Harry Potter's eyes were tightly clenched, looking away in fear from the gigantic thump that signaled the Basilisk's body had connected with the floor of the Chamber of Secrets. Tom Riddle's maniacal laugh echoed loudly against the concrete walls of the cavernous space, filling one of Harry's remaining senses with a constant reminder of his coming death.
He began running furiously in the opposite direction, hearing the frightening slithers of the king of serpents pursuing him, hunting him down like a rabbit lost in the woods. He felt his legs slip and lost his balance, falling forward and sending his glasses sliding across the uneven floor and out of his now blurry field of vision. His arm was scraped and bleeding, but that wouldn't matter soon.
"Kill him," whispered the illusion-Voldemort, sending shivers down Harry's spine. He was going to die, and nothing was going to stop it.
Face it.
His demise was certain, but there was a chance he could at least save Ginny, hopefully delaying Voldemort's resurrection and buying his friends more time of peace. A surge of energy shot through him, prompting him to his feet. Face it, a voice said, though this voice did not belong to Tom Riddle, nor anyone else in the Chamber at the time. It took hold of him, lifting him up, filling him with courage and pride and defiance and some crazy desire to die. Face it!
Harry turned his body quickly and roared "Incendio!" with every remaining bit of magical energy his body was holding. The large flame spell singed the Baselisk's face, but the creature as a whole remained mostly undamaged. Harry looked into two small, yellow orbs and his world went black.
ooooOoooo0O0ooooOoooo
Complete silence. Peace. He was someplace, he had to be, because he was aware of something around him. He opened his eyes. No glasses. Perfect vision.
Everything was the same pristine shade of white, making even Harry's now improved vision almost unable to distinguish whether the room had any objects or not. He felt for his hands, bending his fingers carefully in a strange caution, not wanting to break them. His legs were there too. In fact, as Harry slowly began moving his limbs, he noticed his entire body was completely unharmed.
He looked around at the seemingly limitless space he'd woken up in and glanced down at himself to notice he had no clothes on. Yet strangely, he felt no embarrassment. In fact, he wasn't feeling much of anything.
He wanted clothes, and as if knowing, the space provided him with a small armoire. Upon opening it, Harry discovered fresh robes and underclothes, which he donned still reluctantly.
The more he examined his surroundings, the more he felt he could recognize the space he found himself in. "Looks like King's Cross," he said under his breath, noting the idiosyncratic glasswork and the beautifully intricate masonry of the archways.
Appearing out of nothingness to his left, Harry noticed a set of train tracks that he could have sworn weren't present when he had his first look around. When had that been? He couldn't tell.
The roar of a steam engine jarred Harry sharply from his musings. A plain passenger train was approaching, its single headlight focusing into an ever shrinking circle on the opposite wall as it drew nearer.
Then with a final hiss, the train stopped, the doors opening of their own accord. A man in a black cloak emerged, holding a hand up in farewell to a passenger Harry couldn't see. "Thanks, Professor," he said, with a smile that didn't seem in any way happy.
The man turned and saw Harry staring blankly. Wow, he thought to himself, I don't look terrible without the glasses at this age after all.
The stranger conjured and sat himself in a plush, red sofa chair with an identical vacant one directly across from him and drew the hood from his head. His hair was untidy, and the hanging bangs of gray concealed the lightning scar on his forehead. His chin had some untended stubble, and aside from a few visible clean patches elsewhere on his body, the person simply looked dirty.
"Hello, Harry," the man said, his voice reverberating around the limitless space surrounding them. It was familiar to him, and he frantically searched his memories for the source. "Please sit if you feel so inclined." Harry was, but moved warily to the empty seat waiting for him, the luscious shade of red starkly contrasting the white surroundings. Upon sitting, he was able to observe the mysterious apparition with more scrutiny, noticing the faint scars that ran down the left side of his face and the emerald eyes that looked so much like his own.
"Where am I?" the boy asked, his echo reverberating eerily around the plain space.
A ghost of a smile came across the man's face. "I don't know, but if my memory serves correctly, it's probably King's Cross station, right?"
What did he mean he didn't know? If he knew King's Cross at all, he should clearly have been able to identify it. If he couldn't see the surroundings, how did he guess? He had just arrived on a train, for Merlin's sake! Harry furrowed his brow in thought, but this man made no sense at all. He wanted to believe he was dreaming, yet every instinct in his body told him this was no illusion: his physical senses were active, but his perception of time seemed nonexistent. Running his hands over the smooth armrest of the sofa, he felt his skin interact with the sleek material. His dreams, even when he felt himself momentarily slip into Voldemort's scattered thoughts, were never this vivid. "Who are you?"
