“A natural version of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy.” Dumbledore answered simply. “There are some forces in this world that will routinely shield magic’s existence from muggles. I’m not sure how to describe it myself, but I believe that because Gohan would more likely be attacked in public than you Harry, your safe-guard works more directly toward your attacker. And Gohan’s protection, rather than straight influence, tweaks the circumstances to manipulate our surroundings.” Everyone present processed this carefully, wondering the same things. “I’ll leave it to your imaginations to figure out how this was done.”
“But,” Dumbledore again noted, “now to my point. It is possible that thanks to your magical defense Gohan that Cell, like Voldemort, inadvertently gave some of his vast powers to his victim. Would it not explain why you are able mimic your friend’s attacks with inexplicable ease and skill?”
This never dawned on Gohan before, and asked himself this same question just now. How was he able to imitate the Z Fighter’s attacks so easily? Granted he learned most from his dad’s friends personally, but… it was the mastery over them that was puzzling. Not to mention, he did seem to be more proficient at mind reading since Roshi’s guidance; he tried learning it for the androids, but it never seemed to click back then. Could Cell have the cells from Roshi? What about Yamcha, Chaiotzu, and the other fighters? Was it possible Cell had more of their DNA than he let on?
“However,” Dumbledore interrupted his thoughts, “I do not believe your Parseltongue ability is included among them; Cell’s Parseltongue is already heavily diluted being grafted onto him from Voldemort. I would say that you inherently had the ability, but it was hidden beneath generations of nonuse. Because Cell transferred some abilities to you, the now almost stripped Parseltongue from Cell from Voldemort reactivated your inert one.” His eyes twinkled, “This is my personal opinion only though.”
“… What about my magic?” Gohan asked nervously.
Harry, whose head was still spinning from all this confusing information thrown around the room, focused on Gohan. He was still pretty shook up by all this, and his face was slightly pale. Harry understood why though; he was afraid that the only reason he was a wizard was because he got magical abilities from Cell.
Dumbledore smiled warmly, “No Gohan, your magic was not at all a result from your father’s sacrifice.”
“But,” Gohan protested wildly, “if I got my friends attacks from Cell, couldn’t I—”
“You did not receive your friends attacks Gohan.” Dumbledore soothed gently. “I thought I already explained this. You were merely able to use them much faster and expertly. You couldn’t learn them on your own, but once taught it helped guide you to train them. The same applies to your magic; your power is your own, but the transference from Cell allowed you to be more open with skill and ability from his ‘hosts’. And,” he added furtively, “if you want proof your magic is your own, I suggest you look at what’s in your pocket.”
At this comment, everyone turned to Gohan once more, all eyes but Dumbledore’s wide with anticipation and curiousness. Gohan, also wondering what his teacher meant, slowly put his hands into his pockets. He looked up to Dumbledore, who nodded enthusiastically. Gohan felt around, unsure what to expect.
Inside his right pocket, nothing at all. But then he focused on the left and… wait, that couldn’t be right. Gohan pulled his hand out and brought along with him the object of his confusion; he twirled his wand in his fingers subconsciously. Vegeta and Piccolo looked at each other, surprise and shock written on their faces. Harry, however, didn’t understand at all.
“His wand?” Harry asked, peering at it interestingly.
“Yes, Gohan’s wand.” Dumbledore confirmed.
“But… I don’t understand.” Harry told Dumbledore. “How does that tell anything?”
Piccolo and Vegeta, however, seemed to have slowly grasped the concept Dumbledore was implying. They stared at the stick in Gohan’s hand with astonishment and awe.
“You feel that?” Piccolo asked Vegeta, his voice barely hearable.
“I feel it alright,” Vegeta answered dazedly, “I don’t believe it.” He turned to Piccolo in shock and anger, “How is this possible? It’s a blasted twig! Yet it’s… it’s…”
“Wands have magical cores of animals, most those who are also magical.” Dumbledore enlightened.
“Of course.” Vegeta muttered. Vegeta glared at the wand in Gohan’s hand, “It figures. Even in death he mocks me.”
“What are you guys talking about?” Gohan questioned, his eyes narrowing.
