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Author: Caleb Nova Story: That Terrifying Momentum Rating: Teens Setting: AU Status: Completed Reviews: 11 Words: 267,976
There was something lonely about Hogwarts during the summertime. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore strolled through the school in no particular hurry and with no firm destination, his footsteps echoing in empty hallways and classrooms. There was an anticipation on the air, as if the building itself knew that soon its occupants would be returning in all their chattering, lively glory. Of course, Dumbledore reflected, it was entirely possible that was literally true. Hogwarts had many secrets, and though he was the Headmaster, he sometimes still felt like he was merely passing through a history no one could ever hope to transcend. Hogwarts was – and always had been. He had spent a great deal of his life within the castle walls. Though his many years weighed upon him on occasion – some days more than others – he had never lost his passion for the process of learning. It was always like new to him, the deep satisfaction he derived from seeing the desks lined with children, the opening of young minds, the text books and quills and essays scrawled over parchment. The halls filled with the hustle and bustle of youthful energy. That was the essence of Hogwarts. And it caused him no small amount of pain that of late, Hogwarts had instead become a fortress. He was no longer simply the kindly and eccentric Headmaster – in these times he was primarily a guardian, bearing the burden of being the only wizard that Voldemort feared. The protections and wards of the school were now less an expected tradition of secrecy then a cruel necessity. Even those had proven to be less than sufficient at times in the past. Yes, it was true that Hogwarts was more secure than most places outside of it… but no place was truly safe. These were dark thoughts for such a beautiful day. Dumbledore found himself at the top of the Astronomy Tower, looking out over the grounds in the morning light. With the dew on the grass shooting back the sun’s radiance under a china blue sky, it was hard to maintain any sort of moodier demeanour. It reminded him that though things were bad, they could be worse. He had some key advantages over Voldemort this time, including the unlocked puzzle to the Dark wizard’s apparent immortality. Dumbledore also counted Harry among his assets. The boy had shaped into a man and a powerful wizard besides. It would be Harry who decided how the war would end though Dumbledore would help him in every way possible. An important first step had already been taken with the destruction of the ring. The cost had been great and terrible, yes…. But no sacrifice was too much to bear. Voldemort could not be allowed dominion. Consciously removing himself from such ponderings, Dumbledore took one last look out over the grounds and lake, noting the smoke coming from the chimney of Hagrid’s house. He would have to visit his loyal groundskeeper for tea sometime soon. “Sure is nice out.” If age had slowed Dumbledore’s reflexes, then it was a negligible weakening. His wand was firmly in his hand, hidden underneath his sleeve, in less than a second. Shifting his grip slightly on the worn handle, he turned calmly to face the unexpected visitor. A young man leaned against the parapet to Dumbledore’s right. He was dressed in Muggle summer clothes. He appeared to be fifteen or sixteen years old though he was tall enough that he might have been older. His dark blond hair, lean face with a square jaw and raw-boned body of ropey muscle combined with the grin he wore to spark something in Dumbledore’s memory. It wasn’t until he looked into the laughing grey eyes that true recognition shot through him. The teen stood from his slouched position. “It would seem to be that time again.” “Scott Kharan,” Dumbledore said softly as the memories were dredged to the surface of his mind. In the first years after the incident, it had been easy to put it out of his mind. It would always be intrinsically tied to the memories he had of that dark time in history, but he’d had a busy life. It wasn’t until a former student named Tom Riddle had started to alter the course of the world that the words spoken by that strange man amidst the ruins of an apartment building came back to haunt Dumbledore. They echoed in his remembrance. In the future, there will be a war. You will win this war. Near the end of the war there will be a Prophecy. You’ll know what to do. Eventually a second war will start – and that’s when I’ll show up… And now had Kharan truly done that impossible thing? …and ask for that favour from you. There had been a war. And they had won. And there had been a Prophecy. Now the second war was upon them. Lately, Scott Kharan had very much been on Dumbledore’s mind. It had been only a year since Dumbledore had gone to the Department of Mysteries and read through thousands of dusty of pages, scanning the records of Seers for any prophecies