I really appreciated the bouquet, but you didn't have to visit." Professor Marchbanks told Harry as he entered his hospital room.
The all-white curtains, linen, walls and floor matched his full-body bandages perfectly. Harry never would have recognized the older man were it not for his voice.
"I disagree. It was completely necessary." Said Harry as he placed a gift basket of fruit on the end table. "I feel strangely responsible. Like my warning wasn't enough to protect you."
Marchbanks chuckled in a wheezing way.
"Nonsense. If you had made the prediction and it helped me to avoid the eventuality you foresaw, then would it have been a prediction at all?" He asked.
The man had a point. But he would have rather been a failed seer than to have a good man put in such a pitiful state after an attempted murder.
"So, what was it that he offered you?" Harry asked.
Marchbanks nodded to indicate a box at the foot of his bed. Harry could already feel something… light coming from it. Whatever was inside gave off a similar impression to his magical senses that an old, abandoned chapel would, or an even more ancient set of ruins in an archeological site might. It was warm and bright but like unto dust.
"May I?" Harry asked, indicating the box.
Marchbanks nodded and Harry opened the container.
Inside was a beautiful sword of copper and stone magically fused into a new material, but a weapon had been shattered as if it were made of glass. Touching it revealed to him what it was.
A sword of fire. One of divine purpose and religious origins.
"The sword of Gabrielle." Marchbanks said. "The one set at the entrance to the Garden of Eden to keep us children of Adam from ever returning. A garden sunk beneath the Persian gulf after the great flood."
It was certainly ancient enough that Harry could almost believe the story. It had been used in rituals for going on eight or more millennia. Ranging from the cutting of marriage bonds to human and animal sacrifice. It told such great stories of tribes ranging from the Hebrews to the sea people, and even those wholly unmentioned in religious or historical texts of any kind and whom Harry and never heard of. There was so much history and devotion in this object, all of it lost and nothing more to his magical senses than a whispered echo in a language he could never know. But one thing was certain to Harry.
"It's not the genuine article." He said. "It doesn't predate creation like the divine beings and their tools would."
"I know." Marchbanks confessed. "But a replica with its own history holds value almost as great as a genuine article, minus the dangers to health and sanity."
Harry looked at the wounded man curiously.
"You would risk your life for a mere replica?" He asked in disbelief.
"Absolutely. Each copy of the testaments of Jesus, or the dead sea scrolls or the lost gospels hidden and abandoned by the church are hugely valuable and belong to the whole of humanity." He said. "Our history, our ancestors put their faith and devotion into this. It was valuable to them in the same way as common wisdom, folklore and other things meant to be passed down to their children are. Only they haven't been passed down but forgotten. Lost heirlooms. And that is a tragedy most horrible."
Harry was not a man of faith. Which said more about his hard-headedness than his nonbelief. Especially considering his ability to literally feel the power of faith permeating in places of worship and religious value, not to mention his run-in with a literal demon that one time. He just couldn't put his faith in others, not even God, like that. Trust issues and self-reliance and all that. But he could respect it.
"Was it broken when Tom gave it to you?" Harry pressed on.
"Ohoho! Somebody knows more about the dark lord than the average bear!" Marchbanks said with a wink. "And no, it was intact if a little frayed around the edges. It broke taking the killing curse meant for me… after I used it to fend off two of Tom's best."
An impressive man. To not only draw Voldemort's attention, but to fend him off too. Even if it left him half alive.
"You are a formidable man, Professor Marchbanks." Harry said honestly. "May we never cross wands."
"The same to you, Mister Morrigan. I have another visitor coming soon." The older man said by way of dismissal.
Harry placed the ruined artifact back into the box and bowed slightly and left the private room and down the hall. It wasn't a particularly busy day in Saint Mungo's so he didn't encounter anybody on the way to the elevator.
He was rather surprised when he pressed the button to call the lift, for who should step out of it, but Albus-bloody-Dumbledore. Neither he nor the headmaster showed any indication that they recognized each other by their posture or facial expressions.
"Professor Dumbledore." Harry greeted with a nod.
"Mister Morrigan." Dumbledore reciprocated with a nod of his own.
They passed each other, each going their opposite ways, when the old man piped up.
"Oh, and since I have your attention." Albus said. "I have accepted your application and I will be interviewing you personally this Wednesday, as my deputy headmistress will be indisposed and cannot do so. A letter detailing the time and place should be waiting for you at your residence by now."
