Disclaimer: Nothing is mine; everything is J K Rowling's.
On we go, no long author's note this time.
Chapter 67
It felt strange to be back in the Great Hall after everything that had happened. Even with their exams right around the corner he found it hard to take education and school seriously. It seemed rather trivial in comparison to all his other problems, and some of the exams were quite trivial indeed. He'd long since surpassed the standards of OWLs in some of their subjects.
The rest of the student body had descended into pre-OWL panic. Mandy Brocklehurst, an excitable Ravenclaw Harry had seen once or twice at the DA, had needed to be taken to the infirmary three times in one day for calming draughts, and he had overheard in the common room after returning from Beauxbatons empty handed that Hermione had all but completely moved into the library.
It really didn't surprise Harry that Hermione had suddenly started isolating herself in the room with the most books. It probably wasn't very healthy, but he had little doubt that she would excel in her every exam, even if she was sleeping as little as Parvati believed. Personally Harry felt it was more likely she just napped in the library instead of coming back to Gryffindor Tower.
There was a loud clatter as Katie swung herself in next to him, knocking his fortunately empty goblet over with her bag.
'Morning Harry,' she yawned. 'Long time no see.'
'I've been busy,' he answered vaguely, standing the goblet back up again.
She made a noncommittal noise somewhere between a sigh and another yawn, then leant an elbow on his shoulder to use her arm as a pillow. 'Where's McGonagall?' Katie asked sleepily.
'No idea,' Harry shrugged, gently displacing her off his shoulder and onto the table, as the food had arrived, and he needed both arms to be able to eat.
'Food,' Katie realised, perking up a bit and stealing the toast rack that Harry had just been about to reach for.
He wandlessly summoned it to him before she could take anything, enjoying the look of outrage that passed across Katie's face at the loss of her breakfast.
'You're annoying,' she pouted. 'First you disappear for a week, then you steal my breakfast!'
'I would feel a great deal guiltier if I didn't know you considered the latter the more heinous a crime,' Harry commented, passing back the toast now he was finished with it.
'Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,' Katie remonstrated mockingly. 'Ron understands,' she giggled, pointing down the table to where the red-head was fiercely guarding his own toast rack from Seamus and Dean.
'You should be encouraging me to eat then,' Harry countered, swiftly helping himself to bacon. He knew all too well what would happen if he left the plate unattended for too long. Katie's sandwich would grow precariously tall if she thought she could get away with eating all the bacon herself.
'I am,' she childishly stuck out her tongue, 'just not from my food.'
'The bacon-'
'-Katie deariest-'
'is for everyone on the table.'
'Nobody ever told me that,' Katie denied hotly.
'We tell you that every mealtime we're with you, don't we, George,' the leftmost twin reminded.
'We do,' the other agreed. 'Quidditch practise is tonight,' he continued, 'Angelina organised an extra one.'
'Right before exams?' Katie asked curiously.
'Quidditch is far more important than OWLs or NEWTs,' the same twin, probably Fred, responded, in a passable imitation of Oliver Wood.
'Harry.' They dipped their heads neutrally in his direction, before moving off to join Alicia and Angelina. All the Weasleys had become more distant since Arthur Weasley had died. It hurt a little bit, because he'd still considered the twins friends, and Mrs Weasley had only ever been kind to him, but he could understand. Their father hadn't died fighting Voldemort, he'd been killed protecting Harry, guarding a prophecy to keep the Boy-Who-Lived a little safer until Dumbledore was ready to sacrifice him. They had every right to be angry, even if they hadn't realised the truth of who to blame.
He didn't ever expect them to realise that truth.
The first owls burst into the great hall. A great parliament of them, more than Harry had ever seen in the hall at one time before.
Something's happened, he mused, then, shaking his head at his own stupidity, he remembered what. The Department of Mysteries.
'Harry,' Neville slid into a gap across from him, 'you're looking cheerful.'
'I am?'
'You will be,' his friend grinned. 'Your favourite politician has been forced to tender his resignation.' The front page was adorned with the a title almost as dramatic as the one he had read in Diagon Alley with Fleur the day before.
Fudge Resigns, the front page proclaimed. Educational Decrees Revoked.
