Harry was sore and exhausted the following morning and took advantage of the fact that his room mates still thought him ill, and stayed in bed through the morning. He did finally drag himself out of bed in order to have lunch, and spent most of the meal fending off Pansy's annoying attentions as the girl worried over him having been ill and missing classes the previous day. She even offered to give him her notes from the day's classes and he just looked at her incredulously, while Draco snorted into his hand, and several others tried to hide their own snickers. The mere idea of prodigy Harry Potter needing to borrow someone else's notes – especially Pansy Parkinson's notes – was honestly a rather laughable suggestion to everyone within hearing range.
Before leaving the Great Hall, Snape managed to catch his eyes and the man gave him a rather pointed glare that Harry interpreted to mean that his presence was demanded at his earliest convenience. Or even his inconvenience, honestly.
Since Harry had never been one for indulging in the curiosities of his house mates, no one was surprised when he left the common room after lunch, without telling anyone where he was going. He knocked on his Head of House's office door and was quickly called inside. The door was closed, seats were taken and privacy wards were cast.
"The Dark Lord has returned, I assume?" Snape stated without wasting any time.
"Yes. Oh, and good news – I think my plan worked. He seemed considerably less insane after I did my thing."
"After you 'did your thing'?" Snape echoed with a derisive, incredulous sneer.
"I mentioned that I had a plan to restore his sanity? I did it. It seems to have worked. Granted, I didn't spend an excessive amount of time in his company, but after what I did to him, I would have expected him to wake up foaming at the mouth and firing deadly curses, but he didn't! We had a wonderfully civil conversation, and even when I said stuff that pissed him off, he never got violent. It was quite refreshing."
"What, exactly, did you do to him?" Snape asked warily.
"Well, he was pretty much unconscious and totally defenseless after performing the ritual to attach himself to his new body when I got there. I just took advantage of his weakened state to secure him to a ritual surface, hide his wand, stun his snake and Quirrell, allow him to wake up just long enough to explain a few things in between him screaming at me, knock him back out, and then perform a ritual on him against his will."
Snape's face was even more pale than usual and his eyes were wide with horror. He blinked several times before dipping his head slightly and bringing his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "And you're still alive after all this?" Snape muttered.
"Shocking, huh?" Harry said with a wide grin. "I think it was a big help that when he woke up, he could think clearly for the first time in decades, and could feel a better, stronger, connection with his magic, than he's had since childhood. He could tell that what I did helped, but also knew, that he never would have let me do it if I'd asked, or just offered. Obviously, he wasn't going to admit that out loud, but I could tell that's what was going on. Plus there were other mitigating factors that make him killing me a generally bad idea. I also explained about my looping life."
Snape's head went up and he looked at Harry as if he were mad. "You told him? Does that mean you also told him that you've killed him eleven times?"
"Well, technically, I've only killed him seven times. The other four times I killed myself before bothering to kill him."
"You only killed yourself four times?" Snape sneered sarcastically.
"Oh no, I've killed myself seven times – the first three times I killed Voldemort first, and then killed myself later."
"Merlin, you're unbelievable," Snape muttered, letting his hand fall down into his palm.
"It is true, though."
"And I don't care," Snape said tiredly, finally sitting back up in his chair. "So you believe the Dark Lord will be less volatile after this, whatever it is, that you've done?"
Harry tilted his head to the side and gave a small shrug. "I think it's possible. Likely, even. I mean, he had already partially fucked himself up in his 20's and 30's, and yet he managed to remain at least partially stable during those years. It wasn't until he went one ritual too far that the delicate balance finally collapsed near the end of the 60's and he snapped. I mean, this thing that he did, that fucked him up so badly? The first time he did it was when he was only fifteen or sixteen years old. He'd been doing this to himself for a damn long time. Most people probably would have gone mad after the third one, but the fact that he maintained some level of control much further than that is just a sign of how magically powerful he is..." Harry mused, mostly to himself.
"You're not going to explain any of this to me, are you?" Snape deadpanned in annoyance.
