the rest of time's child 6

[draegyn]

Albus sipped his tea and watched his transfiguration and arithmancy professors as they studied the book together. They were two of the sharpest minds he knew, if anyone could discern the cause of the Malfoy’s interest in the book, should it prove malign, it would surely be one of them. His gaze slipped from the readers to his pensive son. His most astute child had undoubtedly drawn some animosity from the Malfoys, another thing for Albus to monitor. His boy had suffered far too much, sacrificed too much, for Albus to allow the Malfoys to hurt him again.

It was a sign of how much his encounter at the bookshop had affected his perceptive child that Harry had not noticed his father’s worried look. The young wizard continued to stare into his cup with a grim frown. For all of Harry’s youth, despite his past experiences, his child was still very young, Harry had been shaped by war. It was extremely rare for him to focus so greatly that he would ignore all external stimuli. His amusing conflict with Misters Snape and Lupin were proof enough of that.

His boy had only just recovered from the last war. Albus did not want him stepping into the middle of the next. Anything that linked the Malfoy family with the late Dark Lord’s blood kin could only bode ill enough that Albus wanted his Harry well free of it. He could only hope that circumstances would allow him that.

“Some of these notes have some very dark implications, Albus. There are mentions of necromancy and even vampirism,” Pythagora warned as she looked away from the book. Harry blinked and looked at her. Albus followed his gaze and Pythagora met his eyes levelly. “Reginald Gaunt had some very evil thoughts in his head.”

Albus was concerned but he reminded himself that no one was so perfect that they hadn’t had a questionable thought enter their head. It could be, if not innocent, for such subjects were never innocent, then harmless.

“That he could consider such things in the context of external power sources and constructs as are the subjects of the book is also very ominous,” Minerva added with a frown. “Such dark arts are bad enough when confined to an individual but, considering the topics in the book… to stabilise such magic without a conscious will to bind it or even an inanimate object to confine it…”

Albus nodded in reluctant agreement. The implications were most troublesome. “It seems the late Master Gaunt was far more innovative than his reputation would say.”

“Innovative?” Pythagora sniffed. “Your Harry is innovative, Filius is innovative, the unlamented Black and Potter brats are innovative, Reginald Gaunt, on the other hand, was merely a dreamer. His thoughts were no more than wishful thinking. No, Albus, Gaunt was far from being a deadly threat to the common witch or wizard even with such unsavoury dreams as these. The true danger in this book would be someone with real intelligence combined with the perseverance to bridge the gap between Gaunt’s suppositions and reality. It would be the work of a lifetime, perhaps even several with no guarantee that it would ever produce practical knowledge but the Powers Above and Below would be needed to save any generation after it bore fruit.”

“So you do not believe Reginald Gaunt was serious in his musings?” Albus pressed. Perhaps there was nothing to worry about in this. Despite the potential for harm, it would require an investment of time and energy that would span decades if not centuries. As much as he disliked that aspect of his society, he had to admit that it was rare, if ever, that the inhabitants of the wizarding world were that forward planning.

“Gaunt? No,” Pythagora said with a toss of her head, relinquishing the book to Minerva’s sole custody. “What should concern you is that Abraxis Malfoy is anything but a dreamer. Nor is he as sentimental as he would have had Harry believe.”

“Not to mention that it is extremely unlikely that he would have lowered himself to ever speak to a Gaunt so I very much doubt his claim of being the deceased man’s friend,” Minerva growled.

She had gone to school with the Malfoy in question. Only a year or two was between them, in fact. She had come to know him far better than she had wished, even better when his son had been her student in recent years. She was probably correct in that the Gaunt family had fallen far enough and long enough that, united in their dark tendencies or not, the two should never have met.

“Perhaps we are being overly suspicious,” he suggested, more out of an ingrained sense of fairness than true belief. “The Malfoys have a surprising array of connections and, despite their current misfortunes, the Gaunt line is an old one. Is it truly so hard to conceive that the two may have struck up an acquaintance?

“Yes!” the two witches snapped in unison. Pythagora with her convoluted thoughts and Minerva with her straightforward sharpness were united by their dislike of the current head of the Malfoy family. It was one that Albus had to admit, if only to himself, that he shared. For that, if nothing else, he refused to allow himself to condemn the man out of hand.

“I cannot deny that Abraxis is a… difficult man for us to consider befriending but we do not move in his circles. Amongst his peers, he is most congenial.”

“Because he gains from it,” Pythagora muttered. “He’s a politician, of course he’s congenial! He can’t afford not to be!”

“Politician? He’s nothing that polite and we all know it,” Minerva disagreed. “Abraxis Malfoy would be nothing less than the power behind the throne if he could get away with it.”

“Isn’t it a pity that the wizarding world no longer has a throne, then, ladies?” Albus interjected mildly. Both witches snorted or sneered, as was their want, in derision. He didn’t need to ask what their opinion on the matter was. “However, we have forgotten the issue at hand.” He put his tea back on the table and gestured at the book in front of Minerva. “What shall we do about this? Do we need to do anything about it?”

The two witches paused in thought. Minerva sighed after a moment and shook her head. “I would not put it past Abraxis Malfoy to make use of the ideas that were brought forward in here but I doubt his ability. He has not the scholarship nor the patience or trust needed if he were to rely on another to follow through on the ideas here. Even if he had the book, I don’t think he would have done anything with it once he realised the magnitude of the investment versus the potential risk.”