Harry nodded.
"Brilliant! I look forward to it." He said.
"And is Alastor well enough to be accepting more visitors?" He asked.
"Fit as a fiddle, if a little melancholy and strangely satisfied with himself despite his condition." Harry answered truthfully.
"That is most excellent news! Well. I won't take up anymore of your time. I'm sure you're a very busy man." Dumbledore dismissed him.
"Says the man juggling three eighty-hour per week jobs!" Harry retorted with a wink as he pressed the button to the first floor.
As the door closed Harry barely managed to spot the old man's own wink and he finally let the avalanche of emotions flood his body.
Joy at seeing his grandfather figure alive mixed sadness at remembering his tragic life and death in his own world was easy to place. The nervousness at the possibility of being found out doing the many naughty things he was doing by an authority figure was too. It was a psychological tick that few Hogwarts alumni ever overcame. Above all what shcoked him the most was, well, the shock. Shock at seeing the dead brought back to life. And not the faux shades of the dead brought by the resurrection stone, which he himself confirmed weren't actually the souls of the dead and Hermione double-confirmed with her own experiments.
He had to brace himself against a wall control his breathing. It was all so overwhelming. To see a man he adored and cherished so much throw him a wink and joke in his old man humor. To say nothing of the smell. Every person, especially old people, have their own smell. And when that person is a loved one a single hint of that smell can bring up all manner of memories all at once.
He would need to spend the rest of the two days until the interview bracing himself to not break down while getting the third degree from the headmaster.
He managed to calm his nerves with a deep breaths before the lift doors opened and deposited him onto the first floor of the hospital and made his way out. He had many more errands to take care of today, and it didn't do to drown in melancholy.
Besides. He learned an important new piece of information that he needed to place into the bigger picture Voldemort was still collecting magical artifacts, which implied he may not have finished creating all seven horcruxes yet.
"So." Began Ragnok. "Is there a particular reason you advised one of my premier hedge fund goblins to short two of the largest and fastest growing tech companies in the Muggle world during an economic boom specifically surrounding said tech industry?"
And like that the meeting he requested with the goblins went from optimistic to being reminiscent of sitting on the wrong side of a teacher's desk. This was decidedly not what he had come here for.
"Well, you see, I'm not a qualified financial advisor and can't be held liable for…" Harry began.
"That's not going to fly with me." Ragnok interrupted.
"Okay fine! I was annoyed that everybody kept coming to me asking for advice on everything and I started screwing with people, as I'm wont to do when people annoy me." Harry confessed. "Happy?"
"No!" Ragnok answered. "They took your advice to heart and lost millions!"
"Well, the advice was still good. There is a bit of a crash coming soon. With a bit of cleverness, you can make a bit of profit. A large bit of profit." Harry explained.
Ragnok was silent for a little while.
"Elaborate." He demanded.
He did.
"Well there was, or er, is a bubble right now. Dot com bubble I think it's called. I think it burst in 1996 or so." Harry explained. Then checked his mental duel calender. "So about nowish. But it lasted a good half decade. So, you guys have five years of fun ahead of you."
Ragnok leaned forward in his chair.
"Is it a slow burn or a sudden crash?" He asked.
"Well, you know how the old joke goes." Harry said. "How did the former millionaire go bankrupt? At first very slowly, and then very, very quickly."
Ragnok nodded with a wicked grin.
"And if you think that has the potential for capitalizing on, wait until I tell you about the housing crash!" Harry went on.
"Let me guess." Said Ragnok. "The American administration's subprime mortgage mandate, forcing banks to give out loans to people who can't afford to pay them back is going to backfire spectacularly? So badly, that housing will become overpriced fifteen fold, that foreign entities and crime syndicates begin buying and selling houses as a form of money laundering leaving fewer houses for people to actually live in and inflating the prices ever further, and from there the banks, desperate to make a profit on the terrible investments they were forced to make by government regulation, will concoct quasi-legal debt-selling schemes thus spreading the crisis to the investment market?"
Gee Ragnok. When you say it like that it almost sounds as if this kind of thing has happened before and that anybody with a basic understanding of Austrian economics ought to be able to see it coming a decade ahead of time. Why, it was almost as if your own economic analysts in the bank already see it coming. But that's just crazy talk!
