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Accidental Magic
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Chapter 2: The Nightmare Continues
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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. I claim ownership of nothing but ideas and plots that are not mentioned in her works.
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Previously: Dumbledore shows up at Godric's Hollow to find Sirius and Hagrid in their attempt to decide what to do with Harry, and Sirius, who he still believes to have been the secret keeper, holding Harry. Voldemort/Harry, exhausted and exasperated, still doesn't know what to do about his wand.
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With Dumbledore's sudden appearance and frosty tone of voice, Voldemort/Harry froze right along with Black and Hagrid. He could just imagine what they looked like to the old fool; a criminal holding an innocent child hostage in an attempt to manipulate a poor, gentle half-giant. He gurgled in amusement at the completely erroneous interpretation (after all, he was the criminal, Black was the innocent in need of help, and Hagrid was doing the persuasion). He cursed his lack of motor control as his giggle caused him to accidentally wave his wand and create a shower of green sparks. Dumbledore's piercing eyes darted down from Black's face to Voldemort/Harry. With a sinking feeling, he realized that the blue orbs were far from twinkling. He was doomed. In an instant, he felt his blood rush from his face—Dumbledore was going to figure it all out, he always did, he knew… His panic brought about the recollection that his nerves had not felt this frayed since the day he had inadvertently looked into his basilisk's bulbous eyes before he had created horcruxes, only to realize, after practically feeling his heart stop out of fear, that the great serpent could control its gaze and that it would never harm a descendent of Salazar Slytherin.
And then the moment ended. Dumbledore's eyes snapped away from him to focus on Black. Voldemort/Harry's attention came back to the present and he recalled that, to the world, he was Harry Potter, a toddler. Not Tom Riddle. Of course, Dumbledore wouldn't suspect him. Though he was currently helpless, as he had been at the time of that incident with the basilisk, Dumbledore would never consider harming Harry Potter. He probably thought that Black had taken the wand first and that he had merely grasped it as a toy. He was safe.
"Mr. Black, I believe it would be in your best interest to relinquish your hold on young Harry," the headmaster's voice had grown even colder. Apparently, Dumbledore didn't agree with this last assessment.
"But—wand—what? No, no, the rat, we have to…" Understanding finally dawned upon Black's face when he trailed off; he realized that the headmaster thought him guilty.
Dumbledore, either not noticing the change or unaware of its true meaning, insisted: "I will not repeat myself, Mr. Black."
Hagrid was ignored when he enquired, "Dumbledore? Wha's goin' on?"
"Professor," Black grew even more agitated, eyes wild and voice urgent, "You don't understand, I—"
He was cut off by Dumbledore's disarming spell. Black's wand flew out of his back pocket, but Voldemort's wand curiously stayed in Harry's grasp, unaffected but for a slight glow. Voldemort/Harry realized that he had yet again had a bout of accidental magic. Twice in just a few minutes was a bit much. Surely, Voldemort's control over his power couldn't be shattered by the addition of Harry's still immature magic… He stored the odd happenstance in a corner of his mind for later consideration: the situation with Dumbledore was still not resolved.
"Wha…? Wait!" The poor man was even more confused, but Dumbledore did not give him time to recover as he immediately attempted to summon Harry out of his grasp. Voldemort/Harry's magic had apparently not yet calmed down, and it seemed that he implicitly considered Black the lesser evil; though he gave a startled yelp when he felt the tug of the accio, it was dispelled instants later. This constant accidental magic was really beginning to annoy him; he hated losing control. Truth be told, he was even starting to feel a little light-headed from the power rush. Bodies as young as this were not meant to act as conduits for much magic at all. He was going to end up knocking himself out if he wasn't able to reign in his magic soon; already, he could feel his fingers weakening around his wand. That was unacceptable. Voldemort/Harry quickly allowed his body to go limp in order to gather his strength in his hand, and tightened his hold on his wand. He was not going to let it slip out of his grasp to be picked up by Dumbledore of all people.
The older wizard appeared as stunned by his repeated resistance to spells as Voldemort/Harry was. Fortunately, his shock gave Black enough time to get frustrated enough to blurt out a rather crucial piece of information.
"Would you just listen?! I wasn't the secret keeper! I was a decoy for Peter!"
