Harry Potter: A Change Of Direction
A/N: This story is already completed. It is roughly 7,000-10,000 words per chapter and stands at 239 handwritten A4 pages.
" and " = Speech
' and ' = Thoughts
Like with anything I write flamers will be ignored...completely.
Other than that please enjoy and drop a review.
Disclaimer: I am not, nor will I ever be JK rowling and therefore do not own Harry Potter and never will. THIS DISCLAIMER COVERS THE ENTIRE WORK.
Chapter One: Curious Steps
Wednesday 1st November 2001
Harry Potter's life changed from his predestined course as his feet almost stumbled over each other and he was consumed by one simple thought. 'I need someone who will understand me and help me more than anything right now.'
To be fair to the fourteen-year-old wizard, this thought was understandable for many reasons.
First, his track record with the Hogwarts Staff was spotty at best and that was being kind. To him, the idea of them actually helping him rather than sticking to what they thought of as their assigned roles or metaphorically patting him on the back was about as likely as Snape getting a sex change operation.
If you went by what Snape did then the argument would get even worse as his teaching methods were non-existent, to say the least.
They didn't even help when other students had consistently put him down. Malfoy was a prime example of why he trusted the staff less and less, not to mention the debacle that was his second year and what the majority of the school had done.
Second, the day before this one had been Halloween. Harry hated that day with a passion that was unsurpassed by anything else...even his cold relationship with his relatives had taken a backseat to that day, one he understood what it meant.
Few, if any, ever saw that however as he had learned the lesson of fading into the background before he could speak full sentences. To his experience, a hot and highly visible display of emotion was the quickest way to ruin that.
While yesterday had not been the worst Halloween of his life it was right up there on his hypothetical shit list.
This was not saying all that much for it, as his parents really couldn't die again. However, he had been abandoned by his own House and everyone and anyone who was supposed to believe him had not... with the exception of Hermione.
Even the great Albus Dumbledore had simply gone along when Harry had been told forcefully that he had to compete in a tournament. Not just any tournament mind you, but one that was both designed for adults and had managed to kill more than a fair few in its time.
'Fucking bastard' Harry thought viciously, only to feel a wave of guilt that he quickly pushed down. He had a lot of practice pushing away unhelpful emotions when really necessary.
This Triwizard madness had already led to him being openly scorned for a second time in as many years by the entire school...most teachers included.
That led Harry to seek more solitude than he normally would because, although Hermione was doing everything she could, he couldn't always deal with the twin weights of her worry and their scorn.
'Which of course means that I wander aimlessly through the cold corridors of this school. Why else would I end up in an abandoned hallway on the seventh floor? Way to go Harry.'
He couldn't help but briefly judge himself before his thoughts inevitably returned to his overwhelming need and he paced, back and forth, up and down the corridor.
Then, as if in answer to his silent prayers, a tapestry of dancing trolls melted away only to reveal a plain door. When his hand touched it (more out of curiosity than anything else) everything began to change.
HPCOD
"What the bloody fuck?" Granted his first words weren't very helpful but, they did have the novelty of being succinct.
At first blush, someone who didn't know Harry and was unfamiliar with the Wizarding World would be hard-pressed to figure out why he swore, let alone so loudly.
Then again, those that weren't wouldn't have been familiar with the fact that Harry was (among other things) the Boy-Who-Lived either and would have just seen an underfed fourteen-year-old looking into a mostly empty room.
The term only mostly applied because standing in front of him, was the mostly translucent and grinning form of James Potter.
The fact that he was dead and that he looked like the same version of him that Harry had only seen in pictures was clearly enough for anyone to swear. That, and the fact that James Potter was clearly waiting for him to speak.
His dead father.
Who was almost see-through.
Most people might have fainted or yelled but, Harry was not most people in many fundamental senses.
He had been forged by the fickle nature of peoples unrealistic expectations of him and who they wished him to be. The fact that he had grown up in an abusive home alone had led to a subtle but profound shift in his outlook on life.
But the best blades are forged in the hottest fires.
Harry Potter, son of Lily and James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, unwilling Triwizard Champion and the chew toy of Fate did what he did best when faced with an impossible thing.
He attacked.
HPCOD
Harry should have known however that his life would never be that easy.
The room that he had entered was known by many names including both the Room of Requirements and the Come and Go room. The most accurate (though often misleading) and forgotten name however was simply, the Heart of Hogwarts.
His power, his tightly controlled rage and his determination were not enough, at least not when pitted against an at least semi-aware and possibly a truly sentient thousand-year-old castle.
He didn't even know what happened as, in the first second, he stepped across the threshold of the room intent on doing whatever was in front of him a very great deal of harm.
The next moment all he knew was searing pain and then, mercifully, his world went dark.
The very next thing that he knew he was in the same room as before but, somehow, he was in a bed and slowly coming awake to see his still dead father looking at him. The nearly see-through man stared at him, still in silence and still waiting for him to speak.
"Who the bloody hell are you?" Harry croaked out.
"That" chuckled the man who looked every inch his father "is a very complex question."
"Try me" Harry demanded, his voice stronger now even as he swung his legs across the bed and stood up.
As he did so the bed seemed to shimmer and then disappear as if it had never been at all.
