Harry Potter and the Wizard's Apprentice

WA Chpt 8

The Wizard's Apprentice

The stairs stopped smoothly and Harry found himself standing in the atrium of Dumbledore's office. The fire burned low and shadows flickered across the walls. The sharp eyes of Phineas Nigellus were watching him closely from a nearby portrait, but he said nothing. The room was deadly quiet and Harry pulled his arms tight around himself. There was no sign of Dumbledore. A soft whispering noise came from behind him, and he turned to see Fawkes soar across the room and land on the golden perch next to Harry. Harry walked over, stroked Fawkes' feathery head, and murmured a soft greeting to the phoenix.

"Harry," Dumbledore's cheerful voice reverberated from behind him. "I didn't hear you arrive. Come, sit down." Harry jumped, but Dumbledore did not seem as if his unexpected entry was in any way unusual.

Dumbledore waved his hand and immediately the fire in the hearth blazed, and the candle flames danced merrily along the walls, creating a friendly glow in the small room. Harry followed Dumbledore to the jumbled desk, taking his usual seat across from the aging wizard.

"Fizzing Whizbee?" Dumbledore asked, proffering a brightly coloured tin.

"Er, thanks," Harry said, taking a sweet. He took it more to keep his hands occupied than for want of the candy. Dumbledore rose from the desk again, and walked to a tea set perched on a nearby table, returning with two steaming cups. He handed one to Harry, who took a tentative sip, and was surprised to find the tea was exactly as he liked it-- creamer, with two sugars.

"Well, Harry, let me get to the point then," Dumbledore said, after sitting back down across the desk.

"Please," Harry said, a bit vehemently. Dumbledore chuckled, but then a sober look passed over his face.

"There are a few reasons why I asked you to meet me tonight, Harry. The first thing is regarding Sirius." Harry stiffened, and sat up straighter in his chair.

"What about him?" he asked, eying Dumbledore warily.

"Sirius has left everything to you, Harry."

"He what?" Harry exclaimed, dumbfounded. Dumbledore gave him a reassuring smile. He heard Phineas snort disdainfully, hidden somewhere in his frame.

"Sirius named you as his sole heir. It's all yours, Harry-- Grimmauld Place, the contents of his vault at Gringotts, the motorbike..."

"The motorbike?" Harry repeated, feeling dazed. Dumbledore smiled again.

"Yes, Hagrid has taken good care of it all these years. Kept it out behind his garden in fact-- disguised, of course."

Harry sat stunned, all these months he had never once thought of what was going to happen to Sirius' stuff. He supposed that he assumed Sirius wouldn't have many possessions, since he was in prison for so long. Dumbledore waited a moment before speaking again, letting Harry absorb this new information.

"This brings me to the second issue, Harry. I would like to ask your permission to continue using Grimmauld Place as the Headquarters for the Order."

Harry laughed incredulously, still feeling a bit stunned. "You don't need my permission! I'm not even part of the Order!"

"Ah, but it IS your house now, Harry. It's up to you."

"Of course you can use it!" Harry said. "Do what you need to do."

"Thank you, Harry. I appreciate that."

They sat in silence again. Dumbledore seemed to be appraising Harry thoughtfully. Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair under his gaze, but did not look away. Finally, Dumbledore spoke, his eyes never leaving Harry's face.

"Have you thought any more about what we spoke of at the end of last term, Harry?"

Harry swallowed hard. "You mean, about the... prophecy?"

"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed, inclining his head.

"Of course I have," Harry said, starting to feel a bit irritated. What did Dumbledore think? That Harry was just going to have a normal summer spending his time thinking about Quidditch, or perhaps even girls?

"I've thought of nothing else," he said aloud, his voice a bit harsher than he expected. Dumbledore didn't seem to mind, however, and nodded at him.

"I had thought as much. Tell me, Harry, what have you done to prepare?"

Harry gasped. How did Dumbledore know? He stared at Dumbledore, wondering how much he should reveal-- his own person training, or plans he had made with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny? A grandfather clock chimed the hour somewhere and Fawkes fluttered down from his perch to sit on Dumbledore's desk, startling Harry out of his reverie.

"Well," he admitted reluctantly. "A lot, actually... I've been reading up on different spells- defensive, curses, jinxes... I plan on practising them all now that I'm in school."

Dumbledore nodded, "Very good. You always were one to step up to a challenge. It's something I admire about you, Harry. One of many things."

Harry blushed faintly, but said nothing. The butterflies in his stomach had started up again, and Harry felt that Dumbledore had yet to get to the main reason for this visit. He wasn't wrong. As if reading his mind, Dumbledore pressed his fingertips together, and peered at him over the rim of his half moon spectacles.

