Disclaimer: I do not own anything, except my own storyline and OC's, Just FYI.
Chapter 33: bad guy
'Professor Dumbledore, If I might have a moment of your time?' It had been 2 days since his name exited the goblet as the Hogwarts champion, and it went exactly as he had thought it would, with one difference.
There were only three people who believed him.
Cedric, strangely enough, had taken his word at face value, since he'd never been known to the man as a liar. Or at least, that was what he was told. Really, he suspected that the blind Hufflepuff loyalty and family connection was letting them bond more now, and it helped strengthen his belief. Oddly enough, at least for him, Viktor thought he was telling the truth, and though Daphne claimed the same, something was clearly bothering her, and it was about him, as she'd not tried to actively spend time with him since.
Dumbledore was the only other person who believed him, and he suspected it had more to do with knowing he needed an ally than true, honest trust. The old man did seem to have an otherworldly presence, that spoke volumes to his perceptiveness and how others took him. So perhaps he did trust Harry, but there was always a hint of disappointment in his eyes, the tiniest pinprick even when at his happiest. Unfortunately, he had no idea what would have caused it.
As he had already grown used to being segregated from his classmates, it had little effect, though that even his friends had betrayed him cut a deep wound in his chest. So here he was, seeking assistance from Dumbledore as Headmaster for some dueling experience. After his recent Magical growth he hoped he might actually stand a chance against the wizened wizard, though he had no bar since there had been a certain lack of courage whenever he thought to ask.
'Yes, Mr Potter?' As they were now comfortable with each other and, dare he say it, friends, it was alright to informally speak to each other, though when such a request related to his education it was only proper to set up professional boundaries.
'I would like you to train me in dueling. Professor Flitwick has been showing me much and I've had a markedly distinct improvement, but if I am to compete in this tournament I need much more than raw power. Filius can teach me much, but he just doesnt have your expertise in raw fighting and control of raw magical strength.'
'I understand, and do agree you would need extra tutelage. But first, I'd like to test you. Fall too quickly, and I cannot help you, perhaps Professor McGonagall. Fall too slowly, and there is nothing I could show you to improve. Take opposite me on the platform.' Harry did so, and watched as a dueling arena formed around them. It seemed the headmasters office was able to shift form depending on your needs, and though he did not know the extent of it, there was certainly something to study. Around them grew a dark blue half-sphere, entrapping them as the platform that had come out of his desk began to rise.
They took their stances, wands pointed at each other. Harry crouched, where Dumbledore stood tall, wand pointed in front of him as he conjured several objects. When the old man noticed what position the trainee had taken, he chuckled lowly.
'Impetus form, I should have known. You are most certainly not known for your subtlety when spellcasting, and when a man like Flitwickn is your tutor, you quickly learn to move fast. Well then, let the Duel begin!' A conjured kerchief fell as he began throwing rocks at Harry, large boulders aimed straight at his head. He quickly jumped, dodging between them as he threw several incendios at Dumbledore. The man summoned several rocks which burnt to a crisp before his very eyes, which widened in surprise.
Hardening, the man grew more and more aggressive, before shifting to the Aequus form, which Mcgonagall was known for. With a flick of his wand every rock, every pebble turned into stone dogs, which quickly began barking and chasing after Harry, mouths frothing with grey spittle/ He cast an explosion spell, tearing them all into pieces and sending a small piece through the Headmasters child with such force it cut his cheek. Growling, Dumbledore raised his wand and seemed to almost summon several large birds from the ground, which began circling his head.
Instead of focusing on them, the boy jumped and spun, avoiding several stone beaks as he cast his strongest firebolt spell, one he'd learned was a more streamlined and concentrated form of the incendio, right at his teacher, who then flipped into an aggressive stance, paying no heed to the blood spilling down his robes. With several jinxes and hexes now coming from him, Harry shifted stance as well, into the one favoured by Severus, one in which he merely stood there conjuring shields with his body to the side, mixing in a few curses into it.
Now they were on more even ground, as the two were known to be oppositional forms, and continued as fast as they could, Dumbledore moving with speed contrasting his age, Harry standing still with determination written all over his face. Their movements were fluid, quickly shifting from spell to spell, but the old man was growing somewhat weary, sweat dripping off his forehead.
But, before Harry could finish him off, a roaring call was heard as the Headmaster finally had enough and casted a fiendfyre, something that would be deadly to all, even the caster. Harry had never come close to the legendary spell, and had no idea what to do. He froze, eyes wide as he waited for the cursed flames to consume his very soul. His life flashed before his eyes, regrets coming to the surface as he awaited his death.
