Harry arrived panting at the stone gargoyles in front of Dumbledore's
office.
"Oi, look 'oo it is," said one of them, gruffly, "Another [I]emergency,[/I] is it?"
"Actually...hff...Yes, it is," Harry said, panting. He'd done quite a bit of running today...
"Sorry," said the other one, "Headmaster's in an important meeting. Not to be disturbed."
"Oh, Fizzing Whizby! Cotton candy! Ice Mice! Whatever it is!"
But Ice Mice had done the trick, and the surly gargoyles were forced to scowl as the stone door opened slowly.
"How d'ye like that? Veritable swinging door, this place."
"Don't know why he bothers with [I]us[/I]!" said the other gargoyle with a surly expression.
Harry took the stone steps two at a time, a stitch starting to form in his side. He heard Snape's oily voice.
"...that is, if you're confident they can [I]restrain[/I] themselves."
He reached the top step.
"Headmaster!"
They all jumped a bit, and wheeled about, but Harry was gratified to see that Snape especially looked frightened. However, that was quickly translated into anger...
"What precisely do you think you're [I]doing[/I], Potter!" Snape bellowed furiously, and it was Harry's turn to jump, "Did it not occur to you that the Headmaster might have [I]private[/I] business of a more pressing nature than...just [I]why[/I] are you here?"
Harry eyes flicked over to Mieva Pamira and Louis Chauve-Souris – he didn't fancy telling them what he'd seen...how could he know they'd be trusted.
"Harry?" Dumbledore said, avoiding his eye, "Please tell us what the matter is."
Harry felt angry at first – he wasn't going to start ignoring him again? Then he remembered that Dumbledore was only being careful to avoid contact with Lord Voldemort.
"Oh yeah," he thought sadly, "I'm dangerous."
He turned his eyes instead to Snape.
"I...I had a bad dream," he said, meaningfully, "And a really bad [I]headache[/I]...and I needed to talk to someone about it."
Mieva Pamira laughed, and Louis looked at him as though he were quite pathetic. Harry felt his face flush, but it was the best code he could think of on short notice. Snape's face, as usual, was impassive. Now, however, thanks to the continued Occlumency, Harry was able to note the subtle cues...the slight strain in the creases of his eyes, the dilation of his pupils...he knew Snape was trying to read his thoughts, sniffing them out for the truth...
"Such a serious young boy!" Mieva said in her deepy, syrupy voice. To Harry's horror, she leaned over, ruffled his hair, and put a finger under his chin, "Did you haff a nightmare?"
"Really, Dumbledore, eet's...[I]charming[/I] zat ze students sink of you somesink like a grandfazzer, but perhaps—"
"If you would be so kind," Dumbledore said politely, "As to excuse us for just a moment?"
There was a slight pause. It was clear that Mieva Pamira was unaccustomed to being ousted by a sixteen year old boy.
"Excuse, please," she said, laughing slightly, "You vere talking to?...the boy, yes?"
"I'm afraid not," Dumbledore said apologetically, "You see, as Headmaster, I have to make the students my first priority. I'm sure this will only take a few moments, and then I will be able to devote my undivided attention to you," he concluded warmly.
A lot of the beauty had left Mieva Pamira's face, and she was scowling rather viciously.
"In the interim, perhaps I can arrange for some warm beverages to be brought up from the kitchens?" he asked, slyly.
"I don't think a cup of tea is going to do the trick," Harry thought, glancing at Mieva's murderous expression. But already she seemed to be thinking it over.
"Vary well," she said with a slight sneer, "Ve will be vaitink."
They left the office, and walked down the stone steps. Dumbledore waited until the stone door ground to a close.
"Thank you for coming here so quickly, Harry," Dumbledore said, still avoiding his eye, "Now when did your scar hurt?"
"This afternoon," Harry said, gratitude filling his chest. As implacably, irritatingly calm as he could sometimes be, Harry never needed to waste unnecessary explanations on Professor Dumbledore.
"I was in meditation with Trelawney. Err, Professor Trelawney."
Snape's eyebrows raised slightly. Harry felt a bit guilty – ought he to have mentioned that?
"And...err...well, I fell asleep."
Snape smirked slightly, and looked away.
"Understandable," Dumbledore said, "And your scar began to hurt?"
Harry paused. "No...actually, no, it wasn't hurting yet."
Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, and interlaced his long fingers under his chin, looking at a point on the floor about a foot to Harry's left.
"And what did you see?"
