A/N: Just popping in here quickly to thank anyone who has made it this far. This is a chapter I'm proud of and have been building towards for some time. Updates may come slower in the coming days and weeks, but I remain committed to completing this story (hopefully before summer) and have a clear vision all the way to the end. So please enjoy, and leave your thoughts below!

Harry wished that he could just sleep off the frustration and fatigue of the Ministry, but sleep eluded him, never granting him more than two or three hours' worth of rest a night. The nightmares were a constant now, but he'd grown used to them; at least he could rely on them night after night, while the daylight hours were a haze, when he stumbled from place to place just hoping to go home and lie down again. He considered trying to brew a Sleeping Draught in the potions lab, but the ingredients were restricted and would require Ministry sign-off...not to mention it would take three months to mature properly.

Making matters worse was the fact that everyone seemed to be irritated with him these days. Once the Dawlish article broke in the Daily Prophet, Robards had screamed himself raw at Harry and threatened to pull him off leadership duty, and had assigned him more busy work than ever to complete. The Minister hadn't spoken to Harry since their argument weeks prior, but he gave an impassioned defense of Dawlish in the following day's Prophet that told Harry all he needed to know. Even Ron and Neville seemed to be avoiding him, perhaps questioning their decision to act under his leadership. That isolation, coupled with anxiety over Dawlish and the goblins and everything else going on, was becoming too much for him to bear.

Harry found himself increasingly drawn to the slip of parchment given to him by McGonagall – the mysterious Legilimens who had the supposed power to cure his mind. Harry didn't buy that, but he began to wonder if he could talk his way into a prescription for something to help him sleep. What would be the harm in just talking to the man for an hour or so? That would be enough to confirm his suspicions at least. So he sent a letter off with Dora to the French address on the parchment, requesting a meeting. It was answered three days later, setting a date for that Saturday.

Harry Apparated into the wizarding village of Coeur-du-l'Ame at quarter to noon, taking in the picturesque views as he strolled through the town square. It reminded him plenty of Godric's Hollow, the only other wizarding village he'd been to personally, though much more vibrant in color and mood. Fall was in its waning weeks in the French countryside; multi-colored leaves littered the cobblestone roads, and young children laughed and ran through the streets without abandon. Godric's Hollow had been boarded up and lifeless during Harry's visit, but then, there was a war going on. It warmed his heart to see such life thriving here, as the witches and wizards of the village clearly felt safe, free and happy.

Harry located the correct address: a simple one-story home nestled in a quiet cul-de-sac near the square. The letterbox was engraved Dupont, along with a coat-of-arms that Harry recognized as that of Beauxbatons Academy. Harry knocked on the door, and a moment later, Claude Dupont opened it. He was quite shorter than Harry expected, and looked nearly as old as Dumbledore had been, but there was an unmistakable twinkle in his eye, a spark of life that indicated he was not on his way out the door just yet. "You must be Mr. Potter," said Dupont in a soft, pleasing tone. "A great honor. Please do come in." He led Harry in through the entryway and into a darkened study, beckoning for Harry to sit.

Harry looked around the room warily. Thick dusty tomes littered the bookshelves on the walls, with titles on the spines written in languages Harry didn't recognize. Several glass orbs glowed in the dim lighting, white smoke swirling lightly within. On Dupont's desk sat a number of contraptions Harry did not recognize, though they vaguely reminded him of the Dark Detectors he'd once seen in the fake Mad-Eye Moody's office during his fourth year. Dupont sat quietly in the corner, hands folded, studying Harry as he dropped into a chair on the opposite side of the room.

"You're Professor Dupont, then?" Harry said loudly, finding the silence uncomfortable. "McGonagall spoke highly of you."

"Minerva is an old friend," said Dupont with a wry smile. "We met when I took a study abroad term at Hogwarts in my seventh year. Beauxbatons did not have a robust Divination department at the time."

"So you're a Seer, then?" Harry asked skeptically.

"Good heavens no!" Dupont chuckled. "There is much more to Divination than the Sight, no matter what Professor Trelawney might have taught you. I do not know if she can truly See or not, but I have heard tales of her...methods through academic back channels." Harry did not divulge the fact that Trelawney had in fact correctly prophesied Voldemort's demise, but he did smile inwardly at the thinly-veiled insult against his least favorite teacher.

"They're brought in a new teacher to share the department with her now," said Harry. "Firenze the centaur."

"Ah yes, I heard rumors of this," Dupont mused. "Funny beasts, centaurs. Far more attuned to the natural world, there is no doubt, but in many ways just as blind to the inner workings of the mind."