'Gran said it was only a matter of time once it became obvious Voldemort had returned,' Neville cheered, stifling a grin. 'The Wizengamot voted to show no confidence in him after half the Ministry's atrium was torn apart and the Department of Mysteries broken into. Apparently only Dumbledore's appearance managed to prevent anything terrible from happening.'
Harry stole the paper from a nearby third year and flicked through the first few pages curiously. The outraged student turned to object, but paled and closed his mouth when Harry raised an eyebrow at him. Sometimes his less than perfect reputation came in useful, though it was mostly just abused by Katie to get the best sofas in the common room.
Dumbledore duels He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in Ministry.
His jaw tightened angrily. The old meddler had taken credit for his triumph. It had been his actions that caused the public to doubt Fudge, his plan that had begun to convince them of the possibility the Voldemort returned, and he was the one who had prevented the Dark Lord from seizing victory in the heart of the Ministry.
'Is something wrong?' Katie asked, putting a hand gently on his arm.
'No,' he forced himself to smile evenly, 'I was just surprised the Daily Prophet managed to change its tune so fast from slandering Dumbledore to publishing this story.'
It does not matter that he claimed the credit, he told himself. You have what you wanted and more.
The thought reassured him. Everything he had set out to accomplish in the Department of Mysteries had come about. The Ministry had even opened its eyes if the Daily Prophet was to be believed.
'War's coming now,' Neville said gravely. 'I'm going to continue with the DA next year. We'll all need the practice.'
'I'll help if you want,' Harry offered. Allies would be a valuable commodity once the conflict began in earnest. He had Fleur and Sirius, and he hoped that Neville would stand alongside him too, but should Dumbledore openly turn against him he wasn't sure whose side Neville would end up on. His parents had been a part of the Order of the Phoenix, and his friend hadn't really seen anything of Dumbledore other than the benign face he presented to the world.
'Maybe every now and then,' Neville answered thoughtfully. 'I can handle it for the most part.' That was enough of an opportunity for Harry. A few minutes here and there to give them a chance to see the truth. If they glimpsed it and were prepared to believe it then they would come to him, and he would know that they might be trustworthy.
'Oh,' Katie pouted, 'I enjoyed Harry teaching the Patronus Charm.'
'Only because you managed it so quickly,' Neville pointed out, 'all the other meetings you went to you either sat around with Harry and did nothing, or sat around on your own and did nothing.'
'That's not true,' she protested, helping herself to all the bacon that Harry had left to create a sandwich as thick as Harry's arm. Neville sighed, realising he'd missed his chance for bacon already, and monopolised the eggs, carefully building a breakfast of fried tomatoes and eggs on toast.
'No,' Neville conceded, grinning up from his food, 'there was that one time you transfigured Smith's robes into a short, pink dress after he called Harry a spiteful coward with no interest or care in anyone else's well being.'
'He didn't look very good in it,' Katie wrinkled her nose at the memory, beaming proudly when Harry chuckled at her defensiveness of him.
'Maybe it was because of the colour,' Neville suggested.
'It was his legs,' Katie disagreed, completely serious. 'He doesn't have the calves to pull off a dress like that, especially not with all that leg hair.'
Neville shivered slightly. 'McGonagall still isn't here,' he remarked, changing the subject to less perturbing matters.
'Ominous,' Katie agreed, eyeing the empty spot on the teacher's table, she normally eats breakfast here. 'Maybe Umbridge's back?'
Harry somewhat doubted that was likely. Aragog didn't seem the type to easily relinquish anything, least of all a live meal wrapped in webbing and suspended a hundred metres above the ground.
'I hope not,' Neville grimaced, 'she hasn't been missed.'
'Your gift of understatement is second to none,' Harry smiled. 'I doubt it's Umbridge, how would she have returned here when Fudge has fallen from office?'
'True,' Neville's face brightened. 'Do we have a lesson now?'
'No,' Harry shook his head. Katie didn't deign to answer, but he suspected she was too busy trying to find a way to eat her sandwich without covering herself in bacon to hear.
'Extra breakfast then,' Neville grinned, 'if Katie leaves any for the rest of us.'
'There's plenty of toast and eggs and sausages-'
'But no bacon,' Harry cut in, earning himself a glare that was half-amused half-angry.
