Chapter 40

I waited outside the Headmaster's Office as he debriefed Daphne. Dumbledore had taken us straight to his Office using Fawkes' Phoenix-specific version of Apparition. He'd debriefed Harry first, then taken Daphne in, leaving me for last. I sighed as I stood on the landing, rubbing my face from the exhaustion. It was now after one in the morning and I'd been up for twenty-one hours straight. Fortunately, tomorrow was a Sunday, otherwise, I'd be absolute arse for tutoring and Magnus Gamp would absolutely annihilate me.

I once more gazed at the carving of Merlin bound sleeping under a tree that graced the Elderwood Door to the Headmaster's Office. I couldn't help but wonder how he had dealt with the Sight. Merlin was known to have been a Powerful Seer in his own right. I couldn't help but wonder if he would be making the same choices in my shoes. Nobody had died yet, but that didn't mean that things had been easy. My still-broken arm was a testament to that.

Ultimately, I decided that it didn't truly matter much anyway. Merlin's Time was long ago, and his fate was well-known, being sealed away in the four-nineties. He had a completely different context, living before the invention of both Wands and The Killing Curse. Could he have even imagined the scale of a War against a Dark Lord capable of threatening the entire world? I doubted that he could have. Hell, Mordred alone was a threat to Britain, Ireland, Brittany, and maybe the Franks as well, and that was about it.

I was startled out of my thoughts by the Headmaster's Office Door opening and Daphne slipping out. Dumbledore stood in the doorway and nodded at me with a smile, eyes twinkling behind his glasses.

"Mister Zabini? Please, come in." Insisted Dumbledore.

I followed him into his office, past the tables of whirring and clacking silvery doodads, and over toward his desk. Fawkes looked worse for wear from the exertion so close to his burning day, snoozing away on his perch as feathers molted from him, but I was sure he'd be fine. I sat down in the indicated chair as Dumbledore took his customary seat.

"Would you care for a Malteaser?" Questioned Dumbledore, holding out a crystal bowl filled with the chocolate, malted, sweets.

"No thank you, Headmaster. I'm actually quite tired and would like to get this over with so I can get back to my dorm." I refused.

"Your dorm? Not the Hospital Wing?" Queried Dumbledore.

"It's just a broken arm, Headmaster. That's nothing a Regeneration Potion and a good night's sleep can't fix and both can be found in my Dorm Room. There's really no need to bother Madame Pomfrey with it." I brushed off.

"Nonetheless, I am afraid I must insist. It was quite a trying ordeal if Young Harry and Miss Greengrass' accounts can be considered accurate, though there is some confusion about the ending." Intoned Dumbledore.

"I'll try and clear up any questions I can, Headmaster. Fair warning, though, I'm fairly exhausted." I sighed, realizing I wasn't going to get out of a trip to the Hospital Wing.

"First off, Harry mentioned you managed to block a killing curse. Twice in fact. How was this accomplished?" Asked Dumbledore.

"Through Proper Prior Preparation." I smirked.

"Preventing Piss Poor Performance, no doubt. Curious, the last time I heard that was during Grindelwald's War. I believe it was from a Squib who had been seconded to the Special Operations Executive to help the Muggle Side of things out. I am curious where it is you heard of it, however? It is a muggle saying after all." Intoned Dumbledore.

"That doesn't mean it's not correct, Headmaster." I pointed out.

"Indeed. I am heartened to hear you say that. There are many who believe non-wizards ought to be pitied at best and enslaved or slaughtered at worst. To hear that a Slytherin such as yourself finds value in Muggle Wisdom is truly remarkable, but then, you have been a most remarkable student so far." Agreed Dumbledore.

"You'd think the House of Cunning would find value in strategy no matter where it comes from. Sadly, I am consistently disappointed to see otherwise." I muttered.

"Quite. However, to steer the conversation back on track, I am afraid I will have to ask you to elaborate on what preparations you undertook specifically that would allow you to block the Killing Curse." Pressed Dumbledore.

"Dire Alhasba. The Grit Shield Spell was one. The other was my Ring of Spell-Storing. The first saved Daphne's life, the second saved mine." I answered.

"I am unfamiliar with Dire Alhasba. Is it an Italian Spell? I can't imagine it is when it sounds Arabic." Frowned Dumbledore.

"It's not. Terry Boot found it in a book on dueling spells his Mum picked up on Holiday in Turkey. He tried to use it against me in Duelling Club, but I managed to beat him and he taught me the spell afterward." I responded.

"There must be more to it than a simple shield. After all, no shield spell can block a Killing Curse." Continued Dumbledore.