Maybe it was the fact that his life was seemingly always stumbling from one problem to the next or perhaps he was simply overwhelmed by what had already occurred but, for some reason he wasn't even shocked at this point.
"To understand that, you have to understand… at least a bit… where you are. Do you actually know where we are?"
"Hogwarts" Harry replied sarcastically.
"Very funny. You are in what most wizards have called the Room of Requirements but, it's very first name was Rowena's Sanctum. It is the heart of Hogwarts although its wardstone is not, and never has been, here.
"So… is this Ravenclaw's version of the Chamber of Secrets?"
"Close enough" the man replied. "Although where Slytherin was focused on defence, harming intruders that managed to breach the outer defences and enhancing his own legacy, she focused on the preservation of as much knowledge as possible."
"So… I'm in a super magical library? How does that explain you?" Harry demanded as his patience was wearing thin.
"No, you are not. Hogwarts already has both the standard library, the Headmaster's library and, in Ravenclaw Tower a select few books for the truly studious amongst the scholars. This is...different… it's more than a simple library. It is, in fact, almost anything that you can imagine, anything that you might require, anything that you might need. Its sole purpose is to help you increase your knowledge, your wisdom and to generally help you succeed. As to how that explains me? This room can show the form and a limited knowledge base of anyone that has ever spent time in Hogwarts."
"Like an interactive teacher?" Harry queried, mildly intrigued.
"Sort of. Nothing that is created by the Room can leave this space and the level of knowledge that each aspect has is incomplete. This knowledge is only increased by the 'donor' for lack of a better term spending more time inside the walls of Hogwarts."
"So" Harry couldn't help but ask and be impressed at the same time. "Are there any that are complete?"
"There are a few that are almost complete. Three of the four Founders were here from the creation of Hogwarts as a school until their own deaths. This means that they, for example, are very close as they spent years here. In fact, the only one that is complete, if I understand your meaning, is...well...me."
"My father" Harry disagreed "did not die in Hogwarts."
"No...he...I...didn't. My donor found this place only after he left Hogwarts, shortly after you were born in fact, and due to certain factors like a war being on and being unsure of who to trust he didn't tell anyone about his discovery. He also used a feature, similar to the one that you are using, to willingly leave a copy of his mind as a sort of ultimate failsafe...in the hope that someone, especially you, might one day find this place if the worst came to pass. He underestimated the need for the type of specific requests to get the result he desired. An understandable mistake considering the situation he was in."
"Which means what exactly?" Harry pressed.
"Unlike every other Aspect of the Room that you might call I am not truly part of the castle, I'm not connected to it and am instead only powered by it.
"Okay, could you explain to me simply what that means?" Harry could already feel a headache forming behind his eyes even as he asked the question.
"If you called Godric to teach you or even a former Headmaster like Dippet the knowledge that each could teach you would be exactly the same. It would only be the flavour..the echo of their personality... that would be different. I am, however, the complete echo of the man known as James Potter. I have all of the skills, dreams, longings, desires and memories of that man but...only those of him and no one else's."
By this point the shock that Harry had managed to ignore, suppress or avoid came battering down on him. So perhaps this was why he believed the apparition when he spoke of something he knew should have been impossible. Maybe it was the fact that this very same wisdom should mean that there was no Boy-Who-Lived but rather, a dead baby in a crib.
If Harry was truly honest with himself (and later in his life he would look back with complete frankness at this moment) he would have admitted that part of the reason that he did believe was that, deep down, a small, lost and lonely part of himself needed to believe it was true.
Older Harry would also forever be grateful that James was indeed telling the truth because, apart from anything else, if he had lied then things would have likely gone very badly for this Harry in very short order.
"Now" continued James, after looking at Harry critically for a long moment, "you thought that you need someone to help you? To listen to you? As the closest thing to your father left in existence I claim that right before any pseudo-historical ghost can even try and get a shot."
Even as he had begun to speak James had both grinned roguishly at him and winked. Harry couldn't help but allow a small grin to form on his face in return even as he felt a wave of something like happiness jolt through his frame for a moment.
Then Harry began to tell all of his problems to this attentive man who, thanks to the wonders of magic, was both alive and not. It took him more than a few hours to fully explain what he needed to.
He explained everything that had happened to him in his Hogwarts years though, in truth, it was not needed as James gleaned much from Harry long before he finished all of his sentences.
Still, the man (or ghost if you prefer) allowed him that luxury as it was clear that Harry needed it in a cathartic sense, if nothing else, and the release that it provided was clearly both wanted and long overdue.
"I'm sure there is more that you could tell me" James began shrewdly, "and I may not be part of the Room of Requirements or even technically alive but I can help. More accurately, I can't use the Room to help you but, you can. Why don't you start by thinking hard about a book on the rules of the Triwizard Tournament and, if you don't understand them, I will do my very best to try and explain them to you?"
"Would this place even have them?" Harry wondered aloud.
"If it is within Hogwarts, lost or not, stolen or not, misplaced or not, the Room of Requirements can find them."
It was in this way that Harry's instruction, in many things, began.
-HPCOD-
A week had passed since that fateful Halloween night and Hermione was worried about her best friend. Her worry had been increasing since the night that his name had come out of the Goblet.
The main reason that she was so concerned was mainly because no one had seen Harry and, although she had spoken to him during the day after that Halloween even she hadn't heard from him since.
