Chapter Eight – Tell Him

"Albus," Minerva said sternly. "It wasn't even a month ago you told me that we had to wait. Why the sudden change of heart?" She grinned. "Scared?"

Dumbledore glared at her. "Actually, Minerva, you're right. I'm petrified."

Severus coughed loudly.

"Yes, Mister Snape?" Sirius spat, loathing the teacher.

"Erm, Albus, I'm afraid I must have heard you wrong," Severus said. "I believe you said you were petrified. And, with you not only being our leader, but as the protector of Harry—"

"I'm afraid you heard correctly, Severus." Dumbledore's cheeks drooped down, and wrinkles appeared around his lips and no longer alive eyes. "Lord Voldemort has succeeded: I'm shaking in my boots."

The room, consisting of Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black, had no response. None of them could comprehend the fact that Albus Dumbledore was afraid of Lord Voldemort. Previously Tom Riddle. Previously a young man who lived in an orphanage. A young man who reminded people of young Harry Potter.

"It's because of the Dursley's death then, Albus?" asked Remus Lupin.

Dumbledore nodded, and looked sadly around the room. "James Potter had no idea Voldemort would defeat the Dursleys. How could he have known?" He sat down in his chair, his once glittering eyes seemed to be shut off forever. "Harry must know. He needs to defend himself. Defend the Potter name, family, and traditions."

"Well, the traditions will never be the same, know will they?" asked Snape.

Sirius jumped out of his chair and screamed, "Don't say that!" He looked down at the sneering Snape. "Harry may be the last Potter, but that doesn't mean the Potter family is gone. He'll survive. I know he will!"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Severus suddenly jumped out of his chair, and stood eye to eye with Sirius. "Harry can't survive. If James and Lily Potter—"

"They were both great," Remus interrupted the two bickering enemies, "but you must remember: A positive plus a positive always equals a higher positive."

Minerva McGonagall nodded. "Remus is right. You put Lily and James together, and you get greater, higher power, whose name is Harry Potter."

"But," Dumbledore said, rising from his chair slowly, "you all must remember that Harry is a child. He does have the possibilities of being the greatest wizard of all time. He will, should he learn properly, exceed me. He has the skill…he just has to learn to control it." Dumbledore looked at them sternly. "If he doesn't learn to control it, we shall have another Tom Riddle on our hands."

Each of the adults nodded in agreement.

Seconds, then minutes passed in silence. Sirius and Severus continued staring at each other, Remus watching both of them. And Minerva watched Albus Dumbledore. She was startled by his reactions to the Dursley's deaths. He had aged hundreds of years in a few days. She worried endlessly about him.

Finally, Remus said, "Should I go retrieve Harry, then?"

"Yes," Dumbledore nodded. "We will tell him." He looked at Minerva nervously, but said, "We will tell him everything."

^*^*^

Harry Potter walked into Dumbledore's office, shaking with nerves. Again…he was called to the office. Remus Lupin had come to get him this time.

"Ah…Harry," Dumbledore welcomed him. "Please, please sit."

Harry sat next to Sirius. He stared at Dumbledore, surprised by what he saw. Considering he sat rather far from the head table in the Great Hall, he hadn't seen Dumbledore in detail for a while, and the change that had overcome the old man was frightening.

"Headmaster, what is this about?" he asked, looking at the other adults at the same time.

Dumbledore uneasily moved around in his throne-like chair, and looked at the teachers, and Sirius, in the room. Finally, after a few tense moments, he said, "Harry, do you know how the Dursleys were killed?"

Harry stared at him. "Well, I think I know. After some help from Ron and Hermione…I think.…" he didn't know what to say, but he knew he had said enough, when Dumbledore continued.

"Yes, Harry. Voldemort killed your remaining family." Dumbledore looked at Harry's deep green eyes, and then asked, "Do you have any idea why?"

"No," Harry said. "Other than the fact that he wants to dispose of me, and everyone who has anything to do with me."

Dumbledore continued to look at Harry, emotionless. "Yes...and no. It's true Voldemort wishes to break you down...kill everyone you love. But, you don't really love the Dursleys, now do you?" With a nod from Harry, Dumbledore persisted with his explanation. "But the Dursleys were your protector for a reason, Harry. They knew, since you were born, that if anything were to happen to your parents, that they would, and must take you in. It's the only reason they didn't put you in an orphanage."

"Albus," interrupted McGonagall. "I think you need to start from the beginning."

Albus Dumbledore nodded. "Yes." He turned back from Minerva, to Harry. "Harry, have you ever heard the story, 'King Midas and the Golden Hand'?"

"Yes, sir," Harry answered.

"Ah, good," he said, smiling as much as his tired face would allow. "But I'm guessing that you have no idea that the story is true."

Harry shook his head. "It's a Muggle myth, sir. A fairy tale."

"As was the story of the Philosopher's Stone. Muggles know the story; they knew that Nicholas Flammel is a real person, looking for the answer to eternal life. But, luckily, they never found out that he actually found the answer. He had decided to tell a few trustworthy friends. A wise decision that lasted over six hundred years, until Voldemort learned of the elixir and decided he wanted it for himself.

