Disclaimer: Right. So...I don't own Harry Potter. Yeah.

AN: Oh my god, you guys, thank you so much. I was feeling really down about the last chapter - I'd reworked it a few times and had torn it apart a few times and it was starting to get to me - but then you guys come along and send me so many kind reviews. It was so, so encouraging to read what you wrote to me, and I'm so happy that I didn't disappoint my readers. After all the support I've gotten I always want to post things that you'll enjoy. It's such a relief that I managed to do that. Now I just need to get through this chapter...which was really hard to write.

On a side note, it's Sunday! So I guess I'm posting on Sundays now.


Chapter 50: Albus Dumbledore

He once read a piece that went by the name 'Über formal unentscheidbare Sätze der Principia Mathematika und verwandter Systeme', or in English, 'On Formally Undecidable Propositions of Principia Mathematica and Related Systems'. He read it at a time when he was at a crossroads, looking for guidance.

When he was young he was especially preoccupied with his own fallibility, and sought to diminish his insecurities by delving into the study of formal logic. Formal logic was the concern of philosophers and mathematicians, two particular groups of muggles whose work arithmancers and magical theorists often contributed to; for many magical scholars it had proved to be a treasure trove of fascinating ideas and methods that furthered their own research in an efficient and effective way. For him, it was never about research or discovery. It was an addiction he fell into in his youth; he became enthralled by the certainty of it all. It was a method of reasoning which could not be disputed; reasonable laws of logic had been formed and if followed with precision, they led to indisputable results. It was a comfort to train his mind to reason in such a way.

Mathematicians at the time were very concerned with developing a logical system – which, simply put, is a collection of axioms, or initial assumptions, and rules of deduction – that could provide a foundation for all other mathematics; in particular, a foundation for arithmetic was desired. Such a system was required to have two properties in particular – consistency and completeness. A consistent system is a system that cannot prove something to be both true and false, while a complete system is a system that can prove anything to be either true or false, leaving no unknowns. The result is a system that can prove any statement - proposition, if you will - of arithmetic to be either true or false, but not both. He found such a system to be very desirable, as did most people, and for a while it seemed that finding this system was an attainable goal.

But, in fact, it was not.

They were called the Incompleteness Theorems. A system rich enough to provide a foundation for arithmetic cannot be complete if it is consistent. To commit to consistently reasoning about mathematics in this way was to admit that some knowledge was untouchable; it was to accept that there were some true statements that could not be proven to be true or false, and would forever remain in logical limbo. Formally undecidable propositions were an inevitability.

Now, one might wonder why a man like Albus Dumbledore would sit up in his office in the middle of the night reminiscing on a former obsession with mathematics. It might seem like idle behaviour for a man in his position, but his musings had a purpose, a very particular and simple purpose, and that purpose was this: he was merely reminding himself of the fact that even in the most controlled environments, undecidable propositions can exist; indeed, in many cases, they must. Even the most well-founded reasoning is marred by uncertainty. Undecidable propositions – that's all. He just wanted to think on the term, and recall its weight.

He learned all this – over ten years after the discovery was made, but he was a busy man – at a time when he was plagued by indecision and fear; he was searching relentlessly for answers, for direction. He was desperate to find the right path to take. A war was raging in Continental Europe and it had made its way to Britain, and Gellert grew more and more powerful every day; and there he was, hidden away at Hogwarts, his nose in a book whenever his foot was not in the classroom. He had been lost, frozen, convicted that he had to be ever so cautious, that he had to determine the correct course of action before he acted; not only that, but he was sure that the reasoning behind this course of action had to be infallible, absolute. But then it occurred to him that his decision might just be analogous an undecidable proposition; perhaps he was searching for a certainty that didn't exist. It was at that point in his life that it truly sunk in that even if one believes there is always a right path, one might never be able to arrive at it through reason or logic; that even the best, wisest, most intelligent man might not be able to locate the correct course of action. Sometimes a conviction could be an approximation at best, and all that could be done was to commit to a course of action, and accept the consequences.

He had made many crucial decisions over the course of his life, and many of them were lauded as wise – but there were times when he had to remind himself that even at his best the good he always sought might be unattainable - or rather: attainable, but not within his control. He made mistakes. And it was one of these mistakes that he was pondering now, as he sat in his office, stroking Fawkes's vibrant red feathers at 2 o'clock in the morning.

Over the past three years, he had collected facts about Harry James Potter and had drawn conclusions from these facts. Unfortunately, while he, for the most part, had collected the facts in a way he thought was satisfactory, and drew what he considered to be reasonable conclusions. But he now saw that the actions he had taken and the beliefs he held had ignored the possibility that the correct fashion in which he should have approached the situation might be unattainable through logic.

It was a fact that Harry Potter had grown up in the care of Lily Evans's family. Minerva had once asserted that they were the worst sort of muggles, but her protests were not especially fervent, and from that he had gleaned that this was an exaggeration on Minerva's part. He had met the 'worst sort of muggles', and Lily Evan's family would almost certainly not fall into this category – especially since they had voluntarily taken young Harry in. They could have cast the boy out, but they did not. The impenetrable wards he was able to construct around the Dursley residence of Number 4 Privet Drive were proof that Harry Potter had been accepted into his Aunt's household, however reluctantly - the wards would not have held otherwise.

However, it was also a fact that Lily did not enjoy speaking of her sister, implying distance at the very least; this in turn implied that there was a distinct possibility that the boy would suffer an absence of love and affection. Even so, it was also a fact that the family was clearly well-off and stable, and that being raised in the muggle world would prevent young Harry from becoming biased with respect to the many cultural and political conflicts which plagued the wizarding world, in one direction or the other, and it would also prevent his immense fame from going to his head. The conclusion he drew from all of this was that while Harry Potter's childhood might not turn out to be a happy one, he would ultimately be physically safe and in a stable environment, where he could develop with reasonable normalcy.

