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"A wonderful place to come and think," a voice mused calmly above his shoulder. "I often find myself drawn here in my pensive wanderings, too."
Chris didn't respond, or glance up to see who it was. He felt no need, not even a slight inclination, to do either.
There was silence. At length, the old wizard sighed and knelt upon the ground next to Chris. Chris immediately, subconsciously, stiffened but continued staring into the lake.
"Christopher…" Dumbledore began almost hesitantly, definitely picking his words carefully. "Why… did you have an argument with Professor Snape?"
"Because," Chris answered shortly and left it at that. He wasn't going to have this conversation. Not now, and not with him.
"Christopher," sighed Dumbledore into beard before turning glittering eyes to a distant point in the lake. His eyes openly betrayed the troubled mind and emotions within, but Chris was too resigned to honestly care. He was tired. He was too tired to care. He didn't want to care… didn't want to feel anything… Then the wizard said with slight desperation, "I don't know how to help you if you don't let me."
For a split second, Chris wanted to turn bodily around to gape at the headmaster, wanted to turn and rage at the headmaster, but he just didn't have that kind of passion and fury any more. It was too exhausting, and he needed all his strength to keep his unyielding mien in tact. He said quite bluntly, "I never asked for your help."
"My child, a student never has to ask," Dumbledore replied without missing a beat. He turned clear, sincere blue eyes on Chris, who unwisely let his own eyes become locked, and finished with quiet resolve, "I'm not going anywhere, Christopher."
Chris couldn't pull his eyes away from the older man's. He didn't have the strength… didn't have the heart. At length, however, Dumbledore softened the lock, and Chris was able to look away, although he somehow felt even more mentally disoriented. He didn't know what to say, what to do. He was so tired and sick of everything that had happened… everything that was still happening. He just…
"How much do you know about Snape's doings as a Death Eater?" Chris heard himself asking before his mind decided to cooperate.
Dumbledore was silent for almost a heartbeat, then answered softly, "He tells me the necessary information… but does not revel in the details. So that is how you met? In Lord Voldemort's company?"
Chris did not respond immediately, but let his mind race over what to confide, what to ask. His heartbeat was fluttery-- faint and quick, as was his untamable breathing. He couldn't get a grasp on himself enough to calm down, and his whirling mind did nothing to help.
Fighting unconsciously against the stinging in his eyes, at last, Chris whispered hoarsely, "Yes."
He blinked harder against the tears and hugged his knees to his chest, focusing his sight determinedly on a blade of grass at his shoe. He could feel Dumbledore's soft anguish at the news, and he could sense the man close his eyes, trying to accept it and find something comforting to say, as if there was anything. Somehow, feeling this made everything that much worse for Chris.
"You were the Resistance leader?" Dumbledore queried gently, not moving his gaze from the lake.
Chris nodded, his throat too constricted to speak, and Dumbledore seemed to understand.
The old man sighed again. "He told me he had to get information from a new enemy's leader. I was under the impression he would use a truth serum… It appears that was not the case…"
"But that would have been okay?" Chris asked, frowning at the grass and blinking back the pools in his eyes, suddenly feeling a strange sense of betrayal and… disappointment. "If he had done that, my people would have been found out and slaughtered. You would have been okay with that?"
Dumbledore's eyes traveled slowly to Chris' face, and the latter looked up to meet them. Dumbledore's were filled with a deep sorrow. He said quietly, "If I could keep my spy that much longer… it pains me to admit… that yes, I was ready to sacrifice nameless, faceless innocents. Of course, I am relieved beyond words to hear that they were not harmed because of my decision… I am indescribably sorry to hear what position that put you in."
Chris smiled humorlessly and looked back to the ground. He let the smile slide away without a fight and slowly returned to his struggle against the tears as his next thoughts began tormenting him.
So his being tortured physically was actually a good thing… Because of that method, he had been able to save thousands of innocent lives… It had been a good thing. He had no right to be so torn up over it, because it was actually in his favor…
Then the memories of what had happened made their way back to the forefront of his mind. He felt, as real as if it were happening all over again, the knives pierce his flesh, and the fingers tearing it back… He heard the laughs and saw the sneers… He felt the hunger and tasted the blood… He knew the fear and utter helplessness. Hopelessness. …For six straight days.