'Well I have lessons first thing,' the brunette stated, 'so I have to keep my strength up and need the bacon more than you do, besides, Harry, you've grown enough this year. I miss being taller than you.'
'You're practically a midget to me now,' Harry agreed, patting the top of her head condescendingly. She narrowed her eyes at him, but made no attempt to brush his hand away.
'McGonagall's here,' Neville muttered, 'and she's smiling.'
Harry glanced up curiously as their head of house drifted across to stand in front of her seat, smiling far more widely than he had ever seen before. His stomach sank. McGonagall was standing in front of her old seat, not the gold, gilt throne of the headteacher.
'It gives me great pleasure to announce the return of Professor Dumbledore as headmaster again. He has just arrived at the castle and bids me tell you that he has greatly enjoyed his holiday, but simply couldn't stay away longer.'
Exciting whispering and more than a few cheers rang out across the Great Hall, but the only group that looked as underwhelmed by the news as he was were wearing robes edged in silver and green. It was likely the first time he had ever agreed with Malfoy.
Damn him.
Harry had been hopeful, confident even, that Dumbledore would not be able to return until the beginning of next year once the chaos in the Ministry had settled down and the new Minister sought to bolster his reputation by undoing Fudge's questionable decisions. He'd underestimated the wizard and now the old man was back at the school, looming over his shoulder just as summer approached and he wanted to take that final step from under the wings of the Order of the Phoenix.
'That's good,' Neville smiled. 'Gran will be happy, she wasn't expecting he'd be able to come back until next year.'
Her and me both, Harry thought irritatedly.
There was little he could do now. The watchful eyes of the headmaster would be firmly on him. It was likely only a matter of hours before he was called to meet the meddler.
McGonagall took her seat, beginning her own, belated breakfast and Harry went back to toying with the last piece of toast.
'You don't seem particularly cheerful about Dumbledore's return,' Katie said softly. 'Is there something I should know?'
'I'm not sure,' Harry began carefully, 'lately I've felt there was something a bit off about Professor Dumbledore. I'm sure it's nothing,' he finished with a smile. It was a start, a simple, single instant that marked the moment he really decided that he needed Katie and Neville on his side, especially Katie. Neville was a good friend, he had his similarities to Harry too, but when their loyalties had been tested Neville had chosen to distance himself from everyone, whereas Katie had fought against all her friends for him.
'Really?' The slight note of curiosity and suspicion in her tone was all the reassurance he needed of their bond. Katie would never question his word, if he told her something she knew it would be for the right reasons, and that he believed it to be true. Unlike most others who had the same confidence in him she was actually right.
'It's Professor Dumbledore,' Neville shrugged. 'Everyone knows he's a little barmy, but he's the greatest wizard in the world for a reason.'
Not for long, Harry decided. I'll be greater. He hasn't left me any other choice.
The general clatter and cacophony of breakfast was subsiding around them as the first lesson of the day drew closer. The tables emptied, small groups of students scattering back towards the stairs and out towards the rest of the school.
'I have to go,' Katie sighed. 'McGonagall will notice if I'm not in her lesson.'
'She's in a good mood,' Neville pointed out, 'you might get away with it.' He raised his hands in admission of the improbability of his statement when Katie tilted her chin and quirked an eyebrow at Neville in a terrible imitation of Harry.
'I'll see you later, Harry,' Katie told him pointedly. 'You owe me a catch up conversation.'
'I gave you my firebolt,' Harry protested, as she gathered her bag from under the bench.
'Bribery doesn't work on me,' Katie beamed.
'That's a lie,' Angelina rebutted, appearing alongside Katie with Alicia in tow. 'Have you tried offering her fire whiskey chocolates?'
'No,' Harry replied, grinning at Katie who was biting her lip whimsically at their very mention. 'Would that really work better than a firebolt?'
'It would now you've already given me the broom,' Katie admitted, 'but not for something so important.' She gave him another meaningful look then fell in alongside Angelina and the still silent Alicia. Gryffindor's Quidditch Captain had forgiven Harry for dragging Katie into his media mess once it had become obvious that none of it was true, but Alicia had been rather less forgiving and didn't deign to speak with him.
'Good,' Neville muttered quietly as the three girls passed out of earshot. 'We can talk freely now.'
'You can trust Katie, Nev,' Harry admonished him.
