His Teacher

His Teacher

Chapter Five: ‘Empathycal Uncertainty’

It was dark in the room, the only light coming from the torch-like lamp standing in the middle of the round table. It reflected its light onto the faces of the people that sat around it, making their features more intimidating. There were around seven of them, all clad in black, and they stood up as two more entered the room and the whole space lit up suddenly.

“Thank you for coming,” said an elderly man who just had entered.

“How long was it since we have been gathered in this room?” came a raspy voice from the back of the room.

“Let’s just get this done with please.” A younger looking man with nicely cut auburn hair that had just come in said, his eyes nervously glancing at the occupants of the room.

“Not so pleased to be in our company, Andrew?”

“That would officially be an understatement,” he said, disdain evident in his voice. His eyes grew slightly wide as he heard some light chuckling regarding his nervousness.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. “Of course I understand your desire to share politeness with each other, but I’m afraid we have no time for that right now.”

“You speak in a way which implies that someone might actually care about your opinion on the matter, Albus,” said a man with a thick Russian accent.

“Mr. Dolohov, please keep quiet, for I am not addressing you at the moment,” Albus answered calmly. “So shall I begin then?”

* * *

Harry opened his eyes as he heard distant voices. He tried to sit up, but his head started pounding again and he fell back limply.

“Drink this, Harry,” a voice echoed in his mind. He felt a hand on the back of his neck as a glass was raised to his mouth. The liquid brushed against his lips and he gulped. Not being able to identify the taste, he smiled as it tingled in his throat. His head felt lighter, the pounding subsiding quickly. He finally managed to sit up and open his eyes. Lauren was sitting at the side of his bed with a glass of some thick silvery liquid in her hands.

“Damn my head,” he cursed loudly, rubbing his temple.

“How are you feeling now, Harry?” she asked, her tone not baring the slightest tone of concern.

He winced at her voice. “I’m fine I think, not that I can really think right now.” He smiled at Adam, who was leaning against the far wall. “What happened?” He momentarily wondered why that was always the first question he asked.

Lauren laughed cynically, “You were drunk.”

“Drunk? No way.” He looked at Adam then bac Lau Lauren with surprise. “I only had some punch.”

“Not drunk on alcohol, Harry…emotions,” she said simply and placed the glass onto the bedside table.

“I don’t understand,” Harry said truthfully.

Lauren sighed and shook her head. “Adam, please leave us for a second.”

“But I wanted to--” Adam looked abashed for a second before starting to protest.

“Adam, there is something important that I need to discuss with Harry.”

But it seemed that he didn’t even consider giving up. Harry watched in amazement as Lauren looked at him coldly and as he glared back.

“Adam,” she whispered, a slight note of warning in her voice, “I really do not care that you wanted to do something, and I also want you to notice that I’m letting the fact that you were out of your bed, in the other wing of the mansion in the middle of the night slip.”

Harry suddenly saw a slight flush creeping up to Adam’s neck. Not that he was admiring the boy’s beautiful body, of course! He’d just noticed…

“Fine,” Adam snapped and swiftly left the room, slamming the door.

Lauren rolled her eyes. “Teenagers.”

As Harry started getting up and looking for his clothes, he laughed, “I can’t remember where I put my clothes.”

“Nothing surprising in that, you were in no state to undress yourself so Adam did that for you,” she stated matter-of-factly.

Harry froze in mid movement, looked down at himself wearing only boxers tryitrying to put on his shorts and felt himself blushing furiously.

“Not that you minded, of course.”

Harry’s eyes widened.

“Anyway, where were we? Ah right, Harry, do you remember the potion that I gave you after your first day of training?”

“Y-yes.” Harry was still trying not to look up, but that was rather difficult to do, for her tone always demanded eye contact.

“Well, that potion is also a part of your lesson. You see, it was designed to inspect your mind’s power.”

There was a dumb silence in the room. “What?”

Lauren sighed again. “I gave you that potion in order to know which ability is stronger, empathy or apathy.”

“What does that have to do with my head?”

She looked at him with one perfectly arched eyebrow. “Actually, thas evs everything to do with your head, Harry.” She laughed curtly and continued, “Though that potion has some side effects.”

“Side effects?” Harry repeated.

“Yes, that is what I said. Every powerful emotion that you feel, in the time as the potion is touring through your brain, can trigger also a powerful response from your body system.”

Harry thought about what she said for a moment. “You mean that I felt a powerful emotion and it made me get drunk?”

“Well, partially yes.”

“But I was just talk-” he ended abruptly.

She smiled and laughed lightly. “It is really none of my business.” She waved her hands slightly and walked to the door. “Go visit Adam, I might have lessened his spirits slightly, only don’t take too long, breakfast is ready.”

Harry could’ve sworn that she winked at him.

* * *

“Are you insane, Dumbledore?” Andrew asked through gritted teeth.

“Were you even listening to me, Mr. Bagnold?” Dumbledore asked, not losing his grandfatherly-like appearance. He knew perfectly well that the young Minister had every right to be frustrated with the offer that Albus had made to him.