"A fair question, but the answer is exceedingly complicated," the man replied, the gruff voice laden with exhaustion. "Who I am, rather who I will become, is entirely dependent on you." His tone was calm, only confusing and irritating Harry further.
"I'm not sure I understand..." said Harry in response the cryptic answer he was given to what should have been a straightforward question.
"I'm sure you don't." He took a heavy breath. "In the simplest sense, I am you, you from over forty years ahead of today to be more precise," the man said as he brushed up the hanging hair over the right side of his face, revealing the lightning scar that adorned his forehead. "I know that may be difficult to believe, but please try to hear me out." The boy sitting in front of him was approaching complete shock, the blood gone from his face and his youthful eyes ready to tear apart.
"You already know that Voldemort is still alive and trying to resurrect himself, you encountered him last year attached to your Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor and this year in Tom Riddle's childhood diary. In my future, he successfully reclaims a body and begins a second wizarding war, a conflict that kills millions of wizards and Muggles alike. I defeated him three years ago, but to be quite truthful... there wasn't much left to save by the time the dust settled."
"Dumbledore couldn't beat him?" Harry asked, surprised his Headmaster had proved himself unable to defeat the dark wizard that many rumored feared him.
The older Harry shook his head. "Albus was killed during my sixth year at Hogwarts, fell from the astronomy tower." The younger Harry was horrified. The prospect of having to lead a war at seventeen had frightened him enough, but at twelve, the thought was bone-chilling.
There was silence for some time. "Did... did anyone survive?" the young wizard asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The older Harry's eyes glassed over. "Yes, there were still some reported camps and sanctuaries that existed around England by the time I finally killed him, but no one we...I knew, survived. After our final duel, I devoted a few years to researching magical and scientific means of time travel and eventually discovered one left by the Hogwarts Founders. With it, I was able to send my soul, my mind, memories, and magical power back in time to you. I'm unsure how the process will work entirely and what side effects it may have, that is, if you even choose to accept it. The responsibility of this burden is exceedingly high, I must say I'll understand should you not want... this," he said the last word with a gesture to himself that looked as if he were acknowledging a pile of dragon dung.
Harry leaned forward and looked his older self in the eyes for the first time. "I have a choice?" he asked, a bit surprised that his own opinion was even being considered.
"Always, Harry. You always have a choice, even when the world disguises it as destiny. If you don't want this responsibility, I can get back on that train."
"Where would it take you?" Harry asked, strangely wary of the answer.
The man's eyes, for the first time the younger Harry could see, had fear behind them. "I-I... I don't know. On, I assume." There was silence between them until the younger spoke again.
"But I couldn't do enough... I was wrong," the teenage Harry said reproaching himself.
"Yes, Harry, but it's entirely my burden now. Who's to say you would have made the same choices, even if I hadn't returned? Whatever the outcome, the fact is you still have a future to shape, a life to live. I'm the one that fouled up mine. With my memories and skill, perhaps you can do better."
He had to do better.
A thought manifested itself in the younger Harry's head. "I've been dreaming about all these unfamiliar memories all week, but you're only speaking to me today. Why?"
"I can only guess, Harry, but I would say they were ripples in time, somewhat like the ripples of a pond when a stone is thrown in. In this case, the pond is time, and my soul was propelled through the membrane like a rock, causing vibrations, disturbances in the fabric of time that manifested themselves in the overlapping of our memories."
The younger's head was resting in his open palm, the sweat dripping over his fingers. The dreams he'd had over the past week were nightmarish. Images of gruesome deaths and bloodied and injured friends were of no short supply during the night, but Harry had chalked it up to how many of his fellow students had been petrified.
"As to why I chose this particular day, it was the easiest to manipulate to result in your death. I do hope you'll forgive me for that," he said, a smile coming across his face. "Our... well our essences needed to exist on the same plane, and death is a readily accessible one. The timing worked well, and the Baselisk's stare is one of the most painless ways to die."
Harry's face had gone sickeningly pale. "I-I'm... I'm dead?" he stammered, the fear evident in his wavering voice. He stood up quickly and began backing up, stealing glances at his surroundings while never taking his eyes off the apparition that had, by admission, killed him. Any semblance of cohesive thought had been disrupted by that simple fact: Harry Potter, the boy who lived, had died.