"Maybe someday I will... probably not though. He'd kill you if you knew."
Snape paled and nodded his head slowly. "Duly noted. So what are you going to do now?"
Harry shrugged again. "Go to classes. Do homework. Work on my books. Same-o-same-o."
For some reason, something the boy said caught Snape's curiosity. "Work on your books?" he inquired. He'd often seen Harry scribbling away relentlessly in a number of leather-bound notebooks, and had always wondered what was in them.
"I'm writing a number of books," Harry said simply, not really explaining anything, much to Snape's annoyance.
"About?" Snape prodded airily.
Harry sighed and leaned back in his seat. "Well, quite a few things, honestly. One is nothing but mental ramblings on the human condition and my general philosophy, I suppose. There's another one that's a collection of essays focusing on political study – what's wrong with various systems; why they fail; how they could be improved. Another is a magical history treatise about banned magics that have no business being banned and what historical events led to them being banned. I've got quite a few on other subjects that I've finished, but those are the more on-going ones and the ones I've got going right now."
Snape looked legitimately surprised by this answer. "That is not... what I would have expected. Although, admittedly, I didn't know what to expect."
Harry hummed noncommittally. "They help me order my thoughts and express myself in some form, even if I can't let other people read them for a while. I'll probably publish some of them at some point."
"I think I would like to see them," Snape mused after a moment.
"I could probably do that," Harry said with a tilted dip of his head.
"So you have no plans outside of resuming your school life?" Snape asked then, drawing the focus back to their original topic.
"Voldemort is going to do whatever Voldemort decides to do. I'll just keep doing this until some reason comes up to do something else," Harry said easily.
"Do you think he will call his followers to him soon?"
"No clue," Harry said with a shake of his head. "I did tell him that you know about me and my repeating life. He has other ways of contacting me though, so he shouldn't have to use you as a middleman if he ever needs to talk to me."
"That would be preferable. I would rather not be your message delivery boy," he drawled.
"Yup, well, that's it for me, I think – unless you've got any other specific questions?" Harry said, sitting forward in his chair as if to stand up, but he hesitated at the last moment, shooting Snape a questioning look.
"I suppose that is all."
Harry gave him a firm nod, stood, and left the man's office.
– –
A prince is further esteemed when he is a true friend or a true enemy, when, that is, he declares himself without reserve in favor of someone or against another. This policy is always more useful than remaining neutral... And it will always happen that the one who is not your friend will want you to remain neutral, and the one who is your friend will require to declare yourself by taking arms. Niccoló Machiavelli
– –
Time once again began to move along quickly for Harry. He did take up the habit of randomly writing in his protean-charmed book, to Voldemort from time to time. It was not exactly the sort of thing one might have expected him to write to the man; and was probably not the sort of thing the man himself would have expected either, yet it had the potential to be useful.
The things Harry wrote were almost always little anecdotes or memories of certain things that Harry had experienced at some point, in one of his many lives, that just happened to come to him at a moment when he had easy access to the book. They usually contained details about events yet to transpire – and possibly never transpire at all – of some sort of social or political significance. Even a few environmental things, as well as summaries of the sorts of advancements and inventions that had come about at various points in time.
Half-remembered natural disasters and vague impressions of when they happened – a flood here, an earthquake there, a tsunami somewhere else.
The slowly increasing isolationist attitudes taken by the wizarding populations of Europe and Britain, and then the awful explosion when their efforts to obscure themselves from the muggles had finally failed. He told Voldemort about the internet, and social networks, and publicly available satellite scans for anyone with a computer.
He told the man about the various spells magical people had come up with to try and hide themselves, even after the muggles en mass were starting to search for them out of curiosity, paranoia, fear, and hope that they could fix everything, even though they couldn't. He told Voldemort about the varied reactions – the bad ones, the ridiculous ones, and the amusing ones. The violence that sometimes broke out; the impossible expectations from some and the vile derisive hate from others, and of course the way the wizards reacted were just as varied.