Except for the day after that one, two days since the Goblet had managed to send her friend's life into a new tailspin. Two days since someone had managed to bind Harry against his will to this madness.
Then suddenly everyone had seen him as he entered the Great Hall. His face had been cold and impassive and, when he spoke he spoke with a surety that he rarely did before. He had quoted the rules of the Tournament to excuse himself from everything except those things required by the very letter of the Tournament
Rules that she knew he hadn't been given before.
This not only included the end of year exams but also every lesson, curfew for students and every possibility of detention. Though it did make her mad (and she would happily tear him a new one when she got the chance to get him alone for a moment) that he hadn't come to her for advice or help, she couldn't fault his loud and very public reasons for doing what he did.
He had scathingly demolished Professor Snape when the older man had outright called him a "pampered prince taking advantage of archaic rules and loopholes".
"Professor, perhaps you could tell me how normal lessons are going to help me survive a Tournament that has killed so many that the I.C.W. of that time banned it? Could you even tell me why the current one agreed to revive it? No? Well, you should be happy because, if I really was that pampered prince and the cheat that you claim I am then I'll soon be gone. Won't that be nice for you, finally getting revenge on my father for earning the love of my mother when you never could when you see their only son dead?"
After that shocking statement (and before anyone could react to that bombshell let alone speak up) Harry had left the Hall leaving nothing but stunned chaos in his wake and had not been heard from since.
It disturbed her that the teaching staff, people that she had once so trusted, were either firmly of the belief that Harry had cheated or were more concerned over the disrespect shown to them and their positions rather than acknowledging the fact that it was her friend's life on the line.
They had seemed to have forgotten, it was their paramount duty to protect the students including him and they were failing. More than that they didn't care or didn't see that this was what they were doing.
Her faith in the systems of Hogwarts and its teaching staff had been slowly diminishing over time but a deep wound to it had been administered then and there. It was well and truly shattered when she added everything up and belatedly realised that it was just more of the same.
They had done this before and had learned nothing. They had ostracised him before, in their second year, and after that, no one had come to him and apologised, no one had owned up to what they did and simply expected everything to return to their normal.
And the staff were just standing there and allowing it to happen all over again.
The very final straw for her was when, later that day, she had overheard Snape bad-mouthing Harry again as a cheat and a liar to Professor Sprout as she nodded and they openly walked to classes in full view and hearing of countless students.
If not only a teacher but the Head of Hufflepuff House could think and agree with such things openly then Hermione Granger decided, at that moment, that they were all unworthy of anything that she had to give.
The mystery of Harry had only deepened after she had made her decision. When she had first begun her search she had found that he didn't sleep anywhere that anyone knew about and this only hardened her resolve.
She learned this thanks to a stuttering Neville Longbottom and she also learned that all of his stuff had been taken by an elf of all things and then hadn't been seen at all.
So it was fair to say that Hermione was more than a little confused especially when you added the effects of her burgeoning teenage hormones to the mix. It was hardly surprising that her hormones were a factor as the fact was that she was only just fifteen and her two friends for a long while, only friends really, were boys.
One was (whether she admitted it consciously or not) a rather annoying, shallow, lazy and all-around feckless pit of need and hunger with the table manners of a chimpanzee with the munchies.
Not to mention, of course, that Ron had betrayed Harry out of jealousy and she had decided that he was not only undesirable but, that she would have nothing to do with him unless Harry did.
The other candidate for her hormones was Harry Potter.
Not the fictional Boy-Who-Lived who appeared in those god awful books masquerading as her friend's life and that stated that he grew up in a castle floating on a tamed cloud but, someone in her view that was much more interesting, the real person.
The real man beneath the boy and buried by the white lies and propaganda that were put out by who knows how many people as fact.
This was the boy that had trusted her to help find the philosopher's stone in their first year as well as outright saving her from a bloody troll as well. This was the boy, or more accurately the young man, who saved the entire school from a Basilisk (with a sword of all things) in their second year.
To top it all off, he did both of those things with a humility rather than a sense of pride and, that alone, would allow her to care more deeply for him than just as a friend.
His Third Year had only reinforced her opinion of him with his treatment of Sirius Black as well as getting her to begin to deeply question figures that could allow Sirius to suffer without a trial.
The same people that had allowed that for so long had also placed Hagrid in prison for no other reason than to be seen to be doing something.
Granted that year, much to her shame, also contained her own form of betrayal with the broomstick incident happening at around the same time. It did briefly drive a wedge between the two but, in her defence, this was out of a desire to protect him.
Ron's, on the other hand, seemed to her to be out of a desire for fame and the fact that he could get that simply by deriding Harry. It was in that way that he could move out of the Boy-Who-Lived shadow and get exactly what he wanted out of the bargain.
Given all of this, was it really any wonder that she had confusing feelings, maybe even a burgeoning love, for her best friend?
-HPCOD-
At the same time, as she was working through her thoughts out, Harry was sinking gratefully into a chair that the Room had gratefully created for him.
The pace that he was setting himself was exhausting and he was weary to the bone. Then again he did realise that he could do no less when his very survival was on the line. He pushed himself (with help of course) to truly discover and push the boundaries of his abilities.