'I know,' his friend shifted uncomfortably, 'but this isn't something I want to talk about with anyone else.'
That caught Harry's interest.
'Dumbledore killed Bellatrix Lestrange,' Neville whispered, breakfast forgotten. His knuckles had whitened around his fork and while Harry couldn't see his other hand he knew that it was clenched into a fist within his robes. 'She was meant to be mine.'
It was the slightest gap, the smallest rift, but Harry knew that he should take every opportunity he could, and, thinking furiously, grabbed his chance.
'No he didn't,' he responded quietly. 'Albus Dumbledore doesn't believe in killing. It's never justified in his eyes. He would rather offer a second chance to those who have committed crimes, or, for those who have done something truly unforgivable, he would send them back to Azkaban, just like all the Death Eaters were after the last war. Had he really been the one who duelled Bellatrix Lestrange she would be imprisoned on that island again.'
'She would have escaped again,' Neville hissed disbelievingly. 'Dumbledore must have realised that if any of the Death Eaters are sent to Azkaban they will simply escape and rejoin Voldemort.'
'Of course he does,' Harry agreed, 'but he would rather that happen than abandon his ideals. If the Death Eaters had faced a fate half as cruel as their victims Voldemort would have far fewer followers and be far less of a threat. The only second chance they deserve is the opportunity to prove themselves useful before they meet a just end.'
'Instead he let them live and gave them a chance to break out and carry on killing and torturing.' Neville's voice had gone distant and faint, but his eyes simmered with furious fire.
That's right, Nev, he thought, see for yourself the repugnant price others have to pay for his Greater Good.
'How can he believe that,' Neville spat, 'it's ridiculous.' His voice carried to the group of Gryffindors in their year farther down the table and Harry quickly threw a silencing ward up over the area around them, concealing his wand beneath his forearm as he cast.
'I don't know,' Harry admitted. He truly didn't. There seemed no reason to justify Albus Dumbledore's attitude towards killing. A single spell from him, a little guilt, some blood on his own hands rather than those of his followers, and his own Greater Good would have been far better served. 'He does not kill,' Harry told Neville simply, 'and he certainly doesn't use the Killing Curse, and that's what Bellatrix died from.'
His friend was silent for a long time, thinking over what Harry had said.
'How do you know she died from the Killing Curse?' Neville asked eventually. 'It wasn't in the Daily Prophet, even Gran didn't know. I asked,' he finished darkly.
'I was there,' Harry confessed, hoping he would not have to do something as unforgivable as memory charming Neville if he didn't come around to Harry's side. 'You can't tell anyone, Nev,' he warned his friend firmly, 'but I was there, and so was Lucius Malfoy, Sirius Black, Bellatrix Lestrange and Voldemort. Dumbledore arrived after everything was already over.'
'Who killed Bellatrix, Harry?' Neville asked. His eyes were no longer angry, but they were hard, and fixed unblinkingly upon his own. He didn't need passive legilimency to know what Neville had somehow realised, but he used it, just in case there was a chance he could be convinced otherwise.
There wasn't.
'You already know,' Harry answered evenly, not looking away from Neville's stare.
'You stole my revenge,' Neville whispered. 'I needed that. I needed to kill her for what she did to my parents.'
'But you know it's better if she's dead already, and can't hurt anybody ever again,' Harry reminded him gently. 'Besides,' the corner of his mouth curved cruelly, 'there are two other Lestranges still living.'
The fire burst back into Neville's eyes. 'There are, aren't there,' he murmured. 'Will you help me?'
'You'll have to trust me, Nev,' Harry said earnestly, cold triumph coiling within, 'but I'll help you. I'll be standing alongside you when you cast the last spell.' He would be more than happy to be there. Harry wasn't inclined to leave himself or anyone he cared for vulnerable by letting their enemies off lightly.
'Does Dumbledore know?'
'About Bellatrix?' Harry considered it. 'I don't know,' he grinned, 'but I won't tell him if you don't.'
'Oh I won't,' Neville shook his head seriously. 'I'm not risking those scum escaping because of our headmaster's misguided mercy. How can such a powerful, brilliant wizard be so blind?'