He wrote out summaries of what he knew of how different countries had reacted – different cultures, different governments, different programs. Attempts at integration, and the backlash that had resulted.
Harry rarely broached subjects of the near future of Britain since as far as he was concerned, that would depend far too much on what Voldemort himself chose to do with the next few years.
And so Harry just wrote and wrote, with no specific goal in mind. He ended up finding it rather surprisingly cathartic.
Voldemort himself hardly ever wrote back anything at all, although Harry knew he was reading them because he would occasionally interject with a question, asking for clarification on some muggle thing he was frustrated with not understanding. But outside of clarification, he rarely posed any questions.
Despite his topics being varied and often times seemingly irrelevant to current issues, Voldemort never told Harry to stop.
The only request that Voldemort made was for Harry to take steps in returning his horcruxes, which actually ended up being a slightly more convoluted process than it would first seem. First of all, Harry had to sneak out of the school again and make his way to London without being noticed. He went to Gringott's Bank, removed the horcruxes from his extra vault and then apparated to the graveyard just outside Little Hangleton where he was greeted by Nagini. He left them with her and made his way back to the school without even so much as seeing a hint of Voldemort. He was fine with that, though.
Harry had no idea, really, as to what Voldemort was doing during all this time. He'd stopped spying on the man out of courtesy and to avoid 'rocking the boat' as their truce seemed rather frail at the moment. Surprisingly enough, the other man had not made any attempts to enter Harry's mind either, as far as he could tell, and he was fairly sure he'd be able to tell. He'd heard nothing about Death Eater activity from anyone else, and the one time Harry had asked, Snape had said that he had yet to be called, and was not aware of any of the other old Death Eaters he kept occasional contact with, having been called either.
Harry had discarded his curiosity at that point, figuring that it was probably a good thing if Voldemort had chosen to take his time and actually try forming a strategy or something.
– –
It is truly a marvelous thing to consider to what greatness Athens arrived in the space of one hundred years after she freed herself from the tyranny of Pisistratus; but, above all, it is even more marvelous to consider the greatness Rome reached when she freed herself from her kings. The reason is easy to understand, for it is the common good and not private gain that makes cities great. Yet, without a doubt, this common good is observed only in republics, for in them everything that promotes it is practiced, and however much damage it does to this or that private individual, those who benefit from the said common good are so numerous that they are able to advance in spite of the inclination of the few citizens who are oppressed by it.
Niccolo Machiavelli
– –
"I have to tell you, Harry – I find that so frustrating," Hermione said one day, seemingly completely out of the blue, as the two of them sat at remote table in the back of the library that had basically been claimed by the pair. It was poorly lit back there, but this particular table had the nicest chairs and didn't wobble at all. And it wasn't like they couldn't generate their own light if need be.
Harry looked up from his leather-bound notebook to blink at her blankly. "I'm sorry?" he asked.
"That concealment charm you use on your books!" she pouted, frowning down at his book. "It drives me crazy. You're always writing in one of those books of yours, but I see nothing but scribbles if I try to look at them."
The corner of Harry's mouth turned up in amusement and he turned his attention back to the book and finished the line he was on. "Curiosity killed the cat," he said, still grinning.
She made a frustrated sort of growling noise but after a minute where it became clear that Harry had gone back to his own task, she too, turned back to her revision.
"Are they journals?" she asked a few silent minutes later. "From what I can tell, you've got several of them, otherwise I'd just think it was a diary or something."
Harry chuckled, but didn't stop writing.
Another minute passed in peaceful silence before Hermione apparently couldn't hold it in any longer. "Harreeeee –" she whined, earning her a snort from Harry this time. "Pleeease? The curiosity is killing me!"
"How long have you been wondering about this?" Harry asked, finally looking up at her and clearly amused.