"On the bright side if you save properly in the leadup to the crash, you'll be able to buy up a tonne of properties around the world for dirt cheap." Harry went on. "And you could use them as an added benefit for curse breakers. Better lodging during their trips to the worlds deadliest places."
Ragnok hummed dismissively at the idea.
"And if you want me to, I can give you the information I know on which companies will be going out of business so you really can short them and invest long-term in the stocks of companies I know will survive and thrive."
Ragnok outright snarled at that suggestion.
Gringotts didn't, or wasn't supposed to, take part in short term stock exchanges. Least of all shorting companies. It went against persuading excellence, of achievements over profits. Especially shorting, betting against a company or country and the livelihoods of those therein was dishonorable in the extreme.
Harry was under no delusions that the goblins who took his malicious advice were still employed. Or at least not in their former positions.
"So. Economic woes ahead of us?" Ragnok surmised.
Harry nodded.
"And what was it you called people who shy away from chasing fortune and excellence in economic downturns?" Ragnok asked.
"Pussies!" Harry repeated. "And speaking of chasing fortune and excellence during economic downturns, have you had time to read the proposal I wrote?"
Ragnok reached into a drawer and pulled out the large manilla envelope he had sent with Hedwig. More as a challenge for her than the necessity of a speedy arrival.
"You wish to liquidate what investments you have in order to invest in a large parcel of undeveloped land to grow, and I quote, 'aconite, giant moonwarts, Commiphora myrrha, and possiblt hops and marijuana.' As well as a property in Hogsmeade for the purpose of serving as a shelter for werewolves." Ragnok read aloud.
"That is correct." Said Harry.
"Okay. I have several questions and even more misgivings." Ragnok said. "I understand that aconite, moonwart and myrrh are the primary ingredients for the wolfsbane potion. But why hops and marijuana? The latter of which you need a very difficult to obtain license to grow."
"Well, have you ever encountered an asshole who thought it would be funny to get their dog drunk on an ale?" Harry asked.
"Can't say that I have." Ragnok said.
"Well, it turns out drunk dogs are incapable of doing much of anything besides whimpering and pissing themselves. Same for werewolves. Marijuana calms werewolves down the same as it does humans. They're the best alternatives for people suffering from lycanism who have bad reactions to wolfsbane." Harry explained.
Ragnok nodded.
"And with the profits from selling my ingredients to potioneers who want to make other potions that use them, I'll be able to fund the shelter when my initial funds run dry." Harry finished.
Ragnok nodded again.
"You must know that I already set a team to dismantle your business plan and poke holes in it, right?" Ragnok asked.
"I'm all ears." Said Harry.
"First of all, marijuana grows best in temperate climates, which the United Kingdom is not." Ragnok listed.
"Marijuana is the least important item on the list, and honestly? It will probably boil down to procuring it through medical dispensaries and have a properly licensed mediwitch or wizard administer." Harry admitted. "But I do hope to grow some myself this next summer, along with hops. For the autumn and winter I'll just have to buy drink and thc for the customers. But I should be able to grow the potion ingredients year round."
Ragnok made a note on one of the pages in the envelope.
"And what countries would you be most interested in buying this parcel of land?" Ragnok asked.
"Whatever will give me the most land for least cost." Harry answered. "Quantity over quality. None of these things require particularly good soil or warmth. And greenhouses exist for a reason."
Ragnok made another note.
"The best bets are Scottland and Iceland then, but I would advie against Iceland as shipments from there are regularly attacked by Voldemort and his forces."
"Iceland it is then." Harry concluded.
Seeing Ragnok sputter in confusion at his unintuitive decision was always great fun.
"You want your shipments to be attacked by Death Eaters?" Ragnok concluded.
"Quite." Said Harry. "Amateur Death Eaters are easily dealt with, and I will time my shipments on weekends so that I can ride along and defend my property. Quicker shipments to the U.K, I get some exercise, the Death Eaters have fewer resources with which to harass other shipments and Voldemort's forces dwindle. Win, win, win, win."
Ragnok pinched his brow in frustration.
"Okay! Okay. I will approve that half of the business plan." Ragnok conceded. "But there are even bigger problems with this shelter for werewolves you proposed."
"Lay them on me." Harry said.
"Well for one, homeless shelters are scams that do nothing to help the homeless and only ever serve to enrich the organizers and make volunteers feeeeeeel like they're doing good without actually doing a damn thing to reduce homelessness." Ragnok ripped the Band-Aid off.
