CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: The Lies We Tell
Severus Snape felt an odd pang of longing as he walked through the corridors of Hogwarts Castle. He had just been down to his lab to check on a few of the potions that required months to brew to perfection but minimal supervision and they were coming along nicely. He wished he could stay longer and spend the evening in amongst the scents and vapours, brewing potions in peace and quiet to his heart's content, but the Dark Lord was expecting him soon.
It was strange to realise that he was actually looking forward to the start of the new school year, when he would have to worry more about imbecilic children blowing themselves up with botched potions and less about the demands of his Death Eater and Order duties – though they would by no means cease altogether just because his teaching job had resumed. But at least he would be able to spend more time in the dungeons that felt more like home than his house at Spinners End ever had.
He scowled at himself for allowing the moment of foolish sentimentalism and rounded the corner with more dramatic flourish than was strictly necessary. He thought that the corridors were empty, quite understandably since they always were at this time of the year. But he rounded the corner-
-and ploughed straight into someone coming the other way.
Severus successfully recovered his balance, but the idiot who hadn't been looking where he was going landed flat on his back with a surprised grunt. A chorus of surprised and concerned exclamations followed and Severus realised the he had somehow managed to bump into a whole pack of teenagers who were on campus illegally. The students in question were, unsurprisingly, Potter's little gang, and Potter was the one on the floor. He still had not stood to his feet, nor had he yet said anything rude to the 'evil bat of the dungeons' (yes, Severus knew what the students called him behind his back) who had knocked him over.
"Potter," Severus drawled dangerously, pre-empting the brat.
Potter didn't even do him the courtesy of meeting his stern gaze. When he finally said something, Severus was shocked.
"I'm sorry, sir."
"What?" Severus snapped.
The boy winced and unconsciously scooted backed an inch. As though he was frightened. Of Severus, acting the way he normally did. He wasn't even angry, really, which is why he had permitted the volume and bite of his tone to increase.
"I'm sorry, sir," he repeated louder, trying to disguise the faint tremor in his voice. "I shouldn't have gotten in your way like that."
Potter was apologising. Potter was apologising?
"Get up, Potter!"
He scrambled to obey, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground.
"Look at me," Severus ordered gruffly.
Lily's green eyes rose hesitantly to meet his, but in that moment they were not hers, because they contained none of the joy, the sparkle, the passion for life that had made Lily's gaze so captivating. They weren't even defiant, or angry, or annoyed, or mocking. In fact, the emotion in them was almost an eerie replica of what Severus had consistently seen in the mirror during his youth. But what were eyes like those – eyes that were fearful, hopeless, broken – doing on the face of the stuck up Boy Hero Harry Potter?
"What happened to you?" Snape demanded.
Potter looked puzzled. "I fell over, sir."
Only years spend working with irksome children gave Severus the strength to resist the urge to roll his eyes. "Yes, I am aware of that, Potter. I was directly involved, if you recall."
"I'm sorry, sir."
"Stop apologising!" Words that Severus would never in a million years have expected to say to the son of James Potter. "And answer the question properly."
There was that flash of fear again. "I – I don't understand."
"I am not a fool, Mr Potter. I can tell that something has transpired in the time that you have been away from Hogwarts, and I would like an explanation." There was a pause, and he added irritably, "I don't have all night."
"A lot has happened." Ah, there was the defiance that had been missing, but still, only the faintest trace of it. "It would take a long time to tell you everything, and I'm not sure why it is any of your business." And a smidgen of anger there, too. Good. But it wasn't enough. Something had changed and Severus needed to know what.
"I am making it my business," Severus replied smoothly, choosing not to disclose the very personal reason why. The promise he had made to the memory of a certain beautiful red-headed witch was known only to him and Dumbledore, and Severus intended for it to remain that way. "I want to know what has put that look in your eyes, Potter, and do not try to pretend that it was crashing into me because, while the event was thoroughly undignified, it hardly counts as traumatic."
Potter swallowed. "I'm fine."
How many times had Severus himself said the same thing to a teacher, or to Madam Pomfrey, his eyes pleading for the lie to be believed, just as Potter's were now?
"I don't believe you, Mr Potter," Snape purred, in the tone that worked best for striking fear into troublesome little first years. It had never been terribly effective on Potter, though, and still wasn't even now, as though Potter didn't consider anger that was calmly expressed to be a serious threat. Or, perhaps, as though he felt that someone who was able to restrain their anger as well as Severus would not suddenly lose control and lash out violently… as other people, such as Severus's own father, were prone to do.
