A/N: So, who's excited about Half Blood Prince? 201 days left!!!!!
I really do have a life.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters, locations, and situations belong to JK Rowling.
Chapter 3 – Conversations with Dumbledore
"Professor Dumbledore!" Harry cried, fighting the impulse to dash across the room and give his headmaster a hug. Finally, someone would sort this all out, tell him why his aunt had gone crazy all of a sudden.
"Harry," he said with a twinkle in those clear blue eyes. "I'm flattered. You know I've never been a professor in my life."
Why's he pretending? Harry thought desperately.
"What am I pretending, Harry?"
"Dumbledore," he insisted, "it's me. She's gone. You don't have to pretend not to know me anymore."
"Not know you?" Dumbledore said, a look of confusion on his face. "Harry, I'd like to think we've gotten close over the years."
"So … why are you saying you aren't a professor?"
"Because I'm not. May I ask you a question?"
"I guess," Harry said uncertainly. Was Dumbledore touched in the head? Albus Dumbledore insane – now that was a scary thought.
"Why are you calling me 'Dumbledore'?"
"Because you don't want me to call you 'Professor'."
He smiled at Harry. "My name is Ogden Rami, Harry. Dr. Rami. Don't you remember?"
He stared in horror at his headmaster. Was this a trick of Voldemort's? How could Dumbledore not know who he was?
"May I ask you another question?" Dumbledore didn't wait for an answer before continuing. "Who is Dumbledore?"
"You are," Harry said, searching his mind for a way to break whatever spell Voldemort had put over his world. Strangely, he kept drawing blanks, despite the intensive Defense training Dumbledore had given him over the past year.
"I mean … what is he?"
"Headmaster at Hogwarts," Harry replied. "The only one Voldemort ever feared. The best … Don't you remember?"
"Have a seat, Harry," Dumbledore sighed wearily. When Harry had seated himself, the older man asked, "What do Hogwarts and Voldemort mean?"
Harry was on the verge of answering, but something inexplicable stopped him.
"Who are you?" he asked suspiciously. Just how much did Dumbledore know about himself? Maybe he fancied himself a muggle in this alternate universe.
"I am Ogden Rami, head 'counselor' at St. Brutus' Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys. You've been here in my office at least once a year ever since you started here six years ago. As I've said before, I'd like to think we've become good friends. Would you like to tell me about yourself?"
"Look, Professor –"
"Please, Harry," Dumbledore interrupted. "No more pretending. Can we at least agree that I'm not a professor?"
"Yeah – whatever," Harry said. "Look, Mr. … this might be a shock, but I'm a wizard. A real one. I have a wand and everything." To prove his point, Harry pulled his wand out of his back pocket.
"And – you're a wizard too. The headmaster at Hogwarts - that's the wizard school I go to. But you got the part about me being in your office a lot right. We'd talk once a year, at least. About important things."
"I see. And what have I told you?"
"'It does not do to dwell on dreams.' 'To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.' 'Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself.' 'The truth is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with caution.' 'It is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.' 'The consequences of our actions are always so complex, so diverse …' 'You think the dead we loved ever truly leave us?'"
"You can say those things off by heart," remarked Dumbledore. "You look up to this man?"
"I used to," Harry replied. "Before he – before you stopped telling me things."
"Things like 'It is far more our choices that show who we are'?"
"No – things about –" Harry glared suspiciously at the man who looked so much like Dumbledore, yet recollected nothing about the wizarding world. Now that he came to think of it, the man in front of him could be anyone – could even be a death eater in disguise. And after what happened to Sirius when Harry's personal information had been given out, Harry was usually very careful about giving out too much information about himself to strangers.
But he's not a stranger.
"Harry? Things about what?"
"I don't know if I can trust you," he replied. Then Hermione's words, spoken so long ago, came floating back to him. 'If we can't trust Dumbledore, we can't trust anyone.' Harry looked into the older man's light-blue eyes. He was still Dumbledore, wasn't he? Still the only one he could trust.
"Things about … what Voldemort's planning with me," Harry continued slowly.
"The truth. What's really going on with the war."
"Voldemort?"
Harry cleared his throat. "He – I don't want to talk about it."
"He's bad? And planning something with you?"
"Always," Harry said. "He's always – I'm the only thing keeping him from world domination, you see, and he wants to –"
Harry stared down at his knees. He killed everyone I love to get to me.
"Everyone? You surely can't believe that. I care about you and I'm still here."
Harry snapped his head up. "How are you doing that?" he demanded. "How can you read my thoughts?"
"Oh – were you thinking?"
"Of course."
"You were talking out loud, Harry," Dumbledore said.
"With – without realizing it?"
"Apparently."
Just like Kreacher, Harry thought with dread, remembering the demented house-elf.
"Which creature?"
Harry just stared at Dumbledore's wizened face in horror.
I'm not demented, am I?
"Let's not call it 'demented'," Dumbledore said. "Let's call it … special."