"... Huh?" Harry said dumbly.
"Oh yes. There has been a whole host of scientific studies comparing the benefits of homeless shelters, food programs and the like compared to just handing the homeless money." Ragnok went on. "Canada did one where they just straight up gave a number of homeless individuals 7500 dollars and acted shocked when, instead of using it to overdose on crystal meth, they used it to get their lives back together. And that's just one of many such studies, all of which show the same result."(AN-1)
Harry had not been aware of that. But was it really surprising to learn that a bunch of assholes used faux charities to enrich themselves and justified it by promoting bullshit stereotypes about the downtrodden? Hardly. Something something Clinton foundation stealing billions from the Haiti relief effort, something something Catholic Church, Mormons and Jesuits hoarding the wealth and properties bequeathed to them by widows. Yada yada. Assholes everywhere taking advantage of good people's charity.
Speaking of, he better put some preparation in place to aid Haiti, New Orleans and other places due for a natural disaster in the next decade. Or better yet, put safeguards to minimize the damage ahead of time. He pulled out his handy dandy notebook and put that down.
"The same is true for food banks and jobs programs for the homeless." Ragnok finished. "Usually government food stamps programs, again just giving the homeless money, proves more effective."
"Well, it's a good thing I'm not making a homeless shelter." Said Harry. "I am creating a shelter specifically for werewolves to self-quarantine near the full moon and only during the full moon. Nothing more."
Ragnok made yet another note in the stack of papers.
"That will significantly reduce the cost I estimated for your charity." Said Ragnok. "I would be tempted to approve your nonprofit on that factor alone if it weren't for untoward elements in the werewolf community."
That put Harry on edge.
"What kind of untoward elements?" He asked, fully expecting an anti-werewolf rant.
"There is a large subgroup of werewolves who are intent on spreading their condition through a whole host of tactics." He explained. "Doping water supplies with saliva, blood and other bodily fluids in the leadup to the full moon in the hope that it will mutate outside of their bodies under the moonlight, thus infecting anybody who comes in contact with it."
"Does... Does that actually work?" Harry asked.
"Consensus is out on that one. But worse, there are non-werewolves obsessed with catching the disease themselves. So you would have to be very discriminatory in your hiring practices."
Harry both groaned and cringed at the revelation.
"Great. There are bug chasers and gift givers in the werewolf community." Harry concluded. "I'll have to root them out and blacklist them. And boy will that be tough."
"Gift givers?" Asked Ragnok. "Bug chasers?"
"Gift givers and bug chasers are terms referring to a large section of the homophiliac community in America." Explained Harry. "They intentionally go around spreading or catching HIV, often intent on collecting multiple strains of the virus in the hopes it will mutate and become airborne. In fact, the first ever confirmed aids patient deliberately went around to bath houses spreading it to other homophiliacs."
The look of disgust on Ragnok's face was harrowing.
"That is borderline apocalyptic." He said in horror.
True, there was no proper cure for aids, either magical or mundane. And the closest humanity has ever achieved was prohibitively expensive. Bone marrow transplants from the rare person immune to hiv might be more easily achieved by magical means though. Prodigious use of skelegrow and whatever bone marrow transplant magic was used in wizard hospitals could probably end HIV in a few decades. He added that to the list of things to prepare for when the statute of secrecy eventually broke.
He added that to his notebook too.
"So how do you plan to counteract these... gift givers and bug chasers in your shelter?" Ragnok asked.
"By hiring people I know I can trust." Harry answered. "And beating into the heads of everybody there about the dangers of these... bioterrorists?"
Yes. That was a good word for them.
"It will be one hell of a trial." Ragnok warned.
"Story of my life." Said Harry. "And nothing I've ever done worth doing was ever easy. Why would this be any different?"
Ragnok approved both his business plan and nonprofit proposal. Or at least the first stage of both. His assets were liquidated later that day and Griphook was assigned the task of hunting down an appropriate parcel of land for his agricultural pursuits. They negotiated the rates for the goblin accountants to register his LLC and begin the process of finding trustees to begin the process of forming his charity. But that was something to deal with later and would hardly be difficult.
Ragnok also recommended fund raising with some pureblood elites, as they always held parties for such. He had already planned to write letters to the elder Crabbe and Goyle in friendship anyways, so why not try to invite himself to their next big shindig?
