A Thing of the Past

Author's Note: Thank you so much for your reviews! It's really helped inspire me for all the upcoming chapters and I hope you enjoy them. I hope this chapter answers some questions you might have had. This was the hardest chapter I've ever written in my entire life, so that's why it took so long.

Previous Chapter:

"I think I may have a solution to this," Dumbledore said finally. Harry just sank down into the chair, his face in his hands. "I have an open position at the school I think you'll fill quite nicely."

"And what would that be?" Harry asked, not even bothering to look up.

"Assistant Librarian."

Chapter Three:

"You may be deceived if you trust too much, but you will live in torment if you do not trust enough."

--Frank Crane

It was a painful scene to watch from behind his glasses.

If there had been one thing that had touched him, it was the look on the child's face, so tired and somnolent. So many shadows seemed to be plaguing the air and all he could do was fold his hands softly on the grainy table, studying the fine, wrinkled lines of his palms.

There was a deafening silence that came over the two, and Albus Dumbledore studied the boy with sympathy as the young man buried his face in his hands. It was the mannerism of those who had lived too much and Albus found himself partially endeared to the boy who claimed his name was Harry. It was a dangerous thing, but these were dangerous times. It was a hard thing to do to try and search inside his mind; the silence alone seemed too holy to desecrate with words. In a way he was almost glad those green eyes were no longer focused on him, emerald seething with betrayal.

It was a betrayal he couldn't quite place.

Harry shifted slightly in his seat, his fingers dragging over his face, the skin stretching in an almost comical manner. Albus pressed his folded fingers lightly on his lips, his elbows feeling heavy on the table. It was a mesmerizing moment, watching Harry's dark hair fall into his eyes as he slowly lifted his head up. He licked his cracked lips and frowned as his shaking fingers gingerly touched the large gash on his head.

There was a moment that passed between them that, later on, neither of them could describe. Albus was sure the boy was trying to say something, to communicate in some unspoken way. Harry just looked at him, his back rounded as if he was buckling under some large weight that had been placed heavily upon him.

A knock broke the silence. Albus didn't look to the door; rather, he focused on Harry, who had nearly fallen out of his seat at the sound, a dark look sweeping over his face. The boy's reactions were intriguing and deep inside the pit of his stomach there was a need, a hunger for the truth of this situation. Somehow, without even realizing, this young man was scaring him more than most things he had seen so far in his long life.

And there was no argument that Albus Dumbeldore had seen quite a bit.

Finally, he had to look away from Harry and saw Millicent standing in the doorway, her small shoulders still shaking slightly. Her lightly colored eyes, framed with little wrinkles around the corners, were darting back and forth between the two persons in her office. It seemed the realization of the situation was now sinking into her bones and Albus saw the confusion etched on her face.

Clearing his throat, Albus stood up and placed a hand on Millicent's shoulder, pressing with slight weight as if to turn her back out the door. He nodded his head, his silver hair bobbing, with an almost reassuring smile on his face that didn't quite reach those pale blue eyes. Millicent just backed away, her short neck craning to keep her gaze on Harry longer, who had slumped down far in his chair, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

"I'll be back shortly," Albus said quietly in Harry's direction. The boy didn't move, his green eyes staring straight ahead, seemingly fascinated with the bookcase on the opposite end of the room.

There was an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach as he clicked the large wooden door shut, Harry's form completely disappearing behind the slab of oak. Albus sighed as Millicent strode back and forth, her normally calm nature completely discarded. Her long fingers were twisted together, a palm pressing against her forehead every few steps. Finally, after she seemed to have pulled a few of her muddle thoughts together, Millicent stopped, though she swayed slightly as she did so.

"What is he doing here?" she asked in a worried voice, eyes focusing on the door as if she was trying to peer through the wood. The silence was thick for a moment before Albus spoke, as if he was choosing the words to say.

"He says he and his friends have been attacked by Death Eaters," Albus said slowly. Millicent just shook her head.

"Dorian and the others didn't see anyone," she said in a disbelieving voice. Albus looked back towards the wooden door, then at Millicent again, for once not knowing quite what to say. A calm look was on his face, his thoughts more important than speech. A plan had to be formulated, each step carefully executed to ensure the safety of his school. This, however, didn't seem to bode well with Millicent.