“Yes, Professor Dumbledore, I was. And out of what I heard, I simply concluded that I am just wasting my time here. There is nothing you can do that can change the Council’s decision. Mr. Devilsky will not be freed under any circumstances.” The young Minister of Magic stood up and turned to walk out of the conference room.

“Andrew, you are making a mistake,” Albus said simply.

“No, Albus. Your country nearly pleaded with us to take that man into our borders; we did; now you are pleading again to let him out? He is one of the most dangerous men on earth…” he trailed off, seeming to be thinking about something.

“Do you finally understand what your privileges out of this situation are?”

There was a long pause before the man sighed. “I shall attend the Council for agreement, which is impossible. But if…” He glared at Albus, “-if anything will happen in our borders, I will have no mercy, and you will face what is coming to you.”

“Of course, Andrew.” Dumbledore smiled.

“You are a brave man, Dumbledore. Voldemort, Masters and now Devilsky. All in one country. Amazing.”

* * *

The door to the round room opened again, and two men entered, pushing another one into the room.

“Such wonderful boys you two are,” the man said and blew them a kiss as his ‘bodyguards’ closed the door behind them as they left. He looked at the door for a strange moment as if considering something, then turned sharply. He was wearing a white t-shirt that looked entirely too worn, and jeans, which were slightly faded and torn in a few places. His chocolate eyes scanned the occupants of the room. The man sat down and put up his legs onto the table.

“Mr. Devilsky, I am an ambassador of the-”

“Just Dmitriy, what is it with you and formalities?” He took a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit up one.

The ambassador watched this, not entirely sure if smoking was allowed in such institutions.

“Want a cancer stick?” the man asked, offering his pack to him.

His observer looked baffled for a moment and then shook his head.

“Suit yourself,” he said as he leaned back, closed his eyes and took a long drag out of his cigarette. “Dumbledore, can you just show yourself? No point in playing hide and seek.”

The figure of Albus ledoledore appeared in the room. “Dmitriy.”

“The one and only,” he smirked. “So grandpa, have you brought me biscuits or are you here about anything important?”

“Mr. Devilsky, that is in no way allowable-”

“Robert, it is fine.” Albus’s eyes started to twinkle, and he sat down. There was a long moment of silence before he smiled and continued, “I think I will just get right to the point at hand.”

Dmitriy smirked. “Certainly.”

“As you wish. Maybe you have heard that Voldemort is planning attacks.” He watched the man very closely, trying not to miss anything. “War will be here soon, Dmitriy.”

“Sure, I’m not deaf. So?” he answered, inspecting his left hand.

“We need your help,” Albus stated curtly.

Dmitriy looked at Dumbledore blankly for a long moment and blinked. He glanced at Robert, who was squirming uneasily, and suddenly burst out laughing. Albus and Robert shared a significant glance and continued to watch him.

After some time he gradually calmed down, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. He grinned at both of them, and his expression suddenly changed to one of stony seriousness. “Fine then, first, what makes you think that I want to help? Second, I’m pretty comfortable where I am, thank you. Besides, I don’t see any profit in it for me, anyway.”

“Would you like some tea?” Dumbledore asked as a tray with some tea and three cups appeared on the table.

“Ah, tea, how lovely,” Dmitriy said, clasping his hands over his chest, and leaning forward slightly, pouring some tea for himself. Holding the cup firmly in his hands, he closed his eyes and took in the smell that lingered in the room-the unique smoke of his finest cigarettes and the smell of the tea. He savored the moment for as long as possible, seeming to be dreaming about something. A smile broke out on hice. ce. “Russian Caravan.”

Dumbledore nodded.

“My favorite. You have an amazing head, Albus, to remember such details.”

Robert stiffened slightly and looked from Dumbledore to Dmitriy in surprise.

“Dmitriy, there is a certain offer that we wanted to offer you.”

He smirked. “Offer me an offer? Your English is interesting.”

“Thank you. But in return, we would like you to take on a mission.” Albus set down his cup and smiled, his eyes twinkling.

“Such fancy words,” Dmitriy answered, looking at the wall blankly.

“We would like you to play a role, if that is more familiar to your ears.” There suddenly appeared a note of warning in his tone.

“Should’ve said so right away. What do I get?”

Tension started building up in the room, and Robert was wise enough to stay quiet. He passed a rolled up parchment to Dmitriy, who in turn looked at it skeptically for a long moment before taking it in his hands. Dumbledore nodded at him as if approving.

As he opened the parchment and looked over it, his eyes widened. “Damn, what do you want me to do?”

Dumbledore’s expression grew cold. “Any ideas?”

He scratched his chin, seeming oblivious to the seriousness of Albus’s gaze. “You probably want me to play an escape, infiltrate into the Death Eater circle and blow it up from the inside? But that is too easy, so…” he trailed off.

“That is partially true.” It seemed that Dumbledore wanted to say something else but changed his mind. “We want you to ‘infiltrate’, as you adequately put it, into the trust of just one pe, if, if that can be said.”

