Disclaimer: I don't own any of this.
What is this story? It's my take on what could happen if Harry saw the events of his life and current situation from a different perspective. Instead of feeling hopeless and powerless in the wake of the prophecy, he manages to find some things worth hoping for.
What can you expect from the story? Probably a lot of dialogue. I prefer to have characters talk about things rather than detail everything in an endless stream of introspective explanation.
I'll probably include a fair amount of conflict between characters. Note that although two people might have an argument or even a fight, they will not necessarily become enemies. Similarly, two characters could agree with each other or exchange words in a civil manner but still be enemies or opposed to one another. Basically don't jump the gun. Real life relationships aren't clear-cut, and they don't devolve at the drop of a hat over one argument (usually). This should be something similar.
Regarding cliches: This story will inevitably contain some over-used tropes. Please don't allow them to put you off the story. If (when) I use them, it will probably be as a method to give the plot a particular push in a certain direction. They will not, as far as I intend, be a major driving force to the story.
Enough of that. Enjoy and stay tuned.
"Prove it" Harry demanded, his breath coming hard and fast, fists clenched tightly.
"Pardon?" Dumbledore asked, apparently confused over his request.
"How do I know what you've told me about this prophecy is true? Prove that it is. Prove that my parents died because of a job interview in a shitty pub. Prove…" his voice broke with strain, "Prove that this isn't all some sick joke"
"Prove that I have to either die, or best the most dangerous man alive" he finished quietly. Something in his grief-filled demand-turned-plea must have affected the Headmaster. He sighed deeply and nodded his head in acquiescence.
"I swear upon my magic that everything Harry Potter is told tonight is the truth" Dumbledore swore.
This was ultimately better than anything Harry had hoped for. Harry had already known deep down that he and Voldemort were destined to face off against one another until one emerged the victor. But with an oath invoked through nothing but pity for the poor boy, he could finally gain some understanding. It gave Harry the opportunity to demand answers from the Headmaster. Answers that either must be given truthfully, or denied outright by resorting to silence.
"Everything that has happened in my life has been leading up to me facing him for the final time. Hasn't it, professor?"
"What do you mean, my boy?" Dumbledore asked. He genuinely seemed not to understand the question.
"Let me give you a summary of my life, Headmaster" Harry began.
"I was 'raised' in a hostile and brutal environment, deprived off love and affection. My aunt and uncle ensured that I was kept ignorant of everything about my family and my past. It was perfect, wasn't it?"
"I'm not sure what you mean, my boy". Being addressed as 'my boy' was beginning to irk him. But the Headmaster's confusion must have been at least in part genuine.
"Perfect for me to fall in love with magic, the magical world, and everything about it. Add to that that you showed me and my friends blatant favouritism- no don't even try to deny it- and bingo- you have a young boy brought up to have a natural hatred of bullies, while falling in love with magic and magical people".
The headmaster said nothing, though his brows were furrowed in worry or discontent. The silence was telling.
"I was then thrown into situations in which I had no choice but to face Voldemort or his followers for four years running. Even if I do seem to find trouble more easily than others, that series of events cannot be a coincidence."
"I find that coincidences are indeed rare when magic is involved, and even rarer when the winds of fate are blowing in a particular direction" was all Dumbledore said.
"Sometimes…when I'm by myself…" Harry began hesitantly, "I start to think that you helped orchestrate all of these things. And I find that sometimes, I can't convince myself that I'm wrong anymore".
"Whatever do you mean, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, looking sad and worried.
"You can see me, even when I'm wearing my Dad's invisibility cloak, can't you? You did in first year. I remember… when I found the mirror".
"But in second year, I was in Hagrid's hut when Fudge had him taken to Azkaban. Under the cloak. You looked right through where I was before you left. You knew I was there, but you did nothing to stop me and Ron from following the clues Hagrid left us, did nothing to caution us against attempting to stop the Heir. And then, right when I was about to die, your phoenix miraculously appeared and saved my arse. That's a rather odd 'coincidence', isn't it professor?" he finished.
Dumbledore denied none of it, but apparently had nothing to had to either explain himself or to contradict Harry's interpretation of past events.
"You wanted me to face the Heir, just like you wanted me to face Quirrell, like you wanted me to compete in the Triwizard Tournament. It's all been leading to the final battle, hasn't it? You've been trying to shape me this whole time, haven't you?"
"Shape you into what, Harry?"
"You need me to be a weapon. Don't you headmaster?" he asked, somewhat rhetorically. He already knew the answer. "You don't need to answer. I already know. But please answer me one last question."
"Yes, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, looking older than Harry had ever seen him.
"Did you ever care about me, or just about what I represented?"
The headmaster's eyes flinched, though his face remained relatively passive.
"Harry, my dear boy, I care about you more than I can say" he said, eyes brimming with moisture and guilt.
