Chapter 25: Where Is Horace Slughorn?

My recovery dragged on. I could already take on two or three Aurors.

I was enamored with the idea of "the Order of the Phoenix's multiple crimes." Severus showed me their Wings of Light spell: the same partial transfiguration-based flight we used, except with white smoke. Inspired, I decided to modify a generic light beam charm to solve my image problems among those incapable of magical sight. Look, the Lord is performing Light magic! Because what was Light magic in the eyes of the masses? Something with a white glow.

Study of Ariana's body continued. The standard lich-raising ritual would clearly not work. We made a diagram of her energy system but did not know what to do with it.

The unicorn idea was a bust. A captured unicorn looked contemplative for a brief moment, then tried to attack me or run. Neither legilimency nor the Imperius worked on it. And vampires refused to drink unicorn blood. When forced, they went up in flames from the smallest drop.

Golems and undead improved with dragon blood were also well underway. We were refining the plans of attack on Crouch's manor. Everything looked excellent: we know the time and the place, our soldiers take Felix Felicis and join the fight only after the enemies already hurt one another, Imperio'd wizards at the Department of Magical Transportation stop the enemy from sending backup or hindering our retreat.

What bothered me was my central role in neutralizing Dumbledore. I had to keep him busy for the entire duration of the battle and end it with at least a tie, lest someone realizes I've changed… Not an easy task for my weakened Dark magic.

I had two ideas. First, sort out Ariana and sic the raging black cloud on Albus. But I did not know how realistic it was. And we were running out of time.

Second option. Yes, my Dark magic didn't measure up. But everything else was still with me! Then, Dumbledore will face a mental battle. Which was why I spent so much effort digging into his past. Even the smallest fear could help. A frightened foe was already half-defeated.

I brewed the Call of the Dead from some of Kendra's bones and Ariana's hair, then tasked my servants with slipping it into Aberforth's drink. Hopefully they won't disappoint…

I sat at Lestranges' study, relaxing. The latest British newspapers were delightful:

The Fourth Unforgivable?

In the wake of the elimination the Cursed Manticore, St. Mungo's continues to receive a flood of victims gone irreversibly insane from pleasure. The unknown spell similar to anesthesia or euphoria charms is claiming more and more lives of British magical citizens. In the yesterday's session, the Wizengamot has voted to make the use of this spell on humans illegal and punishable by life in Azkaban. Citizens are reminded…"

All it took was demonstrating my new spell to the Death Eaters. My idea to cripple a portion of captives instead of killing found some avid fans in the Inner Circle. Too bad it was still so costly and raw..

I was just finishing the article when Barty Crouch Jr. walked into the study. One of the brightest students, one of the most devoted Death Eaters. But now… Barty sported a gloomy expression, disheveled hair and an earring in his right ear. He had deep shadows under dull eyes and looked even thinner.

"How goes your mission, Barty?" I questioned him.

"Your assignment is completed, my Lord," a worn out voice answered.

"Did something go wrong?"

"Everything went well, my Lord," Barty replied in the same monotone.

"Were there any complications?" I did not relent.

"My Lord… I was able to overcome the complications. I also brought important information about my family. May I hope I will not have to sleep with any more… muggles? They stand there looking perfectly human, but I know for a fact they have not a crumb of magical power… Touching that is creepy… And may I hope none of our people will find out? Because they would, at best, stop speaking to me…"

Apparently, I underestimated the Death Eaters' arrogance. And Barty was not even the most fanatical blood purist. From my perspective, it was a great idea: muggles would not blow his cover and were easier to manipulate. In Barty's eyes, he was ordered to engage in beastiality. Maybe I should have told him to get caught for being gay? I honestly did not care what my servants did on their own time.

"… I found out my mother is dying. She has Cordner-Verner syndrome and will not survive longer than a year," Barty reported, "she and father don't want to prolong her life with Dark rituals."

It was a rare and serious magical disease, fortunately not contagious. It simply drained the victim's energy until it killed them. I knew of two solutions. First, a monthly sacrificial ritual using any human, even a muggle. The second was a single ritual where a skilled and powerful wizard served as focus for the sacrificial energy. It did not cure the disease but stopped its progression.

