The office of the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Order of Merlin, First Class, everyone's favorite and simply a great man, Albus Dumbledore, looked as if nothing had ever happened in it, no incidents or unforeseen troubles. The only difficulty in restoration was the books, but they were copies anyway—not a problem to create them again.
Under the light of magical lanterns and lamps, in the silence of the night, the Headmaster was now sitting at his desk, sorting through papers, signing or putting them aside, waiting for the visit of two wizards.
The door to the office opened, but Albus already knew who was there—the characteristic knock of the prosthesis could be confused with little else.
"Albus," Moody nodded and walked to one of the armchairs, simultaneously quickly looking around.
Following Moody, Snape entered the office, as always, all in black, and took a comfortable place for him by the bookcases, next to a large brown globe. Standing.
"Alastor, Severus," Dumbledore nodded to them, putting aside the papers. "Glad to see you. Tea? Or something stronger?"
"I have my own," Moody shook the flask taken out of his bosom, uncorked it and took a sip—a barely perceptible smell of not bad whiskey and spices spread through the office.
"I'll refuse," Severus answered dryly.
"As you wish. And I, perhaps, will drink a cup, otherwise have to work all night."
Dumbledore waved his hand, a tea set flew from the far corner of the office, but only one porcelain cup was filled with tea from the teapot. Taking a sip and nodding satisfied, Dumbledore looked at his night visitors.
"So, what brought you two here at the same time?"
"Hmm..." Moody settled more comfortably, and clearly decided to speak first. "Thanks to Severus and his description of the personalities of the older Notts, my daredevils prevented three actions against the Granger couple."
"Even so?" the Headmaster was a little surprised.
"Well, not quite. Thanks to the tip, their house was covered with a dense cap of surveillance. Two actions were organized through intermediaries, no one saw the customers in person, the task—to look and check what kind of Muggles are there. Nothing special. The third action—for the purpose of self-mutilation. Vile marginal was tied up, kept sitting in holes, and here crawled out. Been looking for a long time, heh..."
Moody took a sip of his drink from the flask again and unceremoniously sniffed this business with his sleeve, under the comradely reproachful look of both the Headmaster and Snape.
"It seems to me that you want to add something else," Dumbledore followed Moody's example, but not in the "sleeve" issue—just drank some tea.
"That is so," the retired Auror nodded, and his artificial eye spun, instantly inspecting the entire office in a second. "There was a fourth action. And here some absurdity begins."
"Such good mercenaries?"
"Nah," Moody waved it off and knocked his staff on the floor. "Complete rednecks who will sell their own mother for half a Galleon. That's not the problem. The mercenary was one. Apparently, as soon as he entered the house while no one was there, he was immediately cut off. Darkly cut off. You, Albus, have you ever been in a torture chamber? Without magic, without any darkness, but in an ordinary one?"
"Had such an experience."
"So my fighters, true not immediately, but figured out that there was some trace, such, you know..." Moody showed something small with two fingers. "Ti-i-iny trace. And a breakdown from Apparition or a Portkey."
"Of course, they rushed in pursuit?" Dumbledore asked a logical question.
"Of course. Considering the speed of response, someone purposefully blurred the trace—too little time passed. In general, they moved, and there—a glade and a smoldering ashes. Only the door to the house survived, and a strip of floor to the center of the hall. As if someone purposefully forced the house to burn so as to leave an exit for wizards in it. Well, and these mercenaries were found. They got it good—Healers still rack their brains about what kind of curse is on them."
"And what does it do? Maybe Severus knows?"
Snape reacted to these words only by focusing on Moody so as not to miss a word.
"Some kind of directly... Tricky, and most importantly—the semantic message in it is clear. Heh, funny even."
"Alastor," the Headmaster looked reproachfully at the old Auror, but he only waved it off.
"In short, it's a long story about the essence, but I literally see the text of the note that could be left by the one who pacified this carrion: 'I didn't kill you, but as soon as you get tired of such a life, you can always climb into the noose yourself'. They cannot move sharply, cannot conjure, speak about magic and even think! At the slightest attempt—effect, like from Cruciatus! Pain relief spells, potions and ordinary chemistry, Muggle drugs up to anesthesia—nothing helps and brings no result."
"Well, don't treat them," Severus shrugged. "Many who do not disdain mockery of ordinary people, while being bums of our world—are not worthy of treatment."
Moody turned to Snape, and there was a smirk on his scarred face.
"Good opinion you have of yourself."
