A/N: Hey guys. It's been a while, huh? The first scene of this has been done for nearly a month, probably longer, but I got stuck on the second part and was just blocked. I surged through it the other day and I finally got it done. I've also completed the next chapter and I'm just waiting for the usual gang at DLP to go over the spelling and grammar. Also, I seem to be getting a lot of PM's regarding the Wheel of Time stories I have up. Unforunately, I have no plans to continue them at all. After the Denarian Lord is finished (and it has less than ten chapters left) I have plans to start working on an original series of fiction that I've been putting quite a lot of thought into. A lot of it's actually going to be similar to the concepts in the Denarian Trilogy, including Words of the World, magic, thing living in people's head, etc, etc. I still don't know if I'll publically post it or refine it until it could potentially be fit for publishing.
Harry was not used to waking up next to a warm and soft body next to him. Granted, it wasn't the first time he had sex (and if he had anything to say about it, it wouldn't be the last) but having sex with somebody and snuggling- for lack of a better word- next to somebody were two very different things. For one thing, snuggling generally involved going to sleep and Harry was always a big fan of waking up, something that might prove to be difficult if his partner were an assassin.
Just because he was paranoid didn't mean that the woman he had just ploughed wasn't be a shape shifter or elite assassin that wanted to rip his heart out and use his entrails in a demonic summoning that would consume his soul.
It had almost happened once. But Harry didn't want to think about that again. Meciel hadn't shut up for days afterward.
This was why Harry was faintly surprised at himself and at Meciel when he awoke from his slumber to the sound of a door closing loudly and the feeling of a pair of wonderfully perky objects pressed into his ribs and a mane of glimmering blonde hair resting on his shoulder. The barely concealed and very delectable schoolgirl murmured something sleepily and wriggled into him even further. Harry watched her with bemusement before the events of last night came rushing back at him, and he smacked himself in the forehead with his palm.
"Right," he murmured to himself. "I...whatzitt...er...banged! Right. I banged the blonde brat. Yeah..."
Strangely amused at the entire situation, Harry carefully shuffled out of Amanda's grip and rubbed his eyes. The last thing he wanted to do was to wake the girl up, especially in this unfamiliar situation. Knowing how annoying she was, Harry just wasn't prepared for the questions or the awkward glances that she was bound to give him. He glanced around the room sleepily and nodded his greetings to Michael, who had just come to a stop at the foot of his bed with dawning look of horror creeping over his face.
"Yo, Mr-Compensating-For-His-Small-Penis-With-A-Broadsword," he greeted unenthusiastically as his mental faculties began to grind once more. He made a face. "Gah. That's a bit of a mouthful, isn't it? Why don't you go ahead and change your name to something like chicken-dick or something? There are fewer hyphens that way."
Turning his head, Harry surveyed his bare chest, noting with surprise that his deteriorated muscles and thinning flesh had been restored as if he were in the peak of his health. Actually, now that Harry thought about it, he felt great- better than he had in months. Or days. Or whatever unit of time Harry had been stuck in the damp, cold dungeons of the Winter Lady. He shivered and something cold came across him and the Denarian Lord quickly pulled his thoughts away from that particular topic.
Other people might need a psychiatrist. Harry just wanted to forget the whole thing, be content in the knowledge that the treacherous whore was dead and move onto killing bigger and badder things in his life.
"Hey, have you seen my wand?" Harry asked the stoic Knight as he rummaged through the bedside cabinet. He frowned when his search turned up empty and rolled his eyes. "Fucking hell. Hey, brat," Harry called loudly and poked Amanda in the stomach. She stirred but remained still. "Look, Amanda, have you...seen...my...daughter...father..."
The circumstances and the actual identity of the person standing over him had suddenly hit him and, very slowly, Harry turned his head and gazed back at Michael, very aware of possible impending danger. A large weight sunk in his gut as the Father of the teenage girl he had just had sex with gazed back at him with steely eyes. Michael was a big man with very broad shoulders and Harry was aware that the Knight's hand was resting casually on the hilt of a very dangerous sword- one that could sever him in two with great ease.
Shit.
Slowly, Harry turned back to Amanda and lifted the mass of blonde hair on his shoulder. He found Amanda's peaceful, sleepy face underneath it all and winced as the identity of the girl was all but confirmed for him. He exhaled wearily, lowered the hair and turned back to Michael. Opening his mouth, Harry caught a flash of something flicker through the Knight's eyes and abruptly closed his mouth.
