Chapter 14

Harry was only mildly surprised when Lupin and Mad-Eye escorted him to Hogwarts. Tonks, accompanied by Arthur and Bill Weasley, had hurried Bellatrix away under intense anti-Apparition spells; Harry assumed she was bound for Azkaban, but he tried not to think about it too much. In his mind, Bellatrix would always be bound up with Quinn. The thought of Quinn at the mercy of the dementors made him cold and shaky inside.

Dumbledore had not met them at the Lestrange mansion. Lupin said something about getting Harry to safety at once. Both he and Mad-Eye agreed that Dumbledore would want Harry back at the school a.s.a.p. It seemed odd to Harry that the Board of Governors had sent warnings to Muggle parents about the danger from Voldemort if Hogwarts was considered the safest place in the entire wizarding world, but he supposed they had their reasons.

Hermione insisted on accompanying them. Harry hadn't yet asked how she'd come to be with the others at the Lestrange mansion; he couldn't imagine Dumbledore inviting her along, or allowing her to come without good reason. A million such unanswered questions swirled in his head – What would happen to Bellatrix? Why hadn't the Order been more conscientious in watching over him? How had Hermione gotten involved now, when she'd been with her parents? – but as they soared toward Hogwarts on broomsticks (Mad-Eye had his school trunk and all of his belongings) Harry was content to wait for the answers.

Like the night just a year before when he'd been spirited off to Sirius's house, they flew so high that Harry was chilled to the bone by the time they finally reached Hogwarts. Lupin led the way. Mad-Eye flew behind, obviously keeping watch for any would-be interceptors, but Harry no longer felt afraid. Voldemort didn't want him touched for another year, not until the magic protection had worn completely off.

And once that spell is broken, what then? Is it open season on me and everyone I love?

No, he wouldn't let himself think that. He closed his eyes against the biting wind. Hermione flew beside him, her hair streaming behind her, cheeks red and raw from the cold. She didn't ask any questions, although every now and then she turned to offer him a brave smile. Whatever had brought her along this evening, Harry was desperately glad she had come. If only they could just go directly to his dorm room when they reached Hogwarts…If only he could just curl up under the warm covers with her at his side, and worry about nothing else until morning…

Of course he knew that couldn't happen. As soon as their broomsticks touched down at Hogwarts, Hagrid hurried up from his cabin with a lantern and led the way to the castle.

"All right there, Harry?" he asked gruffly. Hary nodded mutely. No one else said anything at all, though Harry saw Hermione lean gratefully into Hagrid's offered hug.

"Dumbledore wants to see you," Lupin announced softly once they entered the castle. Hogwarts seemed eerie with no students in it. Again, Harry nodded wordlessly, and Lupin turned to the others. "Hermione, you stay with Moody and Hagrid, all right? Hagrid, maybe some tea…"

"Right." Hagrid clapped an enormous hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Come on, then, Hermione, let's get you a spot of tea and see if we can't warm ye up."

They left the castle talking quietly together, Mad-Eye still peering suspiciously around corners, as if he expected every shadow to transform into Voldemort.

Harry trailed silently behind Lupin toward the headmaster's office. At the entrance, Lupin said, "Peppermint stick," and the circular stairway appeared. He patted Harry encouragingly on the shoulder. "I'm sure he'll want to see you alone, Harry, but do you want me to walk you up?"

"No." Harry hoped he didn't sound abrupt, but he was too tired and preoccupied to explain that he simply couldn't be afraid at Hogwarts, not now. "Thanks, Prof- I mean, Lupin."

He ascended the stairs like a man marching too his death. Every year of his tenure at Hogwarts, he'd confronted Dumbledore mere hours after some tragedy. And each time, Dumbledore had revealed yet another piece of the mystery that was the life of The Boy Who Lived. Dimly, as if it had happened in another lifetime, Harry recalled waiting furiously for Dumbledore after Sirius's death. He had wanted to hurt the old wizard then; he had hated him for failing, for letting him down, for proving himself fallible. But now, he couldn't summon a single drop of rage. Dumbledore was only human, and Harry was learning the hard way that everyone made mistakes.

Dumbledore sat behind his desk, looking older than Harry had ever seen him look. The portraits on the wall were all sleeping. Outside, the night sky was fading from jet-black to slate-gray as the world prepared for dawn. Fawkes sat attentively on his perch beside his master and winked knowingly at Harry as he entered.

"Fawkes." Harry somehow knew Dumbledore wouldn't mind being ignored for a moment. He reached out and stroked the phoenix's downy feathers. "Thank you, Fawkes. I knew you'd come through."

"Incredibly reliable birds, phoenixes," Dumbledore commented. His voice sounded oddly hoarse, as if he'd spent a long time talking this evening. "The only trait that perhaps surpasses their loyalty and bravery, I've often thought."