"Oh, I don't know – maybe the entire time I've known you! I used to think you were always reading, but after spending a few weeks in your company towards the start of the year, I actually corrected my conclusion to decide you actually wrote in books more often than you read them – and that's quite a feat! And I know you're not doing homework because I've seen how quickly you get that done, but sometimes I'm not sure because it looks like you're researching stuff. I'm just dying over here! You hardly ever speak to anyone, so I find it really fascinating that you'd have enough going on in that head of yours all the time for you to always have something to write about like you do! I can't help but think that if I knew what you were writing about all the time I'd – I'd understand you better or something. You're like a really tricky puzzle and this feels like a big clue."
Harry paused, piercing her with his eyes for a long moment, and apparently surprising her with the intensity of his look, because she flinched. Finally, he set his quill down and dug into his rucksack flipping through a few journals until he found the specific one he was searching for. He did a quick flip through the pages to confirm before setting it down on the table in front of her. He pulled out his wand and tapped the cover.
"Okay, you can read that one."
Her eyes lit up as if Christmas had just come all over again and Harry chuckled quietly at her enthusiasm as she squealed quietly and snatched up the book. She cracked it open and eagerly began to devour the first few pages. Harry picked his quill back up and returned to his work. A few minutes passed before Hermione sat up straighter and looked at him with a rather confused expression.
"This is a book."
Harry looked up at her and cocked a single eyebrow.
She rolled her eyes. "No, I mean... it's... it's like a book! Like a text book or something! With chapters and references!"
"That one is a collection of treatises on various magical government systems, their dysfunctions, what about them works, and my ideas of how to best integrate the successful ideas into our own system while ridding ourselves of the excess and ineffective fat." Harry stated.
"Are all your books like this?" she asked, clearly surprised.
"Mm – most, I suppose. But not all of them. I've got a couple journals filled with fiction, actually, but I'm terrible at finishing anything like that. I'm bad at finding effective endings and bringing things to a conclusion. I always end up just going on and on until the story gets lost and the whole thing falls apart."
"You write fiction?" Hermione exclaimed sounding far more surprised by this than the other, and amusing Harry some.
"Yeah. Don't know if it's really any good though. Most of what I write is non-fiction though. Research papers, essays and treatises. But some of the things I've written ended up long enough to legitimately qualify as full-fledged chaptered textbooks. Those obviously require more research, of course. They're fully annotated and my sources are recorded in the back," Harry said as he reached over and flipped the journal she had in front of her a fair distance into the book and then a few individual pages until he got to the references section.
She skimmed through it, still looking thoroughly shocked.
"This is really professionally done," she said, gaping down at the book. "You would never guess that a twelve year old wrote this!" She looked up at Harry with wide eyes. "Are you going to try and get any of these published?"
He shrugged. "Maybe someday. But like you said – people would never believe that a twelve-year-old could write these up. No one would really take me seriously at this point either."
"They would if they read it," she said, as if that were obvious.
"Hermione, you've had a chance to read – what? Five pages?" Harry said in amusement.
"I got to thirteen, actually," she said, tilting her chin up haughtily and making Harry chuckle.
"Fine. Thirteen. That's still not enough for you to know if it's really any good."
"Fine, fine," she conceded looking annoyed. "But that doesn't necessarily mean anything. Anyway, if you're afraid of no one wanting to publish it or taking you seriously, maybe you could try publishing it under a penname."
Harry hummed and shrugged. "I could try submitting some of the shorter essays to various magical journals under a penname."
"Yes! See, that's perfect!"
"Some of my subjects are a bit controversial though. This one, for example, basically badmouths every magical government system, and their policies, in place in the world right now, and most especially our own Ministry. Certain individuals in high places wouldn't exactly like it."
"That certainly shouldn't stop you from publishing it!" she argued instantly. "If anything, it makes it even more important that it gets out there and that people read it – especially if you actually discuss ways that the flaws in the system could be fixed!"
Harry smiled at her fondly. "And that's what actually makes you a Gryffindor, despite your outer Ravenclaw Shell. Your steal conviction and determination to stick to your values. Right and wrong are so clean cut for Gryffindors. If it's the right thing to do, then it's worth any and all sacrifices, so long as you stand up for what's right, and stick to your guns."
