Chapter XIV: And the Dark Lord Riseth
"Indeed," the voice said softly, the speaker gazing upon the group of students before him.
Harry gulped and turned around. The sight that met his eyes confirmed his fears. Now we're in for it… Harry sent to Ginny.
"Please tell me why you've done this," the ancient Headmaster of Hogwarts asked of the assembled group in a quiet, sad voice, but with a streak of inquisitiveness.
No one spoke. No one moved. No one breathed. And then a voice spoke.
"Potter attacked me, sir," Draco Malfoy said in a voice of feigned innocence as a path was cleared between the Headmaster and the blond boy. "I was just coming out of Defence class when he turned around and fired a curse at me. He hit me and I was thrown against the wall." Malfoy rose from the wall he had slumped against as he spoke.
"Then Crabbe and Goyle," the boy continued, jutting his finger in the direction of the two boys, who had since let go of Neville Longbottom, "tried to stop Potter when he was about to fire another curse at me. And then the Gryffindors started attacking the others and then you came," the boy said.
Harry couldn't believe his ears. He stood there, gaping at the lying blond boy as the Slytherins all nodded in agreement with what Malfoy was saying.
"Sir! That's not true! Malfoy called Harry's mum a—a Mudblood!" Ron half-shouted quickly. There was a collective gasp from the people in the corridor that had not heard what had started the fight. "Malfoy got what—"
"That's quite enough, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said softly, but commandingly. "Mr. Potter, you will please come with me." His tone gave no room for argument. "All those in need of healing are to go to the Hospital Wing."
I can't believe that Dumbledore believed the git! Harry raged. I'm going to get him, I swear it!
Verbally, Harry settled for, "Yes, sir."
Dumbledore turned on his heel, his deep purple robes swishing as he did, and strode forward.
Harry followed behind the ancient man, his expression a downcast one. Harry had followed the Headmaster through two corridors before he heard Malfoy burst into hysterical laughter.
Oh yes, we'll be getting him, he sent to Ginny, his teeth and fists both clenched tight.
Tonight, she agreed.
Harry followed the Headmaster through a hidden tapestry, up several flights of steps, and down a number of corridors before the old man stopped outside of a statue of a pair of gargoyles.
"Chocolate Frogs," he said. It was evidently a password, for the gargoyles moved away, revealing a spiral staircase that seemed to work quite like a Muggle escalator.
Harry stepped on to the revolving staircase, two steps behind his Headmaster, and watched sullenly at the scenery around him. Under different circumstances, he would have been quite interested in the things around him, but it was difficult to think of such pleasant things when he was almost certainly going to be expelled.
Dumbledore led him up the rotating stairs, finally stopping at the top of the tower where a wooden door stood, a polished brass knocker in the shape of a griffin attached to it. The Headmaster seized the brass handle of the door and turned.
Harry took no note of the room's interior as he dumbly followed Professor Dumbledore. Dumbledore came to stop at a wooden desk with an intricate carving in the form of the Hogwarts Crest (a roaring lion representing Gryffindor, a rearing snake representing Slytherin, a badger representing Hufflepuff, and an eagle representing Ravenclaw all above a Latin phrase: "Draco Dormiens Numquam Tittilandus"). The old man pointed to a chair in front of his desk, while he walked behind the desk and sat in a majestic, high-backed chair.
He steepled his hands, his elbows resting on the surface of the desk, as Harry took a seat. His face was set in an expression of the utmost solemnity. "I must ask you allow me to perform a spell on you, Harry."
Harry looked at the Headmaster as if he'd sprouted a second head. "What?" he asked in alarm.
"I am asking your permission to perform a spell on you," the Headmaster stated simply, no twinkle in his eyes and the same grave expression set, as if in stone, on his face.
"What will it do to me?" Harry asked cautiously.
Dumbledore peered directly into his eyes. Tell me that you don't already know, Tom, a voice that was neither his nor Ginny's said in his mind, as if it had been whispered in his ear.