The next couple of minutes were very awkward for the Denarian as he sat on his bed, only a bedsheet covering his modesty, while Michael just stood there with that look of judgement. To his credit, Harry never really had seen the man look so...whatever...and actually felt a slither of fear creep into his gut. Could he win against a Knight of the Cross without any clothes and missing his wand?
And when the hell was the man going to actually speak or do something?"
"Well." Harry coughed. "Wow. Er...This is...this is awkward, yeah? Um...would you believe me if I told you that...that this isn't what it looks like?"
Michael stared back at him flatly.
"Okay," Harry said quickly and nodded quickly. "We have that cleared up. Good. See, this is progress here; nice, calm, reasonable progress." He glanced at the white curtains that surrounded the bed, idly noting how well they obscured the vision of anybody who might be around to notice an attempted murder. "Then, and I know this is sort of stretching it, but... would you possibly believe that I slipped and fell?"
'Yes, Harry,' Meciel reared in his head for the first time that morning. There was silent laughter in her voice and her very presence was radiating her amusement and enjoyment at Harry's predicament. 'You tripped with your pants down and your penis somehow managed to find its way into the daughter of a Knight of the Cross. I can see that happening.'
"You fell," Michael repeated sharply, speaking for the first time he had walked in. His nostrils flared. "You fell...and you were naked and my daughter...and Amanda..." he choked at the end and Harry winced as the Knight pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered something in Latin.
'It's an old bible verse dictating the virtues of patience,' Meciel helpfully translated for him. 'There's also a reminder of 'Thou shall not kill' at the end.'
'Right. Very helpful. Thanks for that. Go away now.'
Harry refocussed his eyes and his muscles tensed as Michael focussed his attention on him. Harry cut the man off before he could say anything.
"As awkward as this is," Harry began quietly. "I should remind you that, one, your daughter is sleeping next to me and might get caught in the crossfire and, two, I am a Denarian Lord of unparallel power who could easily smite a single, lone Knight- even if I am naked."
Michael clenched his jaw and opened his mouth to say something, but he was cut off as something behind the curtains rustled. Harry's initial sigh of relief faded away as somebody brushed back the white sheets of fabric and Sanya peered into the little space around the hospital bed.
"Michael? Did you find her?" Sanya grumbled. He paused and his eyes widened with shock as he took in Harry and his partner, the former just shaking his head in despair.
"Well, fuck you too," Harry grumbled as he cast his eyes upwards. "Divine Intervention my arse."
"What the...Michael, is this...Amanda and..." Sanya trailed off and a look of dawning came over his face. "Oh. Oh. Oh. I see now. Yes, I see."
The Eastern-European Knight looked incredibly amused and Harry felt his eye twitch. "There's no need to smirk about it, you bastard!" He snapped as Sanya took the other side of Harry's bed. "Shit, where's my backup when I need it?"
As if by magic, the doors to the hospital wing opened and Harry's mood immediately rose at the sight of the long orange-robe wearing Headmaster. Hah! The old man wouldn't let him die like this, not after he had gone to the trouble of rescuing him in the first place. Dumbledore looked strangely amused as he strode into the hospital, his waist-long beard swaying with every step.
"Ah, good morning, Sanya and Michael," greeted Dumbledore airily as he approached Harry's bed. "If I may have a moment of your..."
Harry watched on shrewdly as Dumbledore's eyes paused over Harry and Amanda and widened dramatically in surprise. Silver eyebrows hit the top of his forehead and the Headmaster genuinely looked shocked. Then, his eyes twinkled merrily and a rather light smile crossed his wrinkled face. For a moment, Harry was almost convinced that Dumbledore had no idea what had happened last night until he had just walked in. But, he knew the man and, for all his best attempts, the Headmaster was radiating just the tiniest bit of smugness and cheerfulness that gave him away. There was no way that the wily old man had no idea of what had happened in the Hospital Wing in his own school, and now he was just milking it for all it was worth.
It was what he would have done, albeit a little more bluntly. Harry had quickly come to realise that, like him, Dumbledore absolutely loved his dramatics.
"Yo, Dumbledore," Harry greeted lazily with a wave of his hand, while his eyes narrowed at Dumbledore's twinkling gaze. "Remember when you told me to find a girl and relax? Well, I took your advice- so, really, this is all your fault. Michael, Sanya, sick 'im!"
For Harry, it seemed as if the men were debating with their moral and, hell forbid, good side over whether or not to eviscerate Harry. On the one hand, they were Holy Knights charged with defending the innocent. On the other hand, Harry had just...
