Lost: Young Man, Answers to Harry
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A faintly greenish glow illuminated the walls of the Slytherin common room, the light coming from large lamps chained to the ceiling. It was empty, except for a lone figure who sat curled on one of the wide white couches, his legs drawn up and his head resting on his knees. His hair was so blonde it was almost white, and his skin was pale as marble. He looked dishevelled, his hair uncombed, robes undone and trousers creased, and if he had had not been hiding his face, an observer might have seen that his eyes were red from weeping.
No one was there to see the boy, however. No one else in Slytherin was up this early on a Sunday, with the possible exception of the potions master, Snape, who was roaming the halls as he was wont to do. The boy had been woken by an huge owl screeching in his ear, a black owl flecked with silver feathers. It was his mother's owl: he had silenced it, taken the parchment tied to its leg, and run up to the common room to read in private.
In his hand was clutched a letter. It was written in his mother's fine, swooping writing, but it seemed to have been written in a hurry: there were blotches of ink which could easily have been erased by a quick spell, and many words had been crossed out rather than been charmed into correcting themselves.
Draco, it began, which was unusual in itself, because his mother tended to address him as 'darling Draco' or 'my beloved Draco' when she wrote to him. She also tended to use very flowery language, with many long complaints and sniffy remarks. But, today, the letter was brief and short.
The Ministry have taken your father only a few minutes ago. They are raiding the house, so I must write quickly before they lock down my means of communication. The trial will be in two days' time, but we have been forbidden from attending. Your father's associates refuse to help us, by 'your father's associates' she meant the Death Eaters and their Dark Lord, so, unless your father chooses to betray his associates to the Ministry, he will be sentenced to Azkaban within the week, and I do not think he will betray them, he fears them more than he fears that prison.
Before they took him Draco, he told me some of their coming plans. Draco, whatever you do, you must stay in the Slytherin Common Room for all of today, Sunday. Your Father's associates will be in the school and if they catch you I fear they will not spare you before other students. Stay in the common room where it is safe, I beg you Draco. This is all your father said to me before they took him.
"Do not despair, my son…"And that was all. Draco sniffed and raised his head, crushing the letter more tightly in his fist. His father, arrested! Why wouldn't the Death Eaters help him? Lucius Malfoy was a devoted follower, a loyal servant of the Dark Lord! He had been so for many years! Surely the Death Eaters could rescue him, break him out…
But they won't, Draco thought savagely, because Father is no good to them as a fugitive. He was only useful because of his connections, his money and his power. Once he has lost those, outcast by the Ministry, he's nothing to them…
Draco bit his lip hard to make the tears go away. Well, if they wouldn't help father, he would have to do it himself. He took the letter in both hands, scanning through it a second time. So, the Death Eaters were planning to enter Hogwarts, today! This much, his father knew. Draco could use that information, if he acted quickly.
Wiping away his tears and moving swiftly now, he pulled out his wand and summoned a quill, ink and parchment. He went over to a stone desk nearby and sat down. He thought for a moment, considering how best to word his new letter. His father had taught him in many forms of etiquette. Should he do his best to sound intimidating, or lofty? No, Draco decided finally, I don't want to threaten them. I don't want to sound too cunning. He decided the best thing to do would be to forget all his formality – make them think he was nothing more than a frightened child, desperate to help.
Dear Minister Moody, he wrote. That sound informal and weak, just as Draco wanted it to, My name is Draco Malfoy and I am a Slytherin at Hogwarts School. I have terrible news. I believe that Death Eaters are planning to attack my school this very afternoon…
Draco continued to pour out his news. He finished the letter with, I overheard this information from two other children, Gregory Goyle and another boy called Crabbe. I don't know them very well, but I think their fathers might be working for you-know-who. I was very frightened, but I know that it would be best to report this, and I can only beg you to help me and the innocent students of Hogwarts. My father always told me the Ministry is are the only people I can trust in this war, and that they will always protect the good wizards of Britain. However, if my information is correct, I ask you not to tell anyone that I was the one who revealed it to you, but instead make sure it is known that Goyle and Crabbe were the ones who let this secret slip. I am afraid that the forces of you-know-who will take revenge on me and my father, who has always been loyal to the Ministry.
