I don't own, you know, Harry Potter and stuff.
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Chapter 36. A Difference of Opinion
Cold, snowy, and grey; words that described not only the weather but also the atmosphere in the castle. To Harry it felt like months had gone by since Christmas break when in fact it had only been two weeks. The terror of the Christmas Eve Attack was still on everyone's minds despite there being no major Death Eater activity since. Not a single disappearance was blamed on Voldemort, which sounded like good news until you realized that a quiet Voldemort was a plotting Voldemort. Subsequently, Harry, like many of his friends, was having a hard time focusing on schoolwork.
It didn't help that there was an empty bed staring at him every time he entered his dorm. Late at night, when the rest of room was asleep, Harry imagined he could hear the bed growling at him, as if it knew he was the reason its boy was missing. He also couldn't shake the strange pang he felt every time he caught Ron staring at a picture of Bill holding baby Josette. He knew he wanted children some day but he'd never really considered that Ron might, too.
Several times in those weeks the pain in his scar – which was normally a dull ache that he'd pretty much learned to ignore – would spike, leaving him dizzy and light-headed for a few minutes. Once, during Transfiguration, instead of tapering off it intensified to the point where he was seeing bursts of light that seemed to be inside his eyelids. He'd been standing at the time, practicing a spell, and he'd shut his eyes tightly and bit back a moan while his wand clattered onto the table. Hermione, instantly noticing something was wrong, guided her shaky friend back into his seat and encouraged him to rest his head on the table.
In a move that took the rest of the class by surprise – for they hadn't noticed Harry's distress nor would they ever think of McGonagall as soft – the Professor dismissed the class early. After the others had bustled out of the room, she all but demanded that Ron help Harry to bed while Hermione gathered their things.
The morning after, he wasn't looking forward to reading the Daily Prophet. He'd taken one of his happy pills when he'd first climbed into bed, but since it hadn't even been dinner time yet it had worn off long before he'd awaken, leaving him with some very disturbing dreams. Not to mention, they did nothing for the lingering rage he felt upon waking. He'd been sorely tempted to grab his wand and curse Seamus for closing a door too loudly, and he'd called Dean an unflattering name when they'd bumped into each other in the shower room doorway.
Returning to the dorm after a semi-relaxing shower, Harry was surprised to find Dean waiting on his bed. "Look, Dean, about earlier—"
"Stop, Harry. Before you apologize, I just want to say something. I know you've got some weird-arse mind-meld thing going on with You-Know-Who." Harry almost interrupted, but Dean wouldn't let him. "Mate, I've shared this dorm with you for six and a half years now. Did you really think you'd done that good a job of hiding it?"
Harry merely shook his head.
"So, as I was trying to explain, I can usually tell the difference between your normal moodiness and when he's bothering you. Your bad mood this morning – it was because of him, wasn't it?"
"He's really … upset about something."
"I could tell. You had this pained look on your face, and your scar gets a bit puffy, like it's got an itch or something. Plus, you were moaning a lot in your sleep – and not in the good way," he added with a saucy look. "What I'm trying to say is you don't have to apologize when it happens. I know you don't mean it. But … you try getting pissy with me when it's not You-Know-Who related and I'll put you in your place. We cool?"
"Cool," Harry agreed, although he suspected Dean wouldn't find it all that easy to 'put him in his place', if it ever came to that.
The two headed down for breakfast but their little talk had made them rather late. Harry had just enough time to grab a pastry before Hermione grabbed him to leave for Charms.
Stopping him long enough for a hello/goodbye kiss, Ginny hissed, "read this," as she shoved the day's paper into his hand. Glancing down he read the headline, Malfoy Manor Destroyed. Beneath the banner was a picture of a rubble pile that resembled an archeological dig more than a manor. If it wasn't for the twisted remains of an iron gate, with its fancy 'M' just barely distinguishable, he wouldn't have believed. It was obviously the work of Voldemort; the Dark Mark was clearly visible hovering over the debris field.
"Come on," Hermione was urging him as she pulled on his arm.
He stuffed the paper into his bag and let her lead the way. But once he was in Charms class, while his fellow students were reading about first-aid charms, he was covertly perusing the Daily Prophet.
