A/N: A long chapter. For you. Still very little of Severus - you will have to be patient.
Chapter 3: Harry
"You are a Metamorphmagus, Hary."
Silence.
Everyone in the room - that was he, Pomfrey, and Hagrid - turned to Dumbledore, stunned, speechless. The silvery beard twitched. It still wasn't funny.
"One more time and slowly, please," Harry said, not knowing where did it come from. Well, more drawled than actually said.
"You are a Metamorphmagus, Harry," Dumbledore repeated very slowly, now openly grinning at his amazed audience. Harry gave up and lay back, closing his eyes. The back of his eyelids was instantly flooded with images.
'Nonsense, nonsense...' chanted a small voice in his head merrily. He felt like he was going crazy. 'Dumbledore's ghost just told me I am a Metamorphmagus.' That short sentence featured so many absurdities that Harry simply gave up and burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. It was as rich and velvety as his speech.
'Right! A Metamorphmagus!'
'Now calm down, suckling, would you!' thundered Fawkes. 'What if you first tried to think about what the older and wiser are telling you?' The phoenix couldn't hide exasperation.
Harry knew he was acting irrationally as well as he knew he should be probably ashamed for it. It took him a long while until he sobered enough to be able to seriously contemplate the suggestion.
'It is impossible. You have to be born a Metamorphmagus. I was not. I didn't show the least sign of any ability to change my appearance at will.'
'Haven't you?'
Startled, Harry thought back, skimming his memory.
'All right. I managed to grow my hair. A bit of wandless magic.'
'Only?' piped the phoenix, now becoming slightly annoying. But Harry didn't want to risk another disciplinary, so he 'kept his mouth shut'.
'As far as I know.'
Fawkes materialised perching on Harry's feet.
'Ask Albus.'
Harry shook his head.
'No! I don't believe it. Nobody gave me any reason to and I have a Hell of a good reason against!' He felt a bucket of oil being emptied on his head, but didn't care. He was right. He was right!
'Your voice is different because your vocal chords are shaped differently. If it is not enough look at your hands.' Against his will, Harry complied. Fortunately he was used to shocks, because this was a particularly extreme one. His fingers were longer than they used to be, paler, and sort of... elegant? He desperately lifted his glance, as though looking for somebody to ascertain that this had all been a lame hoax.
'Ask Albus.' He looked at the silvery figure. Why should he ask the ex-Headmaster for evidence? Unless...
Harry's eyes blazed with anger.
"You knew it!" he yelled. Dumbledore nodded.
'You're so lucky to be already dead because I-'
'Language!' Fawkes screeched. Harry glared at him, but stopped that train of thoughts. It wouldn't help him. He could ventilate his anger a different way.
"Right. What was with that 'Sit down, Harry, I'll tell you everything'? You lied to me ever since I set foot in Hogwarts. I had no childhood. I looked up to a father-figure that was a phantom. You cold-bloodedly used me for your plans and then let yourself be blown up and set your phoenix at me.
And now you want me to believe you? Ridiculous." All mirth from Dumbledore's gaze vanished. He sighed heavily. Harry prepared to listen to explanations and apologies. And refuse them. However, the ghost merely looked over at Fawkes and asked.
"Do you really think I had a choice?"
Harry grimaced.
'Who would say the Saint Dumbledore was such a Slytherin? Voldemort would laugh his rear off.' Fawkes dipped him in the oily sensation again. He ignored it. He was right. Righteously angry.
Harry closed his eyes and ostentatiously ignored them both. A pitiful ghost. Not a shadow of what the man once had been and meant. An obnoxious chicken, determined to destroy the little it had yet left him of his life. He hated them. And no ice, juice, oil or toddy would ever change it.
Then Dumbledore started talking again, quietly, without knowing whether Harry listened. The bed-ridden boy didn't have any other option.
"Harry, I suspected it since your third year. Since you caught the Knight Bus... I spoke to Ernie Prang. The man is positively weird, but a good-heart. He said that neither he nor Stan Shunpike had recognised you. Stan is... well, not very receptive, but Ernie should have known who you were the moment he spotted you. I take it you wished not to be recognised."