Now the Aspect of his father (or as the Room seemed to designate him, connected to the Room but not part of the Room) and a similar interface for the Room itself stood before his weary body.
'Hermione would get a hell of a kick out of the fact that as, when I asked the Room to talk to me like...James… it took the form of Rowena Ravenclaw as she was when she was building this place.'
Harry almost cackled at the absurd idea that he could ever explain what was going on at the moment in his life and not seem completely and utterly insane.
On one side was the magical imprint of his late father, James Potter, who was given shape and form by the will of his son and the memories the original had copied into the Room itself. Both of which were only able to do so because of an ancient feat of magic that seemed as poorly understood as it was powerful.
All three of them happily working together to keep his life out of danger. If he were honest (and given the issues he had been through in his previous years at Hogwarts and the Triwizard Tournament) he couldn't say that he was safe in the least.
On the other side of him was the accumulated knowledge and experience of a thousand-year-old castle, wrapped in the very convincing image of a young Rowena Ravenclaw, that was far more solid than James.
Even though he tried not to notice, Harry was a teenage boy and he couldn't help but notice Rowena's looks. Projection or not, he couldn't help but notice that she was a very attractive woman. Even standing there in a simple white shirt and jeans, she was a striking woman.
She had slim, long legs, small hips, a tiny but perfectly proportioned bum, almost no belly to speak of and (thanks to the knowledge that was imparted to him from Dudley's secret cache of lad magazines and no bra) perky B-cup breasts on her twenty-something frame.
Still, it wasn't just her body as her face, if anything, was more appealing.
Her hair came down to her shoulders in soft waves and was an even darker black than his. It also seemed to have a tint of dark blue in it, most striking where it touched her delicate cheekbones.
Her eyes were blue and sharp. They clearly missed nearly nothing and also explained without words why she carried the name that she did. Those striking eyes were only softened by her button nose and the perpetual half-smile on her lips.
He understood all that and wasn't too embarrassed by his bodies reaction to her. What he didn't understand was the twisting pit in his stomach.
'Why do I feel guilty for simply looking?' he briefly wondered.
"So," Harry asked nearly gasping from his exertions "what's the verdict?"
"Bad" James bit out.
"Very bad" added Rowena with a frown that briefly marring her features.
"Explain, please... least bad to worst if you can."
"Well…" James began " your spell selection is horrible. In a fight for your life, you should never go with the truly non-lethal option. Too many of my friends died that way as they stunned or bound an enemy only for that same enemy to get free later and have another chance at killing them."
"Your tactical awareness is sound" Rowena continued where James had left off. "Strategically though...at the moment you are worse than useless and your spell repertoire is abysmal."
"Blame that on a modern Hogwarts education. Well, that and… well maybe I was just in need of a good teacher?" Harry barely muttered but, it was loud enough to hear.
"We do," They said together with amusement clear in both of their voices.
"However" Ravenclaw continued in a dark and serious tone, "that is not the worst of it. You have several mid altering potions in your system and have at least six separate blocks and shunts on your magic."
"What? How?" Harry asked, amazed that he could have all of that going on in his body and yet still be functioning.
"Likely alchemy. Potions are too imprecise to balance that many alone inside the human body, but that is not the question that you should be asking. It should not be what but rather who… these blocks are not natural but rather something someone has done to you. This has been going on for a very long time, the oldest of them was placed on you when you were six years old at the very latest." Ravenclaw's tone was detached as she spoke as if she was viewing everything about him under a microscope.
"But I didn't know any wizards then" Harry objected.
"Didn't you?" James asked shrewdly. "Did anything magical happen around you when you were younger?"
"I... apparated" Harry answered hesitantly, "to avoid my cousin and his gang."
"And no wizards turned up to track the magic or to obliviate the muggles?" James pressed his point.
"No, the Fire Brigade had to bring me down and people talked about it for weeks afterwards. If they hadn't then I wouldn't have been beaten bloody for it."
James growled low in his throat at that.
"All of that is not right," Ravenclaw spoke, even as her eyes became unfocused as she accessed the full knowledge that the Room had on the magical laws of Great Britain.
"It's also too sloppy, even for our Ministry. They'd never allow any muggle to rescue a confirmed magical child… I'm also certain they don't even know the muggles know how to do that. Although they are a corrupt, lazy and inept institution about many things but, the Statute of Secrecy is not one of them."
James paused for a moment and then added darkly and almost under his breath "They would never risk the wrath of the I.C.W. and their Hit Wizards like that. No one wants another Argentina and would do anything to avoid that."
During his testing and training here both James and various Aspects of the Room had begun to fill the fundamental gaps in his knowledge base. This included, but was not limited to, both the formation of and the founding purpose of the International Confederation of Wizards.
Given that his still limited knowledge of that organization he knew that whatever happened there was far worse than he could currently imagine.
His lessons were aided largely by a pensive like interactive screen that drew from the memories of that had lived in Hogwarts.
The small amount that he knew was one of a former Head of Hufflepuff who had lived through it as a Hit Wizard. After he had done that he had spent the next thirty years in Hogwarts, stewing in his own guilt and trying to atone for his actions there, before dying at his desk.
His memory was very clear though (unlike those of students that passed through the halls, as their memories would have been too incomplete and fragmented to be useful...even if they had known something) and far more chilling because of that.
