Chapter 21: Self-inflicted Wounds

Monday, January 8, 1996

It was a busy day – a full half of Harry's classes met on Mondays – but he still made time to review Hermione's letter to Gringott's over lunch. Neville and Luna had been most helpful in discussing how to appeal to the goblin culture, but Harry's inner compass helped a bit as well. Hermione contributed her customary thoroughness and competency. And handwriting; can't forget that.

He read the letter, seeking an agreement to protect their human security while also protecting the goblin security, and asked, "Can you change the salutation without having to copy the entire thing over again?"

Hermione nodded and took the parchment back. "What should it say?" She had stopped questioning Harry's little addendums. The insights he contributed made their proposed contract much stronger, and – oddly, for Hermione – she didn't scoff at his sheepish explanation that the phrases 'just came to him.' Harry suspected that he had confirmed a piece of secret lore that she had ferreted out, which made her accept that he was being fed information that was helpful.

"To the Convocation of the Brethren of the Earth."

She looked at Harry, puzzled.

"It's how they think of all goblins, together. If we can offer this to every goblin bank, every tribe, every clan, then they know we're serious and are thinking about their welfare, not just our own. If we sent this offer to Gringott's, the British clans would have an advantage over the rest of them, but they would believe that we're only doing this to prevent personal retribution."

"Ah," said Hermione as she inked her pen, "it puts us in a stronger moral bargaining position."

Harry nodded. After lunch, he and Hermione went back to the Lair, where Hedwig was waiting for them, as both Harry and Hermione half expected.

Harry settled into a chair so he could look Hedwig in the eyes. "Hedwig, I know that you are the fastest and most intelligent post owl in the land. You are the best of the best." He fixed her with a strong stare. "But for this letter, you must keep everything you have to be proud of, and still be humble. Can you do that?"

An emotionally evasive post owl was a wonder to behold. Hermione barely managed to contain her giggles.

"This letter," he held it up, transferring Hedwig's gaze to it, "is not just for me, and not just for my friends. We hope to stop a war before it even starts, and protect the wealth of all our people. We need the best owl to ever connect two friends, but more – we need one that can be the best without offending others." Harry reached out and scratched the left side of her neck, and she leaned into it. "We need you. Everything you've ever done for me, and then some. Can you do it?"

He was answered by Hedwig standing up straight – almost at martial attention – and giving a crisp bark. Harry gave her the letter, and she winged away through the Lair owl entrance.

Hermione sighed, watching the white owl depart. "You have the strangest owl, Harry."

"I have the best," he corrected her, looking out in the same direction. "I seem to surround myself with the best."

He didn't see Hermione bite her lip and look at him out of the corner of his eye.

-o-

Wednesday, January 10, 1996

Umbridge – that is, Professor Umbridge – had taken over the DADA class, and kept it on its stultifying, peaceful way. At the beginning of term, she had announced, and been supported by an article in the Prophet, that she was now the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts, announced in Educational Decree #23. She immediately began asserting authority over the staff, insisting on restrictions concerning magic being taught. Last weekend, her confrontation with Flitwick became legendary; he insisted that he had a contract with Hogwarts, represented at the time by the Headmaster, and that regardless of her Ministry-appointed position, she could not break a contract that was already in force. This resulted in two Educational Decrees being posted, numbers 24 and 25, which essentially stripped professors of their authority over student activities and punishments.

Tonight's target was Trelawney. Umbridge seemed to enjoy public displays of her authority, regardless of how small-minded it revealed her to be. Harry wasn't all that thrilled with his Divination class – nor its professor – but he felt that this was the time to intervene. Propelled by the promptings in his mind, he approached the staff table while the screaming professors threw all their dignity out the window.

"… and if a half-drunken sot can give a real prophecy, I'll kiss Fudge!"

Harry chose that moment to interject, "It is fortunate that you did not give a magically binding promise on that." Both women turned to face him, looking down from their elevated dais. Umbridge had reddened at Harry's interruption. "I believe that I can coax Professor Trelawney to provide the proof you need."

Harry carefully placed his wand on the railing of the podium. He faced Trelawney and ordered, "Under the authority that I have been given, I request that any messages to me from higher powers be given at this time."