"Don't twist," Snape twitched the corner of his mouth, expressing his disagreement. "I was a potioneer, a Healer and along the way became an expert in identifying Dark Magic. The only sensible potioneer, and only thanks to this I was assisted in mastery. And only for this I ended up in the Inner Circle. Comparison of me with maniacs, bastards or psychos is inappropriate here."
"Enough," Dumbledore interrupted the incipient skirmish. "I do not deny that it infinitely amuses me how you bicker, but everything has its time and place. Continue, Alastor."
"So here. We treat them not out of kindness of soul, but to interrogate. All questions are somehow connected with magic, and as soon as they even think about it—that's it, carry out the ready one. The only thing we fished out of them—plague doctor."
"Plague Doctor?" Dumbledore was surprised, starting to immediately think over options, without really having an idea of the picture both in general and as a whole, while the Headmaster reflexively stroked his long gray beard.
"I am surprised that these dregs are familiar with such an image at all," Moody chuckled, and Snape agreed with him.
"This is interesting," the Headmaster nodded. "Unexpected image."
"You will be even more interested now," Snape took a step forward, as if out of formation. "The question concerns the Notts."
"Listening to you carefully, Severus," Dumbledore nodded, and Moody turned in his chair half a turn to better see the interlocutor.
"We all know that the Nott lands, occupied by their antediluvian, undeveloped, rigid and inert..."
"Stop your flow of disdain for their activities," Dumbledore put his hands in a protective gesture with a smirk. "We all know that many private industries of old families have not fallen apart so far purely by a miracle."
"...were subjected to an unknown and extremely tricky Dark Curse. I was there at their request, saw. Peculiar."
"Could you remove it?"
"Even if I could, I wouldn't. I strictly adhere to non-interference of adults in the lives of children at Hogwarts. With some exceptions. I have no proof, but indirectly I am sure that it was the Notts, and precisely the older ones, who sent at least one mercenary to 'ruffle' Granger's parents. And considering various information—I am sure of this. But that's not the point. These lands were bought by Jean-Paul Delacour, you know him."
"Of course," Dumbledore nodded. "Quite a cunning and shrewd French businessman and politician. He is among those interested in establishing normal relations with magical England. But did he really buy lands under a Curse that 'ours' could not remove?"
"Bought. Easily and without much bargaining. And today this curse was removed. My man says that before this, someone in the image of a Plague Doctor stepped on the former Nott lands."
"Well, so it turned out," Dumbledore nodded, and Moody took out the flask again and took a relish sip.
"So," Moody drawled, "we have a new strong dark wizard?"
"Don't think..." Dumbledore thought for a couple of seconds, and no one interrupted his reflections. "Severus, tell me, what is the probability that this wizard is young Hector?"
"Granger? There is always a probability, but specifically in this case, it is vanishingly small."
"Reasons?"
"He just started getting acquainted with maleficism, and quite recently asked questions about its very basis. There is work of a completely different level. Completely."
"Hmm... Maybe young Mr. Granger has a connection with this Doctor?"
"Again, possibly," Snape nodded. "But why then did he ask such questions? Why so eager to study the library? After all, if he has such a strong and experienced acquaintance, or mentor, or someone else who even looks after the house and parents... Then why not give a couple of books to a promising wizard? Many inconsistencies."
"Agree with Snape," Moody nodded. "The boy is definitely not dark—such distortions in magic are felt when you apply Imperio to a wizard. I only recently achieved success—everyone in the fourth year if not successfully resist, then at least understand that they are under submission and try to throw it off. Granger is absolutely clean in this regard."
"Maybe he doesn't even know that he is being looked after?" Snape asked a completely logical question, which aroused the interest of his interlocutors. "Well, why not? He is a very promising and talented wizard with extremely extraordinary mental abilities. You don't need to be told how strongly the adequacy of a dark wizard depends on his brains. Such a unique wizard can be safely transferred such specific knowledge and skills, without fear that he will fly off the rails and drown the world in blood."
"And are you not against it?" Moody turned to Dumbledore with displeasure, pondering the probabilities.
"Against? What exactly? Did I say at least once in my life that I am against dark magic?" the Headmaster took a sip of tea. "I only claim that one should not seek power by sacrificing the lives and health of other wizards. Mr. Granger repeatedly turned to me for access to the Restricted Section, quite clearly formulating the goals and tasks that he set for himself. Of course, they implied the study of Dark sections of magic. Did I read him lectures about the danger hidden in the pages of such books? No—I already see understanding in his eyes."
"Pah, understanding," Moody resented, but it looked more like senile grumbling.
"If young Ronald Weasley approached me with such a request, or Draco," the Headmaster looked at Snape, "no offense, Severus..."
Snape nodded briefly.