The suspicion in the back of his mind grew stronger.
Acting impulsively, Severus made a sudden, aggressive step forward, bringing a hand half way up.
Startled, Potter jerked backwards with a muffled cry and flung an arm across his face to defend from a blow.
Severus stared at him.
"What the hell do you think you are doing?" someone demanded angrily, pushing him in the shoulder to make him back off.
For a brief moment Severus flicked his attention to the one who had interfered and was shocked to see that it was Draco Malfoy. The young Slytherin had for a long time held much respect for his Head of House and had certainly never snapped at him in such a manner. Even more incongruous was the fact that, unless Severus was very much mistaken – and all logic would suggest that he was – this outburst of Malfoy's had been in defence of Potter. A fierce protectiveness burned in those grey eyes.
"What happened?" Severus exhaled in bewilderment. The world had stopped making sense.
"You just attacked a student!" Hermione Granger said indignantly.
"On the contrary, Miss Granger. If I had intended Mr Potter harm, I would have used magic and I would have succeeded. I was merely conducting an experiment."
"To determine what, exactly?" Ronald Weasley spoke up, a heated flush to his cheeks which clashed with his hair. "Whether you are an evil, scary bastard? Because I would have thought that was obvious to you by now."
Unfortunately, house points could not be deducted during the summer break.
"In answer to your earlier question," Ginerva Weasley said, "nothing has happened these holidays that has been anything different to usual."
Severus skimmed the surface of her mind and discovered that she was telling what she believed to be the truth, but her words were intended as a deliberate concealment of the facts.
A brief expression passed across Draco's face as she spoke, however, which told Severus that Draco knew that her words were an unknowing lie. Something significant had happened, then. Potter's friends knew most, but not all, of the story, and incredibly, Draco knew more than they did but he was just as unwilling to share the details.
"Potter," Severus said quietly, looking directly at the boy. "Has someone been hurting you?"
Green eyes flashed up in panic and Severus locked their gazes together, not bothering to listen to the denial. He drew upon his magic and concentrated.
Jumbled images, sounds, sensations flashed through his mind.
"There will be NO bloody magic anywhere in or near this house, do you understand me?"
A face, beet red and furious, veins bulging, spittle flying from his mouth as he yelled.
"Bloody useless waste of space!"
Clenched fists shaking in the air, slamming into tables, into flesh.
"You are a stupid, dirty, horrible freak!"
Booted feet, merciless in their onslaught.
"Ungrateful, good-for-nothing swine!"
The sound of a belt being unbuckled and pulled free, the CRACK of leather through air.
"I am going to teach you a lesson once and for all!"
Splintering pain.
"This is what you get for daring to defy me!"
Unbearable agony.
…
Hot breath.
Cruel smile.
Sickening leer.
"You know what I want."
Hands-
A blast of magic threw Severus back against the wall, breaking the eye contact crucial for Legilimency and thus his connection with Potter's mind.
Draco, trembling with fury, was the one who held the wand on him. He was the one who had cast the spell.
"Leave. Him. Alone."
"It was necessary," Severus gasped, still reeling from the deluge of painful memories, needing a moment to separate his identity from the whirlwind of foreign emotions that he had taken into himself.
"It was cruel!" Draco snapped, refusing to lower his wand, standing deliberately between Severus and Potter.
Potter had fallen back against the opposite wall of the hallway and was sucking in deep, shuddering breaths, a shaking hand held belatedly over his eyes to prevent any further intrusion. He had gone dramatically pale.
"And illegal," Draco continued with a snarl. "You know full well that it is against the law for Legilimency to be performed on a minor without their prior knowledge or permission, or their guardians' consent. I could have you sacked."
It was not uncommon for the Malfoy scion to make arrogant threats against faculty members, but Severus had never before been on the receiving end of the blonde's vitriol. It was upsetting, disconcertingly so. Severus had not realised how much he valued the respect of his snakes until now.
"Unless it is for the wellbeing or safety of the minor in question," he countered. "I had just cause. I suspected that Potter had been mistreated and I was correct. Potter has been abused."
Potter flinched at the declaration and shrank back further, but no one attempted to deny it. It was very difficult to lie to a skilled Legilimens. Even with just the brief flashes of memory from Potter, Severus had all the proof he needed.
His voice softened with sympathy. "I am sorry, Potter."
"For invading his privacy or for being an insensitive son of a bitch?" Miss Weasley asked sarcastically.
Severus wished that there were not so many other students here. Conversations like these were never easy, but it was infinitely more difficult with an audience.