Pythagora nodded slowly. “True,” she agreed, “But I would be more concerned with why he would have wanted to follow through on these ideas. Of course, that doesn’t even consider the possibility that the scribbles are in fact a code for some other nefarious purpose. Merlin knows what he might have tried to communicate to those with the eyes to see.”

Albus had already considered that possibility and, between a secret code or the beginnings of some dark esoteric developing ritual, he was inclined to the former.

“What if it’s both?” Harry surprised them all by asking. The three professors turned to the young wizard in surprise, having almost forgotten that he was there at all. “I mean,” he continued, “We know it was Reginald Gaunt’s book, but is there any proof that it’s Reginald Gaunt’s writing? I would imagine that Gaunt would be a useful cipher to someone of say, Voldemort’s bent. Related by blood but not linked in name and so safe from the prying Ministry in case things should not go as a certain Dark Lord planned. Then it is simply a matter of one of his followers acquiring the volume and then ‘Plan B’ goes into effect.”

“Plan B?” Minerva repeated sceptically.

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know, but Voldemort was supposedly brilliant and not always blinded by megalomania. Before he became hopped up on his own power, he might have arranged for a couple of back up plans in case his rise to power faltered.”
“Voldemort was kin to the Gaunts?” Pythagora exclaimed, “How-”

“Merope Gaunt was Tom Riddle’s mother,” Albus explained as he considered his son. “And Tom Riddle was the boy who became Lord Voldemort,” he added, forestalling more questions.

“How long have you known this, Albus?” Minerva demanded, justly Albus supposed, considering it had been a highly contented issue before the unlamented dark wizard fell.

“I only learned of it recently,” he admitted. Recently as in when Harry had made the connection for him. The knowledge in his boy’s head consisted more than what might have happened had other events occurred. “I had not found a suitable moment to share the information and, to tell the truth, I saw no pressing need to hurry to do so. Voldemort is irretrievably dead.”

“The Dark Lord, yes,” Harry agreed before either witch could berate Albus. “But Voldemort wasn’t exactly reluctant to spread his essence around. Every one of his dark marks bore the imprint of his magic.”

“Which all vanished on his death,” Pythagora reminded them all, “As is fitting considering the magic that created them is no more.”

Harry shrugged again and finished his cold tea with a grimace. “All I’m suggesting is that he might have had the foresight to leave something else, something that wouldn’t disappear if he did. A diary imbued with his memory for example.” Albus stared at

Harry in sudden realisation and Harry smiled wanly. “Lucius Malfoy does make it come to mind,” he admitted.

Pythagora fixed him with a probing stare. “Lucius Malfoy makes you think of diaries?” she queried suspiciously.

Harry met her eyes innocently. “He’s prissy and reminds me of a girl. He doesn’t to you?”

“No,” Minerva answered, her lips twitching, “I can safely say that Lucius Malfoy has never seemed similar to any girl in my mind.”

Harry grinned unrepentantly even as Pythagora continued to watch him in disbelief. “Not to mention that he was demanding I give him ‘his’ book, just like a bratty eleven year old who’s had her diary stolen.”

“I don’t believe you,” Pythagora told him flatly.

“I’m hurt.”

“That should be my line, Harris!”

“It hurts right here!” Harry thumped on his sternum over his diaphragm.

Minerva snorted. “That’s not your heart, Harry.”

Harry shrugged and stood. “I know, but that tea really shouldn’t be drunken cold, gives me gas. Anyway, Da, ladies, I have given you my opinion and think I shall leave this in your capable hands. I’m sorry, Ma’am, if you don’t believe me, it was only an idea and one I think you should consider, no matter what my reasons are for suggesting it.”

“Harris!”

“I shall see you all at dinner this evening!” With that, he slipped from the room, leaving Pythagora fuming behind him. Immediately she rounded on Albus.

“What is he hiding, Albus?”

Albus smiled benignly at his arithmancy professor, completely without regret that he was going to keep his son’s secrets. “Now, Pythagora, does it matter why Harry made a suggestion, so long as it was a reasonable one?”

She regarded him balefully. “This is about your child’s mysterious past, is it not?” Minerva watched on with interest and Albus said nothing. Pythagora glared at him for several minutes before finally conceding defeat. “Fine, but mark my words, Albus. One day you will explain exactly where that young man came from and don’t even think of explaining the facts of life to me, Albus, or I will castrate you. All three of us know that Harry is not yours by blood, for all that the rest of the world believes otherwise. I do expect the full story and sooner rather than later.” She was fearsomely serious and Albus looked to Minerva for support.

His once student looked back just as sharply as their colleague. “Do not seek my support in this, Albus. I, too, am awaiting an explanation.”

He sighed and looked down at his empty cup. “Unfortunately, ladies, it is not solely my story to tell.”

“So it’s Harris that we need to corner,” Pythagora concluded without difficulty.

Albus nodded but sent both a warning expression that startled each into flinching. “Only when he is ready, however,” he ordered mildly.

They paused and then nodded in agreement. “Of course.”

In the discussion that followed, none of the secrets that were mentioned belonged to those of the Dumbledore family.