"...then young Ronald would hear a long and mandatory for understanding lecture about the harm of dark magic. And young Draco without unnecessary conversations would be sent to his ancestral library, and I am sure Lucius would not let him near it even at the distance of a Bombarda flight."
"And Miss Granger?" Snape was interested in the Headmaster's opinion.
"Miss Granger? Exactly the same as Ronald. She is smart, talented and has a good memory. Unfortunately, she flatly refuses to perceive magic properly. For her, all this—many small rituals with a wand or other variations of strictly defined actions, and the meaning is only in them."
"So maybe it's worth changing the program somehow?" Moody knocked his staff on the floor. "To instill the correct understanding, control, look after."
"Alastor," Dumbledore sighed. "Tell you the address of the Ministry, the Department of Education and the Board of Governors so that you can send your complaints there? I do not decide such issues, as well as funding issues. You can ask Pomona in how many of her greenhouses students help grow ingredients for sale to replenish the budget. Or you can ask Severus how many potions leave the tray."
"Well, why are these goats sitting on the board, where are they looking?" Moody once again expressed dissatisfaction.
"And they don't care about Hogwarts," Dumbledore shrugged, finishing his tea. "Already for a long time. They can teach their children themselves, and they don't care about those who can't. For them, our school has long been not a school, but one big camp where you can send kids off so that they cook in the company of their peers. We even prepared the castle for the Tournament ourselves, and the Ministry only hired DMLE and Auror Office, for security. I've been thinking for years about how to attract more money to the school. It's good that thanks to the Tournament we can devote the next two years to compiling a good idea, and not look for money every day with the entire teaching staff, like epileptics."
"Okay, I understood, spare me from such things," Moody backed down, taking a sip from the flask. "You better tell me this—what to do with the Plague Doctor? And with Granger?"
"Nothing."
Such an answer caused surprise in everyone.
"Regarding the new figure in our magical arena—need to wait, see what and how this Doctor will do, and then decide. But my gut tells me that he—is like a response to aggression towards Granger or his family. Severus, be kind, ask Lucius to admonish the particularly inadequate not to meddle with students and their families. Moreover, you have something to take care of."
"For some 'This'—is a reason to go all out."
"Means these are their problems," the Headmaster nodded. "A second chance is 'second' for a reason that it is not 'third'."
"Everything is clear... And Granger?"
"Teach, Alastor. Teach the boy further. Severus, push him to study Occlumency, only unobtrusively. Well or vice versa, uncompromisingly. Perhaps this will be the last brick for guaranteed preservation of his mind."
"Better you," Moody sat more comfortably, "cared so much about teaching Potter. In light of upcoming events, which, as I understood, are inevitable, good skills will be useful to him."
"Believe me, old friend, this will have no effect. He is the same as his father—restless, hot-tempered, too susceptible to emotions and only in them is his strength," Dumbledore nodded importantly. "Twenty years won't be enough for me to pull him to Tom's level, and dark magic can be forgotten altogether—it will consume him. If he is destined to defeat him—he will win. If not—then not."
"Everything is clear, go think a thought," Moody grunted, got up from the armchair and without saying goodbye left the office.
"Headmaster..." Snape began to speak, but Dumbledore interrupted him with a gesture.
"I understand everything, Severus, as well as yours and Alastor's concern. Believe me, even if Hector decides to study dark magic also from a practical point of view, then personally for himself he will avoid any harm and will make every effort for this. And regarding other aspects of such... You know how gently he treats offenders? Would you do the same yourself? At his age?"
"I, Headmaster, even now would hardly restrain myself from inflicting grievous bodily harm."
"That's what I'm talking about."
"You don't think that he, or this... Doctor... Will compete with the Dark Lord when he returns?"
"There is such a probability," the Headmaster nodded. "Worth remembering Mr. Granger's blood status. In any scenario, they will not be on the same side of the barricades, otherwise Tom will lose ideological supporters, and precisely there—wizards with money and skills. Besides maniacs and marginals, of course. Well, and if this unknown Doctor is really so interested in Granger that he provides him with such non-trivial, albeit unobvious support—he will not be on Tom's side either. I never fought with Dark Wizards, Severus. But with psychos, murderers and maniacs, with deaths and tortures for the sake of power. Not my fault that a large share of all this falls precisely on the Dark ones."
"I'll look after him."
"Good, Severus. Good..."
Snape nodded and left the Headmaster's office, leaving Dumbledore in thought.
"Healer. Dark. Adequate. Strong. Muggle-born..." the Headmaster thoughtfully drummed his fingers on the table. "Amazing combination, for one person. Even interesting where he will come in the end."
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