made by one Scott Kharan. He had found nothing – but surely the man had been a Seer. The other alternatives were too farfetched to contemplate. And yet there seemed little question that it was the same Scott Kharan who now stood before him, inexplicably younger. The resemblance was quite exact, and his knowledge only confirmed it. Still, the eyes could deceive readily enough. It would be foolish to accept without question. The boy nodded in acknowledgement. “Correct. And here I was thinking you might not remember me… old people being what they are.” Scott grinned. The corners of Dumbledore’s mouth quirked at that. “Since I believe I last saw you fifty one years ago, I’m not sure you are in a position to insult my age.” “Touché,” Scott saluted him mockingly. “But if you think that qualifies me as being old, then I’m glad you don’t know my real age.” That intrigued Dumbledore. Scott clearly demonstrated the ability to alter his age. Unless there were limits he was unaware of, that would mean Scott could have lived any number of years. “Are you, in fact, older than me?” Scott laughed. “Time is relative. I go by the number of years that I’ve personally experienced, not the number that have passed by on all the different strands.” He paused. “If you’re dying to know, we can get into that later. It’s not that I don’t enjoy your company, but I’ve got some other things to do.” If the boy intended to go straight to the answers, then Dumbledore had no intention of stopping him. “We can use my office. This way,” he said, leading Scott back down the staircase. They passed through the Entrance Hall on their way, Scott looking around with some interest. He seemed particularly preoccupied with the layout of the school and asked Dumbledore several questions about the destinations of the corridors and staircases they passed. Scott also had a fascination with the moving paintings that adorned so much of Hogwarts’ available wall space, or more specifically, with bothering them. While passing a large portrait of a witch sitting in a garden with a parasol, he kept his head down and moved quickly past her while she peered at him curiously. Upon reaching the edge of her frame he whirled in mid-step and lunged at the painting with a scream, giving the poor occupant such a jolt that she tumbled backwards off her chair, nearly frightened half to death. Scott found this uproariously funny and was still chuckling when they reached the gargoyle which guarded the entrance to the Headmaster’s Office. “Pepper Imp,” Dumbledore intoned, and the statue moved aside. Scott looked curiously at the moving stairwell as it took them to the office. “Not everyday you see a stone escalator,” he commented. They passed through the heavy oak door into the office. Dumbledore sat behind his claw-footed desk and waited for Scott to stop wandering the room and inspecting the various odd and ends that adorned the shelves and bookcases. For someone who had professed to be in a hurry, Scott was certainly taking his time. After inquisitively poking one of Dumbledore’s silvery instruments, Scott finally sat down. His gaze, however, did not linger long on the Headmaster. Instead, even as he talked, Scott’s eyes were busily assimilating the room. “I have to say, I like your digs. Cool bird, too.” He rubbed Fawkes’ head, to the Phoenix’s obvious pleasure. He pointed to Gryffindor’s Sword, sitting in a glass case next to the Sorting Hat. “I bet that’s a conversation piece.” He then favoured Dumbledore with a piercing look. “Though not as much as your hand.” Dumbledore had been wondering when that would come up. Certainly he would not be trusting Scott with the knowledge of the Horcruxes. The man, or now boy, was almost a complete unknown, his motivations and allegiances a secret. Instead, Dumbledore merely smiled and tried to pass it off as nothing. “A bit of a magical accident, I’m afraid.” “Really? I was under the impression that you destroyed Gaunt’s ring on purpose.” Once again Dumbledore found himself confounded in Scott’s presence. “I think it is time,” Dumbledore said in a measured tone of voice, a hint of his power leaking into the words, “that you tell me who you are, and what your business here is.” “A fair demand, but first there’s some other business. I gave you something in Köln.” With some ceremony, Dumbledore stood and crossed the room to the entrance of his private quarters. He went inside and returned moments later with a familiar envelope held gently in his left hand. It hadn’t been opened. Sitting back down, he set it on the desk between them. “Looks like it’s still in good shape,” Scott observed. “You keep it in your sock drawer?” “Yes,” Dumbledore replied, some of the twinkle returning to his eyes. “Okay. I’ll tell you what’s inside of it, and then you can open it up.” Dumbledore picked up the envelope and held it in his good hand, studying the yellowed paper. “It will satisfy a very long standing curiosity.” Scott took a deep breath and recited, “This is a password, A past written sign. The outside is yours, And