"Potter!" shouted Snape as he came around the corner. "What the—"
"This isn't the real Dumbledore, Sir." Harry said quickly.
"And how might you know that?"
"You'll see. We may have to wait for about another hour though."
"What're you—"
But Harry was already dragging Dumbledore's body into another classroom. "Professor, I know I'm not one to give orders or anything, but I'm pretty sure you'd want to get a bottle of veritaserum."
"Potter, explain to me what you think is going on in that little head of yours," said Snape.
"If my suspicions are right, we might be able to clear Sirius, Sir. And if this really was Dumbledore, do you think I'd be able to knock him out?"
Snape paused. "If Dumbledore posed as a threat, then yes, you could very easily. But, I'm going to trust your judgment. If you're not here when I return—"
"I'll be a nice addition to one of your potions, or something along those lines." Harry interrupted impatiently. Harry slowly brought his wand and kept it at a steady point at the one who was supposedly Dumbledore. "He won't move from this spot."
"Very well. Stay put." And with that, Snape hurried out of the classroom. Wind slowly swirled in through an open window. Harry noted that the snow was beginning to melt. Finally, Dumbledore's features began to change. He grew much shorter, and began to get plumper, his gray hair slowly morphing into a brown with gray patches and bald spots. Harry's eyes hardened at the sight of Wormtail.
"Stupid bastard," Harry mumbled to Wormtail.
Snape finally came in, and looked amazed. "No wonder you knew it wasn't Dumbledore. Wormtail is the worst liar if I ever knew one. My question is: why would Voldemort send this cretin to do his work? Malfoy probably would've been better at acting like Dumbledore."
"That's why I suggested the veritaserum. Voldemort probably planted a bomb in him or something."
Snape said nothing, and tipped Wormtail's (fat, stupid, ugly…) head back, rather roughly pouring the veritaserum down his throat, and muttered, "Ennervate."
Wormtail's eyes fluttered open with a blank expression. Harry, apparently taking over the situation, asked, "Why did you pose as Dumbledore to get the prophecy?"
"The Dark Lord ordered me to find the prophecy in whatever means necessary or I will die," he took a long, shuddering breath, and continued in his dull, monotonic expression. "I couldn't find anything on it. Potter smashed the prophecy. So I went to last resorts. If Potter were as gullible as The Dark Lord said he was, it would've been easy. And so it was. I managed to get the prophecy out of him."
Snape threw a look towards Harry, but Harry only grinned.
Wormtail's head lolled lazily to the side. Harry sneered at him, but then the door opened again, revealing the real Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Lupin.
Dumbledore looked mildly amused, McGonagall put a hand to her mouth in shock, and Lupin merely looked hopeful at the traitor, wondering if Peter could be given the kiss.
"You told Wormtail the prophecy, Potter?" Snape asked, finally getting the chance to speak.
"No," Harry sniffed. "I'm not that stupid. He will be giving Voldemort fake information—if he returns to him and isn't sentence death or something." Harry paused. "D' you know how odd it is stunning a fake Dumbledore?"
-~*~-
Peter Pettigrew…alive?
"We have just been notified that the Peter Pettigrew is, in fact, alive. Harry Potter claims to have known it since his third year at Hogwarts, when Sirius Black was rumored out to murder him. In fact, as Harry claims, Sirius was actually after Pettigrew, an unregistered animagus, who was the real one who betrayed his parents for Voldemort. Peter Pettigrew had received help from James Potter and Sirius Black through school in perfecting becoming an animagi. Pettigrew had finally, successful transformed into a rat…"
Harry skipped through, knowing all of this already.
"The trial for Pettigrew will be held August 30th, next year. As for Sirius? We have also heard that Sirius died, protecting Harry Potter from Voldemort. We only wish that he may rest in peace, and that we are truly sorry for the inconvenience…"
Harry snorted into his pumpkin juice. "Sorry my rump…they're not sorry."
Hermione and Ron exchanged looks. Owls began to soar in from the windows, wind rustling their feathers, and each of them dropped letters to their masters. (Or other sorts of 'presents.')
Nothing came for Harry, but he hadn't expected it anyways. Taking a last swig from his pumpkin juice, Harry jumped from the table, Hermione and Ron soon to join him, and walked out the door.
Suddenly, pain shot through Harry's skull, like somebody had just swung a hammer into his forehead. Harry cried out, his bag flinging in front of him, scattering parchment and quills—and Harry started to clutch his forehead.
"Harry!" Cried Hermione, reaching forward to grab his shoulder. Harry slapped her hand away. As he stood to look at her, his eyes began to gleam red.
"Back off, mudblood."
Hermione's mouth opened into a gasp, but Ron grabbed her shoulder and whispered something in her ear. Her eyes widened and she nodded.
"Leave Harry alone, V-V-Voldemort," said Ron angrily, figuring it out instantly, and shakily saying the name. But when talking to you-know-who, it's kind of silly to call him you-know-who.
"Ah, so it didn't take much for you to figure it out." Harry laughed. "I could probably make Harry commit suicide by killing you both here and now—"
"Why would Harry commit suicide? He's stronger than that." Hermione declared, glaring furiously at Harry.