…parts of the once grand manor look to have been dismantled stone by stone, while other sections appear to have been blasted apart … Muggles in the area claimed to hear loud booming noises and feel the ground shake … unsafe as it is still smoldering … was reputed to have been used as a base of sorts for none other than He Who Must Be Stopped as recently as November … had been searched several times in the past … Malfoy denied the existence of several hidden rooms and compartments ... not seen since summer and is rumored to be dead … Minister Bluestreak will make a brief statement …
A series of loud shrieks startled Harry, and he looked around to find Padma Patil rolling on the ground with blood oozing from every visible opening. A guilty-looking Michael Corner stood next to her, his wand still pointed where Padma had been sitting.
"You were told to read, Mister Corner," Flitwick admonished as he made his way to the fallen girl. "This was not a practical lesson. You'll help me get her to the hospital wing and explain exactly what you did to the Nurse – you'll be just fine Miss Patel, just give it a squeeze … like that … come now. The rest of you," he added a bit louder, "can read the next chapter while I am gone."
"What do you think happened?" Ron asked Harry as soon as the door closed behind the three. Harry didn't need to ask what he was referring to.
"Voldemort," he simply answered, as if that explained everything. Then he glanced around the room and covertly cast Muffliato. "He's looking for the cup – I'm sure of it. Probably reasoned that if Bellatrix took it she might have given it to her sister to hide."
"Actually, either Lestrange could have hidden it there," Hermione added, giving up the pretense that she, at least, was reading. "They were all living there over the summer."
"Question is," Harry continued, "did he find it. Either way, though, this is bad news. If he found it, it's out of our reach. If he didn't, he's still looking, which makes our search more difficult. Can you imagine if we ran into each other searching the same place?"
"Oh Harry, there's no use brewing trouble. The odds of that happening must be about 1,202 to one," Hermione assured him.
"You're just making that up," Ron accused her.
"Sure I am Ron, that's why I'm getting an Outstanding in Arithmancy and you're getting … oh wait, you don't even take the class, do you?" she ended sweetly.
Ignoring their bickering, Harry asked, "What if he starts to worry about his other Horcruxes and decides to check on those, too?"
"He won't," Hermione tried to assure him, but she didn't sound as authoritative as she normally did. "I don't think he'd want to draw attention to any of those places."
"I think you're grossly underestimating him. He's one of the smartest wizards Seba's ever taught. At some point, he's going to figure out that if the diary could be destroyed and the cup lost, maybe his others aren't quite as safe as he thinks. And what do you think he'll do then?"
"Make more," Ron answered matter-of-factly … then seemed to freeze as he realized what that meant.
Shaking his head at the thought, Harry insisted, "We need to use that ritual you found, Hermione. It's the only way. According to Slytherin, it doesn't matter how many Horcruxes there are, or what or where they are. They all end up bound together so when I kill him I destroy them at the same time."
Ron looked slightly confused. "Then why don't you just use it and be done? What's Dumbledore got against it?"
"You mean aside from that bit about requiring someone to kill themselves and needing a sample of Tom Riddle's blood," Hermione asked.
"He thinks Slytherin's book might be misleading; that it won't really work," Harry replied, ignoring Hermione's sarcastic response. "But it's the right thing to do … I know it is. I just have to figure out how to get around those two little problems."
Ron's snort was likewise ignored.
"I guess I've got some major research to do," Harry carried on. "I'm going to find a way to make it work even if I have to start in the Ancient Runes section and work my way around the entire library."
"If you insist on doing it, you're going to be doing it without my help," Hermione replied with a shake of her head. "I'm hip-deep in my own research project." Seeing Ron's confusion, she explained, "How to remove the sawol from the relics. Now that we have the locket Horcrux, it's more important than ever to figure out."
"But once we use the ritual, that won't be an issue anymore," Harry tried to reason.
"Don't take this personally, Harry," Hermione began in a voice that was way too polite, "but you may never get it to work. I hate saying that, because I was so excited when I first found it, too. But those are some pretty major obstacles." Seeing the hurt look on his face, she rushed to continue, "I'm not saying it's impossible, just hard enough that we shouldn't rely on it as our sole plan. Until we can come up with a way to get his blood – and use it without affecting you – I'm going to continue on with the original plan. I'm not being pessimistic, just practical."
No one spoke for a moment, and with a sigh she finally added, "I won't try to stop you from researching it. I'll even give you some advice. It'd be a better use of your time to start in a section of the library that might actually contain useful information, like the Dark Arts or Potions sections. And the Restricted Section wouldn't hurt, either."
