusting very well to her new job as your Da’s deputy, isn’t she? I saw her in here just last week and, bless me, I do believe she was perusing the small selection of books on warding.”

“She’s having the devil’s own time trying to find Zotaj’s,” Harry told him. “She keeps being referred to it but the one copy she found was in Turkish and resisted any and all translation charms, even when Professor Flitwick tried.”

“Filius failed? Oh my. That must be a tough nut, then. Filius once worked for the Department of Mysteries, did you know? He spent quite a few years working with ancient artefacts. If he couldn’t enchant one book then I doubt there’s anyone in the area that could.” Mr. Pope inspected the boxes around him. “Hmm. Well, lad, how about a bargain?”

Harry blinked. “Excuse me?”

Mr. Pope smiled at him. “Are you busy today, young Harry?”

“Not really,” he admitted, a glimmering of an idea of what was being suggested arising.

“Good. What say you stay here and help me unpack these boxes and I’ll give you any books that strike your fancy at a reasonable price. I get use of your young back and you get first dibs at the staff rate.”

“Done!” Harry agreed instantly.

The next few minutes were occupied by Mr. Pope explaining how to remove, clean and sort the books. Then they got stuck into it. While Mr. Pope examined and priced the tomes, resorting them as he deemed necessary. Although they found several titles that interested one or both of them, it wasn’t until the second to last box that they found the Zotaj.

“Well, look here, it seems that it’s your lucky day, lad.”

Harry grinned as he watched Mr. Pope examine it. It was an extremely lucky day, indeed that had began with a vague hope and ended with success beyond hope. He did wonder how much this success was going to cost him though.

“Hm, old Gaunt certainly was hard on his books. Not to mention his atrocious handwriting in the margins. You take it from me, Harry Dumbledore, you should not annotate a good book, but, if you do, make sure the notes are legible!” He glared briefly at Harry before returning to his inspection. “The binding’s solid, despite the dog ears and the leather is in satisfactory condition. It really is a pity about the scribble everywhere. It’s like some horrible toddler has attacked it with their parents’ quills!” Mr. Pope sounded outraged as only a truly offended book lover could.

“And the verdict?” Harry asked when Mr. Pope closed the cover at last. After the commentary, he didn’t know if he should be morning the death of his budget or not.

Mr. Pope thought for a moment, his index finger tapping quietly on the book’s binding. “Let’s make it ten galleons, even,” he decided at last.

Harry tried not to wince. While cheaper than it could have been, the amount was still enough to significantly lighten his money pouch. “And, what of ‘Magical Educations Through the Ages’ and ‘Stretching’?”

“Interesting choices. Hmmm… Say one galleon for the first and seven for the second, which, if I might add, is a very good book if you are actually capable of any of it. It’s the rare wizard that can actually develop that kind of fine control over his power though. A gift for your Da?”

The assumption was understandable, Mr. Pope believing as the rest of the world did that Albus Dumbledore had just defeated his second dark lord. However, this was one book that Harry intended to keep for himself. He had actually started reading it in the future but had not had the chance to learn more than the first couple of exercises in magical control before that fateful confrontation with Voldemort. Moody, the one in the future, had hinted that mastering everything in the book, while a long and tedious process, would not only increase his overall magical ability, but also, perhaps, pave the way to the supposedly impossible ideal of wandless magic. Harry had a deep rooted belief that wandless magic was not only possible but not as rare as society seemed to believe. There were too many forms of wandless magic accepted but unrecognised as such to make him think that a wand was a critical component in performing magic. In his opinion, it was control that was the issue, something that this book could help him with now that he actually had the time to use it. He didn’t answer Mr. Pope’s question, simply shrugging non-committedly instead and allowed the elder wizard to draw his own conclusions.

“So, eighteen all up?”

“That’s right, lad.”

Harry considered what else he needed to get in the coming week and decided he couldn’t get everything at once. “Can I-”

He felt the cool presence a moment before it rounded the stacks to be seen. Mr. Pope’s eyes widened then narrowed before he schooled his face into a mask of neutrality. Harry turned so that his back was no longer to the newcomer, an act of wariness rather than manners, as time and experience had taught him to never turn his back on a Malfoy. It took only a few seconds to recognise Lucius Malfoy, younger than Harry had ever seen him, which was only to be expected really.