“Gohan,” Piccolo said, “concentrate on your wand. Try sensing it.”
“But…” Gohan rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”
He did as they asked, and focused on his wand. What were they trying to make him do? It wasn’t like — wait a minute. Gohan’s brow furrowed again, they were right. There was an energy signature radiating from the wand. It wasn’t strong, but it was… bright? Distinctive? He couldn’t describe it. For some reason, his wand had a ki signal and it was almost familiar to him. If he didn’t know better, it almost like —
Gohan’s eyes widened in alarm, his blood running cold. He paled slightly, the grip on his wand tightening. He looked down at it now not like he used to, his eyes softened and his heart began beating uncontrollably. He lost his breath, tears beginning to form once more.
“… Dad?” whispered Gohan.
Harry turned to Gohan, concerned for his friend’s condition.
“What, Gohan?” He asked anxiously.
“I can…” Gohan started slowly, “I can feel… feel my dad’s energy… from my wand.”
“What?!” Harry shouted.
“It’s strange,” Gohan replied, “but I know it’s my dad’s ki. I’d recognize it anywhere.” He turned to Dumbledore, unsure how to respond. “How did you…”
“Mr. Ollivander contacted me after you came to his shop.” Dumbledore answered, his tone kind and relaxed. “When he told me which wand you received, he believed I should be contacted immediately.”
“Why?” Piccolo asked suddenly, his tone slightly suspicious. “What is so important about Gohan’s wand that you needed to know?”
“That wand, at the time,” Dumbledore continued on, “was the only one in Ollivanders shop that had a different core other than the usual phoenix feather, unicorn hair, or dragon heartstring.” Unconvinced, Piccolo gave Dumbledore a hard pressed stare. “Not to mention,” Dumbledore added, “it was the wand that I made myself, with the approval and guidance from Mr. Ollivander.”
The room had never been as silent as at that moment.
“You made my wand?” Gohan asked amazedly.
“With the association of Mr. Ollivander.” Dumbledore corrected. “He was there to help me. At that time, I had dabbled in just about every magical art (save Dark of course). Out of curiosity, I approached Mr. Ollivander with the request of making a wand of my own. He agreed, though only in certain aspects; one must keep some secrets of wand-making to oneself, after all. We had much fun and experimentation with the whole thing. I had everything at my disposal except for a core; though Ollivander had his usual stash, I wand something more… unique. Then one of my eldest friends, and yours, Baba, suggested I should use a hair that she had. When I asked what animal it belong to, she replied ‘most people don’t know, not even me. My brother retrieved it during one of his little tournaments, said a giant creature attack!’ I asked no more questions, and the rest is obvious; Ollivander and I made our wand, and I gave it to him for safe keeping.”
“Of course.” Piccolo stated, stunned. “The 21st Martial Arts Tournament. That was—”
“Goku’s first official tournament.” Dumbledore finished, smiling. “The one where he transformed into his ape-state. And although his tale wasn’t cut off, plenty of hair was scattered around the scene. Roshi kept a few for safe keeping, and the rest is history.” He turned to Gohan, beaming at the boy. “Your wand Gohan contains the tale hair of your dad’s ape form. 11 ½ inches, Rowan, and those hairs make up the wand you hold in your hand. Not to mention, since the wand chooses the wizard, I would not be surprised if your wand reacted with you far greater than any other wand would. Is it any wonder why it chose you, or why you are able to do so much with it with such power?” (I said his wand was oak a while ago, but forget that. I was young and not as inventive and/or literarily fluid)
Gohan heard, but wasn’t listening anymore. He trembled with glee as his eyes lit up at the sight of his wand. This was unbelievable; his wand’s core was his dad’s tail hairs. This was amazing, the best thing he could have heard all day. And better yet his dad was 13 at the time, and Gohan’s almost 13 too!
Piccolo and Vegeta observed the happiness creeping into the young warrior’s face. This was too strange, even for them strangely. Looking at a wand with Goku’s hair was… interesting, to say the least. And the fact it had a slight miniscule ki would also need getting used to.