"So you do believe in mind-reading?" Harry prodded. "Crystal balls and fortune telling and all that rubbish?"

"Once again, your understanding of the subject is limited by Trelawney's interpretation of the field," said Dupont. "Divination is best viewed as a means of opening your mind up to the infinite possibilities your life can take you. Nobody can predict the future with accuracy, but we can narrow it down immensely if we know how to listen to the signs the supernatural world gives us."

It all still sounded like hogwash to Harry, but he held his tongue. "So is that what we're doing here?" he asked. "You're going to open up my mind to the divine, or whatever, so I can finally see what's in those orbs?" He pointed to the swirling mist-filled balls sitting atop the bookshelf. Dupont turned to look himself.

"Don't mind those; just a bit of ambiance," he said, picking up his wand and giving a small flick. The white smoke inside ceased movement and the light slowly faded to darkness. "I find it helps some people relax their minds, but it isn't for everyone."

"I'll warn you, I'm rubbish at Occlumency," said Harry. "I tried it with Snape in my fifth year and it was a disaster."

"Luckily for you, Mr. Potter, we will not be practicing Occlumency here," said Dupont. "Occlumency and Legilimency go hand in hand, but they are very different disciplines. One requires you to close your mind, while the other asks you to open it wider. I think you'll find the latter significantly easier."

Harry did not find this reassuring in the slightest. In fact, it alarmed him even more than Occlumency ever did. "What if there are things I don't want you to know about?" he demanded. "Secrets that are too dangerous to get out into the world?"

"That is precisely what I aim to avoid, Mr. Potter," said Dupont with a knowing smile. "Everyone has secrets they wish to keep, but in equal measure they have repressed memories buried somewhere in your psyche doing immense damage from within. My specialty is coaxing out these harmful memories so that they can be addressed without disturbing the parts of your mind you wish to keep."

"So like a Memory Charm?" Harry asked, confused. "You're going to make me forget I ever fought Lord Voldemort?"

"Not exactly," said Dupont. "Obliviation is a crude and ancient method developed before we had a proper understanding of Legilimency. It is effective at what it does, yes, but it can have severe side-effects if performed improperly." Harry suddenly had a vivid memory of an addled Gilderoy Lockhart wandering the halls of St. Mungo's and knew exactly what he meant by that.

"Besides," Dupont continued, "the objective is not to make you forget these unhappy memories. It is to bring them to the surface so that we can better analyze their nature and help you deal with them."

"So you're a shrink?" Harry concluded. "We have those in the Muggle world too."

"Yes, but unfortunately, Muggles lack the capacity to understand the supernatural elements of the mind like we wizards do," Dupont lamented. "They can approximate what we Legilimens can do, but only a cheap imitation."

"But by that same logic," Harry argued, "you could use that knowledge to extract information out of people against their will. You could lure me into a sense of comfort before stealing the dark secrets of how Voldemort tried to become immortal."

"Yes, I could," Dupont said, and Harry was surprised by the direct response. "It is a dangerous tool in the wrong hands, you are very correct. I gather that Voldemort himself was a skilled Legilimens, and even had the terrible ability to implant false memories in his victims' minds." Again Harry was brought back to his fifth year, watching Sirius Black get tortured in the Department of Mysteries – a vivid and visceral memory that transpired to be a trick to lure him to the Ministry. "But Harry," said Dupont, interrupting Harry's reverie, "there is a great deal of trust required for this to work. I cannot prove that I will not go digging around inside your subconscious for juicy secrets. The first step is accepting my word at face value and allowing me access in spite of those fears."

"How am I supposed to trust you when I don't even know you?" asked Harry.

"Well, I could rattle off a few reasons," Dupont mused. "McGonagall's referral, my extensive experience helping mentally-scarred patients, the Order of Merlin bestowed upon me by the French Ministry for my work with veterans of the First Wizarding War...but I have a suspicion that any appeal to authority wouldn't convince you."

He was quite right – Harry never much cared for fancy titles or Ministry approval, given how easily he knew they could be corrupted. "Would you swear an Unbreakable Vow?" Harry asked.

"I could," Dupont humored him, "but that comes with two problems. One, I might accidentally poke around and unearth something unexpected and keel over dead for my unintended transgression. And two, that would be a trust forged by artificial means, which is not useful in our case."

"Why not?" Harry demanded. "It would make me trust you."

