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Brynn

Chapter 12: William

"Who is the lucky one?" asked Dumbedore and obviously thought it witty, because he smiled to his own joke and his silvery half-transparent eyes were twinkling once again. The short while of exposed weakness passed, and the ghost was once again his usual self.

"I don't know if he's lucky, sir. In fact, I doubt it."

"Somebody I know?"

"I don't know that, either. But I suppose… maybe you do." Dumbledore sighed.

"Let me guess: Severus."

Harry nodded; his throat was constricted as he awaited another fit of anger. But this time he would be prepared for it…

"I thought I said enough to this topic-" Dumbledore said surprisingly calmly, "I trust Severus and he will continue-"

"I'm not arguing, sir," Harry interrupted, trying to escape hearing another tirade. It was becoming wearisome. He had made his point and knew that despite it Fawkes would continue persuading him to 'forgive' Snape, but Fawkes respected his free will and wouldn't force him.

"I'm glad," Dumbledore stated in a tone that left room for little doubt that he was convinced it was his merit. "So, what did you want to talk about?"

"Draco Malfoy," Harry answered without hesitation. The ghost frowned at him as though attempting to find some fishy intentions, but the boy was earnestly interested in Malfoy's fate.

"Why do you ask?"

Harry looked at him, striving to hide annoyance and impatience, and fighting against the pull of his body. He wanted to look like himself.

"Sir, I got up from my bed in the middle of the night and came here all the way from Hogwarts to tell you he was in danger. I want to know if it had any effect-"

"It had. Rest assured, Harry, that Mr Malfoy is as well as possible, considering the circumstances, that he is safe and has responsible people taking care of him."

Naturally. It wasn't at all surprising that Dumbledore would be convinced about Harry's desire to murder Malfoy. Why not, after all? There was outspoken animosity between them for years; why wouldn't Harry want to kill him just after going such lengths to save his life? Would Dumbledore hesitate being in his place, having such a chance?

The boy felt tears welling in his eyes, but he blinked them away. He wouldn't think of the ghost as Dumbledore. If that was what it meant to face the truth, then he didn't want to face it. Maybe the life was easier, nicer, when he could fool himself with believing that Albus Dumbledore was a great man, a great wizard, and a person he could always look up to.

"Could I… Could I see him?" he asked, more to hear the answer then due to actually wanting to see the Slytherin. Maybe he really did have a 'saving people thing', but in any case it wasn't so strong. The answer was exactly the one he had anticipated.

"No, I don't think that is a good idea."

Harry almost laughed, so absurd the situation seemed to him.The ghost glared at him, though still trying to conceal it, confident that Harry didn't see through the act and was just being childish. It was so… insulting.

"So you won't let me go."

"No, Harry, I won't."

The boy and the phoenix exchanged a glance. Fawkes's black eyes asked him to be patient, to not judge Dumbledore too harshly, to not revolt… But he didn't intend to do anything like that. He merely shrugged in an 'I thought so' fashion.

"Sir, I've heard that the Minister is causing troubles once again," he said, as though he wasn't just denied his wish. He could tell how much it surprised the ex-Headmaster yet the ghost dissembled it.

"Troubles?" he asked, feigning incomprehension. Harry suddenly understood how hard it was to deal with somebody who purposefully hindered the conversation. He promised himself to try not to do that in the future… though he knew that speaking to certain people that task was not managable.

"Yes, sir, troubles. Like hunting werewolves, listing Metamorphmagi and making the Boy Who Lived their mascot without having the grace to let him know…" He really did try to make his voice conversational, but the bitterness, combined with his growing resentment towards the ghost, didn't allow him to completely hide the bite. Fawkes briefly glanced at him, but said nothing. Maybe he, too, felt it was deserved.

An "ah" was the only thing Dumbledore said before turning about to his desk. His translucent eyes skimmed the scattered papers and found the protruding edge of one covered with even – printed – figures.

"You have read the Daily Prophet?"