"And how did you learned that?" I asked.

Instead of replying, Barty began removing his mental defenses.

I sunk into Barty's memories, watching him layer himself with illusions and confound muggles in search of the best muggle prostitutes. I noted the locations- they might come handy. Barty lawfully exchanged galleons for muggle money, concealed his Dark Mark with a powder I developed all those years ago, drank polyjuice and headed to his mission. After paying in advance, he decided to test the waters with a single muggle. A posh room, a beautiful woman in seductive lingerie… She tried to get him up with her mouth. But instead of surrendering to passion, Barty had to concentrate on not throwing up. The Lord's orders were enough to bring him here but did nothing to convince Barty's subconsciousness that this was a sex partner and not a talking animal…

"Is it your first time? Or do you prefer men?" the woman quipped.

"Everything is fine," a deathly pale Barty replied, "just problems at work."

Attempt number two. She offered Barty to buy potency enhancing pills. Barty excused himself to the bathroom, cast a spell to check the pills for safety and took all with another dose of polyjuice. The situation improved: even though his face still looked tortured, he had an erection.

Barty was offered new pills, this time "to relax." Drugs, as I understood. He repeated the procedure in the bathroom and, satisfied with the orange glow of the diagnostic spell, swallowed a handful… And his world literally bloomed with new colors. The hallucinations luckily did not go beyond colorful blotches, and Barty did not start throwing curses at imaginary acromantulas or try to apparate to the land of pink ponies. But the memories that followed lost all semblance of reason.

All I could tell was that Barty finally relaxed and gave in to lust. At some point they got dressed and went down to the bar for drinks. Barty hired two more girls and took them back to the room for another round fueled by more pills…

He screamed something about love and magic… Confessed his love to the muggle women - all three at the same time- and immediately proved his words with action. Somewhere in the middle of his attempt to try out the entire Kamasutra, Barty ran out of steam. But being a wizard, he quietly cast energizing and partial blood control spells on himself…

The girls burned out and fell asleep at dawn. Barty swallowed another handful of pills, got dressed and stepped out to the balcony to smoke - very strange considering he had never smoked before… And promptly tumbled down from the third story. Fortunately, he had time to instinctively activate his shock-absorbing charm before hitting the ground.

Barty continued mindlessly restoring his shields as he followed the pixies he saw darting down the street. Distracted by the pixies, he did not notice the red light. A passing car sent him flying twenty feet to the side. His shields were more or less activated and saved him from dying from the impact. The feeling of magic drain snapped Barty back to reality. He had enough sense not to lash out with Dark curses. With a shrill scream of "Dragon!" he ran to a back alley and drank the universal antidote. Freed from the effects of drugs and alcohol, he apparated to some magical pub.

At first, Barty could not concentrate on anything over the scathing shame. He spent indeterminate time staring into the glass and massaging his temples. Finally feeling a bit better, he checked his occlumency shields, downed the veritaserum antidote with the rest of his whiskey, poured some alcohol on his clothes and went to the bathroom. As soon as his polyjuice to wore off, Barty apparated home.

The guards only shook their heads at the boss's drunk son and let him in after a brief search. Barty stumbled into his father's study and fell on the couch. Crouch Sr., who was reading something at his desk before work, looked up in shock.

"Barty, what's wrong with you?" the head of the DMLE asked.

"Father, I'm getting married! To all three!" Barty Jr. shouted, but he was already in complete control of himself.

At first, the father cast a number of health diagnostic spells, followed by tests for illusions and polyjuice. The results he saw could not have come from his perfect son: moderate alcohol intoxication, traces of polyjuice use and strong drug intoxication.. He checked Junior's wand with Priori Incantatem, but none of the past thirty spells were illegal or even remotely questionable. He checked for artifacts and potions- nothing, not even a love potion. No Dark Mark or any traces of outside influence.

And so, Crouch Sr. resorted to legilimency. It was technically illegal, but he was, after all, the Head of the DMLE…

"Legilimens!" he cast.

