'I've lost my magic haven't I?' said Harry. 'Something went wrong when you saved me and now I can't do magic anymore. I can't stay at Hogwarts; you're sending me back to the Dursleys.'

Dumbledore opened his mouth but Harry cut him off.

'Please don't send me back to them Dumbledore. Please, you have no idea what it's been like growing up in that house. You can't say oh Harry yer a wizard come live in a castle full of people just like you look you belong somewhere you can have friends and do things kids are supposed to do oh whoops your best friend's sister is danger better go save her and here as a reward you can get lost its back to the muggles Harry!'

Dumbledore looked at the angry young wizard in front of him. This was dangerously close to becoming a conversation he had not expected to have for quite some time. Then again, his expectations had withered and burned the moment he cut off Harry's arm. The full extent of the implications of this action was at this moment a fever dream that he half remembered. Dumbledore looked at his options, discovered he had one left to him, and acted.

'Would you like a sherbet lemon, Harry?' he said.

'I don't want a sherbet lemon Professor I want my fucking arm back. I know you can do it; Madam Pomfrey did it last year I lost every bone I had and she just fed me a potion and there it was, good as new. I mean it almost makes up for hiring a Defence Professor so inept that it took two children to force him to do his job and instead of doing it, he attacked them and ended up wiping his own memory. That's what I want Dumbledore, I want you to regrow my arm and give me my magic back and then I want as much help as you can give me so that when Voldemort comes after me the next time, I can kill him.'

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. Harry felt a chill sweep through the room. His chest felt tight and he was taking great shuddering breaths. His vision cleared, he hadn't even noticed that it had become blurry but now Dumbledore's office was becoming brighter and brighter, the colours were so sharp that they hurt. His ears were ringing. Dumbledore opened his mouth and said the last thing Harry expected.

'I'm sorry, Harry. Here I was talking to you like you were the same small boy who arrived in my school with wide eyes and hope in his heart for the first time in years. But you're not that boy anymore, are you? You're a young man now Harry and I will never forget that again. I make you a solemn promise. I forgot myself Harry. I forgot you needed answers, not more questions. More fear. Harry, you haven't lost your magic.'

Harry was sitting down, how long had he been sitting down?

'A wizard can lose his life; he can lose his wits and his mind. He can even, in the darkest and most cruel situations, lose his soul. But magic, magic is something else. It's something more than anything we pretend to know. Nothing can deprive a wizard of that.'

Dumbledore paused. He had a strange look on his face.

'I don't understand Professor' said Harry, 'you saw me try to cast that spell and I couldn't do it.'

Dumbledore laughed. 'Harry, the spell didn't work because you didn't cast it correctly. The incantation was flawless and your intent, your will to wield magic, I sense that too was correct. But I've never seen sloppier wandwork. Your movements were all over the place.'

Harry stared head-cocked at the headmaster. He performed the motion again, slower. Dumbledore was right. He'd been compensating, reversing his wandwork to a more natural position. Then it hit him.

'Professor, am I going to have to relearn every single spell I've learnt since I've been here?'

'Yes Harry, I'm afraid you will.'

'I think I'll take that Sherbet Lemon now, if you don't mind.'

'Not at all my boy,' said Dumbledore, delighted. 'I really can't shift them you know. Most wizards have a terrible aversion to anything made by muggles but, they really are quite ingenious.'

'Professor Dumbledore Sir, sorry, I know you think this is all extremely interesting but if we could get back to the small matter of me relearning every single spell I've spent the last two years trying to get a handle on I'd very much appreciate it.'

Something in the way Dumbledore leant back in his chair and pursed his lips told Harry that he might have went a teensy bit over the boundary between acceptable ways to speak to your headmaster and acceptable ways to talk to a Malfoy.

'I have arranged for you to have extra lessons with Professor Moody to remedy that particular issue. Your teachers are of course aware of the…situation, and they will afford you as much leeway as possible. It would be unfair to hold you to the same standards as everyone else in terms of your homework.'

'I don't want special treatment Professor. I just want to do magic again.'

'I'm afraid, Harry, that this is one of those situations where those of us who are adults and presume to teach must enforce certain situations on our charges. By all means, if it proves you require no special treatment then none shall be provided. Professor Moody assures me, on the strength of his own personal experiences, that this is a, how did he put it, bitter pill, which you must swallow. On that timely note, I believe it is time for your first Defence against the Dark Arts lesson. If you hurry you'll get there on time, I have an understanding that Professor Moody does not look kindly on latecomers.'

The gargoyle door to Dumbledore's office swivelled open. The conversation was over. Harry took the stairs two at a time. It was only when he'd arrived red faced and wheezing at the door to Moody's classroom (Are you alright mate you look bloody knackered?) (Honestly Ronald let him breathe. What did Dumbledore say Harry?) (In you sorry lots before I transfigure you all into toads no Mr Longbottom I'm not joking) That he realised he hadn't asked the headmaster half the questions he'd wanted to.