the inside is mine. Open it with your hands, Memorise with your mind. Trust not to your senses, Instead cleave to this rhyme- Fear not the fighting, Or the cliffs yet to climb. The journey is dangerous, But our real problem is Time.” Dumbledore did not move to open the envelope as he absorbed the message of the poem. Time… That was indeed a force to be reckoned with, but in what precise duration? The most obvious answer was the time until Voldemort reached his full strength. He speculated that perhaps there were other invisible constraints of which only Scott was aware. Resting his injured hand on the envelope to hold it in place, he smoothly ran a letter opener through the top of it and withdrew a musty piece of paper. He unfolded it, and felt some small measure of satisfaction that the neatly printed words it held were identical to those Scott had spoken. Setting it down, he gave Scott a slight smile. “Does that confirm our respective identities, Mr. Kharan?” Scott grinned. “So formal already? I had thought you might save that for when I begin attending your fine centre of learning.” Of all the things Dumbledore had expected to hear, that hadn’t been even close to being one of them. He stared at Scott over his half-moon glasses. “You wish to attend Hogwarts?” “Most of the time, yes," Scott replied more seriously. "I might have to leave now and then to take care of some things. It’s a matter of proximity. This is where the action is, you see.” “You have stated several times that you have some objectives to see to,” Dumbledore was perplexed and looking forward to some concrete answers, “but I don’t understand how attending the school will help you accomplish them.” “You hardly could be expected to. Let me tell you, though – it’s one hell of a story.” “I am almost breathless with anticipation.” There was a minute of stillness as Scott seemed to wrestle with a way to begin. He laughed a little sheepishly. “It’s hard to find the starting line. There’s so much background…. If Eva was here this would be much easier. Well, I’ll start with the very basics. What do you know about the universe?” Dumbledore blinked. “In what capacity? The universe is rather encompassing.” Scott sighed. “I always do this wrong. You’re a smart guy – allow me to be blunt. This isn’t the only universe. There are many of them, and all together we refer to them as the Multiverse.” He fidgeted in his chair. “I wish I had a dry erase board or something to illustrate my point. Anyway, the Multiverse is a big place. So big that we’ve never seen the end of it, and there are millions and probably billions of universes in which we’ve never even set foot. So for the most part, the majority of universes exist without any interference. “Now, that’s not all that difficult a concept to grasp. People have been supposing the existence of other universes for a long time, in one way or another. What most people never realise is that not all human problems are manmade. All those universes – sometimes they get broken.” Scott looked at Dumbledore. “Okay, progress check. Are you with me so far in any way, shape or form?” “There are many universes in existence, which in whole are called the Multiverse,” Dumbledore summarised, “and on occasion things can go wrong with them.” Scott looked relieved. “That’s a good basis. Now we understand that there are many universes and that they can have problems. What you don’t understand is how I fit into that picture any differently from you.” He pointed at himself. “What makes me special, that I should know any of this? We might imagine that the vast majority of people living and dying in our boundless collection of universes never come close to this level of realisation – and why should they? It’s unnecessary to existence. The fact that other populaces are living in some distant parallel world you can’t possibly reach means nothing to the shape of the average life. “It is odd but perhaps in the end fitting to our modern, rat race worlds that it’s not a question of study or birthright but of occupation. You’re the Headmaster of Hogwarts, and that means you know more about this school than any living person. I’d imagine your caretaker knows the floor plan of the building like the back of his hand. Your job decides a great deal of what you know…. So you have to ask yourself, what is the transuniversal equivalent of a custodian?” “I haven’t the slightest idea,” Dumbledore said, “but I imagine you’re about to tell me.” Scott stated, “I am a Kharadjai. The Kharadjai are a race of people whose profession defines their reality. It is our job to both make sure universes remain unbroken and to fix them if they do break.” He scratched his cheek. “That’s about as compact and simple a definition as I can give. There’s a lot more to it.” In an odd way the information that was being poured on Dumbledore was overwhelming to the point where it didn’t affect him anymore. There was something raw and true about it that he could feel in the deepest parts of his soul – knowledge of the heart that he had been born