Yours truly, Draco Malfoy
Draco put his quill down and lifted the letter up to read through it. Yes, the tone was naïve, stupid even. If the Ministry received it, they would send a task force out to Hogwarts at once, and when they rounded up a number of Death Eaters and saved the school, they would forget about any evidence they had against his father – the Minister himself would surely pardon Lucius Malfoy for his son's tip-off.
Draco paused. But, what if the Death Eaters did find out who had let the Ministry know about their attack? What would they do to him and his father? He knew what they did to traitors and their families…horrible things…
I will not lose Father to Azkaban! Draco thought bitterly. The Minister would understand. Moody would not let the Death Eaters know who had given them the tip-off. Draco's father would be sensible enough to tell his Master that it was gold – not information – that had convinced the Ministry to free him. And everything would be well again.
Draco whistled, and the black owl with its silver speckles fluttered out of the dormitories. The boy tied his letter to the owl's leg, instructing it very carefully to bring it straight to the Minister of Magic himself, and nobody else. Then he took the owl in his arms and carried it out of the common room, heading for the nearest window, and released it into the sky.
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"Oh, stop it, stop it!" Hermione gasped, clutching a stitch in her side and leaning against the wall of the castle for support, still laughing. Ron and Harry, their faces flushed with the exertion of chasing her, sat down against the wall to get their breath back. They were in the entrance hall, but it was still empty. It was a Hogsmeade weekend, and many of the older students would be staying in bed late, sleeping off the effects of a long afternoon at the Three Broomsticks the day before.
"Come on, I'd better get back to the Room of Requirement," Harry said, once he had his breath back, "the teachers will be awake by now."
They headed up the nearest staircase, and suddenly Ron threw out an arm to stop them, his mouth ajar. Hermione and Harry looked at him in confusion, and Ron pointed up to another flight of stairs, two floors above them.
"Dumbledore!" he whispered, as awe-struck as if he had just shaken hands with the captain of the Chudley cannons. Harry and Hermione followed his finger, and Harry recognised the tall figure of the headmaster, his long white beard shining in the morning light. A regal woman in green, whom Harry didn't recognise, was walking beside him.
"He must be back from the Ministry at last," Hermione's face broke into a radiant smile.
"Come on!" Ron grabbed both their hands, "we're going to lose him if we don't hurry!"
The three of them began to run, taking the steps two at a time. They were laughing as they went, already half-exhausted by their mad race around the lake, and now, after two weeks of searching, to finally have found Dumbledore! It was too good to be true.
When he was still a flight above him, the Headmaster and his female companion turned off and went down one of the corridors. The three children reached it mere moments later, and saw the end of Dumbledore's robes disappearing around the corner at the far end. They ran faster, their feet pounding on the stone floor, Ron roaring ahead with his long legs and Hermione yelling motivation from behind.
"Stop right there, Miss Granger! Mr Weasley! And… you! Stop!"
All through children skidded to a halt, and Hermione crashed into Harry, nearly knocking him over. Ron grabbed them both to keep them upright as they spun around to see a dark-haired Professor charging towards them, his black robes billowing like a bat's wings.
"Snape!" Hermione moaned, "oh, he won't let us go until he's sure he can't find a reason to give us detention!"
"What are you doing, running around at this hour?" Snape was hissing like a snake as he approached, seeming glide down the corridor, "and you…" his sharp black gaze pierced Harry, "who are you?"
Ron suddenly grabbed Harry and pushed him in the direction Dumbledore had gone, "go…we'll distract Snape…just go!"
Harry glanced at the two of them, but they both nodded at him, and he turned and fled.
"STOP!" Snape's bellow followed him, "STOP, YOU!"
"Run! RUN!" Hermione and Ron shouted together.
Harry skidded around the corner and all three were lost from sight. The next corridor, lined by golden windows, was empty – but there, at the far end, the door was just closing – Harry put all his strength into racing onwards. He slammed into the door at the far end and crashed through it, bounced off the wall on the other side. There was a dead end to his left, but to his right was another corridor…and there, there was Dumbledore, standing outside a pair of stone Gargoyles, bidding the woman goodbye.