I want my wand, Harry thought hard as the space once again responded to his desire, placing the familiar holly wand into his right hand as if it had been there all along. He took aim at the... smiling ghost. He was smiling! This thing that had somehow manipulated Harry's fate to result in his death was happy! His rage was blazing as he directed his wand at the apparition, sending a moderately powerful cutting curse.
The ghost swatted the spell away as if it were nothing more than a fly, but he used no wand. Harry sneered and sent another volley, hexes and curses that all fell to the ghost's intolerably firm defense. Harry's anger was rising exponentially with each deflection which coupled with the nonchalance of his target, was driving him to the breaking point. He'd never see Ron or Hermoine again, the two people that had made his life worth fighting for over the past two years.
"Avada Kedavra!" he yelled before he could stop himself, sending a green flash of light towards the man. The adult Harry's eyes widened as he wandlessly conjured a shield to deflect the spell. The shield exploded, showing them both in a storm of pebbles and debris. When the younger looked up again, the thing was gone.
"You're only dead for now, Harry, you can go back any time," the apparition said from a safe distance behind him, slightly intrigued at not only his younger version's knowledge of the killing curse, but also his execution of it. Their memories and skills were already moulding together, it seemed.
The boy was still seething, but he realized whatever this thing was, there was nothing he could do magically to stop him. "I'm sorry I didn't explain that better," the man continued. "It was insensitive of me to throw that at you so lazily, especially with all we've dealt with. I spent years planning this, and you're hearing the whole thing at once," the older version of him said, the pity in his eyes evident even from their considerable distance apart. It was only in this exchange Harry had taken notice of his mannerisms, how remarkably similar they were to his own.
"You survived in the original timeline or I wouldn't even be here. I called in a favor from an old friend so that we could meet. Thanks to the ritual I performed in my time, we'll be able to return instantaneously."
"If what you're saying is true, then why are you even bothering to take me along?" Harry said, self-hatred in every word he yelled. "I'm weak, I'm pathetic!"
The older's head hung low, "No, you're not, Harry. You possess so much power in you it's staggering," he said, rubbing his face wearily with his hands. "And it took you so long to realize it that it hurts, kills you to think about it." Raising his head, the man seemed to collect himself. "And anyway, it's your body. If anyone's 'along' here, it's me."
So he was the one in control? His future self was going to latch onto him, or something like that, but he could go back, alive, and know what was coming. Bubbles of hope started popping in his stomach, though he tried not to let himself get carried away.
"Would you mind if we sat, Harry? I was already weary from the journey, and I didn't plan on having to use so much magic." The younger Harry felt guilty, again noting the series of scars adorning the man's face and nodded.
When both wizards had retaken their places in the unharmed sofa chairs, Harry wasted no time. "So what exactly will happen to me?"
"I really should have started with that, eh?" the older asked dryly. "Sure, defeat a Baselisk, outfly a Horntail, but Merlin forbid I ever learn how to carry a conversation without making someone want to kill me," the younger couldn't help but chuckle, remembering how furious Hermoine could get when Ron said something insensitive. His demeanor returned, and he urged this older self to answer his question with a raise of his eyebrows.
"Right. My theory behind this is exceedingly complex, but from what I understand, our souls will amalgamate in some way..." he paused at the perplexed look on the his younger self's face,"...er, sorry, forgot how few books I read back then...back now. Well, what was I saying? Right, fuse is a better word. You will have all my memories and knowledge, as well as likely see a large increase in your magical energy, but I should hope you will remain mostly you. My personality has hardened quite a bit over the years. Try not to let me make you feel too cynical."
The younger Harry let out a small monosyllabic response, but his eyes remained fixed on the stone floor in front of him. "And it'll just happen like that? We'll be okay?"
The older hesitated. "I'm not sure to be completely honest. We're not talking about fusing two different souls and minds, which, terrible as it sounds, has been experimented with and done before (with vile and disastrous results, mind you). In this instance, we're talking about the exact same soul at different points on its own timeline, inhabiting one body willingly... that is if you're willing in the first place. It may take time for us to truly become one being, or it may happen instantly. It's research that I'm almost certain has never even been hypothesized before, much less attempted, except by the school's founders. Who knows if one of them ever had to use it."
"So you really think we can change the future?"