"But your mind would still be closed," said Dupont, "because that trust didn't come from a genuine place of acceptance. The mind is a tricky thing to unlock, Mr. Potter, and it requires both parties to work together to coax it into submission. It won't work if I am operating under threat of certain death, as it will impact both of our psyches negatively. You have to learn to let go."

"Well that doesn't work for me," Harry said stubbornly. "If the things I know about Voldemort got leaked into the world, it could be catastrophic. I can't risk that."

"I see," said Dupont. "You believe that is a burden you alone must shoulder and carry to the grave."

"That's right."

"And that's why you undertook your mission against Voldemort alone, with no help."

"Yes—well, not exactly alone," admitted Harry. "My friends Ron and Hermione came too—"

"So then your secret is already out?" Dupont asked, eyebrows raised. "Your friends will use that knowledge to rise to power like Voldemort did?"

"Of course not, they wouldn't do that," Harry scoffed. "I trust them."

"So there are people you would trust with the information."

"Yeah," Harry said hotly. "I've known those two for years, and I've only just met you. There's a difference."

"I'm not disputing that," said Dupont. "What I hope you'll understand is that, by your own admission, there are people in your life that you trust to help carry the burden with you. And I suspect their very presence and support lightened that load considerably."

"Yeah, sure," Harry said begrudgingly. "But that doesn't mean—"

"You have thus far been very selective in your life with whom to trust your darkest secrets with," said Dupont. "Confiding in your closest friends can be a powerful tool for a child. But you are no longer a child, Harry Potter. As you grow older, friends fade away, and the mind has increasingly fewer avenues to open itself to others. I have seen powerful witches and wizards go mad with the burden of whatever they kept buried inside themselves. You may believe you possess destructive secrets, but keeping them hidden will only succeed in destroying yourself from within."

"Okay, that's fine!" Harry exclaimed. "I'll go mad and destroy myself then! Better me than causing another wizarding war because of what I know."

To Harry's surprise (and anger), Dupont chuckled at this. "Oh, to be young and prone to such histrionics. I promise that whatever you're grappling with, it's not so terrible that other people can't help you with it."

"You sound like Ginny," Harry muttered bitterly.

"Ginny?"

"My girlfriend," said Harry. "Well, she was my girlfriend. I'm not really sure where we stand right now."

"Does she know the kinds of troubles you've been through?"

"I've known her since we were kids," Harry explained. "So yeah, she's seen a lot of what I've been dealing with."

"Yet you don't trust her enough to let your guard down with her."

"I...hey, don't put words in my mouth!" Harry protested. "It's more complicated than that. I just don't want to put her in danger. She got attacked at the Quidditch World Cup last summer, and for all I know it was because someone knew she was with me."

"You carry a terrible burden with you because of what you've accomplished in life," said Dupont. "There will always be witches and wizards who admire you, who envy you, and who loathe you for it. You cannot allow that knowledge to affect how you live your life."

"Easy for you to say!" Harry protested. "What would you know about it? You've never been branded 'the Chosen One'. You've never had loved ones threatened because of who you are. You aren't plagued by constant nightmares watching them die horrible deaths—"

"My daughter was murdered by Lord Voldemort because of me," Dupont said plainly.

"She—what?" said Harry, suddenly taken aback.

"Many years back, before his first downfall," Dupont continued. "Voldemort was seeking a skilled Legilimens to train him in the mysteries of the mind. He tried to recruit me, but I refused. So he hunted down and killed my only daughter and her new husband."

"Oh," Harry said, horrified. "That's awful."

"Yes, it is," Dupont nodded. "My worst nightmare realized. An innocent life, one I cared for more than my own, taken on account of my actions. The guilt I felt afterwards was overwhelming, and in many ways it has never left me."

A silvery tear streaked down Dupont's cheek from the corner of his eye. He tapped it lightly with his wand and pulled it away from his face; Harry saw the silvery strand hanging loosely from the tip of the wand. For a moment he thought Dupont might stand and deposit the tear into a Pensieve, as he had seen Dumbledore do on many occasions. But Dupont instead casually flicked the wand away from him, and the silvery strand floated into the air and evaporated into mist.

"Was that a memory?" Harry yelped in surprise. "You just...destroyed it, just like that?"

"Not the original memory, my boy, merely an imprint," Dupont explained calmly. "Memories cannot be destroyed. They are buried deep within our psyches, and when we recall them, these imprints come up to the surface for us to observe. Then we can reminisce on them, repress them, alter them...or merely dismiss them."

Harry sat in silence for a moment, contemplating this. "Do you ever regret your decision?"

