Three Doors Down Chapter 6: It's Not Me, a harry potter fanfic

Disclaimer: Not mine. Happy?

Author's twaddle: OK. For this chapter, I need to know what your favourite book is. And Harry Potter books do not count! My personal favourite (right now) is Pride and Prejudice. I just read it a few weeks ago and whoowee! So good. So tell me what it is for you! Don't leave me hanging!

AT2: Er… don't hit me or anything but there is basically no Tristan in this chapter. She just didn't play into this part of the story. Sorry for those looking forward to a romantic chapter.

This chapter goes to Smurkle Snap for the weird word "Smirk"!

A chapter of confrontations:

Dumbledore

Snape

Harry.

Oh my.

Chapter 6: It's Not Me

Harry felt his feet hit the ground and pitched forward, connecting painfully with the floor of Professor Dumbledore's office. I hate portkeys. He thought sourly. His knees groaned in protest as he pulled himself to his feet.

"All right there, Harry?" asked the Headmaster cheerfully. Harry nodded, not meeting the older man's eyes. "Have a seat, my dear boy. Lemon drop?" came the typical offer. Harry shook his head.

"Pity," sighed Dumbledore. "They are the most exquisite candy. Absolutely wonderful." He popped one into his own mouth and paused for a brief second to enjoy it. Harry sat uncomfortably, waiting for some indication of what the Headmaster wanted to talk about. He didn't have to wait long.

Dumbledore opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a small stack of papers, along with another pair of glasses. He took the glasses he had been wearing off and stashed them away, setting the new pair on his nose. (The new pair was identical in every way to the ones that he had just put away. The whole point of the action was lost to Harry.) The old man then leaned forward, examining Harry closely.

"Professor McGonagall passed on the information that you were either experiencing very bad nightmares or…visions. Is this correct?"

"Yes, sir. I'm pretty sure that I had a vision a couple of nights ago," Harry swallowed hard. "It was…pretty bad. If there's anything I can do to get rid of them, I'll do it. They've got to be stopped."

"I have been searching for another person to teach you occlumency. Unfortunately, none have the level of competence required to teach you how to block out Lord Voldemort. I realize that your relationship with Professor Snape is less than amiable, but if you truly wish to have the best of instruction, he would be your first choice."

"You can't teach me?" questioned Harry desperately, clutching at straws.

The old man shook his head. "I'm afraid not," he answered gently. "I am very busy at the moment. The war has started in earnest, and I have many things that must be arranged. The ministry is in need of an extreme amount of advice, so I often spend full days there. I have little time to spare at the moment."

"I understand," Harry spoke to his hands.

"You will also be training with Order members three times a week. Remus passed on your message that you wanted to be properly trained for the war. I agree with you. It is most probable that you will be face with many dangerous situations before this is over. It is better that you are trained and ready than sent blindly into danger. Therefore, every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday an Order member will come and help you develop new skills to aid you in the war. I have already put in a request at the Ministry that they would lift the ban on underage wizardry for you. I am quite confident that it shall be granted."

"Thank you, sir," murmured Harry softly, glad that he would finally get the skills he needed. He was well aware of his many limitations, and couldn't imagine that he had any chance of winning the war with his current level of competence.

"Alastor Moody, Remus, Tonks, and Bill Weasley will take turns instructing you. I trust that is acceptable?" The headmaster's eyes twinkled behind his glasses. He knew full well that all of the above were people that Harry liked and respected, and would be delighted to learn from.

"Yes, sir," Harry stopped his smile before it even started, reminding himelf that he would still need to endure occlumency with Snape. "When are my lessons with Professor Snape going to be?"

"Saturday and Tuesday evenings, around 7 o'clock. Arabella Figg has kindly offered her house for you use, and that is where Professor Snape will meet you."

"Alright," Harry could just imagine – Professor Snape killing off Mrs. Figg's cats one by one as he snarled at Harry to 'clear his mind!'

"Harry," Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair, gazing at the teenager before him in concern, "I would like to remind you that you are not alone. We are all here – the Order, your friends, your teachers – and we are ready to aid you through the war. You will not have to endure this on your own. We will all be there, standing at your side."

Harry's heart twisted at hearing this speech. "Will you die because of me, too?" the words and tone were bitter, hinting at the pain and anger that Harry carried inside of him.

The young man stood, eyes glittering in masked fury. "I don't want any one fighting with me, headmaster. I have no interest in watching those I love die around me, being tortured like those poor people I saw in my vision. I don't want to see them face the pain of this fight," each word was said with solid conviction. "If there is anyway I can spare them from this war, I will do it, come hell or high water.

"Besides," Harry crossed his arms, face emotionless, "you're wrong. When it comes down to it, it's just me and Riddle. And no matter what you say or do, no one can follow me to that point."