"I'm sure you wondering why I really asked you here, Harry, and I won't delay any longer. Extra studying of textbook spells is a fine idea, but it will only get you so far. What would benefit you far greater is having someone to teach you things not normally found in Hogwarts' curriculum."

Harry held his breath. He couldn't mean...?

"What I am saying is," Dumbledore went on, looking at him seriously. "How would you like to be my apprentice?"

Harry exhaled the breath he hadn't realised his had been holding. "I'd love to!" he exclaimed, then thought for a second. "What exactly do you mean?"

Dumbledore laughed. "What I mean is, Harry, that, once a week, I'd like for you to visit me in my office for an hour or so. I'd like to teach you an old mans tricks, so to speak."

"I'd be honoured, sir," Harry said earnestly, leaning forward in his chair. "Do you usually apprentice students?"

"Not in a long, long, time," Dumbledore said, with a trace of sadness. "I used to pick a student every year or so. One that I thought would gain the most from the experience."

"What happened?" Harry asked. "What made you stop?"

Dumbledore sighed, and Harry thought he looked much older than he had just ten minutes ago. "It was a little over fifty years ago, and I made the grave mistake of choosing a student who would one day use what I taught him against me and all humankind."

"You mean Voldemort?" Harry gasped.

Dumbledore nodded wearily. "Of course, as you know, he was called Tom Riddle back then. He was an exceptional student, and had the potential to go on to do great things. I started apprenticing him in his fourth year- far earlier than any of the other students. Things went fine for an entire year. I knew, of course, that Riddle came from a troubled background. I had hoped, alas, that I could help turn his thinking around so that he could channel his magical energy for good, and not malevolence. A fool's dream, Harry. For even by then, evil ran so deep in him that there was no turning back for Tom. I have the burden of knowing that during that year I armed him with magical knowledge that he would one day use against wizards and muggles alike."

Dumbledore paused there and drank tea from the cup sitting next to him. Harry looked down and was surprised to see that he was still holding his cup, as well. He had forgotten all about it. He took a sip, and waited for Dumbledore to continue. When he didn't, Harry couldn't contain himself any longer.

"But what happened? How did you finally realise what Riddle was?"

Dumbledore glanced up from his cup and stared at Harry with his piercing blue eyes. "During those years, Harry, wizards were ending another war with another tyrant, the dark wizard Grindelwald. Unbeknownst to me at the time, Tom had taken a great interest in the dark side of magic, and in those who followed it. Through his pursuit of the dark arts, Tom became acquainted with Grindelwald, learning much deadlier magic along the way. Then, when he returned to Hogwarts for his fifth year, it became obvious to me that Tom was beyond my help.

In his seventh year, I was fortunate enough to defeat Grindelwald. The wizarding world was rejoicing, but Tom saw it for what it was-- an opportunity. The world will never be without evil-- without true evil, there cannot be true good. Grindelwald's death left an opening for leadership within the dark side of the wizarding community, and Tom seized that opening with both hands. We found out later that as early as his fourth year at Hogwarts he started recruiting his peers to his way of thinking. By the time he left school, he had a following so large that he had no trouble picking up all of Grindelwald's old supporters."

"But, you knew!" Harry exclaimed. "Couldn't you have stopped him while he was here?"

"Of course I suspected, but I had no proof. Tom was very clever at hiding the truth, even then." Dumbledore paused to take another sip of tea, and the clock chimed again before lapsing into silence.

"Oh my, " Dumbledore said. "I have kept you up late, and I have another appointment I expect to be arriving soon. Go on up to the tower, Harry, and come back on Monday. We'll work on actual lessons then."

"But I want to hear more about Voldemort," Harry said stubbornly, staying seated in the chair.

Dumbledore looked at him with an odd expression. "You will Harry, unfortunately. Probably more than you think. Now off to bed with you before Filch starts making his rounds."

"But, wait, please," Harry said quickly. "There are a few things I wanted to ask. Not about Voldemort, I promise," he added hastily, seeing Dumbledore raise an eyebrow.

"By all means..." Dumbledore said, gesturing towards him.

"The Fidelius Charm-- Ron said that Hermione could be killed performing it, is that true?"

Dumbledore sighed, "There is risk in everything related to magic, Harry-- the stronger the magic, the greater the risk. Magic uses a bit of us each time, you see. However, I do not plan to let any harm come to Miss Granger. Besides, there are very few witches or wizards at Hogwarts who can outperform Hermione in ways of magic."

Harry nodded, accepting this. "What about Malfoy? He knew! He was the one--."

Dumbledore raised a hand. "Harry, calm down. Miss Granger told us all about her confrontation with Mr. Malfoy that day at Diagon Alley. It is being taken care of. Now, is there anything else?"