But it never came, and he opened an eyelid to see Dumbledore panting heavily, but still full of energy. Gasping, the boy fell to the ground, palms holding him up as he tried to suck in air. Now it was clear, he'd been toyed with. What he interpreted as frustration was merely excitement. Damnit! He slammed his fist onto the ground, frustration boiling into anger as he growled. Power wasn't enough, he knew that, but there should have been something he could have done!
With that, the damn broke as he slipped on his own sweat, crying. How the hell was he supposed to beat Voldemort, when he couldn't even stop his stupid followers, or stand a chance against the Headmaster? Tears fell down his cheek as he groaned in agony at his inability to do anything. Thankfully, it seemed the old man across from him understood.
'What is it, Harry? What is it, really?' through gasps of breath, he managed to get out an answer.
'I am supposed to be the most powerful wizard since Merlin, but I could not beat you and I could not stop Bellatrix! How am I supposed to keep the darkness away, if I am so weak!?'
'You don't have to be strong, power isn't everything, as you well know. It is merely a means to an end, skill and experience is where it lies. You did give me a run for my money, I admit, but I have lived for over 140 years, in my prime I could have swept Voldemort away with a flick of my wand. You will be the same, more so, if you merely listen to my tutelage. With my help you shall become the most powerful wizard alive, I promise you that. But more so than I, you need your friends. Go to young Cedric soon, he's shown his loyalty and you need that in spades nowadays, I suspect. Perhaps Viktor could even be of assistance. For now though, come with me. Some tea is in order.'
He got up, catching his breath and wiping his eyes, determination swelling inside him once more.
'We can do this, right? We will beat him, and there will be peace, right?' There was that disappointment again, just a hint of it, but it was there.
'Right Harry, right.'
'So tell me, how are your studies coming along?' They sat in the Headmaster's office, some tea brought by Dobby on his desk, chatting idly. Thankfully it was Sunday, so Harry had the rest of the day free to pursue whatever. Talking with Dumbledore was a method of passing the time he'd sorely missed over the summer, as the wizened wizard knew many things and if the Ravenclaw could pry a bit of information out of him, it always proved helpful at some point.
He was still wondering when that comment about stones would come in handy.
'Quite well, now that my wand magic has returned, though unfortunately my speed with wandless has come to a crawl, i've barely managed a single spell since.'
'Yes, the growth of the magical core has quite a few hindrances. One great cost is the loss of wandless magic…. Well, no, that is a bit of a misrepresentation. You don't lose it, you still retain the spells you already have, but you do lose the ability to learn new ones, or at least it becomes so hard it may take you years to learn a single one. It's why wizards don't use wandless magic, you already have to be incredibly powerful to attain the ability, much more so if you wish to master it, and even then you have a very limited gap in which to learn it, which is why ancient wizards and witches are so typically focused on alchemy and potions, they do what they can with wandless magic in the time they are given, then move on to a magical subject that they can improve under.'
'I see… and it is why even Merlin himself used a Staff? Also, why don't wands or staffs become useless after it, then? If you cannot learn new spells, then…'
'Ah, but see, you miss the point greatly. As I stated before, the growth is less of a growing, more of a widening. Magic requires that the energy which is transferred into the corresponding limb to be very specific, and when your core has widened, it is much more unwieldy, and thus you cannot develop he 'muscle memory' necessary to perfect it, whereas before your magic slowly builds up and then unleashes itself into the wandless spell, overtime you continue to learn to develop that until it becomes second nature and you rmagic knows exactly how much to send out. A wand or a staff naturally focuses and controls the outburst, but by connecting with another magical creature, the core, it allows even MORE control over the spell, thus allowing you to overpower or underpower anything you send out. Do you understand?'
'I believe so…' Harry trailed off, as he took a sip of his tea and the Headmaster did the same. Looking over the room, he noticed the various objects fizzling and whizzing, wheezing and groaning, along with an odd portrait at the back, overlooking the entire area. It was odd, as he hadn't noticed it before, but the portrait contained a young girl in the countryside, jumping about and smiling happily.
'Professor…. Who is that?' Dumbledore looked over, and smiled sadly.
'She is my own story, my own reasons for why I am who I am. Just like your parents are the reason you are who you are. For better or worse, they allowed you to mold yourself into a new being, very different than what you would become otherwise.' Harry leaned his head to the side, brows furrowed.
'So, she is your… daughter?' The old man laughed.
'Oh, heavens no! She is… was, my sister. It was an accident long ago, one I wish to forget but never do, because really… who would I be, without her?' The Ravenclaw nodded, as Dumbledore gained a faraway look, lips curving downwards steadily.
