Disclaimer:Yeah, since I seem to have forgot this, let me just say it, just in case. Anything you recognize from the Harry Potter series, I don't own. New spells, or people, and the plot, I do. This applies for every chapter in this story.

A/N:That whole 'Profit' error is the damnedest thing. On the copy I have on my computer it had the correct spelling, 'Prophet'. Weird. Oh well. I kind of just churned the last two chapters out, though, without much proofreading. Now that the story's been established, I'll feel better about postponing putting it out in favor of correcting the annoying errors. And I promise to look up any canon spells I use, from now on, as opposed to going by memory. Most of the spells I'm going to use are probably going to be self-made, though, so it shouldn't be much of a problem. As for author notes... if the story gets deleted because of a few paragraphs of ANs, I'll either repost without them, or pull the story from FFN and take my business elsewhere.

Chapter 3

All eyes in the room turned to Dumbledore, in silent askance. Most looked confused. They had either never heard of such a ward, or had no idea how the Dark Arts could effect someone's magical core, or both. Some, though, were able to detect the true question. Mad-Eye, for one, was showing his nick-name was deserved, his eyes hard and angry, flicking back and forth from Harry to Dumbledore. He wasn't one to jump to conclusions, but if he was correct in his assumption...

Dumbledore looked at the young man before him cautiously. 'How much does he know? Or rather, how much do I tell? I suppose he does deserve to know... but best to be safe.'

"Why do you ask, Harry?" He asked, feeling out the situation. He was greatly dismayed by the reaction he received. 'Well, he knows enough, apparently.' He said sadly, to himself. Harry had gripped his wand tighter and raised it slightly.

"No games. You know."

Now the Order was even more bewildered. They had no idea what the hell was going on between the Headmaster and the Boy-Who-Lived, but it didn't seem good. Moody was thinking frantically, piecing together the clues, and Remus was growing concerned. His face was lined heavily with worry, and he seemed to be looking at the clues himself. He didn't like what he was seeing. The dam that had been holding back the tide of questions burst.

"Albus?"

"Harry?"

"What's going on?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Quiet." Harry's voice sliced through the rising voices of the curious Order members. He leaned over the table and said quietly, "He knows."

Dumbledore's brow furrowed in frustration, as he realized that Harry had, in fact, gleaned some understanding of his situation from somewhere. 'He knows more than enough to be able to detect any falsehood or half-truth I try to give him, anyways.' Dumbledore thought, as he steeled himself for what might be coming. He had started this plan, so long ago. He knew it was going to be altered, but some of it still might be salvaged.

Likewise, Harry knew he had the upper hand, here. A little, anyways. 'Dumbledore has no idea how much I know, that gives me the edge. And he has an image to uphold. He's supposed to be the one to alleviate everyone's concerns. So his options are either to lie, and say he knows nothing, or to tell at least some of the story. Hopefully it will be enough for me to figure all of this out.' Harry knew he didn't have a complete advantage, though. 'He's still the one who knows the most about this situation. He still holds most of the cards.'

"Well, Harry, going in order, the effects would vary, depending on the power of the particular spell used and the length of exposure the subject suffered under it. Some victims of the Imperius Curse often find that, after being under it for extended periods and then being free, they still hear the voice in their head, long after the curse is lifted. And you know the effects of the Cruciatus Curse."

"Of course. What about, for the sake of argument, a small child - say a year old - were to have an extremely powerful Dark Curse cast on him. Let's say, he survived the Killing Curse somehow, for example. What would happen to him?" By the muted sounds of surprise coming from the other occupants of the cramped kitchen, Harry could tell they were starting to catch on. Or, at least they thought they were.

"Yes, well," Dumbledore appeared to be getting flustered, before he switched into lecture mode. In his element, he continued. "At such a young age, the subject's core is still developing. Any magic greater in magnitude than a Summoning Charm, or any spell held for an extended period of time, will have the potential to adversely affect the child. Without going into too much Magical Theory, this is especially true about the Dark Arts." He frowned, thinking of how to best phrase his next statement, to help his case. "The damage done can vary wildly. The best that can be hoped for, in this ... hypothetical... situation is the erratic vacillation between almost-Muggle and turbulent fits of extremely powerful accidental magic. The worst likely to happen is an intense case of dementia, or a complete upheaval of magical energy, causing Veneficus Damnum, or Magic Loss." He finished his textbook explanation, waiting for everyone else to process this new information, and mentally preparing reasons and back-up reasons for his actions.

