Diamond Skies

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Prologue

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"What are you going to do now, Potter?"

Myriads of dust particles were dancing through the air of Dumbledore's former office, disturbed by house elves and wizards alike who had passed through in the last days.

Harry was kneeling on a big carpet in the middle of the room, stacks of parchments in all sizes spread around him. He peeled his gaze from the documents he had been sorting through. Minerva McGonagall was standing in front of him, levitating a pile of books with her wand. Harry looked down again. '12 Uses of Dragon's Blood' read the paper on top of the stack, 'by Albus Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel'. He twirled a corner between his fingers, hesitant to answer.

"I always wanted to become an Auror," he answered finally. Then, after a short moment, "but sometimes I think I've battled enough dark wizards for a lifetime."

"You have," said McGonagall. Harry did not answer, so she continued, "I clearly remember our career options conversation two years ago. You were so anxious to score the 'Outstanding' required for Severus' NEWT class…" she trailed off.

An awkward pause stretched between them. Sunrays made visible by the dancing dust were caressing the furniture, the piles of books and all the strange objects Dumbledore had assembled in the room over the course of his life.

"He didn't change anything," Harry said, breaking the silence. "He was headmaster for a whole year, and he didn't change anything."

With a flick of her wand, McGonagall directed the books she had been levitating out of the office and down the staircase.

"He never felt like he belonged here," she reasoned.

"Do you?" Harry asked.

"No, I don't," his former head of house admitted hesitantly. Then, with more resolve she added, "But maybe I will once we have sorted through Albus' belongings, so get going, Potter!" She turned on her heel and hurried down the stairs, leaving Harry to his parchments.

The former headmaster had left him many of his 'Defence against the Dark Arts' texts and several curious magical objects in his will, which had been found a few weeks after the final battle. Harry had come to collect them. However, that did not include any alchemy research notes, so he set the '12 Uses of Dragon's Blood' aside. McGonagall would take them. She and Dumbledore's brother Aberforth were the other two inheriting parties.

'Two weeks left until term starts again,' Harry thought. Soon Hogwarts would be brimming with life and the students' chatter filling the halls. During the summer, Hogwarts' silence was stifling, almost eerie. Harry shuffled a few papers, and somehow felt irreverent for interrupting the quiet.

While Hermione had opted to return to Hogwarts to finish her Seventh Year, Ron and Harry would not return to take their NEWTs. All three of them had been offered a spot in Auror raining, but Hermione had declined, saying she wanted to 'obtain a proper school leaving certificate'. All her efforts to convince Ron and Harry to do the same had been in vain. Ron had jumped at the chance to become an Auror, but Harry had not followed him. The contract was still in the pocket of his robe, weighing him down despite being written on thin parchment. All that was required of Harry was to sign it; his name would be magically transferred onto the corresponding copy in the Ministry.

He had put off the decision, unsure if the job was really for him. But he knew with certainty that the Hogwarts chapter of his life was over; Hermione would have to do her Seventh Year without him.

That was not the only reason, though. On his previous trip through the halls, he had almost been able to see the bursts of light as curses and hexes had streaked by; to hear the wrenching screams of student and Death Eater alike; to smell the acrid mix of burned flesh, bile, and blood that had filled his lungs...

'No!' Harry thought, pulling himself together. He would not benefit from reliving the final battle yet another time.

All those people, dead. Remus, Tonks, Fred, Colin Creevey… The list was endless. But could he have done something different?

"Could I have saved them?" Harry spat in barely more than a whisper, "You lost so many people you held dear, Dumbledore. How did you manage to keep going?"

Nobody answered. The portraits on the wall were fast asleep; an elderly wizard dressed in medieval robes was snoring softly.

Harry stood up; his legs were numb after hours of sitting, and it felt good to stretch them. He manoeuvred his way through the room, careful to avoid knocking over any of the parchment piles he had assembled. Dumbledore's portrait hung in front of him. Like his colleagues, the wizard was sleeping, purple hat drawn over the upper half of his face.

"Professor," Harry attempted to wake the wizard. "Professor Dumbledore!" The portrait let out a loud snort and pulled the hat lower to cover his entire face. "Hey!" Harry raised his voice, "I'm trying to talk to you!"

His efforts were yielding fruit. "Harry…" the wizard sighed. The purple hat had slid from his face. "What is it? Why won't you let me sleep?"

Harry halted, not having thought through what he wanted to do. Dumbledore, however, had shaken off his sleepiness and was now studying the young wizard before him. His eyes were twinkling in the manner he had been famous for while alive. Harry looked away. Talking to a portrait would not help him.

"You seem distressed," Dumbledore remarked. "Can I help you with something?"

"No, I don't think so," Harry answered.

"The interesting experience of becoming a portrait on a wall does not make one gullible, Harry," the wizard retorted. "Is there something you wish to tell me, Harry?"

"No sir, nothing."

"Nothing, huh?" Dumbledore quirked up one eyebrow and was carefully studying Harry's face. Suddenly he smiled. "Why don't you take a look at my desk? In the second drawer on the right, there's a small yellow box; you may have to dig a bit."

Harry cast a questioning glance at the portrait, but started to move towards the desk nonetheless. He had to circle a heap of yet unsorted books and documents. Unfortunately, Dumbledore had not been very specific in his will on what was to be given to whom.

Harry opened the drawer. Behind a few rugged-looking quills, an inkpot, some used tube tickets and a piggybank was a small, bright yellow tin. Harry opened it.

"Muggle sweets?" He asked incredulously, taking one of them out of the box. 'Lemon Sherbet Drops' it read on the wrapper.

"Yes, indeed," said Dumbledore, smiling. He was resting his elbows on the wooden frame of his portrait. "Why don't you have one?"

Harry started laughing. "Sure, why not? After all, if a painted canvas can offer advice, why can't a sweet offer comfort?"

He peeled off the wrapper, pocketed it and put the small sweet into his mouth. "It doesn't even taste like lemon. More like…hmm…tangerine?" The portrait, however, had already gone back to sleep.

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A/N: Thanks to kmfrank for the advice on grammar/spelling and dialogue. Also, thanks to Virail for britpicking and a third opinion.

This story will have seven chapters and an epilogue; the first chapter will probably be published next week.

EDIT: Thanks to e1wasf and Taure, they pointed out a few more mistakes in the WbA thread on DLP.