It was a fact that from the very beginning, Poppy believed that the boy might have suffered from mistreatment at certain parts of his childhood; this mistreatment could have been at the hands of his family, or it was the doing of other children. Most evidence of this mistreatment, however, was several years old, and recent inspections had yielded no new results, implying that if Harry Potter had frequently suffered injuries of moderate seriousness at the hands of someone else, it had ceased at some point during his time at muggle primary school. This implied in turn that he had been bullied during his younger years. He knew little of Harry's relationship with his relatives, but Arabella Figg had not reported anything unusual, and the muggle authorities had never become involved with the Dursley household. He knew that the boy did not enjoy spending time with his family, and would have preferred to remain at school during the holidays. He knew that, at the very least, something had occurred prior to Harry's departure for Hogwarts that made him believe that his relatives did not like him. These facts, in turn, confirmed his speculation that Harry Potter did not have a particularly happy childhood, but they did not necessitate the existence of a critically troubled one.

It was a fact that upon arriving at Hogwarts, Harry Potter had been sorted into Slytherin. After having been Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for several decades, he knew that it was also a fact that Slytherins were just like any of the other children attending his school – young minds with the capacity to do great things and become kind, moral people. Indeed, he had met many Slytherins who had incredible measures of goodness in them. From this he drew the conclusion that Harry Potter was a clever boy, and no doubt had aspirations to prove himself, as many would in his position. The hat had seen this, and saw fit to put him in Slytherin.

It was a fact that Harry Potter was thoroughly disliked by Severus Snape. Severus continually claimed that the boy was arrogant, manipulative, and obsessive, and he never failed to express the disdain he felt for both the boy and those who were 'deceived by his superficial charms'. Unpacking these claims was a simple matter. The arrogance he discounted without much thought, because that particular trait was one Severus would have associated with the boy's father, and was most likely a mere projection. The claim that Harry was manipulative was of some concern, but his years as an educator had taught him that intelligent children often appeared to be manipulative as they tested their social skills, so that was likely, for the most part, innocuous. The claim about the boy's obsessive nature, however...he concluded that that might be of some concern, an impression that had been confirmed as valid later on.

Nevertheless, it was a fact that Harry Potter was well-liked. He was a friend to muggleborns and the children of Death Eaters alike, and an amiable presence to everyone in the school. With the exception of Severus, of course. It was a fact that his teachers were enamoured with his alleged brilliance, and he did well in all his classes and had managed to avoid finding himself in trouble, with a few notable exceptions. From these facts he drew the conclusion that while Harry Potter's childhood may not have been a happy one, he had nevertheless been nurtured, to some degree at least, by either a strong sense of self-reliance and moral fibre, or someone who had his best interests at heart.

It was a fact that there were notable exceptions to Harry's spotless record. It was a fact that he had manipulated Hagrid into giving him information on the Philosopher's Stone, and that he had directly disobeyed a clear and firm warning that was given at the beginning of the year to ensure his own safety. It was a fact that the boy claimed that he had done what he did because he wanted learn from his parents' murderer the purpose behind the events of Halloween night, 1981; that he risked his life to better understand why he had lost his family. He drew the conclusion from these facts that the boy was troubled by the blatant gaps in the well-rehearsed and widely accepted story of Tom's defeat at the hands of an infant; that he was intelligent enough to understand that something far more complex was at play. He also drew the conclusion that the boy believed that his teachers, if asked for the truth, would be either ignorant or deceitful, implying that the boy was either unnaturally suspicious or disillusioned with authority figures. This implied that it was likely that the boy had, in fact, nurtured and taught himself.

Another notable exception was the incident concerning the petrification of Mrs. Norris. It was a fact that both Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were innocent of any wrongdoing – a quick scan of the their surface thoughts was enough to confirm this. It was also a fact that this scan (specifically, the scan of Draco Malfoy's mind) revealed that Harry had heard a voice right before the attack, a voice coming from within the walls; it had also revealed that it was impossible to skim Harry's thoughts and glean any information – instead of accurate impressions and recent memories, he received information that was certainly false. From these few facts he was able to draw a number of crucial conclusions. The first was that it was unlikely that Harry or Draco were the (knowing) perpetrators of any of the following attacks; the second was that Harry was likely a parselmouth - he had long suspected that Slytherin's monster was some kind of serpent, and Harry's ability to hear it and understand it when no one else could do so suggested that he had inherited more than a scar from his first encounter with Tom. The third conclusion was that Harry Potter was an occlumens of considerable skill, which was both extraordinarily impressive for someone his age and also concerning. Despite how firmly he reassured Minerva, he too was concerned about what the boy believed he had to hide, and why he believed he was under threat from a legillimens. He had likely discovered somehow that he, Severus, or Tom were able to glean information from his mind. That, or he had read about legillimency, and found himself obsessed with defending against it, as Severus had suggested. Neither options boded particularly well, but neither were of urgent concern, so he, well, 'let sleeping dogs lie'.

A further exception was uncovered when Harry saved Draco's life in the sixth month of 1993. It was a fact that the story Harry and Draco supplied him with was one they had painted specifically for him. He was quite certain that there was an entrance to the Chamber of Secrets within his school, and that it was likely that Draco, while under the influence of Tom's diary, had entered it while still inside the school. He also knew that Harry Potter was able to find this entrance and infiltrate it successfully, confirming his belief that the boy was a parselmouth. This also implied that the boy was aware of this fact and felt it necessary to go to great lengths to hide it.