By the end of the Headmaster's speech, Harry could feel a cold feeling of dread settling in his stomach. 'Dementia? Loss of magic? Now that the Quixtor's gone, will that still happen? Or will I be okay, now?' The feeling completely vanished when he realized that it had been almost 15 years since the spell had been cast, and he was still fine. If there was going to be any ill side-effects of breaking the ward, they would have happened by now.

The Order, though, didn't seem to have a very firm grasp on logic. And they had never had any Dursleys to teach them to harness their emotions. Some of them were merely eyeing him nervously, while others were actually starting to edge away from him, towards the exits. Like I'm going to start gibbering incoherently 15 years after the fact, right? Prats.' Looking around, he saw Fleur and Tonks looking at him strangely - it took a second for him to realize that the difference was the fact that they were concerned for him, not about him. Remus and the twins had similar looks on their faces, though Harry didn't find the look quite as endearing on theirs. He could hear the beginnings of what could be a full-blown furor surrounding him.

Moody was much more practical in his concerns. The bloody idiots were wasting time, being paranoid - something they ridiculed him for! - over something even he knew wasn't going to happen. Lifting his wand in one gnarled hand, he let loose a shower of sparks, gaining everyone's attention. He repeated the action until everyone had gotten silent again.

"Good." He said in his customary barking shout, "Now, if you're all over your irrational fears, I'd like to hear some more." He sat back down after one last glare, with a nod at Harry, who gratefully returned it.

"Thank you, sir. Well, Headmaster, I know the standard procedure - as standard as such a unique case can get, anyways. A Perum Presidium ward on the child, reinforced periodically, until a professional Medi-witch or wizard declares it's safe to remove. What would be the reason that a Quixtor, an illegal ward made specifically for crazies and criminals, would be used instead?" Harry questioned, seemingly politely. His cocked eyebrow, however, showed just enough contempt to be noticeable, but not enough to really comment on.

Dumbledore was silent, reevaluating Harry Potter. It was obvious the boy knew more than he was letting on, but, behind the obvious subterfuge seemed to be another one. He also seemed to know more than he seemed to know, or something. Dumbledore's head was starting to hurt. He almost rubbed his temples, before he realized how that would look.

"Well, Harry, like you said; the case is anything but standard. Some people would think it obvious that standard procedures would be ineffective. If the victim's magic levels were fluctuating, for example, a simple Perum Presidium ward might be broken. The Quixtor, though, is the most effective magic stabilizer currently known to the Wizarding World. One could have, perhaps, decided it better to limit magic growth and have it stabilized, than have it unlimited and chaotic."

Harry leaned back in his chair, putting his feet on the table. His arms were crossed, and his head was down, obviously in deep thought. Dumbledore was making it sound like a reasonable use of such an illegal and inhibiting magic. And Harry knew he wasn't infallible... he knew that very well. Something seemed... off, though. 'Even if it turns out he's in the right, though, it will do him some good to have to explain things for once. He's much too good at manipulating people.' He decided to try one more thing.

"Surely there's a way to strengthen a safer ward? Perhaps... using someone else's magic?" Harry questioned carefully, hoping he was right in this theory at least. Looking at Dumbledore, he was pretty sure he was.

Dumbledore stiffened. He felt cold, suddenly. 'That can't be what it sounds like. If it is, then my task has become much, much more difficult.' It was time for one last roll of the dice.

"Perhaps, Harry," Dumbledore began, adopting the grandfatherly tone he had always used with Harry previously, "But one who truly cared for this child would have never left his fate to chance. He would be certain the child was safe."

Harry tensed up, his eyes glittering dangerously. 'He still thinks he can pull that off? I thought he was good at what he did...'

By now, everyone but the slowest could tell what was going on. They had been watching the duel of words attentively, and everyone could tell Dumbledore had made a mistake with that last pass. They all expected Harry to explode at any second, and start ranting about how unfair it was for him to say that and how he and Sirius had been locked away for months... so they were all surprised when he visibly struggled to calm himself. And finally succeeded.

"I see... loved him too much to take risks, did he?" At Dumbledore's sagely nod, Harry stood up slowly, and put his fists on the table, leaning forward, inches from Dumbledore's face. Everyone in the kitchen waited for what was coming, hardly breathing for fear of missing even a second of the dazzling display of verbal attacks. Tonks and Fleur both inconspicuously drew their wands, preparing for the worst. A number of the others did, too. Most of the others didn't know who to side with if it came to that, though. The two women did. His tone when he continued had everyone gripping their wands even tighter.

"If he loved him so much," Harry spat out, as though the words pained him to say, "Then why, exactly, did he form an illegal ward, using the power of an Unforgivable Dark curse, cast by the most powerful Dark Lord in recent history!" Harry had started out quietly, almost whispering, but even his self control was limited. He ended up shouting in the man's face. Had Harry been calm enough to care, he would have seen that Dumbledore was trembling and looking unbearably sad. He also might have noticed the effect his words had on the Order.

