Smoke

Smoke VII Sunday, December 8, 1996

"You wished to see me, Headmaster?"

"Ah, John. Do come in and have a seat."

Russell came in cautiously. It was rare to visit the Headmaster in his quarters. "It was good to see you at dinner tonight, sir," Russell said.

"It was a good dinner, wasn't it? I've always enjoyed pheasant. It is a shame we cannot share it with the students, and build their palates."

"The pheasant was good, but that wasn't what I meant," Russell pointed out.

Dumbledore sighed. "I know."

"No luck, or shouldn't I ask?"

"As a rule, you should not ask. I must share this news with someone, for I do believe I have located a Horcrux. However, the enchantments on this one are very strong."

Russell hesitated, and then said, "I was wondering, is Voldemort halving his soul each time he creates a Horcrux?"

"Do you mean that the first, most likely the diary, had half his soul; the second a quarter, the third an eighth, and so on?"

"Right, leaving him currently with either a sixty-fourth or a hundred and twenty-eighth of the original."

Dumbledore shrugged. "If so, I am surprised he has not torn himself into oblivion. I do not believe a sixty-fourth of a soul would have survived being blasted from its body. I believe it is more likely each piece is more-or-less equal, although of course they wouldn't be precisely equal."

"That's what I thought, but I thought I should ask," Russell said.

"I can say no more on the subject," Dumbledore warned, to which Russell merely nodded. "I asked you here to throw for me. First, to determine the state of mind of an individual, and secondly to decide between three courses of action."

"Of course," Russell answered, taking the deck he kept for Dumbledore's use out. "Shall we do the state of mind, first?"

"Alright."

"It's not you or a lover, correct?"

"Correct," Dumbledore said with a twinkle. "I have not had a lover in nearly a hundred years, John."

"It does matter to the interpretation," Russell said defensively.

"I know."

"A one-throw, then," Russell said. When they had gone through the ritual of shuffle-cut-deal, the result was, "The Eight of Wands, Reversed." Russell looked at Dumbledore. "A troubled mind, jealous and filled with internal divisions and at least one major matter of conscience."

"I had thought as much," Dumbledore said. "I am glad for the reassurance."

"So no follow up?"

Dumbledore thought, and said, "No, no follow up, at least not tonight."

"Three paths of action, you said?"

"Indeed."

"Your action?"

"Yes."

"Clear your mind of all but the first path." The result was, "The Five of Swords. Not a very favorable card, perhaps even death."

The second result was, "The Three of Pentacles, Reversed. A mediocre result at best."

The final result was, "The Four of Swords, Reversed. A wise approach, I would say."

Dumbledore nodded. "I shall continue my general search for any remaining Horcruxes, and shall study the puzzle of the one I found last night at my leisure, until I am certain I know what to expect. I suspect in this one, he placed as much as he could of what he would call the weaknesses of childhood, not realizing that those vulnerabilities actually are what makes us human, what make us something more than greedy, intellectual animals."

"Thus the higher level of protections, you mean?"

"Exactly. I wish I could tell you more."

"I don't need to know more," Russell admitted, more to himself that to Dumbledore. "Tell Potter."

"I cannot yet tell him, I fear."

"Then write done everything place you've looked and every place you suspect, including this place, and charm it so that only Potter can read it. Albus, if something were to happen to you. . . ."

"Then you and Severus would need to take over," Dumbledore said firmly, "just as Remus and Minerva would take over the Order."

"Potter would still need to know where you have already looked and where you suspect you need to look still. Otherwise, he may end up wasting time following in your footsteps."

"And in doing so, he may learn what he needs to know to win."

"Or he may be delayed, and therefore be caught and killed, and if he isn't, who knows how many Muggles and others will be killed? The Order, with just a little help from our Muggle contacts and the Ministry, have managed to fight the dementors to a stalemate and to temporarily drive the giants out of Britain. If something were to happen to you, both will be on the attack again, and the Death Eaters will step up their random attacks. No one can stop a random attack of terrorism, Albus, other than by sheer dumb luck."

"True," Dumbledore admitted. "I shall begin working on the charms to insure that only Harry can read my notes."

"How about Granger?" Russell asked. "Potter does rely on her."

"True. I shall charm it so that Harry may copy parts of it out after he has read them."

"I understand," Russell said. If Dumbledore did die, then he would want to speak personally to Potter in his writing.

"Thank you, John. You have been a help."

Russell stood and showed himself out after saying his goodnights. He needed a drink.

Snape looked around the tower room with a sneer of disgust. "Is there a problem, Severus?"