It was a fact that Harry considered whatever method he used to nullify the magic of Tom's diary a worse transgression than casting a spell as dark and dangerous as anathema purgo. He knew that the boy had not used this spell on a cursed object as complex as Tom's diary (at the very least, he had not used it while the diary was still cursed), because had it not killed him, it would have permanently damaged his magical core, and the effects of that would not have been invisible. He chose at the time to overlook the conundrum of why the boy would find using magic as dangerous as anathema purgo – a spell that would have surely caused permanent damage, if not his demise, had he actually used it – a lesser transgression than whatever he had done to cleanse Tom's diary in earnest; for he now had the grave suspicion that something far more sinister and complex was at play. The conclusions he drew from these troubling facts were that Harry Potter knew something about how Tom had created his diary, and knew more about Tom and what had transpired between them than he was willing to admit, and that he had crucial information that he would not easily give up. How this was possible, he had yet to uncover.

The final major exception to Harry's polished record he had only uncovered this last week. It was a fact that Harry Potter, when it was revealed to him that what he no doubt perceived as a damning weakness was made known to the general public, was overcome with, excuse the pun, burning rage. It was a fact that he had lost control, and his magic had lashed out instinctively. From this fact alone he learned that Harry was more powerful than he initially believed. And that the boy's mental stability was quite tenuous. It was also a fact that minutes later he felt a surge of furious dark magic coming from somewhere in the castle, and from that fact he was able to draw a startling conclusion; the incident back in 1992, that had not been the Heir of Slytherin – that had been Harry Potter. It was a fact that Harry Potter was polite and good-natured – but apparently these traits were disguising something no one could have anticipated: a deadly, explosive temper.

He made the very reasonable conclusion that the boy had strayed into the dark arts; but he also made the assumption that this straying was just a bit of experimentation, harmless enough if kept in check. After all, the dark arts were not evil - magic is not good, nor evil - only dangerous. And danger can be tempered with wisdom. With the right knowledge, surely the boy would abandon his forbidden studies. There was no need to jump to conclusions. No need to make unfair comparisons. The dark arts were a temptation for powerful, troubled young witches and wizards. The boy had given into that temptation, but perhaps it was, in part, unknowing. He made the assumption that the boy did not quite know what he was doing. He simply needed guidance; he was young and innocent, and thereby allowed some measure of folly. This was a problem, but not an irreparable one.

And these were the facts, and the conclusions he drew from them. They were the most crucial, at the very least, and he had thought them enough to paint an accurate picture of Harry Potter. He had thought that the truth behind Harry Potter's life and character were provable through careful observation and reason. He was a boy with a good heart, with the kindness of a Hufflepuff, the intelligence of a Ravenclaw, the bravery of a Gryffindor, and the cunning and thirst for power of a Slytherin. He had not had a happy childhood, but it was, for all intents and purposes, a relatively normal childhood, and despite the lack of support he may have received from his relatives, he was exposed to positive influences throughout his childhood that instilled in him some degree of emotional intelligence and a love for learning, even if those positive influences were merely his strength of character. He had believed that Harry Potter knew too much about too many things and was by nature a skeptic, but he had nevertheless believed the boy to be ultimately innocent and untouched by the prejudices that ran rampant in the wizarding world, on either side of the spectrum.

He had chosen to believe in this picture. He had chosen to act on this belief. He had decided that the boy's safety came first, and that leaving well enough alone was the correct course of action.

He had been too sure of himself; he had forgotten about the pervasiveness of undecidable propositions. Because the fact was, even if he knew all the facts, even if there was a correct course of action when it came to the fate of Harry Potter, he still might have never found it.

There were two key events, both recent, which confirmed his misstep.

The first was Poppy's discovery. When it came to his decisions regarding Harry Potter's home life, he had been undeniably, irrefutably wrong. A great many of the anomalies of Harry's character – his independence, his manipulative behaviour, his obsessiveness, his secrecy – could be explained as artifacts of a childhood marred by neglect and abuse.

When Poppy had come to him with the revelation that Harry Potter was indeed a tragically wronged child, he would admit to having felt fear, anger, grief, and above all, guilt. He was a man that prided himself on his self control and tranquility, but later that night, after Poppy, Minerva, and Severus had gone, he shed tears.

He was a wise, intelligent, and powerful man, and he had always ascribed to a view that could be easily encapsulated by a muggle saying, 'with great power comes great responsibility'. Over the course of his lifetime he had allotted for himself many tasks and responsibilities, and he was but a man – he was bound to fail at some of them. But it was simply tragic that this failure had come in the form of a series of bad decisions concerning an innocent, unfortunate child – an innocent, unfortunate child who happened to be James and Lily's boy.

This was not a mistake he would forget, and he would gladly bear his guilt until the end of his days. It did not change the fact that had he not placed the boy in the care of his relatives within the wards he constructed that he might have been dead, by now – but he would feel his guilt nonetheless.

Nevertheless, he had hope, at first – he had reason to believe that Harry Potter was a picture of resilience; that his excellent behaviour and considerable accomplishments were a result of a strength of character that had not been damaged by the boy's unfortunate upbringing.

But then he had read the letter.

It seemed innocuous enough. When the common man would read that letter, they would see the innocence of a wronged child, and would feel the need to right the wrong he had presented to them. Indeed, when he first read the letter, he had found himself taken in by it, much like everyone else – he found himself believing that it was all very transparent and innocent...almost. There was something about it, though, a sort of cleverness he could just smell wafting from between the lines.

And then he watched Harry enter the Great Hall, and saw the calm look on his face, the confidence in his gait. The boy had known what every reaction to his letter would be before he even witnessed them. The expression on his face – it was an expression of satisfaction; it was the expression of someone who was in control; someone whose carefully crafted plans had come to fruition. It was the expression of the cat who caught the canary.

