A/N: I have changed the title of this to Promises instead of 'Watching.' Though both fit, I am trying to draw a few more readers. It's been hard for me to make eye-catching summaries, so if anyone has a better summary of this story, please tell me. I'd be grateful forever.
I mainly write because I like to write. But reviews are a great encouragement. I'm completely open to suggestions, criticism, or any other comments. I read every review I get (Which isn't hard, considering how few I get) and I will try to respond to them as best I can. I'm still new at this whole Fanfic thing, remember? --Miss Laine
*******************
Title: Making and Keeping a Promise
*******************
Harry has come back again. He is bloodied, starved, beaten, scarred, and only half-conscious. I don't know what to do for him, though I say that I will figure something out. I don't know what they would do if they knew that I, me, did not know what to do.
Remus carries the poor boy to the infirmary. Harry just appeared in the middle of my office, courtesy of Voldemort's special 'connection' to Harry, and Remus was on him in an instant, gathering the broken body up into his trembling arms. It is not so long since the last full moon…
Poppy works on Harry like a machine. Her face is calm and passive. She just nods, indicating Harry's 'favorite' bed, and Remus places his small burden down on the crisp white sheets.
They will not stay white. They will be bloodstained in moments…Poppy never cleans the sheets that Harry's blood has stained. She destroys them with fire, because the stains never really do come clean.
Nor do the stains on my hands. Of course, only I seem to see them, but I know that they are there. I can feel them. Harry would deny their existence. He often tells me that he understands. He forgives me my shortcomings, my failings. My unerring inability to keep him safe. His words to me are full of understanding and forgiveness.
Especially when he first wakes up.
He is waking now, even though Poppy has pushed a sleeping potion down the boy's unresisting throat. There must be other potions in his system…potions that would force him to remain awake through his torture…
His eyes snap open, emerald green. His breathing accelerates. His body tenses. His is in a panic.
The eyes are what I focus on. They dart around, searching across the ceiling. I can see it in his eyes that he is confused. Trying to figure out where he is. "You are home, Harry," Remus says softly.
Harry's eyes stop their frantic searching. His breathing slows a little. Poppy brushes his blood-matted hair out of his face and gently smoothes a cooling lotion onto the gashes on his face. Hopefully, they will not scar…like the thick line on his cheek. That wound was one of the worst Harry has ever returned to us with. It was deep and old and ragged, and even Poppy with all her skill could not heal it completely.
Harry told us that he didn't mind. It would make people stop staring at his forehead. Of course, they did not…
"Home," he croaks.
"Yes, Harry," Remus says softly. "I'm so sorry…"
"Not your fault," Harry whispers, almost too quiet to be heard. "Not your fault."
"But, Harry—" Remus objects, voice broken and weak.
He feels guilty. He is guilty.
Harry will never admit that though.
Remus was distracted. For just a few moments. And in those moments Voldemort chose to react. He was already nestled in Harry's mind that day, watching and waiting for a moment when he could do something. I think he puts his efforts into riding in Harry's mind when he has nothing else he wants to do. When his sadistic nature is demanding relief.
Remus looked away for just a few moments. Two Hufflepuffs were fighting with a Gryffindor in the hall.
Voldemort noticed. He pulled. Harry apparated out of Hogwarts. Gone.
And now Remus is guilty. It was his job to watch Harry when it happened. But he did not see, did not turn in time. Harry couldn't say a word. The pull of Voldemort paralyzes him. He cannot escape it. Only others can free him.
And they have let him down. Over and over and over…
But he will never tell them that. Us that. He believes that they, that we, should not have this responsibility to him. He does not understand why we feel we must protect him so ferociously. He supposes it is because we need him to defeat Voldemort.
But he is wrong. It is because we love him.
**************
He is staring up at the ceiling now. Poppy is working on his chest. His ribs are broken, mangled. There are gashes upon gashes, scars forming over scars. Poppy does what she can for those, but they are mostly from curses. Voldemort's curses. They are difficult to heal.
Harry makes no sound. I know he is in pain. I can see it in his eyes…
And yet he does not whimper or cry out…because this is nothing. Nothing compared to the torture of knowing that he will die. I do not know what to say to that.
***************
A few weeks before, he was in my office, talking to me after he recovered from his most recent 'abduction.' He seemed fine, with a little color actually in his cheeks. He did not look like the dead boy that now lies on the red-stained linens.
He told me very calmly about exactly what happened to him…except he did not mention what the death eaters did to him. Confused? Perhaps I am explaining it wrong: he told me what Voldemort said to his followers, what they said to each other…but he would not tell me what they said to him. Or what he said to them…because I know he speaks out every time. Severus tells me…he tells me what a stupid fool that boy is, what an arrogant prat Potter is.