"For what you have been through, P… Harry," he corrected quietly.
Potter's hands dropped sharply down to his sides, clenched into fists; anger flashed through his eyes. "Don't! Don't call me that! I don't want your pity!"
Severus's heart was rough, hardened from years of lack of use, but it ached now. Ached for Lily's son, who had known a pain that Severus would not have wished on anyone – not even James Potter and Sirius Black.
"It is not pity," Severus assured him. "I… I know how you must be feeling. It is a terrible thing for a child to be hurt by those who they should be able to trust the most." He sighed heavily. "It was your aunt and uncle, wasn't it? And your cousin. They did this to you."
Potter glared at him, refusing to provide the verbal confirmation that would be redundant anyway.
Severus closed his eyes, trying to maintain his composure. Tears threatened, but he fought mightily to hold them back. I'm sorry, Lily. I'm so sorry. I let you down. He had promised to make sure that her beloved son would always be safe, always be protected, that the boy with her eyes would never come to any harm for as long as Severus could be there to prevent it.
But he had made the same mistake as last time. Sixteen years ago he had given the Potters into Dumbledore's care, certain that the wise and powerful wizard of the Light could protect them. Lily had paid the price for his blind faith, proving Dumbledore's fallibility. But on the same night as her death, the same night he had sworn to look after her son, he had allowed Dumbledore to take little Harry to live with his relatives. He would have taken the child himself, had he not been widely suspected to be a Death Eater and had he not been so consumed with grief that he could barely function. He should have questioned, though. He shouldn't have let Dumbledore make the unilateral decision that he had about Harry's placement.
He should have remembered the disgust on young Petunia's face when she witnessed her sister's first forays into magic, the hurt in Lily's eyes when Petunia screamed that she was a freak, the way Petunia's jealousy had gradually transformed into a deep hatred, the outright hostility she and her new husband had displayed when they attended the Evans-Potter wedding. They hated magic, they hated Lily and they hated anything to do with her or her world.
Severus, of all people, should have recognised the warning signs. Tobias Snape had hated magic, too, and resented his wife and son for the mysterious power they held. They had been repeatedly punished for something they had no control over – the way they had been born. So he knew what it was like.
At the very least, when Potter had first come to Hogwarts Severus should have been able to identify him as a child who was being abused at home. He knew what to look for; he knew the effects abuse could have on a child and how it came out in their health, emotions and actions. As an adult survivor as well as a teacher, it had been a personal mission of his to root out any children who were at risk or already suffering and make sure that they received the help they needed as soon as possible.
Somehow, Potter had slipped past him. No – he knew full well how. Severus had only seen the looks of James Potter, and the undeserved fame of a boy who took credit for his mother's sacrifice and subsequent victory over the Dark Lord. He had seen arrogance, and recklessness, and Gryffindorish stupidity. He hadn't wanted to see anything else and that made him partly culpable for the further mistreatment that the boy had received at his relatives' hands from his first year at Hogwarts onwards. But Potter had played a part, too; he hadn't told anyone and he had done a very effective job of hiding the truth.
Severus's eyes flashed open as he suddenly realised just how skilled Potter's deception had been.
"Potter, how is it that during our Occlumency sessions last year I saw nothing in your mind to intimate how you were being treated at home?"
A pause, as Potter considered not answering, but then he gave an irritable half-shrug with one shoulder. "I didn't want anyone to know; least of all you."
"So you blocked my access to those memories?"
"I pushed them to the back of my mind, like I always do. It's not like they're particularly fun to think about."
Severus understood that well enough; one of the main reasons he had dedicated himself to mastering the skill of Occlumency was his desire to lock away bad memories and gain control over his emotions.
"Potter," he exhaled in exasperation, "that is exactly the point of Occlumency. Why did you not simply give all of your other memories the same treatment?"
Potter just stared at him, as though the thought had never occurred to him. "It gets crowded back there," he answered finally, looking away.
Against his will, Severus's heart constricted with sympathy.
"Harry…" He didn't even know what to say.
Potter's breath hitched unevenly and Severus thought for a moment that he was going to break down. He found himself moving forward, a buried instinct to offer comfort rising to the surface.
"Stop it!" Potter yelled, lurching away from him. "Stop pretending that you care! I know you don't. You couldn't care less about me or my problems!"