The boy was careful not to point fingers, careful not to say anything abrasively negative or accusatory at all. He criticized policies and laws, but not the people who put them in place, or the reasons they had for doing so. He blamed no one – not even Lord Voldemort – and he claimed muggles were fearful, not evil. The letter appeared to be a child's plea, a young boy's innocent request for reasonable improvement – but what it really was was a brilliant piece of political propaganda...or at least, that's what it had the potential to be.

Harry had worded his letter in such a way that it would be cruel to disagree with him – if the Ministry attempted to defend its policies, it would be seen as callous and uncaring. The boy knew that placing blame would alienate at least some of the readers of the Daily Prophet. He knew that placing emphasis on direct criticisms would cause people to turn a blind eye as to avoid the guilt incited by the feeling of ignorance and impotence. So instead he presented a cause that any decent person would find themselves supporting: the well-being of children. He spoke of cooperation, of a better future, of unity – of the tools that made powerful men powerful.

Harry Potter was not as resilient as he had wanted to believe; the boy had been profoundly affected by the abuse he suffered. It was speculation at this point, but he posited that Harry did not like muggles, and he did not believe that young witches and wizards should be left in their care. At the very least, he believed that young witches and wizards should be able to cast magic on muggles without risking expulsion. But more crucially – he felt so strongly about these beliefs that at the mere age of 13, he wanted to do something about it. And he was polite, gracious, and carefully neutral about it, and that was what gave him the potential to be such a threat to the careful balancing act the Wizarding World was now playing at.

He would be a fool if, by now, he did not see the blatant similarities between Harry Potter and Tom Riddle. Parentless, charismatic, brilliant parselmouths and dark wizards who were well liked by nearly everyone – the two were powerful wizards with boundless potential. That much was obvious. The comparisons, as they sprung up, had concerned him, but not to the point of fearing what the boy would become. He had great faith that if he intervened at the correct points in time, Harry Potter would be spared the fate of Tom Riddle.

No, it was their differences which incited foreboding in his chest now.

Tom Riddle, as everyone knew him, was a false persona, a mirage. Any goodness others saw in him was feigned, a product of empty charisma. In the end, when all was stripped away, a monster was the only thing left. Tom Riddle had always been a monster – perhaps not always, but by the time he was well into his Hogwarts education, he certainly was. He learned how to pretend to be otherwise, but it was always lurking underneath, far too close to the surface. In school, Tom was well liked, but that was because he did not dare reveal himself to his classmates. He had opinions, beliefs, and goals that would have made his fellow students' skin crawl, and he was well aware of this, and hid carefully. And in the end, when he chose to show his hand, he ultimately alienated most of the population of Wizarding Europe, which would have been his downfall, if he had not constructed his own demise at the hands of the prophecy.

Tom Riddle was a great wizard and a powerful Dark Lord, and he was doomed to fail in the end.

But Harry Potter was not.

He did not believe Harry to be a monster. There was good in the boy – that much was obvious. And not only a capacity for goodness; a fully developed virtuous character. But this goodness, this empathy, this kindness – it gave him an edge Tom Riddle could have never hoped to have. Harry didn't have to hide. He didn't have to feign goodness, because it truly was there. But he could no longer mistake this goodness for innocence.

Harry Potter was a troubled boy with a tragic past, with ambitions greater than what most of his elders would admit to. He held firm beliefs, and was willing to create conflict - albeit subtly and carefully - in order to further a yet undisclosed ideological agenda. Harry Potter was in a uniquely advantageous position - he was ambitious and cunning and beloved and a subject of sympathy. And from the facts he had collected, he would draw a new conclusion – that Harry Potter knew this as well.


"Ah, Harry."

"Professor Snape said you wished to see me?"

A very convincing befuddled look was shaping the boy's face – one that he identified as fake, now that he knew what to look for.

Still, he smiled welcomingly at the boy. "I did. Please, come in."

Despite his confused facade, Harry did not manage to hide the wonder that filled his eyes when he fully stepped into his office, as his bright green gaze eagerly swept from trinket to book to stack of parchment. Predictably, it lingered on the form of Fawkes, who was perched beside his desk as he often was.

"I see you have noticed Fawkes," he said softly, adding on, "Fawkes is a phoenix."

The boy's eyes widened drastically. "A real phoenix?"

He chuckled, feeling relief bubbling up in his chest – it was comforting to see the presence of childlike wonder in the boy. "Indeed, he is quite real, to the best of my knowledge, at least. Please, sit down – Fawkes won't bite, he's quite friendly."

The boy cautiously sat down, and for a moment, he said nothing, only watching the boy fidget. They were short, stifled twitches in his wand hand, barely perceptible, and therefore probably not feigned; neither was the faint look of fear shining through his emerald green eyes. He resisted the urge to sigh. This would be much more difficult if the boy felt threatened; for that certainly wasn't his intention. He wanted clarification, nothing more; moreover, he wanted the boy to know that he had somewhere to turn to, when he came to the inevitable crossroads before him.

"May I ask what this is about? I'm not in trouble am I?"

It was an honest question.

He tried to offer a comforting smile. "I think you know exactly what this is about, Harry."

"Sir?"

"Come now, my boy, let's not play games." As much as he enjoyed them, there was a time and a place. "Tangled words tend to part with their potency, and sentiments too subtle are often lost in translation. You know what they say – waste not, want not."

The boy's lips quirked upward a little, as though he could not help but be a bit amused. "I admit, professor, that I'd never really thought about it like that." He hesitated. "You want to talk to me about my letter?" he asked slowly.

"Indeed I do – I confess myself very fascinated by your words, Harry, and I had hoped we could have a little chat, if you are amenable."

"Of course, sir."