And yet when he says these things he does not have any malice in his voice. Only a broken sadness…
Harry never acts as if anything happens during his abductions, but his body's condition every time he returns betrays him. The least he can do, he must feel, is not tell us just how much pain he is put through.
But he does not need to tell me that. Severus does that for me…
I am getting off topic…the ramblings of an old man are not important, but I will try to keep them to the point…
Harry is old, older than I. He would probably give me his false laugh if I said as much, but it is true. His eyes…they have seen too much, his heart has carried too much…and he is too familiar with death…
I never know what to say to him. Not any more. Not since Sirius Black was killed, and Harry's connection to Voldemort snapped taut. No skill in Occlumency could save him now. Voldemort tears long claws through any defense Harry puts up with startling ease.
It is painful for Harry when Voldemort does this, when he rakes his long fingers through Harry's mind for answers to his questions. I want to do something so badly at those times…but there is nothing that can be done. We cannot find Voldemort, Harry cannot figure out where he is…Severus cannot even figure it out. It is too well-disguised and warded. The end will come when Voldemort is drawn out…but for now he is content to play with his toy. Harry.
*******************
"I want to go to classes." Harry sits in his hospital bed, pale, weak, thin…but determined. His arms are folded across his chest, and he is frowning slightly.
"Harry, you're still weak," Remus tells him gently. "A few more days."
"I've been in here as long as I was there," Harry grumbles. "I need to get out of here."
"Harry, please," Remus pleads. I step forward.
"Perhaps you should listen to Remus," I suggest. I do not want to see Harry out there, weak, surrounding by fans judging him, enemies plotting his death… More than anything at all, I want to protect him. To shelter him here because I cannot in any other way.
Harry gazes at me. He does not glare when he is angry any more. He does not do more than frown, just a little, and fold his arms. If he does any more, then he is enraged beyond anything imaginable. "I think perhaps I should listen to myself," he says. "I want to go to classes. Like everyone else."
"You're too weak to do much spell-work," I point out as kindly as I can. "A few more days, Harry. Just a few."
"No."
He is still stubborn. I have it on good authority from Severus that Harry has yet to divulge a single word of information to Voldemort during his torture. He cannot stop Voldemort from raking through his mind, but he will not give up a single word willingly. It irks Voldemort, it seems. He does not like to look ineffectual in front of his death eaters. It also makes Harry's torture worse…
"Ron and Hermione have been worried," I say. It is time to be a little less kind. Harry is not ready to return to classes. He is not ready to face so many people…
"Don't use them against me," Harry says softly. I sometimes forget that he almost always sees through my manipulations now. He is much too wise for a sixteen year old boy. "They won't be diverted from their worrying. Whether I am here or in class does not matter to them."
"I—Harry," I say. I feel awkward, having troubling finding the words I need to make him understand how much we fear for him. He would never believe that we love him. He sees himself as our pawn, our willing sacrifice. If only he could understand…
That is the one thing he seems unable to understand, though. For all his early wisdom and his deep understandings of other, more complicated, issues, he still fails to understand just why we worry about him so much. He thinks our concern is based upon something that I doubt any of us still care about. I do not care what any prophecy has said. I care about Harry. We all care about Harry.
A dark-haired boy, thin, weak, dying…alone in the world. I do my best to ease his loneliness, but there is only so much comfort he can find from a century and a half old headmaster. I am too removed from his perspective. I have more than a century of experiences behind me. He has about sixteen years. Sixteen short years…
"You may go to class," I concede. Harry nods. He swings his legs off the bed. There is a long, jagged red scar down his left calf. Poppy has told me that it was probably caused by a blunt dagger or some curse that produces that effect. Agonizingly painful, taking forever to tear through tissue and tendon and muscle…
But Harry stands on the leg, stands firm on both legs, feet underneath him. He seems strong…so strong…
Remus goes to Harry's side as he falters ever so slightly. He does not support Harry's weight—the first time Remus did that Harry very politely told him to back off. If Harry says something as politely as he said that, it means he's angry. Usually at himself. Or Voldemort. Never anyone else…
"I will be in my office, Harry, if you need anything, anything at all," I say weakly. He knows how hard I am working to find a better solution to his unique situation. I know how much it hurts him to be followed all day long by a professor. So far, I have only been able to place enough protection charms on his bed. They are difficult to maintain, must be renewed every day, and are unpredictable at times. I have to share the responsibility of casting them with numerous other Order members in order to avoid killing myself maintaining them…but I would maintain them even at the cost of my life… Though Harry would immediately assume that my death was caused by him…
I have not told him how exhausting and difficult the wards are. That is not important to me. They keep him out of Voldemort's reach when he is asleep. That is what is important. …But I know that Remus still watches him. We are not certain how long these wards will last…Voldemort is determined to continue to have free access to Harry at all times.