"It's not a true shield spell. What it does is it whips up a barrier of grit and dirt from the surrounding area to act as a one-use shield. It's actually a lot closer to Battlefield Transfiguration, at least in terms of how it's used in combat. I figured since Battlefield Transfiguration is a known counter to the killing curse, this might do the trick too. I was right." I explained.

"I see. Cunning indeed. I am going to have to ask you to once again leave your Ring of Spell-Storing with me, however. The discharging of a stored Killing Curse is a dangerous business that I cannot entrust to a First Year, no matter how Cunning." Insisted Dumbledore.

"Fair dues." I agreed, slipping off my Ring and handing it over.

"There is one last matter that requires clearing up. What happened to the Philosopher's Stone?" Queried Dumbledore.

"Who says it's missing?" I asked.

"Please, My Boy, do not play coy with me. I know that the Elixir of Life was used on Harry and Miss Greengrass to fix their various injuries and awaken them from their comatose states." Frowned Dumbledore.

"I have it safe in my Mokeskin Pouch. Please Headmaster, at least give me the Summer with it." I pleaded.

"I cannot do that, My Boy. Misusing it for personal gain is what You-Know-Who wanted with it, after all." Sighed Dumbledore.

"I don't want to use it for myself, Headmaster." I protested.

"Then who would you be using it for?" Questioned Dumbledore.

"Daphne's Sister, Astoria. Heck, her whole family if I can get away with it." I answered.

"You would use the Elixir of Life on the Greengrasses? Why would you do that?" Queried Dumbledore.

"Daphne's a friend. Actually, she's more than that, she's one of my best Mates. She even helped out with getting the Stone in the first place. I want to repay the favor by using the Elixir of Life to cure the Greengrasses of their Blood Curse." I responded, honestly.

"The power of true friendship is indeed a rare thing to see." Mumbled Dumbledore.

"Headmaster?" I asked.

"Nothing, Mister Zabini, pay the musings of an old man no mind. That is quite the boon you would be offering the Greengrasses, and out of friendship. That is something more worthy of Helga's House than Salazar's." Remarked Dumbledore.

"Noblesse Oblige, Headmaster. Eurgetism, as my Ancestors called it. How can I expect my friends to back me up if I don't help them out when they need it?" I mused.

"Tis ours, the dignity they give to grace. The first in valor, as the first in place. That when with wondering eyes our confidential bands. Behold our deeds transcending our commands. Such, they may cry, deserve the sovereign state.
Whom those that envy dare not imitate." Quoted Dumbledore.

"Sarpedon, the Illiad. Not inaccurate." I agreed.

"You know the Classics, Mister Zabini." Nodded Dumbledore.

"I am descended from the Claudii of Rome, Headmaster. If I didn't know the Classics, I wouldn't be me." I shrugged.

"Very well. You are a most unusual boy, Mister Zabini. I do not think you to be a malevolent one, however. I shall allow you the use of the Stone here at Hogwarts and for one month thereafter to attempt to Cure the Greengrasses. Not a single hour longer, however, and I will be checking in on you while you have it." Insisted Dumbledore.

"Thank you, Headmaster. I appreciate it." I beamed.

"Now, however, I must insist you visit the Hospital Wing. Come, I shall walk you there." Intoned Dumbledore.

There couldn't be any argument with that. Dumbledore escorted me to the Hospital Wing, where an annoyed Madame Pomfrey performed about seven completely different diagnostic charms on me before practically force-feeding me a pair of potions and sending me to lay down on one of the empty beds. Soon enough, I was snoring away, a dreamless sleep having crept up on me not long after my head hit the pillow. As it turned out, that second potion was a strong sleeping potion.

I wouldn't wake up until Monday. . .

XXXX

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was vexed. On the one hand, Young Mister Zabini was, by all accounts, quite sincere in his statements during the debriefing the previous night. Poppy had also confirmed he was not under any sort of dark curse or possession, as he had instructed her to slip those two detection charms into her diagnostic. On the other hand, he was a most remarkable boy. Remarkable yes, but also quite unusual.

Mind you, it wasn't unheard of for a Pureblood Scion of Nobility to speak formally to him during such events, but normally, there was a hitch or a crack in the speech, some stumble to show him that the formality was the unpracticed sort of a child. That hadn't been the case for Blaise. He had also recognized Sarpedon's quote from the Illiad when Albus had mentioned it. Such things were generally not read by eleven-year-olds, even ones as close to turning twelve as Blaise was, even those from Pureblood Families. That could partly be attributed to Blaise's background as he claimed, but something niggled at Albus about it.