He smiled kindly. He had to be careful now – he wanted the boy's attention; he wanted to truly make clear the fact that he was not playing games. He had a strategy for accomplishing this, but it might very well backfire.

"Excellent. Now Harry, before we begin, I must make two small requests."

"Sir?"

"First and foremost, I must request your honesty."

"Of course sir, I would never -"

"Harry," he interrupted softly, before the boy could incite the devolution of their conversation before it even started, "Do not make the mistake that many other young men make – do not mistake silence for ignorance. I am very well aware of your penchant for spinning tall tales."

The boy put on another confused look, but his face had paled slightly...only slightly, though. "I'm afraid I don't understand, sir."

He smiled sadly. "Then perhaps a demonstration might suffice."

Now the boy looked genuinely confused. "A demonstration?"

"I know about the Chamber of Secrets, Harry."

The boy froze, except his hand, which was twitching more noticeably now.

"I'm afraid I caught on to your little fib."

"Sir?" the boy said weakly.

"I will speak plainly, Harry. I know that you found the Chamber of Secrets, and I know why you were able to find it."

Despite the mildness of his accusation, however, the boy was measuring his breaths now, panic evident in his eyes - it was subtle, but to him, it was painfully clear. "N-no, I'm sure you've misunderstood something -"

Now that was interesting. The boy's reaction was far more extreme than he anticipated. The boy was trying very hard to control himself, but he could easily see past that; he could see that Harry's fight-or-flight instinct had nearly kicked in. In Harry's eyes, something had just gone very wrong. The only reasonable conclusion...was that the stakes were much higher, for Harry at least, than he initially believed. It was almost as though...the boy feared for his life.

But why would being a parselmouth place him in mortal danger? Yet another clue, for sure.

Meanwhile, he closed his eyes and shook his head head slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements. "I don't believe that I have; after all, I also know that you had nothing to do with the attacks, and that your actions were, in fact, nothing less than heroic, at their core. I commend you for that, my boy. No, your strange ability does not have me concerned, and it is not something I hold against you. You have nothing to worry about in that regard."

Harry visibly relaxed at his words, and he dared to look him in the eye. His gaze was clearly mistrustful, despite the careful words that followed. "I...appreciate that, Professor."

He smiled vaguely. "Not at all."

The boy smiled back, albeit weakly, before frowning again. "Did Sirius or Remus...?"

His eyebrows rows. "Oh, they know as well? I assure you, Harry, neither of them betrayed your trust." He was truly pleased that the boy had chosen to confide in an authority figure on the matter, for it assuaged some of his worries.

At the same time...it implied that Harry perceived him in particular as the threat. Which was rather odd, given how limited their interactions had been.

Either way, the boy looked relieved at his confirmation.

"Now that we have that out of the way, I will ask again; can you give me your honesty, Harry, for the duration of this little chat of ours?"

The boy nodded slowly, a cautious look on his face. "Yes, Sir."

"Now, let's see..."

The poor child looked quite nervous at this point.

"As I said, I must ask you for one more things before we begin."

The boy eyed him warily. "Yes, sir?"

He let the smile slide off of his face, and allowed himself a rare moment of weakness; he allowed all the weariness, guilt, and sympathy he had felt over the last week rise to the surface. "Your forgiveness, Harry. I must ask for your forgiveness."

The boy blinked, and then blinked again, a genuinely baffled look on his face. "Sir?"

"As you are aware, Harry, it was I who placed you in the home of your aunt and uncle, where I assumed you would be cared for. Never did I once consider that your mother's sister would give you anything less than a safe place to learn and grow, and because of that, I did nothing. I had an old acquaintance of mine keep an eye on the house, but I did not think think to ascertain for myself whether or not you were safe and happy. Because of this, you have suffered. And for that, I owe you a profound apology."

It was the truth - but a carefully crafted one. The boy didn't need to understand why he had done what he did. Why his safety was so crucial. He didn't need to know of the difficult destiny before him. Not yet. A time would come, but not yet. He had already gone through far, far too much.

"I don't think you do, sir," the boy said quietly.

He shook his head. "On the contrary, Harry – I truly do owe you the deepest of apologies. I greatly regret my mistake, and will continue to regret it for the rest of my days."

The boy shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "You...don't have to apologize, sir. It wasn't your fault. My understanding is that the Dursleys have exhibited...abnormal behaviour...and so not accounting for it it can't entirely be called an oversight on your part. No one...is to blame. It's all just very unfortunate."

The boy clearly didn't believe his own words, which were stilted and audibly uncertain.

"If you truly believed your plight was merely unfortunate, Harry, you would not have written what you did. I think you made it quite clear in your letter that there are wrongs that need to be righted, here – that blame does belong to someone; perhaps not entirely to me, but you truly do believe that you have suffered an injustice, to which I would be inclined to agree."

"That wasn't my intention, sir, when writing my letter."

"May I be so bold as to ask you what your true intentions were, then?"

The boy hesitated, but then seemed to come to some sort of decision, and steeled himself. "I was...upset by Ms. Thistlebaum's article -"

He took note of the boy's formal and apparently respectful reference to the reporter as 'Ms. Thistlebaum', perhaps related to the way that the boy refused to call him anything but 'sir' or 'professor'. A precaution, perhaps? A way of isolating or detaching himself?

"- I felt that I was being taken advantage of and that my personal life was being made into little more than sensationalized entertainment," the boy continued honestly.

"And that made you angry."

The boy's face reddened slightly, and his eyes flickered down to his hands – an obvious indication of shame, which he believed to be genuine. So the boy was ashamed of his temper? That was something, at least; it suggested that he did not relish the darker emotions he felt, no matter how prominent they were. Again, he was encouraged.

"Yeah, I was, sir."

"And yet, your letter did not sound very angry at all," he said musingly.