"I see. Then I suppose this is goodnight, professor" he said, inclining his head as he stood to leave.
"Harry?"
Harry stopped at the door, turning to look back.
"One can never be made to be something he does not want to be. He always has a choice, and his choices often make all the difference in the world" he said, smiling softly.
Despite the evening's discussions, the headmaster's parting comment had left Harry more confused and frustrated than he had felt to begin with.
Legs trembling and eyes painfully protesting every moment they were kept open, Harry dragged his exhausted body through the portrait hole into the Common Room. It was too much to deal with. He wanted to curl up into a ball and sleep himself to death.
Ron sat in an armchair next to the fire. The flames etched harsh lines into a face that looked nearly as bad as Harry felt. Angry red welts and sores pockmarked his pale skin, mementos of his tango with a brain in the Department of Mysteries.
"Harry mate! Where have you been?"
"Dumbledore's office. I'll tell you tomorrow. How's Hermione?" He asked, too exhausted to explain anything tonight.
"Madam Pomfrey said she's going to be fine. She was fine after a potion for the blood loss from the curse. But she's going have a massive scar. Pomfrey doesn't think it'll ever fade".
Harry breathed out in relief. At least something worked out okay. "Thank fuck for that"
"What do you mean mate? It's a bit of a shame I reckon." Ron said, a little conspiratorially.
"How can it be a shame? You said she's going to be completely recovered"
"Yeah, but she was never the best looking before that, was she? And now… that scar isn't something a bloke would want to look at is it?"
He couldn't believe he was hearing this. Surely he wasn't understanding Ron properly in his sleep deprived state.
"Nobody seems to mind my scar" he replied tiredly, gesturing at his forehead.
"Well yeah, but you're famous with that scar mate. You get all sorts of attention and everything from that. But… a dirty great scar over your chest? That's just… ugly".
Harry was almost speechless. "We've been over this mate, you know I hate all the attention and everything I get from a cut on my face."
"God knows why mate. A lot of people would kill to get what you have" Ron's eyes were glinting with something that Harry didn't really like. Harry often felt like he would kill to get what Ron had, but this was an old argument and he kept his thoughts on his friend's good fortune to himself.
"And I don't care how bad Hermione's scar is- all it shows is how brave she was to stick by me when I needed her."
"That's just it, isn't it?" Ron said angrily. "People follow you around and do what you ask them to, just because of a big scar on your forehead. And just wait till you see the Papers!" he ranted "It'll be you that gets all the credit for what we did at the ministry. But all I got was this!" he gestured angrily at the sores marking his face.
Harry really was too fucking tired to deal with this right now. Without another word, he turned back around and left the common room again, much to the protest of the Fat Lady. He left a fuming and envious Ron in his wake.
It was late the following morning that Harry was woken by a soft voice.
"Hello Harry Potter" the characteristic tones of Luna Lovegood said, her face inches from his own.
"Bwhah?" He groggily responded, blearing looking around. That was right, he had fallen asleep outside, against a tree overlooking the Black Lake. Luna's small frame was slightly pressed against his. The two of them were covered by a thick blanket that he had not brought out with him last night.
"What are you doing here Luna?"
"I'm lying next to you, and scratching my big toe against a twig because it's very itchy" she responded.
"I'm very sorry about your godfather Harry" she said, resting against him.
"Thanks Luna" he said, yesterday's events still playing through his head. "But I meant why are you lying next to me?"
"You were shivering" she said. Apparently that was all the explanation she was willing to give.
"Something has changed about you Harry" she told him, almost sadly.
"I learned a lot of things last night Luna. That I've been molded into something I shouldn't have ever been" he avoided all mention of the prophecy. It was one thing to accept it himself, but he didn't want his friends to know that he basically had a death sentence.
"Some things have a habit of breaking a mold, you know? Daddy and I often make eggberry ice lollies in the Summer. You can only make it with their juice. The eggberries themselves don't fit into the lolly mold, so there's no point in trying" she told him, sitting up to lean her back against the tree trunk.
Strangely, this made him feel better.
"Nearly my whole life has been orchestrated to turn me into a weapon, Luna. And I'm not even sure if it's already happened, or if it's even something I should fight against" he told her, unsure why he was confessing some deep-seated uncertainties to her in this strange situation.
"Not many things are inevitable, Harry Potter. But remember that a sword isn't the only kind of weapon there is" she said, looking intently at a cloud.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, if I had to choose a weapon to turn into, I would want to be a dessert spoon"
"I don't think a dessert spoon is a weapon, Luna"
"Of course it is Harry. I've used them to attack lots and lots of puddings, after all" she replied, looking down at him and suddenly smiling brightly.
He found himself smiling back. A real smile, for the first time in what felt like forever.