"That's an overly simplified generalization," Hermione argued with a disgruntled frown, and going slightly pink in the cheeks.
"Perhaps. But we live in a world built on stereotypes and neither of us can escape from them."
"You would know that better than anyone," Hermione said with a frustrated sigh. It had bothered her for some time now just how fervently her housemates were determined to hate Harry. Harry had already caught her on several occasions defending him to her fellows in gold and red because they had said something disparaging about him. She would point out that he never picked on anyone in the other houses, and that he never even raised his hand in classes – he only ever answered questions when he was called on, so accusing him of being a show-off was stupid. She argued that he was smart and well read, and polite, and that he wasn't a bigot like Malfoy or the others. Harry had even heard her tell Ron about how Harry had hexed Pansy Parkinson for saying 'mudblood', but Ron hadn't wanted to hear or believe it.
Harry really didn't care at all, but Hermione was constantly bothered by it. She didn't think it was 'right' for him to be judged so harshly, and be at the end of so much of their anger and vitriol when she didn't think he'd done a single thing to warrant or deserve any of it.
It was one of her crusades, and Harry couldn't help but give her a fond smile whenever it came up, even if he thought she was wasting her efforts.
At least she hadn't discovered house elves yet. He wasn't sure he was ready for that crusade yet.
They discussed his writing a bit further with Hermione continuing her insistence that he let some other people read his work and seriously consider seeking publication and with Harry appeasing her with promises of 'thinking about it'. He allowed her to borrow that one journal and she had gushed appreciatively over that, promising that she would take good care of it and get it back to him right away, since the end of term was only two weeks away.
Harry was honestly surprised that she'd be willing to spare any of her brain capacity on something that wasn't revising for exams, but didn't voice his thoughts for fear of the revision monster rearing it's ugly head at him again.
They left the library, going their separate ways, and Harry made his way back down towards the Slytherin common room.
"Potter," Snape's voice caught him and Harry paused in his trek to find the Potions Master exiting out of his storeroom. "We need to talk."
Harry nodded and followed his head of house to his office where privacy wards were quickly cast and the two took seats.
Harry sat and waited patiently for the other wizard to begin.
"The headmaster will be calling you to his office tomorrow," Snape began and Harry gave no response. He'd been expecting this, honestly.
"Do you know what he intends to discuss?" Harry asked.
"Your summer living arrangements, primarily. He has also gotten word from an Auror stationed at Azkaban who apparently has some loyalty to him that the Death Eaters held there have been very... vocal, the last few months and when the Auror in question finally examined a few of them, he noticed that their Dark Marks have returned to full vibrancy, much as my own has. Of course, Dumbledore wished to see mine after having heard this and was then quite curious why I had not bothered to mention to him just how strong it has become."
Harry winced in sympathy. "That had to be an awkward conversation."
"I am more than competent enough to handle such things," Snape snapped as if he were offended by the mere suggestion that he couldn't handle something like that. Harry bowed his head in apology.
"Of course I was able to honestly tell him that I had not been called to the Dark Lord's side, and aside from the magic within the Mark being far stronger than it has been in a decade, there has been no other activity worth noting. This did not quell his nerves, however. He is convinced that the Dark Lord must be back and simply rebuilding his strength or biding his time before calling us to him. Dumbledore has expressed his concern for your safety over the summer should you be left to your own devices as you were last summer. But more than that, he is growing increasingly worried that you are not going to feel inclined to do anything about the Dark Lord when he does finally make an appearance out in the open. He did not express to me any specific plans he might have, but I am sure that he has something up his sleeve."
Harry hummed and nodded his head. "Well, it's certainly not anything I wasn't already anticipating. I'll just have to play it by ear and see how he tries to approach me when he calls me up to his office. Thanks for the heads up, though."
Snape nodded and a moment later Harry was leaving the man's office.
– –
It is double pleasure to deceive the deceiver.