Harry shook his head. He did not count the single front-page article he had received from Ginny.

"No sir. And I don't intend to; I have better things to do with my time."

Dumbledore seemed puzzled and about to ask more questions, but Harry refused to be interrogated. Moreover by this being.

"Trouble is that the rest of the wizarding Britain obviously doesn't," he continued, denying Dumbledore the opportunity he had been striving for.

'What do you have in mind?' Fawkes asked and hopped closer, interested in the topic. He was a creature Harry could enjoy conversing with – never petty when it came to important subject. Despite having to control what he was saying it was so much easier. And he didn't have to pretend anything with the phoenix. That was… relaxing.

"I think the society is in desperate need of free press… and the Daily Prophet of competition." Fawkes's eyes glinted in the semi-darkness and Harry could virtually see the smirk forming, although for a bird such expression was physically impossible. Apparently, the phoenix knew where he was aiming and enjoyed the idea, probably enhancing and broadening it too then and there. Milleniums old, it had a bottomless supply of experience and, as Harry observed, imagination, tinted with a healthy bit of 'mischievousness'.

"I do not argue that point," Dumbledore stated and waited for the boy to elaborate, as though his 'extraordinary brainpower' had been all used up. Harry just stopped himself from scowling.

'Do you know what they've been writing about me?' he asked of Fawkes, seeing as it would be faster than discussing it all with Dumbledore. He would inform the ghost of the basics, but that was it.

'I've got the general picture… Harry, this idea is worth a Sickle, if not Galleon. But I think you would do better to go to William with it, Albus is somewhat… un-constructive in the past days. Tell him I told you to – he can't argue with that either.'

Just as the scowl a while ago, Harry carefully kept the smirk off his face.

"Sir, Fawkes says that I shouldn't bother you with this but go straight to Bill."

Fawkes was on the verge of giving him another disciplinary, he sensed it. He raised an eyebrow, but the only response was a contemplative silence.

"As Fawkes wishes then. Do you have another question, Harry?" Dumbledore looked at him indifferently, not even feigning curiosity, rather sounding tired. It seemed that he was glad he didn't have to take care of whatever his former student had come to request, passing that unpleasant chore to young Weasley. A week ago it would have touched Harry.

"I was under the impression that you wanted to talk to me."

This time the disciplinary came – in the form of sticky dried grenadine all over his hands, which he considered very mild, especially given that it was for two lapses in a close succession.

"Oh, yes…" Dumbledore remembered and with another soft "ah" set out floating away.

"Just that you will remain at Hogwarts for your seventh year. Good luck." With that, stated as though it was self-evident that Harry would do whatever he's told, not being given the chance to choose for himself, the ghost passed through a wall. The boy gaped after him disbelievingly. When he finally remembered to shut his mouth he did so, glanced over at the phoenix and realised that its feather was actually almost glowing with overall magical energy, summoned by the desire to teach manners to a being that was unable to feel it.

"Yes-" he growled, staring at the spot between two shelves where the ghost disappeared, "I said that I was 'Dumbledore's man through and through'. But it was about that other Dumbledore. So maybe it should have been 'Fawkes's man through and through'?" He heard a startled clap behind himself, but didn't give a damn. The phoenix told him it was proud. This felt a little bit like a pay-back.

"And that I still am!"

He swung to look at the bird. It was staring at him, as though he was a ghost. Or as if he had growed another head… He checked that. He hadn't.

'Yes?' he inquired, calm after venting his anger. Fawkes kept gazing in Harry's eyes as he inclined his head.

'Sorry, fledgling. But it's the first time I've heard something like that with the reference to me.'

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Walking past another line of candlesticks, which were more Dark-looking than those in lower levels, and a slight bit licentious, Harry realised just how sad it was – milleniums of takig care of the wizarding world without being acknowledged… All the thanks and honour going to some ungrateful big-headed prat with a shameful magical power…

He wondered how could Fawkes not have given up a long time ago.