"Professor, wait!" Harry yelled, and he was running again, he was flying down the corridor. The woman and Dumbledore both looked up at the sound of his voice, and Harry slammed to a halt in front of them, nearly falling flat on his face, just managing to catch himself by throwing his arms out.
"Professor," he panted, breathless, but feeling a huge bubble of joy well up in him as he looked at Dumbledore, took in the sparkles of his white beard, the clear blue eyes, and each wise wrinkle in his face, "Professor, you may not remember me, but my name is Harry Potter and I need to speak to you."
Dumbledore did not speak for several long moments. He was looking at Harry as if Harry had just asked him to recite Homer's The Illiad by memory. His face was expressionless, except for the faintest quizzical knot in his brow, his lips parted in the barest amount of bemusement. Harry was not looking at the woman, who was simply staring at Harry.
Finally, Dumbledore closed his mouth and folded his hands in front of him. The faintest smile flickered on his lips, "yes, I remember you, Harry. You do not look as though you have changed that much."
"Er, I suppose not," said Harry, and he realised Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling.
"But I suspect there are more changes below the surface, Harry?" Dumbledore phrased it as a question, but he did not seem to expect an answer. He turned to the woman, who was still looking speechless, "Emmeline, thank you for escorting me home, though I assure you, I did not need it. If you will excuse me, I must talk to Harry. I bid you good-day."
"But, Albus…" Emmeline looked at him, "this boy…"
"Good day, Mrs Vance," Dumbledore said with only a trace of firmness.
Emmeline Vance looked back at Harry, then nodded at Dumbledore, straightened her shoulders and glided away. As she turned, Harry recognised the badge of an auror on her shoulder.
Dumbledore looked at Harry, shaking his head silently, "sherbet lemon," he said quietly.
"Pardon?" said Harry.
But he realised, as the two stone gargoyles on Dumbledore's left sprang aside, that this was the password to get into Dumbledore's office. Dumbledore did not speak, but beckoned for Harry to follow him up a winding staircase, through a heavy oak door, and into the room beyond.
It was a very beautiful room, filled with magnificent portraits of previous headmasters and mistresses, strange golden instruments, shelves of books and curious objects, and other mysterious items. Harry saw a huge red and gold bird, looking rather the worse for wear, perched on a pole at the back, its head tucked under its wing, and realised it was a real phoenix.
"A seat, if you would, Harry," Dumbledore waved his hand and a carved chair slid out from the shadows and positioned itself in front of a wide wooden desk covered in coloured pieces of paper and tiny silver contraptions. Harry lowered himself onto the seat, still gazing around in wonder, and Dumbledore sat down on the other side of the desk.
Dumbledore took a few moments fiddling with one of the silver contraptions. Harry waited, trying very not to jiggle up and down in impatience. He had been waiting for this for two weeks – for a year – for eight years – and now that he was here, ready to ask his questions, he could not longer remember what it was he was supposed to be asking about.
At last, Dumbledore looked up with a small smile, "just making sure we are not overheard," he said, indicating the contraption had been adjusting, "now, Harry, I imagine you have something to ask me?"
"Yes," said Harry breathlessly. Where did he begin? "Yes, everything."
Dumbledore entwined his long, thin fingers together and waited.
"Well," Harry licked his lips, "well, I want to know what my scar means. The one I got when you-know-who killed my parents."
"Voldemort, Harry," said Dumbledore, and Harry flinched at little at the use of the name, "let us not veil him in fear."
"Alright," said Harry, "when V-voldermort killed my parents. But I also want to know why Sirius keeps me a secret. And I want to know why Neville Longbottom has the same scar as me. But suppose – it's all one question, really, isn't it? Everything's linked together."
"It is," nodded Dumbledore, and leant back a little into his chair, "and in that case, you have put it upon me to begin the tale. So where do I begin? I suppose," he mused, "we begin where the two of us left off – in St Mungo's Hospital, where I saw you last. I told your godfather something that day, which motivated him to flee with you within the hour, and keep you hidden from me for seven years."
"Eight years," Harry corrected automatically.