The resemblance his son bore, or would do, was more marked in this more youthful, less polished youth. Harry calculated that Lucius was still a few years his elder but no more than five at the most and very likely less. Malfoy, for this was no more the dreaded and intimidating Mr. Malfoy than Black was Sirius or Potter was his dad, displayed his wealth for all to see and wore the Malfoy coat of arms on the clasp of his cloak proudly. His hair was cropped short, which surprised Harry for he could not have imagined Lucius Malfoy bending to the trends of fashion no matter his age.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy,” Mr. Pope said with careful courtesy, “How can my humble establishment help you today?” In Mr. Pope’s eyes, Malfoy had committed not one but two unforgivable sins. The first was that he had studied wizarding law after graduating from Hogwarts and the second, that he had used his education in law to enter the realm of politics.

While Harry had no time or liking for either lawyers or politicians, he personally was more concerned with Malfoy’s allegiances. He would have given a great deal to know if Malfoy had taken Voldemort’s mark before his defeat or if that had been an event yet to come. In either case, the Ministry would have done nothing, the dark mark had vanished with its maker’s death on any and all Deatheater prisoners held and, presumably, also on those that still walked free. Harry would like to have known, if only to place the magnitude of evil to which the wizard had fallen.

“It has come to my attention,” Malfoy said after a brief, measuring glance at Harry who he then ignored. “That the contents of the late Reginald Gaunt’s library has come into your possession.”

“I can’t deny it,” Mr. Pope responded evenly.

Malfoy smiled coolly and, in Harry’s opinion, superciliously. “Then you are aware that there is a copy of ‘Symmetry and Strategy in Lines of Power’ by Rakey ni Zotaj, the English translation present.”

Harry blinked in surprise and glanced down at the books in front of him. This might become a little more interesting than he might have wanted. He looked up again and met Mr. Pope’s eyes. Mr. Pope looked a little wary, himself, wontedly so if this Malfoy was as ill disposed to those that thwarted him as his future self. This was such a minor matter but some people took these kind of situations the most seriously of all and Harry had every reason to believe Lucius Malfoy was just one such pedant.

He wondered if he should pick up his books and keep the titles from view to give Mr. Pope a chance to deny everything. Harry didn’t even consider giving up the book. And then it was too late to act. The book in question was at the top of the small stack and so easily seen. Malfoy reached for it despite the fact that Harry had obviously picked it up first.

“I see you have it right here.”

Harry quickly pulled all three books towards himself. “Sorry, but I’m buying these three.”

Malfoy looked at him as if he were some kind of alien bug that he could comprehend in the slightest. “Excuse me? I said that’s the book I’m looking for.”

Harry sent Mr. Pope an apologetic glance. He hoped the shopkeeper would forgive him but he was not going to knuckle under to Lucius-bloody-Malfoy! Mr. Pope seemed apprehensive, but displayed no resentment. That, however, could change if Harry was not careful with how he handled the touchy Malfoy.

“I’m sorry,” he said insincerely, remembering just in time that he probably shouldn’t know who Lucius Malfoy was. It also might give him an advantage if Malfoy thought Harry was ignorant. “But I’ve already decided to buy this book and was just about to pay for it.”

Malfoy sneered and ignored him, addressing Mr. Pope instead. “The purchase has not been completed yet, correct? Then the book is still yours and so you may choose to sell it to whomever you please. It would greatly benefit you to choose to sell it to me. Both the short and long term benefits would outweigh anything another customer might offer.”

Harry couldn’t argue that the shop would definitely receive more for this sale if it was sold to Malfoy rather than him but he was not just going to let Malfoy win because he had more money. Of course, he thought as he read Mr. Pope’s face, all the money in the world wouldn’t help you if the shopkeeper really didn’t like you.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Mr. Pope stated smoothly, “Your sentiments, while most… kind.” Kind had obviously not been the first thing to come to mind. “Are irrelevant, the sale has been made. The book is not longer mine.”