***********************
Harry does not know that after he is 'returned,' I watch him. I do not go straight to my office or to breakfast or to wherever I'm needed.
He usually makes it to the Great Hall in time for breakfast. Smiling and waving at his friends, putting a great effort into the small bounce in his step.
They know it is a show as much as I do. For his enemies. For the blonde-haired teen at the Slytherin table, watching with narrowed, angry eyes. For the professors, for his fans. Everyone's mood depends on him. When he is weak, they are restless, frightened. When he smiles and laughs, they rejoice. Because their hero is well, they are not worried.
Yet they make no move to aid him. Instead, he is aided by just a very few. His two friends, his anchors. The other boys of his year try to help as well, but it is hard to get close…
I stay out of sight while he sits with them, pretending to eat and chatting about nonsense. Every now and then his eyes dart around. Every now and then his eyes rest on the blonde teen. Judging the other boy's mood. Harry tells me that young Mr. Malfoy may be close to choosing his path…no one else is willing to take the risk with the teen. Only for Harry is it not too dangerous…
Other times, his eyes rest on Severus, up at the head table. Severus…he is another subject entirely…
Most often though, and most painful for me to see, is the times when Harry's eyes rest on Ms. Weasley. He never lingers for long, his green eyes going over her face frantically for a few moments before moving on. I fear that he is in love with her, or thinks that he might be.
After his short, disastrous, and terrible attempt at a relationship with Ms. Chang of Ravenclaw, Harry has refused all advances. Girls throwing themselves at him should be a good thing at his age…any other boy would feel happy to know they were so desired. But for Harry it is just a count of all the hearts he could break. He distances himself from all of the girls here, even Ms. Weasley, though I know that he wishes he could at least be her friend.
But I know why he does not speak with her in more than a few clipped sentences a week. He does not want to hurt her. He does not want to see her alone and broken…because she does not have someone else if Harry dies. Harry could correct me there. 'When I die,' he would say. He is so certain of that…
He has assured me that Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger will be fine after he is gone…they have each other now, and I see it in how they hold hands at the table, their mutual worry for Harry making their love for each other that much stronger…
No, Harry will never tell Ms. Weasley how he feels. He will never hold her hand or ask her to go with him to Hogsmeade, even if he were allowed. He is too wise…he knows that it would do to her…he is certain that it is better for her to never have him, for him to never have her… He loves her so much that he is tearing himself apart for her. She will never know…
And it seems he is right, though it tears him apart to see her with other boys her age, going on dates, laughing with them, kissing them… Though he does not see me, I have seen him, hidden under his invisibility cloak, watching…
He watches her. Not in any sort of evil-intentions manner, but he watches all the same. At meals, he watches her eating, smiling, laughing…things he does not do any more. In the halls, if he sees her he will pause for a brief moment…longing in his eyes, deep, painful longing…
I never watch for long. I could not take it, seeing so much pain and unfair suffering all day…
**************************
In my office I sit at my desk, poring over old volumes, looking for anything that will help. I have already exhausted all resources I have that could find Voldemort. If I could get to him, I would not tell Harry…either I would die or Voldemort would…but I will not let Harry face his death any sooner than can be avoided.
I find nothing in my books, though. Nothing in the books that Severus has stolen for me…nor any of the others that I have 'borrowed' from many establishments.
One spell I have found…Severing the connection would kill Voldemort…
But it would kill Harry. I have not told him about this…the complicated ancient spell that I found that would do this.
Because he would demand that we use it before another dies. He would demand that I do it or he would find someone who would. He'd do it himself if I gave him access to the book…
As it is, I keep it locked away and never speak of it…a solution in which Harry dies is not a solution to me. Even Severus would agree to that, after being given a few days to come around…
Severus is much different since the start of last summer, when the abductions began. He is not so sour or bitter…he is depressed instead. I know why…he is the one that tells me what Harry does not. He tells me just what was done at the death eater meetings where Harry is the 'guest of honor.' It is gruesome. What is more gruesome is that Severus is forced to participate.
He tells me that Harry shouts out rather creative insults to Voldemort, even as he writhes in pain…rather odd, spur-of-the moment comments about Voldemort's mother, his sexual preferences, his clothing styles, even his choices in followers. 'I suppose Crabbe and Goyle here are the best you can find…good help is so hard to find…'
Every now and then, I almost find myself laughing at one of the rather vulgar comments that Severus tells me Harry made. 'I know you like to make boys scream, Tom, but I'm afraid snakes don't turn me on.'
Until Severus tells me how Voldemort responds to them…
He says the worst was when Harry made a rather disparaging comment about how ridiculous the title 'Lord Voldemort' sounded. Something along the lines of 'Even a muggle could come up with something more frightening.'