And the Dark Lord shall mark him as his equal, but he shall have the power the Dark Lord knows not…And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…

The words of that life-changing prophecy echoed in the minds of both the old man and the young boy. Dumbledore regarded his student with sorrow and pride, somewhat taken aback by Harry's bold statement.

"My boy," he attempted, "Surely you realize that we aren't going to send you through this on your own. The Order is already a part of the war and they will be a crucial element in the outcome. The war isn't entirely dependant on you."

"No," agreed Harry, leaning back as he seated himself. His deep green eyes were unreadable. "Of course it isn't. How selfish of me. All I have to do is kill the evil overlord."

Dumbledore sighed inwardly as he picked up the bitterness in Harry's voice. With any luck, this training would give the young man a little more control and understanding of his place in the war.

"Very well, Harry," the headmaster murmured before changing the subject. "There is only one more significant matter that I wish to discuss with you."

Good. I'm sick of this conversation. Harry wanted to snarl. He managed to refrain, and instead raised a questioning eyebrow at his professor.

"There is a slight problem over the matter of this muggle girl you have befriended. I realize that you are trying to establish some sort of friendship with her, and I feel that I must warn you that nothing good can come of this."

"You've got to be kidding me," Harry stated in disbelief. "What exactly are you trying to say?"

Dumbledore was clearly choosing his words carefully. "Consider, my boy, the possible consequences. The girl has no knowledge of our world or the war that we are fighting. If anything were to happen to you this summer, there is the likelihood that she will become involved as well. You can of course see that this could put her in great danger. Not to mention that you will need to spend your summer focusing on your training. The girl could be an unnecessary distraction. Surely you can see reason in this matter. The entire Order is worried that this matter will have a negative impact upon you."

"Well, it's good to know that the Order is addressing things as urgent and important as my personal life at their meetings," Harry said dryly. "You must have a lot of time on your hands, Professor."

"Matters such as these are more important than you may think, Harry," the headmaster informed Harry gravely. "The smallest thing could change the tide of the war. We worry that this relationship you are forming could have a negative affect."

"I don't know exactly what you want from me," lied Harry. He knew full well that Dumbledore wanted him to break things off with Tristan, but he wanted to hear it straight from Dumbledore himself.

"I feel it would be best if you created some distance between yourself and the young lady. Make some room and focus on your training instead."

"So you want me to break it off with her?"

"For lack of a better word…yes," admitted the elderly man.

Harry sat in silence for a moment, as though considering the idea, and finally answered, "With all due respect, sir – no."

"Pardon me?" asked Dumbledore, as though he had missed what Harry said.

"No, I won't do it," elaborated Harry clearly. He pronounced every word exactly so there could be no mistaking what he said.

"Harry, please consider…"

"I don't understand you," the green-eyed teenager interrupted. "One moment you're telling me that I'm not alone, and the war doesn't just depend on me. And the next you're saying that I can't have a girlfriend, and the outcome of the war could be completely flipped just because of my love life. How's that for an oxymoron?

"I think you need to realize, sir, that I'm a human being too. I need friends and support and love. The Dursleys haven't exactly been forth coming in giving me support and love, so I take what I can get. Tristan is offering me a chance to be normal and happy." Harry looked up at his headmaster, steady and unwavering. "You don't know what it's like to be Harry Potter. It affects everything I do and say. It stops me from making friends easily, because when people look at me they see someone famous, not a normal person. Even you headmaster – when you look at me you see a savior, not a teenager."

"That's not true, Harry," cut in Dumbledore. "I am well aware that you are still young, and in need of support and guidance."

"Just hear me out, please," was Harry's only answer. His elder leaned back with a sigh and nodded to him.

"Continue, Harry."

"Tristan – Tristan doesn't see me that way. She," Harry faltered, "she looks at me and all she sees is Harry. And she likes me just because I'm me. Not because I'm the boy-who-lived, or because I've faced down Voldemort four times. She doesn't have any illusions about who I am.

"That's why I won't break things off with her, sir. She's one of the few things I can rely on that isn't related to the war, or my fame, or anything like that. And right now, that's what I need."

"It is your decision, my boy. I do wish that you would at least consider a little more what the consequences of this relationship may be."

Harry nodded stiffly in acknowledgement. He had the sinking feeling that everything he had tried to say had passed over Dumbledore's head unnoticed.

"Is that everything, sir? I would really like to be getting home."

"That is all that I needed to speak to you about," confirmed the professor. "You won't start your lessons with Professor Snape until Tuesday, but you will begin your training with Alastor Moody tomorrow."

"Yes, sir," Harry stood wearily. The headmaster reached into his desk and pulled out a lion pendant strung on a leather string. It was small and, when tucked under a shirt, it could go by unnoticed.

"This is an emergency portkey. If you are ever in danger, simply hold this in your hand and say 'Fawks.' It will bring you directly to the Hogwarts hospital wing. If you say 'home' it will now take you to your room at number 4 Privet drive."