He buried his face in his knees, teeth digging into his bottom lip in an effort to stop the tears that were determined to come and ruin everything. He hadn't cried thus far. He couldn't; not now; he wouldn't.
"It's okay to cry, Christopher," said the headmaster softly, and Chris could feel the man's pain from just watching (Chris). The struggle to resist became even harder. "It's only natural to want to release your emotions after such an ordeal. It's okay."
Chris shook his head. It wasn't okay, but he was afraid to open his mouth to deny it. He was afraid his voice just wouldn't work. He knew it wouldn't…
Time passed and Chris gradually managed to move past the desire to weep. He slid into a faintly numb state and stared at the shore, eyes glittering only slightly.
Dumbledore seemed saddened on some level by this development and took a slow, easing breath as he watched the ground in front of him.
"What happened, Christopher?" he asked softly, finally looking to the boy again, this time with pooling eyes, himself. There was such concern and compassion in them that Chris had to look away in order to uphold his sense of numbness. "What did he do to you?"
Chris continued staring at the shore, and at length, he (surprisingly) answered, though in an inhumanly detached voice. "He… and another Death Eater… and Riddle… tortured me… for six days… about the locations of the headquarters… and safe houses…. It only ended yesterday… about fifteen minutes before you summoned me."
He continued staring at the shore, not seeing it. Beside him, Dumbledore had regained his own control and stated calmly, "I see. How did you survive for six days, if Voldemort himself had a hand? The man is not known for letting enemies leave alive."
Chris didn't even blink. He replied tonelessly, "I didn't. They killed me… more times than I can count… but they resurrected me every time 'cause they weren't finished…"
"They resurrected you?" said Dumbledore sounding genuinely perplexed. He was watching Chris scrupulously over his half moon spectacles, now.
Chris nodded and explained in that same unnervingly distant voice, "Wyatt has genies under his control, now. They don't have to obey the traditional rules about bringing back the dead…"
"Wyatt?" repeated Dumbledore, trying to recall where he'd heard that name before. Chris intoned the answer before he had the chance to dig any deeper into his own memory.
"The Source of all Evil. Voldemort's boss."
There was silence following this statement. Dumbledore had known Voldemort was active in America, but he had thought that was because he was trying to take over, there, too. He hadn't known about there being two completely separate wars raging, now involving some of the different-war characters. This changed… so much. Just the fact that there was someone even more evil than Voldemort made him begin reevaluating all his initial thoughts. And some one person could be the source of all evil… And this teenager, this boy, had been through both…
Dumbledore scanned the young Halliwell, trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on inside his head. Christopher's walls, however, were strong, and the old man found nothing. He suppressed another sorrowful sigh and decided to go with what experience had taught him.
"You did nothing to deserve that treatment, Christopher," he said gently. "It was wrong for you to be put in that position at all."
"But I was," whispered Chris, still staring into his own world. "And it turned out better that way…"
Dumbledore's brow furrowed. What on earth did the boy mean by that? He asked such.
"If Snape had used a truth potion… I would have told, and they all would have died… I wouldn't have stood a chance… But by being tortured… I could fight it, and I did… They were spared because of it…"
Dumbledore continued to gaze at the youth. Christopher was much too logical for his own good. The boy shouldn't be so accepting of such a thing… it wasn't right. He shouldn't have to be so mature. For Christ's sake, he was only sixteen.
"So what would you have me do?" murmured Chris, remaining as motionless as before. "Pitch a fit? Throw a tantrum? That wouldn't help anything…"
Dumbledore smiled faintly when he realized Halliwell had sensed his thoughts, most likely without even realizing it. "No, a tantrum would not help anything in the war, but it would help you keep your sanity just a little while longer."
Chris finally looked up at him, the first real grin passing across his face since they met. It was much smaller than Dumbledore would have liked, but it was a start. "I haven't been sane since I was, like, five years old," he commented, eyes slightly amused as well. "And I've been registered insane since I was twelve."
"Well, now we know why," remarked Dumbledore, also smiling and profoundly relieved to find Chris becoming comfortable (to an extent).
Chris smirked and looked back to the lake, his eyes beginning to cloud over again. His expression darkened and he seemed to lose himself in his own world once more.
