"Ah, there's no need to worry, my boy. I didn't mean to startle you," Dumbledore said softly, tilting his head slightly. His gaze became momentarily penetrating, like an X-ray. "And please, don't hide it. You see… this is my map. Or rather, a map that was entrusted to me. I long thought I had lost it forever. And imagine my joy at discovering that it has been found by such a… vigilant young man."
There wasn't a hint of reproach in his words, only a light, almost nostalgic sadness and clear gratitude.
But no matter how perfect his acting was… I saw right through it. Because I knew who he was. An actor… a damned actor…
He extended his hand, not insisting, but with the unshakeable confidence of someone who knows his request will be fulfilled. My mind worked feverishly. But what could I do?
"Is that so…" I finally said, my voice muffled. Slowly and even reluctantly, I pulled the rolled parchment from behind my back and held it slightly forward, towards the Headmaster, though I still gripped the artifact tightly. "I… didn't know the map currently had an owner. If I had known, Headmaster, I would of course have returned it immediately. However, despite my admiration for you as a brilliant wizard and a great man, I would like to be certain that you have indeed found your property. Artifacts can be similar, after all."
Dumbledore accepted the map, his fingers gently stroking the old parchment.
"Young Malfoy, you are a very honorable student, so I will satisfy your curiosity," he said warmly. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!" With mischievous glee, watching my reaction, Dumbledore spoke, touching the legendary Elder Wand to the map's parchment. Soon, the artifact was indistinguishable from a blank, yellowed-with-age parchment.
Damn it… I hate this! How does he know the password!?
"How did you…" I began, but he gently interrupted.
"This map does belong to me, and I must take it. It could fall into the wrong hands and serve ill intentions, my boy. Honesty, especially so unexpectedly displayed, must always be rewarded. I think twenty points to Slytherin would be quite appropriate for the return of a valuable, if somewhat… controversial relic. You wouldn't object, would you?"
He looked at me over his spectacles, and his gaze seemed to hold kindness and gratitude. But I knew: we both understood. He was doing me a favor, closing this matter with points and a mild reproach for his own "loss" while quietly swiping MY Map! It was a brilliant move. Not particularly elegant, but disarming, placing me in the position of a grateful student, not someone caught red-handed. Could I have said I wouldn't give the map back and it wasn't his? Only if he were a senile old fool, or if I were an idiot wanting a much harder blow than losing the Map. The Marauder's Map, apparently, never showed the Headmaster's true location — or didn't show it when he didn't want it to. Which meant he was monitoring the map… or he had his own with a similar system, but then much didn't add up. So he must have had the Marauder's Map at some point, before the civil war. Perhaps when the Marauders themselves were students. Or he placed a tracer on the map that couldn't be easily detected.
"Of course, Professor," I replied, forcing my lips into a respectful, faint smile. "That is generous of you, considering my excessive 'reaction.' Please forgive me once again."
***
POV. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
"Of course, Professor," young Malfoy's voice was impeccably respectful, with an automatically polished, faint smile. "That is generous of you, considering my excessive 'reaction.' Please forgive me once again."
Oh, I forgive you, my boy, Albus thought, maintaining a warm, approving smile on his face. I forgive far more than you can imagine. For now.
"Don't worry about such trifles," he said aloud, making a light, inviting gesture towards the stairs. "But perhaps we should both think about getting some nourishment. Breakfast, I believe, is the most important meal of the day. I even feel like heading to the Great Hall. It's been a while since I joined the students for morning meal. Would you care to accompany me?"
He watched the boy closely. For a second, the boy seemed to freeze, as if his internal gears, which had been working at their limit, suddenly shifted to a new, unexpected task.
"That is… very kind of you, Headmaster," Arcturus replied a little too quickly. "But, if you'll permit me, I'll decline. I need to get my textbooks. And with my friends, I usually… we usually go together. I wouldn't want to let them down."
Social obligations. Very proper and very safe. Artfully avoided walking beside the Headmaster. Who taught him this caution? Lucius himself? The Headmaster chuckled at his own rhetorical question.
"I completely understand, Mr. Malfoy," Albus nodded, an approving, almost fatherly note entering his voice. "Loyalty to friends is a quality worthy of all praise. I won't keep you. Shall I expect you at breakfast?"
"Certainly, Headmaster," Arcturus inclined his head respectfully and quickly glided towards the moving staircases.
Albus watched him go, waiting until he disappeared from sight, then, ensuring he was completely alone, allowed his smile to become slightly more thoughtful.
