"Headmaster," Harry said, momentarily forgetting himself, "What are you
doing here?"
"The same thing as you three, I imagine," Dumbledore said with a smile, "Checking on Mr. Longbottom. I believe he's just woken up, actually."
"Wow," Ron breathed to Hermione, "He [I]does[/I] know everything."
"I've been keeping my eye on the situation," Dumbledore said, winking at Harry's shoulder. Harry realized Dumbledore must have been practicing his Leglimency, checking on Neville's condition. He wondered in part, how responsible Dumbledore was for his sudden improvement...
"Headmaster," Harry said, remembering himself, "There's something I have to tell you. I think we may have figured something out about what happened today."
Dumbledore nodded seriously.
"In good time, Harry. Let us first see what Mr. Longbottom has to say, and then you can tell me everything."
They entered the hospital wing to see Madame Pomfrey busily fussing over Neville...but there was something wrong. Neville was lying in bed rather rigidly, shaking slightly.
"NO!" hissed Madame Pomfrey at the trio of students, "Abso[I]lutely[/I] not! He has [I]just now[/I] regained consciousness, and I won't have you three –"
"It's alright, Poppy," Dumbledore said in a warm, quiet voice, "I will ensure that no harm comes to Mr. Longbottom."
Madame Pomfrey blushed and seemed tongue-tied for a moment, and, deferring to the Headmaster, set about viciously folding some hospital sheets, muttering to herself about "highly irregular," and "St. Mungo's would never."
Harry, Ron, and Hermione trailed slightly behind the Headmaster, and kept a respectful distance from Neville's bed. There was definitely something – off about him. He seemed to be looking up and over them, his eyes darting frantically from side to side. Harry noticed his hands were shaking, one of them, a tightly balled fist clutching a Drooble's wrapper.
"Hello, Mr. Longbottom," Dumbledore said, in the same warm, soothing tone, "How are you feeling?"
Neville's shaking seemed to subside slightly, and he turned his eyes to the Headmaster as though he saw him for the first time.
Harry crossed over to Madame Pomfrey, who had finished folding the sheets with military precision, and was now scribbling sternly in her logbook.
"What's wrong with him?" he asked in a whisper.
"He's in shock," she said in a severe whisper, "He needs bed rest and quiet. Visitors are only likely to upset him."
Harry trailed back over to Ron and Hermione, who were still hanging back from Neville's side.
"What did Madame Pomfrey say?" Ron asked, shifting nervously.
"Shock," Harry muttered, guilt settling acidly in his stomach, "Something awful must've happened."
Suddenly Neville seemed to see Harry for the first time. He sat bolt upright in bed.
"Harry!" he shouted, his eyes wild, "He asked! He asked me, and I had to, I couldn't help it...I couldn't..."
"Hush," Dumbledore said quietly, placing a hand behind Neville's head. Neville suddenly slumped backwards slightly, as though he were incredibly tired, and Professor Dumbledore guided him back to bed.
"Just a simple calming spell," he said quietly, at the horrified look on their faces, "He's been through quite a bit today."
"Mr. Longbottom," he asked in the same soothing voice, "Can you tell us who asked you these questions?"
"Malfoy," Neville said, fretfully pulling his blankets closer to his chin, as though he were half-asleep, "Draco Malfoy. Stupefied..."
Harry felt his blood boil. He knew it. He knew he'd had something to do with this.
"And what happened next?"
Neville's brow furrowed, and he began to shake again, slightly.
"Woke up...dark. And..." he began to pant slightly, going rigid again, "Please...Please, no..."
"Thank you, Mr. Longbottom," Dumbledore said soothingly. Harry saw his face was drawn with sadness. "Perhaps you ought to rest a bit longer."
He brushed Neville's hair out of his face, muttering something under his breath, and Neville instantly fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.
Ron yawned to Harry's left, and Hermione elbowed him sharply in the side.
"Ow!...sorry."
"Quite alright, Mr. Weasley – the Morpheus spell is a personal favorite of Molly's. And sometimes I don't know my own strength," Dumbledore whispered, "Now, Harry, what is it you wanted to tell me?"
"It's Malfoy," Harry said, talking rapidly, "I knew it. The password – he was Disillusioned – it was weeks ago. I was by the portrait hole, and Arthur Aaronson told me the password, and I thought I heard something behind me–"
But the door to the hospital wing flew open with a bang, and Argus Filch came lurching in, clutching Draco Malfoy's ear in his gnarled fingers.