But his son was prepared. Pretending to be half-conscious, Barty showed a part of the truth. Namely, everything from the moment he brought the three women back to his room. How he fell out of the window and got hit by a car…

Crouch Sr. crawled out of his son's memories clutching his own head. He looked like he wanted to say some choice words, but it was pointless with Junior's condition. Therefore, Crouch Sr. did something he has never done in his life: floo-called the Ministry and asked for a day off. He then dove back into his son's mind to see where exactly he was partying and went to investigate.

Two embarrassing hours later, Crouch Sr. came back and poured a sobering potion down Barty's throat. He took the time to thoroughly and patiently explain how wrong his son was. Strictly speaking, Barty could only be accused of illegal use of polyjuice and indirectly endangering the Statute (people didn't usually get up after being hit by a car). On the other hand, the son of the DMLE Head acting immorally so close to the Ministerial elections…

Their argument was interrupted by Barty's mother. The frail woman came in to ask why her husband stayed home, was he sick?

And Crouch Sr. told her of their son's secret: that he gallivanted around with prostitutes with no regard for the elevated security and dangers of war. But Mrs. Crouch unexpectedly took her son's side. She accused her husband of not giving Barty enough love and forcing him to seek validation on the side. Crouch Sr. replied that he worked long hours for the sake of the family; she insisted his workaholism was selfish. This was the first time Barty Jr. ever witnessed a family fight where the subject was his father rather than him.

It ended when Crouch St. pulled out his ace: he needed the Minister's post to get the Department of Mysteries clearance, where he would hopefully find a way to save his wife without human sacrifices. At that, Barty Jr. demanded to know why he was left out of he loop. It turned out his mother was dying, and they had already tried every known cure save for the most abhorrent ones.

While reassuring their son, the two lovebirds quickly made up. Barty Jr. was ordered to "remember we always love you" by his mother and "get married or not get caught" by his father.

I left Barty's mind. His parents seemed to truly care for him. And we were planning to kill them. At least the father. However, now their situation perfectly explained Elena's escape: Crouch Sr. sold out to the Dark Lord in exchange for a cure.

I had some doubts about how Barty would react to his mother's death. But if she had less than a year and said she was "ready to die for her son," I will find a use for her…

We must also send Skeeter to that brothel. Who could have thought that all those ramblings about the power of love were actually just advertising orgies in the muggle world? Death Eaters? Are you insane - a pureblood paying muggles for sex and confessing his love?! Much more likely Albus reliving his glory days.

"You have done a splendid job, Barty. You are to continue searching for sex-based rituals," Barty sighed "but you may use witches and wizards," Barty stood up straighter. Surely there were magical brothels he could visit, it was only a matter of price. "Now, the new corrections to our plan…"

Having finished giving out orders to Barty Snape, Selwyn and Burke to prepare the ritual of blocking Cordner-Verner syndrome, I decided to take a break and browse through Lily's mind.

She was reading Dumbledore's biography we prepared for print: father died in Azkaban after confessing on the stand that he attacked children because he "loathed all muggles.' Brother Aberforth throwing goat feces at journalists. Mother mysteriously dead at her prime, no postmortem expertise conducted. Young sister almost never seen outside the house, then dead under unclear circumstances. Albus falling out with Grindelwald on the day of Ariana's death. Rumors of Grindelwald having the Elder Wand that was claimed by the victor. A string of sudden pureblood deaths from "dragonpox." The next generation pureblood deaths in a civil war, many of their assets coincidentally willed to the Order of the Phoenix…

But suddenly, all of Lily's thoughts became unimportant. I finally stumbled upon a hint at Horace's location!

Lily once gifted him a transfigured goldfish. Most transfiguration was temporary, but the goldfish was in no hurry to disappear. Horace examined it with magical sight… But I would never buy that a muggleborn who had yet to finish Hogwarts managed permanent transfiguration- it was difficult even for me. More likely, she accidentally created an object that has been leeching a tiny bit of her magic ever since. Considering its size and non-magical nature, the fish needed a minuscule amount and had all the chances to live as long as Lily…

I wonder, did Horace know this? Even this simpler type of transfiguration was impressive enough to single her out.

So, if Horace had the fish linked to Lily, he could be traced… Decent wards would prevent it, but he was hiding in the muggle world where excess of magic would draw unwanted attention. And his constant moving around ruled out the Fidelius.