"Is there a Dark Rituals involving Other People's Blood section?" Ron asked, earning him a glare from his girlfriend. "'Cause that's where I'd look."
Flitwick chose that moment to return, and Harry cancelled his spell as Ron hopped back to his seat to pick up his book to pretend to read. In front of them, Susan Bones and Lisa Turpin were hastily putting away a stack of parchment.
After scanning the classroom (and no doubt seeing several books being hastily opened), Professor Flitwick called out, "surprise quiz, everyone. Bones, Turpin, Weasley, and Zabini, front and center. You four are going to take an oral quiz, and the score you manage is the score the entire class receives. First question – in what year was the first tooth-numbing charm used by a licensed healer?"
Ron could have better guessed what year the first ice cream shop had opened in Diagon Alley than answered that question. Luckily, Susan knew it was 1504, earning three points. Lisa Turpin correctly named Oppsie Olson as the first witch to successfully switch an arm for a leg and Blaise Zabini proved to be a fount of knowledge when it came to poison home-remedies. Ron did get one right, though Harry didn't want to know how his friend knew which charm worked best to alleviate female troubles.
The period ended with the good news that the entire class received an Average on the quiz. Hermione was the only student unhappy with the news; understandable, it was her first Average in any class other than Potions (which she felt was undeserved) and Defense Against the Dark Arts (which she knew was undeserved).
Two weeks later, Harry was well into his research project. Per Hermione's suggestion, he'd started his search in the Potions section of the library. Unfortunately, that section was actually made up of seven bookshelves, each reaching from the floor to the tip of the light fixtures hanging from the raised ceiling, and that wasn't counting the shelves full of books written in dead languages or the philosophical works, which Harry thought belonged in the fiction area for as much practical information as they held. In other words, there were more books than he could hope to sort through in an entire year, let alone a few months.
Deciding stalling was getting him nowhere, he stopped at the first shelf, counted up six rows to the place he'd stopped last time, and grabbed the first book on the row. A Debate Over Dark Potions: are they really all that bad? After checking to see that Madam Pince wasn't watching (she was lecturing some First Years on the proper way to turn pages), he tapped the cover of the book and whispered, "Invenio shared blood." There were fifty-two occurrences. He slumped to the floor as he flipped the book to page 18.
Two hours later, he shoved Deflating the Draught Myth back into its proper place and twisted his back to work out the kinks. He'd worked through dinner by bringing a sandwich with him, which he'd managed to hide from the librarian with a disillusionment charm, but he needed to get moving if he was going to make it to the DA meeting on time. Tonight, he was keeping his promise to Hermione and coaching most of the students on the Patronus Charm.
He arrived just a few minutes late, mumbling his apologies as he dropped into the closest empty chair. At the front of the room, Hermione and Ron were answering questions. Harry had to stop himself from laughing as one gullible young lady asked if the Patronus Charm could really protect you from detentions with Professor Snape.
Finally, the questions were over and it was time for a practical demonstration. Hermione went first, sending her otter skipping around the room. Then Ron's terrier, perhaps not quite as bright as the otter, but corporal nonetheless, ripped around for a spell. Then, with a nod from Hermione, Harry stood and brandished his wand. He took a fraction of a second to remember the last time Ginny had whispered, "I love you, silly boy" in his ear and shouted "Expecto Patronum".
Prongs appeared; bigger and brighter than Harry remembered him being in the past. He was so well defined as he stood tall and proud you could almost see his chest moving and his tail twitching. With a sideways flick of Harry's wand, Prongs set off cantering around the room before turning back to face Harry. As had become his custom (for Harry now believed Prongs was somewhat sentient) he dipped his head to Harry before fading away.
Where the otter and the terrier had gotten 'ohs' and 'ahs' from the crowd, Prongs was called "amazing", "witch'in", and "bloody awesome".
"I knew you were the man," Dierks Harper called out.
Under Hermione's direction, the students divided into three groups: those who could form an animal, those who could produce mist, and those who either couldn't manage anything or had never tried before. Harry's job was to work with that last group, which put him in with the Slytherin contingent. In all, five Slytherins had joined Harper in the DA, and Harry felt a bit proud to see those six students working side by side with kids from the other houses. He made a mental note to mention it to the Sorting Hat the next time he was in Albus' office.