Harry swallowed hard, bit back another comment about Malfoy, and nodded instead. "Yes. I wanted to see if it was okay to continue with D.A. lessons. Hermione thinks it would be a good idea-- promoting unity in the houses... or something."

Dumbledore smiled. "Yes, I'm glad you asked. It is an excellent idea."

Harry grinned in return. He hadn't realised until now how much he wanted to continue lessons.

"However," Dumbledore said. "Since this will be a school sponsored event, I feel it best that you get a Hogwarts professor to supervise."

Harry's face fell. A teacher? That could ruin everything!

"I was thinking," Dumbledore continued, as if he did not see the change in Harry's expression, "that perhaps Professor Tonks would be available. She is, after all, our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"That's a great idea!" Harry exclaimed. "I'll ask her next week."

"You do that," Dumbledore said. "But now, you need to get yourself to bed."

~*~

Harry left Dumbledore's office feeling as if he could have used twelve Pensieves to sort through all of the new information he had been given. He had almost made it to the Great Hall when he heard footsteps coming from directly ahead of him. Filch, he thought frantically, and ducked into the nearest classroom, not a moment too soon.

As the footsteps came closer, Harry realised that it was not Filch, as he first assumed. It was a student-- no, two students-- he could hear them talking now. Instinct warned him to keep hidden, and he leaned forward toward the open door, straining to hear. It wasn't long until he could make out what they were saying, and immediately recognised the drawling voice of Draco Malfoy.

"What are you doing here, Blaise?"

"I could ask the same thing of you, Draco."

"You know perfectly well what I'm doing. I've been summoned to that old fool's office."

"I am fully aware of that, but I'm curious as to why. What were you playing at, telling that Mudblood the plans for her parents? Your father will not be pleased... One would think you wanted an excuse to go to Dumbledore's office."

The footsteps stopped right outside the classroom, and Harry held his breath. Sweat rolled down his forehead, stinging his eyes. There was a thud on the other side of the classroom wall, as if someone had been shoved against it.

"If you ever mentioned my father again, Zabini, you're a dead man." Draco's voice came out low and menacing, but Harry detected something else... was it fear?

Blaise laughed shortly. "Don't change the subject. You'd better be careful, Draco. There are those who would be very interested to find out that you have plans of your own."

There was a rustling noise, and Harry heard footsteps again, as Blaise passed by the open door, back the way he had come. Harry waited a few more minutes, until Draco's footsteps started up again, continuing on, Harry assumed, to Dumbledore's office. Once he was sure he was alone, Harry left the classroom and sprinted off towards Gryffindor tower, hoping desperately not to run into anyone else.

~*~

He didn't stop running until he reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, and by then he was panting so hard, he could barely say the password.

"Goodness," the Fat Lady exclaimed. "Where's the fire? There's no trouble I hope."

"No," Harry said, and pushed by her impatiently. He scanned the common room quickly and spotted Ron and Hermione sitting at one of the study tables. Hermione was bent studiously over a piece of parchment, and Ron appeared to be trying to distract her, albeit, unsuccessfully. Now, he looked up as Harry approached.

"Harry! What's happened to you, mate? You look as if twelve rampaging Hippogriffs were after you!"

Harry plopped down in the seat next to him, and took a minute to catch his breath. Even Hermione looked up interestedly at him, setting down her quill neatly next to the essay she had been writing.

"You're never going to believe the conversation I just heard!" he exclaimed. "I just ran into Malfoy and Blaise Zabini in the hall--."

"Oh! They didn't see you, I hope?" Hermione interrupted, looking worried.

"What? No! Just listen, will you?" Harry said, while Ron rolled his eyes. "They were talking about that day in Diagon Alley-- and Blaise seems to think that Malfoy told you about your parents just for a reason to be summoned to Dumbledore!"

"But, why would he do that?" Ron frowned. "He could've just walked up to Dumbledore at any time. Not that I'm complaining, mind you."

"No, he couldn't," Harry said, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. "Think about it, Ron. Everyone knows he hates Dumbledore. The whole school would be talking about it if he went to Dumbledore voluntarily."

Ron continued to look doubtful, but Hermione looked thoughful. "I think you're right, Harry, if that's why Malfoy told me in the first place. Tell me, what else did Dumbledore say? You've been gone ages."

Harry told them all about Sirius' will and becoming Dumbledore's apprentice.

Ron gaped at him. "Dumbledore is going to teach you himself! Brilliant! You'll have to show us what you learn!"

Hermione nodded emphatically. "Think about all the new material you'll have to teach the D.A. You did get permission to start it back, didn't you?"

"Yes!" Harry said, starting to feel excited. Their enthusiasm was catching. "And get this-- Dumbledore says we have to have a sponsor, but that we can use Tonks!"