For now, he had to find a property for housing werewolves near the full moon. He already had the perfect place in mind to purchase.
The weekend came and went in a blur.
He received a letter from Bellatrix Saturday morning inviting him to come watch her practice. While the idea of watching her run drills in gym clothes all day sounded like a great way to spend a weekend, he had to refuse with a letter of his own. He was sure she would understand his need to prepare for an interview for one of the most prestigious jobs on the planet. Especially with the interviewer being Albus Dumbledore himself.
For the rest of the weekend he hit the books, catching up on his divination. He had mostly skipped the subject in the prep for retaking his NEWTS. He pretty much gave up on it as an A at best, and yet now he was being railroaded into it as a field of specialty. Joy.
Unfortunately, his studying was constantly interrupted by owl after owl from seemingly everyone in Britain. Some were expected, some were pleasant surprises, and some were unpleasant surprises.
Hearing back from both grandpa Crabbe was a treat.
Mister Morrigan.
I was eminently pleased by your willingness and desire to take up your role in society as effectively as possible. Know that I, and most other purebloods, are more than willing to help you if you sinply reach out. If you wish to join my family for dinner to learn dining etiquette, we eat most nights around 6pm and have already cleared you to floo in. This is usually an area outsiders are lacking in and an easy one to remedy whilst also having an enjoyable time.
Your Acquaintance,
Valentine Crabbe
He wrote a simple letter of acceptance and asked to join him Wednesday evening, with the request that he be able to bring a date.
Grandpa Goyle, on the other hand, was a bit more aggressive.
Dear business-illiterate asshat
After our delightful and illuminating introduction at the preliminaries, it came as quite a surprise to learn that you decided to start your tenure as head of an ancient house by liquidating everything and exiting the business world. News travels fast in the business world and half of the purebloods have already come to the conclusion that you are simply cashing out and running for the hills.
This is not a good look. And I hope to learn that you have other intentions in mind.
Hildebrand Goyle
Harry had suffered a long fit of laughter from that one. He hadn't thought of that, but the man was right. He wrote back as urgently as he could manage between snickers.
Dear Mister Goyle.
I liquidated everything with the intention of pursuing a new business venture that I saw was sorely ignored by wizarding Britain. Nature abhors an empty niche, and I as an outsider had the perspective necessary to notice it.
I think you'll be pleased with it when you find out what it is.
Your acquaintance,
Hadrian Morrigan.
With that out of the way he spent the rest of his Saturday relearning and practicing tea leaf reading and dream interpretation.
Sunday started with a host of truly unexpected letters. The tone for the day was set when an unregistered pigeon delivered him a bleached envelope signed Snuffles. He knew he was in for a good time before even opening it. So, open it he did.
Dear Hadrian Morrigan.
You are aware that there are nearly three billion women on the planet, are you not? Nearly a hundred million of whom are witches, several million more of whom are veela, and all of whom are saner and more attractive than Bellatrix Black.
Are you blind, deaf or the word for describing a person with no sense of smell that I can't seem to find in the dictionary? You must be one or all of the three to even tolerate her, but there are magical remedies for each I suggest pursuing.
Yours sincerely,
A concerned citizen
Ah, Sirius. To think the man had nothing better to do on the weekend than pick on his older cousin. Oh well, time to show off his skills as a seer and make the old dog sweat.
Dear Sirius Black
I have taken your concerns to heart, and written Bella with as venomous of a rejection letter to her date invite as I could manage.
I let her know that you brought to my attention her horrendous body odor and haggish looks in such fine detail. Your description of the rancid pustules on her inner thighs were rather vivid and left nothing to the imagination. I transcribed it perfectly in my letter to her.
Thank you for saving me from the horrible fate of suffering her company any longer.
Yours sincerely,
Hadrian Morrigan.
Let him suffer under the fear of her finding out he tried to meddle in her romantic life so maliciously for a few days. He didn't actually tell Bella about it, mostly because he was sure she had done something in the past to bully him to warrant bullying in return. He so hoped Sirius went to apologize to her thinking he had. The added bonus that he would come to the conclusion that he discovered the man's identity through divination would only add to his own mystique.
He was significantly less surprised, but equally pleased, with the package he received during his lunch break from pyro-osteomancy. The three W's written in colorful calligraphy told him he was in for a treat. Literally and figuratively.