By the end of the meeting, many of the new students could form at least mist, and almost all of the returning students could form an animal. Since Harry had turned down Hermione's request to bring in a boggart – "I don't think it'd be a Dementor any more, and trust me, no one wants to see what it would be" – they could only hope the students would perform as well if put on the spot.
As the meeting broke up, Harry hung back to chat with some of the students he knew, graciously accepting congratulations on his triumphant return and dodging questions about rejoining on a permanent basis. Someone calling his name caught his attention, and he turned to find Harper and another Slytherin standing away from the crowd. "Excuse me," he said as he made his way over.
Harper smiled as he watched Harry approaching, then motioned for him to follow as he moved further away from the others. His arm, Harry noticed, was tightly wrapped around the other Slytherin, a good looking girl with a thick braid of brown hair lying carelessly over her shoulder.
"This is Trina, she's a Fifth Year," Harper said by way of introduction. "Look, Harry, I haven't got much time but I wanted to warn you. Nott is planning something. I've no idea what it is, and I don't know when it will happen … he's very careful about what he says and does around me, 'cause he knows who my Granddad is. But he's let a few things slip around friends of mine that've made their way back to me. He's definitely up to something."
As Harry thanked him for the information, Harper reached out and put his hand on Harry's arm. "One more thing. I think … I think he was behind whatever happened to the Longbottom kid."
Harry didn't say anything, but he was sure his brief nod got his point across.
"Right. Of course you already know that. So you probably already know to be careful, but I figured it wouldn't hurt to warn you anyway. You need to make it safely through the year so Slytherin can beat Gryffindor for the Quidditch Cup without anyone saying 'yeah, but'."
That last bit did its job and had all three laughing. "Thanks for the warning, Dierks. But you've got to know Slytherin can't beat Gryffindor for the Cup when I'm in all our games." He thought for a second before adding, "you know, it's kinda pathetic that I have to clarify that."
Harry headed back to the tower with his friends in a slightly better mood knowing that there were Slytherins actively on his side. If only the good news had carried into his research, or as Ron had dubbed it, 'Harry's latest obsession'. "Mind you, if it keeps him from spending lots of alone time with my sister, I'm all for it," he'd declared.
It was during one such Obsession Hunt in February that Harry's research came crashing down on him. He and Hermione were perusing the Restricted Section as they worked on their respective projects when Harry realized he needed a different book. The one he was currently reading, Curdling Blood and Other Painful Curses, referenced a potion which combined human and reptile blood, and he was certain he'd read something similar in a Potions books. After checking his notes, he stood and nudged Hermione.
"Watch my stuff? I need to go grab Binding Animals to Humans in Fifty-Two Easy Steps from the Potions section."
"I thought you were working in the Dark Arts section," Hermione asked without looking up from the notes she was taking.
"I didn't think I could handle another book that began with a ten-page lecture on why you shouldn't try anything in the book, so I've been skipping around. But don't worry, I know exactly where I left off in each section."
"That's not a very efficient plan, Harry," she replied, finally looking at him.
"Have I ever claimed my plans are efficient?"
"No," she laughed, "I don't think anyone's ever accused you of that. Now go find your book and leave me alone – you've made me lose my place."
It didn't take him long to find the correct shelf, but the books were out of order – 'heads will roll' – so he was taking his time searching when a hushed voice caught his ear.
"… like that. You need to stress the second syllable. It's deh-SEN-doe." Looking around, Harry spotted three rather small students bunched together over a book. The one facing him, a plump boy with a scrunched face and bangs hanging in his eyes, didn't seem to be enjoying the others' help. Harry couldn't help but smile as he remembered Hermione's lecture on the proper pronunciation of 'Wingardium Leviosa'; not to mention how Ron had put that lesson to use.
Harry was so caught up in remembering the past he barely registered the small voice calling out "deh-SEN-doe". The shock of someone actually attempting a spell in the library was quickly replaced by the stone-cold certainty that something bad was about to happen.
From behind him, that something creaked and moaned loudly. Then came the sharp banging noises, as if heavy objects were bumping into each other, which quickly turned into a rumbling noise that filled the entire library as the very floor seemed to move under his feet. Harry turned around and saw the bookshelves behind him swaying.