"Well," Harry began, "I was walking down a corridor at Hogwarts...when I heard Ron-"
"Professor Snape," Dumbledore interrupted in a friendly voice, "I wonder if perhaps you will attend to those hot beverages?"
Snape scowled, "I don't think...what I have to offer them, will not suffice. They will be offended."
"It will have to do," Dumbledore said, "Perhaps the kitchens might have more?"
Snape wrinkled his nose uncomfortably.
"Where have I seen that expression before?" Harry thought, "He looks almost...squeamish."
"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said, and there was the slightest note of finality in his voice. Snape scowled, walked over to a portrait of a tall wizard with one arm on a bookshelf, pushed it so it swung open, and closed it behind him.
"I'm sorry to interrupt, Harry. Do continue."
Harry told Dumbledore all about Ron being tortured, how Bellatrix planned to kill him. How his scar had suddenly hurt, and how he'd found himself at the Department of Mysteries again.
"Most of the time," Harry said, hesitantly, "I've just...I've just been having regular nightmares about it. About...the Department of Mysteries."
Dumbledore lowered his head slightly. Harry felt his face go red.
"But this time," he added hurriedly, "My scar hurt, and it was different...I heard...Lord Voldemort. He told me...he could bring back my parents. And Sirius."
He hadn't said his name in a while, and it still caused a lump in his throat. He felt foolish standing in front of the Headmaster like this. Maybe he was just a 'serious' little boy having nightmares. Surely the Headmaster didn't want to be bothered by this nonsense...and neither did his friends, for that matter.
"Well, Harry, there are several possibilities as I see it," Dumbledore said slowly, "One, the most obvious, is that Lord Voldemort is still trying to carry out a campaign of mental subterfuge, luring you into a trap with this promise. I can assure you, however, that there is no magic spell known to man that can bring people back from the dead. And if there was," Dumbledore said, leaning in and smiling warmly at Harry's ear, "I don't think your parents, or Sirius would want you using it."
Harry nodded mutely, but something tightened in his chest.
"How do you know what they'd want? How do [I]I[/I] know, for that matter, since they all got taken away from me?"
"The other possibility," Dumbledore continued, "Is that you are simply having nightmares. And Harry, no one...no one would begrudge you that right. Whatever anyone else thinks, you know in your heart that you are brave. The Sorting Hat knew, and everyone in the Order knows. You have faced true horrors these past few years, and to have nightmares about them seems a very logical thing to do, in my opinion."
"Right," Harry said, anxious to shift the topic of conversation, "Is there another possibility?"
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, and stroked his long beard.
"Perhaps...perhaps your lessons with Trelawney have not been entirely in vain," he said, bemusedly, "Perhaps, Harry, limited though it may be, you are able to use the Sight."
"Me? A Seer?" Harry said abruptly, "I'm awful at Divination. Besides, I don't do the...the scary voice thing that Trelawney does."
"No, I didn't say you were a Seer, Harry," Dumbledore said, "Using the Sight is obviously not one of your fortes, if you'll pardon my saying so. But many wizards possess some limited ability to see into the future. It is rare that they are able to control this ability, or to make any use of it at all. Even once they do, the little glances they receive are mere potentialities, and often laden with symbolism and double-meanings. For a sixteen year old wizard to be able to correctly interpret the little glances he receives...well. We all know you are a talented wizard, Harry," Dumbledore said with an indulgent smile at his right ear, "But I don't think we need to worry about you becoming a Seer overnight."
Harry squirmed uncomfortably. He hoped that nothing he'd seen the other night was a glimpse of the future...However distorted it might be.
But Dumbledore was smiling at him.
"A man can always change his future, Harry. And besides, we really have no evidence that your first vision was anything more than a nightmare."
Harry frowned. He hadn't been expecting the Headmaster to take this so lightly.
"Well...what can we do about it," Harry added slowly, "Just in case?"
"Well, Harry, perhaps you're the best person to answer that," Dumbledore said, leaning back in his chair again.
"Me?" Harry asked, his jaw dropping, "But...you're...you! You're...Dumbledore! Surely, you know what—"
But he trailed off at the sad look on Dumbledore's face.
"Harry, both as Headmaster, as Head of the Order, and as someone who cares about you, it has been my goal for six years now to keep you and your friends safe...and I fear, that I have not done a very good job of it."
"Of course you have," Harry said, feeling guilty.