"GET OUT!" Harry roared, leaping to his feet, brandishing his wand. "STAY OUT OF THERE!"
Dumbledore stood, raising his own wand. "Leave the boy, Tom. He is of no use to you."
"Who the hell is Tom?" Harry shouted, alarmed.
"You slipped, Tom! No first year could have done what you did to Draco Malfoy! I've suspected it all along—now be gone, Tom!"
"I AM NOT TOM!" Harry shouted in both fury and terror at the Headmaster. "I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHO THAT IS!"
Ginevra! What is he talking about? I'm not Tom! I'm Harry! He knows that! I've got the Headmaster with his wand raised against me! Harry sent wildly.
"You gave too many clues, Tom, to go back now! Your Occlumency, the nonverbal spells, the power you exerted! It all adds up!" the Headmaster said, his voice rising. "Be gone from the boy, Tom Marvolo Riddle!"
"DON'T CALL ME THAT NAME!" Harry shouted in fear and fury.
Dumbledore, his face set, waved his wand at Harry. Harry ducked, and looked up just in time to see an ethereal bird of silver fly above him.
*~*
"Weasley! You must jab your wand, not wave it! Now—" Professor Minerva McGonagall stopped dead in her tracks. Her mouth fell open as she saw the silvery ghost of a bird soar toward her, coming from out of the ceiling. It couldn't be! This particular form of communication was one invented by Albus Dumbledore himself, and it hadn't been used for nearly a decade.
My office, immediately Minerva. He is here, a voice whispered urgently in her mind. Summon Severus immediately. As soon as the glowing bird had hit her, dead in the chest, the voice had spoken.
"Class dismissed!" Professor McGonagall shouted to the class. "Everyone out!"
"Expecto Patronum!" she shouted as the class filed out. Several students ducked, thinking that McGonagall had lost it and was now shooting curses at them. Indeed, if McGonagall dismissing the class hadn't made them think of her as being out of her tree, this clarified matters—she was out of her tree.
Severus! He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is in Albus' office! Come immediately! she thought furiously as a cat, every bit as ethereal as Dumbledore's bird, flew from her wand and scampered through the floor toward the dungeons.
She sprinted across the room, seized the handle to her door, and flung herself into the hallway. She looked in the direction of the Headmaster's office, gazing for a moment with eyes unseeing, before running as quickly as her legs would carry her to the Headmaster's aid.
*~*
"Passable, Weasley."
It was the first period after lunch and Severus Snape was inspecting the potion of Percy Weasley. He hated the boy's entire family, but the boy himself was very studious and had never displayed the animosity toward the ill-tempered that every other Weasley, indeed that every other student, had.
"Thank you, sir," Percy Weasley responded, his head low in a display of respect.
Severus Snape had just strode to the front of the classroom to comment on the class's general lack of potion-brewing skills when a glowing, silvery cat scampered through the ceiling, landing on the desk of Percy Weasley (which was situated in the front of class, of course), and jumping straight into his chest. His first thought was of the peculiarity that this particular form of communication was used. And then he discovered why it was used—and all was clear.
Severus! the voice of fellow professor Minerva McGonagall spoke urgently. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is in Albus' office! Come immediately!
Impossible! Albus had said just yesterday that the Dark Lord was hiding out in the forests of Albania! No Dark Lord had ever infiltrated the sanctuary of Hogwarts. But if one could, it would be Lord Voldemort. Perhaps the Potter boy was possessed, after all.
Severus Snape smirked slightly. His time had come.
"Expecto Patronum!" he shouted, his wand pointed upward and in the direction of the Charms classroom. Filius! Lock down the school, gather everyone in the Great Hall! The Dark Lord is in Albus' office, he thought quickly, sending his missive.
A large, brilliantly white snake slithered up the front-most wall before sliding up through the ceiling.
"Leave!" he roared at his students, all of whom wore shocked expressions on their faces. He didn't even wait for the students to file out before rushing through his door and hurrying to the Headmaster's office.
*~*
"Tell me, Tom," Albus Dumbledore said while firing off a curse of livid red. "How did you manage to take over Harry?"