This of course did not sit well with Voldemort. Especially since some death eaters whispered about it in the back of the throng… Severs tells me that that comment earned Harry the scar on his cheek. The one caused by a dark-cursed blade…
I find myself in awe of Harry's resilience when Severus tells me what he knows. I find myself wondering if anyone else could do what he does…mock Voldemort while at his mercy…
I suppose I would have, years past…I know I did when I fought Grindewauld…
But I was in my eighties by then, an old, strong, powerful man with decades of knowledge at my disposal. Decades of pains and strife and turmoil to arm myself with.
Perhaps Harry has that too. Just pressed down into a few years…
Certainly, his words to Voldemort are proof enough of his strength. Of course, there is also the fact that, according to Severus, Harry has not cried out once since the first 'abduction.' He never says a single word in pain nor lets a single cry past bloodied lips…
It would almost bother me less if Severus told me Harry screamed and begged and pleaded every time. At least then Harry would be proving that he is still alive. He would be pleading for his life…
But he doesn't. I fear that he is just waiting…waiting for his body to join where his heart and soul already are… He does not protest to the pain…because he is waiting for just one reason, holding on tightly for just one purpose…
He is determined to kill Voldemort. Perhaps not so much to kill him as to stop him…I know Harry, and he is incapable of causing even the least amount of suffering to any living creature…no matter what he thinks…
******************
The letter he sent me the summer after his fifth year, after his godfather had been killed is in my desk, top drawer on the right. I keep it always within reach.
He wrote it two days before the connection snapped tight and Voldemort 'took' him for the first time.
It was the first hint that all was not right with Harry. He begged for my forgiveness for his actions, his rash decisions, his almost-use of the Cruciatus…he sounded so lost, so desperate for forgiveness… It was nothing like the boy I had last seen, destroying my belongings with a wild passion. The teen that had shouted angrily at me for minutes…
Harry had started dying…he tried to fight it with anger but it did not work.
He accepted it instead. With love…
********************
I wish there was something I could do.
But I am doomed to wait.
I am doomed to live on…
Harry has told me, in one of his agonizingly honest moments, that he wants to look down sometime and see that I am still teaching, still guiding generations of students forward.
*******************
"Promise me," he asks. "Promise me something, Albus."
His voice is gentle. Warm, so much like others say I sound…
"Anything, Harry. Anything at all," I tell him. It is all I can do to keep my voice steady. For his sake.
"I don't want to know that this will happen again," he tells me. "When I stop Voldemort, when he is no longer here to torment the world, I don't want to know that in another decade or so another Dark Lord will rise." He smirks weakly. "I guess I'll understand if some demented witch or wizard takes it upon themselves to become Dark, but no more orphans. No more abused children turning to the Dark because they are alone…"
He watches me. "I will do my best, Harry," I promise. "I will watch."
"I will hold you to it, Albus," he warns me. His slightly serious look dissolves into one of pure understanding and acceptance.
When he speaks again, his voice is slightly off, coming from somewhere else entirely. "I will be watching as well."
***********************
Harry does not know that sometimes when I am alone and my office is dark and quiet, I sit in my chair and read his letter. When I should be sleeping but cannot, because of the pair of green eyes that haunt me, that refuse to even consider accusing me, when that is all I want from them…
If there was a spell to exchange my destiny with Harry's, I would do it in an instant. Sixteen years old…when I was sixteen, I was here, at Hogwarts, having fun with friends, tormenting professors, learning incredible tricks and spells with my wand that most had never seen before…
Harry could have had that. He is powerful…he has the skill and the intelligence…but not the time nor the energy…he is dying at sixteen, while I was just beginning to live…
********************
I do what I can. I am there for him when he is returned to us. I am there for him when he is tired and weak and faint, unable to keep up his mask of smiles and strength. I do what I can.
And my promise to him…I can do that. Because he will be watching…
*****************************************
*********************
**
A/N: Depressing enough? I have to admit there is a lump in my throat that I didn't get when I was typing this. Sniff, sniff… Just in case anyone didn't get it, this was Dumbldore's POV. It should've been pretty darn obvious, but that's ok. I don't mean to be a mystery with these. They're just viewpoints after all…
Any feedback to this story is very much appreciated. I'll answer any questions you have, and I do take suggestions into consideration when I write the next parts of this. Each part just seems to come all at once, and I write them in about an hour, one every few days or maybe once a week. If I try to rewrite them for more than grammar errors, they usually don't come out right.
So if you have a suggestion of someone I should include, tell me! And Hermione will be coming up…just give her a little time for her thoughts to congeal into a nice chapter… I would also like to ask that if you liked this even a little, go ahead and read some of my other stories. I don't think they're terrible, and although they have different moods than this, they're still my highest-quality work.
And I live off reviews, so please feed me! --Miss Laine