Chapter 8: The Astute Decisions of Albus Dumbledore
Mouth smiling, but eyes betraying his fear and anxiety for the boy, the Headmaster kneeled by Harry's bedside.
"Harry, if you are all right and are sure you have stopped screaming, I will have Dobby remove the Silencing charm he put on you."
Harry nodded dumbly, and with a snap of his fingers the house elf liberated his master's vocal chords. The Headmaster barely had time to lean out of the way before Harry vomited again onto the floor. Unable to control his emotions any longer, Harry threw himself upon the Headmaster and began to sob unrestrainedly. Unsure of what had caused this reaction, Dumbledore did the only logical thing he could think of. He hugged Harry back, and whispered soothing words into his ear. After several minutes, Harry pulled away, and proceeded to apologize profusely.
"Sir, I'm so sorry. I just- I can't explain. My parents- the Death Chamber, and I- the Deceasengamot- I saw the Heliopaths, and they-"
Harry leaned over and retched again at the recollection of what the Heliopaths had done to Andrawlson's already disfigured body. Albus rested a comforting hand on the boy's back, and vanished the pool of sick once again with a simple 'Evanesco'. Reaching deep into his purple dressing gown, he removed a small vile of potion and handed it to the shaking young man.
"Here, Harry. It's a calming drought. It will ease the pain in your head, help the sickness and enable you to think more clearly."
Gratefully, Harry took the potion and swallowed it in a single gulp. Immediately, he felt the nausea cease and his heart rate slow back to normal.
"Was it another vision, Harry?" asked Dumbledore, handing him his dressing gown. "Is Voldemort planning something?"
The pale teenager shook his head.
"No, sir. My scar doesn't hurt at all. I think it was just a regular dream but I know it wasn't. It was different."
Dumbledore's eyebrows furrowed, causing his forehead to wrinkle more than Harry thought was humanly possible. The boy's mentor turned to the House Elf, and asked him, kindly,
"Dobby, will you please light a fire in the kitchen, and make some tea for Harry and myself?"
"Yes, Master Dumbledore. Dobby is getting it right away," and the elf disappeared with a loud crack.
While Albus was busy conversing with the elf, Harry had turned to his bedside cabinet and removed the Pensieve. Harry was in the middle of extracting the dream from his memory by the time the Headmaster had turned back to him.
"Mr. Potter, is that a Pensieve? Wherever did you get one?"
As Harry removed the memory, he smiled at the elder man. "Amanda's Antiques and Amour in Diagon Alley. Professor Lupin said I should wait until term started again and you would show me how to use it, but I thought it better to learn how sooner than later."
Dumbledore was unable to hide his astonishment. "I must say, that is an accomplishment. I'm quite impressed, Mr. Potter. Now, shall we adjourn to the kitchen?"
Harry shrugged. "Sure, Professor. I'd much rather have you see it than to tell you. Words can't really describe it."
Dumbledore looked at him inquisitively.
"I see, Harry. Well, you have your dressing gown? Let us go, then."
The two wizards headed towards the warm kitchen where Dobby was waiting for them. Harry held the door for his Professor, and allowed him to sit first before seating himself. Gesturing to his Pensieve, he said,
"After you, Professor."
Dumbledore furrowed his brow in concentration, and then tumbled head first into the memories of Harry Potter.
Not wanting to have to relive the contents of his dream again, Harry turned away from the Pensieve while his Headmaster was inside. After quite some time, Harry felt a warm hand on his forearm and turned to see that his Headmaster had returned.
Unable to speak, Harry sipped his tea and nibbled on the snicker doodle cookies- his favorite- that Dobby had set before him. Albus sighed, and looked at his student with concern.
"I have never even remotely heard rumors as to what the Ministry was keeping in the Death Chamber."
Harry smiled weakly, "Apparently you've never spoken with Luna Lovegood."
Dumbledore stared into his student's deep green eyes, while his own widened with shock.
"Miss Lovegood knew that Cornelius was keeping Heliopaths in the Ministry of Magic? That, I'm afraid could be rightly classified under the term 'impossible', no matter how much I detest the word."
Harry shook his head as he helped himself to another cookie.
"No, sir. She just was reporting her suspicions. Apparently it was something her father had published in the Rumor section of the "Quibbler". I'm sure she'll be most pleased to hear that she was right."