"So he gave you my message." Harry took a seat across from the headmaster without being asked. Suddenly, he couldn't think of Dumbledore as his superior anymore. Oh, the older wizard certainly knew more about magic than Harry probably ever would, but for the time being, they were simply soldiers on the same side of an escalating war.

Nodding, Dumbledore absent-mindedly slipped his long fingers through his thin, fine silver hair. "I am sorry, Harry, that we always seem to meet just after you suffer yet another tragic loss."

Because he'd just been thinking that, Harry actually smiled. "It's all right, Professor. It's not your fault."

"Ah." Dumbledore smiled sadly. "I'm not so sure about that, Harry. But in any case, and I am sorry to ask you this after all you've been through this evening, I was hoping you could tell me what happened this summer."

Over the next half hour, Harry talked Dumbledore through Quinn's appearance, his infatuation with her, Hermione's arrival, Aunt Petunia's uncharacteristic concern for him, his break-up with Quinn, Dudley's strange behavior, and finally, the horrifying events of that evening. He left out the more embarrassing parts, of course, but forced himself to be as honest and as thorough as possible. At last he concluded, "Bellatrix said she wanted to convince me to stay in the Muggle world, so I wouldn't be a danger to Voldemort. And he told me that we could avoid the prophecy if I simply refused to fight."

Dumbledore's wise blue eyes considered Harry unblinkingly, though they weren't unkind. "Do you believe him, Harry?"

"I suppose, in a way. I mean, I don't really believe that the future is determined, like we're just playing out parts that were assigned for us." He glanced at the Sorting Hat, sleeping soundly on the shelf above Dumbledore's desk. "I mean, it's like when I first came here, when the Sorting Hat wanted to put me into Slytherin, but I chose Gryffindor. I don't think I was fated to be in either place. I had to choose."

A proud smile spread slowly across Dumbledore's lined face. "You have wisdom beyond your years, Harry. Yes, in a way, Voldemort is right. Had he not tried to kill you when you were a child, or if he had chosen Neville instead of you, things would have turned out very differently." He hesitated, as if uncertain whether to go on. Finally, he asked simply, "What answer did you give him, Harry?"

"I told him I couldn't sit back and watch him destroy innocent people. Prophecy or not, Professor, I want to stop him. I would want to stop him even if he hadn't killed my parents and-and Sirius and the Dursleys."

As he spoke, Harry was surprised by the tears that rushed on him. He stared at his hands clenched in his lap while he struggled to compose himself. Grief was so unpredictable – for weeks, he'd thought he was overcoming his sorrow for Sirius, but now the pain was as intense as the night he had died.

It was because of Quinn I felt better –

No, I can't think that, Quinn wasn't real…

Dumbledore waited patiently, staring down at his own hands, until Harry spoke again. "I don't understand how what Bellatrix did is possible, Professor. How can a person create an entire life that doesn't exist?"

"As for that, Harry, Muggles manage that quite frequently without the aid of magic. But in this case, Voldemort was using a very powerful charm on her, the Metamorphico Charm."

"I know," Harry interrupted. "I read about it. It said only a very powerful wizard could cast it, and only a very powerful wizard could detect it."

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes. Few wizards have ever had the power to cast more than a superficial glamour, an image spell that lasts a few hours at most. Not even an Animangus uses an image charm – they truly become the animal they appear to be. The Metamorphico Charm is wholly different. It is a true illusion, if you'll forgive the contradiction in terms. It changes a person's entire physical appearance, often including their voice and mannerisms, without changing the person himself."

"So Bellatrix Lestrange was always Bellatrix Lestrange, even when she looked like Quinn." Harry suppressed a small shudder – he had really kissed Bellatrix, then, not Quinn! "But I still don't understand. I mean, did Voldemort buy a house near my aunt and uncle's, and pay somebody to pretend to be Qui- I mean, Bellatrix's parents? Because her mother called once, while I was there."

"Voldemort did indeed purchase the house, Harry. You must recall that his Muggle family was very wealthy, and when he killed them, he took their money. But were you to go back there now, since the spell has been revealed to you, you would see what was always there: an empty house."

Harry started. "You mean, the furniture, the cars – everything was an illusion? Part of the spell?"

Patiently, Dumbledore explained, "A spell with the power of the Metamorphico Charm relies on the willingness of others to be deceived to work." He held up a hand to silence Harry's protest. "Please understand, I'm not criticizing you. Why should you have doubted that this girl was who she claimed to be? Why should you have questioned that her house, a house she was just moving into, would be full of boxes and half-arranged furniture? Why should you have questioned that her mother might call to see if she was all right? Bellatrix decided what she wanted you to see, Harry, and because of the power of the charm that had been placed on her, she could make you see that, because you had no reason to doubt her."