Against his will Harry nodded. His eyes, though closed, stung. It made sense. His subconscious began to accept the fact. Dumbledore inhaled.
'An ironic action from a ghost.'
"During the Second task of the Triwizard Tournament you used Gillyweed... And while the plant does bestow both gills and webs, it does not lend you the ability to communicate with Merpeople. Neither it colours your skin blue... Though at that time Fawkes supposed it might have been due to overdose."
Harry gave in and sat up straight, glaring at the ex-Headmaster's ghost.
"Anything more?"
"The worst. Are you sure you want to hear this?"
Harry growled and stared at the semitransparent face. He hated all this. But he needed assistance to survive the war. The silky voice was surprisingly fit for his next statement.
"I'm afraid I have to. But I want a deal: from this day on you will be absolutely honest with me, you will not lie and you will not hide anything from me. Deceive me and I am leaving." Hagrid somewhere in the background choked, seeing Harry treating Dumbledore like this. Pomfrey pressed her hand against her chest and eventually rushed off to recover some potion from her cabinet.
'Where would you go?' Fawkes asked angrily.
'To my friends. They are outright with me - and we would figure out a way to get at Riddle,' Harry shot back. 'And besides, I wonder how would you communicate with Dumbledore if I left? He can do neither magic nor Legilimency. You would be pretty lost without a translator, wouldn't you?' Fawkes screeched and glared at Dumbledore. The ghost gave a small smile.
"I have taught him well, haven't I?" The phoenix clapped his beak furiously and left with a blaze. Dumbledore chuckled and gave Harry an answer to his unvoiced question. "That's the first time I have managed to defy his desire."
"He wanted me tame..." Harry muttered, surprised to hear his voice was back to normal. One glance at his hands showed they were the same as before this mess happened. Something quirked him, but he decided to ask that without the presence of Hagrid or Pomfrey.
"Yes, he did. And you, much like Tom would have been, are strong enough to fight against his Caesarism," Dumbledore said bitterly.
"You..." Harry gasped.
"I wasn't," the ghost confirmed with a troubling finality. "I even stayed behind as a spirit to do his bidding. He is the general in this war, just as he was in the previous one. And it is very convenient to have ghosts in your rank, especially for spying and other... activities."
"But that is brilliant, sir." Harry admitted.
'A bird is the best strategist on the Light Side? What would Ron say?' Fortunately Fawkes left the place completely and didn't stay to watch Harry's thoughts. He was probably sulking somewhere.
"Mister Potter, drink this." Madam Pomfrey stood beside his bed and forced a vial in his hands. He uncorked it and didn't even have to ask what it was; he immediately recognised the smell.
"I won't. Sorry."
Her face darkened dangerously as she swooped down on him.
"It is-"
"A Calming Draught, I know. I don't need it," he said, perfectly calmly. He had to hide his irritation though, the debate with Dumbledore just started to be interesting and he wanted to resume.
"That is for me to decide."
He looked at her coldly and saw her pale again.
"That will be alright, Poppy. Would you please excuse us?" asked the ex-Headmaster. He apparently still had all the respect from the medi-witch, because she complied without a word of complaint. As she was retreating, Dumbledore patted Hagrid's shoulder and whispered something in his ear. The half-giant stood up, came over to hug Harry one more time and left as well, muttering.
"What did I do, sir?" Harry asked, worried, though he was quite sure he knew the answer. He was right.
"You morphed. Only a little... I suppose your skills aren't as extensive as, per say, Nymhadora Tonks's."
Harry met the twinkling eyes with determination. Suddenly he was glad that Dumbledore was there, grateful for all the man had ever done for him and didn't grasp how could he ever have thought he hated him.
"Sir? What- What did I look like?"
"When, Harry?"
"When I woke up." Dumbledore's eyes didn't sway. Harry knew this time he was going to wise up the truth.
"Like somebody else. Not yourself yet... the difference wasn't so great. I suppose you can not make a too great difference. With some training you probably will be able to change your hair, face, skin-colour... but do not expect much. Maybe a little height-difference." Harry tried to smirk, but he felt rather sad. He was robbed of the chance to become an Animagus because of minimal morphing ability. Life wasn't fair.