"Wicked!" Ron exclaimed. "When do you want to have the next meeting?"

"I dunno," Harry said. "I have to meet with Dumbledore on Monday, and we have Quidditch practise every evening after dinner next week..."

"Well, what about Wednesday, after Quidditch practise, then? About eight o'clock?" Hermione suggested. "I can check with the other house teams, just to make sure there's no other practise that conflicts then."

"Sounds good," Harry agreed. "So, what are we going to do tomorrow? It is Saturday. I was thinking about visiting Hagrid, I bet he has loads to tell us. From what Dumbledore said at the opening feast, it sounds like Grawp has the run of the Forbidden Forest..." He trailed off at the closed look on Ron's face.

"You should do that, Harry," Hermione said cautiously. "But... I'm meeting my parents tomorrow-- for the Fidelius Charm. Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, and I are going to Floo to the Leaky Cauldron. My parents have been there before, remember, in our second year?"

Harry chanced a glance at Ron, and saw pink tinges appearing on his ears and cheeks. "Okay then," he said a little too loudly. "Ron, you and I can go. We haven't seen Hagrid in ages." Ron didn't answer. Harry sighed, "Ron, I talked to Dumbledore about it. He really doesn't feel that Hermione will be in any danger..."

"Of course he doesn't feel that way! He's near invincible himself!" Ron exploded, making Harry and Hermione wince, and earning stares from other students in the common room.

"Ron..." Hermione pleaded. "It's very sweet that you're so concerned--."

"Sweet? Sweet! I am not sweet!" Ron shouted, standing up from the table and looking indignant. "I am-- I am manly!"

Hermione stared at him, and then giggled unexpectedly. Harry caught her eye and couldn't help laughing himself. Soon, they were all doubled over, tears streaming down their faces-- Ron included.

"I'm sorry, Ron--," Hermione said finally, but ruined it by letting another giggle escape.

"Yes, me too," Harry added. "Everyone thinks you're very manly."

Ron gave him a very rude gesture in reply. "Oh, sod it, the both of you," Ron said, but good-naturedly. "I'm knackered. I'm going to bed."

"Yes, me too," Hermione agreed, stifling a yawn. "I expect I'll see you both at dinner tomorrow night."

Harry followed Ron up the stairs to their room and fell asleep practically before his head hit the pillow.

~*~

Harry stood at the entrance to Number 12 Grimmauld Place. He raised his fist to knock on the door, but then remembered-- We mustn't wake the portraits! Instead, he reached for the doorknob, but before he could reach it the door swung open slowly, squeaking eerily in the silence. "Sirius?" Harry called. His voice echoed down through the house, bouncing off of unseen walls and doors. Harry stepped over the threshold, each step he took resonated off the floor, and sent tremors through his head. Don't wake the portraits. Mustn't wake the portraits, he chanted silently to himself.

"Sirius!" Harry called again, this time a bit louder.

"Over here, Harry," came Sirius' voice, somewhere ahead of him.

Harry smiled. Of course. Sirius is in the kitchen. Where else could he be? He ran down the dusty hallway towards the kitchen, he could already smell bangers and mash cooking. He threw open the kitchen door and saw... nothing. Cobwebs had been spun everywhere, the old table looked rotted through, and there was a thick layer of dust covering everything.

"Sirius! Sirius where are you?" Harry shouted, starting to feel panicked.

"I'm up here, Harry." Sirius' voice floated down to him from the upstairs.

Harry turned on his heel and ran up one flight of stairs, then the next, stopping at each landing to throw open the bedroom doors. They were all empty.

"There's nothing but dust here! DUST!" he screeched. He heard the floor creak behind him, and spun around to see Sirius standing not an inch behind him. The face changed, and it wasn't Sirius at all... it was a mirror, and that was his, Harry's, refection in it. Harry peered at it to get a closer look... he leaned in so that his nose was practically touching the glass. Somewhere behind him a mournful wail grew louder and louder.

His reflection looked at him, and shrieked, "I THOUGHT YOU WEREN'T GOING TO WAKE THE PORTRAITS!"

~*~

Harry woke up with a start and sat up straight in bed, his heart pounding. Instinctively, he reached for his chest, where the moonstone usually hung. It wasn't there-- he had forgotten to wear it last night. He glanced wildly about, and saw it hanging innocently from his bedpost.

Sighing, Harry reached for the water pitcher next to his bed and poured himself a glass. He could see the sun already rising through the window, and blinked in the sudden glare of light. He decided he might as well stay awake, but there was something he wanted to look at first before getting dressed. He walked around to the foot of his bed, and threw his trunk open, kneeling before it. Shoving aside several robes and his old trainers, he finally found what he was looking for. There, still lying broken in the bottom of his trunk, was the mirror that Sirius gave him.