"Seven years," Dumbledore replied firmly, "so, Sirius has never told you what it was I told him? You have never known why your godfather has kept you hidden all these years, raised you in secret?"
"He told me it was because I was a werewolf," Harry said softly, "but after a while, I realised that couldn't be true. But he wouldn't tell me anything else. But this is to do with my scar?"
"In a way," said Dumbledore, "that scar is a mark, nothing more, Harry. As I see it, it is far more meaningless than Neville Longbottom's scar – for his is the scar that you should have borne Harry. He is living the life that you, perhaps, in another world, should have lived. But, I am distracting myself," he waved his hand at the air, "we were talking about St Mungo's, and your godfather's reckless escape. I asked him to do something that day, Harry, which nobody should ever have asked of him. Something he would never do. And how I regret my rashness, now. I misjudged Sirius: I misjudged his love for you. And because of my foolishness, you have suffered, you have lived in hiding, in ignorance," Dumbledore paused, his eyes drifting to one of the silver instruments on his desk.
"Professor?" Harry asked tremulously, "are you going to tell me what it was you asked him to do?"
"Yes, Harry," Dumbledore said slowly, "I asked your godfather to kill you."
A great silence followed this. Harry swore he could hear the phoenix snoring from across the room. He frowned, looking at Dumbledore's long fingers, than raised his head to meet the headmaster's gaze, "why?" was the only word he could speak.
"Because you were sick, and mutilated," Dumbledore said heavily, "because you were surviving by the barest thread of strength. Because I foresaw, for you, a life that would be filled with pain, fear, and swift or slow death at an early age. Because I wanted to spare you that – I wanted to spare Sirius that. Because, as I said, I underestimated his devotion to you and the power he had to protect you. And because, Harry, twelve of my students were dead on your behalf and in that moment, I wanted, more than anything, to hurt Voldemort – to strike a blow against him that he would feel, that he would know and understand."
Harry felt a bitter lump rise in the throat, making his voice come in a croak, "by killing me? How could killing me hurt Voldemort?"
Dumbledore opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment, both of them heard footsteps on the stairs outside, and then the door burst open with such violence that it banged against the wall behind it, making a book topple from its shelf and awakening the phoenix on its perch, which raised its head with a sharp cry of protest.
Remus Lupin was standing there, panting slightly. He looked exhausted and thin, since he, like Harry, had spent the previous night as a wolf, although in his case, one that was sedated by potion. His wand was drawn and he was pointing it straight at Dumbledore, fury twisting his normally serene features. His eyes flicked over to Harry, who had stood up when the door opened.
"Oh, thank God," said Lupin. He took a step forward, grabbed Harry by the scruff of his neck and pulled the boy to his chest, in a rough one-armed hug. His wand never wavered from Dumbledore's face.
Harry, who was so full of shock and confusion he felt dizzy, was calmed by Lupin's familiar smell, and he stood trembling beside his honorary uncle. He could not look at Lupin's face, nor at Dumbledore's, but instead focussed his gaze on the phoenix, now stretching its wings on the other side of the room.
"Remus…" began Dumbledore, making to stand up.
"Don't you touch him," said Lupin, and his voice was so full of emotion Harry felt a little frightened. He had never heard Lupin speak like that before, "don't you come near him. I'll kill you first."
"Remus," said Dumbledore tensely, getting to his feet despite the warning sparks that shot from the end of Lupin's wand, "first of all, I would like to see you try, and second, you are seriously mistaken if you are thinking what I think you think."
"Then you're wrong," said Lupin, his voice harsh and terse, "and I may not be able to kill you Dumbledore, but do not think I am helpless against you. I will defend Harry like a wolf defends its cubs."
"Very poetic, Remus," said Dumbledore. He reached into his robes, and Lupin's grip on his wand tightened: a few more sparks shot out the end. Dumbledore's hand emerged holding his wand, but before Lupin could do anything, he placed the wand on his desk and stepped back, "there," he said, "I am unarmed. Now, will you lower your wand and calm down a little, Remus? I have not finished answering Harry's questions."
Lupin loosened his hold on the scruff of Harry's neck. He looked surprised, and a little confused, but after a moment, he let his hand fall to his side, though he did not put his wand away.