"I...it wouldn't have done any good, just ranting angrily at Ms. Thistlebaum; it would have been just as ineffective to try to deny or play down what she said – it would only support her attempt to make me into a victim."

"And you do not consider yourself to be a victim?"

A dark look passed over the boy's face. "I'm not," he said firmly, gaze sharpening, "I can take care of myself. But Sirius cares about me, and I figured I shouldn't have to live with people who hate me and want me gone if there's someone who actually wants me around. I didn't need help; I just decided it would be for the best to accept it."

"There is no shame in needing help, Harry."

"I don't need anything," the boy said, a little petulantly, before widening his eyes. It would seem that despite how polite and mild-mannered the boy's demeanour was, he could not completely temper his pride. A very Gryffindor trait – reminiscent of both his mother and his father. "I'm sorry, professor, what I meant to say was -"

"No, I suppose no one needs anything."

Harry paused, frowning. "Aren't things we need just things we have to have in order to survive, sir?"

He smiled vaguely. "Are they? Perhaps we could define it as such, but then let me ask you this – do you need to survive?"

The boy opened his mouth to answer, but then closed it again a moment later, frown deepening. "No," he said quietly. "I suppose I could just die."

He nodded, pleased that the boy had caught on so quickly. "Need, when one bothers to think of it, is a rather vague notion – one could easily argue that it is nothing but a superficial construct of human vanity, a reflection of our innate fear of unhappiness and death. But let us not argue semantics; let us not, for the moment, dig deeper than we must. We both acknowledge that one can survive without love and happiness – humans are remarkably resilient creatures – but that does not mean we should; it is possible to survive while failing to live. You are but a child, Harry -"

The boy opened his mouth to argue.

"- a remarkably capable and mature child, but a child nonetheless. And all children need a home – it is the right of every child to have a home, and a responsibility of every guardian to freely give one. You have been deprived of your right, and your guardians have shirked their responsibility. This makes you a victim of injustice, Harry. That is not something to be ashamed of – it is mere fact."

The boy's face was blank, and he was stubbornly avoiding eye contact – he was no doubt struggling to maintain his occlumency shields.

"With all due respect, sir, you called me here to talk about my letter," Harry said, voice quivering slightly as it tried to disguise his distress.

"I did."

"But there's not much to say about it, you see," he said tightly, still forcing the appearance of calm on himself, "I don't want to be pitied, and I'm not a victim, so I redirected everyone's attention to a more important topic. I made them concerned about a larger issue, and now they'll feel bad about focusing on insignificant details, like me. I've made sure they have something better to talk about, and now I'm off the hook. I'm a Slytherin, professor – I'm clever like that."

The words weren't arrogant; they were bland and even tainted with bitterness.

"That much I have deduced on my own, Harry. I may be a Gryffindor, but age tends to bring out the Slytherin in all of us."

The lightness of his tone seemed to drain away some of the tension building in the room, and the boy relaxed slightly.

"No, it is not your clever attempt to shift the spotlight, so to speak, that I am curious about – I am curious, my boy, as to whether or not there is more to the story than that."

"I'm not sure what you're talking about pro-"

"Yes, yes you are, Harry," he interrupted softly. "Remember your promise?"

"Yes sir," the boy said in little more than a mumble.

"Now, what was it you said? 'Questionable laws and morally deficient policies' were your exact words, I believe. You don't strike me as the type of boy who makes baseless accusations and broad, sweeping judgments, Harry. You had specific laws and policies in mind when you wrote that, didn't you?"

"I don't know much about the law, sir," the boy said stiffly, vaguely.

"That does not mean you cannot have well-founded opinions, my boy."

Harry paused, seemingly deep in thought. Finally, he seemed to reach a decision, and began slowly and carefully, "The Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery prevents children from doing magic outside of school, which is fine for purebloods and halfbloods with magical parents, but for children in the muggle world, they're left defenceless. Even the ability to cast a stunning charm or an alohomora could significantly improve a magical child's ability to remain safe while away from Hogwarts, but to use magic to get themselves out of a bad situation is to risk expulsion – and no one in their right mind would take that risk, because if we can't go to Hogwarts, where else would we go?"

"There are provisions that are made," he pointed out.

"In cases that can be argued to be life-threatening, sir. There are plenty of things that children shouldn't have to go through that aren't life-threatening. When someone does something to harm a child it's rarely life-threatening."

He nodded, eyeing the boy closely. "This is true, but I'm sure an intelligent young man like yourself understands why we have laws like our ban on underage magic."

"Having children doing magic outside school would mean risking the exposure of the magical world."

"Indeed. Of course, there are some who believe exposure would be no great loss; there are some who believe that it is time that we reveal ourselves to the muggles, and attempt to live in harmony with each other. Are you of this opinion, Harry?"

Predictably, the boy grimaced. "No, sir. I don't believe that's possible. It's not worth the risk."

"Oh?"

The boy straightened himself on reflex, as though he was about to give a rehearsed lecture. "Even if, by some small chance, most muggles were willing to accept the existence of a race of people who can kill them with two words without leaving a mark, control their minds, and wipe their memories – which they wouldn't be – there would certainly be some who wouldn't, and there's a good chance that among these people would be people who are used to being the most powerful ones around; and these are the people with nuclear launch codes and armies – armies that outnumber us a thousand to one. There are muggles with a lot of power that shouldn't be underestimated, and the moment they believe this power is threatened, they wouldn't hesitate to lash out."

So it was a lecture – one he had given before. Perhaps to the Granger girl?

"You seem to have put a lot of thought into this."

"I've read a lot of muggle history. It's not encouraging."

He chuckled sadly. "Indeed, indeed. History rarely is, sadly. It is a nice dream though, don't you think? That history would remain history, that we would fail to make the mistakes those before us made – that we could have peace."