with. The word ‘Kharadjai’ rang some internal bell. “Difficult to accept? Of course it is,” Scott continued. “Ordinary life leaves no room for that sort of speculation to infringe upon what we see as certainty. We Kharadjai are invisible by default. We normally operate in secrecy, of course – who wants to believe in this sort of thing? It’s uncomfortable to know that things can go wrong which can’t be fixed by normal means. It’s only a half-truth, besides. More often than not we are nothing more than a guiding hand, not a wrecking ball. But to what end? “Sometimes universes have a specific purpose when they are created. Sometimes they gain a purpose for no apparent reason. We don’t know why. We call this kind of driving force the ‘UO’, Universal Objective or Objectives, plural. Fate, essentially, or destiny if you want to call it that. They’re both vague concepts, but everyone understands them. Some things are supposed to happen. It’s an idea common to virtually every culture, like God or math. The universe begins to form around this objective. It becomes vital to continued operation. “In order to accomplish this UO, the universe draws together a group of destined people, or occasionally just one person. We call them ‘Primes’. They are essential to the completion of the UO – it is their own personal fate to participate. Primes are arranged according to how indispensable they are, and we call that ‘Priority’. The universe can do without some of them, but there’s always at least that one individual upon whom it all hinges.” Scott smiled at Dumbledore. “I don’t think you need three guesses as to who that somebody is in this universe. Dumbledore nodded grimly but said nothing. “So you’ve got the UO, and you’ve got the Primes to complete the UO. So what do you need Kharadjai for?” Scott shrugged. “The answer to that question isn’t entirely clear. The Multiverse can’t be destroyed – no one has that kind of power. So really, if you get right down to it, the Multiverse doesn’t need us. But sometimes, people do. Consider us a sort of Multiversal philanthropy. I know it sounds stupid, but saving lives is what we’re all about. It’s our job to monitor and fix problem universes. It’s my job to make sure the Primes in this one succeed.” Dumbledore broke in. “What if the Primes in question are destructive themselves?” “That’s a difficult question. Given the consequences of a failed UO, chances are we’d actually help the bad guys because in the long run that’s going to save more lives. That almost never happens though – ninety-nine percent of the time any UO is the universe attempting to rid itself of an unwanted presence. Most problems can be solved with a delicate touch, however. The Primes, if there even are any, don’t usually need to know. “You have to understand; normally if I was fixing this universe, you’d never see me. The majority of our missions are carried out completely from the sidelines with a careful and invisible manipulation of events. We can feel the shape and flow of any given universe, you see. I can’t explain to you how – it’d be like trying to describe colour to a blind man. Suffice to say we generally know what to do and what not to do. “Let me clarify that last sentence with an example – there’s an evil villain out stomping around, as they seem to enjoy doing so much. The hero, AKA the Prime, has been destined by the universe to kill him. But the hero isn’t ready yet. He’s still preparing for the battle and removing obstacles in his way, maybe fighting with the villain’s henchmen or something. The longer it takes him, the more people die. There’s a Kharadjai watching the events. He decides that he can’t let any more innocent people die. So he steps in personally, and ices the bad guy. The day is saved, right? Wrong. The universe shudders and falls into what we call a ‘CLR’ – a Catastrophe Level Reordering. Something that wasn’t supposed to happen did happen, and now because of that it’s all going to hell. Instead of hundreds of innocent people dying, thousands die. Twenty villains rise to take the place of the dead one. And if the unravelling universe goes unchecked or if it was destabilised especially severely, it may never recover without outside assistance. It might even collapse.” He held up a hand. “I don’t recall that ever happening, though. At least, not yet. “It’s the Butterfly Effect, you see? A butterfly flaps its wings in Hong Kong and kicks up a hurricane in Los Angeles. You step outside of what the universe will allow you, you go against the shape of things to fix something bad, and you’ll only cause something worse. You cut to the front of the line and kill the master criminal, and a busload of kids careens off a bridge. It’s not something you want to mess with. Not every mistake results in a CLR, but it’s rarely something you can just shrug off. That’s part of being a Kharadjai. Risks are unavoidable. You still have to keep in mind that you might not be the only one to pay for them.” Scott stopped to take a breath. No wonder Scott was having such difficulty