How to do this? The simplest option -sacrificing Lily- did not work for me. Another was blood magic performed by Lily. But she was not anywhere near that level.

This only left sacrificing the wand used to perform the spell. How to pull it off with her remaining none the wiser… She hardly reached the point of willingly helping me find people to torture…

Everything was not as daunting as it first looked. I found a large rug and finished drawing the runes for the modified ritual in one day. Lily's old wand went into a small willow box filled with unicorn hair. I summoned an eight-person squad: all Lestranges, Mulciber, Dolohov, Nott and Jugson. That should be enough to capture Horace, right?

"My faithful followers, I have an assignment for you. My student says she is ready to perform a ritual that will show us way to Horace Slughorn. She is in no condition to capture him- Snape's treatment was inadequate, and she needs more time to recover. You will go to the given coordinates and bring him here alive and unharmed. In one piece. You can use the Cruciatus judiciously. Discuss the details among yourselves. Edward Lestrange is in charge. We will begin shortly."

I walked out and apparated straight to Lily. When will she stop twitching at my appearance? She should know I had no time to waste on pointless niceties like knocking.

"Tonight we must show how effectively Snape is healing you," I began. "We will perform a diagnostic ritual. All you need to do is unroll this rug, stand in the red circle, put this box into the green hexagon and pour this liquid over it. The box will burn. This will prove you need a couple more months away from serious magic."

"Is it necessary, my Lord?"

"No. You can say you are completely healthy and go fight or torture along with everyone else. Or refuse and be killed for deserting duty."

"What is in the box, my Lord?"

"Unicorn hair. It has potent healing properties. See for yourself."

The house elf will transfer her wand inside later, anyway.

"And what is this liquid?"

"A solution based on dragon blood," number 12, artifact destruction. "This is not blood magic, the blood is merely a potion ingredient. I will be in your mind and walk you through every step. Once you are done, the viewers will leave to search for ingredients for your "cure."

"Ritualistics is illegal, my Lord."

"So is being a Death Eater. This is a completely harmless ritual. Magic can be done wandlessly. If you lack the necessary power, you can use a wand. If the wand is not enough, you need a ritual. Both are simply crutches for your own magic.

"I agree, my Lord."

"We are leaving right now. Remember: I will be givinpg you directions, but you must do everything yourself."

I cast the usual shields on her, and we apparated back.

Eight pairs of eyes gawked at Lily unrolling the rug- what kind of search ritual was that? Memorize, watch it in a pensieve, do whatever you want - it will all be futile. I drew part of the pattern on the ceiling of the room below and covered it with multiple concealment charms… Let them think she was holding the other runes in her head, hence the sluggish movements.

Lily stood in the circle and levitated the wooden box in its place. I mentally showed her what rune to tap with her wand - and the entire pattern began to glow. The blood solution instantly burned the box, leaving behind black ash. She didn't flinch- well done.

Edward watched a mark appear on the map I gave him. Now everything was a matter of speed. What if Horace happened to be moving right this moment? And so, my loyal servants hurried to work.

Mulciber felt the burn of an urgent summons at two in the morning. Talk about bad timing… He apologized to his wife, put on his uniform and apparated to the Lestranges, where he immediately received orders to prepare for Slughorn's capture. Why such a huge team? And why the Inner Circle? Even worthless recruits could take the old man ten on one. Half-heartedly fighting off sleepiness, he listened to the plan of attack: who blocks background magical disturbances, who blocks flight, who blocks underground movement, who masks everything from muggles, who must drink what…

He very much doubted Elena could pinpoint Slughorn's location. They already tried everything imaginable: tracking unregistered apparitions, unusual magic disturbances, sending owls with trackers - with nothing to show for it. The old man was bound to make a mistake sooner or later, but the Lord needed him pronto…

The sudden introduction of the Lord's student shocked him just like it did everyone else. If anyone held a claim to that title, it was Bellatrix. But who could imagine Elena would outdo Rosier or survive Diagon? Anyone thinking of taking the new favorite down a peg quickly lost that desire. Though judging by the the total lack of self-preservation she showed so far, she would soon get herself killed all on her own…

The ritual didn't impress him. The pattern was obviously missing a lot of runes. He tried to understand what she used for sacrifice. It smelled like wood and hair, glowed with Light and Life in magical sight… A unicorn or something?