Malfoy sniffed. “That is foolish. I could easily pay three times anything,” here the blond gave Harry a contemptuous sidelong glance, “Anyone else might offer.”

Mr. Pope shook his head. “The book is not worth any more than I asked for it. I am happy with the agreed price.”

“Its value is determined by those who wish to possess it. In my mind, seventy-five galleons would be a good price and one I would easily pay.”

Harry’s eyes widened. Not even the Malfoys were so affluent that they would pay that much for a book that, while difficult to get, could be bought brand new for less than half the price. With the contacts his family had, Malfoy should easily have been able to discretely import a copy and never needed to lower himself into entering a second hand shop.

Mr. Pope didn’t even blink, which impressed Harry greatly. That price would be more than the shop made in an entire day in a good week. Harry wouldn’t blame Mr. Pope for changing his mind for that and he still thought of the value of the galleon as what it was in the nineties.

“Please, Mr. Malfoy, do not make me turn you down again.”

Harry stared, respecting the elder wizard even more. How often did you meet a shopkeeper that could not be bought?

“Eighty galleons.”

“Mr. Malfoy,” Mr. Pope’s voice was no longer particularly courteous. Malfoy’s persistence must have been irritating him. “The book is no longer mine. Please do not continue to embarrass yourself.”

Malfoy’s pale eyes narrowed and the dark expression that flashed across his face was too fast to be read. Harry guessed that it had not been anything nice. Then the blond turned slowly to Harry. Once more, Malfoy raked his gaze up and down him and Harry could see the contempt in the other’s face. Apparently Malfoy was still taken in by appearances. Harry wondered if Malfoy had yet learned to accurately judge a wizard despite their clothes.

“Well, boy, eighty galleons for the book, please hand it over.” The dismissive gaze had moved to the small selection of volumes Harry protectively clutched close to his chest.

“No.”

Malfoy did not appear to listen, he merely reached towards Harry demandingly.

Harry’s own eyes narrowed as he turned his body so that the books were shielded. Malfoy’s hand brushed his elbow and started to grip the cloth of Harry shirt when Harry dealt with the unwelcome touch decisively. It didn’t take a wand to activate the wards on his clothes and person. His more protective father had access to some very skilled individuals. Malfoy stumbled back, hissing as his fingers began to blister.

“Sir, I said no.” Harry reminded him, “And I would appreciate you not touching me uninvited.”

“Boy, do you know who you are dealing with?” Malfoy had a great deal more in common with his future son than had been apparent in Harry’s past. Harry wondered if he should continue to play ignorant but he was finding Lucius Malfoy as tiresome as he had once found his son and his patience was fleeing.

“I don’t care who you are, sir. I have no intention of giving this book to you. There is nothing you can offer to make me say otherwise.” It took all he had to keep his words at least non-inflammatory and not call the blond a ferret before telling him to stuff his money pouch where the sun didn’t shine.

“I am a -“

“Malfoy, yes,” Harry interrupted impatiently, “So Mr. Pope has already said, but I really don’t care! You could be Queen Elizabeth herself and I still wouldn’t give you this book.”

“Ignorant whelp!” Lucius was starting to look more than just antagonistic. Harry recognised the signs from the Malfoy he had gone to school with. Lucius was working his way into a frothing rage. Very soon, he would draw his wand and either begin threatening or begin hexing. Harry would prefer the latter, for all that the wisdom would rather the former. He was itching to knock the conceited wizard down a peg or two, proof of his Gryffindor adolescence.

“Lucius?” A smooth baritone interrupted Harry’s thoughts. Mr. Pope’s face tightened and Malfoy’s rage quietened as he made some efforts to smooth his face back into its previous haughty lines. Another blond stepped around the stacks into view and Harry fought back a groan. If it was obvious which parent Draco had favoured, then it was equally so for the current Malfoy scion. A wizard who could only be Lucius’ father regarded the three of them as though they were specimens in a collecting jar.

“Sir,” Lucius gave a little bow to his father. Harry’s brows fought to rise at the other’s sudden timidity.

