ARGH! Okay, so you know how I mentioned that ff.net had screwed up the upload in the A/N on the last chapter? It didn't re-upload the previous one. I am so sick of this bloody site, honestly. At any rate, sorry for the misunderstanding. You wouldn't believe how pissed off I am right now. ;;
Chapter Forty-Six, Part B
"We had arranged a time for the meeting, Mr Flydehawk," Dumbledore said, fixing the man with a look that would have made even the most prestigious of people squirm like a child. Flydehawk sighed.
"I know, I know…I've already been told off by Mr…er…Whatsizname, the cranky dude. I'm here though, now, so you may as well hear me out. Mr Potter has –"
"Mr Potter currently has no idea of what is going on, despite the fact that it appears to involve him in some way. Perhaps someone would like to explain to Mr Potter why they are talking about him instead of to him," Harry interrupted. He had been studying one of the portraits of an old Headmaster, but now turned to face the three men.
"Well?" He lifted an eyebrow.
"I'm sorry, Harry. We were planning to tell you a little later, when all the details had been finalised. Mr Flydehawk has asked us if you would like to attend a training camp for promising Quidditch players. We've decided to allow you to, although the decision is really up to you," Dumbledore explained. "What would you like to do, Harry?"
Harry looked down at the ground for a moment, clearly thinking. When he looked up his face was like a grime-covered mirror, reflecting nothing of what was going on inside of him.
"You know I can't, Sir. Not with the situation the way it is. It's far too dangerous…"
"Wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a minute. What do you mean, the situation?" Flydehawk started, before comprehension dawned. "Hold on, you don't mean that thing with You-Know-Who, do you? I mean, I read in the Daily Prophet that you were delusional, and believed he had risen again, but considering the sort of thing they usually publish I didn't actually believe that you had lost your grip on sanity…"
"I don't appreciate being told that I'm delusional, Mr Flydehawk," Harry murmured. His eyes had lightened to a chilly green, like the sea on a cold and stormy day.
"Come now, boy, this is insane…"
"Mr Flydehawk, last year I saw a boy die. I didn't really know him other than as a rival on the Quidditch field, but he was a good person. One minute he was there, and the next minute he was gone. I then had to return to a home where no one cared for me, and where being a wizard was an excuse for them to abuse me. Each night I get barely any sleep for the nightmares I get because of this bloody scar, because each night someone else is killed by Voldemort." Harry began to walk forward slowly. There was a zwing noise, and the sword Godric Gryffindor had given him was in his hand. "Every day I have to keep pretending that everything is fine, that I'm okay, so that everyone around me doesn't panic, and they have a reason to panic, Mr Flydehawk, because they know me. They know me, and because of that they are a target for Voldemort." Harry raised the sword and pointed it at Flydehawk. "I would like to see how well you would handle it, Mr Flydehawk. How well would you be able to handle it if your entire world came crashing down around your feet and you had nowhere to run?"
There was a moment of shocked silence, then Harry slumped and lowered the hand holding the sword. As it fell the sword disappeared, as if it had never been there to begin with. Harry laughed, and tilted his head back to look at the roof.
"You know, this morning…I was feeling good. I'd made up with Ron and Hermione – I mean, things still aren't like they were, but that's to be expected – and I'd slept well. I just wanted to be able to go out and fly before lessons. I haven't practiced for so long, you know, and we have a game in two weeks. And now…" He turned his head to the side and stared at Dumbledore, who was watching him carefully. "I'm sorry, Sir. I need some sleep. I'm just so tired…I'll get today's work from my teachers later." He shook his head and stumbled out of the room, raising a hand and pressing it against his forehead as he did so. Dumbledore watched him go, and then turned to regard Flydehawk, a grave look in his eyes.
"There is a lot of pressure on Mr Potter right now, Mr Flydehawk, and it is taking its toll. Are you still certain that you wish him to attend the training camp?"
There was a moment of hesitation, and then Flydehawk nodded. "Quidditch teams aren't known for having the sanest of players, Headmaster. As long as he isn't dangerous to others…unless he is? That sword…He's a brilliant Seeker, though, it would be such a pity…"
"I do not think that he is dangerous," Dumbledore stated slowly. "The sword is something that I don't believe he has learnt to control. I believe that it appears when he is angry, or in a position that he perceives as dangerous."
"Well then, we'll just have to make sure he feels safe, won't we?" Flydehawk smiled. "Are you sure about holding the camp at Hogwarts, though? I'm sure there are other places…"
Dumbledore shook his head firmly. "Harry can only attend if it is held at Hogwarts, so that the staff can keep an eye on him." He sighed, and turned to face Professor Snape. "What are we going to do with him, Severus? It's so hard on him."
The Potions Master had been leaning up against the wall of the room near Dumbledore's desk, watching the events with an eagle eye. He shrugged. "I don't believe there is anything we can do until he is willing to ask for it. Otherwise I don't believe that he will accept it."