"In point of fact, sir, why can't I be Animagus?"
"It's very much alike the effect of Polyjuice Potion, Harry. These skills cannot combine. Last time a Metamorphmagus tried the Animagi, she..." Dumbledore hushed, saddened.
"She?" inquired Harry.
"She melted. Lost control over her shape. Died."
There was a while of heavy silence. Harry didn't want to disturb Dumbledore's recollections, but eventually decided to speak up.
"Sir, what you were saying before Madam Pomfrey came... about the use of ghosts in the war... How come nobody ever thought of it before?" The ex-Headmaster's head snapped up sharply and he smiled wanly, as though trying to assure Harry he was fine.
"Oh, of course they did. But it's nearly impossible to persuade a ghost to fight for your cause."
"But, why? I mean... It's not like they could get hurt. And there's virtually nothing that can stop them, being incorporeal and all..." Dumbledore shook his head.
"They aren't incorporeal, Harry, merely immaterial."
'Of course. I'm being stupid... should start thinking again.' He kicked off the blanket to prevent getting too hot. The sun was high and it was another warm day.
"So... Why haen't you asked Nick? I'm sure he would be happy to help-"
"Sadly, Harry, you are mistaken," Dumbledore contravened, "Ghosts generally aren't interested in the wars of the living. And we shall be grateful for that... Most ghosts are bitter and vengeful, that being the reason why they didn't move on after their death. They are attracted towards the Darkness rather than the Light.
The light namely tends to blatantly expose that they are dead."
Trying to avoid another while of uncomfortable silence, Harry squirmed and spoke again.
"Sir, I have two more questions."
"Spill it up, young man."
"The third time you saw me morph," he said darkly. It wasn't exactly a question, but Dumbledore didn't mind. He was quite easier to deal with, without the phoenix in his head.
"It was the night in the Ministry of Magic."
Harry gasped. He didn't know what he awaited, but this certainly wasn't it.
"When I was possessed..."
Dumbledore confirmed that his guess was right.
"For a while there you very much resembled Tom Riddle of your age, though you didn't look exactly like him. I dare say it was due to your limited abilities, however poorly it might sound. The mind of Lord Voldemort willed your body to look like Lord Voldemort..."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Dumbledore sighed.
"Harry, do you remember what you felt and acted like that night?"
Harry nodded, ashamed.
"Like an ultimate prat."
The ghost inclined his head, sending a few strands of silvery hair float through the air despite the lack of breeze in the room.
"I cannot but agree; you were distraught, Harry. There was no way I could add one more thing to your burden." It was hard to accept. But Harry made effort and, eventually, succeeded. Though the subject wouldn't stop nagging him.
"Sir, what you told me that night... About the Prophecy... That is true, isn't it?"
"Of course it is. I might have kept facts from you - I'm not proud of it - but I never knowingly lied to you... Now, what is the other thing that bothers you?" But Harry suddenly couldn't remember. So he threw in a substitute.
"What did you want to talk to me about? I'm afraid I missed the appointment."
popopopopo
Days passed. After the initial instructions Dumbledore gave him, Harry had been left to take care of himself. At first he had thought he would feel lonely, but he had been mistaken. When Fawkes called him a 'trainee' he didn't take it utterly. He should have.
The first day of summer holiday he woke up at dawn with a rather nasty shock that caused him to set the draperies on fire. But who wouldn't have if an angry bird had screeched right into his ear? He had been forced to do exercise. By the time when he usually ate breakfast he felt dead. He had formed a very good picture of how the hundred and twenty-something years old wizard had kept so fit - as long as it didn't kill him it made him stronger. That was the start of the nightmare.
Harry's schedule over the first three weeks consisted of a 'morning warm-up', as Fawkes haughtily called it, sessions with Dumbledore, in which he was introduced to as much of the Dark Arts as decency allowed starting with further details about Tom Riddle's life, mostly from his years at Hogwarts, and studying. He was left to research and learn what he wanted to, even to use the books from the Restricted Section of the Library, though the phoenix kept an eye on him almost constantly, 'in the case he would try something inappropriate'. He didn't. He didn't have the power to try anything; every night he returned from the Library he fell into his bed in the way too large bedroom, closed his eyes to block out the view of four empty beds and fell asleep. Instantly. He would dream of the past, mostly. Of his parents. Of Sirius. Of Dumbledore... Those dreams usually turned into the memory of him being murdered. Snape sneered at Harry.