Albus hadn't survived through two Major Wizarding Wars by not trusting in his instincts, and his instincts were telling him that Blaise had something odd about him. Albus had seen such oddity in one so young only twice before. First had been Tom, though Tom had never cultivated the Friendships that Blaise had, and indeed had remained aloof from his peers, even as a child. The second, though, that had been his Old Friend Gellert. Gellert had cultivated many friendships, Albus' included, though he had always done so with an eye towards leveraging said friendships for power.

Was that truly what Young Blaise was doing here? Was he simply cultivating friendships in order to gain future followers? Albus didn't know and that was something that interested and frightened him by turns. There were so many similarities between his Old Friend and Blaise that Albus could almost miss the several key differences. Gellert had never shared his knowledge freely with his followers, but Blaise was, by all accounts, quite willing to teach others what he knew. Gellert had always believed himself above his followers, and would not hesitate to sacrifice them if it meant he lived to fight another day, but Blaise had risked his life to help his friends out of mortal danger twice now.

"So similar, yet in a way, quite different as well. Perhaps it is in the differences that morality lies?" Mused Dumbledore.

Even now, a full day after the meeting, Albus was still pondering what to do about Young Blaise. Could he continue to encourage his growth, knowing all too well the similarities between Blaise and Gellert? Would it be the responsible thing to do to curb that growth in case Blaise went down the same path as Albus' Old Friend? Would doing that simply ensure that Blaise took Gellert's Path out of spite? In truth, Albus didn't know. He couldn't. After all, the Sight was not a Gift he shared with his Old Friend.

"But Blaise does share that gift with you, doesn't he, Gellert? Perhaps that's it. Perhaps he has foreseen that same dark path you trod in his future and buries himself in his friendships to help him avoid it. Still, best not to take things entirely on faith. Yes, I will be keeping a close watch on Young Blaise Zabini going forward. That seems best." Muttered Dumbledore under his breath.

That decision made, Albus headed for the Ministry for his Two O'Clock Appointment. He had needed to rearrange his schedule so that he could meet with Amelia as swiftly as he could. This business with the Goblins was going to turn ugly if they had to wait for the perpetrator of the Gringotts Break-in much longer, and while Albus had managed to liberate the Philosopher's Stone from Young Blaise while he slept for long enough to produce enough Elixir of Life to stabilize Quirinius, the man was still a shaky wreck. It was best that he be delivered to the DMLE as swiftly as possible so that King Ragnuk's People could at least see him before he expired if that indeed was to be Quirinius' Fate for allowing himself to be possessed by Tom's Malevolent Spirit for so long.

Hopefully, the Wizengamot would be all for that. After all, Albus knew that nobody loved a scapegoat quite so much as career politicians and this one even had the benefit of being the actual culprit. Albus would oversee the transfer of Quirinius to a Ministry Holding Cell and then he would convene the Wizengamot to force a vote on how to handle the diplomatic situation with King Ragnuk while Quirinius was still in holding. That would be best, at least so he thought.

Unfortunately, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore would once again be disappointed in just how short-sighted the Wizengamot could be when the final votes were tallied. The motion to send a diplomatic envoy to King Ragnuk of the Goblin Nation had passed, but naturally, the worst possible option had been chosen. The Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, Madame Delores Umbridge, would be heading the delegation, with an advisory body that would have little ability to rein in her impulses when the time came. They would depart for Gringotts and the Goblin Nation within the week.

It would prove to be a disastrous affair. . .

XXXX

AN: All right, so since I've got the creative juices flowing for this story, you guys get the rest of the Canon Plot of Year One all in the same twenty-four-hour period. Here we see Dumbledore interrogating Blaise, plus we get a bit of a tease for the next phase of the issues the Ministry is having with the Goblins.

I know folks are going to ask, but no. Most of the Wizengamot are actually that stupid that they would vote to send Umbridge to the Goblins without enough senior people along with her who could act as proper oversight. After all, they're just Goblins, how could high-handing them possibly blow up in their faces? You'll find that a lot of the Ministry holds at least unspoken Wizarding Supremacist Views if not outright Pureblood Supremacist Views. Unfortunately, as this was a snap vote to force an end to the Ministry's Deadlock, with a timer in the form of a still shaky, potentially dying, Quirrel attached, Dumbledore had relatively little time to use any influence to swing votes toward a saner option.

At any rate, the next chapter will be an interlude showing the meeting between the Ministry Delegation and King Ragnuk's People and you'll get to see just how badly Umbridge fucks up.

Stay tuned. . .