Niccolo Machiavelli
– –
As Snape had predicted, Harry received a small note passed on via a fourth year Hufflepuff, the following afternoon. It requested that he come to the Headmaster's office at seven o'clock, along with a post script noting Dumbledore's fondness for liquorish wands. Harry arrived right on time, gave the password to the gargoyle and rode the spiraling staircase up to the large heavy wooden door to the Headmaster's office.
He didn't bother to knock. By the time Harry reached the top, Dumbledore had called him inside. Harry kept his face completely impassive as he entered the cluttered ornate office. He didn't let his eyes travel across the many trinkets and contraptions, nor did he spare a glance at the man's phoenix. Harry wasn't sure what to expect from Fawkes, if he were honest. In the last two lives Harry had lived, the bird had never taken quite the same liking to him as he had in Harry's early lives. Harry rather suspected the bird would down right hate him this time.
"You wished to speak with me, Headmaster?" Harry asked calmly, standing by the man's desk.
"Yes, please do sit down, Harry," Dumbledore said, indicating the plush armchair beside him and taking his own seat behind his desk. "Lemon Sherbet?" Dumbledore asked, holding up a small crystal bowel filled with the sour candies.
"No thank you, sir," Harry said without even bothering to look at them, while he took his seat.
"Pity," Dumbledore said with a simple smile as he set the bowel back down. "How has your second year at Hogwarts been, hmm? Not too under-challenged, I hope?"
"I'm keeping myself sufficiently busy, even if my classes are not," Harry replied in a bored tone.
"I've noticed you seem to have struck up a friendship with Hermione Granger this year," Dumbledore observed, looking secretly very pleased by this, if the sparkle of hope in his blue eyes were anything to go by.
"She initially approached me with an offer to be my potions partner, since she felt I was often carrying most of the burden whenever I worked in a group situation. I pointed out that the same thing was actually happening to her, and she then pointed out that meant we would both benefit from the arrangement. I couldn't exactly say she was wrong."
"Ah, yes, such things do happen when certain students show themselves to be academically exceptional. Others take it as an opportunity to remove the burden from their own shoulders and let it fall instead upon the shoulders of the person they see as more capable."
"But that is hardly fair, is it sir?" Harry asked slyly. "It only allows others to believe they have an excuse to be lazy or to hide from shared responsibility. When people are allowed to entertain the notion that someone else will do it, then they no longer acknowledge the reality that they themselves are just as responsible for whatever needs doing. If too many people stand back and say 'but there's this someone else who is just so much more qualified to deal with the problem' then everyone just stands back and does nothing. But what happens if that 'more qualified' person, also happens to believe that there are others who are more qualified? Or what if they've already got too much on their plates because of all these stranger's expectations and can't make room for more? Or if there simply isn't someone more qualified. Then nothing gets done, just because the masses took the easy way out."
"I suspect we are no longer truly talking about our original subject," Dumbledore observed, eyeing Harry cautiously.
"That's really up to you to decide, Headmaster. Do you know what Bystander Apathy is?"
"I'm not familiar with the term, no."
"It's not exactly the same as what I was just discussing, but it is along the same lines. It's also known as the Genovese syndrome by muggle psychologists. It is the social psychological phenomenon that refers to cases where people will not offer any means of help in an emergency situation to the victim, when there is a large number of other people present. In fact, the more people that are present, the less likely it is that any one of them will intervene and help the injured party. It is a result of everyone present assuming that someone else will help, so they don't need to – or that it's none of their business. There are plenty of other people present – surely one of them is more qualified to help? But when everyone thinks that, no one helps.
"Along similar lines, if something is horribly wrong with a system, or maybe there's some sort of feud going on, or the government is corrupt, or an individual is being singled out inappropriately and mistreated – anything really – and lots of people all seem to 'know' that this something is wrong and horrible, but no one does anything. Everyone assumes that there is someone else out there that is in a better position to help – so many people know that this is a problem so surely there is someone out there doing something about it. That there are other people who are responsible for fixing the thing that's wrong and that it's simply none of their business, or they simply wouldn't be able to do anything.