Fred and George each had a hand on one of Lupin's shoulders preventing him from doing anything other than glare at the Headmaster. They were both fingering their wands and sending him nasty looks, themselves. Kingsley looked like he was trying to think of same way to maintain order, but not having very much luck. Most of the others were babbling incessantly, like this was just one more thing to gossip about. Most of them weren't even thinking of the repercussions on what had just happened. Harry couldn't help but think, 'Maybe they're just so used to Dumbledore doing wildly inappropriate and dangerous things that it doesn't matter anymore.'

Tonks had jumped up, ready to hex the Headmaster. Fleur had just been fast enough to grab her arm, and point it down, before the first spell had been fired.

"I want to see how he handles this." Fleur said simply, in response to Tonks' glare. Tonks grimaced, and only nodded reluctantly.

Moody was the only one who was still in sitting, thinking quietly, but furiously. 'Rough Analysis at this point; Dumbledore cast an illegal ward on Potter when he was a child. His reasoning was sufficient to excuse that part. But, if Potter is correct, then he used Dark magic to fuel it, which made the condition even worse than it would have been, had it never been treated. I need to hear the rest, but they're doing it again, dammit.' Moody calmly pointed his wand at the cold tile floor of the kitchen, and muttered "Contremisco."

The Quaking Curse rippled through the room, knocking over all of the living occupants, but leaving the table, chairs, and everything else in the same position they had been. Before anyone could recover enough to start complaining, Moody spoke. "I've had enough of you two dancing around the situation. Albus," He started, looking to the man, "Why in the name of Merlin did you use He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's magic to power a ward you placed on Potter?" Harry had decided to hear the man out, first, and kick him in the face second.

Dumbledore sighed. No one could tell, but it was in relief, strangely enough. 'He only knows a part of it. The less important part. I can still save this.' He grew pensive, ordering his thoughts.

Harry waited patiently for about 3 minutes. Then he started to get antsy. He was just about to shake the old man into action, when he began talking. "I must insist no one interrupt me after I begin. All your questions will be answered, in due time." At the small nods and affirmitave gestures he got, he continued. "The ward in question was not cast the night Voldemort was defeated the first time. It was more important to get you to your aunt's house, Harry. That was when I got the idea, though. The protection granted to you by your mother was more than sufficient to protect you from the influence of foreign magic on your person - why not have it protect you from the influence of foreign magic on your mind? That was part of my thinking anyways. I will admit, it seemed appropriate for you have the last lingering part of your mother always there, shielding you from evil. So I returned a week later, and used an ancient ritual called the "Certamen Vox", which roughly translates to "Combined Magic". My intent was to combine my Quixtor ward with Lily Potter's Cruor Contego spell." Dumbledore sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose for a moment, eyes shut tightly.

"I didn't recognize my mistake until later - years later. Not until Madam Pomfrey first treated you at Hogwarts, actually. She had gotten some peculiar readings from you, and she wanted to discuss the anomalies with me. I was horrified with what I saw. For weeks after that, I subtly checked my ward at every chance I got... and it was always the same. I... I cannot describe the depths of my sorrow." Indeed, Dumbledore looked like he might cry. That just made Harry even more irritated at the man. "I'm not sure what I did wrong, even to this day. I worded the ritual to specifically target my and your mother's spells. I suppose I underestimated the strength of the Killing Curse, for it seemed my ward had combined with it instead. At this point, lifting the ward would have been impossible. The Killing Curse is powerful Dark Magic - combine that with two other powerful magics, all three feeding each other, and... I am strong. But such a task is beyond even me. I am truly sorry, Harry." By this point, everyone else had resigned themselves to sitting on the sidelines, staying silent.

Harry found his anger draining away, slightly. It was being replaced by a deep irritation. It was hard to rage at a man who had done what he thought was best, in a bad situation. Being annoyed with him, however, was surprisingly easy. He had been so sure Dumbledore had just been trying to keep him in line. "How do I know this is the truth?" Harry demanded - he wasn't about to take Dumbledore's words as the absolute truth. Not anymore.

"I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, swear by my native-born magic, to you, Harry James Potter, on punishment of Veneficus Damnum, that I spoke no falsehood." The magic rippled around the two, showing a pact had been made. Dumbledore quietly cast a spell, showing that his magic was still intact. Mentally, he was reveling in his victory. Harry grudgingly nodded, accepting the validity of the Headmaster's story.