explaining it all, Dumbledore mused. He was attempting to sum up an entire other order of existence. He let Scott catch his breath, and then prodded him with a question. “So in this case you have revealed yourself to me, which is not what is normally done?” “No. It is done, but not as often as the more indirect meddling. This is the deal – for this mission I am required to integrate myself with the Primes. Hence I have assumed the age of sixteen and am explaining myself to you. I need you to introduce me as a transfer student from America. I will then join Harry Potter and his friends and assist him in completing the UO which is his fate.” “The Prophecy...” Dumbledore said softly. “Essentially a verbal declaration of the UO. Harry Potter has to kill Tom Riddle. I’ll do what I can within the Universal Intent to help him. From past experience that normally involves taking out the lesser enemies for him, blocking attacks sent at him and providing him with what information I can discern. When it comes down to the DMW himself, it’ll be up to Potter to take care of it. I can only work on getting him there.” “I’m sorry, DMW?” “Oh – Dead Man Walking. Or Dead Motherfucker Walking, depending on mood. It’s an informal acronym that field agents use to describe a primary target of any given UO. Voldemort has to go, so he’s the DMW.” “Why were you required to integrate?” “I don’t know,” Scott admitted. “To be honest, I was handed this mission in a hurry, and I’m behind the clock. They had someone else lined up who backed out, maybe…. I’m not sure what the story is. I don’t like it, but you do what you’re ordered to do. That’s part of the reason I’m explaining so much to you. I’m not fully prepared. You might be, and I could use your help.” “I’ll do what I can, but what information could you give Harry?” Dumbledore asked shrewdly. “How did you know the second war would come, and if you have foreknowledge, how much of it are you able to share?” “I’m not allowed to know everything,” Scott answered, looking resigned. “Even if I found out about something secret, the universe probably wouldn’t let me act until the UO goes away. Say I knew something about the future that, if you knew, it would change everything in a bad way. Like, if I knew that you would have to kill someone that you didn’t want to kill and I told you, you’d act differently when the time came and not kill them, screwing up the Universal Intent and possibly causing a CLR. I’ll tell Harry what I can – and what that is will change on a day to day basis. And that’s assuming I know anything worth telling him. Universes are always shifting. Some days I will be more limited than others, and, by contrast, some days and events I will be much freer to do whatever I want. When I’m actively participating, sometimes I’ll be able to feel things coming in the Universal Intent. My sixth sense, if you want to call it that, will provide either a strong hunch or even sometimes clear knowledge. The rest of it came with the papers.” Scott took a deep breath, looking as if he was searching for some way to conclude. “I’ll wrap it all up by saying, look at it this way – all that crap about Universal Objectives and Primes? It’s classical. The ragtag group of heroes go on a dangerous journey to slay a mighty dragon. The unwitting farm boy finds out he’s actually a King who has been hidden from dark forces. The last great Magician gives his life to destroy the ultimate evil. You see it in books; you see it in movies, in games. A boy named Harry Potter discovers he is famous in a wizarding world he didn’t know existed and that it is his prophesied fate to kill the Dark Wizard who murdered his parents. See? It’s just Destiny, with a capital D. All I do is make sure the good guys stay alive long enough to win. I’m not the hero of the story. I’m the insurance. I’m the plan B of the universe. “That’s really all there is to it. And if that seems grandeur-less, hey, that’s life. This is my job. Nine to five. I’m on the clock, under orders, trying to earn my pay grade. There’s nothing mystical about it,” he said flatly. Dumbledore sank back in his chair almost wearily, his sharp mind rapidly cataloguing the wealth of revelations that had just been poured into it. He would have much to think about, probably for the rest of his life. Scott was watching him closely. “So. How do you feel?” “Old,” Dumbledore said honestly, pushing his half-moon spectacles back up the bridge of his nose. “But enlightened. I will have to think about what you have told me, and I hope at some time in the future we might sit and talk again. As you can imagine, I have many more questions.” Scott laughed at that. “Albus, I’ve been around for a very, very long time and I still have questions. It really is true, you never stop learning. And speaking of learning…” “Yes, your attendance.” Dumbledore straightened in his chair. “I’ll get you a syllabus and book list. Are you going to be able to keep up with the other students in the sixth year?” “I’m a quick study. It helps that I have an eidetic