A soft pop, almost inaudible, and he stood at the tall, open doors of the Great Hall, from which the murmur of voices emanated. Breakfast would soon begin. Those running late were already hurrying here.
Ordinary Apparition within the school walls was impossible, but Albus had the prerogatives of the Headmaster. Even more than that: for full access to any part of the castle, the numerous ancient protective charms prevented simple Apparition. But something more complex, tuned to the specific, subtle parameters of the castle's charms, worked. A spatial magic spell devised by the Headmaster himself was specially calibrated so that his Headmaster's prerogatives were complete.
He entered the Great Hall, and a wave of morning bustle and buzzing conversations washed over him. He nodded good-naturedly to students who greeted him and beamed radiant smiles at those who dared meet his gaze, mentally noting first-years' gasps and upper-years' curiosity. His path to the staff table, where only a handful of early birds sat, like Professor Sprout contentedly sipping tea and Professor Flitwick animatedly discussing something with a Quick-Quotes Quill almost invisible behind a tall stack of books, was unhurried and benevolent.
And thoughts worked in parallel in his head, like well-oiled clockwork. For the Headmaster was thinking now not only about breakfast and students.
Young Malfoy is very shrewd for his years and too composed. Also, he clearly devotes far more attention to practical magic than the curriculum requires… and far more than his father did in his youth. Lucius's heir drew his wand faster than most can blink. The instinctive lunge, the purity of movement, and the silent spell immediately betray years spent not on mere rote theory, but on practicing practical magic, the Headmaster mused, recalling how he'd had to destroy the spell before it touched his beard. He also noted the cunning… yes, cunning was inherent to the entire Slytherin house. But in the Malfoy heir, especially so.
Lucius's son lies well — he constructs a plausible reality he invites you to believe.
Dumbledore took a plate, serving himself some omelet with cheerful anticipation.
The most curious thing was that he seemed genuinely to admire the Headmaster. And there was no lie in that — at least, not the familiar, barely concealed animosity Albus read in his father's eyes at Wizengamot sessions. If he were such a brilliant actor that he could so easily deceive the Headmaster, he would have held his composure in that tense moment when he lost the Map. But no — in that moment, the mask slipped. Yet the admiration sounded… pure.
The look was familiar to Albus. But what did the boy admire? Was it respect for power? For position? For achievements? The Headmaster was curious, as this could be used.
If he sees me not as an enemy, that's a foundation for dialogue. Sirius, I recall, was driven by emotions, pain, and a need for family. This boy, it seems, is driven by cold calculation and a thirst for control… But Albus understood these thoughts didn't negate that both relatives could be manipulated, though different approaches were needed. And with Arcturus, it would be harder, but clearly… more engaging.
He nibbled a piece of bacon, pondering the situation. In any case, the Headmaster knew that behind this iron self-discipline, colossal internal pressure was clearly hidden. It couldn't be otherwise… Lucius's son was far too young.
He would need to be watched. Perhaps it was even worth inviting him for a conversation under a plausible pretext. Then he could assess him up close, learn what gnawed at him. For if there was a weakness in him, a crack in this familial facade… it could be carefully widened. And if he turned out to be more useful whole than broken… to channel his ambitions into a less destructive course. And to avoid tension, Dumbledore always offered tea and lemon drops in such personal conversations. But for some reason, everyone refused the treat. That was the real mystery for Albus Dumbledore.
The Headmaster sipped his juice, watching the sunlight stream through the tall stained-glass windows and shatter into hundreds of colorful bunnies on the table. A peaceful, idyllic view. And in the background — the constant hum of hundreds of students, intrigues, and young fates intertwining in a complex pattern right here, under these ancient vaults. But for now, Albus preferred to relax slightly and enjoy breakfast in the company of the whole school. Albus loved his position as Headmaster, and the students were an integral part of that position.
Yes, he concluded to himself, catching the eye of a surprised first-year girl frozen with a mouthful of porridge at the sight of some boy. I definitely need to keep a closer eye on Mr. Malfoy.
***
I walked, seething with rage, but I wasn't descending to the dungeons. Instead, I headed towards the Gryffindor tower. What did I intend to do there? I didn't know myself, but I had to do something. I'd had the Map for so long, yet I still didn't know how to deal with Pettigrew's fate, in the form of a rat become the Weasley family pet.