"I'm not really one for dreams, sir."

"Fair enough, Harry, fair enough. Given your views on the risks imposed by the exposure of our world, though, you really can't justify repealing the ban on underage magic, can you?"

"No, sir," the boy said meekly, "But the fact that there's no easy alternative doesn't make it right."

"On that, we can both agree." He smiled grimly. "You say that there are no easy alternatives. Have you difficult ones in mind, then?"

"Well, if magical children can't defend themselves, then the Ministry should be doing it for them, shouldn't they?"

"Oh? And how are they to do that?"

"Magical children from muggle families aren't contacted until they get their Hogwarts letter – the Ministry could contact them earlier. They could keep an eye on them, monitor their homes."

"That would be a breach of privacy, Harry."

"But wouldn't it be worth it?"

"I suppose you could argue that, but that leaves one very pertinent problem."

The boy frowned. "What?"

"Resources."

The boy blinked, seemingly caught off guard by the practical answer. "Resources?"

"The Ministry of Magic has limited resources Harry, and I can assure you that they do not have the means to actively monitor the homes of every magical child in the muggle world."

"I...find that hard to believe. Aren't there charms they could use to detect violence or verbal abuse?"

"Were there such charms, Harry, they would not be able to tell the difference between rough-housing between children and genuine violence; they would not be able differentiate arguments from verbal abuse and threats. The sheer volume of alarms that would be set off on a daily basis would be immense, and each one would need to be investigated thoroughly. A daunting task, don't you think?"

"What about wards like the ones you set up around the Dursleys' house? Those kept me safe, right?"

He smiled sadly. "Your circumstances were exceptional, Harry. The circumstances of your arrival at the home of your relatives played a large part in the construction of those wards, which I erected myself, and a wizard with lesser skill or power would not have been able to do so. And besides all that...well, the blood wards were only so successful at keeping you safe, as you are well aware. They protect against Voldemort and his Death Eaters, against dark creatures and some curses – but clearly not against those with the intent to hurt you. Indeed, to the best of my knowledge, no such charms - of reasonable scale, at the very least - exist."

Harry was visibly troubled by his statement. "But even if the Ministry can't monitor all magical children all the time, surely there's something more that they can do. Visit families. Explain what's happening to them. Check to make sure that the children are happy and well cared for. Anything."

"The Ministry of Magic considers informing young children in the muggle world of their ability to do magic to be a security risk," he countered mildly. Sometimes playing the Devil's Advocate was a pleasant pastime.

"Accidental magic -"

"Can be explained away or covered up in most cases. No, the Ministry considers the risk is too high for the return."

"They have a right to know!" the boy said indignantly, before he added meekly, "Sir."

"Do they? What do they gain, Harry, by knowing of a world unreachable to them? Their home is in the muggle world, and they will have to wait years in order to be able to access this marvelous world of magic that has been introduced to them only in the barest of ways."

A dark look swept over the boy's face. "It's not about what they gain – it's about knowing the truth. It's about knowing what they are."

"And what is that, Harry? Human?"

"But we're not. Not really."

He raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Do you know what they call us, professor? Freaks." The boys eyes were far away, but glimmering a dark and glassy green. "They say that there's something wrong with us – that we're wrong. And they're right, because to them, we are; without magic, we're all wrong – without the magical world, a part of us is missing, and we can never be whole, real. Magic -" he let out a shuddering breath, and if he didn't know better, he would think the boy was in pain "- is everything."

Suddenly, Harry's eyes snapped toward him, capturing him with the fire that was now burning in them; the dark, glassy emerald shade had evaporated, replaced by an unearthly green, nearly glowing.

"It's not fair, that there are children who grow up knowing the wonders of magic, while the rest of us are left as freaks, as wrong. We have a right to know who we are, and what we are, but because the Ministry of Magic is content to leave well enough alone, thousands of children have grown up thinking that there's something wrong with them, when it's really the opposite."

The boy grit his teeth, and he truly appeared to be in pain now. "I spoke to Madame Pomfrey, you know – she told me I'm not alone, and she's right. She told me about the records she keeps, and I know I shouldn't have, but I checked them, I've seen the numbers, and now I know - about how two thirds of the suicides documented among Hogwarts students are muggleborns, about how four fifths of children removed from their homes are removed from muggle homes. Muggleborn students enter the magical world with less knowledge and fewer resources than anyone else, and suffer more prejudice than anyone else, and the fact that they have to face the muggle world alone just makes it worse for them. Those numbers aren't a coincidence, professor, and something has to be done about it!"

The boy was breathing heavily now, and his cheeks were a bright red. This child really was something, he decided as he stared at him – he was kind, charismatic, and overflowing with boundless potential. Prophecy or not, this boy could be exactly what the wizarding world needed – or precisely what it could not handle.

"And something is being done, Harry," he said, unable to keep the weariness out of his voice, "But these things take time. Lawmaking is a slow and arduous process, and the Ministry of Magic is not known for its ability to adapt well to change. And believe me, my boy, that there is much that needs to change. But even better policies and more resources would not solve the problems you present, because these problems run deeper than the Ministry of Magic and its laws. You speak of injustices and prejudices, Harry, which at their core are fueled by the darker sides of human nature, such as fear. It is human nature to fear what we do not understand – this is why some muggles hate magic; this is also why many pureblood and halfblood wizards hate muggles. Prejudice and fear run rampant in the hearts of muggles and wizards alike, and this is the true enemy that we face. We can make laws and change policies as much as we'd like, but the fear and prejudice will remain. So we must ask ourselves, how can we overcome these fears?"

The boy was silent for a moment, clearly affected by his words. "We can't."

"Are you so sure?"