"Hell yeah! Canary creams would really hit the spot right now!" Harry decided as he opened the package.
They were not canary creams. According to the instructions at the bottom of the box they were "All you can eat dodging dodgers" which vanished from your stomach after eating. The perfect diet deserts. His Fred and George never made those. Nor did they make the second and third prank snack, Batty Battenberg and spotted dick. The Battenberg cakes caused an effect similar to the bat bogey hex but from a random orifice on the face, save for the eyes. The spotted dick was completely normal spotted dick. Because sophomoric humor never got old.
Harry wrote back with an inquiry into investing into their company. He would need to do the math later on what the inflation rate for one thousand galleons was compared to his time.
The rest of the day was pretty tame. Aside from a letter from Bellatrix saying she understood and wishing him luck. He also got a letter from Valentine Crabbe confirming his dinner with them for Wednesday night and permission to bring Bellatrix Black in particularly as his date. Because, naturally, the whole wizarding world had already caught wind of them dating. And it had only been one date. In private.
Monday and Tuesday was just more invitations to lunch and the like from the examiners. Marhcbanks sent him an open invitation to have breakfast at his home and Tofty wanted him to come for weekend brunch and tea with the rest of her old lady crew. He accepted both with the caveat that he didn't know when he could join, but to roughly pencil him in for later that week and next weekend.
He also got a lurid letter from some woman named Helena inviting him, in so many words, to come live with her. For the life of him he couldn't remember meeting a woman named Helena since arriving in this world. It wasn't the cute girl from the pet store that had been drooling over him, of that, he was sure. Either way, he sent a polite rejection letter to the unusually forward woman.
Beyond that his Monday and Tuesday was spent at the counter with his nose in the books dealing with the rare customer.
Dumbledore climbed the stairs to his brother's bar in his search for the private room he had reserved. He had been looking forward to this interview with the enigmatic Hadrian Morrigan despite himself and upon finding the correct room he reached out to knock.
"Enter." Morrigan's voice called out before he could make a single rasp on the aged wood.
The shade of his former lover glanced at him.
"I think he's expecting you, Albus." Said Gellert.
Arianna's shade giggled at the humor. He always had a way of charming her.
He opened the door and greeted his interviewee.
"I take it you 'foresaw' my arrival." Dumbledore asked jokingly as he entered the room.
For a split second a look of horror crossed Hadrian Morrigan's face at seeing him but it was gone so fast that Albus assumed he imagined it.
"Not at all." Said Hadrian in a friendly manner. "I heard your footsteps outside and it just so happened to be exactly 630 on the dot, as your missive detailed. Half of a man's ability to predict the future comes solely from deduction."
"Ah. Good." Said Gellert. "He doesn't use mentalism or attribute common sense to some mythical inner eye. He's either a decent seer or smart enough not to try that nonsense on you."
Indeed. The basics of mind tricks, reading people and their body language and speaking to them with sophistic tactics were well-ingrained in him, and he knew how to do battle against them.
"And the other half?" Albus asked as he took a seat opposite Mister Morrigan at the lonely table.
Arianna's shade took this time to go kneel near Hadrian's legs and stare up at him with her best owl impression. If Mister Morrigan could see souls brought back by the resurrection stone Albus was certain he would either find it adorable or annoying. Seeing as he couldn't, there was no harm in her childish behavior.
"At risk of sounding like a hippie, believe it or not, most of Divination, or at least my particular brand of it, can be boiled down to going with the flow." Hadrian explained. "The world around you, if you know how to pay attention to it, will always push you in the right direction. Call it fate, call it god, something is always looking out for you. With the right frame of mind you can walk into any situation with complete confidence that everything is going to be alright. And it will. Things do have a way of working themselves out. It does not do to dwell on fantasies of what may or may not be and forget to live."
Albus perked up at that turn of phrase. It smacked of stoic philosophies and life experience. He may very well have to steal it.
"So, having the sight has little to do with your style of Divination?" Dumbledore summarized.
"It's definitely part of it, just not a core aspect, especially if I'm going to be teaching." Hadrian explained. "When teaching somebody to fight you don't teach them to kick, you teach them how to punch, block and dodge, as they are far more effective, whereas professional martial artists strongly debate if kicking is effective in a fight at all. So, I would prefer to teach my students how to recognize when destiny comes knocking on their door and how to follow her instructions, then to try and peer into her mind and gain the rare privilege of glimpsing her horrifying machinations."