Harry looked up at the man's face, "how did you know I was here?" he asked.
"I met Miss Granger and Mr Weasley on my way back from my office," Lupin replied, glancing down at Harry with a small smile, "having a very loud argument with Professor Snape in a corridor along the way. They told me where you had gone, with the excuse that you didn't need to be kept a secret now Dumbledore knew about you."
Both of them looked at the headmaster, "does he know, yet?" Lupin asked grimly.
"Know what?" Harry asked.
"No. A rather rude person interrupted us," Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at Lupin over his half-moon spectacles, "but if both of you will kindly sit down, I can continue."
Lupin did not seem to want to sit down, but Harry took his seat once more, and Lupin came to stand protectively behind him, resting his hands on Harry's shoulders.
"Sirius has kept Harry a secret from you for eight years," Lupin said weakly, "because he was afraid of what you would do. You cannot tell me those fears were baseless."
"Sirius did very well to keep Harry a secret so long, and certainly, his fears of the Ministry and Voldemort's followers were not baseless," Dumbledore replied, "his fears of me, however, were heavier than they needed have been. And you are not entirely correct, Remus. Sirius has only kept Harry a secret from me for seven years – not eight."
Lupin frowned a little, "what's that supposed to mean?" his eyes widened, "but…if you've known about Harry before now, why didn't you act sooner? I know you want Harry dead."
"Remus, I do not want Harry dead," Dumbledore said in exasperation, "and if I did, I could have sent members of the Order to the old Black mansion anytime in the last year to kill him. But I have not."
"You knew they were living at the Black house. How…?" Lupin asked, gripping Harry's shoulders very hard. Harry knew exactly was he was thinking: Lupin feared that, in some way, he had unwittingly revealed Harry and Sirius to the headmaster.
Dumbledore glanced over his shoulder at the portraits behind him, "Phineas," he called, "Phineas, don't you want to say hello?" his eyes were on a portrait of a clever-looking wizard with a pointed beard, with robes that were painted the Slytherin green and silver, who was feigning sleep with his eyes half-open, "come, Phineas, there's no need for silly theatrics today."
The portrait raised his head and stretched, "oh, it's you, boy," he said, looking at Harry, "I wondered that I didn't recognise your voice."
Harry recognised Phineas' voice as well. He stared at the portrait, "you…you're the one hanging in my room at Grimmauld Place. I talk to you all the time."
"Yes, and I must say, you're a dreadful bore," Phineas remarked, yawning dramatically.
"As soon as they first moved into number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Phineas reported Sirius and Harry's whereabouts to me," Dumbledore explained, "so there's no need to worry, Remus, you were not the one to give them away. Though I think you should have been at least a little suspicious when I gave you James' old invisibility cloak with so little protest. You might have guessed I knew you were planning to hand it on to Harry."
"I…I thought I'd shielded my mind from you as well as I could," Lupin replied faintly.
"Very well, but I had no need to pry," Dumbledore said, "and now you understand why Harry never received a letter to Hogwarts, which would probably have tracked him down despite Sirius' best efforts. I tore that letter up before it could leave this school. And I have provided you, Remus, with all the books you asked me for, hoping that you would be satisfied with Harry's education as it was, and not try and convince Sirius to let Harry attend school."
"Why?" Harry burst out, "I thought that was just Sirius who didn't want me at Hogwarts!"
Dumbledore sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose, "I am sorry, Harry. It is one of the cruelest things I have ever done, to deprive a child of their right to a place at this school, especially when I have let so many other…unusual students in," he glanced at Lupin as he said this, "but you must see that I have my reasons."
"Then tell me!" Harry fumed, "I am sick of you all avoiding the truth like it's something I don't need to hear! You – Sirius – Lupin, stop hinting and just tell me."
"Harry," said Dumbledore, gathering himself, "you are carrying within you a piece of Voldemort's soul, which he implanted in you the day he killed your mother. You are what is known as a Horcrux, an object that binds a soul to earth and prevents the person who has created the Horcrux from ever dying until the Horcrux has been destroyed. Voldemort has contrived a number of such objects, and you, I believe, were his most recent."