Even though Dumbledore could not gain access to his thoughts, he somehow was able to sense where the boy's mind had wandered. Now was his chance to ask…
"Christopher… where… is your family?"
There was a moment, a split second at the most, in which Dumbledore was sure he had crossed a line that ended any possible chance of ever getting Chris to open up to him again; but that moment passed, and he was only left with an open conversation in a suddenly colder, tenser atmosphere. He hadn't crossed a line, but he was still treading on thin ice.
Several seconds passed, and Dumbledore began to fear that Chris was not going to answer. The boy was staring stolidly at a point just above the horizon, his eyes slightly wider than before, and he didn't appear to be breathing.
The headmaster, beginning to worry, began with concern, "Christopher--?"
"They're dead," Chris whispered, blinking and looking to the ground. "They're all dead."
Slowly, Dumbledore closed his eyes. He had been hoping that wasn't the answer. He had been hoping Chris still had at least one family member left in the world… He knew how close the Halliwells were…
"When did this happen?" Dumbledore inquired softly.
"…About four… maybe five months ago. I'm… I'm not really sure," Chris admitted, bowing his head so that his hair fell across his face. He fidgeted with a blade of grass. His eyes weren't even glittering anymore. He had gone to a place beyond pain; he had made himself numb to reality because he couldn't face it and survive. He was simply, and only, picking at the grass.
Dumbledore watched him sadly, wishing there was something comforting to say… but what was there? The boy had lost all his family, probably in only a few blows, if not all at once. Actually… knowing how close and involved all the Halliwells were… he doubted any of them would have let a relative be killed without trying to intervene, therefore getting killed themselves. It was most likely in a single day.
"Christopher…" He began, feeling his own heart constricting as he tried to string comforting words together. "I'm sure there was nothing you could have done. You-- your family… has always believed that everything happens for a reason. That tells you that it was… meant to be. They served a greater purpose… and you still have one to fulfill, yet."
Chris shot him a cynical look before turning back to the lake. He didn't even bother humoring Dumbledore with a response. He didn't care enough for that. He'd been hearing the 'everything happens for a reason' speech ever since he came into the Halliwell family, probably more times than the rest of the family combined, since his life had always sucked so much more than the others'. It was always the first 'comforting' thing his aunts and uncles used to say to him, and even they had seemed to lose conviction in it after going through so many years of the same, unchanging hell. He admitted that everything probably did happen for a reason, but what good was there in talking about it when you'd have to go through that 'everything' regardless of whether you believed there was a divine reason or not? It wasn't like 'everything' was going to go away depending on your personal beliefs…
Beside him, the old man sighed then opened his mouth to speak. Chris cut him off harshly.
"I don't want to talk about how I feel, anymore. Are you going to take me out of Snape's class or are you going to replace Snape?"
Dumbledore moved his eyes to meet Chris' and locked them. Chris' mask hardened even more, if that was possible, and he arched an eyebrow as if daring Dumbledore to try and bring up emotions again.
Dumbledore continued searching the nonexistent cracks in the mask, seemingly thinking and weighing possibilities within his mind. After a few more moments, Dumbledore reached a decision.
"I would like you to remain in the class, and Professor Snape will remain the teacher." When Chris opened his mouth to protest, Dumbledore cut across him smoothly. "You do not have to return today. I obviously must have a word with him before I lock you in a classroom together." Here, he met Chris' eyes again and held them, using as much sincerity as was believable as he spoke. "I understand that it will be hard, Christopher; it will be awkward, and you won't be in the best of moods with your peers, either, around him, but his expertise is like none other's. If you insist on fighting in the war, I must insist on you taking this class and learning whatever he has to offer." Chris opened his mouth yet again to protest, but Dumbledore's countenance formed stern lines. "This is my final decision, Christopher," he said firmly. "Unless Professor Snape murders you in that classroom, I want you there."