Dumbledore shook his head, "No, Harry. I don't think we should tell anyone about what you saw this evening."
Harry raised his eyebrows inquisitively, "Why is that, sir?"
"Well, Mr. Potter, because no one knows for sure what lies beyond the veil in the Death Chamber. I doubt even Fudge himself knows the entirety of what goes on in the Department of Mysteries. We cannot even be entirely possible that this dream in itself wasn't… well, just a dream."
Harry could feel his anger rising, "Professor, I know what I saw. This was nothing like the other dreams. It seemed more prophetic than anything else."
"If I'm not mistaken, there has been no other witch or wizard sentenced to the Death Chamber since Mr. Andrawlson, and that was last summer- right after the Dementors attacked you and your cousin in Little Whining."
Harry dropped the cookie he had been nibbling on.
"Last summer? So it DID happen then. Why was he sentenced?"
Dumbledore gazed at the floor, unable to hold eye contact with the young man across the table.
"It is believed that whomever sent the Dementors to attack you was given the idea and the official Summoning form by Andrawlson. In return for the suggestion, said person gave Andrawlson not only the location of the Prophecy's record and how to get there, but also the address of your Aunt and Uncle's residence in Surrey. This is something I was informed of only recently."
Harry gasped, "Then why didn't Voldemort just come and get me himself if he knew where I was?"
"I had you too well protected."
Harry snorted, "Oh, and a fat lot of good that did, seeing as the Dementors still got a hold of me."
"Harry, please, try to understand—"
"Understand, WHAT!" Harry yelled, on the brink of losing not only his temper but also his self-control.
"Fudge sent Andrawlson to the Death Chamber and yet he still let Delores Umbridge go free? That's BULL SHIT, Professor, and you know it."
Dumbledore just stared unbelievingly at the rage Harry was exhibiting in the kitchen. Too shocked by the names the boy had dropped into the air, Albus could hardly chastise him for his use of profanity.
"Harry, what do you mean by 'let Delores Umbridge go free'?"
There was a fire behind the boy's eyes as he turned to stare down his Headmaster. His hair cackled with magical energy, and ruby sparks shot from each of his fingertips.
"I mean, that last year Umbridge admitted to me that SHE was the one that sent the Dementors to attack me. She admitted it right before she was going to use the Cruciatus Curse on me to get me to tell her where Sirius was hiding."
Albus Dumbledore stood up, knocking over his chair in a towering rage. Eyes flashing, he turned to Harry,
"Harry, can you prove that?" he asked, a hint of what almost seemed like desperation in his voice.
"Professor, I would gladly take Veritaserum to get that old hag thrown out of the Ministry. I'm sure Hermione would, too. She was there, and so was Ron, Neville, Ginny, Luna and a bunch of other Slytherin trolls."
Dumbledore's eyes gleamed with a manic glitter,
"By Merlin, I think we might just have her."
He sat down, and Harry (now calm) returned to the table. Albus removed his nightcap and began ironing his forehead with his hands. Harry gazed at the old man, as if for the first time seeing how old he really was. Timidly, Harry spoke up after several minutes.
"Um, Professor?"
"Yes, Harry?"
"Is that why you came and got me from the Dursley's so soon this summer? Because you were afraid of something happening again?"
Dumbledore sighed, raised his head and smoothed back his flowing white hair.
"Harry, I'd like you to look at me. Look at me, and tell me what you see."
Harry simply stared; jaw gaping, unable to think of any reason for what he deemed a completely random, off-topic request.
"Sorry?"
The elderly wizard sighed once more, and repeated his query.
"Harry, look at me. Tell me what you see."
Harry stuttered, and thought. After a few minutes, he voiced the only thing he could think of.
"Um, well, Professor Dumbledore, I see you. Just you. I mean you're old, but I can see that you look at lot older than when I first got to Hogwarts."
Dumbledore shook his head, "No, Harry. Tell me what you SEE. Look harder."
Harry stood up, and began to circle the Headmaster's chair.