Umbridge immediately screeched, "What auth…"

Harry cut her off, pointing his finger at her and ordered, "Hush, I need to hear this." Umbridge immediately closed her mouth, eyes bulging and jaw straining.

Trelawney had stood, and began to glow, a shaft of light descending from the ceiling to illuminate her – just her – above the rest of the Great Hall. Her face twisted, muscles rearranging themselves under her skin, and she spoke in a voice that while unnatural to her, was smooth and powerful, neither male nor female. She opened her mouth and began to float slightly above the floor, saying,

"The servant of light has chosen his path and allegiance.

His enemies combine yet shall not support each other.

The heart, the mind, and the tower of strength support him.

The prophecy of infancy can only be resolved by the choices of the servant!

The future's seeds are planted in minds and hearts by the Great Deceiver.

Care well for the innocent and deny not justice to the injured,

For your actions are the foundation of your future,

And your judgement is in the hands of the servant."

With that, the light vanished, Trelawney floated down to touch the floor where she collapsed, and the Hall erupted in babbling murmurs. Harry gestured at Umbridge, releasing her from her imposed silence. Umbridge was determined to be heard above them all. "POTTER!"

He glanced at her dismissingly. "You have heard Professor Trelawney give a true prophecy. She is, therefore, the most capable practitioner of divination this school has and cannot be dismissed on the grounds of competence."

Umbridge was furious, face red and snarling. "What authority do you have, boy," dismissing him.

Harry listened to the impulses in his head and let the anger drain away. "From what you've just seen, my authority, like yours, has nothing to do with magic." Harry picked up his wand. "And while yours comes from, and is limited to, government … mine is not." He turned and walked back to the Magic House table, muttering the prophecy under his breath for memorization purposes.

-o-

Thursday, January 11, 1996

The prophecy that Trelawney had uttered was foremost in Harry's mind that morning – he puzzled on it during the morning run, and the pink-clad Prof. Burbage didn't try to pull him into the discussion on muggle entertainment options. After almost two weeks back from break (and daily doses of a fortifying potion regime), the students had enough stamina for several circuits of both floors and one full speed top-to-bottom-and-back run of the Astronomy Tower. It gave Harry plenty of time for musing. If only I could come up with something insightful.

During breakfast, it became apparent that the other Magic House students also spent time musing over the prophecy; Hermione spoke up with, "I think that the new prophecy is basically a warning, Harry."

He shook himself out of his slight food daze (a large cup of hot chocolate, a small slice of warm ham, and spicy baked eggs) to respond, "I kind of got that, but it doesn't make that much sense to me."

Luna hastily cleared her throat and piped up, "I thought it was fairly straightforward, Harry. What confuses you?"

"I asked for message for me from higher powers. It seems like this message was primarily for meddling adults and headmasters."

Neville said, "That's true. If you translate the descriptions into people, you get the message that Harry has to make the decisions in order for an earlier prophecy to resolve itself, and to beware the efforts of the Great Deceiver, which has got to be Dumbledore."

"And if … Dumbledore isn't being warned against meddling … then Harry is being warned against the Headmaster. Why?" Hermione methodically took the next step.

Prof. Burbage broke in – almost literally. She had disappeared from the staff table unnoticed, and had created a Door to appear behind the students. "The Headmaster insists on meeting with Mr. Potter today after lunch. So perhaps this is a timely warning rather than a general one." Her expression reflected her worry over her students and distrust in her boss.

Harry sighed. "Or both. When does the," he swallowed his 'whiskered wanker' description, "headmaster want to meet, and where?"

Prof. Burbage jabbed her thumb over her shoulder. "The regular place," indicating the room right outside the Great Hall that they had used before. "And right after lunch."

Harry sighed again. "Got it." He looked at his housemates. "Anyone want to volunteer as my backup?"

Luna emptied her fork into her mouth and then waved it at him, slowly chewing.

"Ok. Just put the fork down before we go. I don't want anyone getting hurt."

She swallowed hastily. "My pudding shouldn't be a subject under discussion, so that won't really be a problem, will it?" she said sweetly. Harry rolled his eyes.

-o-

Harry, Luna, and Prof. Burbage were waiting in the room for a bit before Dumbledore arrived, so they decided to arrange the seating for best effect. Harry sat at a table with one chair across from him, in the center of the room. There was an empty seat behind the table with its back against the wall, Luna sat in a corner behind Harry and to his right, and Prof. Burbage sat in the corner behind the table where she could see everyone.