"No," Dumbledore said, shaking his head, "I have done the best I can, but it is not nearly good enough, Harry. You've been put into mortal peril more times than I can count on one hand, and that is far too many times for a sixteen year old boy. However, I seem to have run out of ideas. You are at Hogwarts, where I, and the other members of the Order can keep an eye out for you and your friends...the castle itself is under inumerable spells of protection...You have an excellent Defense teacher this year, and I assume you are continuing the D.A...I could send you home, of course," he said, his brow knitting painfully as he looked up at one of the portraits.
Harry felt his stomach sink. He wanted to shout, to beg, but he knew that Dumbledore was only trying to protect him. Was that really the only place he was safe?
"But that would leave your friends without their strongest defender," Dumbledore concluded, "I could tell you not to play Quidditch, or visit Hogsmeade, of course, but again, I think it is safest if you and your friends stay as close together as possible," Dumbledore said, "It is that, after all, more than anything I've done, which has kept you safe."
There was an irritated pounding on the stone door below. Harry thought he heard the gargoyles' argumentative voices echoing up the corridor. The portrait of the tall wizard suddenly swung open, and Snape entered, carrying a carafe of thick red wine and two glasses.
"Perhaps he oughtn't be here any longer," Snape said pointedly, jutting his chin aggressively at Harry.
"Yes, Harry, I'm afraid I must return to Mieva Pamira and her friend, or risk offending them. And I can't afford to do that at this point," Dumbledore said, distractedly. Harry felt a surge of sympathy for Dumbledore...however much Harry thought he had on his plate, Dumbledore [I]always[/I] had about ten times more.
"I'm sorry, Professor," Harry said, "I just thought you should know."
"You did well, Harry," Dumbledore said reassuring to Harry's hair, "You ought to go back to the party – remember, stay as close to them as you can."
Harry nodded, and walked down the stone staircase. Halfway down, he was met by Mieva Pamira and Louis Chauve-Souris hiking ill-temperedly up to the Headmaster's office.
"Ahh..." Mieva Pamira said, smirking at him, "Feelink any better?"
Harry nodded mutely, trying unobtrusively to get as far away from her as he could.
"Goooood," she crooned, "Run along now...and no more nightmares..."
For once, Harry was only too happy to comply. Something about Mieva and her friend made him feel something creepy was crawling up his back.
Shuddering, he took one or two running steps, and felt the stitch in his side return.
"Right," he thought, "That's quite enough running for one day."
He walked as briskly as he could back to the Great Hall.
"Oi, look 'oo it is," said one of them, gruffly, "Another [I]emergency,[/I] is it?"
"Actually...hff...Yes, it is," Harry said, panting. He'd done quite a bit of running today...
"Sorry," said the other one, "Headmaster's in an important meeting. Not to be disturbed."
"Oh, Fizzing Whizby! Cotton candy! Ice Mice! Whatever it is!"
But Ice Mice had done the trick, and the surly gargoyles were forced to scowl as the stone door opened slowly.
"How d'ye like that? Veritable swinging door, this place."
"Don't know why he bothers with [I]us[/I]!" said the other gargoyle with a surly expression.
Harry took the stone steps two at a time, a stitch starting to form in his side. He heard Snape's oily voice.
"...that is, if you're confident they can [I]restrain[/I] themselves."
He reached the top step.
"Headmaster!"
They all jumped a bit, and wheeled about, but Harry was gratified to see that Snape especially looked frightened. However, that was quickly translated into anger...
"What precisely do you think you're [I]doing[/I], Potter!" Snape bellowed furiously, and it was Harry's turn to jump, "Did it not occur to you that the Headmaster might have [I]private[/I] business of a more pressing nature than...just [I]why[/I] are you here?"
Harry eyes flicked over to Mieva Pamira and Louis Chauve-Souris – he didn't fancy telling them what he'd seen...how could he know they'd be trusted.
"Harry?" Dumbledore said, avoiding his eye, "Please tell us what the matter is."
Harry felt angry at first – he wasn't going to start ignoring him again? Then he remembered that Dumbledore was only being careful to avoid contact with Lord Voldemort.
"Oh yeah," he thought sadly, "I'm dangerous."
He turned his eyes instead to Snape.
"I...I had a bad dream," he said, meaningfully, "And a really bad [I]headache[/I]...and I needed to talk to someone about it."
Mieva Pamira laughed, and Louis looked at him as though he were quite pathetic. Harry felt his face flush, but it was the best code he could think of on short notice. Snape's face, as usual, was impassive. Now, however, thanks to the continued Occlumency, Harry was able to note the subtle cues...the slight strain in the creases of his eyes, the dilation of his pupils...he knew Snape was trying to read his thoughts, sniffing them out for the truth...