"Headmaster," he said with a slight nod, "They told me you'd be here."
"What can I do for you, Argus?" Professor Dumbledore asked. But Harry only saw one thing.
"You..." Harry muttered under his breath. Draco looked up, surprised.
Harry was already on his feet, his wand out. Everything around him seemed to fade to black – the only thing he could see was Draco's drawn face, his white-blonde hair, that disgusting smirk...
"Murderer," Harry thought viciously.
Argus Filch actually let go of Draco Malfoy's ear, and stepped back a few paces, fear written on his face. Harry pointed his wand at Draco's forehead.
"TALK!"
"What? How dare you," Draco huffed, though his sneer was fading quickly, "Who do you think –"
"Harry," cautioned the Headmaster, "I think—"
Harry whipped his arm over to a nearby column, where a large chunk of rock exploded off of it. Gray dust filled the air, and bits of gravel clattered to the stone floor.
He turned his wand back to Draco Malfoy's head, the blood rushing in his ears.
"[I]TALK![/I]"
"What? What do you want me to say?" Draco asked, frantically, "Headmaster, you can't allow –"
"[I]TALK, DAMNIT![/I]"
Draco Malfoy went flying backwards, and landed with a scrape and a tear on the hard granite. Harry advanced upon him, his wand stretched before him.
Hermione, Neville – it was his fault, all of it. He was the reason they'd been put in danger, along with the Dursleys and himself, for that matter. His fault. Everything.
"[I]TALK!![/I]" Harry bellowed, "[I]OR I SWEAR—[/I]"
"Alright!" Malfoy shouted, frantically scrabbling to get up, "Alright! Whatever you want to know, whatever it was, I did it, just put your wand down!"
"[I]Harry![/I]" shrieked Hermione, "[I]Your wand![/I]"
Harry looked at the end of his wand, and to his own horror, saw that the end was glowing a faint green.
He dropped it as though it were scalding hot, and quickly backed way from Draco Malfoy, who was gaping at him in terror, scrabbling against the wall with his hand up to defend his face.
Harry stumbled backwards and felt his legs connect with a hospital bed. They gave way underneath him, as he sank to the white cotton sheets. He stared mutely at his wand hand – he couldn't have seen what he thought he'd seen...no...it must have been some other spell. But what other spell caused a green light?
Suddenly, a profound silence filled the air. Harry looked up, wondering if he'd gone deaf, and was stunned to see Draco Malfoy perfectly frozen – drawing his arm up to protect his face – even the sleeve of his robe seemed frozen in the air...
He looked around the room and saw that everyone was frozen perfectly in time, as though someone had literally just pressed "pause" on existence.
There was a creak of a hospital bed to his right, and Harry jerked his head over to see the Headmaster, rising and walking slowly over to him.
"May I sit down?" he asked quietly.
Harry shifted over slightly, and the Headmaster sat on the opposite end of the bed, his back to Harry.
Harry felt his heart pounding. What had he done? He had nearly performed the worst of all the Unforgiveable Curses...he was no better than Voldemort himself...
"Murderer," said the nasty little voice in his head.
His heart seemed to freeze in his chest – he was going to Azkaban.
That had to be it...that had to be why Dumbledore had stopped time, why he was being so patient...he felt sorry for him. The Dementors were probably going to suck out his soul, just like that Death Eater that morning...the Quidditch game suddenly seemed so far away...He saw Sirius in his mind's eye, and his parents, looking at him with shame in their eyes.
He hung his head in his hands, and gasped for air...he couldn't seem to breathe properly. His eyes filled and spilled over...
"What's happening to me?" he thought desperately.
"You see now, Harry," Dumbledore said quietly, "How thin the divide between Good and Evil. How simple it is to make one rash mistake, and how painful it is to live with the consequences. You also see, I hope, how little difference there really is between you and Mr. Malfoy, or between Lord Voldemort and myself, for that matter. But the small differences between us are also the most important."
Harry held his breath, tried to get a hold of himself, but the tears just kept coming. For just a moment, he sincerely wanted to die, to be with his parents, and Sirius. He didn't want his friends to suffer because of him anymore, he didn't want the awful responsibility given to him in the prophecy...he realized he didn't even want to be a wizard anymore – he didn't want that kind of power. He just wanted to be a normal kid, going to school and getting beat up by Dudley. But he knew that was impossible now.