But strangely enough, the ritual worked- Lestrange got a mark on his map, and they were off.

His team arrived fifty miles away from the spot by a series of apparitions. After half an hour of flying on brooms to avoid any apparition detectors, they finally reached a shabby two-story muggle cottage in Oxshott.

"A pureblood is living here?" Mulciber couldn't help but sneer. There was no outward sound, but the protean charm on their masks connected him to the others nearby.

"It is irrelevant. We work according to plan A, get a move on," Lestrange ordered.

The rest was simple routine. They cast the standard charms: isolation of ambient magic to stop the Ministry from noticing, blocking of apparition, portkeys, floos and fligt to stop the target from escaping, multiple locator charms, summoning antipatronuses. Edward, Rabastan and Jugson stayed in reserve to cut off any attempts to call for help, and the rest of them barged into the house.

But it was empty. Completely empty save for a few signs of Slughorn living here- boxes of books and pictures of his students, a madly spinning sneakoscope… The room converted into a makeshift potions lab looked like it suffered an explosion: everything was covered in blood and ingredient spatters. Human detection charms showed nothing.

"Bad luck with a potion?" Mulciber asked over the connection.

"Very unlikely," Nott replied. "A potions master can die from a cauldron explosion in only two cases: suicide or a failed attempt to create the Philosopher's Stone. Search better and be ready for an ambush, everyone."

There was a sudden burst of flame in the living room.

"Bellatrix, what are you doing?" Rodolphus asked.

"The Dark Lord said to destroy all of the goldfish," the crazy witch chirped.

This was the company he was stuck with… One indescribable fanatic murdering fish on the Dark Lord's orders. Another fanatic trashed his best friend so hard he still hasn't recovered and drew runes on an antique carpet, which surely ruined it. Even Nott has gone mad - waving his hands at the blood on the wall…

"I can't control it," Nott exclaimed.

"My condolences. You have magical exhaustion too?"

A master of blood couldn't force blood to flow into a vial despite standing two feet away from it. What in the world was wrong with him?

"This is not human blood," Nott explained. "I can't say for certain, but probably dragon."

Now, that was bad. It meant Slughorn disguised himself so well they all missed him. Mulciber never doubted the success of their mission but did not want to be today's lucky winner of the only Avada in the back.

"No one has crossed the perimeter," Edward reported.

They spit up and began a tedious sweep of the house, casting revealing and transfiguration-canceling charms at every object… So far, the only traces of magic were alarm charms.

"Maybe he transfigured himself into gas or an invisible baloon and flew out?" Mulciber wondered out loud.

"Edward said nothing's crossed the perimeter. The Antipatronuses wouldn't miss a human, transfigured or not. We blocked all movement underground. And his cauldron is still warm. The bastard is still here somewhere."

Well then, they could only hope the target didn't pretend to be a fish, or he was already dead.

They checked the lab, both bedrooms, and moved on to work on the living room. Or more precisely, Mulciber was doing all the work while Dolohov stood watch. He was about to check the coffee table when a large armchair turned into an old man, who in one smooth motion cast a Fumos Duo and threw Peruvian darkness powder out of his pocket. The house plunged into darkness.

Mulciber cast a self-guiding stunner, instinctively rolled away from the line of fire and yelled that the target has been found. Dolohov offered the target to surrender, threw an escalating pain curse and dispelled the smoke screen.

But instead of begging for mercy, the desperate old man cast Fiendfyre and jumped out of the window. While Mulciber and Dolohov were trying to subdue the raging flames, the potions master successfully defended from three other Death Eaters, tried to summon the Aurors and conjured a Dark Mark over his house. His logic was understandable: create a strong blast of Dark magic to attract the Aurors and turn himself in.

Of course, no charms got through the barriers. They quickly put out the cursed fire. They only real problem was the Dark Mark lighting up the night sky. It was not a quick to dispel charm. The Ministry may not detect the magical disturbances, but anyone who looked up would notice the giant glowing skull.