"There," said Prof. Burbage as she stowed her wand and stretched her fingers. "Now Albus will have his ally to watch his back, a monitor at his back, and Luna will be out of the line of fire should anything happen." Harry nodded, and Luna skipped over to her overstuffed chair and burrowed in. He smothered a little laugh at her antics and took his chair at the table, while Prof. Burbage sat in her chair (with her wand out, Harry noticed.)

They sat for minutes, silence stretching out before them, and Harry tilted his head back with his eyes closed. Finally, Prof. Burbage said, "This delaying tactic is intended to make you annoyed, and thus less careful, when they do come in. Be aware of your own emotions, and don't let them dictate what you say or do."

Good advice. Hope I can do that. Harry's internal monitor suggested that he ask Heaven for assistance – which he promptly did, in the privacy of his own head. As he finished his plea, the Headmaster and Prof. Flitwick walked in the door.

The Headmaster immediately began, "Harry, my boy …" and trailed off at Harry's expression.

He began again, "Mr. Potter, what we have to discuss is highly sensitive and must remain secret." With the most serious expression Harry had ever seen him adopt, Dumbledore went on, "I must ask Prof. Burbage and Miss Lovegood to leave us for a private conversation."

Harry snorted. "Ask all you like. If they leave, I will leave." In response to Dumbledore's frown, Harry said, "There may be long-term reasons for security like you ask. That doesn't mean that I should ignore the immediate threat that you present. Feel free to have whatever discussion you like with me, but I will not meet with you in private, and I will not give you control over my life."

Dumbledore's frown didn't lessen a bit. Flitwick interjected, "You need to show the appropriate respect for your Headmaster, Mr. Potter. Five points from Magic House for cheek."

"If this was a discussion within his responsibilities as my Headmaster, he might be deserving of more. As it is, the topic that Dumbledore wanted to cover this afternoon is the prophecy that was given at the evening meal yesterday. Given that he insists on a private discussion of a prophecy that everyone has already heard, his aim is most likely to steer me into an interpretation of that prophecy favorable to him and his long-term goals."

Prof. Flitwick sat back in his chair, obviously a little unprepared for Harry's broadside. Luna took this opportunity to say, "And since the prophecy tells us that Harry must be the one to choose, your interpretation can only be guidance, not definitive."

Dumbledore, now sitting across from Harry, responded with, "But my guidance may be the key to successfully resolving this message from Fate."

Harry looked at him thoughtfully. "Ok, then; what is your interpretation?"

Dumbledore was caught a little back-footed at this blunt query. He obviously wanted a little time to lead up to his thoughts. He gamely began, "The servant of light is someone we must seek out, and I suspect that the great deceiver is currently associated with … Tom Riddle."

Harry refrained from snorting. Yeah, right. "Please explain this 'prophecy of infancy' to me?"

Dumbledore looked from side to side. "That is most secret, Harry. There have been many deaths and much suffering because of that prophecy, and I cannot allow others to know what it tells us."

Harry said dryly, "If we won't know the contents of that prophecy, it's not telling us anything." In a more conversational tone, he went on, "That prophecy was given last night because of my request of a true seer. In that context, I am the servant of light, and that conclusion is reinforced by the events of Christmas last." Dumbledore's expression sharpened quite a bit, but Harry ignored his alertness. "Even absent that interpretation, the prophecy of infancy mentioned will be resolved one way or another, regardless of who is informed of that previous prophecy. So you have a choice to make, Mr. Dumbledore; do you want to me resolve that prophecy blindly, or with an understanding of what outcome I am trying for?"

Dumbledore asked, "What happened at Christmas, Harry? I mean, Mr. Potter?"

"Let's get some background here; when was that last time you prayed, Mr. Dumbledore?"

"I don't see how this is relevant, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said.

"Work with me, here. When did you last pray? Do you ever receive answers to those prayers?"

Slowly, "I do not need to cast my wishes into the void, Mr. Potter. And answered prayers are a figment of imagination, a delusion we give ourselves for comfort."