"There are only two kinds of magic in the world, Harry," Dumbledore continued, "Those which bring things into the world, and those which take them away. It is up to each of us to decide what we wish to bring into this world, and what we wish to remove from it. Lord Voldemort, in his quest for power, has brought with him death, fear, and hatred. He has taken away loved ones, destroyed happiness, and converted amity to enmity."
Dumbledore sighed deeply, and thought for a moment before he continued speaking.
"So that you know, Harry," Dumbledore said, "It is doubtful that the spell would have worked, even if you had said it. Despite what you may be thinking right now, you do not have an evil heart. The Sorting Hat saw that you have a strong heart...that you are courageous, and loyal to your friends. That you have a need to help others, and set right things that are wrong. The fact that you were so distraught for your friend," he added, with a nod at Neville, frozen in his bed with a look of utter terror on his face, "is a testament to that fact. It is possible of course, that some of the power we just witnessed is related to the connection between you and Lord Voldemort...but I suppose the real truth is, there's no such thing as a good or evil heart. There are simply evil consequences of hasty or selfish choices. Perhaps knowing this can help you better understand Mr. Malfoy, even if you are never fully able to forgive him."
Harry felt the tightness in his chest decreasing slowly, as he forced himself to breathe, and listen to the Headmaster's words.
"We are lucky, Harry. As wizards, we have been endowed with a tremendous gift in our magical powers. But with that gift comes a terrible price. One rash word, spoken in anger or fear, can never be taken back, nor can the consequences ever be fully repaired. And if you are a wizard, the consequences can be truly heinous...one need only reflect on Peter Pettigrew, for example, to see the truth of this. Yet to live completely divorced from our emotions, to wield power without understanding what it is to be human – well, you need only reflect on Lord Voldemort, in this case, to see that this would be equally destructive. It is our responsibility to control our emotions, to feel them without being ruled by them, and to make our own decisions as to what we put into this world. A true wizard is one who governs the power that dwells within him, not one who is governed by that power."
Harry felt his eyes welling up. He had disappointed them all. His father, his mother, Sirius, the Headmaster...How could Hermione and Ron ever look him in the face again?
"I have Obliviated the previous five seconds from everyone's memory, save yours and mine," Dumbledore said, as though reading his mind (which Harry realized he probably was). "I think this will make it easier for you to return to some semblance of normalcy. I also think," he added tenderly, "That you ought to take a bit of pressure off of yourself for a while."
It was Dumbledore's boundless patience and unconditional acceptance that wounded Harry more than anything else. He didn't deserve it.
"Professor Dumbledore," Harry stammered, "I – I can't ever say...I'm..."
"There is no need to apologize, Harry," Dumbledore said, "After all, you were the one to drop your wand. Once you realized the grievous error ahead of you, you were the one to refuse it. A weaker wizard would have given in to his selfish need for justice, or revenge. Weaker wizards have. And while I am still very worried about you," he added, "I am still very proud of you, as well."
With that, he stood, and walked back over to Neville's hospital bed where he had been sitting.
A sudden thought occurred to Harry.
"Professor Dumbledore – have you...Have you ever...used the Av – the Killing Curse?"
Dumbledore paused in his tracks, but did not turn around. The air seemed very heavy. Harry felt the seconds ticking by, and he couldn't seem to judge how long it was, there was such a profound lack of sound or movement in the room.
When he turned around, he was smiling gently.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, "I've gotten quite deaf in my old age. You'll have to forgive me."
Dumbledore's face was implacable, a serene mask of a Cheshire smile, but Harry could feel, rather than see, something there, something he wasn't being told...a deep, deep sadness.
"Perhaps it is time we return to the present moment," Dumbledore said firmly, with some of his old composure.
Harry took a deep breath, and nodded his understanding. The image of his parent's wedding photo wavered in his mind's eye – his mother smiling, flowers in her red hair. His father's amber eyes, and his deliberately messy black hair...one arm around her waist, and one arm around Sirius, laughing his bark-like laugh...
"I will make them proud of me," Harry vowed silently, "I will make them proud. And I will never, [I]never[/I] disappoint Albus Dumbledore again."
Malfoy's arm suddenly jerked into motion, and he scrambled up to the wall, trying to get away from Harry.
"Harry!" cried Hermione, but she paused, and seemed to forget what she was saying.
"It's alright," Harry said, as calmly as he could, "I'm alright. I'm sorry."
"Mr. Filch?" Dumbledore asked as pleasantly as he could. Harry saw that Filch had backed up nearly to the door, and was eyeing him uncomfortably.