He lost count of the days. From the letters Ron, Hermione and Ginny had been sending him he estimated the end of July was nearing. And with it his birthday.
When he walked into the Library that morning he was startled to find Dumbledore waiting for him. The ex-Headmaster spent very little time keeping him company - Harry ascribed it to his work for the Order, though he wasn't sure exactly what was the resident ghost doing. As the few people staying in the castle (Hagrid, Pomfrey, McGonagall and probably Trelawney, though he didn't spot her) were told to 'not bother him', he enjoyed every chance on a conversation.
"Good morning, sir," he said casually and deposited a stack of notes on 'his' desk, next to a pile of books. He didn't bother putting them back into shelves every evening; Pince was gone for holiday and he would need them again, so there was no point. He smirked, realising that Hermione would have had a coronary seeing him like this.
"Morning, Harry. Do you have a little time for me?"
He arched an eyebrow. A little time? He had all the time in the world, secluded in the castle.
"I have new instructions for you."
"Do they include meeting a mortal?" Harry asked sarcastically, sitting down and putting his feet comfortably up on the next chair.
"I thought you were visiting Hagrid every now and then?"
The boy shook his head sadly. After the night he had stayed at the cabin, having decided he would rather wake up smelly and happy than clean and sour, those visits had been... eliminated.
"Fawkes reckons that the visits had been distracting me." Now he only ever saw McGonagall, who agreed to the 'Dark Arts lessons' taking place in the Head's office. And Dobby, of course. He could have seen Kreacher if he wanted to, but somehow no company seemed more appealing than Kreacher's company.
"I'm sorry, my boy. It seems that you aren't getting on too well?"
"Actually it is better than what I feared at first... He doesn't stick with me all the time. I was afraid I won't have a bit of privacy, not even in thoughts. It turned out that apart from being a meddling bastard he's quite nice." Which was very close to the truth. Harry didn't scorn the phoenix as much as he had the first days, though he didn't come to like him either. "You said you had instructions?" he reminded unnecessarily. He wasn't particularly eager to hear them, but it might have turned out that he would get to do something fun. Or maybe he would have a day off, but that was probably getting his hopes too high.
"Starting tomorrow you will continue learning Occlumency."
Harry glanced up at the flittering ghost. Now that sounded interesting.
"Who's going to teach me?"
'Dumbledore apparently not. Neither Snape.' His heart leapt at the happy realisation that he wouldn't have to see that stinking Death Eaters' visage in none of his lessons, ever again.
"Fawkes."
Harry groaned. There went all his hopes of seeing a living human. Dumbledore gave him a look of compassion. "I really do feel sorry for you, Harry."
popopopopo
About an hour later Harry looked up from the Advanced Duellist's Tutorial, older but well-written book, to see Dumbledore still hovering in the room, watching as he read. It was, after all, a rare occurrence to see this student study.
The quietness and lack of other occupation usually helped Harry concentrate, but the ghost seemed to invade that pattern. He felt his focus slipping away. Realising that he wasn't able to return to How to avoid unseen obstructions - Duel in Dark, which was the third volume, and so far the most enlightening, he slammed it shut. The green ribbon fastened to its back removed itself to the page where he left off.
"What's going on outside the castle, sir?"
Dumbledore descended to a level where Harry could look at him without craning his neck, chuckling.
"I already started being afraid you would never ask. Do you have something concrete in mind?"
"Voldemort," Harry replied without hesitation.
"Very well." Dumbledore repositioned himself so that he appeared to be sitting on the edge of the desk. "Tom has a lot of trouble these days. He is running short on pure-blooded wizards willing to join him. He went as far as to 'import' some foreign families. He started an imperial propaganda in the western Europe, so, obviously, he didn't have so much time to cause havoc home. Some of the wizards who went to hiding actually felt safe enough to return."