Finally. One could practically see the highly entertaining 'Oh' of surprise on Dumbledore's face as he slightly lowered his wand, though he kept it aimed in Black's direction. Well, at least that was one half-resolved problem…
Or perhaps not. "I find it curious, then, that you knew to come here at this time, Mr. Black, and that no one at all was informed of the change," Dumbledore had swivelled his wand back into an offensive position, "Surely, if everyone thought you the secret keeper, it would have occurred to you that you would be blamed if the Potters were betrayed. It hardly seems logical that nothing could indicate your innocence."
Dumbledore was such an exasperating, stubborn old man. To start using logic now of all times?! Whenever it was needed (Voldemort/Harry could personally attest to the case of the chamber of secrets), the professor displayed a startling lack of forethought and bleated along with the other trusting, ignorant wizard sheep—and when he didn't need to be suspicious, the old coot just went ahead and did his best to hunt down every single possible break in logic. Fantastic.
"Oh for the love of—look, I was worried, alright? I wanted to check on Peter, to be sure that he was still alright, and he wasn't there. So how do you think I reacted, huh?! And we didn't tell you because we—just look at the rat!" Black's voice rose, "Can you honestly say you'd think him capable of what he just did? CAN YOU?! And now he's running around, and instead of going after HIM, you waste time accusing ME!" To his horror, Voldemort/Harry found himself once again being cried on, this time out of frustration. It was mortifying.
Once more, Dumbledore slightly lowered his wand, clearly hesitant to believe Black. "Well then, dear boy," Dumbledore wearily persisted, "You wouldn't object to lending the dear child to an old man until we reach the bottom of this matter?" How touching. A fossilized fool wanted to protect him.
"Fine," spat Black, "I'd rather hang on to my godson, but if that's what you want, do your thing."
So it was that Dumbledore cautiously approached Black and Voldemort/Harry. Well, he most certainly did not want to be handled by Dumbledore. It was time for an encore performance of 'Poor baby Harry doesn't want to let go of uncle Padfoot'. To think he'd been reduced to this… He gave a masterful wail when Dumbledore attempted to take him from Black, and made a show of shying away from the old man. The latter hesitated, but did not draw back. Help was mercifully provided by Hagrid, who seemed to have finally understood the gist of the issue.
"Er, y'know, 'Arry didn't want ter let go of Sirius earlier either, wen I tried ter take 'im," he stated, "Kinda reminds me of young animals, wen they're alone an' all. Want to cling to safety, they do, an' they don't want ter let go of it."
And, without further ado, in a typically light-hearted fashion, the tension wilted away. Voldemort/Harry wanted to feel shocked. He truly, honestly did, because if he didn't, it would be admitting that Dumbledore's behaviour was acceptable and normal. But it was so Dumbledore that he couldn't bring himself to be surprised that Hagrid's comment—hardly of relevance for an important decision—had convinced him of Black's honesty.
"Ah, you're only too right, dear boy. In dire times and circumstances, the most unconscious of intuitions tell much of the truth."
The twinkly, psychotic old goat was insane. Voldemort/Harry had never been so tempted to obliviate himself.
Black tiredly nodded. Hagrid looked proud. Dumbledore was twinkling again. Those three looked as if it were a normal evening, when Dark Lords did not vanish away and just-orphaned young boys did not survive killing curses. Speaking of which…
"Nonetheless, I fear that we have yet to fully resolve the situation," he turned to Black, "As much as it pains me to jump to such matters, Harry will require a guardian and security arrangements as soon as possible; when news of tonight's events spread, he will become a symbol for the Light—and a target for the Dark."
Ah yes. That. Why, he'd almost forgotten about that with the Black-Dumbledore situation. Orphaned. Orphaned, again. With the charming difference that, this time, it was entirely his fault. It was chilling, yet, at the same time, the thought felt like boiling water engulfing him. He could have had parents, parents that cared, and his parents weren't even two hours in the past, they'd been there—and now they weren't, because of him.
Sorrow. Guilt. Self-hatred. Insecurity. Fear. He was going to end up at the orphanage again. Panic. Not the orphanage. Anything but that. Odd fist-sized acidic globules that burned small indents in the wooden floor dripped from the tip of his wand, attracting the attention of the three men in the room, who had yet to emerge from the solemn silence Dumbledore's words had brought.