'Maybe there is a prophecy looming over his head,' he thought (properly shielding it, of course) bitterly. He felt as though he finally had a comrade in misery, whether it was a predestination or not. The phoenix was in it with him.

What he didn't quite expect was that in that one point – him returning to school (or rather, not leaving it) – Fawkes agreed with his past charge. He knew they had to have a good reason for it, but he wasn't too happy. How was he supposed to fight against Voldemort when he would spend his free time over essays?

He suddenly froze; a cloaked person turned the corner and halted as though Petrified, facing him from the few-steps distance. He felt a cold shiver run down his spine and his hand instinctively gripped the handle of his wand harder.

"Potter," the man said, obviously shocked by Harry's presence in Harry's own house. Though his face didn't betray him, the boy could sense a wave of tension even through his heavy Occlumentical shields. It made Harry – however much he might have resented it – look into his eyes. Stupid Gryffindor bravery… There was something unusual in Snape's glare, something apart from contempt… fear. Harry blinked.

'When was Snape afraid of a student? Since when is he afraid of me?'

It was a nonsense. There was nothing of the sort and his eyes were being deceived yet again. He could think of no other explanation as he purposefully unfocused his eyes to avoid the stare without looking away.

"Snape," Harry responded in the same manner and his sight focused again as he wasn't able to keep it blurred any longer. He was somehow pleased by the disbelieving gaze his former teacher was giving him.Obviously, he had been expected to attack head-on.

"That will be 'sir'," Snape said finally, sneering to hide his surprise.

"No, that won't," Harry replied coldly and passed around the Potions Master. His teeth were immediately glued with non-existent treacle as both disciplinary and precaution.

'Harry, you are an intelligent young man. Why do you always let Severus get the better of you?' Fawkes asked wearily.

'I didn't reckon what I said was inappropriate,' he answered honestly and stopped in the hallway to look at the back of the dark-clad man. 'What should I do? Look at the way he's treating me.'

'And how exactly is he treating you?' Harry scowled.

'As he would treat my father if he found him alive, bound and defenceless.'

The treacle disappeared and Fawkes inwardly sighed.

'I know how much it takes of you to put up with Severus's presence here. I also know how badly did you two clash every time you were forced to work together… But I have a suggestion for you.'

The boy nodded, watching Dumbledore's resident spy continue his way. He was walking at a slower pace than usually; without the billowing robes behind him he looked almost human.

'You know I listen to you,' Harry thought when the phoenix didn't continue.

'Find out what you know about him.'

'How do you mean that?' Harry asked puzzled. He knew what he knew about Snape. He was a 'former' Death Eater. A murderer, even if not always willingly… He hated Harry.

'Take Albus's pensieve. I'm sure it will be enlightening.'

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Harry doubted that very much. He didn't argue, just as he hadn't before, because he knew that there was no point. He might as well look into the pensieve; although he was pretty sure that he wasn't going to find anything new, it wouldn't hurt. And Fawkes would be happy. Merlin knew he deserved it.

The door to Bill's room was agape, and Harry knew that the present leader of the Order was waiting for him. He banished the efectless musings as he approached the thin stripe of white light on the carpet and peered inside.

He didn't know much about curse-breakers, but he had always imagined them as some kind of Aurors. Maybe Bill wasn't a typical specimen… but if he was, then Harry had been mistaken, judging from what he saw inside. He pushed the door open and entered, which set off some charm; it rang – not shrilly, but loud enough to be heard from the next room.

For there was obviously one – Harry got a glimpse of it as Bill went in, before he shut the door in the opposite wall, and guessed it to be an archive.

"Hello Harry. I thought I might see you…" he said joyfully, but the black circles under his eyes told tales about how tired he really was.

"Hi." Harry took some time to assess his surroundings. The counter to his right side resembled the one in Bill's dad's office, though there was hardly enough room for another object. It took him a while, but eventually Harry realised what all those things were – Dumbledore's mystic instruments from the Head's office! All crammed side by side, some of them even in the middle of some unidentifiable process, puffing ad buzzing.