Slughorn dodged Crucios and deflected the chump change with agility surprising for his age. His shimmering and shadow cloak shields were making him hard to target. Nott took a risk and cast a Sulfide's Kiss- the rather powerful poisoning spell had good chances of killing. Bellatrix tried to wrap him with an air whip all the while throwing wandless Crucios like confetti. Her husband attacked with modified shock and paralysis spells. Dolohov stuck to simple bog and soporific charms. Mulciber himself cast combinations of subjugating curses. A momentary stumble was all they needed.

But the old man miraculously stayed unscathed and even sent a fire sigil back at Dolohov, who easily deflected it. The resulting flash of flame was blindingly bright.

"Expecto Patronum!" screamed Slughorn, sending a wispy goldfish through the ward dome. And the Antipatronuses missed it! Fuck… The Patronus was the only charm they could not block. The Aurors will be here soon… But the geezer won't last that long!

Half a dozen of accelerated figures darted around the burned down muggle house in a blur. Slughorn continued with flashy spells, hoping for backup. If Mulciber's team had orders to kill, the old man's body would already be long cooling. But their target was deflecting all non-lethal area spells and dodging or shielding from the rest.

"He must be under the luck potion," Edward concluded. The three of them were holding the barriers to stop the Ministry mutts from showing up. Jugson was also weaving something slow and powerful.

Slughorn turned Nott's blood needles into acid and hurled them back at him. Impressive - that was pure blood for you… He defeated Mulciber's vulture antipatronus with banishment charms and temporarily put Dolohov on the defensive.

Mulciber really itched to answer with something like the blood-freezing curse but instead had to try bringing the target down with dizziness, seizures or dementia.

But everything ended as it should have: their Antipatronuses eventually eroded Slughorn's defenses. The man first received an epilepsy hex from Edward, then a Crucio from Bellatrix, Mulciber's Imperius, Nott's Blood Marionette, Dolohov's escalating pain curse, and finally Rodolphus's stunner. After casting a number of additional stunning, paralyzing and antitransgression charms on the now unconscious target, they hurriedly checked his blood for delayed suicide potions, fed him the Draught of the Living Death and apparated back to the base.

The muggles who were still awake had a few more moments to enjoy the sights of fire, flashing lights and a strange hologram in the sky. Thirty seconds after the Death Eaters disappeared, Dumbledore and the Order arrived on the scene following the distressed message of a goldfish Patronus. The Ministry's first responders rushed in a couple seconds later. But it was already too late. Only the obliviator teams had work to do.

I sent Lily back and finished erasing the runes on the ceiling below when my servants returned with Slughorn. The Lestranges went to process him for interrogation, and the rest went home.

Soon, Rodolphus and Edward came back to examine the ritual site. While Rudolphus studied the runes, Edward seemed more interested in the rug itself. Rabastan went to bed - he had homework in the morning. Bellatrix headed for the training hall, elated with the praise she received.

After waiting the required time for Felix Felicis to be purged from Horace's blood, I went to his cell. It was identical to Ollivander's, except with more secure restraints.

Horace Slughorn looked far from impressive. But this fat, short, balding old man managed to keep a team of my best men busy for almost half a minute. And there was another old fool in bright robes who looked close to crumbling into dust… An old man whom the Dark Lord was afraid to face with a small army of golems and undead…

I touched my wand to his head. Excellent blocks… I probably won't break them without leaving him insane… But he was no Snape. I would notice him lying or withholding information.

Well, let's first try to persuade him under Veritaserum. If that fails, move on to torture. And he would be good practice for mental magic before engaging Dumbledore.

Antidote to the Draught of the Living Death, dispel paralysis and stunners… The answer to my "enervate" was Horace's tired and defeated gaze.

"Hello, Professor Slughorn. Your old student has been seeking a meeting with you for a long time. How would you like to join me? A wizard of your talents is always in demand. If you don't want to participate in raids, you can brew non-lethal potions. We will pay you generously. After all, you don't truly have a choice."

"There is always a choice. And in times of war, polyjuice causes no less suffering than a bone breaker."