One of the giant bookshelves had toppled into the next, starting a ripple effect that would bring the entire library crashing down. Without thinking, Harry tried to steady them but one wand against an entire library of bookshelves was destined to fail. Standing right in the middle of an aisle, he had no time to get out of the way. He blacked out as he was buried under a mound of books and splintered wood.
Harry woke in a dark place that smelled oh-so-familiar. Slowly reaching out while trying his best to stay flat on the bed, he found his glasses and put them on, grateful they'd survived the burial. He'd learned over the years that it wasn't actually the waking-up that alerted Pomfrey's charms, it was the heavy shifting of your weight as you tried to sit up that did it. (A lesson that had helped him hear conversations he was meant to miss on several occasions.) A sudden panic came over him until he spotted his wand, also in one piece, lying on the bedside table.
Dreading what the nurse would have to say this time, he decided to put off the discussion as long as possible by not drawing any attention to himself. Carefully picking up his wand, he used it to levitate his book bag, which someone had thoughtfully left on a nearby chair, so he could draw out a book. He couldn't work on homework while he was mostly flat on his back but he could read. Digging toward the bottom, he pulled out a paperback book that had been charmed to look like Prefects Who Gained Power. The title of the book was actually If My Soul I Give to You, a horridly sappy name that Harry hoped meant it contained plenty of good parts – the worst-named ones usually did.
He opened the book to chapter three, eager to see what happened after the hero, Maxim Rosewood, the Earl of Waverly, had accused the heroine, Veronica, of stealing The Multi-Colored Prism, which was supposed to be a powerful artifact that had been in his family for generations and was used to find lost heirs, but which could cause financial ruin in the wrong hands. Harry hadn't really understood that part, but figured it must make sense somehow.
Veronica had just fallen into a pond and somehow managed to rip off most of her clothes while attempting to climb out when a shadow blocked Harry's reading light.
"Comfy are we, Mister Potter?" Madam Pomfrey asked with a smirk.
"Not really," he said, briefly glancing up from his book, "I could use an extra blanket. It seems drafty in here tonight. Maybe you should go check on the fire."
"Maybe I should check your head. You seem to have lost all sense of self-preservation if you thought getting cheeky with the lady that can grant you freedom was a smart move."
Caught off guard by her unusually playful answer, he shut his book and turned his attention fully to her.
"Now that I have your attention; as you only lost consciousness when you weakened yourself in rather misguided attempt to re-balance every bookshelf in the library at one time, you merely needed sleep and a strengthening solution. You've had sleep; and here is your Strengthening Solution." To prove her point, she held out a goblet full of potion.
"So no damage from the avalanche?" Harry asked.
"Did you really think that no one in the history of the written word had ever created a spell that protects library patrons from falling books? Surely you're familiar with the phrase 'sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never harm me.'?"
"But … that's … Muggles …"
"Hmm, perhaps you'd best finish that goblet before I decide your brain is more addled then I'd first suspected." After he'd finished the sour concoction and handed back the goblet, she added, "more sleep is best. My first inclination is to keep you overnight, but I am willing to allow you to leave if you promise to go straight to your bedroom and straight to bed."
Barely believing his luck – not only could he leave, but he hadn't been lectured at all, at least not health-wise – he perked up. "Right; dorm and bed, got it."
"Not dorm, Mister Potter. Bedroom. I believe it's located in the Headmaster's quarters. That way, not only can I be assured that you will follow my orders, but upon seeing you for himself, Albus can stop his worried pacing. Honestly, the man's already fully gray. Are you trying to make him go bald as well?"
"This wasn't even my fault," Harry indignantly insisted. "It was some little twerps trying to learn a spell in the library, for Merlin's sake! Everyone knows not to use magic in the library. What were they thinking, blatantly breaking such an important rule," he added.
The irony was clearly lost on him, but not on Pomfrey, who nearly choked trying to hold her laughter in. She quickly excused herself, supposedly so he could clean himself up before leaving.
Albus was indeed pacing in front of the fireplace in his office as Harry came through and he followed the boy into their quarters. "I cannot decide if I am more relieved or more surprised to see you here. I had expected Poppy to hold you overnight."
"She let me go as long as I promised to go straight to bed," Harry explained.
"Ah, then you should not let me keep you from your bed … although … I do wonder if you could give me just the slightest moment of your time?"