Harry wasn’t blown away by this startling revelation, as there had been like twenty already. But, he was extremely happy for his friend. This was the first time he’d seen Gohan truly happy in a while. Harry wondered if this was what Goku must’ve been like most of the time, care-free and jubilant without worry.
No one dared to speak for several moments, as the tradition of letting silence take over news had been so many times before.
Then, Dumbledore reached into the desk and pulled out McGonagall’s quill and a bottle of ink.
“What both of you need now is some food and sleep. Stop worrying about what has happened and all these disruptions.” He looked to Vegeta and Piccolo. “There will be time for details later, but that hardly seems needed immediately. I suggest you all go down to the feast while I write to Azkaban – we need our gamekeeper back.” Harry and Gohan grinned gleefully at this. “And I must draft an advertisement for the Daily Prophet, too. We’ll need a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher… Dear me, we seem to run through them, don’t we?”
Gohan and Harry exuberantly got up and walked towards the door, practically skipping their way to it. but as they were about to argue who should open the door whom, it burst open with such strength it hit the back wall loudly and bounced off.
Lucius Malfoy stood in the doorway, his face livid and furious. But most strangely, Gohan observed, was a small little creature with floppy ears wrapped in bandages. It appeared to be cowering being the man’s leg.
“Good evening, Lucius.” Dumbledore greeted pleasantly.
As Mr. Malfoy strode in, he almost knocked Harry down. The creature followed in his footsteps, holding his cloak in fear. Had McGonagall’s desk not be between them, Gohan was sure Lucius would have made it inches from Dumbledore. When they halted the thing tried shining Mr. Malfoy’s shoes, but he was ignored as the elder Malfoy glared at the other wizard.
Harry leaned toward Gohan, whispering “Dobby” into his ear. So this was the little house-elf that almost killed Harry over and over again. Gohan could see why Harry pitied him. Did Harry know this elf served the Malfoys? Probably not, or he would have throttled the creature.
“So!” Mr. Malfoy declared, eyes narrowing dangerously at the elder wizard. “You’ve come back. The governors suspended you, but you still saw fit to return to Hogwarts.”
Vegeta and Piccolo, both a fair distance from Mr. Malfoy and Dumbledore, looked at each other confusingly. Apparently, Mr. Malfoy must have been so furious that he either ignored or hadn’t noticed anyone else in the room. Piccolo whispered hastily to Vegeta about who this new wizard was, and Vegeta’s eyes scanned Mr. Malfoy in observation. Apparently, he was trying to see if he was a threat or how ‘bad’ he truly was.
How had Mr. Malfoy found out so quickly? Maybe Malfoy Jr. spotted Dumbledore and wrote to his dad. Gohan looked to Harry, wondering what he thought of this. Harry noticed this, and motioned to Dobby before throwing a look of surprise on his face. Harry must have been overly surprised at seeing the creature in the Malfoy’s service. Then again, the little guy did try to help Harry and save him, while the Malfoys would have done the exact opposite.
Gohan regained focus on the conversation between the two adults, and apparently they reinstated Dumbledore when Ginny was gone. Not to mention the only reason they did do it was because Mr. Malfoy threatened their families. Mr. Malfoy paled, as hard as it was to imagine, as Dumbledore said this little tidbit of information. Piccolo and Vegeta went back to their hushed discussion, with Piccolo muttering something like “the wizard-you” and Vegeta frowning at the comment.
“So—have you stopped the attacks yet?” Mr. Malfoy sneered, drawing back Gohan’s attention. “Have you caught the culprit?”
“We have.” Dumbledore replied brightly.
Mr. Malfoy’s expression didn’t change; if anything he seemed… smug. Gohan frowned; that’s unexpected to say the least. He would have thought Mr. Malfoy would be furious that they stopped. What did he know?
“Well?” demanded Mr. Malfoy harshly. “Who is it?”
“The same person as last time, Lucius.” said Dumbledore enjoyably. “But this time, Lord Voldemort was acting through somebody else. By means of this diary.”