In 1915 Argentina had lost control of one of its Dragon Reserves and that had led to thirty-three dragons terrorising the countryside.
As the I.C.W. had not acted in over a century (and then only in a very minor way) the then Argentinian Ministry had quite blithely told them that it was all under control even as the Statute was bent to breaking as they ran amok.
So the I.C.W. had responded without thought to them.
Within the week the dragons were either dead or back in their reserve but, more important than that, the Hit Wizard's had not been kind to the Ministry responsible for the breach and the threat to the safety of the entire Wizarding World.
Especially given the backdrop of the horror that was the First World War and all of the paranoia, hatred, fear and chaos that the conflict had caused. No society, no matter how well hidden, could have fully avoided the spillover from something like that.
Every member of that Ministry and their families were held for trial as Martial Law was was declared for almost a full decade. It was backed by the might of every member state of the I.C.W.
The safety of Magical Kind as a whole was far more important to them than anything else, even individual lives and freedoms.
When they finally left, every member of the Ministry was dead... as were many of their family members. The IC.W. were not erring on the side of hope when it came to guilt or innocence, far from it.
Worse than that, thanks to the strictness of the Martial Law and the negative reaction to the trials, more than 65% of the wizards that had lived in the country were either killed while fighting the Hit Wizards or tried and killed for breaking the laws themselves.
Not to mention the damage to the entire infrastructure of the country.
Argentina still hadn't reached the halfway mark to recovery and wouldn't reach that stage for centuries to come.
"What do you remember about the rest of that evening? How did you get home?" James pointedly questioned.
"I" Harry paused, clearly struggling "don't remember. It's a blank."
"Obliviation" James concluded even as Ravenclaw nodded her own agreement. "Again it wasn't a professional job. I may not know much about the way the officials do it but, I do know they don't like doing much with children… a second of two sure..but not longer. It had something to do with how the spell could affect developing brains. They would have also given you a false memory rather than leaving it blank."
"That still doesn't answer who did this to me" Harry pointed out.
"Maybe it does. Think about it for a moment, we can logically assume it wasn't your parents or the Ministry and, we can also assume that it had to be someone well placed to both divert those that should have acted and to make sure no one was notified of the problem in the first place."
"Aren't you overreacting a little? Would they even care about such a small breach?" Harry asked.
"They care about any breach" stated Ravenclaw. "With the looming shadow of the I.C.W., they would have to. They would at the very least investigate it just to be safe."
"Which they didn't do. That, combined with the fact that you have told me how Dumbledore left you with your relatives under obscure blood wards, narrows the viable subjects down in my mind." James's voice was dark and sharp as it seemed to float around the room like an evil gas.
"No!" Harry shouted, nearly physically violent in his denial as he felt a rage burst into life and roar like a trapped beast in his chest.
"Mind-altering potions Harry" Rowena reminded him. "Bindings and shunts are not placed in a matter of minutes, they can take hours or even days. You have at least six that we can sense and no memory of any of them."
"But wouldn't you know? You do collect peoples memories and a facsimile of their personality as well."
"Outside of this room, they are collected for the improvement of Hogwarts and its greater mind." Seeing the look of confusion and shock on his face she continued, "Yes she is alive but, by design, she has always been subservient to the Founders or the Headmaster. Inside the Room, she is constrained by only two things. The first is your request which, in your case was for understanding and help, and second not to violate or harm the living in any lasting fashion."
"Meaning?" Harry pressed.
"I likely have a great many memories of Dumbledore and his personality that could be of use to Hogwarts that she would absorb or discard at her leisure. However, he is both alive and the current Headmaster of this school. I'm afraid that to try and use them however would constitute an attack on him and therefore I literally can't touch them without violating my very nature."
"So you have memories of him but, because he is Headmaster and alive you can't use them or even really be aware of them?"
"More than that, I can't even be certain that there are memories that could be of use. That being said I don't have to volunteer information about this room nor should it in any way imply that any part of Hogwarts likes the Headmaster. It does mean that she has to obey any direct order that he gives though."
"So I'm basically screwed the minute he asks about me?"
"Not necessarily" James disagreed. "Remember how we suggested that you bond with Dobby for your protection and to sure neither your possessions and food are tampered with?"
"Yes," Harry replied, "I did it the first day I was here after all."
"Ask him one day how an elf can purposefully misconstrue, delay or misunderstand an order. Once he has explained that you'll get a small glimpse at how you aren't necessarily screwed."
"It's still dangerous for me to be in here though isn't it?"
"No more dangerous than being out there in some ways. In most of the ways that matter you are actually far safer here than anywhere else at the moment." James said with a small nod.
"It is dangerous for you almost anywhere at this time young Heir" added Ravenclaw blandly.
"Wait...Heir? Please don't tell me that I am the Heir of the Founders or something, I have more than enough shit to deal with at the moment, without adding that to everything else that is floating around my head."
"No" Ravenclaw replied and laughed for the first time in Harry's hearing.
Normally when someone says your laugh is musical it is an expression but, when Ravenclaw did it the sound was literally like tinkling bells. "The direct lines of the four are long extinct and the cadet lines are so diluted that, despite what anyone might claim, the unique magic cannot be bound to their bloodlines. Besides which, even if they could be, the Potter line is not one of them anyway."