"I AM HARRY!" the boy of the same name shouted frantically.
"How did you manage to survive your curse, Tom?" Dumbledore asked calmly, a jet of brilliant gold racing toward his opponent, having been blasted from the tip of his own wand.
The golden jet, Harry having side-stepped it, hit one of the finely paneled walls of Dumbledore's office, reducing it to little more than ashes.
"I AM HARRY!"
"End the façade, Tom! You've been found out! Leave the boy's body—return to the next world, the very one that spat you out and said unto thee, 'Nay!'" Dumbledore, his voice rising and shaking, shouted. "Leave the boy; keep separate your affairs and those of the living!"
"I AM LIVING! I'M HARRY POTTER!"
Somewhere, a distant alarm—the sound of a wailing bird of some sort—sounded. Neither Harry nor Dumbledore paid it any heed.
"No, Tom. You ceased to live the moment you took your father's life—since before even the Eternus Noctem ritual! Depart from the boy, Tom, of your own accord, or I shall force you out!"
Help me, Ginevra. Help me! Harry begged desperately.
You have to fight him back, Harry! Ginny said between her tears of shock, sorrow, and fear. Harry was being attacked and there was virtually nothing she could do about it.
EXPELLIARMUS! Harry shouted in his mind, his wand pointed at Dumbledore.
The force of the spell sent papers rustling and scorched a hole in Dumbledore's desk. The furious red beam flew at Dumbledore, who erected a shield of light-blue energy to absorb it.
"You've lost your touch, Tom. You've been doing that spell since your first year. I should know," Dumbledore said, "I taught it to you."
Dumbledore cast another spell at Harry, this one a brilliantly green hue. It hit the chair that Harry had occupied earlier, causing it to flash a brilliant shade of white before slowly fading from reality.
The office door then opened.
Professors McGonagall and Snape rushed in, wands drawn.
"Stupefy!" Professor McGonagall called out, her wand trained on Harry. A furious jet of red fired from her wand and Harry was forced to jump sideways on to Professor Dumbledore's desk to avoid the bolt.
"Angorem!" shouted Professor Snape, his wand pointed at Harry's throat.
Suddenly, he couldn't breath. He was choking for air, but unable to obtain any. It was as if someone had inserted a Galleon into his throat, constricting his airway.
I can't breathe, Harry commented to Ginny, deadpan. He was going into shock. I'm dying.
I'm NOTdying! a part of him screamed.
Yes, yes you are. You wanted this… a small, long-forgotten portion of his brain spoke to him. It's tone was sinister, mocking. All those nights you prayed for death, it spat, here is your reward.
Dots were appearing before his eyes, he could hear the blood rushing furiously in his ears, and he felt his face heat as his reserves of oxygen lowered. He could vaguely make out the sounds of voices as he tugged desperately at his throat.
He vaguely felt someone shoot a spell at him, he could more sense the green light it cast off, rather than see the actual spell.
And then every sense seemed to lessen, but at the same time increase exponentially. He could feel the air around him; it was cool, not at all like the furious heat of the Headmaster's office's battle-torn atmosphere. He could smell the air about him, he could breath. The scent of the room was one of polished wood, the smell of treacle tart (like he'd had at dinner the night previous), and light, flowery scent that made his brain feel fuzzy and unoccupied.
He could feel welcome arms wrapped around him, a comforting tug at his heart. He tried to look up, but could see nothing but red. He eventually stopped trying to gaze upon his grasper. He closed his eyes, a sad, contented smile on face. He embraced fate. If this was dying, it was not so very bad.
*~*
"Albus!" Minerva McGonagall shouted, alarmed. "What is happening to him?"
Harry's body was fizzling out, fading from existence, blurrily wavering. His features seemed to blur, his face becoming less distinct. Beside him on the floor, another figure was situated. It was stretched out, holding onto Harry's body with what appeared to be arms.
