Title: Vanished Memories
Author: lmeden
Pairing: HP/AD
Rating: PG
Warnings: chan (but not really, because it's PG)
Summary: Small moments plopped in the midst of canon that have been, apparently, forgotten.
Harry sat in front of me, curled in the small chair before my desk.
"I'm going to die," he proclaimed with the air of one who was sure. And for one terrible moment, I found I couldn't disagree with him.
Harry was such a kind boy, and I had tried so hard to keep these burdens from him. I didn't want him to think that he would die – I wanted him to be happy, not doomed by expectation. I'd waited so long to tell him that I was afraid he would hate me.
No, I couldn't coddle myself. I didn't deserve it. He hated me, as I knew he would, and I couldn't bear it.
I stood and moved around the edge of my desk, allowing the swish of my robes as they fell to the ground to center me. My feet were numb as I moved to him. Cold. I was always so cold.
Softly, as not to scare him, I reached out.
Harry seemed completely absorbed in his own thoughts. He stared into blank space, not seeing me approach. As my hands neared his face, he jumped slightly, his eyes roving wildly before focusing on them.
Gently, so gently, I cupped his chin and turned his face upwards so that he was looking at me. I would have crouched before him if I could – I would have abased myself. But I could not, so I simply looked at him, allowing him to see the pain in my eyes, in my smile, and in my very soul.
He stiffened, and looked as if he wanted to pull away. I tightened my grip minutely.
"You won't die, Harry. I will not let you. You are facing dire events, but those events will not destroy you. They shall do as all things painful, and strengthen you."
He stiffened further, and pulled back slightly. I had said too much, I knew. I had turned kind words into a lecture. I had never been able to sufficiently restrain the impulse. Like so many of my desires, I could do little to hold it in.
The moment slowed as Harry finally pulled away from me. His cheeks were soft and his jaw hard. I wished to reach further forward and gather his face in my hands and bring it close to me. I wanted to reach past his face and lace my fingers through his hair and feel the thrill of its lovely strands over my old, dulled fingers.
But I moved too slowly. By the time my desires had made themselves known, he was sitting straight in the chair, and my arms had fallen to my sides.
Inwardly, I gathered myself. "You won't die," I repeated. He seemed less doubtful of my words than before.
"Whatever happens, I will make sure that you live."
The street was dark, yet the Headmaster's robes still glittered as he walked ahead of me. I was amazed. Really, did the man think that he was subtle?
Dumbledore stopped and turned, and I stared.
"What are you thinking, Harry?"
I didn't know. If I'd known what I was thinking, I was sure I wouldn't have been staring at the Headmaster. I just, stood, there, confused. He was stunning, really. He astounded me by the sheer force of his presence.
He was walking down Privet Drive as if there wasn't a care in the world. As if no one had died, as if there wasn't a war going on, and as if he himself wasn't injured. I had seen his hand – that horrible, shriveled thing. That was new. Something was wrong.
But I didn't ask him what had happened. I knew he wouldn't tell me. I had to trust him.
I shrugged in response to his question. Dumbledore watched me for a moment, his eyes intense and shadowed. Then he reached out with his good hand.
"Come then. We haven't time to waste." Eyes suddenly sparkling, he smiled slightly.
I stared. Dumbledore was so beautiful. Startled at the thought, I paused. Then, pushing the strangeness aside, I moved forward, stopping next to the older man.
I reached out and took the Headmaster's dry, soft hand.
"Shall we go, then?" He asked.
I smiled up at him, feeling suddenly comforted. "Yes, let's."
I stepped close and as one we spun and apparated away.