'How indeed.' Neville was not converted, not completely. He wanted his revenge, he hated the Lestranges too much for anything less to satisfy him, and he was willing to cross Dumbledore for that, but only for that. He still believed in the old wizard's power, wisdom and intelligence. The mask of kindness Dumbledore wore to conceal his careful cruelty remained intact to him.
It will take time to swing him over to my side completely, if it's even possible, Harry realised, as Neville began to start eating his rather appealing plate of tomato, egg and toast.
There was a rippling flash of red light and a wave a warmth that settled through him in a pleasurable shiver. Neville relaxed instinctively, leaning back to carefully arrange his eggs even as Harry tensed and flicked his wand into his palm, but he only found himself eye to eye with Fawkes.
The phoenix, whom Harry had always regarded in a positive light, eyed him carefully, hopping closer over the plates not he table while the whole hall turned to watch. Angling one dark eye, it fixed Harry with a beady stare, peering suspiciously from his outstretched wand to his face and back again.
He flicked it away, and the phoenix trilled happily, hopping closer still to help itself to Harry's pumpkin juice, and the plate of fried tomatoes.
Those probably aren't good for him, Harry thought, amused, as the phoenix greedily scoffed half the plate.
Fawkes turned back to Harry and trilled again, this time more insistently, and Harry somehow knew that he was asking permission for something. Curious, if still wary, he slowly nodded, and steeled himself for whatever Fawkes might do.
The phoenix bobbed its head, stealing one last, large tomato, then hopped onto Harry's shoulder, almost unbalancing him. In another undulating flare of red fire they vanished, and Harry had only time enough to glimpse the flames flood like liquid across the table, setting Neville's breakfast alight.
He was dropped unceremoniously into a slightly uncomfortable chair and the weight of Fawkes abruptly left his shoulder. Harry shot the immortal bird an icy glare when he almost toppled out of the chair at the sudden shift of balance.
'Sorry, Harry,' Dumbledore apologised kindly. 'I should have known that Fawkes would not have given sufficient explanation.' Harry gazed across the desk at the old wizard in brief disbelief. Fawkes was a phoenix and the power of speech was quite obviously not among his many gifts.
'I assume you wished to speak with me, sir?' Harry inquired innocently, eyeing up the room around him. Dumbledore seemed to be most of the way through unpacking, many of the interesting magical instruments had returned to the shelves, and the table and pieces of the silver, spindly artefacts had been cleared away. Most interesting to him was the small box on the side of the desk. It initially appeared quite innocuous, but closer study revealed cleverly hidden runes carved along the edges of the metal bands and lock. They were barely more than light scratches to his sight, and he was sure he would not have noticed them as anything more had his vision not been improved.
'Yes,' the newly reinstated headmaster nodded, sliding himself into the much more comfortable looking seat opposite Harry. 'Yes I did.'
A short silence fell as Dumbledore straightened the piles of letters, books and papers on his desk, then, from within the obviously well warded box he produced an elegant, silver bowl full of bright, acid yellow sweets and placed it on the desk between them.
'Sherbet lemon?' The headmaster offered, selecting and unwrapping one for himself before proffering Harry the bowl. 'I've had ample opportunity to indulge my fondness for sweets recently.'
Harry resisted the urge to sigh. Only Dumbledore would keep something as mundane as sherbet lemons inside such an interesting looking box.
'Harry?' The headmaster tipped the bowl back and forth.
'Thank you, sir,' Harry smiled, carefully choosing one for himself. Dumbledore looked faintly surprised and retracted the bowl out of arm's way.
'You're the first person to accept one since Gilderoy Lockhart,' the headmaster remarked cheerfully. 'Most of the students seem so very suspicious of them, something I find odd given they're perfectly prepared to eat Bertie Bott's Every Flavoured Beans.'
The sherbet lemon had a strong sour-edged sugariness to it that only grew more pronounced the longer Harry held it in one place in his mouth. He'd never been one for sweets, at least not until Fleur and Gabrielle had corrupted him, but that might have been because Dudley had devoted the majority of his childhood to eating them with such tenacious persistence. Harry had often been forced to sacrifice what little he ever got his hands on to appease his cousin's sugar addiction. Harry rather enjoyed the first muggle sweet he had eaten in years, making a note to introduce Fleur to them if she hadn't already come across them.