The man steepled his hands and rested his chin on them. "I don't know. It's far more complicated than we can ever imagine. The tiniest decisions, impulses, and actions we make have such far-reaching implications that we humans could never hope to comprehend it. What is fixed? What can move? What is always and must always be moving? Time oscillates with such swiftness and unpredictability that is probably looks more like an ocean under a violent thunderstorm than a rippling pond.
"But for me," the older Harry continued, "even the slight chance to improve things was worth the effort of ending my life in that timeline. Hogwarts, London, Little Whinging, Ottery St. Catchpole, Godric's Hollow , they're all just ruins now. He took everything from us," he said, the younger Harry noting the strained manner in which the last sentence was spoken, like the emotionless words were preventing an avalanche of malice and spite.
"What happened? How bad did we lose?"
The man's smile was alien, some unnatural blend of abject sadness and hatred with a sliver of hope and irony. "Funny enough, many in the wizarding world abroad viewed this as a victory. A net gain, praising me for containing him," he said, his voice getting louder and more irritated. "But make no mistake, Harry, we lost, badly. The Ministry fell while I... you... shall I say 'we' from now on?" The younger nodded his head, not able to think of a more appropriate pronoun for whatever their collective identities should be referred to as.
"Right, while we were attending the wedding of Ron's oldest brother, Bill. Voldemort had enough political influence to get whatever he wanted or needed and installed a new minister under his control. After that we, Ron, and Hermoine took off looking for the objects that were allowing Voldemort to remain alive even when his body was destroyed. We...we lost Hogwarts, and within a few years Voldemort had free-reign over England. I dueled him many times, and each time I would either barely escape or manage a draw. I trained myself everyday, honing my magical abilities. There were many battles fought, many strategies executed, but he just kept winning. People kept dying, battle after battle. He would outthink me, outduel me, until one day, almost exactly forty years after the start of the war, I caught him off-guard. He'd gotten complacent and slipped up, and the small mistake was enough to cost him his life. To be honest... I think he was bored."
Silence cut through the room, leaving both Harrys frightened for the other's future.
"This isn't a test?"
He saw his older version's mouth twitch slightly. "Yeah, it is. The whole damn thing has been a test. And I want to give you the answers early." The boy was observing him now, scrutinizing him and evaluating his honesty. Taking a huge breath, the younger finally spoke.
"Shall we do this then?" he said, reluctance in his voice. Harry looked with pity at his younger self, remembering how truly frightened and lonely he was at that age. This was yet another burden to bear, and the poor boy already felt a weight on his shoulders that Atlas would not envy.
"Yes... Thank you, Harry. And good luck. Stick to your instincts and act rationally whenever possible. Always choose control." The older one extended his hand, their emerald eyes locking as the younger did likewise. A bright light overtook the room and Harry awoke with a jarring suddenness.
ooooOoooo0O0ooooOoooo
The floor of the Chamber of Secrets was cold. For a moment, Harry wasn't sure where he was, but the angry hissings of a burned Baselisk roused him quickly from the torpor.
What a way to come back.
Harry reached out for his glasses and summoned them expertly to his hand with a wordless summoning charm. Wow, he thought, he... I wasn't kidding about that increase in energy. An equally quick Occulo Reparo spell and he was able to see. The cinders had caught the creature in its vulnerable nostrils and eyes, affecting its senses, but not blinding It. No sign of Fawkes yet, the old man had done his job well.
"Conjunctivo!" Harry yelled, aiming blindly at the already angry snake's deadly eyes while clumsily running backwards, attempting to get used to his younger body. He noticed how much higher pitched and clearer his voice sounded at this age. The serpent's eyes swelled and pussed as one of his curses made contact, protecting Harry from its deadly glare and robbing the Baselisk of its sight. The snake began to thrash even more so, sending debris raining down from the ceiling. Harry saw a particularly large chunk falling over Ginny and his heart stopped, his reaction time surprising even himself.
His right arm was quivering as it maintained a wandless hold over the marble hovering mere feet above her, while his left held off the snake with powerful bombardment and cutting curses.
Sending the boulders safely away from Ginny, Harry turned his attention once more to the enraged Baselisk. This had to end quickly. The surroundings were proving hazardous to Ginny, and he would take no chances with her. Turning his fury onto the serpent, Harry bombarded the creature with an assortment of curses, charms, and hexes that each provided their own varying effectiveness. He took no notice of the look of shock on Tom Riddle's face.