"Such a serious young boy!" Mieva said in her deepy, syrupy voice. To Harry's horror, she leaned over, ruffled his hair, and put a finger under his chin, "Did you haff a nightmare?"
"Really, Dumbledore, eet's...[I]charming[/I] zat ze students sink of you somesink like a grandfazzer, but perhaps—"
"If you would be so kind," Dumbledore said politely, "As to excuse us for just a moment?"
There was a slight pause. It was clear that Mieva Pamira was unaccustomed to being ousted by a sixteen year old boy.
"Excuse, please," she said, laughing slightly, "You vere talking to?...the boy, yes?"
"I'm afraid not," Dumbledore said apologetically, "You see, as Headmaster, I have to make the students my first priority. I'm sure this will only take a few moments, and then I will be able to devote my undivided attention to you," he concluded warmly.
A lot of the beauty had left Mieva Pamira's face, and she was scowling rather viciously.
"In the interim, perhaps I can arrange for some warm beverages to be brought up from the kitchens?" he asked, slyly.
"I don't think a cup of tea is going to do the trick," Harry thought, glancing at Mieva's murderous expression. But already she seemed to be thinking it over.
"Vary well," she said with a slight sneer, "Ve will be vaitink."
They left the office, and walked down the stone steps. Dumbledore waited until the stone door ground to a close.
"Thank you for coming here so quickly, Harry," Dumbledore said, still avoiding his eye, "Now when did your scar hurt?"
"This afternoon," Harry said, gratitude filling his chest. As implacably, irritatingly calm as he could sometimes be, Harry never needed to waste unnecessary explanations on Professor Dumbledore.
"I was in meditation with Trelawney. Err, Professor Trelawney."
Snape's eyebrows raised slightly. Harry felt a bit guilty – ought he to have mentioned that?
"And...err...well, I fell asleep."
Snape smirked slightly, and looked away.
"Understandable," Dumbledore said, "And your scar began to hurt?"
Harry paused. "No...actually, no, it wasn't hurting yet."
Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, and interlaced his long fingers under his chin, looking at a point on the floor about a foot to Harry's left.
"And what did you see?"
"Well," Harry began, "I was walking down a corridor at Hogwarts...when I heard Ron-"
"Professor Snape," Dumbledore interrupted in a friendly voice, "I wonder if perhaps you will attend to those hot beverages?"
Snape scowled, "I don't think...what I have to offer them, will not suffice. They will be offended."
"It will have to do," Dumbledore said, "Perhaps the kitchens might have more?"
Snape wrinkled his nose uncomfortably.
"Where have I seen that expression before?" Harry thought, "He looks almost...squeamish."
"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said, and there was the slightest note of finality in his voice. Snape scowled, walked over to a portrait of a tall wizard with one arm on a bookshelf, pushed it so it swung open, and closed it behind him.
"I'm sorry to interrupt, Harry. Do continue."
Harry told Dumbledore all about Ron being tortured, how Bellatrix planned to kill him. How his scar had suddenly hurt, and how he'd found himself at the Department of Mysteries again.
"Most of the time," Harry said, hesitantly, "I've just...I've just been having regular nightmares about it. About...the Department of Mysteries."
Dumbledore lowered his head slightly. Harry felt his face go red.
"But this time," he added hurriedly, "My scar hurt, and it was different...I heard...Lord Voldemort. He told me...he could bring back my parents. And Sirius."
He hadn't said his name in a while, and it still caused a lump in his throat. He felt foolish standing in front of the Headmaster like this. Maybe he was just a 'serious' little boy having nightmares. Surely the Headmaster didn't want to be bothered by this nonsense...and neither did his friends, for that matter.
"Well, Harry, there are several possibilities as I see it," Dumbledore said slowly, "One, the most obvious, is that Lord Voldemort is still trying to carry out a campaign of mental subterfuge, luring you into a trap with this promise. I can assure you, however, that there is no magic spell known to man that can bring people back from the dead. And if there was," Dumbledore said, leaning in and smiling warmly at Harry's ear, "I don't think your parents, or Sirius would want you using it."
Harry nodded mutely, but something tightened in his chest.
"How do you know what they'd want? How do [I]I[/I] know, for that matter, since they all got taken away from me?"
"The other possibility," Dumbledore continued, "Is that you are simply having nightmares. And Harry, no one...no one would begrudge you that right. Whatever anyone else thinks, you know in your heart that you are brave. The Sorting Hat knew, and everyone in the Order knows. You have faced true horrors these past few years, and to have nightmares about them seems a very logical thing to do, in my opinion."