Harry stared at the solemn blue eyes, tried to speak, then realised he had nothing to say. He looked up at Lupin, "you knew?"
Lupin did not meet his eye, but continued watching Dumbledore. Slowly, he nodded his head, "Sirius swore me to secrecy."
"Don't blame Sirius for this," said Harry bitterly. His hands were clenched in his lap so hard his nails were biting into the palms of his hands. He thought for a moment, and suddenly understood what Dumbledore was saying, "V-voldermort…he can't die…until I'm dead?" he asked softly.
Dumbledore nodded, "you understand, now, why your godfather never wanted you to know this. You see why I, knowing that Sirius had protected you successfully for so many years, did not want you to come to this school, when Voldemort will kill to keep you alive. I am sorry, Harry," he said, and his voice was suddenly old and full of sorrow, "I have been too harsh on you. Too harsh, too selfish, too foolhardy. That must stop now," he sighed.
"What about Neville?" said Harry suddenly, "is Neville one of these…Horcrux things as well?"
Dumbledore shook his head, "No, Neville is not a Horcrux. In a way, he is your polar opposite, Harry. He is prophesised to be the only one who can defeat Lord Voldemort, and he is the only one to survive a killing curse from him. He must live if Voldemort is to fall. You must…" but he did not finish the sentence, as if he had suddenly realised the full weight of what he was saying, but the word 'die' hung in the air like a choking stench.
Harry put his face in his hands, rubbing his scars to soothe them, "he'll have to kill me, won't he?" he said quietly, "Neville. That's the way these things go, isn't it?"
"No," said Dumbledore sharply, "you must not think like that. Your situation is unique in all the world, and all history. I have never found a record of another living human being who has been used as a Horcrux. What I mean to say, Harry, is that there is every possibility that we can extract Voldemort's soul – or destroy it – without your death."
Harry raised his head, "you think so?" he said dully, "maybe, I won't have to die to kill Voldemort?"
"I cannot promise you anything," replied Dumbledore heavily, "but I know one thing. If the time comes, Harry…when the time comes, it will your choice to make, and your choice alone. I tried to have you killed once, because you were young and unable to make the choice for yourself, and I regret ever thinking such a thing. Now you are old enough to know the truth, you are old enough to decide your own fate."
Harry nodded. He put his hand over Lupin's and squeezed it, because he could feel the distress radiating off Lupin and he wanted to comfort him.
"Now there are more pressing matters to attend to," said Dumbledore, getting to his feet again and picking up his wand, "by very bad luck, Harry, you chose rather an unfortunate moment to reveal yourself to me. I was totally unaware that you were in the castle: all I knew from Phineas was that you left Grimmauld Place and disappeared two weeks ago. I have been very busy at the Ministry, but most inconveniently, that woman standing beside me when you told me your name downstairs was Emmeline Vance, the second in command in the auror division, under Minister Alastor Moody. And I have no doubt that she has now gone straight to the Minister and told him that a boy who has been missing for eight years has suddenly surfaced out of the blue."
"He knows about me?" Harry asked, while Lupin gave a small gasp.
"He knows everything about you, Harry," said Dumbledore gravely, "it is his business as Alastor Moody, ex-auror and paranoid Minister for Magic, to know these things. And I'm sorry to say, that he has rather an unforgiving opinion of you."
"Oh, no," said Lupin, "you can't mean…?"
Dumbledore went to the door and opened it, "I think that Alastor Moody will be setting out at this very moment, with Emmeline Vance and at least two dementors, to have them perform the lethal kiss on Harry as soon as they can get their hands on him. And I, for one, am firmly opposed to such a notion. So, Lupin, if you would please come with me, and Harry, I would rather you returned to Gryffindor tower, if you would, until I or one of the other Professors comes to collect you."
And he strode down the steps, Harry and Lupin following quickly at his heels.
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TBC
A/N: Well, it's finally finished. Dumbledore and Harry's reckoning. Some of you will be going 'what the hell?' and some of you will be going, 'hey, I liked nasty Dumbledore'. But I found, as soon as I began to write Dumbledore, I could not make him nasty. He simply wasn't Dumbledore any more.