The creature was wearing down, but Harry was severely missing the sword for the final blow. Out of nowhere, he heard the dulcet tones of a phoenix he knew quite well. The song of the phoenix was invigorating in the midst of the conflict, like a crisp bugle call, but Harry could not afford to wait for Fawkes to reach him. "Accio Sorting Hat!" he thought, needing to ensure the Baselisk remained oblivious to his location.
"He's only a boy!" the transparent Riddle yelled in Parseltongue. "Finish him, now!"
As Tom furiously hissed and the snake began to snap its jaws dangerously close to Harry, the crumpled, disheveled hat came soaring through the entrance of the Chamber into his hands. "Finally. Let's hope I'm still a Gryffindor," Harry said as the hat landed flimsily in his hands. Reaching his arm in, he felt the familiar ruby shaft of Gryffindor's sword and removed it with a brilliant flash. Dropping the hat to the ground beside him and pocketing his wand, Harry held the sword with both hands, the familiar static cracklings of his magic beginning to sound.
The gleaming silver blade began to glow red, Harry's energy flowing through the magically enhanced sword. Taking a three step running start and leaving a cracked piece of marble beneath him from the force of his kickoff, Harry leapt into the air. With a slice of surgical precision Harry decapitated the gigantic snake. Its head landed with a slurpy thud on the floor of the Chamber.
The Horcrux Tom was livid, and he quickly turned his eyes to Ginny.
"Stop right there," Harry said cooly, his voice resembling Tom's more than his own. "Accio Diary," he commanded, sending the Horcrux flying easily into his hand. Dropping the sword of Gryffindor, Harry ripped a tooth from the Baselisk's head, glaring threateningly and yet undoubtedly gleefully at the now frozen Tom Riddle.
"I'm coming for you, Tom," he threatened in the tongue of snakes, plunging the venom-soaked tooth into the diary and watching Tom's body dissolve, once again, into nothingness. Dropping both items, he ran to Ginny and slid easily to her side, checking her neck for a pulse and noticing the delicate rise and fall of her chest.
Alive. My Ginny is alive again. The emotions hit him like a tidal wave, and cradling her in his arms, he saw her eyes flutter open. The opalescent brown spheres were as beautiful as he'd dreamed about every night since she'd died. And though it wasn't much to feel proud of, instead of waking up on the rigid Chamber floor, this time she was in his arms.
"Harry... Oh, Harry... I'm so sorry... it was me... I tried to tell you at b-b-breakfast.."
"Shhh," Harry said comfortingly. "I know, Gin, it's okay. Everything is okay. Rest now," he finished, laying his hand on her forehead as a gentle blue glow enveloped her, eyes closing peacefully. The fewer conscious memories she had of this place, the better.
Harry carried her out of the Chamber where he found Ron and Lockhart waiting. The last time Harry had seen his best friend, he was rushing into the field of battle, disappearing in a violent explosion that wiped the island of Azkaban from the Earth. By some incredible miracle, here he was, lifting boulders to give them a way out.
"Oh my, she doesn't look well at all," the now permanently obliviated Professor wistfully observed.
Ron whipped around and ran to her side, looking protectively down at his younger sister. "Is she okay? What happened? And where in bloody hell did you find a sword?"
Harry stared at his best friend that had proved himself a master strategist in their future. How had they been this naive? He knew this could happen, that the friends he'd known in the future had changed drastically from the sometimes unbearably ignorant students they'd been, but his disappointment was palpable nonetheless.
"After we get her to the hospital wing. I'll explain once we're there," Harry said tersely, handing her over to Ron and taking aim at the pile of rocks blocking their exit courtesy of their woefully incompetent defense teacher. "Reducto."
The boulders exploded in a shower of pebbles, and Ron's eyes threatened to jump out of their sockets entirely.
"Bloody hell, Harry! Where did that come from?" Ron asked incredulously, almost forgetting about the sister in his arms. Harry raised his eyebrows, hoping Ron would realize their priority should be getting Ginny medical attention, not ogling over his newfound magical proficiency. Ron seemed to get the point as he shifted his attention back to Ginny.
"So how do we get out of here?" Ron asked, brushing a stray strand of red hair out of her mouth in a rare moment of brotherly protectiveness. That certainly hadn't happened the last time around, but then again, Harry was more preoccupied, less observant of his surroundings. The Weasleys were a fiercely loyal clan, especially towards their own.