"But what if there's no one who can actually fix it? Or simply, that no one who might have been able to do it, ever stood up and did something?"
Dumbledore's eyes lit up with something akin to hope.
"Ah, yes. Yes, that is truly a travesty," he said, nodding his head gravely.
"Are you being apathetic, Headmaster?" Harry asked rather bluntly and Dumbledore looked taken aback and confused by the question.
"I'm sorry? I'm not sure –"
"You expect me to fix your problem, and thus, you are not taking the necessary actions to correct it yourself. If you want Voldemort dead, you're going to have to do it yourself. Stop pinning all of your hopes and dreams on the shoulders of a twelve-year-old boy. It's unfair and unreasonable. Do you honestly think that I'm more qualified to do the deed than you are? Why? Because of some two-bit hack trying to impress you while interviewing for a divination job? Are you really that stupid? You've had more than a decade to get to know Sybill Trelawney. Has she ever, even once, since that first interview, ever given another 'real' prophecy? I don't care how convincing she was, or how many of the words seem to make more sense now in hindsight, while others still seem like nonsense – I still wouldn't allow all of my plans be built upon such a weak, questionable foundation."
Dumbledore was staring at him in silent shock.
"Tell me, Headmaster –" Harry pressed on, not giving the man a chance to gather his thoughts and interrupt with questions, "– which would be a better use of your time, and the time of your associates? Preparing for a war you fully expect to come, or running around trying to keep track of a twelve-year-old boy who, outside of appearing to be something of a prodigy, has given you absolutely no reason to believe he will be your secret weapon? Because I won't. I will not be anyone else's weapon. And I will not tolerate you sending your associates to stake out my flat this summer. If I catch even one of them, I'm going abroad for my summer holidays and you won't see me again until September 1st."
"Harry, wait now. You clearly seem to be under some misconceptions. I'm not sure where you got your information, but –"
"Don't lie to me, Headmaster. I'll know if you do it. I'll know, and I'll never trust you again, with anything," Harry cut him off sharply.
Dumbledore paused abruptly, eyeing Harry with wary eyes, as if he were wondering suddenly, for the first time, if maybe – just maybe, Harry really would know, if he were lying to him.
He closed his mouth and observed Harry for a moment. Dumbledore's bushy white brows were pulled down and furrowed deeply with worry. "How do you know about Professor Trelawney's prediction?" he asked finally.
"It's on file at the Department of Mysteries. It, being placed there under my name, is accessible to me to view whenever I like."
Dumbledore's brows raised into his lined forehead. "You know what the prophecy says, then?"
"I do. I also think it's rubbish. It's just like any prophecy where you can look at bits in hindsight and try to find meaning and say it was destined fate! But it's really just your interpretation. Picking out the bits you like while saying the ones that still make no sense just haven't come to pass yet, or you haven't yet seen something that would put it in context."
"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure of that," Dumbledore said, shaking his head and leaning back in his chair to observe Harry. "The prophecy says that you have the power to vanquish the Dark Lord Voldemort. I assume from what you've said that you are aware that he is not truly dead?"
"Judging by how desperate you've been to find me, keep track of me, and stay on my good side, it was obvious that you were still expecting to need something from me."
Dumbledore nodded hesitantly. "You are clearly a very powerful wizard, Harry. You are a prodigy among your classmates. You – "
"But you don't think that any of that will be important, do you?" Harry said, cutting him off. "Voldemort was a prodigy as well. I rather suspect he had quite a bit more power than I do, when he was my age, even. Me being smart or magically powerful isn't something that would give me any special advantage. If all it took was intelligence and magical power, then there would be nothing stopping you from doing the deed yourself, and yet you seem to be under the impression that that isn't possible."
"I... do believe that it will take more than intelligence and power, yes," Dumbledore conceded.