"I hate the holidays," Snape stated.

"Do you think I hadn't noticed?" Russell retorted. "Besides, it's only a small holly wreath."

"If it were only a holly wreath, I shouldn't have felt a frisson of power as I passed by it."

"Well, you don't like the Yule holidays. . . ."

"Tell me what it does, or I leave!"

"It's hardly dangerous, or complicated enough to surpass your level of understanding."

"As I thought. It does do something!"

"Yes, and I quite impressed you were able to feel it," Russell admitted. "It was created by the Fifth year students. There are runes on some of the leaves, and it promotes good cheer."

"No wonder it's making me ill."

Russell frowned. "I hope you don't mean that literally. I'd hate to think you were that far down the Dark paths. . . ."

"I wear the Dark Mark," Snape pointed out.

"True," Russell admitted. "Cigar, or would you prefer your own?"

"My own, thank you." Snape sat and fired up his hookah, with tobacco this night.

"How goes your Sixth year class? No more clashes, I would hope?"

Snape grimaced. "I made the error of matching Potter against Zabini last week. Draco was taunting him, and Potter lost his temper."

"How many points did you dock him?"

"He was told to use a voiceless percussion hex, and he did. It was, unfortunately, strong enough to blast past Zabini's shield. It blew him into three other students, and they all went to the Infirmary with broken limbs."

"So, how many points did you dock Potter for doing what he was told to do? Twenty?"

"Five," Snape admitted.

Russell shook his head, built up a smoke screen with his pipe, and then blew three perfect smoke rings.

"Is Draco still doing well in your class?" Snape asked after a minute of silence.

"He is," Russell admitted. "He's also checked out any number of books on enchanting items. I hope you keep a better eye on him that Minerva did on those Weasley twins."

"I'm trying to, but he's making it very difficult," Snape answered.

"He's learned some Occlumency, I take it?" Russell suggested.

"He has. I could probably push past it, but he would know I did so. I do wish. . . ." Snape trailed off, and then looked at Russell.

"What?"

"If I make a request from you, will you never mention it again?"

"If you put it that way," Russell said slowly, "I suppose I must agree."

"Could you throw the cards on Draco's state of mind?"

"I have to admit, I didn't expect that," Russell said.

"I can barely believe I am suggesting it," Snape agreed. "Still. . . ."

"A simple, one card answer, a multiple throw, or one card with follow-up?"

"Let's start with one card," Snape said.

Russell was not surprised to see that the answer was the "Eight of Wands, Reversed. A troubled mind, jealous and filled with internal divisions and at least one major matter of conscience."

"Yes, that does make sense," Snape said. "I need ask no more. Thank you."

The pair and smoked in silence until it was time to leave.

Friday, December 20, 1996

John Russell paid his respects to Horace Slughorn after Slughorn's traditional Christmas Party had gotten well-started. The round wizard smiled at Russell's tribute, a bottle of 'pineapple wine' from Hawaii. "It seems like old times, although you're my colleague now," Slughorn said with a smile.

"It's good to have you here, Horace," Russell said, mostly sincerely. He glanced around. "A fine collection of our students, and of course you have invited some excellent outside guests."

"I know most of the important people in Britain," Slughorn said simply, "or at least those over thirty. I enjoy making these connections."

"And you do it well," Russell said. "Ah. . . ." he said, as Hermione Granger came in with Cormac McLaggen.

"Miss Granger or Mister McLaggen?" Slughorn asked.

"I don't know McLaggen," Russell said. "Miss Granger is one of the six best students I have, perhaps the best who doesn't have the Minor or Major Gift of Languages. She has a good feel for symbolic magic, perhaps the second best of all my current students."

"She is not in Harry Potter's league for having a feel for potions," Slughorn said, "but she is a brilliant brewer. I have the feeling she can do almost anything well."

"I agree," Russell said. "If I were to offer an apprenticeship to anyone, she'd be my first choice. She is a brilliant natural scholar."

"Coming from you, that is high praise indeed," Slughorn said. He filed that away. Granger did impress him, but of course young witches of no family had a very hard path to follow in the wizarding world. She could prove a challenge placing in a good position, but Slughorn felt if anyone could do it, it was he.

Then the student Slughorn most wanted to see came in. He headed for him immediately. "Harry, m'boy!"

Russell faded back and watched with detached amusement as Slughorn dragged Harry around to meet some of the more important guests, and Harry dragged the Lovegood girl behind him.