It held his body tight, as the features of both figures slowly sharpened. The figure holding Harry's body was that of a small girl, her hair was brilliantly red. She clung to Harry's neck, holding him in place. Harry's body gradually solidified back to normal, but the girl's remained translucent, like that of a ghost.
McGonagall and Snape both looked to Dumbledore for answers. They saw the wizened old man's shocked, and slightly terrified, face and knew that something of great importance had just occurred.
"I-It was not Lord Voldemort that shared his body." The old man's eyes were wide in realisation and awe. "His power, his greatest desire, any number of his abilities…" Dumbledore seemed to be mumbling to himself, his mouth slightly agape and his eyebrows soaring near his hairline.
"Who is this girl, Albus? She looks like… well—a young Lily!" Professor McGonagall said flabbergasted.
"She's disappearing, Headmaster!" said Severus Snape sharply. And indeed she was. Her arms, still slung about Harry's neck, were slowly becoming more and more translucent, before fading to nothing but the merest of shadows. Her body lasted but a moment longer, lingering with the raven-haired boy, before it too vanished.
"I wonder…" the Headmaster said softly, his voice permeated with the tenor of sorrow, although graced with a small, underlying note of hope. He gazed out of the window of his office, stroking his beard slowly. A moment later, he turned back to his two staff members.
"Minerva, Severus, may I impose upon the both of you to take Mr. Potter to the infirmary? I am afraid that you, Severus, may have to brew a few restorative draughts for Madame Pomfrey. I fear that neither of our curses has been overly beneficial to Mr. Potter's health. Sadly, I believe that my charm was harmful more than even your Strangulation curse, Severus," spoke the ancient wizard solemnly.
"Albus, what was that… was that the ghost of Lily Potter?" asked Professor McGonagall in shock, fear, awe, sadness, and curiosity.
"I do not know, dear Professor. I fear that we have done great wrong here today." The old man sighed in defeat, but with a trace of triumph. Harry hadn't been possessed, as the Headmaster and the Potions Professor had feared.
"That was not," the aged Headmaster continued, looking directly at Professor Snape, "the soul of Lord Voldemort that was sharing Mr. Potter's body." Snape nodded in agreement.
"I now ask that you take him to see Poppy, Minerva. Severus, please go along with her and aid Poppy as best you can. But first, I ask that you inform Filius that the school is secure, tell the students it was a drill, or whatever plausible excuse you might devise," the old man, now looking every one of his considerable sum of years, said to the two professors.
"Headmaster, I would like to discuss the matter of Harry with you later, if I may?" asked Professor McGonagall.
"I do not believe I will have many answers to give you, Minerva, but you may, of course, seek me later," the man said, nodding. "But until then, please see to it that Mr. Potter will be all right, physically at least."
McGonagall nodded curtly, her face the colour of chalk. She gazed for a moment at Harry's slumped body before lifting him up (nothing to sneeze at, considering her age), not bothering to use any number of spells that could do just the same, and carrying him from the Headmaster's office.
Snape gazed at Dumbledore for a moment longer, their eyes locked. Snape's face, so usually with a sneer, now looked very odd. There were many expressions flashing on the face of the ill-tempered Potions Master: Fear, thoughtfulness, regret, anger, disappointment, and a small—very small—bit of happiness.
He too turned on his heel, after nodding at the Headmaster with knitted eyebrows, and strode from the room, following behind the Transfiguration professor.
Dumbledore sighed heavily before walking to his chair. This chair had served him well over the years. For decades he had sat in this chair. He had plotted the resistance of Lord Voldemort from this chair. He had orchestrated the downfall of Grindelwald, Voldemort's predecessor, sitting in this chair.
He allowed himself to think of the events that had occurred during the wars against both of them. Both wars had been terrible, thousands of innocent people having fallen victim to them.
Grindelwald's tactics had been so much more straightforward—relying on brute force, not sneak attacks. Hundreds of wizards clashed against one another, curses flying erratically. That had been the way wars had been fought for thousands of years. Since before the time of Merlin, even.