"Yes," Harry quickly agreed, happy for the excuse to ignore the nurse's orders.
"When word came that you had been injured in the library, I was of course concerned for your wellbeing," Albus admitted as he sank into a nearby seat. "Luckily, I was quickly assured you'd suffered no real damage. But I couldn't help but wonder why you were in the library in the first place. I confess I have noticed the excessive amount of time you've been spending there. Are you having trouble with your school work?"
"Oh, no … classes are going well. Grades are all good, which I'm certain you already know, and I'm even ahead in Transfiguration thanks to Minerva's hints last summer."
"Then what could possibly be keeping you there? You've not developed a teenage crush on Madam Pince, have you?" Albus asked in a concerned voice.
"I think I can speak for the entire male population of Hogwarts when I say crushing on Madam Pince isn't possible. That's like accusing a girl of crushing on Filch."
"Just as well, I do not particularly fancy her as a daughter-in-law. So tell me, what have you been up to in the library?"
"Killing Dr. Black with the rope," Harry deadpanned.
Albus blinked. "Forgive me, Harry, but I do not believe I heard you correctly."
"Never mind. If you must know, I've been researching part of Slytherin's ritual; trying to solve the 'Essence of the Immortal' problem by finding a way to separate my blood from his."
"I thought we'd agreed not to pursue Slytherin's ritual, as it is highly suspect at best, and murderous at worst."
"No," Harry quickly replied, "you decided not to pursue it. I still think it's our best chance."
"Harry, you promised –"
"I promised not to experiment and I haven't. It's called research for a reason, you know. All I'm doing is searching for possible answers."
"It is a waste of time," Albus responded in a slightly raised voice. "We have no concrete proof that the ritual works, only circumstantial evidence and so-called gut instincts. We should be concentrating on finding the remaining Horcruxes, not on wild-dodo chases."
"A fat lot of good that's doing us," Harry shot back, his own voice rising just a bit louder than Albus'. "We haven't found anything lately. And my gut is screaming at me that this ritual is the answer."
"You want me to risk the entire war on your gut screaming at you? I'm certain Poppy could give you a potion to take care of that, then you can forget this foolishness and put your efforts into something more worthwhile."
"Foolishness?" Harry screeched as he shot out of his seat. "That's a bit hypocritical, don't you think? Two years ago, all you had was circumstantial evidence and a gut instinct. When you first told me about the Horcruxes, we didn't have proof of any Horcrux beyond the diary. But your gut instinct and your circumstantial evidence was good enough for me, because I had faith in you."
"It's not a matter of faith, Harry."
"Isn't it? You ask me – you ask all of us to believe in you and follow you, blindly at times, and we do. But I ask the same of you once – just once – and you won't even listen to me. You just tell me to be quiet and do as I'm told like a good little boy. Well you know what? If you can't have a little faith in me, maybe I don't need to have any in you." Turning his back on his guardian, Harry stormed to his room.
"Harry –", he began, but the sharp sound of a door slamming cut off the rest of his thought.
The muffled, "you tell 'em, Harry," coming from Abe's room didn't help Albus' mood any.
Harry stubbornly held onto his anger all through the night, refusing to leave his room for a late supper or even wish Albus a good night. He woke at a ridiculous hour to sneak back to Gryffindor Tower without running into his guardian. By sheer willpower he was able to keep from taking his sour mood out on his friends; instead he was quiet and pensive most of the following days.
His friends – since they were true friends who only cared about his well being – badgered the story out of him, with varying reactions. Hermione was appalled that Albus had dismissed Harry's opinions so casually, feeling the Headmaster should have been more respectful.
Harry felt it best not to point out that Albus' views on the ritual practically mirrored her own, seeing as how she was outraged on his behalf.
Ron's reaction was actually what Harry had expected from Hermione (in sentiment, not language). He couldn't believe Harry "had the dragon's balls to tell the Headmaster you aren't on his side anymore."
"What?" Harry sputtered. "I never said that."
"Sure you did. You said if he didn't believe in you, you wouldn't believe in him. If that doesn't mean you aren't on his side anymore, what does it mean?"
"It … well … I just meant … you're totally missing the point, Ron. He doesn't believe in me."
Ron just shook his head. "'Course he doesn't, Harry. It's nothing personal; he just sees you as a kid. Same with my Mum. She lets us join the Order so we can fight a war, then tries to set a curfew. It's just something parents do. After a while, you just get used to it."