Harry could spot the exact moment when their thoughts hit that spot as the two of them braced themselves and began to pull out their swords. Then, Dumbledore smiled barmily and turned to Michael as if nothing was the matter.
"While I am sure that this situation is...delicate...I think you should be aware that your wife is here," he informed Michael, who started in surprise. "She's waiting outside."
Shit.
"Your sons and daughters are with her. They were rather insistent on seeing Amanda."
"Oh, c'mon!" Harry burst out with a growl. He jumped up from the bed, ignoring his nakedness as he rounded on Dumbledore. "That's just not fair, you manipulative bastard!"
Two things happened after Harry finished yelling and he immediately winced. The first thing was Amanda letting out a loud yawn as she was jerked out of her sleep by the noise. She rubbed her eyes sleepily and sat up in the bed. She abruptly froze at the sight of the four men around her bed, glanced down at her revealed chest and let out a startled shriek as she dived back under the covers.
The doors of the hospital wing were slammed open with great force as a fuming, enraged Charity Carpenter, mother of Amanda Carpenter, stormed in, her blonde hair glimmering in the light. Her cheeks were flushed and Harry couldn't help himself as he checked her out. It was obvious to see where the brat got her looks. Suddenly, Charity paused and Harry saw her gaping at him. He blinked and glanced down at himself. Realisation dawned upon him and he grinned.
"Yeah," he boasted. "I am a hunk, aren't I?"
"Mom! What's happened?"
"I'm coming in! Stay back, Hope! Harry, look after your sister!"
"No! I wanna see Amanda! Let...geroff me! Meanie!"
In a whirlwind of arms and legs, the rest of the Carpenter siblings burst into the room and Harry had to palm his forehead, shaking his head and muttering sourly under his breath. Charity took one last look at him and abruptly turned around, reaching down and clasping her hand over the two littlest sets of eyes.
"Yuk! Mom! He's naked!"
"Eww!"
Harry felt his eye twitch at the little boy's exclamation. "Oi! You'll look like this one day, you little brat!" he snapped.
"Don't speak to my son like that!" Charity growled at him. She rounded on her children. "Out!" She shrieked. "Out! Out! Out!"
She quickly ushered the littlest of the brood while Harry calmly draped one of his sheets over himself- to protect himself against a wrathful mother rather than to protect his modesty. Charity slammed the door shut and staked back into the room, where Harry suppressed a wince as the woman's fury washed over him. Really, for a woman without a shred of talent she really was quite fearsome. And hot. Harry checked her out again, much to her disgust.
"For the love of God-"
Michael coughed.
"Sorry dear," Charity responded automatically. "For the love of everything that is sacred put some pants on!"
Harry made a loud scoffing noise as the blankets on his former bed quivered and a tentative head poked out from beneath the covers. "Mom?" Amanda asked hesitantly, her cheeks burning. She sounded like all of her worst nightmares were coming true. "Is...is that you?"
"A-Amanda!" Charity stuttered. "Why are you...?"
She paused. Michael cringed. Harry could practically see the gears in her head. Her two oldest sons, Daniel and Matthew, had apparently reached the same conclusion because their eyes lit up with fire and they clenched their fists in anger. The dark haired teenager, Alicia, looked disgusted- but that could have been the frequent and unwilling glances towards his sheet. Molly was absent once again.
Somebody thumped on the wall outside and Harry heard the little girl, Hope (if his memory was right...he vaguely recalled saving her life a couple of months ago) shouting out at him.
"Yuk! Mandy, you had sex with him!?"
"We didn't have..." Harry shouted back automatically but paused and frowned. "Hang on, what do you mean by him? Why wouldn't she want to have sex with me?"
"You're a bastard?" Hope offered from behind door. She paused, as if gathering up courage. "And you have a small penis!" she said challengingly.
There was a thump on the door, a chuckling laughter and Harry glowered.
"Hope!" Charity snarled in disapproval. "Get away from the door! Now!"
Harry clenched his teeth."For the record, my penis is perfectly fine. Plus...wait. How does she know what a...oh, I get it now." He took a breath and glared at Amanda's older brothers. "Hope, you little girl, the penises you look at in the dirty magazines you stole from your closet-homosexual brother...they've all been edited. Stop looking at porn and do your homework!"
"You...you...you piece of shit!" Daniel raged.