"Midas wasn't as smart has Nicholas, though. He was vain, and when he got his hand, he bragged about it. Word gout out about this amazing hand, and he was talked about so often, that even Muggles heard the story. Of course, that's exactly what they thought it was. A story, and they treated it like a fairy tale: just like you said.

"Truth be told, it wasn't a fairy tale. In fact, there was no to the hand tan just turning things into gold. It holds so much more power, Harry. Powers that any man would die for."

"What...what kind of powers?" Harry asked.

"The Hand had the power of Sight, Harry. A Sight that, when used properly can be very useful. If not, it's deadly. The Sight of Magic."

Harry stared at Dumbledore. "I don't understand. What do you mean, 'Sight of Magic'?"

"Let's say I had Sight. If I were to look at Professor McGonagall here, Harry," Dumbledore said, "I would see a light purple, almost white glow surrounding her. If I were to look at someone like, let's say, Neville Longbottom, I'd see a bright yellow glow. Each color shows the strength of power the person has."

Frustrated, Harry shook his head. "I don't understand sir."

Dumbledore took out his wand and, suddenly, the tip of the wand was on fire.

"Harry, look at the fire. Do you see the different colors? Do you see the yellows, blues, and the purples and white?"

Harry nodded.

"White is the strongest, hottest part of a flame. It's the bottom of the flame; it keeps the flame glowing. The next colors you see, is purple and blue. They are the next hottest colors...yellow is the weakest. If you had Sight, and saw a orange or yellow glow, you'd know that person was easy to control, to manipulate."

"So," Harry said slowly, processing the information, "if Voldemort had Sight, and he were to look at you, he'd see a pure white glow?"

"Oh no boy," the modest Dumbledore said, flushing slightly. "I doubt I'd be pure white. That would mean I was the best wizard in the world."

Harry smiled and nodded. "I know."

Dumbledore smiled back, and continued, trying to ignore the kind comments. "As you can understand, this Sight would be of much use to Voldemort. He'd know who he could control; and who could destroy him. I dare say, if he had Sight when he turned upon you fifteen years ago, he would have thought twice about attacking you."

Harry nodded. He couldn't help but think of how useful Sight would be. And how fun. He could see how strong Snape, Filch, or even his worst enemy Malfoy was with magic.

After a few minutes, he said, "What other powers are there, Professor?"

"You know what an Amagus is, correct Harry?"

Harry nodded, thinking of his father, who had been an illegal stag Amagus.

"The hand would give someone not only the power of being an Amagus, but the power to change into any animal at will, and able to communicate with any animal; even in human form. Think how helpful it would be to Voldemort. To at first be a cockroach who sneaks into someone's home, then POW, he's himself, all ready to kill. The perfect sneak attack."

Harry shuttered. "I can't even imagine."

"It doesn't end there, though."

Young Harry looked startled. "There's more? What other powers could Voldemort possibly need?"

Dumbledore frowned deeply. "Of course, there is being able to turn anything into gold. But there is another. One power that would make his life complete. One that would, in fact, ensure he were to never die."

"Philosopher's Stone," Harry said. "But that's been destroyed."

"Not quite, my boy. Something much more handy. You're close, though. Think...what did the Spanish search for in America...in Florida."

Harry thought hard. He remembered few things from his short time at Muggle school, let alone his one month of learning brief American history. But he did remember something...

He gasped. "That's impossible."

Dumbledore shook his head. "It's not, Harry. The Fountain of Youth. Able to keep the drinker alive forever...and not only alive, but alive at a young age. Imagine, to stay thirty, or twelve, or even four forever! You'd never die. You'd always be young. Always be capable of being at your strongest. Voldemort just has to drink, think of the age when he was strongest, and he would be that age forever. With just one drink."

Harry leaned back in his chair. "Impossible." He shifted uneasily, then, he spontaneously yelled; "But it's a legend!" He was now halfway out of his chair. "It's impossible! Ridiculous! The Fountain of Youth was all a lie! A sham! There's no such thing! Impossible!"

"Impossible, Harry?" Dumbledore smiled at him. "Before you came to Hogwarts, or even knew about wizardry, didn't you think magic was impossible? Didn't you think that being able to turn into a cat," he looked at Minerva, "was impossible? Didn't you think that having a psychopathic megalomaniac on your arse was impossible?"

Harry suddenly smiled, and nodded apprehensively. "You're saying, anything is possible?"

"Anything," Dumbledore said.

Everyone in the room sat quietly. Remus was fidgeting with his robes, Sirius looking at Harry. Snape scowling in a corner, Minerva looked at Albus.

And thoughts were swarming in Harry's head a mile a minute. All he could think about, was what would happen if Voldemort were to get the Hand. What then? Harry couldn't go against him. Harry couldn't fight him. And the biggest question, was what all of this had to do with the Dursleys.

Finally, Harry piped up, "Excuse me sir, but...but what does this have to do with my family?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Because, Harry. It's the Potter family who owns the Hand of Midas."

A/N: Ohh…told you it would get better. Please let me know what you think! I'm working so hard, and I need to know if I should bother…