memory. I’ve already been ploughing through a mountain of books, so don’t worry about that.” Scott hesitated. “I can’t promise to be a stellar student, but I think I’ll be able to scrape by with a passing grade.” Dumbledore nodded. “Will you require any money?” “I’ve got plenty of stuff to cash in at Gringotts. Money won’t be a problem,” Scott assured him. “Only thing I need from you is a signed admissions paper, plus anything else I’ll need to have a plausible background for going here.” “I can get the necessary things in order concerning your paperwork. I know some people in the American government who can supply me with the proper forms.” Dumbledore withdrew a blank copy of an admissions paper from a drawer in his desk and proceeded to fill it out with an experienced hand. Once finished, he signed it and handed it to Scott. “And where will you be staying?” Scott frowned. “I’m still working on that. I figure I can just rent an apartment somewhere. I’ll have Eva do it if my sister decides to age herself down to help out now and then.” “You have a sister? Will she be enrolling also?” “I doubt it. If she does, it’ll be later on; this is my show right now. She’ll probably drop in to check up on me though. She likes interrupting my work.” Scott grimaced. Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled in merriment. “Family is the burden we love to bear.” “Speak for yourself. Anyway, basically all I need from you is a ticket into the sixth year class. Other than that, I need to get into Gryffindor. I’m already here; there’s no point in working from a distance.” Scott jerked his chin towards the ratty old hat that sat next to Gryffindor’s Sword. “Is that the Sorting Hat?” “Yes it is. The hat will assign you your house in a sorting ceremony we hold before the first meal. Will is very important – if you wish to join Gryffindor house, the hat will sense it.” “That’s all well and good,” Scott said, pushing himself to his feet, “but I’d like to have a talk with it anyway.” Plucking the Sorting Hat off its shelf, he perfunctorily jammed it onto his head. ********** “What’s this?” The voice of the Sorting Hat rang tinnily inside Scott’s head, as if a small person were sitting in his ear. “In a hurry to be sorted, are we? Most irregular of course but, well… Let’s see what we have here….” Gryffindor please, Scott thought in a very boring tone, as if he were ordering lunch. “Hah! Yes, I saw that right away, that sense of humour…. They would enjoy such wit in Ravenclaw, you know. And what a mind lurks in here, fascinating, yes, fascinating…. A tip in the wrong direction and you’d have been an idiot savant, you’re not quite… stable?” Some people already hold that opinion of me. “I wouldn’t doubt it. Slytherin, no, that’s out of the question – there’s surprisingly little ambition in here…. But what summit could a sixteen year old have conquered, I wonder….” Yes yes, it’s all a rich tapestry. How about laying some Gryffindor on me now. “Oh no Mr. Kharan, I’m not done with you yet. Loyalty I see here too though not blind, it must be earned….” Get to the courage part already. “Most insistent, aren’t you, but very well…. My, my… You do indeed qualify to join the brave Gryffindors. In fact it seems that you would cheerfully mount an assault on Hell itself should the occasion require it of you…. Again, a mystery…. Under what circumstances could you have acquired such a disregard for personal safety?” It’s damn puzzling, alright. Guess you better just stick me into Gryffindor before you go crazy trying to figure it out. “But why, Mr. Kharan, why? … You’ve never passed through these halls before, I’d have to have sorted you, and clearly this is not the case so you have no friends at that table.… What is it that fuels this desire of yours?” Maybe I like red and gold. “Perhaps. Not to be difficult, you understand… I just love a challenge.” There’s something I have to do, and I need to be in Gryffindor to do it. “Very well, you may keep your secrets…. I see that the Headmaster is aiding you, which is good enough for me. When the time comes, I will place you in Gryffindor where, despite your hidden agenda, you will find a place.” Wait, what? Can’t you just sort me now? “I sort during the Sorting, strangely enough, Mr. Kharan. When that day comes, sit on the stool in the Great Hall, and I will sort you with the others… but not before. It just isn’t done, you understand.” And you get to make me the weird kid on my first day, getting sorted into sixth year. “I’m a simple hat, Scott Kharan, and I must take my pleasures where I can find them. A very good day to you.” Later. Scott placed the Sorting Hat respectfully back onto its shelf – he admired a worthy opponent. He still wasn’t looking forward to being the curio of the hour when he had to be sorted, however. ********** “Okay, that’s taken care of,” Scott said with some satisfaction, and turned back to Dumbledore. “I need to head out and get my stuff, figure out where I’m going to live, et cetera. I’ll be back later before school starts to pick up