Harry shook his head. "One problem, Ron. He's not really my parent."
"Isn't he? I rather thought that was why it hurt so much that he didn't support your idea."
Harry very much wanted to be stubborn and insist that Albus wasn't his parent; but he couldn't bring himself to repeat the lie. He'd even called him Dad once; not to his face, but when he was talking with Charlie over Christmas, hadn't he referred to him that way? Suddenly confused – was he still angry over Albus' lack of faith, or was he hurt that he'd lost his father-figure's approval, and why did he want to run to him and give him a big hug, and how could Ron of all people be so insightful – Harry picked up a book and made quite the production out of starting his homework.
Unfortunately, in the weeks to follow, Harry was still teetering between angry and sentimental. He couldn't figure out why he couldn't let this go, and whenever he brought it up with either Ginny or Hermione he just got sympathetic looks – the kind that said 'you poor thing, you'll figure it out eventually'.
He'd decided the best way to deal with his conflicting feelings was to avoid spending time alone with Albus, which only left him feeling guilty on top of the everything else.
He tried to trick himself by spending the time he would have spent with Albus with Tonks instead. It wasn't about avoiding Albus, he could then reason, it was about helping his friend. He was right on that count, at least, as his visits really did seem to help cheer up the otherwise despondent professor. During one particularly strange visit, a very Remus-looking Tonks cried on his shoulder and begged him to call her Dora before jumping up (and dumping an entire pot of tea in his lap) and calling herself an "emotional ninny".
It didn't, however, assuage his guilt. Especially when he kept running into the man when he visited Uncle Abe.
Early one such Saturday near the end of February Harry entered Albus' office on his way to visit Abe. To his surprise, Hermione was sitting with Albus at a work table surrounded by books and parchment. By now he'd grown rather good at crossing through the room on his visits to Uncle Abe with the bare minimum of conversation with Albus, but wondered if he should say something to his friend. Seeing her shift uncomfortably, he decided he'd better. "Still looking for a way to remove a sawol?"
"Oh yes," she eagerly replied. "I've started to think that the Dementor's Kiss is so very similar to what we want to do that it's an avenue worth studying. Right now I'm reading the biography of a Mesopotamian witch who was believed to have created the first Dementor. It's absolutely fascinating."
Before she could get carried away and recite the entire book, Harry held up the magazines in his hand. "Sounds fun. Don't let me keep you from it. I'm just taking these to Uncle Abe."
He was certain he felt her gaze on his back as he exited the room. She was probably upset that he'd ignored Albus, but he honestly didn't know what to say to the man these days.
Unbeknownst to him, Harry was both completely correct and woefully ignorant. Hermione was upset, but not only with him. She felt Albus was as much to blame as Harry, maybe even more so. It had to have really hurt her friend for his guardian to tell him he didn't believe in him.
Tuning out the tale of Lilitu and her Demon-child, she remembered the time her own father had told her he didn't believe in her. She had been nine and weird things had been happening around her for a while. In particular, she had a knack for finding lost things. Well, not finding, really. More like, the more she would look for the lost item (usually one of her father's books that she wasn't supposed to be reading), the more upset she'd get until finally, what ever was missing would just appear right in front of her. Just like magic.
This particular time it was her father's car keys. He'd misplaced them and they needed to leave now. Mema Granger was in hospital; the cancer had spread; and it was time. They had three hours to drive and they were trying to beat the clock, so every second counted.
Her normally practical father was ready to pull his hair out when she'd walked right up to him and calmly said, "I'll get them for you Daddy. Lost things have a way of finding me when I need them."
"Not now, Mimi. I don't have time for your silly games," he'd told her without even looking at her.
"But Daddy, it's not a game. I can find them."
"I said not now," he'd barked. "This is important. Oh, I think the spare set is still in the jewel box upstairs." Then he'd sprinted up the stairs before she could say another word.
She had been quiet the entire drive, wondering why he'd called her silly when he knew that if she said she could find them, she meant it. She never joked with her father about serious things. Her parents had both taken her silence for sorrow, as Mema had passed less than an hour after they'd finally arrived. With funeral and estate affairs, the moment had been completely forgotten by her parents. But not by her. Forgiven, yes … but never forgotten.