"Then find out what it'll take," Harry said airily. "Anyone with the motive and initiative could work on doing that. Do you somehow think that my destined role in all this is to do research into what sort of Dark Arts the Dark Lord might have used to protect himself from death? Do you believe that's my role in all this? That I'm supposed to find out his weakness?"
Harry let the question hang in the air for a minute.
"I suppose one could suggest something along those lines," Dumbledore said hesitantly. "You certainly seem well versed in the arts of research, and you may have access to certain tomes that even I myself would have trouble finding. However, I would strongly prefer it if you were not exposed to such awful books, so no Harry – I do not expect that of you."
"Good, because I'm not doing it," Harry said shortly, cocking a single eyebrow as if daring the man to argue.
"It does not bother you at all? That Lord Voldemort could be out there? That he could try to come back and begin to wreak havoc and misery upon wizarding Britain once again? That other children could lose their parents to him, as well?"
"No." Harry said flatly and Dumbledore's face seemed to crumple and his shoulder's slumped.
"Harry..."
"I get that you're old, and that you already had to defeat one Dark Lord," Harry said, his tone softer now than before, "and you're hoping to pass the baton on to the next generation – the next hero to be the beacon of hope for the apathetic masses who prefer the safety of huddling in their homes, hoping that someone else is going to stand up and protect them. You were hoping that beacon would be me. It won't be," he said, his voice going hard again. "I'm telling you, straight up, right now. It won't be me. Find someone else to rest all of your hopes and dreams on. If you keep hoping that I'll turn around and change my mind, you're only going to die disappointed."
"But Harry – please listen to reason. You –"
"You don't know me. You don't know what I've lived through. You don't know my reasons or my motives for making the choices I've made. And you're not going to know either because I have no intention of sharing my secrets with you. Certainly not yet, at least. But my mind is set. My reasons and my conviction to stick to my decision is solid. I know that you were hoping to bring me up here today and convince me into allowing you to protect me over the summer. Watch me, train me, perhaps? I don't know. Maybe you were going to try and talk me into staying with some family you trust and that would smother me with affection so I'd form emotional attachments and finally understand the value of love and find a reason deep within myself to want to protect this new wonderful warm and fuzzy way of life," Harry chuckled and shook his head sadly. "It's not going to happen.
"I'm going to leave this school on the train with the rest of the students, and be on my merry way for the two month holiday. I'm just another student. That's all I am to you now. I'm not the fated savior that you're going to rest all of your hopes on. As far as you should be concerned, there is no prophecy. Even if the thing were legitimate; I'm defying the prophecy. I refuse."
"But why?" Dumbledore asked with desperation and confusion in his voice as he leaned over his desk, closer to Harry.
"Because I don't want to," Harry bit out in annoyance. "It's my life to do with as I see fit. If I decide to move to New Zealand and take up an apprenticeship and work on gaining a Mastery in spell creation, that's going to be my prerogative. You're getting all antsy with the expectation that Voldemort might come back, and that when he does, he might start up his war again, and things might get bloody and awful,and wizarding Britain might need someone to save them from him. But even if all this does come to pass, a war is never won by a single person. In what world is it logical to conclude that some theoretical future war is going to rest fully on the shoulders of one young boy? That's just stupid, insulting, and irresponsible on your part. Your whole plan relies on my being willing to sacrifice myself for your cause. Well guess what? I'm not willing. Come up with a new plan. Are we done here?" Harry finished with blunt coldness.
Dumbledore's gaze was no longer worried, confused, or defeated. He looked rather pissed off, actually, and Harry felt a small thrill course through him. Would the man try something? He rather doubted it, but who knew? He almost hoped he did, except that if he had to make a run for it, he'd have to hope that Draco would protect his stuff and be able to bring it to him later.
"If that is your choice, then I suppose I have to accept it," Dumbledore said coldly, and stood from his chair. Harry stood as well and waited, watching closely for any sign that the man might go for his wand, but he didn't. Harry gave the man a curt nod and quickly walked out the door and back down the stairs.
