Albus Dumbledore watched the children before him eating dinner with a genial smile on his face, but his mind kept churning. Someone was making a play for his tools. The school had never seen such a drop in students from traditional families in years. The students and, in some cases, their entire families had disappeared, leaving both sides to scramble for explanations. Even Voldemort was baffled, according to the reports of his one remaining spy.
He forced his mask firmly in place as his thoughts turned to the missing Potions Master. The man had been bound with old-style vows and magical chains that should have forced him to return unless he was on death’s door, but the gadget Albus had set with tracking his health continued to buzz and smoke. Snape was alive and refusing his vows to both Voldemort and Albus. Someone was taking his most valuable players, stripping Voldemort of his recruits, and turning even the goblins against him.
He’d received a notice that the bank was reviewing all accounts after erroneous findings in a minor’s account. It was unprecedented. No goblin cared about their customers beyond their wealth, it had to be something amounting to Line or House corruption for them to step in, and to do it at this level meant it was multiple Houses.
The Potter vaults were under investigation along with those of several orphans whose funds he managed as their legal magical guardian. It limited the funds he could pull right now, making bribing the various factions and families harder since his vaults were stripped to fund the war efforts decades ago. Doubtless, he’d be called eventually to justify his various withdrawals, but he’d carefully documented each as various school expenses in his ledger, forged documents from the deceased parents granted him the right to use whatever excess was available for the war effort.
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Standing, he gave the other teachers a benign nod and headed toward his office. The Boy Who Lived caught his eye as he left the room, which was another thing that bore watching. The rage and power Harry displayed after the mutt’s death was shocking. He’d need to look into replenishing the bindings if the boy continued to show such strength, pity most of the monitoring devices he’d keyed to the brat had been destroyed in his tantrum.
Harry had returned for the school year depressed and worn-looking. According to Molly, he’d been moping the weeks he stayed with the Weasleys, and the downturn had continued the first few weeks of school. He was starting to show more appetite and effort in his time with his friends, so for now, Albus left it alone. The boy was studying more as well, but given his knowledge of the prophecy, he could be trying to prepare himself for the final battle, a futile pursuit that it was. Perhaps he’d offer to tutor the boy occasionally if he could find the time, push him to think he’s progressing rapidly so that he’ll go back to his normal selfish pursuits.
Gentle brushes of Harry’s outer thoughts had only shown him thinking of the mutt or raging at the various injustices in his life. Albus would need to guide that rage into a better outlet. He’d started back his defense lessons with the other students, at least. Perhaps he could convince the new Defense teacher to offer him some assistance or private lessons; it would be yet another way to put the boy in debt to the school and its headmaster, possibly.
He doubted he’d have time to do much with the whelp. Lately, all his time was spent tracking rumors of this new player or fighting legal battles in the magical courts. Everyone suddenly seemed to decide to challenge his every move as Chief Warlock, Madam Longbottom, had become increasingly snide in her commentary on every law and bill he tried to present. He wasn’t sure what slight the old woman was imagining, but she’d overblown it into something massive. He needed her support if he was going to continue to pull the Order back together for the coming battles.