Chapter 2: "Adequate"
Strong reasons make strong actions.
– William Shakespeare
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Harry felt very cold, but at the same time was immensely relieved that he did at least have feeling. Though not quite paralyzed, every atom of his being felt so immensely stiff and heavy that he might as well have been.
He had a full two seconds to process all of this before Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall, who had been standing at the large window of the headmaster's office at Hogwarts, became violently aware of his presence. In a mere moment he was lying immobilized and bound hand and foot on the floor, victim of two spells.
Excessive, thought Harry, but he was unable to speak.
"Merlin!" shrieked McGonagall, her face white and her lips thinner than Harry had ever seen them. Dumbledore, beside her, was looking terrifyingly thunderous in midnight blue robes; he had his wand—the Elder Wand, the most powerful wand in the world—trained mercilessly on the intruder at their feet.
"How did he—" yelled the witch. She was young, and quite pretty; her brown hair fell in long ringlets almost to her waist, and her spectacles made her look wise and kindly rather than cold and severe as Harry remembered them.
"Quiet," said Dumbledore, and McGonagall immediately fell silent. "Who are you?"
Harry blinked, the only movement he was able to make. He watched, helplessly, as the tall wizard swept forward, removed his wand from his hand and stepped back again, never allowing his gaze to flicker from his captive's face.
"I am going to unfreeze you mouth. Do not try anything."
Selective unfreezing of the Petrificus Totallus jinx? Interesting. He would have to remember that. The next moment, though Dumbledore had not spoken, he found himself able to speak. He was aware that his body was feeling less heavy, though a lot more paralyzed. He smiled slightly which, by their expressions, the headmaster and his deputy did not appreciate.
"Are you from Voldemort?"
"No."
"He could easily be lying," McGonagall pointed out.
"Hm. Yes." Keeping his wand steady, Dumbledore reached his other hand into his robes and withdrew three vials, two of which he replaced. The third was a clear, colorless potion, which Harry recognized instantly as Veritaserum. He had never had questioning forced upon him in this way, and, rather than objecting, found the prospect to be vaguely interesting.
He remembered something, though, as Dumbledore bent over him. "Could you send Professor McGonagall away? It's in the best interest of both of us that as few people as possible know what I have to say."
The headmaster's brow wrinkled slightly, and it was clear that he was about to refuse; then he looked at Harry once more, and nodded.
"Minerva? Could you leave us for a few minutes?"
"Albus—" she spluttered unbelievingly.
"We can't be completely barbaric"—Dumbledore smiled slightly—"in our questioning methods. We seek to promote peace, remember, not demolish it."
McGonagall looked almost childishly mutinous, but she turned on her heel after a moment and strode out of the room, sweeping past Harry without the slightest downwards glance.
"I hope she's not too upset," said Harry, feeling guilty as remembered her horrible scream when she had thought he was dead on the night of the final battle.
Dumbledore made no response. "Open up," he said, and poured the Veritaserum down his throat. Despite his paralysis, Harry felt an immediate feeling of loose elasticity settle over him, and a sense of immense calm. It was as though he was suspended in that peculiar state between sleep and wakefulness, when you're fuzzily aware of noises around you, but still in control of whether to stay asleep or slip into the real world. He was aware, without seeming able to form an opinion on or feel indignant about the fact there was no emotion left in him.
A voice brought him to the matter at hand. "Did Voldemort send you?" Dumbledore asked again.
The emotionless, unfeeling Harry seemed to be watching the Harry lying on the ground, frozen and bound in ropes.
"No." He didn't really say it; it was as though the answer, found in his brain, was forced to make its way along the paths of his mind to his mouth, and he was abruptly speaking.
"Did you ask Voldemort if he would like you to be here?"
"No."
"Are you a spy of Voldemort's?"
"No."
"Do you wish to be?"
"No."
"Do you, in any way, work to enforce, further or protect Voldemort's power?"
"No."
There was a pause.
"How did you get in here?"
"Professor McGonagall let me in."
"But she was with me!"
This was not a question. Harry lay silent and uncaring on the carpeted floor.
"Can you tell me why you are here?"
"Yes."