"That is not true." He wished it was. He wished it could be. He didn't want to care, not about the offspring of James Potter, but those green eyes compelled him. He could picture Lily watching them through the veil, longing to be here in person to defend her son from the world that wanted to tear him down, tear him apart, but she was forced to be a bystander. It would break her heart. He could picture her tears; it was a mother's worst nightmare, to see her child in pain, to be unable to rock, to sooth, to comfort.
And Harry had no one.
Severus, at least, had always had his own mother to care for him when he was hurt or upset after one of Tobias's drunken rages. The young orphan should have had a surrogate mother in the form of his aunt, but while she might not have been quite as openly violent as her husband, Severus knew now that Petunia would have held no love for the boy.
"If I had known sooner, I would have done something about it," Severus continued, not sure why he wanted Potter to believe that he was sincere. Maybe he was trying to convince Lily. "I would have taken you away from there."
"You're lying. You don't care. You don't. You hate me."
The façade he had worn for all of these years had been too flawless. He had played his part too well. His excuse had been Dumbledore's expectation that the Dark Lord would return and Severus would once again be called upon to spy for the Order. A Death Eater would not be friendly with the Boy Who Lived. A Death Eater could not care for him. A Death Eater could show him nothing but contempt and disgust and hostility. If Severus had ever dared to show the boy an open kindness, to let him in through those walls of armour around his heart, then when the Dark Lord rose Severus would have been expected to hand the boy over immediately. And even if he hadn't, even if Severus could have announced his true loyalties, he could never stand to grow attached to a Prophecy-marked child who could die in the struggle all too easily. His heart couldn't take another devastating blow like that, not after losing Lily.
He refused to grow attached this time. He couldn't care. Potter was right. He didn't care.
Except… he did.
He should never have admitted it to himself. And he certainly could never let the words pass his lips, lest the Dark Lord discover the truth from someone whose Occlumency shields were not as strong.
Potter needed someone; that much was obvious. But it couldn't be Severus.
He forced himself to return to his cool, professional demeanour. "Teachers have the responsibility, by law, to investigate and report any students they suspect have been abused or neglected. I take it, by your presence here, that Professor Dumbledore has acted to remove you from that abusive household?"
"I'm not staying with the Dursleys anymore," Potter answered slowly, but Severus didn't notice the way he had hedged the question.
"Then my interest in this matter has come to an end. If you will excuse me, I have more important matters to attend to."
Severus strode past them, trying his hardest to ignore the disappointment in those green eyes.
ooOOoo
The miniature gargoyle statue on Dumbledore's desk announced that five students were ascending the staircase.
He set the damaged locket he had been examining next to the broken ring and shrivelled diary in his top right drawer, and turned to face the entrance to his office. A moment later there was a knock on the door.
Dumbledore's fingers brushed over the heavy parchment of the letters laid out on his desk, lingering on the one that read in green ink: 'Mr Harry J. Potter, Number 12 Grimmauld Place.' He had a plan. Hopefully, it would succeed in repairing the damage to his relationship with Harry that had been inflicted during their last, disastrous conversation.
"Come in."
The door opened and a floating glass ball filled with Basilisk fangs entered first, directed by Miss Granger's wand. A neat flick of her wrist sent it sailing gently over to an empty bench, where it set itself down and grew stabilising legs so it could not roll away before her magic released it.
"I see you were successful," he commented as the group came in and the door closed automatically behind them. A few of them nodded. "Did you have any difficulties?"
"No," Mr Malfoy responded. "Potter already did all the hard work a few years ago. The rest was easy."
"I am glad to hear that."
"So what are we going to do with those?" Mr Weasley asked, gesturing to the fangs.
Dumbledore tapped his chin, pretending to think in the moment although he already had an answer ready. "Mr Malfoy had a good point earlier when he was talking about the need to have back-ups. Perhaps we should all claim one fang each and replace them away in locations both safe and secure, until they are needed. We can sheathe them in these," he waved his wand and conjured a number of reinforced dragon-hide fang-shaped holsters, "so as to avoid any unfortunate accidents. What do you think?"
Mr Weasley picked up a holster and examined it closely. "Brilliant."
Dumbledore waited patiently as the children set about carefully sheathing each individual fang, distributing them amongst themselves and discussing appropriate places to keep them. Once they had settled, but before one of them became restless enough in the stillness to suggest that they leave, Dumbledore spoke.
"Before you go, I have here your school letters," he told them. "To prevent a repeat of the letter incident which allowed the Death Eaters to learn of your location, Harry, I thought it would be prudent to give them to you now."
"Thank you, sir."