"What are we going to do?" she said in a calm, but shaking voice.

"His name's Harry," Albus said, thinking somehow he needed to make that point known before anything else. "With your permission, I'd like to take him to Hogwarts," he continued mildly.

Millicent's eyes widened slightly, her teeth exposed as her jaw dropped.

"You trust him?" she said in a shocked voice, a little wisp of graying hair falling wildly into her face.

Albus stood still for a moment, saddened somewhere in his old bones as he shook his head.

"No," he said, envisioning the young man just feet away. "There's too much Harry isn't telling us. But I don't believe he's as dangerous as Dorian would have liked us to believe."

It struck him somewhere deep in his soul, where the mind was constantly waging a war against the heart. It was that place where reason conquered intuition and where memories you don't remember at all seem to come from. It had hurt Albus immensely to shake his head, and that thought disturbed him more than the fact that a strange boy, who had an all too familiar face, appeared in one of the most secluded and private rooms in the Ministry of Magic.

The pacing was back now, Millicent tugging gently at the ends of her hair every few seconds. Albus had rarely seen her in such a distressed shape, though he could hardly blame her. The times they were living in were worn clearly in each line of her face, with each hardened step that she took. She didn't say anything, but seemed to have retreated back into her own harried thoughts.

"I'll be able to watch him at Hogwarts," Albus said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder once again before the woman was walked a hole in the carpet.

It took a moment for Millicent to react properly, but she finally exhaled a large breath, while nodding her head in a weary manner.

"Of course, you're right," she said, gaining some of her composure. "You'll need to keep me updated on anything you learn," Millicent said, starting to count off measures that would have to be taken. A sudden spark came to her eye, a flash of terror crossing her face.

"Oh Albus!" she practically cried. "We can't let the media find out about this, not after the fiasco in Knockturn Alley last week. I can see the headlines now, 'Dangerous stranger admitted to Hogwarts'!"

Albus just shook his head, trying to will some air into her lungs.

"I'll take him right now. I'm giving him a small position at the school that will let me keep an eye on him," he said softly, turning his blue eyes back to the door.

"Right now," Millicent said vigorously, nodding her head. Albus nodded his head in reply, robes swishing on the floor as he turned back to the door, his gnarled fingers gripping the knob tightly, the wood door swinging open loudly on the hinges.

"Harry, please come with me," Albus said softly as the boy turned his head up towards him, a sad look plastered on his face.

The figure before him stayed motionless. Neither of the two breathed the air somehow too stifling and uncomfortable to breathe in. Harry's whole body seemed stiff, and with very painful movements, he finally pushed himself out of the rickety chair. The distance between the two figures could have been no more than a mere foot or two, but they might as well have been on opposite ends of the earth. Finally, with a mere flicker of his eyelashes, Harry walked out the open door; gaze intently focused on the carpet. Unfortunately, his view obstructed as it was, he had no time to stop the strong pair of arms that gripped his shoulders.

To most normal human beings, after being harassed and threatened, most sudden movements are not appreciated and often received with violence. And Harry was no exception. The moment that the strong hands grabbed him, he twisted his body, pushing hard against a slightly damp sweater and stumbling backwards. Instinctively, Harry's hands groped at his pockets for his wand, which, to his dismay, was gone.

Bewildered, and feeling ready to tackle the next person to touch him, Harry looked up. His forehead furrowed as he realized that Leroy Potter was clutching his blood stained wand in his hand, which was now hanging limply at his side.

"Sorry," the man muttered, taking in a few calming breaths. His arm shook mildly as he held out the wand. Harry, not exactly sure how to react, took a step forward and took it, placing it safely in his back pocket.

"Are you okay?" his grandfather asked, fingers twisting together in a knot of skin and bone.

Harry nodded his head, scraping his fingernails on his palms, itchy from the blood and sweat. He finally felt safe enough to lift his hands once again to his head, wincing as he dabbed at the cut, which had finally stopped oozing blood. He felt his grandfather's eyes traveling with his hand, and something in Harry stirred at the worried look in the man's eyes.