Dmitriy narrowed his eyes. “This is getting suspicious.”

“She is starting to make us worry, so you must find out what she wants,” he stated.

“She? Oh I like this now. Who is this ‘she’?”

There was a very long pause before Dumbledore whispered, as if afraid that he might be heard correctly, “Lauren Masters.” mitrmitriy went into another fit of hysterical laughter, which filled the room with its simple brightness and the feeling of carelessness. “You seem to be gaining some wittiness as you grow older, Albus.”

* * *

Breakfast, being a very formal affair in the Malfoy Mansion, required that everyone is in the designated place at the designated time. And this morning, the same tall blonde-haired teen was late…Just as he suspected, when he entered the dining room, he found his parents sitting at opposite ends of the table eating quietly. He hesitated for a moment before sitting down in a chair that clo closer to his mother. He sighed with relief as Lucius didn’t seem to notice. A plate appeared in front of him and he started eating, still wondering why there were no comments about him being…

“You are late, Draco,” Lucius stated, not looking up.

Draco stiffened and didn’t even think about looking up. “I’m sorry, father, yesterday was tiring.”

“I believe so.”

He felt the smile in those words - it seemed like his father was in a very good mood. He gathered some courage to look up finally and found Lucius looking at him questioningly with a warm smile on his face, well as warm as Lucius’s smile can get.

“Son, there are some matters that I must discuss with you immediately; just as you finish your breakfast, you must come to the study.” With that Lucius got up and walked to where Narcissa sat and kissed her hand.

“Yes, I will father,” Draco said distractedly. It was long since Lucius was so gentle with his mother. He smiled to himself.

Just as his father had requested, as soon as Draco finished his breakfast, he went into the study.

Lucius sat at his desk writing something on a piece of parchment.

With a slight moment of hesitation, Draco sat down opposite of his father and watched him for awhile.

“Draco,” Lucius started, his voice seeming detached. “As I said earlier, there are matters which I must discuss with you. I believe you wanted to talk about something, too.”

“Yes, father.”

“I must apologize for the failure of your previous attempts, but there has been much going on.”

“I understand. It is not so important anyway, there is no need to worry.” Draco held back the sigh that threatened to escape from his lips. “I just wanted to tell you about Professor Snape, and that he has proved to-”

“No, Draco,” Lucius said softly as he held up his hand to stop Draco from any explanation that might have come, “-you are supposed to keep that knowledge from me, just the way it was planned.”

“I know I promised father, but I just wanted to warn yoherehere-”

“Draco,” he sighed, “there is no need, I already know.”

Draco looked at his father closely - something seemed amiss with him. Lucius, always being the picture-perfect Malfoy, looked, if that was even possible, disheveled. His usually icy grey eyes looked clouded, as if he was constantly thinking about something that disturbed him.

Silence hung in the room as Draco observed his father, who seemed to be captured in his own mind, not aware of his surroundings.

“What do you think about Ms. Masters?” The question that Lucius voiced suddenly made Draco jump slightly. He could not say what startled him about the question, was it the Lucius’s tone, or the question itself.

“She seems well known.” Draco really did not have an answer to that question; he was startled again with the sound of Lucius’s laugh.

“Maybe I should precise the question.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Draco, do you consider Lauren to be a person you can trust?”

The manner in which Lucius asked this question caused a chill to rise up Draco’s spine. A long moment passed. Just as Draco opened his mouth to answer Lucius he heard a voice from behind him.

“The answer is yes, Lucius.”

Draco quickly turned around to look at his mother. She smiled softly at him and walked over to his father, placing her hands on Lucius’s shoulders.

“Narcissa, we already talked about this.”

Draco knew that usually his father’s tone would hold a note of warning, but at this moment it held only…defeat? He took in the form of his father again.

Lucius sat in his chair and looked down at his hands, which were folded upon the table; his shoulders were slumped slightly as his eyelids fluttered shut for a moment. He was exhausted, but there was a secret smile that lifted the corners of his lips slightly.

“Draco, there is so much that I should explain to you right now, but I am afraid that I can’t.” Lucius got up and walked round the table to stand opposite to where Draco sat, looking up at him. “All I will ask you for right now is your forgiveness.”

Draco started getting up slowly. “Forgiveness for what, father?”

Lucius signed shakily. “For this.”

It was an instant after Lucius whispered, “Sopor,” when Draco fell back into the chair limply.

Narcissa smiled down at her son and placed a light kiss onto his forehead. “You are doing the right thing, Lucius, do not worry.” She smiled again and walked out of the room.

Lucius stood silently looking at the spot where he had seen the light blue ray hit his son’s chest a minute ago. He closed his eyes and sighed again. As he opened them, he saw the two cloaked men lift Draco from the chair by the arms. He walked over to the wi and and stared blankly into the sky. Just as he shut his eyes tightly again, he heard an almost soundless crack which indicated that he was alone in his study again.

* * * * *