"You will need books and supplies, of course, but given the current climate I do not think it wise for you to go wandering around Diagon Alley to do your shopping, even with Auror supervision. Are any of you familiar with the owl-ordering services that most magical retailers provide?"
Harry was the only one who shook his head; the others nodded or said 'Yes'.
"But won't that have the same problem as sending out our letters?" Mr Malfoy said.
Dumbledore lifted his index finger and smiled. "Ah yes, but that is why I was going to suggest that you list Hogwarts Castle as the postage address so that everything you need will be waiting here for you on September First."
Mr Malfoy tilted his head in silent acknowledgement that it was a good idea, but Dumbledore could sense that he was still displeased with him. Since the young Malfoy had, apparently, already turned away from the Dark path taken by his father, Dumbledore wasn't too concerned about him anymore. He could be displeased with the Headmaster if he wished, as long as he remained loyal to Harry. However, Dumbledore could not afford to let Harry slip from his grasp. He would have to make amends.
He passed out the letters and waited.
"You act as though we are supposed to open these here, in front of you," Mr Malfoy said.
"Does it really matter?" Dumbledore returned. He supposed it didn't, but he wanted to watch Harry's reaction so he could judge how far his gesture had gone to win him over again.
Mr Malfoy shrugged and slit open his envelope, although there remained a glint of suspicion in his eyes. The others followed his example and Miss Granger poured eagerly over the book list while the two Weasley children seemed to be trying to mentally calculate how much money all the supplies would cost new. Mr Malfoy was only mildly interested, his eyes flicking up at random intervals to look at Dumbledore as though he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"What's this?" Harry asked.
Dumbledore felt the thrill of anticipation.
Harry tipped the envelope and gave it a small shake. A gleaming badge fell into his hand.
Dumbledore restrained a smile.
"That's a captain's badge!" Mr Weasley exclaimed. "Blimey, Harry – you're Quidditch Captain for Gryffindor!" He sounded equal parts excited for his friend and jealous of the place he had won. Dumbledore remembered that, as an eleven-year-old, Mr Weasley's deepest desire had been to outshine his brothers by becoming both Head Boy and captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team in his seventh year at Hogwarts. Well, not every dream could come true. Dumbledore's deepest desire certainly never would.
"Well done, Potter," Mr Malfoy drawled, though sounding oddly sincere. "You were the obvious choice."
"Congratulations," Miss Weasley added.
"You know that means you have equal status with the prefects now?" Miss Granger told him. "You can use the prefects' bathroom and everything."
To Dumbledore's frustration, Harry himself had not yet reacted. He was just looking down at the badge, tilting his hand back and forth to watch the way it glinted in the light.
"Was this your decision, sir?" he asked finally, glancing up. Where were the transports of joy that Dumbledore had been expecting?
"Madam Hooch and Professor McGonagall gave me their recommendations for the position, but yes, the final word was mine."
Harry nodded. "Thank you, sir. I'm honoured. But…"
Dumbledore tried not to frown. This wasn't going at all the way he had envisioned. "But what, my boy?"
"You told me at the end of last year that the reason you didn't pick me to be a prefect was that you thought I had enough responsibility to be getting along with. Was that true?"
Dumbledore was dismayed to hear a hard edge in Harry's tone. Somehow this had all gone terribly wrong.
"Yes," he assured the boy. "I thought that, for you, the role of prefect on top of everything else would be an added pressure that was neither necessary nor helpful."
Harry nodded again. "That's what you led me to believe and I thought it made sense. Until you gave me this." He held up the badge to the light.
"Harry, you are a natural born Quidditch player, with more skill than has been seen in Hogwarts for many years. In addition, you have been on the team the longest and you are a natural leader. It was the logical choice."
"I do love playing Quidditch, Professor. I love flying and the thrill of the game. But surely being captain of the team requires greater input of time, effort and planning than a normal player is expected to put in."
"Well, yes, I suppose-"
"Then I have to decline," Harry said, ignoring the sounds of surprise and dismay from his friends. "I am selfish – I want to keep my position as Seeker. But as you have said, I have other, more important, responsibilities. I am, essentially, the 'Chosen One'. I have to fight Voldemort and most of my energies have to be put to the pursuit of that goal. I need to focus on finding and destroying the remaining Horcruxes, and on preparing myself for the battle that is coming. I can't be captain."
Dumbledore was shocked. Quidditch was Harry's joy and passion in life. He had thought he would leap at the chance to be captain, not refuse to accept the position and imply that he, Dumbledore, had made the wrong choice.
"I… understand."