'I know what you mean. Sometimes I look out the window in Ravenclaw tower, and I wonder what it would have been like if my parents were alive. If they hadn't sacrificed their lives for me, or Voldemort hadn't ever arisen. I would have grown up in a loving home, a normal kid with normal friends and perhaps even a normal sibling. But instead, I grew up in a terrible one, with no friends and a terrible cousin. Maybe I could have pursued a career, had a family, and lived happily. Instead I am stuck in a betrothal with a girl who has horrific parents, almost certainly doomed to die and have nothing. Honestly, Professor, I don't think there will be a happy ending for me, either way. Either a future with a girl I don't, and may never be able to, love, or I die.' Dumbledore had some tears running down his face now, but the next words were absolutely heartbreaking.
'Every night, I have a dream. It's always the same, I'm standing in a corridor, wand in hand, frozen and unable to move. The exact details are identical, black walls, the floor and ancient marble. There, one of my friends is being held up by the throat. Then, there is a flash of green light, or a twist of the hand, perhaps a flurry of movement as a dagger is shifted, and they're dead. It always changes, from Hermione, to Ron, Trip, Draco, Tom. It's... haunting. And it makes me wonder if we were even meant to be friends before the debacle of the cup, that perhaps I could have saved them by straying away, and I tried that. I really did.'
'So sometimes, I look out that window, that one dastardly and rain-pattered window, and wonder if it would just be easier to die. That in the end, when I face down Voldemort, wands pointed at each other, I should just give up. Allow that vivid, sickeningly green spell to hit me. My friends have abandoned me, and even when this is all over and we are all back to speaking terms, I don't think I will ever be able to trust them properly again. And when that betrothal contract was signed by my grandparents, I do believe my fate was sealed.' Slowly, Harry looked out the window in the Headmasters office.
'I just… feel so alone. There doesn't seem to be any hope for the future. No friends, no family, and the one thing sung in tales, said to heal every wound and make every moment absolutely beautiful…. Dumbledore, I…' A single drop ran down his cheek, falling onto his hand and slowly making its way to the floor.
'I don't know what Love is.' There was a small, quiet sob from the Headmaster at this. 'And if there isn't love… if I can't have that feeling…. Why live?'
'I defeated Gellert.' Harry looked over, his face emotionless. 'Grindelwald was my lover, he had been for some time. During that war, where he killed hundreds, thousands of wizards and witches, I could never gather the courage to stop him, because of our history. When I finally did it, when he was finally locked in that prison, I felt empty. There was nothing left, I had lost the one I was meant to be with. And for a moment, as I looked out over Nurmengard, I did the same thing as you. Considered ending it. But I also saw the beauty in life, the importance in preserving it. Even if I cannot have that feeling back, I can at least attempt to preserve it for others.'
'So I ask that please, when you are standing there, wands pointed at each other, you look back on everything that happened, the beauty of life, and you end him. Perhaps then, you can try and find love?' Harry didn't respond. A frown crossed his face, but it wasn't of anger, or confusion, but acceptance.
'I don't know, professor. I'm so very, very tired. All of this responsibility heaped on my shoulders, and I know it will only get worse. People's expectations build up as I keep trying to reach them, and I expect once Voldemort is revealed to be alive it will only grow worse. I'm only 14, sir, and I feel like I am 100. To be honest, I don't think I'll have the energy.' At this, he stood, watching out the window at the Hogwarts grounds, the children walking around.
'I've never been a child, never had a proper time to be a kid, and I hear all these people talking about how they wish they were older, yet I wish that I was younger. That I could relive my life with my parents. At some point, you have to wonder whether I'm expending all this energy for nothing. If my work will allow all the others to thrive while I am left in the dust. WHy should I help others, if I am left alone to do nothing? To be stuck in a loveless marriage for the rest of my life until I die of old age. So why not go out in a blaze of glory? One last hurrah, and let the others take on my responsibility?' Dumbledore frowned.
'As much as Severus would wish otherwise, this war, in the end, is between Me and Him. So I ask you… Why, why should I be good? Why should I sacrifice my happiness for others when they would just as easily cast aside my wants for their own!?' He turned to face the older man now. 'Why should I not have my happiness, why should I not allow myself what I desire!? I have long since grown tired of this battle, ever since second year and my near-death. So I ask you…
'What do I owe these people?'
'I… I…. Why not allow their happiness? Their children are not responsible for their parents faults, and you can assure them a future.' He was nigh on begging, as he knew Harry was at a crucial point in his life.
'And do I not deserve happiness too? What if, by preventing these people theirs, I can get my own? You know they'd do the same in my place.'
'Then rise above it, be better than them.'
'Why should I?'
'Just because you cannot have a future doesn't mean they don't deserve one.'
'But do they? Have they gone through the struggles we have? Have they had the responsibility of the world on their shoulders? No, and if we were honest with our struggle, they would call us selfish, or petty. That we are weak. But you know as well as I we are not. So what do you owe them, Dumbledore? Why have you stayed so desperately by their side?'