Harry laughed again. "Do you honestly think that Harry wouldn't kill himself after he technically killed his two best friends? If you want to be killed, don't worry, that will be arranged soon, but I'm going to need both of you later. I'm planning a killing-spree in Harry's body in a moment, if you will. Wormtail was a fool—walking into Hogwarts, pretending to be Dumbledore. Harry knows Dumbledore…he's seen enough of him to know if somebody's an imposter, and Wormtail…he was stupid to even try. No matter, he was worthless anyways."
Laughing again, Harry continued, "Though I won't kill you now, I do need to render you unconscious for awhile. Can't have you running after the real Dumbledore, can I?" He smiled in a lop-sided grin, making Harry look sinister and evil. He made his wand glow purple, and stroked them both in the chest.
Harry killed a first year, and she screamed loudly and dramatically before getting shot by a bright green light. Then, a very livid and flabbergasted McGonagall stampeded down the hall. "Mr. Potter! How could you?!" It wasn't until she saw the gleam of red in Harry's eyes that made her understand. "Voldemort," she said in shock.
"Ahh, McGonagall…how I've always hated you…especially in school," Harry said, the red, animalistic gleam still in his eyes. Harry stroked his wand, stopped, and pointed it directly in the middle of her forehead. "It's your death day, I'm afraid."
Something made him drop his wand, and he smiled. "Ah, Potter here is trying to fight me. He's pretty good at it, actually. I had to keep a good hold on my wand to kill a first year."
Harry bent down to pick up the wand, but as soon as he stood up, the wand was dropped again. Then, Harry doubled over, clutching his scar and his stomach at the same time.
Looking quite mad, Harry thrashed, saying, "Get out of my head!"
McGonagall tried to reach out, but then drew it back again, fighting with herself whether she should interfere or not. Harry stopped thrashing, but had a very pained and disgusted look cross his face. He heaved himself off the floor, running to the bathroom, and covered his mouth. McGonagall flinched at the muffled spluttering noises that were made.
-~*~-
It had been several days since Hermione and Ron woke up in the hospital wing. Harry skipped several classes to either see them, or to take stroll along the edge of the lake. None of the teachers seemed brave enough to stop him from doing so, even Snape. Dumbledore certainly wasn't even going to try to keep him there, deciding it was best for Harry to get a chance to breathe whenever needed.
Harry felt the worst of all. Blue and purple bags began to form under his eyes from lack of sleep; his eyes were bloodshot, and his hair looked even messier before--if that were even possible. Harry felt like standing right in front of the Whomping Willow, letting it beat him to a bloody pulp. Or maybe hiding inside of it.
Harry slammed his head against the tree he was under, but instantly regretted it as his hand clutched the goose egg forming on the back of his head.
It had spread through the school that Harry Potter killed several innocent first years, and now they were all giving him clearly disgusted looks. One of them said, "You're sick, Potter. A first year? What did they ever do to you?"
Harry wouldn't reply.
Harry wanted Hermione and Ron to be awake. He wanted somebody to understand. Besides the Hogwarts staff, anyways. Harry wondered if he could ever be happy with Voldemort around, haunting him, whispering to him what Harry had done. Showing Harry the scream the first year made as she died.
Dumbledore told Harry it wasn't his fault. Harry had snorted in reply. They teachers looked at Harry and shook their heads in sympathy. The students sneered at Harry saying, "Maybe you are the heir of Slytherin after all."
Harry felt a great wave of relief when Dumbledore gravely explained what happened, everyone then bowed their heads to the lost first year, but Harry still felt guilty, and felt as though the student's death was his fault. Even if the students weren't blaming Harry for the death anymore, they began skirting him in the halls, whispering, and every time Harry turned around they would scatter, looking at the ceilings.
"Hey Potter," said Draco.
"Hi," replied Harry dully.
"You okay? You don't look so good."
"No."
Draco sighed with impatience, wondering how to get Harry to stop being so dramatic and depressed without showing he cared.
"You know, nobody blames you anymore," he said finally.
"Do you have a point?"
"I'm trying to help here!"
"Sorry."
"You know, Potter, this is being selfish of you to the people out there that care for you—"
"Selfish? How am I selfish if I have no life of my own? Voldemort practically controls my damn life, and I'm going to die anyways, so what's the point?"
"Oh, is that it? You're just going to give up, are you?"
"Maybe."
"Potter! Get a freaking grip on reality! None of our lives are fair, but Voldemort doesn't control your life. You can make your own choices. So what if he possesses you? It's HIM doing the dirty work, not you. He just happens to be in control of your body. And I know for a fact that Voldemort will lose. Honestly, when has there ever been a time that evil has won?"
"I know…it's just…"
"Just make the right choice, Potter. Being depressed isn't helping any of us, considering we're already depressed. Lighten up a bit, and everything will be fine."
Harry gave him a wry smile, even though it felt odd, considering Harry hadn't smiled for ages, it seemed like.
-~*~-
Angsty…Man I'm getting really depressing, aren't I? Must be because of winter…all the leaves are falling off the trees, and I have a cold. Sure, I like snow as much as the next person, but considering it hasn't snowed yet, it looks really depressing outside.