"Wait" Harry interjected, "I thought that the Potter family was on a list of probable heirs of Gryffindor. Hermione mentioned it to me recently, she had read it in Hogwarts: A History."
"No, though our ancestors have encouraged that particular rumour, on and off, for centuries" James replied before Ravenclaw could. "You would be surprised how many blood fanatics are wary of destroying a Founders Line and the inevitable problems that might befall them… at least until Voldemort. As for that...book… it may be the most widely accepted truth about Hogwarts but, there are so many inaccuracies in that book that it might as well be used as a paperweight."
"It does not mention the Room of requirement" Ravenclaw added. "Nor does it mention that every Founder created something special for Hogwarts, in fact, it only mentions the Chamber of Secrets as a myth."
"It's not just that though," James spoke with a sort of weary scorn in his voice. "It mentions something that the oldest families, especially those that tout their families history from the rooftops, should know is utterly false. If they studied their history they should have done, the same with their families Grimoire and any old enough would know from that alone."
"Which is?" Harry asked, curious despite himself because whatever it was had managed to annoy both of his teachers.
"That book," Ravenclaw began with a tone of utter and complete loathing "is an affront to any true knowledge seeker anyway once you cross-reference with any other work and realise that it is riddled with misconceptions and half-truths."
Her hatred of that book was weirdly amusing to him as it seemed to indicate that Hogwarts itself hate the so-called official history of the castle and the school in it.
Then again, Harry had a vivid flashback of the first time that he had entered a wizarding bookstore when he wasn't simply hunting for his school books.
'I think it was then that I realised just how screwed up the vision of who I was had become to the Wizarding World.'
-FLASHBACK-
It was in his second year (after he had blown up the fat lump that was Marge Dursley) and he had managed to get a room in the Leaky Cauldron for the summer.
At first, he had enjoyed his freedom, as well as the fact that he didn't have to scrounge for food. He still got up early, as that habit had been far too ingrained in him after years of his aunt and uncle's not so tender mercies but he had enjoyed the feeling of hope for the first time in a long while.
Then he had entered the bookstore and seen what the world thought of him.
He had pulled the cowl of his school cloak up, so that people didn't stare at him, and was browsing for something advanced and interesting that he could try and learn when he found them.
Harry Potter and the Forgotten Princess, Harry Potter and the Mysterious Muggle, Harry Potter and the Magical Menagerie, Harry Potter and the Curious Castle, Harry Potter and Petting the Nandu… the list went on and on.
'As if anyone could pet a Nandu' he remembered thinking and, out of morbid curiosity more than anything else, he bought a few. He was utterly sickened by the stories that he read, given how far from the truth that they were, and was about to go back to the bookstore when he noticed something on the back cover of every book.
These simple words destroyed his newfound hope. An authorized semi-biographical story of The-Boy-Who-Lived based on real events in his life to date.
He was going to yell at the owner of the bookstore anyway, after all, it was his life they were twisting and he was very angry over that but then, he had entered the store again.
The very first thing that he had heard there had changed his mind.
The smell of dusty books had soothed his mind as he entered the store but, that only lasted until he noticed them.
"Daddy" the small girl's voice had cut through the quiet. "There isn't another Harry Potter book".
"I know honey" the man had soothed his daughter. "But, this isn't like your Little Unicorn series. They have to fact check it, my dear, it takes time to make sure that almost everything in those books is true."
The rage he had felt then, the horror, was still clear to him even now.
He remembered the feel of the books in his hand, they seemed to almost cut him as they gained weight and he realised how pointless that rage was now.
'The Wizards of Britain are so sure that they know the truth, that even if I scream in their faces, they wouldn't believe me. All they will see is the person from their factual books, no matter what I say. Hell, they'll probably think I'm being humble.'
-FLASHBACK ENDS-
Thanks to that memory, and his abiding hatred of those books he understood her own anger...at least in part, though in her case it was centuries of misinformation and lies that had gone through countless revisions that were taken as fact.
'Though, if they are right about the potions then it begins to explain why I never followed up on trying to stop it, at least in the case of the books about me.'
"That piece of filth" Ravenclaw continued with true venom, "says that Merlinus Ambrosius who was also called Myrddin Emrys, better known as Merlin the Prince of Enchanters and the father of structured Rune work as well as countless rituals attended Hogwarts. It says that he was an exceptional student who, at eleven years old was sorted into Slytherin House. The truth of the matter, that the world seems not to care about, is that he was never a student of theirs. In reality, it was more the other way around, as he was their older friend, some time mentor and often their teacher. He was only ever an honorary Slytherin and, even that, was meant as a joke."
"Which leads me neatly to my final gift to you," James said, with a strange look on his face. "You know... since I woke up… I have wondered about why your father created me and what my future might be. It turns out that the answer is rather simple, as simple as what your mother did for you. She, through her sacrifice, became your shield and her protection, her love for you, runs through your very blood. I, on the other hand, will shortly give you the ability to fight back by becoming your sword. If your mother could do what she did, how can I do any less? Fitting don't you think for Merlin's Heir?"
"Well..." Harry said softly, overwhelmed at the speech. "Fuck."
-HPCOD-
The ultimate goal for any educator in the realm of Magical Britan was to become Headmaster of Hogwarts.