He held up the small black book to Mr. Malfoy, the distinct hole in its center still wet. Dumbledore watched Mr. Malfoy’s reaction, and Gohan followed suit. He didn’t seem too overly surprised, more like shocked. But there was also a trace of… was it fear? But why would he act like… unless…
“I see…” replied Mr. Malfoy slowly.
Now Gohan turned to see Harry looking at the elf Dobby, who kept pointing to the diary and Mr. Malfoy then hit himself over and over. Gohan’s eyes narrowed; he was beginning to understand now! The elf knew there was a connection to the diary and Mr. Malfoy, and whatever it was, it couldn’t have been good.
“A clever plan.” Dumbledore added, continuously looking at Mr. Malfoy in the eye. “Because if Harry and Gohan here,” Mr. Malfoy shot Harry a sharp look and then to Gohan, but his eyes widened when he saw the saiyan child’s appearance and quickly turned away, “and their friend Ron Weasley hadn’t discovered this book, why – Ginny Weasley might have taken all the blame. No one would ever have been able to prove she hadn’t acted of her own free will…”
Now Mr. Malfoy refused to counter, his face becoming a mask in response. Dumbledore resumed his speech of how it would have ruined Mr. Weasley and his Muggle-Protection Act and the Weasley family. So Dumbledore must have known also! Gohan kept his temper in check; threatening Mr. Malfoy, who obviously had very high connections, was a risk not even Gohan was willing to take.
“Very fortunate the diary was discovered,” Dumbledore continued, “and Riddle’s memories wiped from it. Who knows what the consequences might have been otherwise…”
“Very fortunate.” Mr. Malfoy reacted laboriously, compelling himself to say it.
Then, a second later, Harry decided to break the awkward conversation between the two.
“Don’t you want to know how Ginny got a hold of that diary, Mr. Malfoy?” asked Harry charily.
In that instant Mr. Malfoy loomed threateningly over Harry, glaring at him menacingly.
“How should I know how the stupid girl got a hold of it?” He scorned angrily.
“Because you gave it to her, idiot.” Gohan snapped back, deciding to join his friend. Gohan stalked over to Mr. Malfoy, who began to stumble back in trepidation but forced himself to stop. “In Flourish and Blotts. We saw you pick up the old transfiguration book she dropped. I bet you slipped it in while you gave it to her, didn’t you?”
“Prove it!” Mr. Malfoy hissed, his hand twitching near his wand. Piccolo began to make a move toward the wizard, but Vegeta put his hand on Piccolo’s shoulder as Gohan waved the move off to his mentor.
If Mr. Malfoy didn’t watch himself, he’d wind up at the back of the line to the Other World soon.
“Oh, no one will be able to do that.” Dumbledore commented; the smile was still etched on his face. “Not now that Riddle has vanished from the book. On the other hand, I would advise you, Lucius, not to go giving out any more of Lord Voldemort’s old school things. If any more of them find their way into innocent hands, I think Arthur Weasley, for one, will make sure they are traced back to you…”
Mr. Malfoy rose speedily, and for a moment his hand once more lingered closely to his wand, his fingers twitching as though pulling for it. Piccolo narrowed his eyes at the motion, but it was gone in an instant. He turned to his house-elf Dobby in a rage.
“We’re going, Dobby!” He shouted.
He walked out of the room so fast he didn’t notice Vegeta in front of him. He bumped into the saiyan, and turned his head up to yell at whoever was incompetent enough to walk into him. But then, as he saw who he bumped into, his face turned from rage to surprise and panic. Vegeta smirked, glaring at the man before him.
“You know who I am,” Vegeta spoke eerily, “don’t you human?”
Mr. Malfoy didn’t respond, resuming his masked appearance.
“I thought as much.” Vegeta deduced. “Then you should also know that like you, I can’t stand those not of my kind. Except,” he let his palm glow gold with energy, “I especially loath incompetent, self-absorbed, arrogant humans. And you’re in my way, coward.”
Mr. Malfoy moved to the right immediately as he said this, causing Vegeta’s grin to become feral. But as quickly as the threat was made, Vegeta moved aside and extinguished the energy. Mr. Malfoy kept his mask up, but sweated as Vegeta moved in right beside him.