He raised a fist and moved forward as Charity barked at him to stop- only to pause when Michael cut in calmly, reaching around and clasping Daniel's fist. Daniel blinked and looked up at his father's look of disappointment. The young man lowered his eyes and appeared ashamed as Michael took a deep breath and exhaled wearily.
"I understand that this is a shocking, but I think that we should keep this civil," he emphasised the last word with a rather direct look at his sons.
"For the record, this whole overprotective demon-hating brother thing you've got going for is unnecessarily cliché and makes you seem like an idiot," Harry said blandly.
Michael shot him a hard look.
"Now, again for the record, I may or may not have had sex with your daughter," Harry continued. "Maybe. I could have. I might have. I'm not saying no...but I'm not saying no either."
"Thanks, Harry!" came a hiss from under the blankets.
"Amanda," Michael spoke and the huddled mass under the blankets quivered at his disappointed tone. "I am disappointed in you."
"Amanda?" Harry asked in surprise. He frowned. "No, I didn't have sex with Amanda."
"What?" Michael looked surprised.
"What?" Charity exclaimed.
Amanda's head popped out of the blankets. "What?"
Harry grinned and strode across the room. He opened the door and there Hope let out a startled cry as both her and her little brother fell into the room. Casually, Harry placed a hand upon Hope's blonde head and tussled her hair. "Hope, darling, it's good to see you again- sweetheart! We don't need to deny our love any longer!"
Hope 'eeped' and went red. She shied away from Harry's body, before Charity yanked her backwards and glowered at him. "Not funny, Harry!" she hissed.
"Oi. I saved her life. She decided to pay me back," Harry deadpanned. He paced the room slowly, as if unconcerned what the Carpenter family could do to him. "What can I say? I'm a demon."
"Harry," Michael spoke warningly. He looked weary and was massaging his scalp tenderly. "Can you just..." He trailed off. "You give me the worst headaches."
"To be fair, Daniel was the one who told me to,"
"What?" Daniel exclaimed when everybody looked at him. "For the love of...can't you see what he's doing? Why isn't anybody going to do something about the naked Denarian? Why are you just listening to him!?"
"Shit!" Harry abruptly exclaimed. He whirled on his feet and pointed at one of the curtain-enclosed beds. "Look out!" he roared, startling everybody in the room. "It's Nicodemus!"
Michael and Charity did not look impressed.
"Well," Harry said and stretched his arms. "I have to go, so..." He trailed off and quickly ducked out of the room.
Charity was shaking with anger as he left and she whirled on the huddled lump under the hospital bed blankets. "Don't think I'm done with you, Amanda Bianca Carpenter!"
Harry popped his head back in the room with a sheepish smile.
"Ah, hi," he said uncomfortably, directing his look at Dumbledore. "My wand's gone and I suspect- hell, I just know that it's you. Get it back for me."
He disappeared out of the room again.
Albus almost felt ashamed of himself as he strolled through the long hallways of Hogwarts, his eyes twinkling with merriment and his beard quavering as he chuckled to himself quietly. In a way, he felt sorry for Harry, who had probably just had to endure the worst fear of all teenage boys. On the other hand, Albus decided, Harry had long had this coming to him and, to be fair, Albus had only gone down to the hospital wing to make sure Michael did not do something he might regret later- like splitting his daughter's boyfriend into two. It had only been a coincidence that Charity Carpenter had been in his office. As soon as the woman had been alerted to the fact that her daughter had been involved in a battle of sorts, she had become very insistent on visiting and Albus had pulled a few strings to allow the Carpenters to visit their perfectly-healthy daughter as soon as possible.
And her new boyfriend, of course.
Albus chuckled again as he rounded a corner and began to approach his office. Poor Harry.
"Yeah, yeah," the said object of his thoughts growled in annoyance. "Just give me my wand."
Albus smiled tolerantly as Harry clambered up from the ground. He had somehow taken one of the suits of enchanted armour and now wore a metal breast plate that conveniently covered his shame. Albus noted with a raised eyebrow that the Denarian was also wearing an iron helm and carried one of the dulled swords that the suits of armour carried with them.
"What?" Harry asked defensively, as if he had seen the direction on Dumbledore's thoughts. "I'd just look silly with only the armour on. Besides, swingy swords are swingy."
"Indeed." Albus chuckled and smoothed his beard.