But Lord Voldemort preferred a much more sinister, underhand form of warfare. He and his Death Eaters conducted raids, not battles. In many ways this was beneficial to the people: Casualties came at slower rates, full-scale battle rarely, if ever, occurred. But there were downsides to Voldemort's tactics. Terrible downsides.
One could never predict Voldemort's movements without the aid of one or more spies. There was never any warning—one moment a family could be dining, the next they would be dead, spread-eagle on the floor.
Against Grindelwald there had been ways to defend. Flanking, Divide and Conquer, Merlin's Charge, there had been ways.
Against Voldemort, there could be no real defence. It was a rare thing, but during the attacks that the resistance had been informed of, or the ones that a messenger had told them of while it was happening, the only defence they had at their disposal was offence.
It was lucky that Voldemort himself only ever attacked at high-priority places. Only the most important or outspoken families were ever personally killed by Voldemort. Only the most powerful strongholds had been assaulted by the vile Lord himself. The Ministry of Magic in London was one of the few places that had ever attacked personally more than once, and even then he had been thwarted by Albus Dumbledore on all three occasions.
Sometimes Voldemort had fought Dumbledore to a standstill, on other occasions Dumbledore had actually defeated Voldemort, but always narrowly. Dumbledore had been defeated himself on more than one occasion, but Voldemort had been wounded enough to retreat afterwards.
In the running tally that Dumbledore had kept in his mind until Lord Voldemort's fall nearly a decade before, the standings were thus: Voldemort had defeated Dumbledore three times, Dumbledore had defeated Voldemort two times, and twice they had fought without a clear victor. Seven times Dumbledore had confronted Voldemort in battle. And seven times Dumbledore had come out of it injured and drained both physically and magically.
But those times had since passed. It had been ten years since he last had battled Voldemort. The ten years since Voldemort's fall had been a time of relative peace. There had been a few renegade Death Eaters to do away with, but they had, for the most, been captured within a year of his fall.
But now times were turbulent once more. The recent break-in at Gringotts—a feat that had never occurred before with any measure of success—had been kept quiet by both the goblins and the Ministry, but it still worried Dumbledore, and the others that knew of it.
It worried Dumbledore more than anyone else, however, because the vault that had been broken into held an object of immeasurable worth. It was something that—in the wrong hands—could be utterly disastrous.
Dumbledore could think of only two people who could possibly break into Gringotts successfully, and as he was not the culprit, that meant that Lord Voldemort was. But then, he reminded himself,one day Harry will have the power as well.
The question was, however, how had Voldemort, who was believed to be hiding in Albania, broken into Gringotts. "It would appear that I must make a trip to Albania," he said to his office in general.
"What ever for, Albus?" a voice asked.
The Headmaster of Hogwarts smiled sadly to the portrait that had voiced the query. "I fear that your favourite student has found a way to return here. I trust that you witnessed, though perhaps in feigned slumber, my minor battle with young Harry Potter, Armando?" asked Dumbledore of a portrait on his wall.
There were many, many portraits lining the Headmaster's office. All of the past Heads of Hogwarts kept a portrait, to which each head regularly added memories to until their passing, for the use of the current Headmaster or Headmistress of Hogwarts. They often gave advice, but spent an inane amount of time either sleeping or feigning it.
Nicolas the Narcoleptic was one of the first ten Headmasters of Hogwarts, and would often fall asleep at inopportune and uncomfortable moments. His portrait—which he had opted to have put up after his resignation, rather than upon his death—shared this habit. It wasn't long before the other heads began to do it as well.
Dumbledore had once asked one of the portraits why they did it. "You'd be amazed what one overhears when one feigns sleep, young Dumbledore," was the response from a Headmaster Alphard Inebrius, a wizard who often had a red nose to accompany his equally red cheeks.
The portrait who he had addressed a moment previous pulled him from his remembrance. "Yes, I did happen to catch… points of your skirmish. Though, Albus, I must say that it is hardly fair to call the Dark Lord my favourite student. Tom Riddle was my favourite student, but I never taught Lord Voldemort, as far as I am concerned," said the old wizard—Armando Dippet—huffily.