This sobered him. No, he wasn't about to let emotions drive him into a corner and weaken him even further than his previous accidental magic already had. He pushed down the feelings, not bothering to consider whether the merge with Harry's soul might be the driving force behind them; that was a question to be examined later. He had to calm down. He had to remain in control. Voldemort/Harry enforced the directions in his mind. Observe, evaluate, plan, and act. There had to be a way not to end up at an orphanage…
"Well, it certainly seems that Harry is feeling rather magical tonight," Dumbledore meekly chuckled, "and that he has quite an attachment to Tom's wand."
Voldemort/Harry mentally groaned at the headmaster's change of topic and his use of that disgustingly muggle name, but quickly refocused his thoughts. Keeping his wand was just as important as avoiding the orphanage, and if he knew the old coot, if he was going to allow him to keep the wand, it would be on the basis of some silly idea. Perhaps another 'hint' to elicit a reaction…
"Ain!" His attempt at claiming ownership of the wand with a well-placed 'mine' came out as a ridiculously pathetic squeal; he tried once more. "Mai—n!" Slightly more satisfactory; at least this one was comprehensible.
"He even seems to have decided that it belongs to him, correct, Harry?"
Voldemort/Harry resolved to let out a happy affirmative gurgle for the old coot. After years of being the recipient of his mistrust and dislike, it was truly bizarre to have Dumbledore so clearly besotted with him.
"But—Professor Dumbledore," Black intervened, "You can't mean to let Harry keep that—that—monster's wand!"
Voldemort/Harry's eye twitched, but succeeded in suppressing other outward signs of his resentment.
"Indeed, I intend just that," came the cheerful answer.
The response shocked Black into an outraged silence, but apparently stirred Hagrid into action.
"But tha's You-Know-Who's!"
"Yes, yes, my boy, I'm well aware of its previous owner," Dumbledore once more answered innocently just as Black recovered.
"Then why are you even suggesting to let a toddler keep it?!"
"Ah, but young man, do recall Mr. Ollivander's preferred phrase: it is the wand that chooses the wizard, and it would appear that we have before us an exemplary case of such a selection. In fact, legends of old allude to powerful wands' ownership passing from the defeated to his defeater—in this case, from Voldemort to Harry. I'm certain you were read the Tale of the Three Brothers in your youth, and that you know of the legendary Elder Wand's criteria for its chosen master. I would not presume to interfere with the complexities of wandlore, my boy."
Ah, there it was, the expected silly, completely ludicrous idea concocted by Dumbledore. The arrogant old man thought himself so omniscient that he overanalyzed everything. He probably even enjoyed mystifying his audience with long-winded, obscure deductions derived from his 'great wisdom', but at least the despicable tendency was working in his favour.
"Then you'll only give it to him when he turns eleven?"
It really was interesting, how practically every Light wizard was so subservient to the coot; his involvement in business not his own always seemed to result in others relying on him to make all the decisions, even when the concerned parties clearly disagreed.
"Why, Mr. Black, Mr. Potter won't know how to use it before he attends Hogwarts! I see no harm in permitting the poor child to keep it as a memento when the most he can do is throwing a few sparks around," Dumbledore concluded sternly, as though he were reprimanding a wayward student.
Black looked conflicted for a moment, but it was not long before his shoulders sagged and he visibly caved in.
"Fine," he sighed and paused, "What do you suggest I do about security? My dearest mother is still at Grimmauld Place, so living there for the wards is out of the question… My apartment is protected, but…"
Wha—?
"At the risk of rubbing salt in the wound, I would suggest placing it under the Fidelius immediately; I will be the secret keeper for the location, and will not reveal it to anyone. You two will be perfectly safe for the moment. I will, of course, add wards and attempt to find more efficient ways of protecting Harry."
The conversation continued, but Voldemort/Harry was no longer paying attention; instead, he was focusing on a single fact.
He was not going to the orphanage.
Far-ranging implications didn't even graze his mind; all he knew was an unknown feeling bursting within him, one that had no words but nonetheless deafeningly proclaimed inherently good things—and then the emotion became a roar, and his magic joined in with it and overflowed into his wand.
He had just enough time to register the formation of what looked to be a spherical patronus before weakness from magic overuse harshly threw him into unconsciousness.
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