"Well, well… When did a Head of Slytherin become this scrupulous? In the old days, every wizard dreamed of greatness, now we are lucky to have one out of ten. Blood traitors like the Weasleys squander their heritage in hopes of quiet, unremarkable life… Are you one of their lot, Horace? Would you allow ephemeral ideals cost you your well-being? Cost you your life? You love potions. Share your knowledge for a fair compensation. You don't want to be a Dark wizard? Then don't be. There is a lot of room behind the Dark Lord's throne for you to maneuver…"

"Go to hell," he cut off my painting his brilliant prospects. I wonder, what did he count on? That I kill him in rage?

"Why must you be so crass? You are a true Slytherin. You love comfort. I will provide it for you. You love gathering famous and powerful people around you. You can keep doing it, even inviting muggleborns if you so desire. You have all the makings of a great adviser. And I will listen to your ideas. I do not wish to destroy muggleborns or subjugate muggles. I am not the maniac everyone thinks I am…"

"You are much worse!" he exclaimed.

Was Lily his long-lost daughter? Because they sure had one brain and one vocabulary between the two of them. Both decent at potions, both had a Dark side they refused to embrace..

Funnily enough, my words held a lot of truth. I had an abundance of loyal psychos but could really use an HR specialist. Unfortunately, this was one of those times when my reputation worked against me. He taught me in school, so no grand performance would change his mind.

"How unfortunate that you do not share your wand's flexibility, Professor. I know there is absolutely no malice in you. You are deeply ashamed that you once told Tom Riddle about horcruxes," the old man flinched. "You hide your true memories out of shame, not fear" if he told Albus, he'd be protected at Hogwarts.

"Horace was the name of a Greek Epicurean poet. Epicureanism suits your love of good food and company, but you are also a highly intelligent and educated wizard. You know a lot of truly rare Dark magic, though your interest is mostly theoretical," otherwise, he would have long been mine. "On top of Dark magic and potions, you are well versed in occlumency and self-transfiguration. All that potential need not be wasted. The pureblood Slughorn line need not end with you. Is it really so hard to make the right choice? Live a long life in wealth, happiness and respect or die in agony as a rotting piece of meat?"

"I already made my choice, Tom. Do what you want, but you will not learn anything."

Did I end up in a world of reincarnated kamikaze pilots? What did I say wrong?!

"Maybe Veritaserum will make our conversation more pleasant?" I suggested.

"Veritaserum won't help you."

An antidote? Standard? Modified? No matter. With his blood and no time restraints, I could always brew a personalized truth serum.

I made a neat cut on his forearm and checked his blood. Sure enough, an antidote.

"Crucio! Legilinens!" Entering his mind felt like hitting a solid wall. Wary of tiring myself out or harming him, I left.

"Your occlumency inspires respect. Keep in mind that I am ready to accept you into my Innee Circle at any time. But right now I have questions. What do you know about horcruxes and where did you learn it? Why did you not create them- any reasons other than moral compunctions? Who else may know about them and from where? Where or in what families should I search for books on horcruxes? What and from where does Albus know about them? How did you meet him? What is the range of his interests? What do you know of secret entrances into Hogwarts? Which of your students you believe had the most potential and why?"

I briefly thought of breeding all my enemies before killing them, following the example of Black… But it would look beyond suspicious if all who opposed the Lord changed their minds right before death and willed their children to serve him…

I wished I could delegate the interrogation to someone, but he might get the bright idea to scream "your lord has seven horcruxes!" What then, kill my own servants? Besides, being the best at legilimency meant I had the best chances at success. So what if I haven't recovered? The target was securely restrained.

"Crucio! Imperio! Legilimens!"

Again nothing… But no matter. He was not made of steel, and I had a lot of free time.