"Nonetheless, I must venture to the Black Forest to check upon his location. If he has, as I fear, found a way to return to Britain, then I believe it to be only a matter of time before he finds a way to enter Hogwarts itself," said Dumbledore solemnly.
There were shouts of "Surely not!" and "Impossible!" from the portraits of the Heads, but Dumbledore ignored them. He knew that it was perfectly possible to infiltrate Hogwarts. It simply was immensely difficult.
Sombrely, Dumbledore replied, "I assure you, ladies and gentlemen, that if anyone could find a way to infiltrate Hogwarts, it is Tom Riddle."
*~*
Minerva McGonagall walked through the halls of Hogwarts, the limp form of Harry Potter in her arms. It's lucky the boy weighs so little! she remarked to herself. She was no spring chicken anymore—she not half Dumbledore's age, but her youth had been lost nonetheless.
I can't believe Severus used a Strangulation curse on a student—a Gryffindor of all people! Well, she admitted to herself, I can believe the Gryffindor part. Severus Snape's hatred of Gryffindors was well-known and well-documented. She had no personal dislike for the man, he was cold and distant, but not altogether loathsome to the aging witch. But then, she reminded herself, he was my student once.
She could remember Severus' Hogwarts days clearly. They were not happy times for the boy. She remembered that during his first couple of years in Slytherin house, he was not very well liked. Over time, however, he had earned the respect of his housemates because of his never-ceasing war with James Potter and his friends.
She smiled sadly at the things the four Gryffindors used to put the most Slytherin man she had ever known through.
So nostalgic was she that she did not see a twin pair of red-heads catch sight of the body in her arms. She also didn't see their looks of shock and horror, nor did she see the two boys run, top speed, to Gryffindor Tower.
The professor of Transfiguration continued on her way, stalking through the halls in a very catlike manner, holding the limp form of Harry Potter in her arms. It was lucky that all of the students were in the Great Hall, she thought. There could have been a good deal of trouble, otherwise. And that blasted Hogwarts Rumour Mill would certainly be working full-force if anyone were to see a professor carrying an unconscious boy about the castle.
She continued to walk through the corridors and up and down the staircases of Hogwarts for the next ten minutes, before coming to a halt outside of the door of the Hogwarts Hospital Wing.
She knocked on the door awkwardly, still holding Harry's flaccid form. "Poppy? Are you here?" she asked, opening the door slightly and poking her head in.
She opened the door more fully, bringing into view the bustling healer. "Yes, yes, what is it?" she asked busily.
It was then, as Madame Pomfrey spoke, that Professor McGonagall noticed that she was not the only occupant of the room. There were half a dozen students—most of them first years—lying in beds, pale and shaking.
"Mr. Potter had a bit of an accident, Poppy," McGonagall said absently, looking about the students. None of them seemed to have registered that McGonagall had entered, nor had they noticed the body she held in her arms.
"Harry Potter?" asked the nurse interestedly as she looked up from a student who seemed to be only partially conscious.
"Yes, Harry Potter," she said impatiently. So many people reacted in this way to the boy's name. "He's in need of some restorative draughts and perhaps some bed rest, I don't know what else."
"All right," said the healer. "Go put him in bed seven, please." The healer resumed her work, running her wand over a pug-faced first year girl's forehead.
"You're quite alright, Ms. Parkinson. You may leave now, and please take Mr. Malfoy here with you as well. The pair of you are perfectly fine to be returning to your common room," said the nurse, annoyed.
Malfoy? McGonagall thought as she set Harry's body down on a bed, a large number 7 embossed on a brass plaque above the head of the bed. It was common knowledge that the two disliked, nay despised, one another; their pseudo-duel in the Charms corridor was well-known to the staff, though it had happened a long enough amount of time ago to be able to forgo punishment. Potter's adversary is here to see him injured? Oh yes, the entire school will be buzzing within the hour, she thought dismally.