"Surprised?" Bill asked with a short laugh and gently stroked a spindly-legged gadget that really looked more like an animal. This was Harry's chance to finally wise up what he had been aching to know for ages!

"What are they all used for?" Bill laughed again and his eyes glided over the counter.

"Each has a different purpose. Some of them are of no use to us, but this one for example-" he pointed at a five-legged buzzing upside-down pyramid, "is called a Quintaspot. It's a ward-watcher – it informs us about, and lists any intrusion or magical activity within. A handy creature…" He hushed and Harry knew he wasn't going to learn more. Maybe next time.

Bill pointed him to a chair on the other side of the room, just after he took an armful of parchment rolls off it and removed them on the table, effectively covering what he had been currently working on.

"I'm already adult, you know…"

Bill laughed, and this time it sounded more like him.

"Yep. But you're still in school."

Like he needed to be reminded. But Harry wasn't about to argue, at least not until he had found out why was it required of him to remain in Hogwarts for another year.

"Sorry, but even with old boss dead, old rules stay," Bill said sourly and sat down into the second chair that required a longer time to be freed. Harry could tell that, just like with McGonagall, the job was eating up on him. And Dumbledore used to do all that alone – well, with Fawkes, but it was still him who had to do the physical work.

'Use your head, Harry. Albus had a time-turner and, trust me, without it we would have been screwed. This age is so hasty.'

Harry gave Bill an uneasy smile when his eyes fell on a framed photograph on the wall. It was the same as his father had, with a small cute Ginny with two braids and ribbons and…

'You should start breathing again, fledgling. For your own good.'

It was hard to glare inwardly, but with Fawkes as a teacher, he had learnt even that. Now he put that to use, while Bill was rummaging about in a cabinet, leaning over the pile of parchment on the table.

'So will you tell me why do I have to stay at Hogwarts?'

'Eventually… Maybe even tonight, depends on how far we get.'

Harry's eyes narrowed; he didn't care he was showing signs of the internal dialogue as Bill was still standing back to him.

'How far we get in what?'

'All in due time,' Fawkes replied mysteriously, but it lost all effect as Bill turned around and handed Harry a shallow stone basin with odd carvings around the edge – Dumbledore's pensieve. So that was it. The phoenix wanted a little truth-discovery session over a bowl of thoughts. However, he didn't mind too much unless it clashed with his other appointment.

"And here's the contents," Bill muttered and forced a crystal phial into Harry's hand. He stared at it wide-eyed. Those were… Dumbledore's memories. Surely they weren't supposed to come to him… Or maybe…

He remembered Fawkes's mysterious statement. Maybe they were.

Then his curiosty kicked in and Harry realised that this was a once-upon-a-lifetime chance. Even if he never should have laid his hands on this phial, now it was in his possession and it would take a lot to make him release it. Dumbledore never gave him all the answers; this might have been a way to find them on his own.

"Fawkes informed me about your idea," Bill spoke and Harry quickly pocketed the bottle of thoughts, hiding it from all eyes in case somebody realised it wasn't supposed to be there. The fact that the leader knew about Fawkes's position in the Order seemed natural to him; even though he had not been told before he didn't spare it a second thought.

"And?"

"Perfect. Approved. Set in motion," he said with a grin. "By the way, did you follow something specific with the plan?"

"Well…" Harry took a moment to formulate what he wanted to say. "Scrimegour severely lacks opposition. He's got Daily Prophet under his thumb and people actually trust the paper."

Bill scowled.

"I thought you weren't receiving it?"

It was Harry's turn to be mysterious.

"I am not… But I have my ways."

The red-headed man merely arched an eyebrow. Harry didn't pay it mind and continued.

"I just have a suggestion. I think you should address the people who were chucked out of Prophet for wanting to write the truth. They might like the chance to do so…"

Bill nodded, not quite managing to hide his surprise.