"Right," Harry said, anxious to shift the topic of conversation, "Is there another possibility?"
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, and stroked his long beard.
"Perhaps...perhaps your lessons with Trelawney have not been entirely in vain," he said, bemusedly, "Perhaps, Harry, limited though it may be, you are able to use the Sight."
"Me? A Seer?" Harry said abruptly, "I'm awful at Divination. Besides, I don't do the...the scary voice thing that Trelawney does."
"No, I didn't say you were a Seer, Harry," Dumbledore said, "Using the Sight is obviously not one of your fortes, if you'll pardon my saying so. But many wizards possess some limited ability to see into the future. It is rare that they are able to control this ability, or to make any use of it at all. Even once they do, the little glances they receive are mere potentialities, and often laden with symbolism and double-meanings. For a sixteen year old wizard to be able to correctly interpret the little glances he receives...well. We all know you are a talented wizard, Harry," Dumbledore said with an indulgent smile at his right ear, "But I don't think we need to worry about you becoming a Seer overnight."
Harry squirmed uncomfortably. He hoped that nothing he'd seen the other night was a glimpse of the future...However distorted it might be.
But Dumbledore was smiling at him.
"A man can always change his future, Harry. And besides, we really have no evidence that your first vision was anything more than a nightmare."
Harry frowned. He hadn't been expecting the Headmaster to take this so lightly.
"Well...what can we do about it," Harry added slowly, "Just in case?"
"Well, Harry, perhaps you're the best person to answer that," Dumbledore said, leaning back in his chair again.
"Me?" Harry asked, his jaw dropping, "But...you're...you! You're...Dumbledore! Surely, you know what—"
But he trailed off at the sad look on Dumbledore's face.
"Harry, both as Headmaster, as Head of the Order, and as someone who cares about you, it has been my goal for six years now to keep you and your friends safe...and I fear, that I have not done a very good job of it."
"Of course you have," Harry said, feeling guilty.
"No," Dumbledore said, shaking his head, "I have done the best I can, but it is not nearly good enough, Harry. You've been put into mortal peril more times than I can count on one hand, and that is far too many times for a sixteen year old boy. However, I seem to have run out of ideas. You are at Hogwarts, where I, and the other members of the Order can keep an eye out for you and your friends...the castle itself is under inumerable spells of protection...You have an excellent Defense teacher this year, and I assume you are continuing the D.A...I could send you home, of course," he said, his brow knitting painfully as he looked up at one of the portraits.
Harry felt his stomach sink. He wanted to shout, to beg, but he knew that Dumbledore was only trying to protect him. Was that really the only place he was safe?
"But that would leave your friends without their strongest defender," Dumbledore concluded, "I could tell you not to play Quidditch, or visit Hogsmeade, of course, but again, I think it is safest if you and your friends stay as close together as possible," Dumbledore said, "It is that, after all, more than anything I've done, which has kept you safe."
There was an irritated pounding on the stone door below. Harry thought he heard the gargoyles' argumentative voices echoing up the corridor. The portrait of the tall wizard suddenly swung open, and Snape entered, carrying a carafe of thick red wine and two glasses.
"Perhaps he oughtn't be here any longer," Snape said pointedly, jutting his chin aggressively at Harry.
"Yes, Harry, I'm afraid I must return to Mieva Pamira and her friend, or risk offending them. And I can't afford to do that at this point," Dumbledore said, distractedly. Harry felt a surge of sympathy for Dumbledore...however much Harry thought he had on his plate, Dumbledore [I]always[/I] had about ten times more.
"I'm sorry, Professor," Harry said, "I just thought you should know."
"You did well, Harry," Dumbledore said reassuring to Harry's hair, "You ought to go back to the party – remember, stay as close to them as you can."
Harry nodded, and walked down the stone staircase. Halfway down, he was met by Mieva Pamira and Louis Chauve-Souris hiking ill-temperedly up to the Headmaster's office.
"Ahh..." Mieva Pamira said, smirking at him, "Feelink any better?"
Harry nodded mutely, trying unobtrusively to get as far away from her as he could.
"Goooood," she crooned, "Run along now...and no more nightmares..."
For once, Harry was only too happy to comply. Something about Mieva and her friend made him feel something creepy was crawling up his back.
Shuddering, he took one or two running steps, and felt the stitch in his side return.
"Right," he thought, "That's quite enough running for one day."
He walked as briskly as he could back to the Great Hall.