"Well, I see you aren't wearing any shoes- you're barefoot. I like walking barefoot, too. Um… I see that your dressing gown is lined with wool. You mentioned something about never having enough wool socks to me once, in my first year, but I don't understand what this has to do with—"
Dumbledore stood up abruptly, and grabbed Harry by the shoulders, shaking him. Frightened, but unable to move, Harry could only stare into his mentor's eyes.
"Harry! For the love of Merlin, LOOK AT ME. Look at my face. Look at my face, and tell me- please-" the Headmaster's voice cracked, and he fell to his knees in front of the Boy Who Lived. Harry saw his eyes brimming with tears.
"Please, Harry," he continued. "Tell me what you see."
Harry stared; willing himself to see what Albus wanted him to. Thinking back to the Sphinx, her riddle in the Triwizard Tournament and how he had solved it then, Harry began to mutter aloud to himself.
"Well, sir, um… You're wearing glasses- I wear glasses. You have, um, blue eyes? Um, you're really wrinkly, so it's hard to really see anyth- oh, God, I'm sorry, Sir! I didn't mean that, it just slipped out!"
Dumbledore smiled, and urged him on. "No, my boy- you're right, keep going!"
Harry furrowed his eyebrows in a last ditch attempt at concentration, and then suddenly, he saw it. Gasping, he pulled away from the Headmaster's grip on his shoulders.
"Oh, Professor! How did you? Oh God! It's there- right on your forehead- I can see it!"
Dumbledore slowly rose to his feet, and sat down once again at the table.
"Yes, Harry. A scar. It's there. The same as yours, plain as day- well, maybe not plain as day, like you said yourself I am quite wrinkly, but it's there all the same."
Unable to support him any longer, Harry's legs gave way and he slumped into a chair across from the Headmaster. Lifting an unsteady hand to his forehead, he fingered over the cursed scar that had made him a Legacy before he could even walk.
"Professor, could I?" he cut off, unable to voice what he desired to.
Albus nodded, and lifted Harry's other hand to his own forehead. Gingerly, as though he was afraid of being bitten, Harry traced his fingertips over the Headmasters scar that was identical to his own.
"Professor, does anyone else know about this?"
Albus shook his head 'no', and sighed replacing his nightcap.
"That would explain why you wear Wizard's Hats all the time, wouldn't it?" Harry mused.
Dumbledore smiled, "Yes, Harry, it would. Not even Minerva knows about it. I imagine you would like me to explain how—"
The Headmaster trailed off, his voice never finishing his sentence. Harry paused in thought before opening his mouth to reply.
"I would, Sir, but I think that now may not be the time. You can tell me whenever you're ready. I'll be there to listen."
Albus smiled, and a slight blush crept up his pale cheeks.
"Thank you, Harry. For more than you know. I really am not quite ready at this point in time. But I am glad you are willing to listen when I am."
Harry smiled, "Of course. Just call me. You know I'll be there."
Albus rose to leave, and Harry stifled a yawn.
"Good night, Mr. Potter. I'm sure we will meet again, soon."
"Good night, Professor. Thanks for being here tonight. I feel much better after sharing the dream with you. Don't worry, though. I won't tell anyone else at this point."
"I think that might be a good idea, Harry. Well, good night."
Dumbledore made towards the fireplace where he grabbed a pinch of Floo powder. Before tossing it into the cackling flames, he turned to Harry, who was putting the dishes in the sink.
"Harry?"
"Yes, Professor?"
"Have you told anyone about the Prophecy yet?"
Harry looked down at his bare feet, and shook his head.
"No, Professor. I can't bring myself to put that weight on Ron, Hermione and Ginny. I'd feel awful."
Albus nodded in understanding.
"Well, Harry, the only advice I have to offer is this."
"What's that, Professor?"
"Think of how you would feel if you were in their robes."
"What do you mean, sir?"
"Well, my boy, would you rather find out this way, or at the final battle where you might do something disastrous from a lack of knowing?"
Harry's eyes widened at the thought of one of his best friends attempting to put an end to Voldemort and it backfiring, much like Gilderoy Lockhart's Memory Modifying charm did when he had used Ron's spellotaped wand in the Chamber of Secrets.
He nodded. "I'll remember that, Professor. Thank you."
Albus smiled, and shook his head, "No, Mr. Potter, thank you."
And as he stepped into the emerald green flames, he thought to himself,
"Thank you, for more than you could ever know."