'Damn, I am adult and still alive! Why does everybody think I can't come up with good ideas?'

"And I want to give interview. A real one, for a change… and maybe even more than one…" he said instead.

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'What are you thinking about?'

Harry laughed. Indeed, that was a good question, but the answer to it would be somewhat too long for him to bother to speak. Ginny, for example – she was on his mind a lot, in number of different contexts. And Snape – he and Dumbledore were having secrets (an old tale, but still attracting attention), which seemed to concern somebody close to Harry… or himself. Then Dumbledore personally, though he was a topic Harry was trying to avoid…

'I'd really like to have one of those spindly-legged things…'

Fawkes gave him a piercing obsidian glare. Harry shrugged, knowing perfectly well that his answer had been a bit too random. Though truthful. He really would like one of those things. If for nothing else than to find out what they were used for.

'Harry…'

'Do I have to do this?' He stared frustratedly at the swirling mass in the stony bowl in front of him. After all the trouble Fawkes went through explaining to him how to extract the silvery threads from his mind, he didn't like the prospect of reliving those memories a bit.

'No.'

'No?' he asked disbeliebingly, gaping at Fawkes as if he had said the Prophecy was a fluke and he didn't have to kill Voldemort. How many of the things he believed were compulsory in fact didn't need to be done?

'Of course you don't have to. But, fledgling, for the sake of us all, do it, please.'

Harry sighed. Naturally, he didn't have to. Just like he didn't have to kill Voldemort. But the other option was getting killed himself.

'All right. But I want you to know I don't like this…'

Fawkes's laughter echoed in his mind as he put his hands on both sides of the pensieve on his working desk. His memories of Snape… as if it wasn't enough he had to suffer all those things once.

'We all sometimes have to do things we don't like…'

Harry nodded. Coming from the phoenix, the meaning of those word gained a completely new dimension.

'I'm pathetic, am I not?' After all, he just had to keep one Dark Lord from conquering the world. Compared to what Fawkes had to do throughout the millenia… it was picayune.

'No.'

He heard a flurry of movement behind his back and a significant weight perched itself on Harry's shoulders, bringing a feeling of content and renewing his self-confidence.

'You are my fledgling,' Fawkes stated as if it explained everything. Slightly amazed, the Gryffindor realised it did as he plunged his face into the basin.

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Harry stood in front of the tall, heavy door to the Great Hall. It was somewhat unexpected; never before had he entered a memory in that he had to walk through something solid. The faint sounds from inside told him the sorting was currently taking place, so he was in fact inside… why did he appear here then? Was someone going to open the door for him?

He waited for a long while, the sorting ended and Dumbledore's "Nitwit. Blubber. Oddment. Tweak-" resounded.

'Damn. I know nobody entered the Hall after us… so what the Hell am I supposed to do to get there?'

There was a sensation of sand all over his body. The tiny grains had gotten into the most impossible places and scratched and itched… and Harry belatedly remembered 'language'.

'Think, fledgling. You are an astral projection – I doubt a thought of door could stop you.'

It was good to know that Fawkes was still with him, even though he had not entered the memory.

'I can talk to somebody outside?'

'You are a Legilimens, Harry. And a rather skilled one – the matters of mind shouldn't disconcert you. Besides, you are my foster-hatch, the link between us is strong.'

Harry nodded, coerced by the lingering feeling of closeness took a few steps away from the door, and turned to face them.

'Harry-'

He took off running. The screen of the wood was nearing at rapid speed, closer, closer, too close; he was going to crash. And just like with the platform nine and three quarters he passed through it, hardly even feeling any difference from air.

Inside it looked just like he remembered; just like it always did. Stars shone on dining students from a velvety sky. Hundreds of candles floated in the air. Ghosts glided over their respective house tables; he could see grim-looking Nick chatting with Ron, gripping his ear and pulling his head off his neck.