'That was too close. Much too close. Now, to find out what happened to him.' He said mentally. Out loud what came out was, "I must admit, Harry, I am curious. How did you break the ward? And are their any side effects of destroying magic that was so close to your magical core for so long?" He kept his tone purely curious - he knew a suspicious tone would have gotten Harry to close himself off. What he didn't know was, Harry had already decided not to be entirely truthful.

'That oath has to have loopholes in it. It means nothing, really. He does seem to be sincere about being sorry... the question is, for what? Until I know, I'll have to try to keep him unbalanced.' He planned out what to do.

"If I answer your question, will you answer another one of mine?"

"Of course, Harry." Dumbledore was mentally replaying the events that had happened since he had come to Privet Drive, searching for something Harry might ask.

"It's hard to explain, but I'll try. Initially, I was Occluding myself..." Dumbledore cut him off.

"Where did you learn to do that?" He knew, as soon as he said it, he had made a blunder. His tone had been too sharp, and Harry's eyes had narrowed, almost imperceptibly. His overall demeanor became less tense, though. That was what had really told Dumbledore he had made a misstep.

'Knew he didn't want me to learn Occlumency correctly. But why not?' Harry stored the information away for later. "I taught myself. Some methods of muggle meditation have a lot in common with Occlumency, you know. Even I was surprised by how fast I picked it up, though." He said, cheerfully. "Anyways, while I was Occluding my mind, I finally realized that that cage - it was the ward, I found out - wasn't supposed to be there. Rather obvious, looking back at it. But, I just wanted to tear the cage down... so I did. It was hard, and I think I came close to hurting myself seriously," This was all true enough. Except he now knew it was the remains of the Killing Curse that had been so terrifying. "After that initial burst of magic, though, nothing seems different. I'm a little stronger, of course, but that's it." He lied smoothly. Not waiting for a response, he asked his question. "The funny thing is, the ward was already breaking, by the time I got to it - why is that?" He heard surprised muttering from the Order, the first time they had made any noise for a couple minutes, at least. Even Dumbledore looked faintly surprised by this news.

"It was breaking before you started trying to unravel it?" Harry nodded. "I'm not exactly sure why that is. I could make some guesses, perhaps?" He looked for permission and, after receiving another nod, continued. "I've been wondering whether something like this would happen for a while, but there's no precedent or any actual proof, so I didn't bother you with it." Harry almost snorted in amusement. He knew that he wouldn't have been told, either way. "Your magic has always been different, Harry. Special. But you seemed completely ordinary until the night you survived a Killing Curse, and received your scar. Since then, the power of your magic has been quite erratic. Even with such a powerful ward on you, you were capable of almost superhuman feats. You don't think most people would have survived Basilisk poison, do you? Most people would die long before Phoenix Tears could save them. Or casting an Engorgement Charm wandlessly at 13? A Patronus, only months later? Using enough raw magic to push Voldemort's back at age 14? And then, pushing him out of your mind at 15? Tom has been using his powers for years. He's used rituals to increase them. You were being contained."

"But that doesn't explain why all that's happened, Professor. It just raises more questions, really."

"Think, Harry - when did your magic show how powerful it truly was?" Harry started thinking hard, but Albus answered his own question. "I believe it showed itself when the prophecy could be affected. Without saying too much," He cast a glance at the Order, "Think of when it showed, Harry."

And Harry was. The last two were obvious, and he could understand the Basilisk - it was sent by an incarnation of Voldemort. He couldn't quite figure out how the magic he used in his third year was connected to the Prophecy, though. He voiced his confusion. "Third Year?"

"Yes. That one is more subtle than the others. Remember, I'm not completely sure about this, and I could be wrong, but I believe that you don't have to be directly affected by what triggers your magic - the fact that Sirius was released and looking for Peter, who eventually brought Voldemort back, was enough to set it off. Or perhaps the effect the Dementors had on your mind, bringing back memories of an event that is clearly vital to the prophecy, caused your magic to react." There was a pause, while both men mulled over the information they had. "Or, perhaps, your magic is just strong enough to be partially unaffected by even such powerful magic. Anything is possible, I suppose."

"If it's the prophecy, why doesn't it help Voldemort, too? And why would the prophecy change my magic, anyways?" Harry thought the idea was ridiculous, himself. Voldemort would still be better off, if the prophecy was the sole reason.

Dumbledore spread his arms, and shrugged slightly. "That is the part that makes this all completely guess-work. There is no proof of this, but I think that something had to help you survive the Killing Curse. Even with your mother's blood shield, you should have been killed. But you weren't. I think that's because something granted you the power to fulfill the prophecy. What? I do not know. I call it prophecy magic. As for the other part; I told you, it's just a theory. Maybe your magic is less resistant to change, because of the events on that Halloween. Or perhaps the rituals Voldemort enacted cause the prophecy magic to be less effective for him. I do know he and his magic are still recovering from being reborn in a new shell, so the chances are he will get more powerful, before this is through."