Albus found himself nodding in agreement, and approval, despite himself. This man knew his stuff. And he knew his stuff in a manner Albus wouldn't have been able to conceive of before this meeting.
"I strongly approve of this man." Said Gellert's shade. "But I don't have experience hiring for the premier magical school in western Europe."
Albus refrained from correcting the Durmstrang alumni and reminding him that it was the premiere school in ALL of Europe. It would not do to have an argument with the dead in the presence of a man who could not see them.
"I don't understand most anything he's saying." Admitted Arianna, still staring playfully at the man.
"I don't suppose you can display any ability in the more applicable skills of divination while we're here, could you?" Asked Albus.
"Certainly!" Said Hadrian. "Don't expect me to make a fully-fledged prophecy on demand, or anything like that, but I think I might be able to knock your socks off."
He rolled up his sleeves and motioned for Albus to give him his hand.
Albus hesitated on which hand to proffer, as one bore the Gaunt family ring and the other bore a curse taking his life. He opted for the one with the ring, as it was not gloved.
"Your other hand, if you'd be so kind." Hadrian corrected him.
"If it is your intention to read my lifeline, I think it would bode better for you to use my left." Albus complained while still offering his right.
Hadrian did not dignify the joke with a response as he peeled away the leather glove hiding his wound. The moment Hadrian's skin touch his own Albus could sense the other man feeling him. It was a most strange sensation, like a legilimancy probe but of the flesh, and both flinched away from one-another.
If his ability to feel magic by touch wasn't so refined he probably wouldn't even have noticed it. He put his poker face on as to not let on that he had caught wind of whatever ability the man had just displayed. He was confident that his prospective new professor hadn't caught anything, as he was shaking off the trauma of experiencing the cold agony of the withering curse eating away at him.
"Okay. Let's try that again." Hadrian insisted and indicated he was ready to take the headmaster's hand again.
Albus offered it back to him and this time he focused intently on the feeling of Hadrian probing his flesh. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced before, or even heard of. As if, for a time, their flesh and spirit was as one and Hadrian had complete bodily and mental awareness, not of his own body and mind, but of Albus'. Stranger still was that this ability was completely one-sided, as Albus could not feel anything from Hadrian's side of this connection.
Morrigan squeezed his eyes shut as he did whatever it was he was doing and so thankfully missed the look of awe and wonder on Albus' face, but it remained there as the man sitting opposite him dug his senses deeper into the wound. Beyond feeling the physical pain that Albus himself now lived with every day he started to draw upon the past. Echoes of what had been seeped through his hand into Hadrian's and he stole from Albus every smidgeon of information about the wound so thoroughly he might as well have been using a legilimancy probe on a baby.
Whispers of the past several days since their meeting at Saint Mungo's flowed freely through magic. His taking down of the wards around the Gaunt shack. The battle with the inferi worm(A-N 2) that guarded the treasure there. The putting on of the ring. All of these memories were now his as if he had been the one to experience them himself. And there was nothing he could do to defend himself from it.
His next words shattered Albus' world.
"You obtained this wound destroying a soul." Said Hadrian. "One piece of seven."
Albus couldn't stop the look of horror from dawning on his face, and he didn't care that Hadrian saw it as he opened his eyes and released his hand.
Seven horcruxi? Seven?! He had thought there was only the one, and he had come across it by pure happenstance. Voldemort was still immortal, and truly mad to have shattered his soul so thoroughly.
This man, Hadrian Morrigan, was going to be a trump card in this war. Dumbledore simply had to have him. Even if he didn't fully believe Arianna Figg's testimony regarding his battle divination abilities, which he now did, his power of sight alone could win it all.
"You really are a true seer." Dumbledore concluded.
"Really?!" Squeeled Arianna Dumbledore's shade. "A real psychic? What number am I thinking of? Why is the sky blue? Why was our family dog named spot? Why, why, why, why why?" (A/N 3)
Albus barely kept a straight face at his sister's antics, but failed completely when Hadrian turned to the little girl and looked her dead in the eye.
"No idea. The sky is blue because air oscillates light in the blue spectrum faster than red, plus our eyes are more sensitive to blue light and usually when a dog is named spot it's either because they have a great big spot on their coat or left a great big spot on the carpet." Hadrian answered the shade he shouldn't be able to see in the first place.