'How have you been?' Dumbledore asked, having finished his sweet. 'I see you have abandoned your glasses.'
'Since you… left?'
'Indeed,' the headmaster nodded gently.
'As well as could be expected,' Harry answered amicably, not mentioning his eyes. 'Professor Umbridge wasn't the best teacher, sir.'
'No,' Dumbledore agreed sadly, 'I imagine she might not have been. Dolores was an unfortunately short-sighted woman.'
'At least she was arrested,' Harry grinned, 'even Fudge couldn't let her get away with using veritaserum on students.'
'Arrested?' The headmaster studied him curiously. 'Why do you say that?'
'She used veritaserum on students, aurors were seen at Hogwarts, and then she disappeared. I doubt Fudge would have wanted her publicly shamed so she must have been quietly sentenced somewhere.' Both Harry and Dumbledore knew differently, of course. Harry knew from being there, orchestrating events, and one the aurors that had escorted her, Kingsley, had been a member of the Order of the Phoenix.
'She inexplicably ventured into the Forbidden Forest, Harry,' the headmaster shook his head sorrowfully, 'you know as well as I the dangers of the forest.' Harry stared at him, wearing what he hoped was his most confused expression. 'That is not, however, what I brought you here to discuss.'
That, Harry decided, was definitely a good thing. Dumbledore had not realised his involvement in the events that had forced him or Umbridge from the school.
'I haven't been entirely honest with you, Harry,' the headmaster admitted, his hands steepled in the perfect picture of repentance. Harry had to bite his tongue to hold back the litany of sarcastic remarks that sprang to mind. 'Professor Snape serves a unique and crucial role within the Order of the Phoenix, the group that your parents and godfather joined to help stop Voldemort.'
'He's a spy,' Harry nodded, 'Sirius told me.'
'He is possibly the most important member of the Order of the Phoenix,' Dumbledore continued softly, 'the information he divulges to us may be vital in stopping Voldemort for good, and I trust him completely.'
Harry said nothing. There would be a point to this, but, as always, Dumbledore insisted on being verbose to the point of distraction before arriving at it.
'A few days after the Triwizard Tournament ended Professor Snape returned from a meeting of Death Eaters to inform me that Voldemort was not only intrigued by your evident increase in skill, but also bemused that you did not seem to know of the prophecy. I waited for you to ask about it, but you never came.'
'Would you have told me if I had?' Harry asked, doing his best to mask the ice in his voice. Dumbledore sounded awfully like he was trying to get Harry to accept responsibility for the mess the Order of the Phoenix had made of protecting the prophecy.
'I would have told you as much as you were ready to hear,' the headmaster replied kindly.
'That is why I waited, sir.' Harry swallowed his anger, deciding on a version of events that would benefit him best. 'I trusted you to tell me when the time was right.'
'Ah,' Dumbledore nodded, and behind him, from his perch, Fawkes trilled softly. 'How then did you come to be in the Department of Mysteries?'
'I trusted you and waited, but only until Mr Weasley died,' Harry responded grimly. 'I started asking questions then. Sirius agreed that it would be better if we broke in and destroyed it after I heard it rather than risk anyone else dying.'
Your godfather can at times be quite rash,' the headmaster sighed. 'Mundungus Fletcher, for all his flaws, was very loyal to me. I helped him out of a tight spot and offered him a second chance to make something of himself, you see.'
'He warned you about Sirius,' Harry realised quietly.
'He did indeed. I was not sure what to make of it to begin with, but I knew Sirius knew that it would take either you or Voldemort to remove the record from its place upon the shelves of the department and did my best to plan accordingly.'
'Nobody from the Order came,' Harry said, and this time he was unable to conceal the cold completely from his voice.
Dumbledore flinched slightly.
'We had to wait,' the lines along his brow deepened, accentuating his age, 'only a privileged few knew of Voldemort's plan to attack then, and once I realised the days coincided I had no choice but to delay so Professor Snape's position as a spy was not compromised.'
'Did Snape tell you to delay?' Harry asked bluntly, admiring the runes engraved along the lock of Dumbledore's stash of sweet.
'He recommended it,' Dumbledore replied. The admonishment at not using Snape's title teetered on the tip of the headmaster's tongue, but he wisely seemed to think better of it and moved on. 'Fortunately nobody was hurt too badly, indeed, because of the damage, poor Cornelius has finally paid the price for his denial and been pushed from office. The Ministry has begun to face up to reality.'
