Chapter 116: Dumbledore's Little Magic, Immortality?
The small room with the Mirror of Erised.
A shadow twisted into being before Leonardo, swirling like water in a flushing drain, then resolved into a tall, silver-haired, silver-bearded old man.
Dumbledore looked at Leonardo's slight smile and sighed. "Leonardo, you are very keen indeed to notice that little magic."
Little magic?
Well, small in scale, perhaps. Even with the Peeking Fiend's Eye fully invoked, Leonardo had spent a long time searching the room before he caught a clump of power no bigger than a mosquito. In structure, though, the Headmaster's remote scrying spell was anything but small.
At first glance, it had looked like a tangle of chaotic force. Only on close study did the overlapping currents and interlaced knots of magic show themselves. Some of the incantatory traces he recognized only from ancient spellbooks, and then only a scrap here and there.
The greatest wizard of the century did not pull out ordinary tricks.
"Headmaster, tonight was good luck," Leonardo said.
There was little false modesty in it. During the Quidditch match, he had not found the Headmaster's surveillance at all. The space had been too wide, too full of bodies. In that kind of chaos, finding a drifting speck the size of a gnat was beyond even the Peeking Fiend's Eye.
Here, the room was small, no other magic interfered, and Dumbledore had not dispelled the spell. Only that made it possible.
Dumbledore shook his head. "Luck? There are not many in this school with such 'luck'. And your Animagus… Leonardo, do you remember you are a first-year?"
He truly did not know whether to laugh or sigh. He could accept a student becoming an Animagus while still at school. A handful of hot-blooded boys had tried it decades ago and succeeded. But this child? James Potter and his friends had not attempted it until their fifth year. They had talent and luck, but they had also studied for years and built a foundation in Transfiguration.
This boy had been at it for half a year.
And his process was already this polished.
Dumbledore had noticed something else. Leonardo shifted between man and beast without his wand, a technique practiced by Animagi. How long had it been since he became one? Dumbledore suspected it had been Christmas night. He had been out visiting an old friend, away from Hogwarts, but the ghosts' later reports spoke of a vast thunderstorm rising from nowhere.
Animagus work needed a full Transfiguration base and a large share of luck. The most capricious parts were not in human hands: on the second full moon, the Mandrake leaf had to catch the moonlight, and clouds could ruin it. And then there was the thunderstorm. Weeks or months of waiting were common. Some poor souls waited years.
How long had Leonardo waited? A month?
A rare uncertainty touched the bright blue eyes. Could the boy really be this lucky? He did not believe a child of six months' training could conjure a storm to his own standard. And a magic-born storm would taint the rite besides. Yet the boy's transformation had been smooth, natural, without a hitch.
"Leonardo, if you do not mind, will you demonstrate?" Dumbledore asked.
Leonardo nodded and, in his mind, assembled the image of an owl. His body shifted at once into a perfectly ordinary owl. The more common the animal, the better the camouflage. Owls were rare enough in parts of the Muggle world, but here they were as familiar as teacups. Generations had served as the wizarding world's post. Of all beasts, save pets, they were the ones wizards knew best.
Turn into a crocodile, a brown bear, a lion, and one could not stroll through a crowd.
Thanks to Loki's Faceless, that apex Transfiguration gift, Leonardo's Animagus was no single form. He could vary the markings, the eye color, the pelt, the pattern at will. Ordinary Animagi bore fixed traits. Professor McGonagall's tabby cat, for instance, always had the squares around the eyes.
Dumbledore could not help but give a small round of applause. "Excellent. Your talent is truly rare."
Hoo.
At the most commonplace of owl calls, Dumbledore's eyes crinkled behind his lenses. "An owl does suit you. Keen senses, a friendly face, and a raptor underneath."
The owl flapped once, rose a hand's breadth, and settled again. Dumbledore's smile grew. "Tell me, those Christmas gifts everyone received, did you deliver them yourself?"
The owl's head turned halfway round and back, and dipped.
New toys are wanted for playing with. Real owls worked themselves to the bone on holidays, dawn to dusk and back again. A few side trips with a light parcel were nothing in comparison.
Leonardo became himself again. "Headmaster, did you like my present?"
Dumbledore stroked his beard, eyes soft. "The socks are very soft and warm. I have not received… of course, the little machine is also delightful."