'Because my sister died by my own mistakes, just as your parents died by others. I watched as Voldemort fell to the same path you are going down, and I don-' He was stopped, as Harry's wand was pointed between his eyes.
'Don't you dare compare me to him!' The Ravenclaw hissed.
'And how are you different? Seeking your own happiness at the cost of others?'
'We are different people, you know it as well as I! WE. ARE. NOT. THE SAME!'
'I truly wish that were true, my boy.' The old man smiled sadly.
'But…' Harry slumped into a chair, crying softly. 'Why do we have to protect them?'
'It is the privilege of great men to protect those lesser. It is our responsibility to wield our power to help them.'
'Then why do we hide from the Muggles, if we could assist them?'
'They would see us extinct.' Said Dumbledore, with confidence.
'But you know as well as I if the wizarding public knew the extent of our power they would lynch us.' said Harry, narrowing his eyes.
'They have not killed me.'
'You know as well as I they have not even had the slightest glimpse at your power. You defeated Grindelwald when he had the Elder Wand, no minor feat, even if he did not have Peverell Blood.'
'But I still help them, assisting the younger generation.'
'Sir, you know as well as I that is not my path. And you have not answered me, why should I assist them, if they would kill me after I tried? I would have to die in that battle if I do not want to become the villain in their eyes.'
'I don't know, Harry, I don't know. If you choose to go down the darker of your two paths, I will not fight you. But neither will I support you. I have had the same responsibility you feel now, and I chose the one I thought was best. But I will not kill you just as I believe you will not kill me. I just hope that someday you learn to love.
'Perhaps, professor, perhaps.' And Harry left, ending the conversation with a slam of the door.
The first class on Monday was Charms. Unfortunately, the professors had refused to allow him his previous arrangement he'd had in 2nd year, and as such he was the target practice for many spells. He'd been to the hospital wing several times already, and left unhealed each one. Thankfully he;d learned the dispelling and light healing charms. It was frustrating, but he couldn't do anything about it. The first time he'd tried, the rest of his Friday and Saturday were overtaken with detention. He had been considering skipping his classes, but thus far nothing had happened that truly begged for it.
'Now class, we shall begin to learn the water-summoning charm, Aguamenti. Open your textbooks to page 63.' Even Flitwick had ended his training, though not officially denounced his apprenticeship. Ignoring his thoughts, he opened to the corresponding page, despite having already read it, and just pulled out his wand, twirling it between his fingers. Eventually, they began casting, and he summoned a quick jet of water before going back to the book, rereading a few sections.
Suddenly, a bolt of fire was thrown at him, and he was so startled he was unable to do anything more than yelp, before it consumed his wand, hands and sleeves. As quickly as it had come, it disappeared but when he attempted to find the culprit, nothing stood out. He dismissed it, until he looked down, watching as ashes fell from the palm of his hand. Where his wand had been, was a pile of grey remains that were clearly his.
Closing his eyes, grinding his teeth he stood, and walked down the steps and out the classroom, ignoring Flitwick's call for his return. Striding purposefully over to McGonagall's office, he grabbed a handful of floo powder, and walked inside, calling:
'Diagon Alley!'
He appeared in the Leaky Cauldron, and stepped out, deciding to walk over to Ollivanders. The Old Man was a Wandmaker than Crafter, but he really just needed something to use to vent. The crowds parted easily, a visible aura surrounding him as a tinkle rang out in the shop, and when Ollivander looked down upon Harry, he simply nodded and went into the back, leaving the Ravenclaw alone. His hands were clenched, a dark ring presenting itself around his iris.
Eventually, the Wandmaker returned, though before Harry took a look around what he could. A shined maple bench stood in front of him, waxed steps behind it going up towards what was likely a home. There was a rickety chair with a purple cushion and a broken leg. The lighting was somewhat poor but allowed just enough for him to look down the many rows of wands, illuminated by a faraway window.
The floor was decorated with a red rug, and age was clear on the walls and door, running a hand along it he found it was lightly dusty. Arriving with an armful of boxes, Ollivander arrived, allowing him to try them all out. Eventually, a single one was given to him, which he found intriguing. He'd done quite a bit of research on wandmaking, and he didn't recall his personality reflecting that which the wand did. But he supposed it was an incredibly obscure trade, and there was likely more to it than he knew.
'Curious…' The only words uttered in their entire exchange as Harry gave him the galleons and took the wand in it's box. Walking back towards the Leaky Cauldron, he flooed to McGonagall's office once more, and went over to an empty classroom, unleashing his rage.
Thankfully, the new Fir and Phoenix feather wand worked just as good as his old.
A real look into the psyche of my Harry Potter.