"Who?" Harry asked anxiously, hoping to hear the name 'Florean Fortescue'.
"The Whitehorns. Tiberius Ogden. Gaspard Stringleton and Greta Catchlove. Roland Kegg, to my greatest dismay, but don't tell him, please, if you were ever to meet. Ollivander...(1)" Harry knew most of those names, but wasn't really interested. He was glad to hear Ollivander didn't indeed side with the Darkness, however, Fortescue was still missing and he had a feeling he won't eat another ice-cream at his Parlour.
"So there is relative silence?" Dumbledore affirmed it with a nod. Harry muttered grimly. "Calm before the storm."
"I quite agree, quite agree... "
"There were no deaths?" Harry asked incredulously. Not even Voldemort's absence could discourage the blood-lusting Death Eaters.
"Several Muggle villages were raided. There was a slaughter in a Muggle evidentide home. Apparently no one survived, though we do not have a clue what might have been the motive. Griselda couldn't find any relations to whatever wizarding family, and she had dug through the entire archive because of it..." Harry didn't intend to listen to a ramble about Dumbledore's old friends, so he cut in.
"And the politics- uh, I mean, what is the Ministry doing?" Dumbledore consoled himself with a sigh and a head-shake.
"Not much constructive, so to say. Though I must admit that the Minister's precautions helped in preventing an attempted break-out from Azkaban. Lucius Malfoy remains where he belongs..." he said, as though reading Harry's mind. Which he now, of course, couldn't, but he apparently knew his student well. "On the other hand, the Goblin Liaison Office had a dangerous cross with the Gringotts. Several very important Goblins already were about to join Voldemort."
"But didn't," Harry said, hoping that he read the ghosts expression correctly.
"I had a word with the Director and his wife. They decided to remain neutral in honour of my cousin and old friend Oswald... And the Goblin population mostly follows the Director's example."
"So we don't have to worry about fighting Goblins to get to our gold? Good."
Dumbledore shook his head muttering something Harry knew he wouldn't have liked if he had heard it.
"Do you have any new information on the Horcruxes?" The ex-Headmaster looked at him with an uneasy frown, apparently fighting an inner battle. But he had promised to tell Harry the truth. Whatever else he might have been, he was also an honest man. Relatively.
"We do. We have localised the one that had been removed from the Cave... But I won't tell you more information, Harry. Not until you are prepared to face the Dark Arts on your own. The next time I won't be there to your aid." There was a finality in that statement. Harry knew that he could have argued as much as he wished and it wouldn't move the spirit.
"How did you find out? Do you know who is R.A.B.?" he inquired, briefly looking towards the back of the Library where the yearbooks filled several shelves. Was R.A.B. a former Hogwarts student?
"We received information from our spy," Dumbledore said, an amused smirk playing under his semitransparent beard. "It seems that Tom had been gloating about the end that met the traitor after our fiasco with the fake had been disclosed to him. And yes, I know the identity of the traitor." He made a dramatic pause, much to Harry's annoyance. He felt no need for drama, rather the urge to return to Advanced Duellist's Tutorial before Fawkes found him idling.
"Who was it?"
"Regulus Black." Harry smacked his head. Hermione was going to be so mad at herself... It was an amusing prospect.
"Of course! Sirius did say that Voldemort killed him... But he said that Regulus tried to back out from something. That he didn't like what they told him to do..."
"Harry, I doubt that Sirius had accurate information, seeing as not even the Death Eaters outside the Inner Circle did." Harry's eyes narrowed.
"You have a spy in the Inner Circle? Still?" He felt his insides burn with wrath. Snape, that slimy greasy maggot was bad enough to get so close to Voldemort... But where could Dumbledore find another one with seemingly wavering loyalities?
"I do. However, Harry... By chance I know that Fawkes won't be returning before the dusk today, so... how about you make a break and use the time to train morphing?"
popopopopo
(1) Want to know who are these people? Look at the Chocolate Frog Cards from the game Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (for PC)
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+ Review To be continued
Alas, the next update will take more
time. I'm going into wild and the
computer resolutely refused to accompany me. He's staying home,
sulking. I'll let him. So, until the next time.
Brynn