With a flick of his hand, a curious mechanical contraption appeared: a reclining spider with a ball of yarn in its belly. Its long, spindly legs rose and fell, weaving the thread into a woolen sock.
"A deft piece of Transfiguration with a dash of alchemy. You learn quickly."
"Thanks to my professors' guidance, and yours," Leonardo said. "There is still a great deal to learn."
Dumbledore chuckled. "A good student is a joy. How about it, would you like to learn this little scrying charm?"
Seeing Leonardo's eyes light with clean delight, he added, "It has limits. The complexity is one. It does not last long, and only a few can be maintained at once. You cannot watch every corner."
That was no surprise. The finer the craft, the sharper the bounds.
"When I use it, I watch only the most important people and things. You see what I mean."
Leonardo nodded. "Harry. The Philosopher's Stone."
A flicker of surprise crossed Dumbledore's eyes. "Oh? You know about the Stone already. Faster than expected."
Leonardo drew a Chocolate Frog card from his pocket. "First, I heard Mr Flamel's name from Hagrid. Then I saw it again on this card. And I have been reading. Six hundred and sixty-five years is quite an age."
Dumbledore listened to the clean line of his thinking and sighed at his own face on the card. "I know Hagrid is your friend. He is reliable; one could trust him with one's life. Secrets, however…"
Leonardo's mouth twitched. Hagrid, a sieve for secrets, was raised on Veritaserum.
"Headmaster, did you not intend Hagrid to lead Harry to this knowledge and to Nicolas Flamel?"
Dumbledore sighed again. "Leonardo, you are very clever. Perhaps too clever. With you, Harry's path would be easy, every problem solved. But sometimes one must face difficulty alone to grow."
Leonardo understood. The saviour's training. Harry must meet Voldemort again and again, growing in magic and in courage enough to face his enemy. The prophecy said only the Boy Who Lived could truly end him, and Dumbledore believed it.
So he was, almost openly, asking Leonardo not to smooth the road too much.
But…
Leonardo remembered what Firenze had told him in the Forbidden Forest months ago: You will alter the tracks people are meant to follow. In this world, prophecy stood. Fate had its rails. Yet the centaur had claimed Leonardo would change the paths of those around him.
How far could he change them?
Already, he had changed Harry's course in one small way. With tutoring, Harry had advanced in Potions long before he ever touched the Half-Blood Prince's notes. That change was real, visible.
As for the end of Voldemort, the saviour's hand… that could not be seen yet.
He had caught another word in Dumbledore's speech: easy. That, he did not share.
He drew a paper from his pocket. "Would you care to see Harry's recent work?"
Dumbledore nodded, genuinely curious. He knew Harry had been studying with Leonardo and had heard from Snape that the boy had made notable strides in Potions. He did not know the breadth of what the boy was learning.
He scanned the exam and grew more and more surprised. "Does Harry do problems like this regularly?"
"Not regularly," Leonardo said. "This was the final, covering Charms, History of Magic, Herbology, and the first-year range. There were practicals too: brewing, planting, casting. Usually, I focus on Potions with him."
Dumbledore dabbed his brow. "That is quite a lot."
What he did not say was that the scope outstripped the school's plan in every subject. In sum, it was no small load.
"Children are still young," he ventured. "Learning should be happy, should it not?"
Leonardo shook his head, voice steady. "There is a saying. If you do not work hard in youth, you will only regret it in old age. When you are young, you should learn more. And look here, these are Harry's earlier tests."
He laid them out in order. Dumbledore went from the first to the last and nodded. "His progress is clear."
"Harry's talent is strong, especially in Potions and in Defense Against the Dark Arts," Leonardo said. "He has paid me well. In the second year, I want to begin formal Defense theory with him. Practical trials are indispensable, but the foundation must be laid in step, even in advance."
Dumbledore's approval was plain. "Harry is fortunate in his friends. Have you considered staying on at Hogwarts after you graduate? You have a gift for teaching."
Leonardo did not answer at once. It was a good offer. Teaching here, honing himself as he taught. Or travelling first, reading ten thousand miles as well as ten thousand books. The world was full of ruins and local magics.
"A flattering offer. If I have the good luck to be invited, I will consider it."
The Headmaster nodded, pleased. Then a thought seemed to strike him. He slipped a hand into his pocket and withdrew it slowly.
A half-transparent red stone lay in his palm.
"Leonardo," he said quietly, "what is your view of immortality?"