"What did you say Mr. Potter's accident was, Professor?" asked Madame Pomfrey as she moved toward bed number seven after having seen Parkinson and Malfoy out.
Professor McGonagall warily glanced at the bed-ridden students. Pomfrey noticed her gaze. "They all had panic attacks when the alarm sounded. Do not worry, they are all on heavy sedative potions, they don't know a thing that's happening around them," she assured her.
McGonagall sighed. "I'm sorry, Poppy, but I can't tell you that. I don't think it would be beneficial for too many people to be aware of the circumstances surrounding Mr. Potter's state of health. Will you please do what you can for him? I need to have a discussion with Headmaster Dumbledore shortly and would like to be assured of Mr. Potter's health before I depart."
Madame Pomfrey didn't look at all pleased that she would be treated like a mushroom being cultivated, but it wasn't the first time in her career that she had been kept in the dark about certain students' injuries. "Very well. Is there anything in particular that I should know before checking him over?"
"He will have had spell damage to his neck and will likely sleep for quite a while," the professor of Transfiguration said carefully.
Pomfrey eyed the Transfiguration professor incredulously for a moment before nodding and turning to her charge. McGonagall, taking this as her cue, quietly exited the Hospital Wing.
*~*
"Come in!" Albus Dumbledore called as Minerva McGonagall made use of Dumbledore's ornate door-knocker.
"Hello, Minerva," Dumbledore said amiably as McGonagall opened the door and entered the room. Dumbledore withdrew his wand and conjured a comfortable-looking armchair for her to sit in.
"What troubles you, dear Professor? And would a lemon drop help matters?" he asked hopefully.
"Albus, what occurred with Harry Potter earlier? Why did you believe that the Dark Lord inhabited Potter's body?" asked the professor, completely ignoring the Headmaster's offer of lemon drops.
Dumbledore sighed wearily. "Mr. Potter, as you may have witnessed already, is capable of some astounding feats.
"Three days ago, after his run-in with Mr. Malfoy, he found where I had kept the Mirror of Erised. He broke through the wards, without conscious thought."
McGonagall gasped. "Albus! That simply isn't possible! Those were very powerful wards—I wouldn't have been able to break them!"
Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "You would find that, if it were necessary, you could deconstruct the wards in, perhaps, two hours," Dumbledore contradicted. "Mr. Potter managed it without realising that he was doing anything at all.
"I felt the wards collapse. As you know, I attuned them to me, so that I might know immediately when they had collapsed. Upon feeling their failing, I cast the Invisibility charm on myself and momentarily deactivated the Anti-Apparation wards around my office and the Room of Erised. I Apparated there, fully ready to battle Lord Voldemort, and encountered Harry, who was standing in the room in obvious distress.
"The astounding thing, whether you choose to believe it or not, was not that Harry had entered the room. The astonishing thing was that the moment I had appeared in the room, still invisible, Harry had sensed me. He knew of my presence!
"He took me to be a threat, and began shooting—without conscious thought—jets of pure, unrefined magical energy at me. I was floored—he knew of my presence, despite there being no sign of my existence in the room.
"After a minute or so of me avoiding his beams of energy, I managed to calm him enough to cease fire. What happened after is irrelevant, so I shall proceed to my next point."
McGonagall looked ready to object, but Dumbledore raised a hand to head her off. "Moving on to today. I was sitting in my office, writing a letter of recommendation for our Auror-to-be, when this instrument," he grabbed from his desk a small, many spoked wheel made from, what appeared to be, silver. "This, as you may know, tells me where many spells are being cast outside of classrooms, here in Hogwarts.
"I inspected this instrument, before seeing that a conglomeration of students were fighting one another in the Defence corridor. I immediately set off for the corridor, seeing that there were no professors in the area—save Professor Quirrell, who could not be relied upon to stave off a riot—and hoped that there were no injuries.
"Upon arriving, I found that more than a dozen students—all of them first years—were dueling each other in either magical or Muggle fashions. Only two students within view were not battling their fellows—Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, both of whom belong to your house. Harry made a comment that he thought them likely to attract trouble if they did not depart immediately, at which point I spoke up, my flair for the dramatic getting the better of me.