"Tell me why you are here."
"To see my parents."
This, thought Dumbledore, was downright odd.
"Who are they?"
"Lily and James Potter."
Dumbledore let out a long breath, Ahh. "On what date did Professor McGonagall let you into this office?"
"February the second, 1999."
"You are from the future?"
"Yes."
"At least there's still life," said Dumbledore. It was a joke—probably—but it had no effect on the drugged man. "What's your name, then?"
"Harry James Potter."
"By the fact that you're here, I can gather…but no, I mustn't ask anymore questions…it is very tempting, though…who will die? Who will live? No, don't answer that!" cried the headmaster as his captive opened his mouth to speak. "Listen, Harry—but the potion is still working. Never mind. Ah, you don't intend any harm on anybody in this time, do you?"
Considering the people who lived now, that was very complicated question. Harry remained silent.
"Very well. You didn't travel with the intention of harming anyone, did you?"
"No."
"All right, then. Ah…" Dumbledore seemed at a loss of what to do while Harry remained under the influence of the Veritaserum; he inspected the other man's wand, then his own, polished it, compared the two's lengths and thickness; whistled the ABC's; and then, with a sigh, pulled Vial Beasts: A Guide to the Use of Animals in Potions from a bookshelf and became, to all appearance, utterly absorbed in its intensely illustrated pages.
Ten minutes later, Harry began blinking rather vigorously and gave a small groan, at which point Dumbledore laid aside the old leather-bound volume and returned to his side.
"Satisfied?" said Harry, slightly tetchily; watching oneself respond to questioning without any control over it all was slightly aggravating.
"Entirely," said Dumbledore briskly. "Ah—here—just let me put you back to rights." Two small flicks of his wand later, Harry again had full use of his arms and legs and the ropes that had bound him disappeared into thin air. "Need I apologize?"
"No," said Harry gravely. "Caution is always wise. In fact—" he smiled slightly "—you taught me that. Multiple times," he added, wincing slightly; if Dumbledore caught the grimace, he said nothing.
"What is it that you plan on doing here, Harry? No matter your age—and don't tell me, that'll spoil the fun—you look too old to be a student."
"A teacher, perhaps?" suggested Harry hopefully. He had thought about this too and, remembering Dumbledore's account of the curse that Riddle had put on the Defense against the Dark Arts position, hoped that he might be able to secure the spot for himself, though it was only two days before the start of term.
The headmaster was frowning slightly, appraising the young man who was now getting to his feet.
"There are no such things as coincidences," he said, sadly. "I had asked Fabian Prewett to teach this year, but, alas, he and his brother were murdered yesterday. To find a teacher, for that subject, and this late, in these times… I was resigning myself to the possibility of having to fill the spot myself, at least for a short while. You do, I hope, have credentials?"
Harry, who had been gazing at his battered gold watch—once the property of Fabian Prewett—and feeling slightly sick, nodded. From an inner pocket in his robes he pulled out several sheets of paper—his DADA exam overviews, acquired from the Ministry, for his O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s; the results for the various Auror exams he had taken so far; and, folded and stained in such a way that would probably have caused Percy Weasley a heart attack, the certificate he had received with his Order of Merlin, First Class.
Dumbledore studied each briefly, his bushy silver eyebrows raised. "Adequately impressive," he said emotionlessly after several moments. "I think you will do quite nicely, Harry Potter."
Very quietly, Harry let out the breath he'd been holding. "Thank you, sir," he said, a note of happiness evident in his voice as he offered his hand to be shaken, which Dumbledore did.
"A pseudonym, I think, is in order; you look too much like James as it is. And your eyes…I wonder if anyone will work anything out."
Harry ignored that latter part of his commentary. "A false name? Er…I used Exx on my first ever field assignment…and enough people have called me that since that I'll be able to respond to it."
"Exx it is, then," said Dumbledore cheerily. "Harry Exx…I think we're in for an interesting year. Although," he added, apparently as an afterthought, "not too interesting, you understand? You mustn't try to change your present, no matter what it is."
"Yes," said Harry dryly; "So I've been told."
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A little more desperately than last time: Please review!!