Advice From a Weary Old Goat

(A/N: Sorry for the delay, making chapters has been much more complicated than I expected lately.

Enjoy )

. . .

This castle was pure madness, which might explain why he liked it so much.

Magnus was positive about it, the founders were a lovely bunch of nutjobs if the way they designed this architectural nightmare of a school said anything about the content of their character.

Twisting paths, secret passages by the hundreds, portraits both annoying and fascinating though that couldn't fully be blamed on them…most had been added long after their deaths, after all.

'And they wonder why the mortality rate is so high.'

The way to the headmaster's office was much the same; convoluted in the extreme with nothing but the building's grizzly charm to make it bearable.

Call him strange, god knows he's been called worse, but there was something about the cold stones older than his ancestral home, the eternal candles flying above, and the suits of armor engraved with runes scarce few could see.

Even the cold breeze passing through the arrow slits was enjoyable once the proper warming charms were cast, or should it be called a wand slit? Food for thought, though most people he once knew would've already unzipped their pants the moment they heard that word…he did come from a very messed up era, after all.

Magnus walked forward all the same, by now used to the oddity of his own mind.

It wasn't always like this, but he guessed you couldn't endure the trauma of death, an unknown time spent in an even less known space he dared call limbo before waking up in what he once believed to be a fictional world.

'The human mind is very sturdy, much stronger than what those weak willed, fool hearted people from the modern world claimed it to be. Killing is easy, almost natural, hurting can be ignored to reach safety and therapy is nothing more than a glorified chance to revel in our own woe and self-pity.' He thought, thinking back to his own experience with murder.

'No murder, killing.' He corrected in his mind, the subtlety might be lost on most people but to him it made all the difference.

Magnus didn't murder people in the world cup, it would mean they were helpless almost innocent prey he hunted down for pleasure.

Yes, they were helpless compared to an actual combat ready wizard who spent years preparing for some action against the magical social nationalist party.

Yes, he did quite literally hunt them down though his success was limited to the rabble and hired wands…magic made escaping all too easy when you had enough gold to waste some time learning how to save your own skin.

Yes, he did enjoy the surge of power when he struck down those masked aggressors, burning them down was nearly orgasmic in itself if not for the foul smell he had to deal with.

'Okay, maybe I did murder them.' He amended, 'But they got it coming!'

By the time he made those not so important realizations about his own self and the ramifications of his past action, which he did not regret at all, thank you very much. Magnus had already reached the oh so famed gargoyle, standing vigil in front of the headmaster's office.

"16 o'clock, I'm five minutes early." He said taking a quick look at his silver pocket watch which absolutely didn't contain a bezoar, small knife, shrunk down water and rations while also working as a portkey to a cave in sicily.

That would be really paranoid, even by his standards.

"You may enter." He heard, but couldn't quite determine whether it came from the gargoyle or somewhere else.

'And they complain because I want to make my animations sentient.' He rolled his eyes, watching warily as the giant stone creature moved out of the way.

"Thank you." He nodded at the possible animunculus, and he was almost certain it nodded back.

In any case, the absence of defined intelligence, conscience and other factors usually reserved for the exalted beings with fleshy bits such as himself, was most certainly not an excuse for bad manners.

McGonagall taught him better.

And Sirius hasn't quite finished undoing all that or at least twisting it in a way befitting of a marauder. Though it was bound to happen eventually, spending so much time with that old dog could make anyone lose respectability.

Magnus didn't notice the smile on his face until it was too late, he was already in front of the absurdly tall and skinny old man with so much magic he could probably nuke the empire states building.

"It's good to see you two, Mr. Black." Dumbledore smiled in kind, eyes twinkling while his hand didn't stop working on his paperwork.

'Great, is looking like crap the new trend amongst teachers?' Magnus didn't know what to think.

First Flitwick and now Dumbledore, the entire wizarding world decided it was time to start fucking things up? Why on earth didn't he get the memo?

He hid his displeasure well, and didn't really have much of a choice really. It wouldn't look good for him to greet the old man with a warm smile before turning back into the sour teenager mode, he'd think he went crazy already.

It could serve his interests, perhaps? When life gives you lemons…

'You throw them at life's face, demand to see life's manager and threaten to destroy life's entire career.' The Karen way, as explained by a certain video game character.

"It's been a while, headmaster." He was surprised at how cordial his voice sounded, was he that good of a liar?

Somehow, it didn't make him happy.

He took a moment to take a look at the study, it wasn't his first time here, yet Dumbledore's office never failed to impress him.

Doubly so when he could finally understand what his numerous gadgets were there for.

'Or at least some of them.' He thought, looking at a pink orb made out of some sort of gemstone and engraved with runes he'd never seen before.

He did much better than the last time he came, in his third year as an aftermath of Sirius's trial and liberation. Let alone his clueless observation of the place when he first visited, while he dealt with the heir of slytherin and its beast without endangering himself.