'You couldn't have planned it better yourself, sir,' Harry smiled, poisonous innocence dripping from his tongue. Dumbledore, fortunately, did not hear the malice the had seeped into the statement.
'I must know, Harry, what happened to the prophecy. Sirius told me that you retrieved it and broke it, but he did not say whether you heard it or not.'
'Bellatrix Lestrange broke it,' Harry answered easily. It was the first completely honest thing he had said. 'Neither of us heard the prophecy, Voldemort was very angry with her for that.'
That wasn't quite so honest.
'His short temper cost him a valuable follower,' Dumbledore nodded. There was an unnervingly dispassionate undertone to his statement, and Harry had the distinct feeling that the headmaster considered her a wasted bishop, a piece that Voldemort had carelessly and arrogantly thrown away.
He believes it was Voldemort who killed her, Harry realised jubilantly.
That was good. While Dumbledore believed him pure-hearted and capable of sacrificing himself he would be predictable and protective. Harry didn't want to find out what would happen once the headmaster realised this wasn't the case, so he would play innocent for as long as it benefitted him.
'Fortunately when the prophecy was spoken it was heard by another, and while the seer herself, Professor Trelawney in fact, has no memory of the telling, any other witness can recall it at their own leisure.'
Dumbledore slipped his wand from his sleeve and waved it gently at the cabinet doors to his left. In the brief moment the wand was visible Harry glimpsed an unusually pale wood, carven in odd, spiralling patterns.
'This,' Dumbledore smiled, 'is a pensieve. A very useful tool. One can store any number of thoughts and memories within it for future review. Among my many recollections here,' he poked the silvery cloud of memories with a finger, 'is the night that prophecy was made.'
'You witnessed it?' Harry inquired. 'How then, did Voldemort learn of it?' A tiny part of him immediately jumped to the conclusion that Dumbledore had deliberately allowed the information he wanted to reach Voldemort so that he might have the advantage and be able to shape events as he best wished. A parentless, unloved orphan would be quite willing to sacrifice themselves for the first people to show him affection. For all its unnerving accuracy Harry couldn't quite bring himself to believe it. Dumbledore was meddlesome, impersonal and manipulative, but he would not go so far as to orphan a child, two children, even, in the hope that the prophecy came about.
'I heard it above the bar in the Hog's Head after going to meet an applicant for the post of Divination Professor,' Dumbledore began, 'but a young Death Eater overheard the first part before I cast a silencing ward and rushed off to inform his master.' Harry could sense the reluctance to discuss the subject and pushed on, interested precisely because of that unwillingness.
'Who?'
'Does it matter, Harry?' Dumbledore asked gently. 'The past cannot be changed.'
'A crime should not be left unpunished, sir,' Harry disagreed. 'Whomever passed on those words condemned my parents to die.' He bit his lip before he continued on to mention Neville, or his parents, that would be giving away too much of what he knew.
'I can assure you that the wizard in question has suffered for it every day since.' The headmaster closed his eyes in thought. 'Perhaps I should tell you, it might help you too understand that things are not always so simple as they seem.'
'After the prophecy, professor,' Harry decided, gambling that Dumbledore might be further persuaded by a show of maturity.
'You are quite right, Harry,' the headmaster smiled benignly, 'the prophecy, the future, is far more pressing.'
He pulled a single strand of silver, hooked on the tip of his wand, out of the basin.
'There is no need to experience it in its entirety,' Dumbledore said solemnly. 'Hearing the words will be enough.'
Professor Trelawney's hoarse, rasping voice echoed from the glowing silver strand at the tip of Dumbledore's wand, echoing, much to Harry's surprise, the full, unedited prophecy.
'You see, Harry, the mistake that Voldemort made. In his fear and hubris he attempted to fulfil the terms of the prophecy as he knew them, and, to his cost, he was proved mistaken. That he does not yet know the full prophecy and a way by which he can safely defeat you is one of our greatest advantages.'
'That doesn't help me defeat him, professor,' Harry responded softly. 'He knows far more magic and is much stronger than I am. How am I supposed to defeat him?'