"Which one?" Dupont asked with a wry smile. "Denying Lord Voldemort, or having my daughter? Because one could argue both decisions led to the same tragic fate and the pain I now feel. But no, I regret neither. I could never have lived with myself knowing that my skills aided an evil tyrant in subjugating others to a terrible fate. Nor could I deny myself the twenty-four wonderful years I had with Francesca before her death. I watched her grow, learn, and love in ways I could never have dreamed of. Her death will always be a dark stain on my mind, but I will still cherish the time I did have with her."

That was a beautiful sentiment, Harry thought, but one he wasn't sure he agreed with. Of course he could see the benefit in pursuing a life with Ginny, indulging in the simple pleasures that came along with it. But what a selfish decision that would be, inviting her in to share the darkness plaguing his mind! She would be much happier with another man, one without such demons circling his soul, sapping the happiness out of him and everyone close to him.

"I'd like to try something, if you don't mind," said Dupont, interrupting the uneasy silence that had fallen between them. "You say you have nightmares about your loved ones dying. Would you feel comfortable describing one of them for me?"

"I guess so," Harry shrugged. He wracked his brain, trying to remember the most recent. "There's one that's been coming up a lot. Where I'm still in the Battle of Hogwarts."

"Tell me about it in detail," Dupont said softly. "Close your eyes if it helps you remember."

Harry obliged. "Well, I'm running through the castle," he explained. "And I don't know if it's me being chased or the other way around. And there are people screaming and fighting all around me, but I can't see them. Only I can see bodies all over the ground, and I can't tell who they belong to. I'm just so sure that eventually I'll see Ginny among them...and that would be worse than dying to Voldemort."

Harry found it much easier to describe the dream as he put more and more detail into it. With his eyes closed, he could picture it vividly in his mind's eye. He was back in those crumbling corridors, running, always running…

"Legilimens."

"Harry?"

Harry turned. Ginny stood behind him in the corridor, her eyes blazing just as brightly as her fiery-red hair. She extended her hand to him, and he took it. Then she kissed him. The most wondrous, passionate kiss Harry had ever experienced. The sounds of battle faded away, and suddenly the only thing that mattered was her. Harry didn't want this moment to ever end...he pulled Ginny close, resolving to never let her go again, no matter the consequences…

Harry's eyes snapped open. He was back in Dupont's office, with the elderly professor pointing his wand at Harry's forehead. Harry looked upwards just in time to see a silvery wisp detach from his forehead, float momentarily above his head, then dissipate into nothingness. His eyes returned to Dupont.

"Did you just—?"

"The funny thing about nightmares, Harry," said Dupont, "is that they are corruptions. Like imprints, they can be recalled from our psyches, but they are exaggerated by emotion, feeding off of fear, or excitement, or desire. We can address them by simply altering the emotion associated with them, as you have just seen. If your fear of losing Ginny is overwhelmed by your desire to be with her, these nightmares won't be as severe. Both emotions exist within you; it's about which one you choose to prioritize over the other."

Harry felt a strange sense of calm washing over him. He felt lighter than he had in months, as though a nagging pain had finally ceased bothering him. But then he remembered the wand in Dupont's hand, the spell muttered under his breath, the same one that had tormented him in Snape's office time and again during his fifth year. That feeling of violation came rushing back to Harry now, making him feel dirty and used.

"How dare you?" Harry demanded, leaping to his feet. "Access my mind without my permission?"

"Only that which you were already sharing with me," said Dupont. "I merely took what was floating on the surface of your mind and transformed it into something positive."

"It doesn't matter!" said Harry, his temper rising again. "I didn't say you could do that! How can you preach trust and honestly and then cast that spell without warning me first?"

"I would never dare to dig any deeper than I just did," Dupont reassured him. "Violating one's memories is a terrible crime that all Legilimens are trained to avoid—"

"Well, you just did," Harry said crossly, turning towards the door. "Speak of this to no one. And if you ever try something like that again, you will regret it." He wrenched open the door and exited the room, slamming it behind him.

As he stalked back through the quiet village of Coeur-du-l'Ame, he was furious for allowing himself to be lulled into such a vulnerable state. What Dupont did to him had helped, he did not doubt it, but it was nonetheless invasive and wrong. Who's to say he wouldn't try to coax Harry into revealing more terrible secrets? Secrets about Hallows and Horcruxes? Never again would he allow himself to be subjected to such terrible magic again. He turned on the spot and Apparated out of the village, vowing never to return again.