Harry thought about that. If this 'prophecy magic' stuff was real, and it happened to him when he was young, then it would make sense that he would get more power than Voldemort. Except Voldemort had been reborn, so he should have seen an increase, too. 'There's a lot of things wrong with Dumbledore's theory, but it could be close to right. Right now, I need time to think this crap over, without interruptions.' The Order and Dumbledore were thinking along similar veins, though most didn't find it quite so important.

Harry stood, causing everyone to turn their attention from their conversations - the subjects ranged from how powerful Harry was, to how he got so hot. Dumbledore stood seconds after, drawing their attention to him.

"I need to think about this. Alone."

"I understand, Harry, but you destroyed the Cruor Contego spell, when you destroyed the Quixtor ward. We need to get you to sa-" Harry cut him off.

"You're under the false impression that I'm okay with what you did." He said coldly. "I understand it was accidental, and nothing truly bad came of it. But you still cast two powerful, permanent magics on an infant, without consulting any Healers, and your incompetence caused the effects to be even more potentially harmful. That's disgusting. If you want to discuss this further," He looked at the wall clock. It was 1:45 in the morning. "We can talk around 10:00 tonight. Remus," he turned to the man. "You and anyone who you deem worthy," he flicked his eyes to the twins to show him what he meant, "can come here at 6:00. We should talk."

He walked part way to the stairs, before he remembered the way Tonks and Fleur had been acting earlier. He turned to the spot where they were still standing - everyone else was filing out. He could tell they were trying to figure out a way to talk to him. As much as he appreciated the sentiment, he really needed to be alone. "I'll see you two at six." And with that, he turned back to the stairs and strode up to 'his' room.

Fleur looked to Tonks, who seemed ready to go upstairs and talk to Harry, anyways. "We should go."

"But..."

"He did say six. It means he trusts us." Fleur added, hoping to lift up Tonks' spirits. It didn't work, so she tried a different way. She leaned over slightly, "That gives us almost 17 hours to... get ready." Her voice was sultry, laced with promises. That seemed to work. Tonks brightened considerably.

"That's right!" Tonks started, but thought of something, "But Remus'll be there too..."

"So we wait for Harry to be finished with him. And Dumbledore, I suppose."

"But that's four more hours. I don't know if I can wait that long." Tonks whined playfully, obviously just teasing at this point. Fleur smiled.

"Then why are we still here? Let's go find a closet." And with that, Fleur dragged Tonks away, both of them thinking of Harry Potter, and each other.

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Remus was immediately accosted by the Weasley twins, Mad-Eye Moody, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, back at Grimmauld Place. He knew they were all in Harry's camp, when it came down to it, and he was going to do everything in his power to help Harry.

"Quiet down. You're all obviously going. We still have time, though. Alastor, Kingsley, I need you two to gather materials - whatever you think is appropriate for Harry - and bring them with when we go back. Get started." They nodded and went off in separate directions, getting what they thought might help Harry. "You two," he said to Fred and George, "Find out what the hell is up with Ron and Hermione - why would they just stop talking to him?"

"We wonder that, too."

"We aren't sure, but we'll see what we can find."

"Either way, Ickle Ronniekins has a lot to answer for."

The three spent the next hour or so thinking of ways to get answers from Harry's supposed friends, and what to do when they got them.

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In the Headmaster's Office at Hogwarts, Dumbledore let out another sigh of relief. Harry had never found out his true secret, though he had come close, and touched a lot of relating issues. 'I wish...' Dumbledore could feel hot tears coursing down his face.

"I'm sorry. I am sorry. I am." Was his mantra, repeated over and over, as he sat with his head against Fawkes' perch. The Phoenix let out a sad trill, trying to comfort his old friend, but too sad himself to achieve much.

"I know, Fawkes. I know." Hundreds of miles away, in the smallest bedroom of 4 Privet Drive, Harry still didn't, and never truly would again, trust the Headmaster. The-Boy-Who-Lived began to dissect Dumbledore's story, looking for clues and inconsistencies. He knew something was wrong, but he didn't know what.

A/N:Hope this chapter answered almost as many questions as it raised. Next chapter; Harry comes to some of his own conclusions about his power, starts to really get away from Dumbledore's influence, and maybe some explanations about his friends. I apologize if this chapter bored anyone, but it really was vital to explain some things before moving on with the story.