"I asked what had happened and young Mr. Malfoy lied to me, telling me that Harry had cursed him—for apparently no reason at all—and that the Gryffindors had—once more, for no reason whatsoever—attacked the Slytherins.
"I performed Legilimency on the boy and saw that what he had told to me was false, and showed me the real events. As it transpires, young Mr. Potter was walking away from Defence, when Mr. Malfoy made a comment about his mother's having been a Muggle-born.
"And then Mr. Potter did something that astounds me. He turned on his heel and, without uttering a single word, blasted a Striking charm at the boy. It was the most powerful of its kind I've ever witnessed, secondhand or otherwise. Mr. Malfoy was blown back and into a wall." Dumbledore had wonder in his eye, and Professor McGonagall was unable to stifle a gasp.
Harry was capable of nonverbal magic—and at such an age with such spectacular results? She glowed proudly for a moment, remembering that that was her student that had performed this feat. Dumbledore then continued.
"The other students, having witnessed the skirmish, then joined the fighting. Misters Crabbe and Goyle charged at Harry, but his friend Ron Weasley charged back. From there, it all became chaotic.
"Another feat that young Mr. Potter has accomplished, one that irks Severus—and to a lesser extent me—to no end, is an astounding grasp at Occlumency. Severus has found himself continually unable to gain access to the boy's mind. His shields are unlike any other's I've ever encountered… it is difficult to explain to someone who has not performed the same act…" Dumbledore trailed off.
"All of these things, coupled with the Stone being stolen from Gringotts, caused me to act in a manner that could have been avoided with further thought."
"Albus, how is the boy capable of all of this?" asked McGonagall, completely flabbergasted.
"I have suspicions, Minerva, but nothing more than that. And I am afraid that my only theory as to why that girl appeared beside Harry is one that cannot be properly tested without great pains and suspicious acts. I fear that we may be forced to wait for Harry to tell us who the girl was—for I believe that he knows—rather than finding out for ourselves."
Dumbledore absently reached into the folds of his robes. He withdrew a magnificent pocket watch. It bore twelve hands, but no numbers. Only planets, engraved into the dial, which spun around continuously.
He suddenly rose to his feet. "I am afraid, Professor, that I must be leaving."
McGonagall looked at him wildly. "To where, Albus? What business have you beyond these walls?"
"I am afraid, my dear Professor, that if Lord Voldemort is not in possession of Harry's body, than he is lurking elsewhere. I have the feeling that he is here, in the castle. There have been dark events occurring as of late and I believe he has something to do with them. I am departing for the Black Forest in Albania, where I hope to find that Lord Voldemort still resides."
Professor McGonagall looked horrified, but accepted his decisions as irreversible. "Very well, Albus. For how long will you be absent?"
"As long as a week, I am afraid, Professor. There are detections that I must make, and they could take time if Lord Voldemort has migrated to a different section of the forest. I ask that you look over Hogwarts in my leave."
"Yes, Headmaster," McGonagall responded automatically.
"Good day, Professor."
Minerva McGonagall rose to her feet, gave Dumbledore a nod, and strode out the door, still too shocked over the revelations of their conversation to do much more.
Dumbledore rose to his feet, after the door had shut, and took a deep breath. A moment later, a brilliantly red phoenix appeared in the room, accompanied by a burst of flames. It was about the size of a swan, with scarlet plumage and a golden brown beak.
"Hello, old friend. Are you ready for another journey?" asked Dumbledore of the magnificent bird.
It trilled in the affirmative, flapping its wings above Dumbledore and offering to him one of his scarlet tail-feathers. Dumbledore smiled at his companion before seizing his tail. With a blaze, the Headmaster of Hogwarts and his phoenix disappeared to the Albanian forests.
A moment after they had gone, a blood chilling, high-pitched laugh resounded in the Headmaster's office.
AN: And you thought I was dead.