"I think we have a friend to help us with that," Harry grinned, reaching a hand to stroke Fawkes' regal plumage. "Grab on," Harry said as Fawkes extended his leg to Ron. "I'll hold onto you and levitate Ginny behind us," he finished to Ron's surprise.
"Harry, I know you're pretty good at levitation charms, but this is my sister."
And my wife, Harry wished he could retort. "Trust me, Ron," he said instead. His friend held his gaze for a moment, finally relenting in a show of confidence in his best mate. "Professor Lockhart?" Harry asked as he turned his attention to the man who was, at the moment, staring incredulously at the fiery bird on Harry's shoulder.
"He means you," said Ron, cuffing Lockhart on the arm.
The Professor jumped. "Oh, that's my name, is it? Bit strange."
"Sir, you need to hold onto me as tightly as you can; we're going to get out of here," Harry said, awkwardly holding out his leg to the befuddled professor. Lockhart, at Ron's persistence, latched onto Harry's outstretched limb as Fawkes took flight. The Phoenix beat its wings forcefully, never losing its grace as the four wizards were lifted out of the Chamber.
ooooOoooo0O0ooooOoooo
Minerva McGonagal was sitting at her desk, her lips etched in a sympathetic frown. The two parents seated across from her, Arthur and Molly Weasley, were old friends from the previous war. She'd taught all of their children Transfiguration. Seeing them in this state forcefully reminded her of the horrors the first war had wrought on so many.
"Albus, not even you know where this place is?" Arthur questioned, as Molly was in no condition to speak.
"Unfortunately, I do not," the wizened wizard said, although the look of worry was not as present on his face as the others. "Hogwarts holds many secrets that not even the Headmasters are privy to." A knock at the door interrupted their tense conversation.
In a slightly awkward moment, Albus forgot he was not in his office and announced, "Enter," at the same time as Professor McGonagal. They smiled briefly at one another before Dumbledore bowed his head in apology. He raised it to look at what he knew to be one of the most incredible things he'd ever seen.
Harry Potter was standing in the door frame, the diary and the Sorting Hat clutched in one hand, the blood-stained sword of Gryffindor slung nonchalantly over his left shoulder and Fawkes sitting obediently on his right. The confidence and control that Harry's presence radiated was foreign to all but one of them.
"Mr. and Mrs. Wealsey," he addressed the grieving parents, "Ginny is okay, she's with Ron in the hospital wing." There was stunned silence in the office, eventually broken by Fawkes who flew over carefully to Albus' shoulder and resumed his familiar place.
"S-She's okay?" Molly wailed as her tears lost all control of themselves. "Oh, Harry! Was it you?" he nodded humbly. "How can we ever th-thank you!" she cried as she rushed to Harry, her arms outstretched.
Harry held up his hands to placate her, but he was too late. Though the woman had been overbearing and overprotective at times, she really had been like a mother to him and remained one of the only people that had ever hugged him like this. He missed it.
Mr. Weasley offered Harry a less painful and less constricting pat on the shoulder, though he knew with the Weasleys there would certainly be more thanks to come. The Weasleys, he thought happily. It had been too many years since he'd had to refer to them as a family.
"No thanks necessary, Mrs. Weasley... really," Harry said as he began to lose his breath a bit. "Ginny's asleep now, though, and I'm sure she'd be really relieved to see the both of you after all she's been though." Gently prying her away from Harry, Arthur gave a quick look to Albus who nodded his head, excusing them both from the office.
Harry now looked back to Professor McGonagal and Dumbledore, the former of which was still visibly shocked from Harry's entrance. She finally found her voice. "Mr. Potter, how exactly..."
"Minerva," Dumbledore cut her off in the most polite manner, "I have my suspicions that what happened in the chamber should be kept between Mr. Potter and myself. The subject, I believe, is very delicate."
She understood his meaning and begrudgingly, yet as always professionally, nodded her head. "Of course, Albus. Feel free to use my office. I'll notify the students."
Albus nodded happily. At an expectantly raised eyebrow from Harry, he added, "Perhaps we should notify the house-elves as well. I believe a feast is in order."
Minerva smiled curtly. "Yes, I suppose it is," she said as she cast an appraising glance at Harry. "I'll let them know. Half past seven?" Dumbledore nodded once again as he sat in the rigid wooden chair behind McGonagal's desk and offered Harry one of the more comfortable ones across.