He glanced casually at the Gargoyle and, like magic, the gigantic stone beast bowed its head and replied in a gravely, stony scrape as it slid out of the way and opened up the staircase to his office. He motioned for Harry to follow him and strode up the stairs to his office, doing his very best to hide the bone-settling weariness that lingered in his old frame. Harry's muttered curse and his not-so-subtle stab at the stone Gargoyle did a little to brighten the mood, but it was still there. He settled himself on his side of the desk and couldn't help the relieved sigh that escaped his lips as he settled back into the cushioning and massage charms of his armchair.
Harry plonked himself down opposite him and was eying Albus critically. The Headmaster could almost see the wheels turning in the younger boys head and, despite his tiredness, couldn't help but feel calculating gaze tear into his defences, peel back layer and layer of his facade and finally reveal the truth of what he really was- a tired, bitter old man. In many ways, Harry Potter was just like Tom Riddle- even more depraved, in many examples.
"You alright, you old coot?" Harry asked gruffly. He smirked at Albus, a shadow of his former arrogance and spark flickering onto his pale, shadowed face. "You look like shit. Still, that's what you senior citizens get for pretending that you're useful to society. Should have stayed in the home."
Albus smiled. Harry was also far more different than Tom was. To a certain point, Albus was not one to believe in destiny or fate. Free will was a pivotal part of the human existence and you could gleam somebody's true self from a single actions rather than a lifetime of conversations. That said, Albus couldn't help but shiver as he remembered Tom with his greedy eyes and his insatiable hunger for magic. No matter how charismatic the boy had been, Albus never could shake the suspicion that, even then, Tom had never really shown anybody even a scrap of concern or had placed somebody else first in his thoughts at any point of his life.
It was almost as if he had been born evil.
He blinked and reflexively snatched up at the scroll that zoomed at his head. He blinked as Harry waved a hand in front of his face. "Hello?" the Denarian snapped. "Yeah, try not to keep the guy with the really long sword waiting. I might get bored and start using it."
"Forgive me, Harry," Albus apologised automatically, and then had to suppress a wince. No, he could not be defensive right now. For better or worse, Harry was wounded- physically and emotionally and Dumbledore couldn't help but see opportunities for careful nudging and growth.
He truly despised himself at times but he was resigned to his fate. He had stood by once and allowed a student who he felt was untrustworthy and dangerous leave these halls once. It was his responsibility to do his best to stop that from happening again, a penance for his past crimes, to make up for Tom, for Grindelwald, for Arianna...
"I am glad to see that you have somewhat recovered," Albus began and critically analysed Harry. The boy was thin, pale and worn out even after a relaxing twelve hour sleep- well, as relaxing as it could get with a bed of two. "We had feared the worst." He cocked his head. "To be honest, I did not believe that I would ever talk to you again. At least, I would never talk to the real you."
Harry was silent, his eyes gleaming brightly in the dim office, and Albus knew that he was conversing with the Fallen. In a way, he found it ironic. Two years ago, he had been fearful of the Fallen's effect on Harry. Today, he felt it was safe to assume that it was Meciel who would temper Harry's darker impulses rather than the other way around. It was not to say that she would stop him from doing evil, but she was reasonable where Harry was reckless- and reckless people were always the most dangerous.
"It is my sad duty to inform you that several members of the Order of Phoenix perished in the operation to free you from the Winter Lady," Albus continued, overlooking Harry's involuntary jerk. He knew it was less to do with the lives lost and more to do with the fact that they had been lost trying to help him.
Harry did not like to be in debt. It was a pity, because Albus needed the boy to be in debt, to be grateful to at least some aspects of the Wizarding World. He needed the boy, who would grow up one day, to remember that they had fought for him and bled for him. That type of debt does not go away easily and Harry always fulfilled his debts.
Albus would not create another monster. Not again. At the very least, Harry would abandon the Wizarding World and go his separate ways. At the very best, Albus could see the Denarian Lord stepping and fighting for what he thought was right in the future. All of this had happened before, and Albus had no doubt that it would all happen again. Perhaps, one day, when Albus had departed for adventures far away, Harry would see it in his best interests to protect the innocent- even if it was only because of a debt.
Albus did not mind. He had chosen his role because of his debt to his family. He knew Harry well enough to know that unless something drastic happened to Harry's character, the Denarian would make a similar choice. He would hate it at times, rage against it, loathe it- just as Albus had- but he would do it.
But those were long term plans. Albus needed to focus his attention on far more urgent short-term topics.
"Nonetheless," he murmured, without missing a beat. "You can be proud that these members put their lives on the line to protect what was right. They took a stand when they could have bowed down and accepted their defeat. That alone is worth respect."