Dumbledore had just deftly taken away my trump card, deprived me of eyes and ears within the castle walls. And he did it in such a way that I even had to say "thank you." But worst of all was that the map had fallen into his hands… Even in my future knowledge, it had belonged to the twins, and then to Harry, but not to him. By my interference, I had gifted Dumbledore a way to monitor everyone, including me…
The great and terrible Albus Dumbledore had just given a masterclass. And I was forced to applaud him, because even without intrigue or anything else, he had straightforwardly taken the map as easily as candy from a child… Agh… That's exactly what he did. Now everything was clearer, but it only fueled my anger. A dark anger, most of it directed at myself. How do you fight a force of nature like Albus Dumbledore?
Fortunately, I had already gained experience in controlling even such rage, otherwise I'd have been pounding my fists against the wall long ago. Repeating the dogma to myself and using all my Occlumency skill, I calmed my mind. The potions had already been taken, though the side effects from yesterday's hadn't yet passed.
But I needed a clear mind. I thought… thought about what a monstrous mess I had made for myself. Because the main problem was far more serious than the Headmaster's surveillance or the loss of a trump card.
I had effectively scuttled my claims to the Black inheritance.
That damned rat had always shown up on the Map under the proud name of Peter Pettigrew. But my own stupidity and indecision had prevented me from doing anything. To hell with surveillance — now Dumbledore had the Marauder's Map! And he wasn't one of the Weasley twins, to fail to notice that the name of a grown man, long presumed dead, was located next to their brother.
If the Headmaster opened the map and came across Percy Weasley with Scabbers — that is, the name Peter Pettigrew — then Sirius's release would become a foregone conclusion, and incredibly fast. And my plans to assume the title of Lord Black would go straight down the drain.
…If I didn't find a way to conceal Pettigrew's existence, then I had made the most colossal blunder imaginable. How could I have been so stupid, Arcturus!? What was your problem with just grabbing the rat and killing it in the Room of Requirement?..
And now, even if I grabbed and killed Pettigrew, I could bring even greater disaster upon myself. But what could I do in the few dozen minutes while the Headmaster was at breakfast and possibly hadn't yet opened the map? Think, Arcturus, think!
And I thought. My mind, it seemed, raced to its limit, calculating options as I made my way towards the Gryffindor domain. I'd be lucky if Percy decided, today, right now, to dash out of his common room with the rat in his hands…
Understanding the futility of hoping for luck, I only lamented that I hadn't thought critically and generally anticipated such a turn of events.
I had considered the Marauder's Map absolutely safe. Hell, I'd even checked it with certain charms and found nothing. Apparently, the artifact itself didn't have the absolute power to show people, or Dumbledore personally had enchanted the map. But then the question arose: why would he "lose" the map, only to later take it from me… Perhaps the goal was for the twins to find it? But how likely was that, and why would the Headmaster want that?
I don't understand… I don't understand anything and don't know what to do. From nerves, I started picking at the cuticle of my thumb while biting my lower lip. Yes… my nerves were frayed, my teeth ground, and I won't even mention the nervous twitching of the muscles in my face. Gryffindors kept passing by, hurrying to breakfast, until finally someone did call out to the Slytherin wandering so close to their wing.
"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" asked — hmm… Oliver Wood — confidently, but without particular venom. "You've wandered quite far from your dungeons. Almost reached the entrance to our tower. Care to explain?"
"Oliver Wood, isn't it?" He nodded. "Good morning. I'm looking for Percy Weasley. We agreed on something, trying to find him. Did he take Scabbers with him?"
The fourth-year regarded my words with extreme suspicion. Percy and I hadn't particularly crossed paths before, and many know that the Malfoys, like many other noble families, don't favor blood traitors. But I was grasping at straws.
"He went down to breakfast, like everyone else, if you hadn't noticed. What do you want, Slytherin?" Wood stated, growing even more wary. "I share a room with him, and I highly doubt he'd have any dealings with you without mentioning it. And I'm very curious why you want his rat, Scabbers."
Until these words, I thought all was lost. But by Merlin, what luck! I had just cast my last hope into the void, asking if he'd taken the rat, and I'd gotten so lucky! At that moment, I just had to muster all my acting skill and persuasive power.
I pretended to relax sharply, even pulling a friendly smile onto my face.
"Thank Merlin you're roommates!" I exhaled, looking at him with feigned hope. "I don't know how close you are, but we would both be very grateful if you could bring Scabbers. I can't go myself, as you understand."
"Yeah, right, and hand him over to you? And what else? Maybe I should just let you into the Gryffindor common room?"
"You insult me, Wood. If you don't believe me, then please, take the rat, and let's go together to breakfast, to Percy. He'll definitely thank you."