Chris tore his eyes from the old man's, understanding that he really didn't have a say in the matter, but feeling an internal battle raging, anyway. He could cut class. He could run away… or not, seeing as the headmaster was the only one that could open the barriers around the school… but he could figure out something… Or not. Maybe… maybe he could actually cooperate… to the best of his abilities, anyhow. That Snape dude was only a spy. He had been forced to… to torture Chris in order to protect his own people… It hadn't been his call…
The methods the man used to torture him, however, begged Chris to think otherwise. Completely unnecessary and uncalled for… ruthless… heartless… again, unnecessary. It couldn't have been more obvious from the very beginning that Chris wasn't going to tell. There was no need to test that fact to such an extent… It went way past what was merely required for a spy to fit in… And Chris knew, because he just so happened to be rather good at spy work.
"Fine," Chris heard himself saying in a resigned way. "I'll try."
Dumbledore's face softened and a smile graced his features once more. "Wonderful. And… I hesitate to ask for anything more--"
"But you're going to because you think if you get that out of me you can get something else, too."
Dumbledore continued smiling, his eyes twinkling again. "Well, since you put it that way…" he responded to the fairly playful accusation but didn't finish that train of thought. He looked at Chris with knowing eyes. "Your sixth year acquaintances aren't as fragile as you might think, Christopher. You can trust them. I'm not saying you should take them with you to your Resistance to form war strategies or anything of that sort, but you can talk to them."
Chris smirked somewhat ruefully as he turned his gaze back to the grass. "It's not their bravery or reactions that worry me."
"You're afraid they'll be hurt for befriending you. And… you're afraid of facing loss, again," Dumbledore implied quietly, studying the teen.
He smiled wryly, plucking at a blade of grass but not answering. It was enough.
Dumbledore mirrored his expression. "…There is a particular trio," he began slowly, "who I know can compete with quite a number of grown witches and wizards." At Chris' querying, arched eyebrow, Dumbledore smiled and said plainly, "They know how to take care of themselves, and that's all you need to hear from me. They are fierce fighters as well as friends, and I believe that's exactly what you need right now, Christopher. Don't push them aside so readily."
Chris gave him a look. "I do have friends in other places, you know. I'm not completely shutting myself away from humanity."
Dumbledore stated calmly, simply, "You need friends your own age."
Chris gave him another look, but this time he was unable to compete with the old man's own pointed look. Chris sighed and looked away. "Alright…," he finally yielded. "I'll try and be more… pleasant, but you know I can't make people like me."
"That's all I can ask of you," Dumbledore chuckled.
Chris had a comment prepared to throw back, but was unable to as his cell phone began ringing. His eyes immediately widened when he realized his radio to the Resistance was still cut off. If they had resorted to calling his cell phone, it had to be bad.
Without hesitating, he pulled the phone out and opened it. Immediately, sound assaulted both headmaster and student. Sounds of explosions and screaming. Then sounds of Joden's voice yelling above it all,
"Chris, we need you to get down here, pronto!"
"Why, what is it?" Chris asked, listening intently for Joden's voice through the chaotic background noise.
"Dragons! About-- I dunno-- ten, fifteen of 'em-- hey, you four! Go with that lady, there!-- You know dragons: they're so freakin' fast no one can really tell how many…" Just as he drifted off, there was another explosion followed by vehement swearing.
Chris looked to Dumbledore. "I need to go," he said pointedly.
"Is there no other help available?"
"Joden, what happened to the dragon control team?" Chris said into the phone.
"They're doing-- something with some-- blue light, but it ---doesn't seem to be working… Yeah, they --look-- clueless…" Joden managed between crashes and explosions. Then there was a stream of more impassioned swearing, followed by, "DUNCAN, GET THOSE IDIOTS OUT OF HERE! EVERYONE PULL BACK TO THE THIRD LEVEL! NOW! Chris, we need you!"
Chris shot Dumbledore an icy look. "Now, would be nice," he informed the headmaster in regards to the barriers around the castle.
Dumbledore, not appearing absolutely comfortable with the arrangements, at length conceded and muttered the counter-enchantments.
"Do you need transportation?" Dumbledore inquired just before Chris was enveloped in flames and vanished.
Sorry about the long delay. I'll really, REALLY try not to ever take that long again. THANK YOU SO MUCH for the reviews! One of these days I'll get around to answering you all individually, again, but now I just don't have the time. I STILL LOVE Y'ALL, THOUGH!!! And please review this chapter. I'm really nervous about how it will be received...