As soon as McGonagal closed the door, Harry and Dumbledore smiled widely to one another. "Now Mr. Potter, I seem to recall telling you that I would have to expel you if you broke any more school rules."
"Let's hope I don't make you eat your words too many times, Albus," Harry smiled rising and encircling his Headmaster in a warm embrace. "Thank you so much for this, old friend. You took a big risk."
Dumledore's face grew serious. "After my many errors, Harry, this is the tip of the iceberg of how much atonement I feel I require. Do you have a plan?"
Harry nodded. "Bits and pieces. I don't know how long my knowledge of the future will hold up against causality, but I'm hoping I can stay... relatively low, at least until Voldemort is resurrected. I plan to have all his Horcruxes gone, Sirius' name cleared, and Fudge so far up a creek he'll never sit for office again by the time the Triwizard happens."
Dumbledore couldn't help but chuckle. "Do you think that's wise, Harry? Though Cornelius' mishandling of the situation certainly lead to the war, he is an easily corruptible man."
Harry considered for a moment. "Albus, you sly dog. Do you have something specific in mind?"
Dumbledore smiled, the infamous twinkle in his eyes all the more present given the situation. He handed Harry a piece of parchment. "This is bloody brilliant, Albus."
"I'm glad you agree. Will you be forming the D.A. again?"
"I may call it something else, but that's the plan. You might even live a bit longer this time."
The old man's head bowed low. "Now, Harry, you of all people should know a life isn't measured in years."
"Of course not, sir," Harry replied evenly, "but we could all use a few more of them, couldn't we?"
Dumbledore did not answer, but merely stared off into the space in front of him. "Ah, well I think it's about time I went back, wouldn't you agree, Harry?"
"Yes, Albus. I look forward to our next meeting," the boy said with a smile.
"Which hopefully will not take place for quite some time," the Headmaster said with a grandfatherly smile. "I'll leave you only with this, though I'm quite sure you've grown well past the days when you relied on the wisdom of your old Headmaster. You have direct knowledge of the future, which, whether you have realized this or not, is as close to absolute power as any human could dream of. Trust someone with your secret as soon as you can and rely on them as a moral compass. You navigate treacherous waters, waters you can not traverse alone," Dumbledore finished grimly.
Harry allowed time for him to continue. "Well then, let's not delay. Goodbye for now, Harry. Good luck."
"Thank you, old friend," Harry said, putting his wand to his mentor's chest. He placed his hand on the calm but apprehensive shoulder of Dumbledore who, without ever averting his gaze, put his right hand on Harry's. "To the well organized mind, sir, to the well organized mind. I never forgot that." Dumbledore smiled, but the fear was still etched on his face. "Are you ready?"
Dumbledore shook his head. "When is one ever ready?"
Harry smiled, taking the slight nod from Dumbledore as his signal. "Goodbye for now, sir. Avada Kedavra."
The Headmaster's forehead hit the desk with a soft thud, having landed on a small cushion he'd laid there previously. Harry gently removed the cushion and took his place in the seat across from him. When Dumbledore regained consciousness, Harry was the first to speak.
"Headmaster? Are you alright?" he asked innocently.
Dumbledore groaned softly as he lifted his head from the desk and sat upright. At once, the Headmaster's posture straightened, his eyes lit up, and his entire demeanor changed. "Yes... apologies, Harry, I must have lost my thoughts for a moment," he spoke wistfully as if nothing had happened. "What were we discussing?"
"You were just telling me about Tom Riddle, sir," Harry lied with a twinge of sadness at the loss of his Headmaster. He quickly reinforced his Occlumency shields just in case this Dumbledore was keeping tabs, though he seemed a bit disoriented at the moment.
"Ah, yes, you met him in the Chamber of Secrets today, then? I imagine he was most interested in you."
"Yes, sir," Harry said, not moving his eyes from Dumbledore's. "I can see why."
Dumbledore's intrigued glance urged Harry on. "We're similar. Both of us were orphans, both of us raised in places we desperately wanted to get out of. Not to mention the dual wand cores and the overlap in some of our... abilities."
"You're referring to your ability to speak Parseltongue," Dumbledore inferred, though Harry imagined there was very little guesswork. "Harry, what you must understand is that the only reason you can speak Parseltongue is because Tom Riddle, the true heir of Slytherin and his last living descendent, could."
Harry nodded, remembering their conversation didn't last as long the first time around. Something was supposed to happen.