The sound of Albus closing another book caught her attention. Covertly looking, she could see the sadness her Headmaster was feeling.
Taking a breath to gather her courage, she started, "I can't help but feel a little responsible, Sir. I'm the one that found the ritual."
Albus said nothing, but he did turn his attention to her, which she took as permission to continue butting into their business.
"Between the two of us, I don't think it's the miracle Harry thinks it is." He still said nothing; she presumed he wanted to hear what she had to say. "I do think it is real – that Slytherin used it to destroy Doscara's Horcrux. I just don't think we can recreate it, as there are too many obstacles. The most obvious being the difficulty in obtaining Voldemort's blood."
"I am afraid I do not share your belief, Miss Granger."
"I know," she agreed, "and that's the problem. You see, while we don't believe it's the right answer … Harry does. So I support him in his research. Because that's what friends do, they support each other."
Albus seemed to consider what she'd said. "You think I should allow him to waste time and energy trying to catch a shadow?"
"What harm can it do? At worst, he's spent hours reading about magic in the library, which I don't see as a bad thing. But I think you're forgetting something. If there's anyone on this planet that could catch a shadow, it would be Harry. After slaying a fifty-foot magical snake, I should think catching a shadow is child's play."
Giving her a piercing gaze, Albus asked, "you really think he can find a way to make the ritual work, despite all the inherent problems?"
Hermione thought long and hard before answering. "You know, I think I do."
After looking her in the eye for a moment, he conceded, "I shall consider your words, Miss Granger. Now, perhaps we should get back to our research?"
"Of course, Sir," she said. Picking up the book she'd been reading, she turned it to face him. "Can you look at this and tell me if it means what I think it means, because if it does, we're definitely getting close."
Albus was almost through with the passage when Harry re-entered the room. Hesitating by the door, Harry cleared his throat. When his guardian looked up, he spoke. "Uncle Abe's looking at his girly magazines again. You might want to do something with them before Healer Flora gets here. You know she doesn't appreciate seeing that."
"I will do that, Harry," Albus said, making eye contact with the boy. "Thank you for informing me."
"Oh, no problem," he replied, caught off guard by Albus' warm response. "Well … I've got to go. Bye."
A few minutes after Harry had left Albus pulled a worn parchment out of his pocket, tapped it with his wand and tried to quietly say, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
Seeing Hermione's face, he smiled as he explained, "I tried to say the phrase in a more grammatically pleasing format, but it called me a stuffy bookworm and refused to show anything but the library. Sirius' influence, no doubt." Searching the map, he finally said, "ah, there he is … headed for the music room, if I am not mistaken. Odd, that room should be empty right now."
Looking at the upside down map, it took her a few moments to locate the dot labeled 'Harry Potter'. By the time she did, he'd already entered the unused room. "Oh look, he's – oh my!"
Gently touching her hand, Albus implored, "Miss Granger, trust me when I say that in a school full of hormonal teenagers, one sees many shocking things. Mister Boot entertaining himself in Professor Trelawney's classroom last weekend comes to mind. These private things are best kept to oneself. Secrets, like rabbits, multiply at the slightest chance."
"But…," she sputtered, her eyes still trained on the map.
"I ask that you refrain from mentioning you saw this to anyone," he cautioned her. "After all, one can never be certain who else knows a secret without giving it away, can one? And - might I add - your friends deserve their privacy, do they not?"
Right at that moment, Hermione realized it was true; everyone had a bit of all four houses inside them. "I'll keep it to myself, Professor, if you agree to talk to Harry."
"Well played, Miss Granger. Very well ... I accept your terms." The twinkle in his eye was unmistakable.
Hermione nodded her agreement and got back to work, but couldn't ignore the little voice in the back of her mind that wondered who had manipulated whom.
** end chapter **
NOTES: Quick reminder – there are three remaining Horcruxes: Hufflepuff's cup, whereabouts unknown to all; Harry's award, which replaced Nagini and which was last known in Voldemort's possession; and the locket, which Albus is holding so they can attempt to remove the soul piece. Destroyed Horcruxes: diary, ring, tiara, and the accidental one inside Harry.
What is it with me and Clue references? It's like I can't stop myself.
Spells: 'Invenio' is the indexing spell from earlier in the story. Descendo (used phonetically as deh-SEN-doe) is from the Lexicon, it causes something to descend or lower itself.