There were lesser schools of course, such as Saint George's, Avalon's Gate and Cauldron's Causeway to name but a few. However, these places did not offer the scope of lessons that Hogwarts (which in itself was in a slow decline and had been for decades) did and few of their students passed their O.W.L.S.
They didn't even offer the N.E.W.T.'s at all.
Part of this was the lack of funding and accreditation by the Ministry itself. Most of their number were graduates from Hogwarts and, long before the issue of bloody purity became rampant, the Ministry was still an elitist institution.
The original reason though was that the teaching at those schools was uneven, often lacklustre and the teachers themselves were generally poorly skilled, to put it mildly.
So for any educator, Hogwarts was always the mountain that one wished to climb. The top of that mountain, the reward for all of your hard work, was becoming the Headmaster or Headmistress.
It showed very clearly in the office as, even Dumbledore (who preferred his own knick-knacks more than most in his position) had shelves made out of rare wood, an ornately carved desk that could buy part of a lesser school if sold, rare books aplenty and fine sheets for your attached bedroom.
It was an office that screaming power, wealth and hard work although it was generally in a very understated way...at least for wizards.
Dumbledore sat comfortably in this office, in his literal seat of power, pondering the issue of Harry Potter and the rather large problem that he was becoming.
It had taken years, to carefully orchestrate Harry's upbringing so that he would know enough, but not too much.
He needed Harry to feel a kinship to the Wizarding World and, despite what some people might think of him, he was not a bumbling fool and he was well aware of just how backward and easily led that they could be.
He had encouraged it and, in some cases, created situations where that mentality would flourish above and beyond any semblance of intelligence.
He didn't understand why it happened, but Harry had grown more of a backbone within the last few days than he had allowed for in his design. Although he would love to think what Harry had done was simply an extreme form of teenage rebellion he suspected something far more pervasive than that had taken hold.
Dumbledore had conditioned Harry to react in certain ways and, as time went on and he was able to observe Harry more closely, his behaviour had come to fall in particular patterns that Dumbledore could reasonably predict.
He had done this by tightly controlling where Harry was placed as a baby and watching his home life with an eagle eye. He had also effectively neutered any interested parties from interfering with his plans from any friends of the Potters to the Longbottom Godparents and beyond.
Dumbledore did not think that any of his actions were evil. To him, however, ideas of general good and evil were optional and nice concepts that one could indulge in if necessity allowed for it.
All he had done was for the Greater Good and any lesser form of action, that might have been described as good or evil that he had taken, were done so only to facilitate that.
All of that was simply a needed sacrifice for the betterment of the Wizarding World.
Voldemort was, after all, completely amoral. He was powerful enough to break the Statute of Secrecy beyond all saving if he put his mind to it or was pushed far enough without being finished properly.
This would not only bring the I.C.W. down upon their heads but it was also not 1915 anymore. He was well aware of how the muggles had progressed in the meantime and feared, more than anything else, them finding out about their hidden world.
He knew that no one, not the muggles and not the I.C.W., could survive the ultimate threat that was nuclear warfare. He may not have understood the ins and outs of it exactly but, he did know that nuclear weapons had been an option for many decades and that, if used, everyone would lose.
The idea of his office being nothing more than blackened brick, filled with the blood of staff and students alike, haunted his dreams sometimes. It really didn't matter whether it was by Voldemorts hand, the I.C.W. or by the muggles… either way it was an outcome that he would do anything to avoid.
To avoid this fate, as far as he was concerned, Voldemort had to be stopped to dodge the very real threat of the death of everyone in the world. In that, it was clear to him, the prophecy severed as both a distraction to his enemy and the main means to bring him down.
Some people viewed him as the Leader of the Light, others as a bumbling full or a machiavellian chess master but, in the privacy of his own mind, he was none of these things.
He was simply a man that was doing what was necessary, no matter how distasteful others found it and he liked to think that he did so in an honest effort to protect others from having to do the exact same thing.
Sometimes he had doubts, he knew far too well that he was only human. He had cared for the Potters deeply and had liked the Longbottoms well enough to feel pain at their passing. Of course, the same feelings would translate to their only surviving children but he had to do what was needed.
He had to do what was required to protect the Wizarding World and preserve as much of it as he could, for as long as he could.
That was the reason for his preaching forgiveness to so many Death Eaters and hoping for their personal redemption. It was less about the individuals involved and more about protecting as much magical blood as he could.
Ironically, if the Potters and even the Longbottoms bloodlines had to end and fade from history to protect the rest he was comfortable with it. Far too many, in his view, had disappeared already.
'No one family can be trusted with my duty. It doesn't matter if the Minister, Amelia Bones, Sirius Black or Morgana herself (if she wasn't long dead and dust by this point) tries to get in my way, they cannot be allowed to succeed.'
All of his plans though were contingent on the agent of prophecy being under his control.
He needed to find Harry Potter and he also needed him to trust in what he knew must come to pass. All of the others, though good people in their own way, would simply confuse him with things that could never be allowed and distract him from what fate had decreed as his ultimate purpose.
Thankfully, as Headmaster of the School, Dumbledore had a foolproof and easy way of finding his errant student.
"Where" he called in a strong voice even as he turned to predecessor's portrait Headmaster Dippet "is Harry Potter right now?"