"You asked for it," I said, pulling out the pain-enhancing and hallucinogenic potions out of my pocket. Hopefully I won't have to resort to brewing the Drink of Despair. His antidote can't last forever. I just needed to not overdo it with torture. Maybe brew mind-altering potions to help convince him I was his father or best friend for the rest of his short life… The most important part was asking the right questions…

Albus Dumbledore

The school barely got into full swing after the Christmas holidays, but Albus's head was ready to explode… The war, the Order, the ICW, and, most of all, Hogwarts… The Board of Governors were acting like they all got bitten by a rabid manticore. They numbered all the classrooms, posted emergency action plans throughout the castle, bought new brooms for every team, made a huge number of extracurriculars available to any student with at least an A in every subject…

Their initiatives were commendable, but Albus ruthlessly cut the content. Banishment charms in the defense club? Against banshees? What were the chances of an average person running into a banshee?! Not even mentioning that at this pace the castle will soon be empty of ghosts… Fire whip at the dueling club? What were they trying to do, train an army for Voldemort? Or encourage the children to decapitate each other? At least he finally convinced Flitwick to limit the program to non-lethal spells.

And his own skirmishes… That giant was unusually large… And those bizarre cases of muggleborn Death Eater supporters…

The elections were approaching. Albus once again refused to be nominated a candidate for Minister. He remembered all too well where power once led him.

Severus never came back form the last Death Eater meeting. Betrayal? Death? Albus still nursed a hope that the potions master was alive and would return with important information. Severus should really be fired for missing weeks of work, but spying took precedence over teaching. And hiring a new teacher in the middle of war was a giant security risk… So Albus saw no choice but to substitute for all of Severus's classes himself. If it weren't for the time turner, he would have hanged himself from stress.

The children were thrilled with their Headmaster teaching potions. For once the point distribution was fair across all houses. A potions master teacher made Hogwarts very prestigious… If only Severus had at least a little bit of sympathy for children and taught on their level… A dismal picture.

But on the bright side, Albus got plenty of practice wandlessly shielding simultaneously exploding cauldrons. He even began drafting a new essay: "117 Mistakes in Using Porcupine Quills."

But above all Albus was concerned with Hume. The Slytherin fifth year returned from the break with the Dark Mark. The house elves informed him the very first night- the boy did not think to cover his mark in the shower, where a disillusioned elf happened to be changing towels… By law, Albus should have turned him in. Like Crouch said at the last meeting, "all Death Eaters must rot in Azkaban…"

Albus checked the child's mind the next morning during breakfast. He detested violating people's privacy but sometimes had no choice… Circumventing the amulet did not take long, and the boy's occlumency was still rudimentary. The poor child was ordered to kill Albus Dumbledore as punishment for his father's failure, his whole family held hostage. He was forced to practice the Imperius and Cruciatus on muggles and memorize poison recipes… The boy had not killed anyone yet, maybe he could still be saved?

Albus did learn something reassuring: Severus was alive. The boy's Head of House advised him to focus on studying for the OWLS - passing would give him two more years to prepare.

Other than this one glimmer of hope, everything had only gotten worse. Over the past two weeks, someone bound a number of muggleborns and their parents to Albus with love potions. He would have dismissed it as a prank, but spending several liters of expensive dragon blood on a complicated love potion that did not require the target's body parts was no child's work. And Tom always knew how to sow discord… Most Hogwarts students started carrying poison detectors and confronting each other over prank potions.

Now the Headmaster was heading to the infirmary. Another mass fight, this time between Slytherin and Ravenclaw. A Ravenclaw argued that Dumbledore was much better at teaching Potions than Snape when no adults were in sight. The argument evolved into a fight, then into a free-for-all between the two houses. And now Pomfrey needed help with someone's pink tentacles oozing puss… Most likely the result of simultaneous Furunculus, Densaugeo and some botched rotting curse layered over a jelly-leg jinx… Just where did they learn a rotting curse? Family or the Restricted section?

Albus was walking towards the infirmary on foot- a stroll through the castle always relaxed him. A lone first year Hufflepuff started following him. Please let her not be another love potion victim…

"Elizabeth, dear, did you want something?" Albus asked kindly.

"Yes, Professor," the girl mumbled, staring at her feet.

Albus reined in the instinct to use legilimency. It was the curse of all wizards strong in the Mind Arts: legilimency felt as natural as any other sensory organ, so not invading unprotected minds took conscious effort.

"Is something bothering you?" Albus tried again.

The girl finally looked up with unhidden curiosity: "Professor, is it true that you have the Deathstick?"