He walked down the aisle towards himself, passing a line of more and less familiar Gryffindors and Ravenclaws until he reached Percy. The red-haired prefect was talking to Hermione.

"I cannot even express how fascinating all this is to me! I do hope they start right away, there's so much to learn, I'm particularly interested in Transfiguration…"

But then Harry's vision blurred and someone forcibly removed him to a different spot. It was right in front of the Head Table, in fact, he must have stood in Snape's line of glare and then his tiny self looked up from the loaded plate and scowled at him with… He knew it was pain. It just looked like disgust so much…

'Was this why he began to hate me?' he asked, surprised that the usually controlled man would lower himself to something so petty.

'I'm afraid this was the last drop…'

'But that… that's just so… so ridiculous! Look, Quirrel was turned back to me, so it had to be Voldemort and I… I had to suffer six years of weekly Hell because bloody Voldemort decided to look at me at the wrong time?'

Harry raged. Fawkes tried to soothe him, but, apparently, this was the last drop before Harry lost it himself. After the death of his parents, Cedric, Sirius and Dumbledore himself, the unfairness of that coincidence sent the boy over the edge.

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He pulled out of the pensieve, shuddering, and immediately scurried away, shutting the hangings around his bed.

'Oh, come on. One more and I'll leave you be.'

It surprised even Fawkes himself when Harry peered out from behind the curtains and with a stony expression asked: "Promise?"

'Promise.'

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Going through his first ever Potions lesson, Harry found it had been just as unfair and just as humiliating, if not worse, as he had remembered it. His mood was below the freezing point, having just re-witnessed one of the scenes he had been going to in his dreams for years.

He refused Fawkes's embrace, politely asking him to heave. The phoenix complied.

Harry sat on the edge of his bed, face covered with hands, and listened to the silence that filled the empty castle. Nothing. Fawkes had gone, probably back to Grimmauld Place…

"That was the bloody most humiliating thing you ever did to me…" he whispered, scowling at the stony basin on his desk. Just thinking about Snape made him feel cold… he wasn't in the state to meet with Nigellus.

Fortunately, he still had almost two hours before he had to go. And Fawkes was far, far away… He reached into his pocket and brought out the bottle with Dumbledore's memories. Turning it over, he guided the silvery strands into the pensieve with the help of his wand, too late realising that he had left his own two memories among them… The shiny substance swirled and shot out a mass of thin purple and emerald tentacles.

Harry covered behind the chair and didn't look out before the coughing and spluttering sounds stopped. In the following quiet he climbed to his feet. A small silvery figure arose from the misty surface and Harry gagged – it was Snape. That in itself wouldn't be as surprising, but this Snape was kneeling.

"What?" he spat, not quite yelling, but inserting all the anger and hatred he felt into it. "Are you sorry? Wonderful. That's just what I needed to hear.

I bet you are sorry that you killed him, too. Aren't you?" He scoffed at the small mirage and lay back, staring unseeingly at the canopy.

'More than anything.'

Harry shot up instantly.

He had seen Dumbledore doing this before, but the figures in the basin never spoke. They were shadows, they-

Then he realised that the memory of Snape hadn't spoken aloud. It was a thought. And Harry could read thoughts, couldn't he? At least to an extent.

He drew a long breath and sat down on his bed again, gazing blankly into nothingness. He could ask, read, know everything. Everything that the memories of memories contained. He instinctively felt that what he had found was extremely dangerous… And still, the Gryffindor in him couldn't waste the opportunity.

"Are-are you afraid of me? What do you think of me?"

He knew it was a mistake. He had known it even before he had asked, but now it was too late. The first thing the figure-Snape did was that it stood up from the kneeling position. Its face went through several changes, reflecting various emotions. Then it turned its back to Harry and folded its hands.

'You shouldn't have been… Potter.'

'What the Hell is that supposed to mean?' He must have misunderstood. He tried the reading again.

'You shouldn't have been… Potter.'

"I shouldn't have been what?"

'Idiot.'