“What are you doing? I thought I told you just to collect the book and not dawdle!”

Lucius’ eyes flickered to Harry resentfully. “Sir, the book has already been sold.”

The elder Malfoy blinked. “Nonsense. The Gaunt estate would only have delivered them this morning.” He addressed Mr. Pope. “My dear Sir, you could hardly have the collection on display already?”

Mr. Pope smiled thinly and gestured at the mostly unpacked boxes near them and the piles of books in their midst. “Not yet, Mr. Malfoy, however if you are referring to the Zotaj, the young lad here had requested it and, when I found it, naturally I sold it to him.”

Malfoy senior examined first Mr. Pope and then Harry silently. Harry fought not to get defensive. Lucius watched quietly. “The sale is complete?” he asked Mr. Pope finally.

“The lad was just about to pay for it when your boy interrupted and began disturbing the peace of my store.” A hint of rebuke was in Mr. Pope’s voice but the elder Malfoy made even that outspoken wizard watch his words.
“Is that so?” The cold look the father gave the son almost made Harry pity Malfoy.

“It is,” Mr. Pope asserted.

“Hmmph.” Mr. Malfoy turned to Harry. “What say you, boy?”

“No offence, sire,” Harry said careful of this wizard as he had not been of the son. “But I was here first and I have no intention of giving up the book. For the price your son was offering, I’m sure he could obtain a new copy that would suit your library far better than the one I have which has been defaced and hard used.”

“And if I were to offer you such a newly bought copy as soon as I could acquire one, in return for ceding me this one now?”

“This one suits my needs very well, sir. I do not need a copy in perfect condition but I do need one now. I would say no, sir.”

“The man who owned the books was an associate of mine, I would like to keep it in his memory.”

As if a Malfoy would ever do anything so pointlessly sentimental.

“I sympathise for your loss,” Harry said diplomatically. “There are many other books he left to choose from. I’m sure another would serve as well.”

The elder Malfoy shook his head coolly. “No, boy, there was special meaning in that one. My friend would have wanted me to have it.”

Then why hadn’t he willed it to Malfoy in the first place? “I’m sorry for your loss, sir, but the book is now mine and I will not give it up.”

Cold blue eyes regarded him dispassionately. “May I know the name of the wizard depriving me of the keepsake of my dead friend?”

Harry twitched despite himself and had to respect the blond wizard for that delivery. If he thought it possible for either Malfoy to possess a heart, he might have believed it and, if the protections around him had permitted the persuasive spells the Malfoy head was emitting, he might even have felt guilty. As it was, Harry didn’t have to harden his heart or any such rot so that he could ignore the implied accusation. “Harry Dumbledore, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Dumbledore.”

Harry nodded and enjoyed the constipated look that crossed Lucius’ face at his revelation. Lucius’ father, on the other hand, had not changed his expression at all.

“Albus Dumbledore’s newly acknowledged son?”

Harry noticed the slur on the legitimacy of his birth. Not that Harry particularly cared about what people like the Malfoys thought but if rumours like that became too loud, they could raise problems for his Da. Their story had already been worked out, it was just a question of how much Harry should slip to the odious blonds. He smiled politely at the elder Malfoy and, careful to keep all hint of personal satisfaction from his voice and face, retorted succinctly, “Voldemort is dead, why wouldn’t he acknowledge me?”
Lucius Malfoy looked like he had several things he would have liked to answer but his father’s frigid presence stilled even his sharp tongue.

“Quite,” Mr. Malfoy sneered with an extremely sour look.

Mr. Pope decided to intervene then. “As you can see, Mr. Malfoy, the book is not available. Is there anything else I could help you with?”

The elder Malfoy continued to stare stonily at Harry. “Will you change your mind, young Dumbledore?”

Harry just shook his head in reply.

The wizard’s lips twisted with displeasure that was immediately smoothed off his face as he turned back to Mr. Pope. “I think not, Sir. I find that I am only wasting my time here.”

Mr. Pope nodded congenially, buoyed, no doubt, by the prospect of the Malfoys imminent departure. “Then have a lovely day, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Malfoy.”