"I wonder if you might tell us why you brought Mr. Malfoy here to see me?"
"The same thing as you three, I imagine," Dumbledore said with a smile, "Checking on Mr. Longbottom. I believe he's just woken up, actually."
"Wow," Ron breathed to Hermione, "He [I]does[/I] know everything."
"I've been keeping my eye on the situation," Dumbledore said, winking at Harry's shoulder. Harry realized Dumbledore must have been practicing his Leglimency, checking on Neville's condition. He wondered in part, how responsible Dumbledore was for his sudden improvement...
"Headmaster," Harry said, remembering himself, "There's something I have to tell you. I think we may have figured something out about what happened today."
Dumbledore nodded seriously.
"In good time, Harry. Let us first see what Mr. Longbottom has to say, and then you can tell me everything."
They entered the hospital wing to see Madame Pomfrey busily fussing over Neville...but there was something wrong. Neville was lying in bed rather rigidly, shaking slightly.
"NO!" hissed Madame Pomfrey at the trio of students, "Abso[I]lutely[/I] not! He has [I]just now[/I] regained consciousness, and I won't have you three –"
"It's alright, Poppy," Dumbledore said in a warm, quiet voice, "I will ensure that no harm comes to Mr. Longbottom."
Madame Pomfrey blushed and seemed tongue-tied for a moment, and, deferring to the Headmaster, set about viciously folding some hospital sheets, muttering to herself about "highly irregular," and "St. Mungo's would never."
Harry, Ron, and Hermione trailed slightly behind the Headmaster, and kept a respectful distance from Neville's bed. There was definitely something – off about him. He seemed to be looking up and over them, his eyes darting frantically from side to side. Harry noticed his hands were shaking, one of them, a tightly balled fist clutching a Drooble's wrapper.
"Hello, Mr. Longbottom," Dumbledore said, in the same warm, soothing tone, "How are you feeling?"
Neville's shaking seemed to subside slightly, and he turned his eyes to the Headmaster as though he saw him for the first time.
Harry crossed over to Madame Pomfrey, who had finished folding the sheets with military precision, and was now scribbling sternly in her logbook.
"What's wrong with him?" he asked in a whisper.
"He's in shock," she said in a severe whisper, "He needs bed rest and quiet. Visitors are only likely to upset him."
Harry trailed back over to Ron and Hermione, who were still hanging back from Neville's side.
"What did Madame Pomfrey say?" Ron asked, shifting nervously.
"Shock," Harry muttered, guilt settling acidly in his stomach, "Something awful must've happened."
Suddenly Neville seemed to see Harry for the first time. He sat bolt upright in bed.
"Harry!" he shouted, his eyes wild, "He asked! He asked me, and I had to, I couldn't help it...I couldn't..."
"Hush," Dumbledore said quietly, placing a hand behind Neville's head. Neville suddenly slumped backwards slightly, as though he were incredibly tired, and Professor Dumbledore guided him back to bed.
"Just a simple calming spell," he said quietly, at the horrified look on their faces, "He's been through quite a bit today."
"Mr. Longbottom," he asked in the same soothing voice, "Can you tell us who asked you these questions?"
"Malfoy," Neville said, fretfully pulling his blankets closer to his chin, as though he were half-asleep, "Draco Malfoy. Stupefied..."
Harry felt his blood boil. He knew it. He knew he'd had something to do with this.
"And what happened next?"
Neville's brow furrowed, and he began to shake again, slightly.
"Woke up...dark. And..." he began to pant slightly, going rigid again, "Please...Please, no..."
"Thank you, Mr. Longbottom," Dumbledore said soothingly. Harry saw his face was drawn with sadness. "Perhaps you ought to rest a bit longer."
He brushed Neville's hair out of his face, muttering something under his breath, and Neville instantly fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.
Ron yawned to Harry's left, and Hermione elbowed him sharply in the side.
"Ow!...sorry."
"Quite alright, Mr. Weasley – the Morpheus spell is a personal favorite of Molly's. And sometimes I don't know my own strength," Dumbledore whispered, "Now, Harry, what is it you wanted to tell me?"
"It's Malfoy," Harry said, talking rapidly, "I knew it. The password – he was Disillusioned – it was weeks ago. I was by the portrait hole, and Arthur Aaronson told me the password, and I thought I heard something behind me–"
But the door to the hospital wing flew open with a bang, and Argus Filch came lurching in, clutching Draco Malfoy's ear in his gnarled fingers.
"Headmaster," he said with a slight nod, "They told me you'd be here."