Russell was very glad to see that. He had entertained some hopes that Potter and Granger might hook up, but it was obvious that she was still entertaining thoughts of the Weasley boy and using the better-looking McLaggen to provoke some jealousy. Still, if Potter was interested in Lovegood, it meant that the odd looks he had seen Potter direct at the Weasley girl were mere hormones after all, and not Love Potion #9, unless the girl had made it poorly or Potter had unusually good resistance to suggestive magic.

Russell frowned as he saw McLaggen grappling with Granger under the mistletoe. McLaggen caught the frown out of the corner of his eye, and the slightly rumpled Granger made her escape. Russell took one step towards the boy, who fled in the opposite direction.

Russell let him escape, as he watched Potter and Lovegood meet up with Granger. That only lasted a few minutes, as Granger broke away from the pair, looking upset. McLaggen headed towards her once again, a gleam in his eye. Russell sighed and went after her. "Not enjoying the party, Miss Granger?" McLaggen veered back out of Russell's line of sight.

"Not as much as I had hoped I would," Hermione agreed.

"Well, let me introduce you to an old friend." He steered Hermione towards Eldred Worple and his tame vampire, Sanguini. "Excuse me, Worple."

"What? Oh, Russell. Nice to see you. Do you know. . . ?"

"Yes, yes, quite well, as a matter of fact."

"You . . . you aren't going to hurt him, are you?" Worple whispered so that only Russell and Hermione could hear him.

"No, of course not."

The vampire leapt in surprise as Russell clasped him familiarly on the shoulder. "Who dares touch a . . . oh, John. Hello. . . ."

"May I have a few words with you, Sanguini?" The vampire winced slightly, his mask-like facelooking almost like a cartoon.

"'Sanguini'?" Russell asked as they moved off.

The vampire shrugged. "We do adopt new names for outsider consumption, and Eldred thought that was commercial."

"But 'Sanguini'? And why dye your hair black?"

"It is fairly customary, and my brother did request it," the vampire said. "Now what may I do for you?"

"Hermione, hold out your hand, palm up. Please, take her scent." With matched set of odd looks, Hermione did as she was told and the vampire took her hand and actually licked it. Hermione shuddered -- it was as if a cold stone had touched her palm. "This is Hermione Granger. She stands as an apprentice to me, almost as a daughter in our world, since she is without magical family. Spread the news to your friends. Those who touch her strike both against me and her best friend, the Chosen One."

Hermione gave nothing away, but the vampire's eyes went wide with shock. "The Potter boy?" he whispered.

"Precisely. Any questions?"

"No, none at all." He leered politely at Hermione. "You are very delicious, but you are now one of the safest girls in all of Britain."

Russell recalled the vampire's attention. "Do you see your brother at all?"

The vampire shook his head, "Of course not. Tell me, are there others I should get the scent of?"

Russell looked around, and saw that Ginny was still in the room, while Luna seemed to be moving in and out of a doorway indecisively. "That redhead and the blonde over by the door."

"The blonde is the Lovegood girl, is it not?" the vampire asked. "Her father prints some of the oddest theories, but they often have a grain of truth surrounded by the fantasy."

"Exactly."

"I will gather and share their scents as well," the vampire said with a bow, and taking his leave.

"Who's his brother, Professor?" Hermione asked.

"'Sanguini'," Russell said, shaking his head. "His name is, or was, Jerry, or rather Gerald Scrimgoeur, the Minister's baby brother, or youngest half-brother I should say. He was a year a head of me in Ravenclaw."

"Why did that man Worple think you might hurt a vampire?" Hermione asked.

"There was a rogue coven in Eastern Europe in the late 1950s. They were able to move between the magical communities, which were hiding from the Communists, and the Communists, who had thought they had driven the magical communities out and that there were no such things as vampires. I was part of the International effort to destroy them, and won a small reputation as a Vampire Hunter. I have always made it clear that I only go after rogues."

"I see," Hermione said, slightly impressed. "Happy Holidays, Professor."

He smiled. "Indeed, Miss Granger, Happy Holidays." He handed Hermione a small package. "Enlarge this when you get back to your room, and let no one see you reading it." He turned and walked away.

Hermione, seeing that McLaggen was heading her way again, slipped back into the crowd after thanking the Professor.

Late that night, as Hermione finished packing and Lavender and Parvati were giggling behind the curtains of Parvati's bed, Hermione enlarged and opened her Christmas gift. She saw it was a book in Tibetan, and when she translated the title, she saw it was best translated as The Dark Night of the Soul: An Exploration of How to Recognize Dark Soul Magic.

She packed it well away.