Yes I did. My scar…

Shifting uncomfortably, Harry admitted, "I-I did sometimes wonder…I mean, at first, just why someone so…well, like her would be interested in me." He blushed deeply but forced himself to go on. "And sometimes, when she touched me, my scar would hurt, like when Voldemort was close. But I-I thought it was because I was feeling strong emotions, like Voldemort just had more access to my mind then."

Dumbledore smiled sympathetically. "A good friend once told me, Harry, that if you have to be a fool, be a fool for love."

In spite of himself, Harry grinned. Seeing that, Dumbledore went on, "What most wizards don't understand about the Metamorphico Charm is that it must have some grain of truth at the core of the illusion in order to work. Voldemort would have been very conscious of this. He knows how well-guarded you are, especially away from Hogwarts. He wouldn't have taken any chance that a member of the Order might see through his spell."

A grain of truth…Like her father's suicide?

When Harry asked as much, Dumbledore shook his head. "That wouldn't have been enough, Harry. It made Bellatrix's hold over you more powerful, but not her hold over others." He scratched his chin thoughtfully, looking unsure about what he needed to say. Harry silently urged him on; he needed to know the whole truth of this situation.

Finally, Dumbledore said, "Bellatrix wanted to be seen as a young girl madly in love with you. For the charm to work there had to be a grain of truth in that." He reached inside his robe and produced a picture, extending it rather reluctantly to Harry. "And you see, there was. Because when Bellatrix was a young girl – just your age, in fact – she was in love with James Potter."

Revulsion shot through Harry, followed closely by disbelief. But the picture he held was undeniable proof: His father, James, young and handsome and cocky, standing outside the Great Hall in dress robes, his arm draped around the shoulder of a very pretty dark-haired girl in a silver gown. He couldn't deny that the girl was gazing up at his father with unabashed adoration, no more than he could deny that the girl was Bellatrix Lestrange.

He handed the photo back to Dumbledore as the young people in the picture started to dance. "That was during your father's sixth year at Hogwarts," Dumbledore explained. "He took Bellatrix Lestrange to the Yule Ball that year. Everyone knew she had been in love with him for years."

My father and Bellatrix…I can't believe he wouldn't have seen through her, wouldn't have known what she was…

Yeah, his inner voice snapped, because you were so quick to see through her yourself!

"But she was a Slytherin," he protested weakly. "A Gryffindor wouldn't date a Slytherin – "

Smiling wryly, Dumbledore replied, "Stranger things have happened, Harry. Though, actually, Bellatrix wasn't a Slytherin. She was a Ravenclaw. Her sister, Narcissa, was a Slytherin."

So she wasn't always bad…

As if he'd read Harry's thoughts, Dumbledore said quietly, "Bellatrix Lestrange was not born evil, Harry, any more than you or I. She came from a family that believed Purebloods were the only ones who should be taught magic, and in truth, she tended to shun Muggle-borns at school, but so do many of your classmates. That didn't make her evil. I myself had great hopes for her. She was one of the most gifted students to ever come through Hogwarts. And I, I must admit, was happy to see her with James."

It sometimes struck Harry as surreal that Dumbledore had known his parents so well. To him, they had always been whispy figures on the edge of memory, people he knew only through the stories of others, and therefore less real, less human, than himself and his friends. "So what happened?" he heard himself asking, surprised by his rather morbid curiosity. "How did my father end up with Lily Evans instead of Bellatrix Lestrange?"

An odd, wistful smile played on Dumbledore's lips. "Remus Lupin."

"Professor Lupin?"

"Remus had just started his seventh year when he was badly injured in a fight with another werewolf during the full moon. Lily, your mother, was always good friends with Remus, and she and James spent quite a lot of time together tending to him and keeping him company in the hospital wing. As you might imagine, they finally began to see better sides of one another than they had before – you might not know, Harry, that your mother thought James was the most arrogant, obnoxious boy at Hogwarts for most of their time here."

"But he always adored her." Remembering the horrible scene from Snape's Pensieve, the way his mother had looked at his father with such disdain, Harry couldn't help but smile. "And he broke up with Bellatrix after that?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Not long after, she struck up a close friendship with her sister's beau, Lucius Malfoy." He sighed regretfully. "She was lost to us after that, I'm afraid."

They sat quietly for a few moments while Harry drank everything in. The Metamorphico Charm had worked because no one, including the guards sent by the Order to watch over him on Privet Drive, had any reason to question that Quinn was exactly what she seemed; no one had mentioned her to Dumbledore, apparently, so he had no reason to suspect anything was wrong. And the Charm had been even more effective because Bellatrix was, in fact, reliving a fantasy: falling in love with James Potter.