Harry snorted. "I have personally experienced proof that both of those statements are wrong, sir. And given that you do not seek guidance from the ultimate source of light, you cannot be considered the – or even a – servant of light. Since I have been given that position, I should probably know that prophecy that you are hoarding to yourself."

Dumbledore smiled – condescendingly and patronizingly – at Harry. "I have the assurance of a phoenix companion, Harry. I am as much of the Light as a person can be."

Luna and Harry both snorted. Luna from her perch in the far corner of the room called out, "And just where did that connection come from? The fact that you have a constant companion of a phoenix should actually be a warning, not an endorsement."

At Flitwick's puzzled expression, Luna went on, "A phoenix is a creature of fire and air; a volatile mix of the two most unstable and variable elements in nature. For the phoenix to be constantly around the Headmaster indicates some powerful spells perverting the nature of the animal: thus, a warning that mind-controlling magics are being used, possibly indiscriminately."

Dumbledore waved his hand to dismiss Luna's argument, but didn't address it, Harry noticed. The arguments went back and forth, the Headmaster refusing to accept that Harry could supplant him as a leader, and Harry just as stubbornly pointing out that under his current actions, Dumbledore was probably the Great Deceiver that he had been warned about.

Finally, they came to an agreement; Dumbledore would write the prophecy down, and send it via Fawkes to Harry at 8:45 that night. Harry would have one minute to read it before the parchment would burst into flame, and Harry would not copy the prophecy or write it down from memory, so that it would remain secure.

"I can only offer this because your mind is unusually closed to me, Mr. Potter." Throughout the discussion, the Headmaster has gradually become accustomed to addressing Harry properly. "This is a marked change from last year. Are the events of Christmas last related to you sudden knowledge of Occlumency?"

"I have no idea. I don't even know what that is."

"Hmm. I see." And the subject was dropped.

Harry decided to ask one more question. "Did you give Miss Granger a loyalty potion?"

The Headmaster looked a bit resigned and unsettled under his mask of benign helpfulness. "Not purposefully, but yes," he admitted.

"Please explain." Harry's voice was flat.

"My candy dish covers the contents with a mild loyalty potion as an aide to conversation in my office. The potion is completely medically safe, and could never control her." After a pause, he added, "Please do not publicize this, as it is very helpful in getting to the bottom of various issues at Hogwarts."

Harry thought for a moment, then grinned. "Is the reason that Miss Granger is safe, that the given dose is so small?"

Dumbledore nodded.

Harry's grin got bigger. "Hermione will be glad to hear that. You'll need to report immediately to Poppy, though. I've seen you take a lemon drop while I've visited, even when nobody else is taking one. By repeatedly taking one yourself, you've given yourself a dose big enough to alter your behavior." He chuckled softly.

"But that just induces loyalty to myself – that couldn't be an issue," Dumbledore protested. "You're just a student, and obviously just casting in the dark."

Harry leaned around Dumbledore to address Flitwick. "Having his loyalty to himself increased means that his ability to accept ideas from others is artificially decreased, as you can see. His tendency to trust others has taken a hit as well, probably. Can you insure that the Headmaster is admitted to Madame Pomfrey's care?" Flitwick nodded as he was drawing his wand.

Harry continued, "Then I think that we should excuse ourselves." He sidled over to where Luna had sat, completely silent in the corner, where Prof. Burbage joined him. He waved his left hand, and a Door moved them all to the Lair in a tangled and painful heap. It was painful to Harry, at least – he was on the bottom of the pile.

Luna reported the meeting to Neville and Hermione, where Hermione was immediately overcome by the knowledge that she hadn't been targeted by Dumbledore and broke down crying. Neville and Harry left her to the care of Luna and Prof. Burbage; standing around awkwardly didn't seem to be a helpful strategy, and that was all they knew how to do.

At 8:40, Harry was in the room he had used for his ritual. The room was empty, save for a seat that Harry had transfigured. He fancied that he could still detect a trace of the messenger's presence in the room, and he gratefully sunk into a grateful meditation, or perhaps an unformed prayer, until Fawkes arrived.

The message was delivered at what Harry presumed was the correct time, the parchment let him read it once through before bursting into flame … and Harry was left with questions.

Most prominently, what does it matter? He shook his head. Maybe the detox would clear Dumbledore's mind. One could only hope.