Two insanely quick oneshots because I finished the last Harry Potter book and need to vent some frustration. Oh, and look at that, they both revolve around death. Shame, enjoy!
Warning: Spoiler for the 7th book, as I'm sure everything is by now since people have had time to read it.
"Ah, Harry." Hearing his name, the famous teenager started and looked up. He, Ron, and Hermione had been in the process of slowly making their way to their Potions class, which none of them really wanted to-- after all, who likes dealing with Snape?.
"Yes, Professor?" Harry asked, his companion's halting at his side-- what better distraction than this to keep from getting to class on time?
Dumbledore smiled at the three, his twinkling blue eyes looking them over as if searching for the right words, "I would like a word with you, please?"
"Yes, that's a great idea," Ron spoke up, grinning his lopsided Weasly grin, "Let's all go to Professor Dumbledore's office."
"Impossible," Hermione sighed, looking at Dumbledore and expecting exactly what she knew she'd hear.
"I apologize, Mr. Weasly, but it seems Harry will be making the trip alone. So go on to class, I believe you three should be in Potions now?"
Ron groaned and Hermione rolled her eyes, grabbing his wrist and pulling him away from the headmaster and their friend, "Now, now, Ron," she chided, "it won't be that bad."
"It's always that bad," the redhead muttered, "I wish Fred and George were still here, they'd get us out of class."
"And you'd have nothing to show for it but an enlarged tongue or a swollen face or some other disgusting mutation," she told him.
"At least I wouldn't have to look at the mutation Snape calls his face for the next rest of forever," which was exactly how long each Potions class felt it took.
Harry swore Hermione had to stifle a snicker before further scolding Ron as they disappeared around a corner. Looking back to the headmaster, he tilted his head, "So what do you need to speak with me about?" he wondered.
"We'll be taking a short trip away from Hogwarts today," the silver-haired man announced, motioning to his traveling cloak, "Nothing big, no worries, you'll be back with your friends before long. However," he added, almost as an after thought, "you probably will be gone, how did Mr. Weasly put it, 'The rest of forever'." Harry took this as to mean he was Snape-free for the rest of the day.
He worked to keep his joy at this thought to a minimum as he nodded, "Alright."
---
Harry looked around their destination, knowing it all too well without really knowing it at all. He had never been here, but there was no other place it could possibly be. "Godric's Hallow," he whispered, looking at the rows and rows of headstones.
"Yes," Dumbledore agreed, "Where your parents are buried, if I'm not mistaken." Of course he wasn't.
"That's... not why you brought me here?" the brown-haired boy asked, suspiciously.
"No, no, not quite." At Harry's confused gaze, Albus merely chuckled, his eyes (even in this place) bright and lively, "But go ahead and have a look around, why don't you?"
Still confused, Harry nodded again and set off, tracking through the paths between the graves, glancing at names here and there. He was both excited and afraid-- excited that he would finally be able to see his parents' graves, and afraid of what would become of him when he did. He hadn't been prepared for this, and the reality of the situation was just sinking in as he passed a tombstone with the first name of 'Kendra', never bothering to glance at the last name.
Dumbledore watched as the bespectacled boy stopped dead in his tracks a few rows down, as he knew he would: He had found Lily and James Potter's graves. He watched calmly as Harry knelt on the ground in front of them, reaching a hand slowly out to his mother's headstone before quickly withdrawing it. Stopping two rows back, the headmaster could see that his pupil was shaking slightly and trying to hold in tears.
"It's best to cry when you wish to," he advised, glancing down at the pair of graves he had stopped at.
Startled, as he had forgotten a world existed besides the one in front of those two slabs of stone, Harry jumped slightly and looked back at his teacher. His eyes sparkled, but with tears instead of joy. As he and Dumbledore locked eyes, Harry noticed his as well were moist and not as cheerful as they usually were.
Not saying a word, the scar-ridden boy slowly stood from his parents' graves and walked to Dumbledore, noticing briefly that he had stopped in front of the grave of Kendra that he had passed earlier. Now as he looked back to it, he saw that the last name, as the one next to it, was a name he knew very well and held very dear: Dumbledore.
"My mother, and my sister," the blue-eyed man explained.
Harry felt a sinking feeling in his stomach-- he had never thought to ask his headmaster about his family, it hadn't seemed important. In fact, Harry realized, he had never asked Dumbledore a thing about his own past or life. Everything he knew, he knew because Dumbledore himself had mentioned it in idle conversation.Everything else had been Harry, Harry, Harry and right now, Harry felt sick for it. The regret washed up in him like ocean waves, but settled as Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder.
"I never expected you to ask," he assured the younger boy, "In fact, I'd be quite surprised if you ever thought to."
"Why?" Harry managed to get out-- the shock and grief of everything was a bit too much to handle.
"Well, who worries about their teacher's family?" he chuckled.
Teacher. Dumbledore was his teacher? Harry shook his head, "No... you're not..." he faltered and closed his eyes. How was he supposed to explain that Dumbledore, while indeed teaching him many things, was so far from a teacher?
"Parents are teachers, too." Those four words quieted Harry, telling him the headmaster knew all the words he so desperately felt the need to say. Dumbledore knew that Harry looked to him as a mentor, but more than that, as a parental figure. Most students did, but for Harry, besides Sirius, Dumbledore was the only one that he could look to as a father figure. Now that his godfather was gone, Harry had no one else to turn to other than his teacher and friend.
Harry shook a little against the cold breeze (or was that just restraining a sob?), and started just slightly when Dumbledore, from behind him, wrapped his cloaked arms around the much smaller boy. Harry gripped the arm wrapped around his chest and bowed his head, body shivering still.
"With loss," Dumbledore spoke again, softer this time, "comes gain." Harry looked up to him, finally able to tear his gaze away from the headstones. A faint smile creased the elder's face, "We have both lost loved ones, both in terrible ways, unimaginable ways to most, but we have also gained a connection through those losses." And even though his body was still wracked with grief and regret, Harry felt a bit warmer.
He had so many questions to ask Dumbledore, so many things to reassure him of (things, Harry was sure, Dumbledore already knew). But at that moment, at that time, he understood that this wasn't the place for it. Graveyards were meant for quiet afternoons.
Because I love both this relationship (but not in the smutty way, thank you very much) and Snape and Draco's. (has a thing for teacher/student relationships). Oh yes, the SnapeDraco smut is calling me.. but I have to catch up on the rest of my fics first. Hope you enjoyed!