Leroy Potter looked suddenly over Harry's shoulder, as his aged friend stepped forward.

"He needs to go to St. Mungo's," Leroy said calmly, thinking it was best not to act like a lunatic when it came to discussing the boy he didn't even know.

"Poppy will fix Harry up nicely," Dumbledore said with his mild affirmation, in that voice that Harry once would cling to, for it meant everything was taken care of and under control.

As if a guiding way, he motioned towards the door. Dumbledore moved slowly, motioning for Harry and Leroy to follow. Leroy seemed to have an insatiable look of fear on his face as Harry shook slightly as he walked down the first few step. But as the minutes passed, the look faded and Harry felt for the first time as if this man was a stranger.

The two continued on talking, and Harry could care less whether they were discussing him or not. He was used to people talking about him as if he wasn't in the room. Besides, words were melting together at that point. The deepest reaches of his mind were trying to force him to think, to realize his friends were probably dead. After all, admitting they were gone was the first step.

What was that damn itching? His hand felt like it was on fire.

Was this grief? Was it acceptance? Harry didn't know. Suddenly, the lessons learned from the graveyard a year ago disappeared. This loss, this ringing in his soul, was somehow different from Cedric's death. It was close, it was personal. And it burned. It burned his insides till Harry wanted nothing more than to drown in hopes of quenching the flames.

The itch was crawling up his arm. Harry frowned and scratched harder, a blank expression on his face. He had to hop to the side to miss an open doorway.

He wondered if they hated him. They had to. He let them die after all. He failed them. It was the cruelest of things that he had survived. That thought, more than any other, dug into his brain and gave him a familiar little phrase. It was a phrase so dark, and so disastrous to young souls that most don't survive it. Harry had known the phrase since he had been a child, yet he had finally started to forget them. Now that they were back, it was enough to knock him off his feet.

He rubbed his neck, nails grating against the skin. Harry's mouth was parted, as if the air had to push itself into his lungs. He couldn't put a finger on the voice which was repeating the phrase, but Harry knew it. He hated that he knew it. Why was he the one to know the phrase better than anyone else?

I'm alone.

Harry's hands wrapped around cheek, fingertips pushing hard onto his temples.

I'm alone.

They were looking at him now. The two older men, for some bizarre reason, were glancing over. Harry figured he should be used to it, but the fact that they couldn't just look at the potted plants made him angry.

I'm alone.

He almost looked up wildly, hearing his name being called. It was in a far away voice that haunted him, but Harry somehow yearned for it. Maybe he could hear one of his friends one last time. He was struggling even now to cling to their memories. Now that they were gone, all their voice and scents and actions were fleeing him.

"Harry?" the voice said. Harry guessed this was the time when he should suddenly be rushing into a tunnel of light or mist where their figures would be standing. He shut his eyes for a moment, trying to concentrate when a strong grip pulled his hand away from his head.

"Harry!"

The harsh light seemed even brighter when Harry took in a sharp breath, glancing over to his grandfather, who was holding his hand tightly.

"You're going to bore a hole in your head," the man muttered, patting Harry's hand and letting it drop back down. "That cut's already done enough damage."

Harry blinked, and looked as Leroy Potter stopped as they entered the large entrance to the Ministry of Magic. Harry suddenly felt lost as he listened to the conversation.

"One thing eludes me Albus," Leory said, a questioning look on his face. Harry's neck nearly cricked as he looked back and forth between the two of them. "How did you know to come?"

A twinkle seemed to return to Headmaster's eye.

"I was informed by a very old friend of mine that some serious trouble was brewing here and I needed to get the Minister as I could. I believed you talk to him."

Both Leroy's and Harry's faces were showing marks of confusion, till Leroy suddenly let out a chuckle and ran his face over his hands.

"The portrait?" he asked.

Harry, who felt as if he couldn't bear to stand a moment longer, looked to Dumbledore, who simply nodded.

"The portrait."

Hoped you liked it! If you don't understand the portrait referance, just read the chapter and it'll all become clear. For all those who was thinking Dumbly's decision was rushed, it wasn't. He had to move quickly and more of his plan will be revealed in later chapters. Review so I can write more!