"I'm hoping your father is doing well, he hasn't been answering my mail lately." Dumbledore said, sounding genuinely hurt. "Nor did he seem particularly keen on rekindling old friendships in the Wizengamot meetings."

'Here it comes, the ritual attempt at emotional manipulation, a staple of the Light Lord and his politics.' Magnus chuckled internally, that man would have done fine in Slytherin, very fine.

"He's a busy man, just like you professor." He said neutrally, "My father doesn't speak much about work, says he'd rather keep all the filth away from the family."

He was lying through his teeths, obviously.

"It does sound like Sirius," Dumbledore smiled once more, though his voice was bitter.

Unwilling to spend so much time trying to convince that failed Gandalf cosplayer that reaching his father through him was as pointless an endeavor as trying to rehabilitate Lucious Malfoy, the young Ravenclaw made a show of bringing out the note Flitwick had written for him.

"No need for that my boy, Fillius has already told me about your little setback."

Magnus knew that, but he wasn't sure whether Dumbledore knew that he knew and was just acting like he didn't know, that man was tricky like that.

'At least he doesn't sound too adverse to helping out.'

"You have been rather secretive about this ordeal, what little you've revealed hinted at some dangerous interests." Dumbledore frowned, "Secrecy is not your ally, Mr. Black, not when forces so powerful are involved."

'I stand corrected.' He had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. 'Secrecy's not my ally…the nerve of this man.'

"It's fam…" He was cut off by the old man's disappointed mask in all its glory, or was it even a mask?

"Family magic, I know." He sighed, giving him a look that said 'it's precisely what worries me.' or was it 'I know you're lying.'? Magnus wasn't sure, and he didn't fancy finding out.

"It's just animations." He said, ignoring the man's unimpressed look, "Semi-autonomous animations, one I could reliably deploy without calculating every move."

Dumbledore looked at him, those twinkling eyes were more unsettling than any amount of words on paper could describe.

He'd probably feel better if the man's famed phoenix was there, its magic was one of the most comforting he'd ever felt, sadly things rarely went his way…

"It's very much like you, Magnus." The boy had the urge to groan, now they're on a first name basis? Give him a break. "Seeking freedom at all cost, even when danger lies ahead."

Magnus did a double take at that, what was this old man spouting? The two of them were not close, thank god for that, he had no wish of becoming some kind of wizard martyr.

'I don't like this,' He double checked his mental defenses, they were intact, 'I don't like this one bit.'

He was in the middle of projecting Boku no Pico to the forefront of his mind, a vicious attempt at breaking a legilimens composure thus betraying his attack.

It was cruel, but Magnus wasn't fond of Dumbledore.

Or anyone foolish enough to assault his mind.

"You remind me of my youth, Magnus, it is rather unsettling." Dumbledore said, unaware or uncaring of the effect his words had on him.

"Heh, I doubt it." Magnus said, instantly regretting, honesty was not welcome in his life, not now. "I am more of a technical wizard, headmaster."

It was a nice save, in his humble opinion.

"So was I," for the second time, he felt the urge to run his mouth.

"Really? I thought you were the type who delved in the greater power, harnessing esoteric magicks and all that pseudo-philosophical nonsense." He said.

In both the books and his new life, Albus Want-Some-Candy-Little-Boy Dumbledore was the textbook example of an esoteric fanatic, though he did his own spin on that.

He was all about divinations, prophecies, messing around concepts he definitely should leave alone while preaching about *snort*, the power of love.

'More like the power of human sacrifice,' Magnus felt the urge to sneer in a way that would make his potion teacher proud, or majorly unsettled, probably both. 'Lily Potter pulled a Minato on old Voldy, there's nothing loving about ritual suicide.'

He wouldn't say this out loud, however.

Magnus was still making an overhaul of his mental defenses, putting a focus on intruder detection instead of the all rounded protection he usually favored.

That meant he missed the flash of guilt in the old man's face, brief as it was.

"Even the most logical beings ought to see the power in love, the wisdom in their bonds. Perhaps you too should seek out truth in those closest to him, they might teach more than a senile old man." Dumbledore chuckled, "I'm afraid I can't help you anymore than that, unless you're willing to be more transparent about your work."

"No, thank you for the help headmaster." Magnus nodded, eager to get away from him as fast as possible now that he had some help. "May I take my leave?"

The old man nodded, his face betraying nothing but the usual amusement, he didn't trust anything from the maker and bedder of dark lords.

He was a politician, after all, and bloody good one.

Magnus wasn't sure what the weary old goat meant, but it sounded cryptic and nonsensical enough to be good advice. Not that he'd lose anything trying to understand it, except another sliver of sanity.

'Sanity is overrated'

He did not know why the paragon of light and suspicion decided to help him in the end, perhaps it would be different if he did see the guilt in the tired wizard's face?

After all, the mind arts were an esoteric art.

. . .