I look exactly like him, Harry realized, thinking of the picture Dumbledore had shown him, and the one Bellatrix-as-Quinn had given him for his birthday. It wouldn't have been difficult for her to pretend to care about me.

Her words echoed in his mind again – "I would have been happy in our little fantasy, and I think you would've been, too." Had she meant it, then? Had she wanted a chance to escape the horror of Voldemort's world, to recapture the love she had lost when she was sixteen, to undo all of the horrible things she had done?

No, he would not feel sorry for Bellatrix Lestrange. At that instant, Harry hardened his heart against her and the girl she had pretended to be, Quinn. Bellatrix had made her choices, just as he had made his choice tonight; even with all of the pain and loss he had suffered, he hadn't gone astray, hadn't joined Voldemort or run away from what was right. The same options had been open to her. And as for caring about him, well, she had manipulated him with a calculated deception to make him fall for an illusion, and would have used that love to dissuade him from protecting the people he cared about. His pity for her would always be tempered with the knowledge that she had chosen her path, and that path made her his enemy as much as Voldemort.

The office was bright now. Daylight had dawned fully. For the first time, Harry realized how exhausted he was, in body and spirit. Sensing that, Dumbledore said quickly, "Just a few more things, Harry, before you go to sleep."

Right. The Dursleys. No more time to pretend it didn't really happen, that they're really alive…

"I've spoken to Cornelius Fudge, and he has taken care of things with the Muggle Prime Minister. Your aunt and uncle's deaths will be ruled accidental, the result of a gas leak in their home. Your uncle's estate reverts automatically to his sister Marge, since his son is also deceased. As far as the Muggle authorities are concerned, you have gone to live with a distant relative, an Albus Dumbledore, in the north."

Harry appreciated Dumbledore's curt explanation. He couldn't think just now about the Dursleys, about the lives that had been snuffed out on his account, about all of the terrible things said between them and the apologies that would, now, never be made. Dumbledore continued, "Your aunt, however, left a sizable sum of money to you, in the event of her death. I've taken the liberty to have it transferred to Gringotts for you."

Cold grief settled into Harry's chest. Aunt Petunia had left money to him? A sizable sum – he wondered what that meant. But it didn't matter, really. His parents had left him more than enough money to get by in the wizard world, and soon he would be old enough to have his own job. Yet the idea that Aunt Petunia had, after all, wanted him to be taken care of, touched him so deeply that he had to fight away tears again.

"Where will I live now?" He was surprised that the question hadn't occurred to him before now.

"Arthur and Molly Weasley have asked that your guardianship be given to them, Harry. Remus has also offered to take you as his ward. In fact," Dumbledore tapped a rather large stack of letters on his desk, "I have here letters from more than a dozen of our oldest, finest wizarding families offering to give you a home until you graduate from Hogwarts. But I thought that decision best left to you, Harry, and it is certainly not one that needs to be made tonight."

Dumbledore rose. Thankful that he could at last go to sleep and forget all of this for a while, Harry stood and shook the headmaster's hand. "Will I be staying here until school starts?"

"Yes. I think the school the safest place for you right now." Dumbledore smiled as he added, "Miss Hermione Granger has requested that she be allowed to stay here with you. Since her parents had no objections, I could think of none."

Harry blushed. Years from now, when his son came to Hogwarts, would Dumbledore tell him the story of how his mother and father fell in love just before their sixth year?

Whoa, my son? Slow down, Potter, you're only sixteen…

But on the heels of that thought came another, much more somber one: Dumbledore won't be here then. He'll never see my children. He's dying. He won't survive this war with Voldemort, it'll take everything he has –

And then it will all be up to me.

Harry hoped his thoughts weren't written on his face. He forced a brave smile at the headmaster as he started out. Halfway down the stairs, Dumbledore's voice brought him back.

He stopped in the doorway. "Yes, Professor?"

A mischievous twinkle appeared in Dumbledore's ice-blue eyes. "I just thought I should remind you, Harry, that the stairway to the girls' dormitory is protected by a charm and turns into a slide if a man steps onto it. But," he added, grinning broadly at Harry's red cheeks, "the boys' dormitory has no such protection, and I don't believe anyone will have reason to disturb you in the night between now and September 1."

He turned back to his desk. "If I may say, Harry," he added over his shoulder, where Harry still stood gaping and blushing, "Hermione Granger is a lovely girl. I think you've made an excellent choice."

Author's Note: I've decided that the story does need one more chapter, so expect it within a week to "wrap things up" – and yes, this one will be all H/H, I promise! But I wanted to clean up all my loose ends with this chapter. Anyway, because some people complained about the non-smuttiness of my story, I've changed the rating to PG-13 (for language and some smut). As for a sequel, well, I can't make promises! But I do have another story in mind once this one is done. Please review!