'There are many mysterious forces in this world,' Dumbledore answered, a brilliant twinkle in his electric-blue eyes. 'Magic is only one of them. In the Department of Mysteries lies a door that is kept locked at all times. The force behind it is deemed too complex to understand and too powerful to study by Unspeakables that investigate time, death and many other equally terrible things.'
It had better not be love, Harry thought. If he tells me the room is full of love I will strangle him with his own beard.
'Within that room is contained the most powerful force in the universe,' the headmaster continued, an element of passion creeping into his tone, 'love.'
Harry's hands twitched ever so slightly towards the tip of Albus Dumbledore's impressive white beard, but he managed, through a titanic effort, to restrain himself from assaulting the old fool.
'Voldemort never knew love,' Dumbledore told him pityingly, 'he does not, can not, understand it, and I believe that will prove his undoing.'
'I don't understand, sir,' Harry frowned. He was telling the truth again. He genuinely could not understand how Dumbledore could even begin to believe that being able to love made him capable of defeating a wizard like Voldemort, heroic sacrifice or not.
'Your mother's love has protected you to this day,' the headmaster said softly, 'your own ability to love will prove to be Voldemort's downfall.' He fixed Harry with a gentle, but penetrating look. 'You must trust me, Harry. I have, in my absence from Hogwarts, been collecting and studying memories of Tom Riddle, the boy who became Voldemort, and learned a great deal of his character. Aside from once again having to recruit a new Defence Professor, my summer will be spent beginning to try and make sure that everything you need to defeat Voldemort comes your way.'
'Thank you, sir,' Harry smiled, wondering all the while whether that meant Dumbledore was out hunting for the other horcruxes to prevent Voldemort surviving Harry's planned martyrdom in the same way he had survived his mother's.
'Now,' Dumbledore's eyes lost their twinkle, assuming a gleam of pride Harry had not yet glimpsed from him. 'I have understood from your teachers that your performance over the last year has improved dramatically, even Professor Snape grudgingly admitted that you might be demonstrating the hard work and maturity required to temper talent into something more.'
'That was unexpectedly kind of him,' Harry commented dryly.
'Professor Snape is, amongst other things, a very fine judge of character.' Harry raised an eyebrow at that statement. 'When he was a young student here, Severus Snape was a clever and committed student in Slytherin House, one who was even brave enough to befriend a muggle-born girl in Gryffindor, but, thanks in part to the efforts of a handful of marauding Gryffindors, he was eventually driven to fall in with some less reputable house mates. From there he was led down a path of mistakes that would lead him to a cold, wet night at the Hog's Head, and making a decision that betrayed the one person he cared about most.'
My mother, Harry realised furiously. Snape was the one who told Voldemort.
'The consequences of his choice have tormented him every day hence,' Dumbledore murmured sorrowfully, 'and despite the gravity of his errors I believe he has earned himself the right to try and make amends.'
The former Death Eater who had taken such obvious delight in torturing him, in telling him, over and over, how worthless he was, did not seem particularly repentant to Harry. He would not treat anyone so indirectly important to him in such a manner. He would barely treat his enemies in such a manner. His useless, helpless fury at Dumbledore's blind naivety was reflected only in the vast, dark eyes of the icy creature within. He could feel its gaze, malignant, hungry, and fixed on the image of Severus Snape, but he ignored its ill-timed suggestion of vengeance, taking deep breaths, and focusing on the old wizard in front of him.
'Professor Snape is a very different man to the misled young Death Eater he was,' Dumbledore assured him kindly.
He is wrong again, Harry fumed, forcing the twisting, raging coils of ice to still and cease, suppressing the creature to a single point of emotion beneath his breastbone before his temper betrayed him.
'I must ask that you promise not to add to Severus' woes, Harry,' Dumbledore sighed. 'I tell you this secret of his in the closest confidence. He bears a great weight of responsibility on his shoulders, one we can't afford to add to by helping him drown himself with guilt.'
'It's ok, Professor Dumbledore,' Harry replied, masking the bright, hard point of cold within his chest with a slightly sad smile. 'I understand. I'll give him the opportunity to make amends if he truly regrets his actions. He'll have the second chance he deserves.'
AN: Please read, review and hopefully enjoy. The white bumblebee returns...