"What can I do for you, Argus?" Professor Dumbledore asked. But Harry only saw one thing.
"You..." Harry muttered under his breath. Draco looked up, surprised.
Harry was already on his feet, his wand out. Everything around him seemed to fade to black – the only thing he could see was Draco's drawn face, his white-blonde hair, that disgusting smirk...
"Murderer," Harry thought viciously.
Argus Filch actually let go of Draco Malfoy's ear, and stepped back a few paces, fear written on his face. Harry pointed his wand at Draco's forehead.
"TALK!"
"What? How dare you," Draco huffed, though his sneer was fading quickly, "Who do you think –"
"Harry," cautioned the Headmaster, "I think—"
Harry whipped his arm over to a nearby column, where a large chunk of rock exploded off of it. Gray dust filled the air, and bits of gravel clattered to the stone floor.
He turned his wand back to Draco Malfoy's head, the blood rushing in his ears.
"[I]TALK![/I]"
"What? What do you want me to say?" Draco asked, frantically, "Headmaster, you can't allow –"
"[I]TALK, DAMNIT![/I]"
Draco Malfoy went flying backwards, and landed with a scrape and a tear on the hard granite. Harry advanced upon him, his wand stretched before him.
Hermione, Neville – it was his fault, all of it. He was the reason they'd been put in danger, along with the Dursleys and himself, for that matter. His fault. Everything.
"[I]TALK!![/I]" Harry bellowed, "[I]OR I SWEAR—[/I]"
"Alright!" Malfoy shouted, frantically scrabbling to get up, "Alright! Whatever you want to know, whatever it was, I did it, just put your wand down!"
"[I]Harry![/I]" shrieked Hermione, "[I]Your wand![/I]"
Harry looked at the end of his wand, and to his own horror, saw that the end was glowing a faint green.
He dropped it as though it were scalding hot, and quickly backed way from Draco Malfoy, who was gaping at him in terror, scrabbling against the wall with his hand up to defend his face.
Harry stumbled backwards and felt his legs connect with a hospital bed. They gave way underneath him, as he sank to the white cotton sheets. He stared mutely at his wand hand – he couldn't have seen what he thought he'd seen...no...it must have been some other spell. But what other spell caused a green light?
Suddenly, a profound silence filled the air. Harry looked up, wondering if he'd gone deaf, and was stunned to see Draco Malfoy perfectly frozen – drawing his arm up to protect his face – even the sleeve of his robe seemed frozen in the air...
He looked around the room and saw that everyone was frozen perfectly in time, as though someone had literally just pressed "pause" on existence.
There was a creak of a hospital bed to his right, and Harry jerked his head over to see the Headmaster, rising and walking slowly over to him.
"May I sit down?" he asked quietly.
Harry shifted over slightly, and the Headmaster sat on the opposite end of the bed, his back to Harry.
Harry felt his heart pounding. What had he done? He had nearly performed the worst of all the Unforgiveable Curses...he was no better than Voldemort himself...
"Murderer," said the nasty little voice in his head.
His heart seemed to freeze in his chest – he was going to Azkaban.
That had to be it...that had to be why Dumbledore had stopped time, why he was being so patient...he felt sorry for him. The Dementors were probably going to suck out his soul, just like that Death Eater that morning...the Quidditch game suddenly seemed so far away...He saw Sirius in his mind's eye, and his parents, looking at him with shame in their eyes.
He hung his head in his hands, and gasped for air...he couldn't seem to breathe properly. His eyes filled and spilled over...
"What's happening to me?" he thought desperately.
"You see now, Harry," Dumbledore said quietly, "How thin the divide between Good and Evil. How simple it is to make one rash mistake, and how painful it is to live with the consequences. You also see, I hope, how little difference there really is between you and Mr. Malfoy, or between Lord Voldemort and myself, for that matter. But the small differences between us are also the most important."
Harry held his breath, tried to get a hold of himself, but the tears just kept coming. For just a moment, he sincerely wanted to die, to be with his parents, and Sirius. He didn't want his friends to suffer because of him anymore, he didn't want the awful responsibility given to him in the prophecy...he realized he didn't even want to be a wizard anymore – he didn't want that kind of power. He just wanted to be a normal kid, going to school and getting beat up by Dudley. But he knew that was impossible now.