"I would like to nominate a possible replacement for me, though, sir, if I could."
Dumbledore gestured for him to go on, struggling to form logical sentences in his mind and express them out loud.
"Someone who loves the game even more than I do. Someone who follows the international scoreboards and knows every trick, every manoeuvre, every strategy by heart. Someone who is an excellent tactician and a leader in his own way. Someone already on the team… and standing in this room." Harry smiled tentatively over at his best friend. "Ron Weasley."
It took him a moment to process what had been said and then Mr Weasley's jaw dropped. "Me?" he squeaked.
"Yes," Harry answered simply.
"But-but- But why?"
"Because I can't do it, but I believe that you can."
"But – I'm a terrible Keeper!" he spluttered. "Why would you want me as your captain?"
"Everything I said was true. You know Quidditch inside out and you have a better brain for tactics than I ever will. Besides, I know how much you want this, how much it means to you."
"Yeah, I mean, I guess, but-"
"I believe in you, Ron," Harry said firmly. "One hundred per cent. You can do this."
"Harry's right, Ron," Miss Granger pitched in.
"I believe in you, too," Miss Weasley added.
Dumbledore saw what they were doing. Mr Weasley was a talented player, but he suffered terribly from nerves and his performance on the field faltered whenever he let the pressure get to him. In this moment, his friends were making a huge effort to boost his confidence. And it appeared to be working.
A slow grin was spreading across Mr Weasley's face. "You really think so?"
"I know so," Harry reiterated. "You'll be the greatest Quidditch captain that Gryffindor has seen yet."
"You're sure I can do this?"
"Positive."
Mr Weasley looked around at all the supportive faces of his friends. He took a breath. "I'll do it, then! If Professor Dumbledore lets me, of course."
Dumbledore could only hope that conceding would make Harry happy, since his first bid had failed spectacularly. "I have no objections. I think you would make a fine captain for Gryffindor."
Harry smiled, but at Mr Weasley, not at him. "Well there you have it. This," he stretched out his hand, "belongs to you." He dropped the badge into Mr Weasley's open palm. "Captain Ronald Weasley."
Dumbledore had never seen the youngest Weasley son look so happy, or so excited.
"Blimey," he exhaled in wonderment, gazing down at the badge. "Captain. Wait until Mum and Dad hear about this…"
"I'm sure they will be very proud," Miss Granger told him, nudging his shoulder fondly with her own.
"Go on, then, mate," Harry said. "Let's see you put it on."
Mr Weasley pinned it on the front of his robes proudly, grinning from ear to ear when he caught sight of his reflection in the glass doors of a nearby cabinet.
"It suits you," Mr Malfoy said, finally contributing a word of encouragement – which further emphasised to Dumbledore how much the young Slytherin had changed. A couple of months ago he wouldn't have said anything of the sort, probably breaking into another insulting round of 'Weasley is our King' instead with the deliberate intention of shattering Mr Weasley's confidence. His support now made the new Gryffindor Quidditch captain puff out his chest with pride.
"Thanks guys," Mr Weasley said. "I won't let you down, I promise."
"Of course you won't, Ron," Harry said.
"We should celebrate!" Miss Weasley suggested. "A round of butterbeers back at the house, to toast our new captain and to cheer in a successful run for us to the House Cup this year."
"Close behind Slytherin," Mr Malfoy quipped in good-natured rivalry.
He and Mr Weasley started happily quibbling.
Harry moved over to the fireplace and took a small handful of Floo Powder. He passed the pot around to the others and then looked back over his shoulder to say, "Thanks, Professor. We'll see you in a few weeks when school starts up again."
Just like that, before even waiting for a reply, Harry stated his destination clearly and tossed the powder into the fire. When the emerald green flames flared up, he stepped into them and vanished. His friends exited in kind, until Dumbledore was left alone in his office with only Fawkes for company.
Dumbledore sat down behind his desk and leaned back in the chair with a heavy sigh, lifting a hand to massage his aching temples. He'd had all these plans laid carefully in place, all well thought out and prepared, and in the course of one evening they had been obliterated.
Maintaining influence over Harry through the ties of a close personal relationship was crucial to Dumbledore's ultimate scheme. Losing his loyalty and unwavering faith was not something that the overall war effort could afford, because Dumbledore needed to train and mould Harry into the hero he was purported to be. When the time came, Harry had to be able to make the final sacrifice. Everything hinged on that moment.
But if something went wrong… if Harry was unwilling to do what was necessary… Dumbledore might have to resort to less favourable measures.
ooOOoo