The father gave a coldly regal nod and swept out of the shop without another glance at Harry. The son gave a less than gracious nod at Mr. Pope, glared at Harry one last time and then imitated his sire’s sweeping exit. Harry and Mr. Pope watched him with shared amusement.

“And good riddance,” Mr. Pope muttered as soon as the door closed.

Harry had to snicker. “Pleasant fellows, aren’t they?”

“If one is rich and powerful,” Mr. Pope grumbled, “But only if they think they’ll gain something from it. Still…” He fixed a serious and slightly worried gaze on Harry. “They make vicious enemies. I hope they will not make things difficult for you, lad.”

Considering that, at some stage, Lucius Malfoy would be on Hogwarts board of directors and that it wouldn’t be unlikely if his father was on there now, Harry suspected he would have been crossing paths with them sooner or later in any case. He had ideas for Hogwarts and changes he intended to see implemented that they were undoubtedly going to fight him on. It was a war Harry did not intend to lose.

The fact that they had put themselves out over a book and a used one at that, nagged at Harry’s instincts for trouble and he had highly honed those instincts. He was suddenly very relieved that he had braved the weather and even more grateful for Mr. Pope’s support. Whatever plans the Malfoy family wanted the book for, Harry was certain that he would want to stop them.

“They didn’t do much to get me on side,” Harry noted. Were they really that arrogant and dismissive of ordinary people? Perhaps the fuss was just for show, but why would they bother if there were only Mr. Pope and Harry to witness it? They wanted the word of mouth to spread? Unlikely.

Mr. Pope began fussing with the books in his hands. “There are rumours, lad,” he muttered, clearly uncomfortable.

“I’m not surprised,” Harry replied wryly, “Their airs just beg to be derided and gossiped about.”

“Not that, lad,” Mr. Pope lowered his voice, “About coercions.”

Harry blinked at mention of the group of magical control spells that were weaker but more legal than imperio. “Yeah, he definitely tried something of the sort. I felt them bounce off Da’s protections. Not that they’d’ve done him much good though. I had my mind made up and even the imperius curse can’t make me change it at that stage.”

“He did? You can resist imperio?” Mr. Pope vacillated from outrage to stunned amazement in an instant.

“It was just an example of how stubborn I can be,” Harry prevaricated hastily, not wanting to give away even to this good wizard some of the things that had always set him apart from others. “So how much do I owe you again?”
“Fifteen galleons, lad,” he was told, the shopkeeper holding his hands out for the books.

Harry frowned as he handed them over to be wrapped in weatherproof material. “Wasn’t it more than that?” He was certain of it.

Mr. Pope huffed as he finished tying a string around the bundle. “You are your father’s son, Harry-my-lad, and never let it be said otherwise. Consider the discount the birthing gift I would have given you at your presentation had your father not hidden you.”
Presentation? Harry cocked his head in question. Was that like a Christening? Or was it a completely wizarding thing?

“Ah, there we are, lad.” Mr Pope patted the neat package. Harry fumbled at his money ouch and counted out fifteen galleons, leaving himself much the poorer.

“Thank you, sir,” Harry said, truly grateful.

“It was my pleasure, young Dumbledore. Now, be off with you. And don’t dawdle on your way back to the school or you’ll have young Poppy Pomfrey after both our heads. You for risking your health and me for letting you!”

Harry chuckled then and, after a few more exchanges of pleasantries, wrapped his cloak around him and clutched the books to his chest. He didn’t stop in any of the other shops. Not only had the excursion strained the allowance his Da had provided him but it also seemed to have involved him with something a bit more sinister than a simple Christmas shopping trip. This time, at least, he wasn’t a child trying to sneak into the Restricted Section in the middle of the night to solve the mystery.

Of course, he also didn’t have Hermione to figure things out for him and, for a heartbeat, he felt a soul-deep agony. With practiced ease, he buried the pain. This was his life now and it was not without its joys. He would live.

Provided the Malfoys didn’t try to assassinate him after this. He smiled as he quickly strode through the softly falling snow. If they did, it would be just like old times.

***

part 2