"There are only two kinds of magic in the world, Harry," Dumbledore continued, "Those which bring things into the world, and those which take them away. It is up to each of us to decide what we wish to bring into this world, and what we wish to remove from it. Lord Voldemort, in his quest for power, has brought with him death, fear, and hatred. He has taken away loved ones, destroyed happiness, and converted amity to enmity."
Dumbledore sighed deeply, and thought for a moment before he continued speaking.
"So that you know, Harry," Dumbledore said, "It is doubtful that the spell would have worked, even if you had said it. Despite what you may be thinking right now, you do not have an evil heart. The Sorting Hat saw that you have a strong heart...that you are courageous, and loyal to your friends. That you have a need to help others, and set right things that are wrong. The fact that you were so distraught for your friend," he added, with a nod at Neville, frozen in his bed with a look of utter terror on his face, "is a testament to that fact. It is possible of course, that some of the power we just witnessed is related to the connection between you and Lord Voldemort...but I suppose the real truth is, there's no such thing as a good or evil heart. There are simply evil consequences of hasty or selfish choices. Perhaps knowing this can help you better understand Mr. Malfoy, even if you are never fully able to forgive him."
Harry felt the tightness in his chest decreasing slowly, as he forced himself to breathe, and listen to the Headmaster's words.
"We are lucky, Harry. As wizards, we have been endowed with a tremendous gift in our magical powers. But with that gift comes a terrible price. One rash word, spoken in anger or fear, can never be taken back, nor can the consequences ever be fully repaired. And if you are a wizard, the consequences can be truly heinous...one need only reflect on Peter Pettigrew, for example, to see the truth of this. Yet to live completely divorced from our emotions, to wield power without understanding what it is to be human – well, you need only reflect on Lord Voldemort, in this case, to see that this would be equally destructive. It is our responsibility to control our emotions, to feel them without being ruled by them, and to make our own decisions as to what we put into this world. A true wizard is one who governs the power that dwells within him, not one who is governed by that power."
Harry felt his eyes welling up. He had disappointed them all. His father, his mother, Sirius, the Headmaster...How could Hermione and Ron ever look him in the face again?
"I have Obliviated the previous five seconds from everyone's memory, save yours and mine," Dumbledore said, as though reading his mind (which Harry realized he probably was). "I think this will make it easier for you to return to some semblance of normalcy. I also think," he added tenderly, "That you ought to take a bit of pressure off of yourself for a while."
It was Dumbledore's boundless patience and unconditional acceptance that wounded Harry more than anything else. He didn't deserve it.
"Professor Dumbledore," Harry stammered, "I – I can't ever say...I'm..."
"There is no need to apologize, Harry," Dumbledore said, "After all, you were the one to drop your wand. Once you realized the grievous error ahead of you, you were the one to refuse it. A weaker wizard would have given in to his selfish need for justice, or revenge. Weaker wizards have. And while I am still very worried about you," he added, "I am still very proud of you, as well."
With that, he stood, and walked back over to Neville's hospital bed where he had been sitting.
A sudden thought occurred to Harry.
"Professor Dumbledore – have you...Have you ever...used the Av – the Killing Curse?"
Dumbledore paused in his tracks, but did not turn around. The air seemed very heavy. Harry felt the seconds ticking by, and he couldn't seem to judge how long it was, there was such a profound lack of sound or movement in the room.
When he turned around, he was smiling gently.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, "I've gotten quite deaf in my old age. You'll have to forgive me."
Dumbledore's face was implacable, a serene mask of a Cheshire smile, but Harry could feel, rather than see, something there, something he wasn't being told...a deep, deep sadness.
"Perhaps it is time we return to the present moment," Dumbledore said firmly, with some of his old composure.
Harry took a deep breath, and nodded his understanding. The image of his parent's wedding photo wavered in his mind's eye – his mother smiling, flowers in her red hair. His father's amber eyes, and his deliberately messy black hair...one arm around her waist, and one arm around Sirius, laughing his bark-like laugh...
"I will make them proud of me," Harry vowed silently, "I will make them proud. And I will never, [I]never[/I] disappoint Albus Dumbledore again."
Malfoy's arm suddenly jerked into motion, and he scrambled up to the wall, trying to get away from Harry.
"Harry!" cried Hermione, but she paused, and seemed to forget what she was saying.
"It's alright," Harry said, as calmly as he could, "I'm alright. I'm sorry."
"Mr. Filch?" Dumbledore asked as pleasantly as he could. Harry saw that Filch had backed up nearly to the door, and was eyeing him uncomfortably.
"I wonder if you might tell us why you brought Mr. Malfoy here to see me?"