"If we could, sir, someone would have figured it out by now."

He stared at the boy, who was now calm and together, if not a little unnerved. "You know, Harry, this is a problem I myself have been faced with many times; I do not need to see the numbers, I see the faces and the lives behind them." He paused, considering carefully what to say next. "Did you know that I was offered the position of Minister of Magic? Several times, in fact."

"...no, I didn't, sir."

"I have turned down the offer every time. Do you know why?"

"No, sir, I have no idea." The boy looked genuinely puzzled, and a little affronted.

"I must confess that I long ago became disillusioned with politics, and I find myself having little faith that the Ministry of Magic will ever be able to solve the problems you present. That is why I have dedicated my life to teaching – I can only hope that I might be able to play a part in ridding each new generation of the fear and prejudices that have plagued those that have come before. Overcoming fear is no easy feat, my boy, but we cannot give up hope. For if we do that, what more can we do?"

"Make laws that stop the fear from hurting people."

"Which is far easier said than done, as we have just discussed."

"But surely, sir, as Minister of Magic, you could have done something to make it all better. Sure, the system is broken, but that just means that someone needs to fix it, right?"

"Ah, but no one man can do so on his own, Harry – that is the nature of the system we have accepted as ours; that is the nature of democracy. People will not change their ways unless they are ready as a collective whole."

The boy looked startled for a moment, but only a brief moment. "But I'm sure you could do something, professor," he said, "You're the most powerful wizard alive. If anyone could fix it, it would be you; you might have to work outside the box, or overturn the system – but it would be justified, wouldn't it?"

"And what would that make me, Harry?"

"A hero," the boy claimed resolutely.

"Or a terrible, terrible villain. Harry, you must understand, that the day I take the lives of every witch and wizard in Britain into my own hands is the day I lose my faith in humanity. It is the day I decide that I have transcended the will of the common man, and have ascended to something greater. Many powerful men and women have fallen prey to this delusion, Harry, and I refuse to be one of them.

"Power is a blessing...but it is also a curse; for the powerful it is so very easy to become hubristic and foolhardy. It lies buried deep within all of us – the desire to rise above the troubles of the world; to overcome, and conquer. This desire, while a profound driving force that fuels progress and strength of character, is a poison to those with power; it lures them into the dark places in their own minds, and drains away their humanity and benevolence." He paused. "A student of mine once said, there is no good or evil – there is only power, and those too weak to seek it. These are the words of a man who is trapped within himself; a man who sacrificed his own future and the futures of others for a dream which in the end, turned out to be empty. These are the words of a man who has lost his humanity, and become nothing more than a villain – a man who has lost everything, and will never amount to anything."

Harry stared at him, his face pale, his eyes wide and returned to a dark, glassy shade of green. He was frozen, and said nothing.

"Do you understand now, Harry, why I wanted to speak to you today?"

"Yes sir," the young wizard whispered.

And how he hoped he did. Harry Potter was his chance at redemption. Harry Potter was his chance to right the wrongs of the past, and prevent history from repeating itself. Harry Potter was hope. But even hope needs to be tempered.


"Ah, Severus, come in."

His former student stepped into his office, dark eyes betraying the slightest fatigue. It was a Friday, and Severus, despite how skilled he was at concealing his weaknesses, always seemed just a little bit older than his mere 34 years at the end of every week.

"You called, Headmaster." Indeed, the especially dull tone of his voice indicated more than a little weariness.

He nodded, smiling pleasantly. "I have come to a decision about Harry Potter's temporary guardianship."

At that, Severus's gaze sharpened, and his eyes narrowed. It truly warmed his heart to know that the man genuinely cared about what would become of Harry. "Which is...?"

"There are few who I would trust with this task – it must be a skilled witch or wizard who I trust implicitly, and someone capable of protecting the boy if need be."

Severus remained silent.

"These criterion, and some others which I will not bore you with, have left me with three choices; myself, Minerva, and you, Severus."

Severus's eyes narrowed further, and he could see the slightest shadow of dread creeping up in them as he gradually grew more awake.

"Now, as you are aware, Minerva has obligations in the Americas over the holidays, as always, so she is unable to watch over the boy, which leaves you and I." He paused, allowing that fact to sink in. "As you are aware, I am a very busy man – I travel a great deal during the summer months and due to my frequent absences, I fear I would be ill-suited to take care of a child at the moment. Do you understand what I am saying, Severus?"

"No," the man bit out stubbornly.

He continued to smile pleasantly. "I am saying that Harry's temporary guardianship falls to you, Severus."

All emotion suddenly fled Severus's face. "That's not possible."

"Oh? And why is that?"

"I have neither the time nor the patience to care for a child," Severus said briskly.

"Ah, but Severus, I am well aware that you spend your summer months brewing in your laboratory," he said cheerily, "And I have great faith in your capacity for patience, should you put your mind to it."

Severus grimaced, but only very subtly. "Surely one of the other faculty members can take the boy. I'm sure Pomona or Filius would be thrilled."

He shook his head. "I have already told you, Severus, there are few I trust with this task."

Severus was silent for a moment, a dark look growing on his face. "Potter is an abused and no doubt traumatised child," he said, his voice carefully restrained, "Do you really think my home a suitable place for him?"

His smile softened. "Yes, I do, Severus. I can think of no more suitable place. In fact, I believe that you will be able to give the boy exactly what he needs right now."

Severus paused. "And if I refuse?"

"You won't."

The man's eyes narrowed. "And why is that?"

"Remember your promises, Severus. It is what she would have wanted."

The man's face grew closed off, and he stared at him for a long moment.

"I want a raise."

He chuckled.


Hope I did it justice - as I said, this was a really difficult chapter to write, and I'm more than a little concerned. Please do let me know!