"Thank you, sir. Have a nice day. Home."

Professor Dumbledore sat in silence for several minutes after Harry had departed. He stared at the spot that Harry had disappeared from, consternation lining his face.

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Harry arrived in his small bedroom, reeling from the sensation of the portkey. He did, however, manage to keep on his feet that time around. He hung the portkey around his neck, holding it for a minute to examine the lion hanging on the end. It was a typical Gryffindor lion, which made him smile somewhat woefully.

Sighing, the teenager looked around his room, a bit at a loss. He was still overwhelmed from his impassioned 'discussion' with Dumbledore. But really, the idea of breaking up with Tristan now, when she was almost all he had…

Harry rubbed his forehead with a groan. Suddenly it seemed like his room was closing in on him, making it harder to breathe, and Harry felt the itching urge to get out of the house. Within minutes he had exited his room, clambered down the stairs and left the house through the front door. He pointedly ignored his aunt screeching behind him, demanding to know how and when he had arrived home.

It was early afternoon, and the sun was hot on his back as he strode to the shade of the park. Light shone through the leaves, dappling the path before him. Harry stopped in the shade of a tree near the open field where Tris and her friends were playing a game of football (i.e. soccer - for all you Canadians and Americans out there). He sat on the browning grass and watched them from a distance, deep in thought.

"Moping, Potter?" a smooth voice interrupted his musings. Harry jerked around for a moment, disorientated, before he remembered that any order member would be disguised or invisible while guarding him. The voice was undeniably Snape's.

"Yep," Harry answered, inwardly exasperated. The man just didn't know when to give up! "All day I sit around moping. It's a favourite past time of mine, sir."

"Don't take that attitude with me, Potter. Show some respect for those who are better than you," snarled the black haired man. Harry didn't even bother to turn and look at the professor. What was the point? The man was invisible anyway. Lazily, Harry smiled, imagining what it would look like to the muggles around them if he suddenly started to argue with Snape.

"And what attitude do you think I am taking, sir?"

"You positively drip with arrogance, sarcasm, and laziness, Potter. Obviously it is beyond your ability to do something productive with your time, seeing that you have reposed yourself rather lethargically on the grass that has been-" here he paused before continuing disdainfully, "-defiled by all manner of disgusting creatures."

Harry rolled his eyes at the unnecessary description. "I've had a busy morning," was the only reply he gave.

"Well," snapped Snape. "That certainly excuses you. This may come as a surprise, Potter, but we are in the middle of a war. Perhaps this has never occurred to you, but in general, war does not allow people to sit and rest because they've had a busy morning."

Harry stiffened, taking offence from Snape's comment. "I'm not exactly being included in your little parties with the 'old crowd,' sir. As far as they are concerned, the best thing for me to do is what I'm doing now; not getting involved. Many people would be delighted to hear that all I'm doing is sitting around."

"They are fools," countered Snape immediately. "As are you. If you think that this war will pass quickly, Potter, you are badly mistaken. You should be spending every available moment preparing for what is to come. If you want to be ready when the time comes, you should stop wasting time on frivolous activities like these."

"These 'frivolous activities' are what keeps me going everyday, professor. Knowing that life can go on, and be enjoyable, is more encouraging to me than you can possibly understand."

"Ridiculous," muttered the older man.

Harry chuckled humorlessly, and picked at the grass before him. "What exactly do you want me to be? An adult? A warrior? A martyr?" Harry stared challengingly into the ground (it was hard to look at someone who wasn't visible). The teenager took a deep breath before continuing. "A murderer?"

Silence filled the air behind him. Apparently there wasn't much to say to a comment like that.

"That's not me, sir. That's not the way I want my life to be. But I don't have much choice in the matter. So I'm going to enjoy what I have, when I have it. I'm smart enough to know that it won't last forever."

Harry stood, tired of trying to explain himself. If they didn't get it, then there was nothing that he could do about it. He marched off toward his friends, leaving Snape and the shade of the tall oak tree behind for the light of the football field.

Tris spun, kicking the ball high in the air over the heads of the opposite team. Yells of dismay arose when the goalie fumbled the ball, allowing it to trickle through his fingers. Tristan raised her fist in victory, laughing at the sky. She caught sight of Harry from the corner of her eye and jogged over to him, kissing him softly.

Snape remained in the darkness of the shade, curling his lip at the display in disgust, still pondering the words Harry had whispered as he walked away.

"It's not me."

AT3: One final note for my dear readers – I am very sorry for the wait. I'm afraid that I hit a bit of a writers block during the conversation between Dumbledore and Harry. I'm still not entirely pleased with it. I hope you enjoyed it in any case. Hopefully the next one will be out sooner.

REMEMBER I want to know what your favourite book is. Those who answer will get a chapter dedicated to them – whether they are signed reviewers or not.

Smile ;)

Jasperite