The portraits were meant to help the headmaster understand the school and guide the students, because of this they couldn't directly lie to him.
"He is busy learning for the Triwizard Tournament" came the slow reply from the pale reflection of the man after it had taken a moment to commune with the spirit of the school.
"Where?" Dumbledore bit out sharply and shortly.
"In a classroom of sorts" replied Dippet, just as shortly.
"Will you just stop evading the question and just tell me where he is?"
"May I suggest…" the portrait replied while thinking very quickly on his metaphorical feet, "that if you don't want to give the impression of ambushing the boy, that you wait for the Weighing of the Wands, send an elf to find out where he is or get one to send him a message to speak to you?"
"Hmm," Dumbledore thought about it while finding himself pleased that Hogwarts not only seemed to understand his plans but, also approved of them.
On the one hand, he wanted to see Harry right now and negate any unhealthy influences that might have been trying to affect the boy, with no thought to the future that the boy must follow for the good of all.
On the other hand though, for the health of his long term plans, it was more important than ever that Harry had no doubts that he was a figure to look up to and follow. A heavy-handed approach might do irreparable harm to the image of the kind and wise grandfather that he needed to cultivate.
The question was, which would do more damage... acting too fast or not fast enough?
"Yes… yes, you are right of course, my old friend. Your idea has merit and it would show the boy that I care about him. It would also show him that I'm understanding, kind and supportive of him, no matter the situation he finds himself in now."
He sighed and focused his on the image of his old superior briefly. "Thank you, my friend. I'm glad that you understand and I'm soothed by Hogwarts unending support of the right course for our future."
"You are welcome" the portrait replied. When Dumbledore's eyes left him Dippet's painted ones hardened even as his mouth curled up in joy.
The portrait was clearly pleased from interrupting him endangering Hogwarts in its true duty even as Dumbledore summoned an elf to inform Harry of the date of the Weighing of the Wands.
It was to happen the very next day and Dumbledore thought that it would be a perfect opening for him to discuss a fair few things with the boy. Once he had done so, he did not doubt that he could guide the impressionable young man back to the proper path.
He didn't acknowledge, even subconsciously, that his path may not be the right one or even the only possible option that Harry might be able to take.
He also didn't realise that, in trying so hard to fight for his way and against the threats in the shadows that he believed only he could understand, he might be bringing those fears to life and sending the world hurtling to the very end that he feared.
-HPCOD-
"So..." Harry asked, even as the room blanked white for a moment and then shimmered and changed around him, "how would this work?"
Where there was once a simple training room with a bed along one wall now, there was more.
Harry had seen pictures of ritual circles before but, he had never seen one in person nor had he seen one so detailed and intricate as the one that now stood in the far corner of the greatly expanded room.
It hummed with barely restrained power, even as Harry asked the question.
"Before we get to that" James began with an apologetic lilt to his voice, "you need to be free of other influences. It's very important that you are free, clear and fully informed when you make life-altering decisions."
"I assume freeing myself has something to do with that...forboding piece of-" Harry began while pointing to the circle in the floor.
"Yes," Ravenclaw interrupted "it does. Ideally, we would have years to train you and protect you from any threat. However, we do not have years, especially with the Tournament looming over you as a threat to your very existence every day. Because we do not, a solution was devised to maximize your potential in the shortest amount of time possible."
She stared at him frankly before continuing in a caring and soft voice. "I warn you now that this method is not without risk. The Ritual of Cleansing is hard on the healthiest of wizards which, frankly, you are not. You could end up injured, maimed or damaged beyond all reviving."
"Best not do anything wrong then eh kid?" James said, with a smirk as he tried to interject a small amount of humour into the situation. "You need to have a strong foundation for anything else that you might learn because, if you don't, then all of this will be for nothing."
"And this will help me get the foundation that I need?"
"It should and, on the plus side, it should also undo some or all of the damage that has been done to your body up to this point."
"Most people don't do this" Harry pointed out.
"Most people have the time to do it the safer way, you do not," Ravenclaw stated calmly.
"This is going to hurt isn't it?" Harry asked even as James's grin turned more than a little wolfish for a moment.
"Nothing ventured, nothing gained" James replied. "The pain is something that you can live through, it is a constant of life as is the hope for something better and not the lesson that you should take on board."
"Then what is?"
"That if the rules are set against you, that if the world puts roadblocks in your way and there is no conceivable way for you to win… cheat."
After a long moment, Harry agreed to participate in the ritual.
Minutes later, Harry had to revise his opinion. It didn't just hurt, that was far too small a word for what he was feeling.
Liquid fire was busting from with him, every single cell was exploding from within and snarling like an animal at him as it did so.
Although he would later admit that it was a necessary sacrifice, he still would never do it again (not that he could) as the memory of his own screams would stay with him for years afterwards.
James looked on with a hurt expression on his face, he may not have actually been Harry's father but he certainly felt like it at the moment.
He didn't help him because he knew what was happening now was needed and he literally didn't have a heart. If he did though, it would have been breaking at this moment.
Ravenclaw was impassive, she was a teacher first and foremost. Sometimes, whether they wanted to acknowledge it or not, pain-filled lessons were the ones that took root in the student's mind the most.
She merely hoped the lesson stuck.