anything you need to give me.” Reaching over, he grasped Dumbledore’s good hand and shook it. “Thanks for at least pretending like you believe me.” “You made a convincing entrance,” Dumbledore smiled, returning the handshake. “Before you leave, could you perhaps demonstrate some greater proof? You’ve spoken of abilities you possess, but I’ve yet to witness any.” “Fair enough.” Scott scratched his head. “I’d like to do something really ostentatious like have you blow me up with a spell or something and regenerate, but my self-healing abilities are lacking in this teenage form. I need to be an adult to come into my full capabilities. So instead, go ahead and try to take me out, and I just won’t let you.” Dumbledore didn’t think that plan was very sound. “Forgive me if this seems altogether egotistical, but an inexperienced young wizard like yourself wouldn’t stand much chance of blocking me.” “I don’t even need a wand. The Kharadjai have power, and I mean it in the most literal sense. The manipulation of raw energy is our specialty, and that’s exactly what magic is. You can throw everything you’ve got at me, and I can just dissipate it.” Dumbledore looked somewhat sceptical. “That’s quite an advantage.” “It has its drawbacks. It’s easy to counter pure energy when someone throws it at you but a little harder to manipulate it without any rules. This is another one of those things that I could spend hours explaining; let’s just leave that alone for now.” “Very well,” Dumbledore accepted. “Defend yourself then.” He decided to start light. Raising his wand, he gestured at Scott. “Stupefy!” The red jet of light shot towards the boy, who remained still. But before impacting, it simply vanished without the slightest sound or movement from Scott. Dumbledore could feel the magic being snuffed out like a candle. Scott raised a mocking eyebrow. “Bad day? Need me to stand a little closer?” Almost despite himself, Dumbledore felt a little needled by that. He was not accustomed to having his spells, which were often significantly more powerful than the equivalent of other wizards, dismissed so easily. He took up the challenge. Soon the office was lit by a cacophony of spells, many of them high level incantations that carried injurious power, as Scott calmly evaporated every magical attack sent his way without so much as a wave of his arm. Dumbledore’s own arm was a blur as he gradually increased the both the power and speed of his attacks. Fawkes backed away in alarm, but the spells fortunately never ricocheted – they were completely nullified. At last Dumbledore lowered his arm, silently admitting defeat. There seemed little question that the boy standing nonchalantly in front of him was the most powerful person (or perhaps ‘being’?) he had ever encountered. By rights, the last round of spells should have left him unconscious and badly hurt. Scott tilted his head to one side. “Proof enough for you?” What Dumbledore needed was time to come to grips with everything he had been told and another session of question and answer. For now though, he would simply accept. He could hardly do otherwise faced with such obvious evidence. “Enough for now. You will be returning at some point to talk again?” “I put myself at your future disposal. Right now though, I need to lay the groundwork for my immediate future. I need to talk with Harry, and you can probably expect a letter from him since I’ll be dropping your name.” Dumbledore reseated himself. “I will make sure the other teachers are aware that we are receiving an exchange student from America. Do you have a story as to why?” “I was just going to say it was a family thing and let people draw their own conclusions.” “Very well, I will leave that to you.” Dumbledore peered at Scott over his half-moon glasses with serious eyes. “And I will also say that with all things considered, I wish you success in your venture. I fear we may need your interference on our behalf.” “We’ll see how it goes,” Scott said levelly. “I don’t know if it will make you feel any better, but I’ve had a lot of experience doing this sort of thing. Try to put me out of your mind when it comes to Harry and the Prophecy. Remember, this is his job to do, and it involves you too. Keep doing what you were doing; use the help I give you to further your own ends. You can’t sit back and relax and just let me do everything for you because I can’t. I’m the contingency plan, remember? Consider me another weapon in your war, but don’t discount the others. It’s my job to keep you all alive, but you’ll make my job that much harder if you don’t keep yourself alive.” Dumbledore nodded gravely. “I will consider what you have told me. Good luck.” “’Once more into the breach,’” Scott quoted. Before leaving the office, he turned in the doorway and sketched a small salute to Dumbledore. Then the door closed behind him, and Dumbledore was left to his thoughts. Dumbledore didn’t hear the stone staircase descending. He knew the Kharadjai had already gone.
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