With a loud bang, the door behind Harry flew open as Lucius Malfoy entered, just as despicably slimy as Harry remembered him. The greasy hair and unmoving scowl of superiority was present during the intense conversation between the Headmaster and the Death Eater. Harry remained completely silent during the exchange aside from his small part in the end, playing his lines perfectly in front of his very observant Headmaster.
When Lucius departed, Harry once again asked Dumbledore for the diary. Stuffing his sock on top he went to follow. He put a soundproofing charm on the hallway and conjured curtains over all the paintings.
"Mr. Malfoy," Harry called, "you forgot this," he continued, forcing the destroyed shell of the Horcrux into Lucius' hands with a rather stinky sock on the top.
"What the -?" Lucius sneered as he ripped off the sock and threw it to the side, where Harry happily observed it land into Dobby's quivering hands.
"You'll meet the same sticky end as your parents one of these days, Harry Potter," he said softly. "They were meddlesome fools, too."
Harry's insides were suddenly ablaze. Every inch of his being was screaming to lash out, snuff the scumbag right out, but he couldn't. He'd do no good in Azkaban, and so he settled himself and spoke in an even calmer tone than Lucius had.
"The time will come very soon, Mr. Malfoy, when," Harry gritted his teeth, "You-Know-Who will return. I believe he will, and although we're not by any means friendly, I want to help you."
Lucius looked almost offended at the very idea. "Help me? You? You're nothing but a twelve-year old boy," he sneered.
"I won't be forever. You know more than many how terrible Voldemort can be, the lengths he's willing to go to in order to get whatever he wants, with absolutely no regard for anyone else. The moment you cease to be useful to him, he'll kill you like an irksome fly. Don't put Draco through that," Lucius' eyes widened at the mention of his son.
"I have no affiliation with the Dark Lord," Lucius said, though a part of him had acknowledged the boy was not as stupid as he appeared.
"Then you'd better stop calling him that," Harry said coldly. "You have no affiliation with him now because it is beneficial for you not to, no more. You're an opportunist at every turn. My influence is deeper than it appears, and if you ever wish to change your ways, feel remorse for the crimes you've committed, see the world from our perspective, I'll be the first one to help. Be warned, Lucius, I won't look the other way a second time."
Lucius laughed. "I'm simply quivering, Potter. Come, Dobby. I said, come." But Dobby did not move, still quaking with happiness at the smelly sock that gave him his freedom.
"Master has given a sock. Master gave it to Dobby. Dobby is free." Memories of the frail, brave elf's funeral came rushing into Harry's mind. You tell him, Dobby, he thought with a smile.
Lucius lunged at Harry again, seeing the boy's smile and understanding exactly what he had done. "You've lost me my servant boy!" Harry stood perfectly still, grinning as the expected loud bang coming from his feet shot Lucius clear across the hallway and sliding even further on the glossy marble floor. With a glare that would have rivaled a Baselisk's the man brushed himself off and descended the moving staircases. Harry happily observed that they seemed to be taking an inordinately long amount of time to reach him.
"Harry Potter freed Dobby!" the elf cheered, running to Harry and embracing his left leg, the jeans still torn from his battle in the chamber.
Harry knelt down to Dobby's eye level and winked. "Dobby, I can't tell you how wonderful it is to see you. I have an offer for you. Will you listen?"
Dobby bobbed his head repeatedly. "Of course Dobby will! Harry Potter is the wisest and most wonderf-..."
"I get it, Dobby," Harry said with a smile, putting up his hands to stop the elf's string of adjectives that he knew would go on forever if he let them. "I wonder if, now that you're free, you'd like to work for me. I'd pay you, but only if you want to, and once a week, you'll have the entire day off. What do you think?"
Dobby's orb-like eyes filled with tears of joy as he went hopping around the hallway. "Of course Dobby will work for Harry Potter! Harry Potter is so kind to offer Dobby wages and a... day off." Dobby spoke the last two words as if they were the foulest, most repugnant curse words he knew, taking visible pride in himself for saying them. Harry beamed at the little elf, who now instead of working in the kitchens of Hogwarts would have a home and, hopefully, his own family to care for. Maybe this was the start of a long line of Potter house-elves, Harry thought with a laugh.
"We'll discuss your pay and everything later, but you could do something for me right now if you'd like." Dobby immediately stopped bouncing and scattered quickly to Harry's front.
"Yes, master?" the elf said, likely taking a large amount of pride in his first order.
"Dobby, how well can you cook?"