He then turned to Gellert's shade and gave him a wink.
There was dead silence in the room for nearly a minute.
"I shouldn't be saying this before the board of governors have approved you for the position." Began Albus. "But allow me to formally congratulate you on being hired onto the position of divination professor."
Albus made to leave but just before he opened the door Hadrian stopped him.
"I don't mean to patronize you, especially considering how little time you have left in this world and your much greater wisdom than mine." He began. "But I would advise caution in using the resurrection stone, especially considering your possession of the elder wand and ease of access to the cloak. Do not seek to request that your friend loan or give it to you and unite the three that ought to remain separate."
Dumbledore looked to Hadrian with confusion.
"You know where the cloak of invisibility resides?" He asked in surprise.
"You don't?" Hadrian asked in equal surprise.
Albus shook his head.
"I presume somebody I know owns it based on what you just said." Albus concluded.
"Indeed. But do not seek it out. It is by far the most dangerous and unnatural of the hollows and is best buried instead of used." Hadrian warned.
Albus nodded.
"You have given me enough reason to take your advice seriously. And so I shall take it. Now if you'll excuse me, I have another meeting to be getting to in the next room over." Albus excused himself.
Hadrian nodded and Albus left. Just as he closed the door he felt Hadrian cast a litany of privacy wards on the room. A curious act, but one he wouldn't pry into.
As soon as Harry finished setting up the wards, he allowed the emotional dam to collapse and broke down then and there. Openly weeping without shame.
Dumbledore, the man he considered a grandfather figure, the man who had risked the fate of the entire world just to save Harry's life and give him a chance at happiness. The man who orchestrated the most complicated set of circumstances to allow Harry himself to return from death, through a combination of him being the master of the deathly hollows and playing into Voldemort's own character flaws.
And how did Harry repay him now that he had the chance to see him alive again? By killing him.
That cursed wound? That agonizing disability slowly draining the life out of the headmaster, hadn't been there days earlier when he encountered the man on the elevator. And in failing to warn him, like he should have known to, he had killed him. He had less than a year to live and it was all Harry's fault.
And for what? Because he was too much of a coward to trust and put his faith into a man that, in another world, put all of his trust and faith into him.
His decision to shoulder all of the responsibility in this world instead of sharing what he knew, even if only selectively, had just cost him dearly. And now he was committed. Now he had a time frame with which to complete his mission.
Voldemort was going down. And he was going down within the next year. Albus Dumbledore's sunset on life will be as a man gazing out at a world without a dark lord, with the war concluded and a bright future ahead of it. That would be Harry's gift to the old man. That would be Harry's sole mission from here on out, even if it killed him.
No more screwing around. No more stalling. No more hesitating in trying to determine what is and is not different in this universe. His hope that Voldemort had not made the Horcruxi had now been shattered and he knew what he had to do. But it would take so much more than to simply hunt down the artifacts and destroy them.
There were Death Eaters to woo into switching sides, people on the Muggleborn side of the war to teach empathy and assimilate into a culture they have been awful guests in and an economy to lift, kicking and screaming, out of a depression. Not to mention werewolves, vampires and other beings who go bump in the night to reiinfranchise. And he was the man to do the job, but from now on he wouldn't be doing it alone.
It was time to go to war, but not war as it had been done in the past. The peaceful war he had spent the last several weeks contemplating and scheming, until every man, woman, child and beast opened their eyes to the love they secretly held for each-other and stopped their lunacy, turning as one against the sociopathic bastard that twisted the legitimate concerns and suffering of the pureblood community into something ugly and unnatural.
"Dumbledore. Prepare to sit back, relax and enjoy your final days as I take care of everything. You've worked hard enough." Harry said with conviction as he wiped away the errant tears.
He cast a cooling charm over his eyes to get rid of any puffiness and washed his face in the sink over in the corner. He canceled the privacy charms now that he was finished with his much-needed mourning and exited the room.
Walking to the next room over he knocked on the door.
"Enter." Dumbledore's voice invited him in.
The look of confusion and worry on his face at seeing him again got a quick chuckle out of Harry.
"Right then." He said. "Let's discuss the purchase of the Shrieking Shack. I think you'll like what I plan to do with it."
Dumbledore's genuine laughter was enough to make the hefty price tag on the property worthwhile all on its own