It was not his most subtle of probes, but he was just too tired to care.
"You can relax," Harry remarked dryly and with a tad of bitterness. "I'm still committed to killing Voldemort. No jail stint is going to change that."
He was relieved to hear that. At this critical juncture, the Order of Phoenix could not afford for Harry to disappear for another one of his holidays. Hurt as he was, Harry needed to be there to fight- no matter how much the Headmaster wanted otherwise.
It was never about wants. Just needs.
"Besides," Harry added as an afterthought. "I'm pretty sure that Maeve was working with Voldemort at the end there."
Albus took a deep breath to hide the shock that flooded through him. The Winter Lady Maeve and the Dark Lord Voldemort? That was a dangerous union, an impossible one. Unless... Dumbledore's mind, as old as it was, was still brilliant and he made the connections quite quickly. If he was not mistaken, Maeve had chosen Harry to further her agenda because Harry had a foot in both worlds. Under old treaties, the Fae could not involve themselves with normal Wizarding Folk. Harry had been a Denarian. He had not been normal. Even Dumbledore had taken steps outwards in his youth, allowing Fawkes to grasp her talons in his shoulders.
Voldemort had outdone them both. By combining his presence with the power of an Outsider, he had become a ripe target. Yes...yes...it was making sense now. Maeve dismissed Harry...if Voldemort won and became the supreme leader of the Wizarding World (and Albus had no doubt that Tom would have become anything else) would be the ear of the Winter Court, yet another way to broaden her power...yes...it all made sense now.
On the outside, he merely sighed and said, "Ah. Now I see."
He sat there, his fingers pressed against each other and his eyes partially glazed over as the warmth from the fireplace licked over his wrinkled skin. At least he was recovering his strength, regaining the powers that he would need to continue the fight. The battle had been taxing on him, breaching the fortifications of Maeve's fortress, battling the Winter Lady herself, fending off countless of her underlings- it was almost too much for an old man like himself. Perhaps, had he been fifty years younger, twenty, even, his constitution would not be so lacking- but, Albus was not one to shy from the truth.
His incredible powers were waning.
By no means was he defenceless. Albus could still see himself at the top of the Wizarding World in decades to come. He had plenty of life left in him. But, the raging fires of Summer that had pushed him to the top were simply drying out. One day, they would be gone and soon after that Fawkes would be there to finish the bargain that had spanned over fifty years.
In a way, he was looking forward to that day. But he would not step willingly into his fate until he was certain that the school and the world he had protected for so long could survive without him. Arrogant, perhaps, but it was simple fact. Somebody needed to step up into his place, somebody who could counter threats from any world- every world.
"You know, if you're going to keep spacing out then I'm just going to leave," Harry broke into the silence with a bored expression on his face. Albus could see past the forced nonchalance and see the tiredness and bleakness returning to Harry's eyes.
He would fight, yes. On that, Albus was satisfied as a commander. But could he be satisfied as a mentor, or dare he say, friend?
"Harry," Albus murmured and cleared his throat as Harry looked up at him. "Do you want to talk about it?"
The request was denied before Harry had even spoken a word as the teenage boy rapidly shook his head and stood up. "Oh, no," Harry chuckled nervously. "No, no, no, no, no. I'm fine."
"I understand that what you went through was trau-" Albus began.
"I'm fine," Harry snapped loudly and Albus blinked at the forcefulness of the tone. The Denarian sighed and rubbed is eyes. "Look, I'm sure all that group therapy and counselling shit works for normal people but it's not going to work with me. If you're really concerned, this is what you need to let me to do."
Albus sat forward.
"You need to let me go home, take a couple of days off and repress the past- fuck, I dunno how long it was," Harry declared quietly. "When I have a breakdown- and I probably will- Meciel will be there to help me through it. I'm going to get over this, Dumbledore, but I'm going to do it alone, like I always have. Can you deal with that?"
"I can," Albus said quietly.
"Awesome," Harry replied softly. He fiddled with his wand and tapped a quill in his hands. Albus immediately flicked his own wand and created a temporary lift on the wards of his office, allowing Harry take his portkey and leave for wherever he wanted to go.
The Headmaster took a deep breath, sighed and then stood up. Harry was not the only one who needed his rest and Albus was sure that he would need all of his strength for the times to come. The fight was not over yet. The old man sighed and felt incredibly ancient as he began to slowly climb the stairs to his chambers. The fight was never over.