Chapter thirty-one: a grandson's deeds
Dumbledore watched the chaos with a detached air, his attention solely fixed upon the centre of the whirlwind. The golden dome formed by priori incantatem had pushed him gently to one side, but still he had been able to see his grandson's actions, and been able to read his intentions in the set of those narrow shoulders.
The casting of 'my souls dearest wish' had been an astonishing feat of magic that had only succeeded because the spell had detected the purity of Harry's purpose. The elderly wizard was surprised that Harry even knew about the spell, though it was possible that Severus had discussed it with his students. His former Potions Master did love all aspects of the Dark Arts, and shared his knowledge freely, provided the one who sought it was worthy in Snape's eyes. That Harry had become so was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because the knowledge his young champion had gained had enabled him to fulfil the prophecy, a curse because the spell had so nearly destroyed its caster.
Lily and James hovered anxiously over their son even as the summoned Healers fought to stabilise him. Harry was puddled on the floor, his dark blue robes only adding to the illusion, his skin so pale with shock it was nearly transparent. Once more Dumbledore found himself helpless, consigned to merely looking on while the one he thought of as a grandson fought valiantly for life.
From the moment he had set eyes on the baby cradled in Lily's arms, Dumbledore had recognised a kindred spirit. There had been a shadow of foreknowledge in the innocent green eyes, and even at a few months old the hand that had tugged and flexed against his beard had strength of purpose to it that was usually absent from an infant so young. He had next seen the child fresh from the destruction of his parent's home, the scar upon his forehead fresh and angry. The child had been positively humming with power as the last of the killing curse effects were dispelled, and it had taken all of his willpower to leave the infant on the Muggles doorstep.
He had been dismayed that Harry had been so ill cared for, but was truly unable to intervene, knowing that to do so would upset the balance of all things. As cruel as it seemed, Harry needed to know what it was to be alone, in order to build his empathy for others. Voldemort had not understood the power of emotion, even as he railed against the world like an angry toddler.
His had been so very relieved to find Harry in front of the Mirror of Erised, though for a horrible moment he had thought the child was dead. Fawkes abrupt abandonment of him to aid Harry in the Chamber of Secrets had been wrenching, though the phoenix had been very smug about the whole affair for weeks afterwards. The confrontation with Sirius and his eventual denial of Harry's request to live on the run with his godfather had nearly broken his heart. Then came the Triwizard Tournament and the torment of watching the child risk his life time and again. His culpability in allowing those who meant Harry ill to come so close year after year had worn upon him heavily, and now he was faced with watching this miracle of a child slipped away from life whilst huddled on a cold stone floor, away from the family he loved so dearly.
"There is nothing more we can do," the Healer said softly, silencing the chaos around them as if a switch had been thrown, and Lily sobbed softly, turning to hide her face in her husbands chest. Dumbledore forced himself forward, moving carefully to kneel beside Harry, gathering him into the warmth of his arms.
"My poor, poor child," Dumbledore murmured, "It will be alright, Harry. We'll soon have you home."
"Headmaster," the Healer murmured, "It would be best if he came to Saint Mungo's."
"Will his presence in your wards heal him? No? Then he is coming home with me. Harry will want his family around him now," Dumbledore used his sternest tone and watched with satisfaction as the Healer crumbled, giving way to his will. Harry would want his lover and family close, that simple thought was all that mattered at the moment.
He gathered James and Lily to his side with a look and pointed a finger at a forgotten fork, causing it to rise in the air and then glow as he wordlessly converted it into a portkey. There was a tug and the world whirled away, returning with a rush. He found himself kneeling on the floor of Harry's bedroom, and the Potters moved back as he stood, cradling the child as if he weighed nothing. Another wordless spell sent a messenger to summon the family to the room, and he settled Harry on the bed carefully before enlarging it to make room for all those who would want to be close to the teen as he fought this final battle.
Albus Dumbledore had lived for a very long time. He had seen many things, some wonderful, some horrific. He had fought in battles and seen comrades, close friends and loved ones die. He knew that whatever the outcome of this night, Harry would have fought hard to remain with them, even as he had fought hard all his life. He wished for peace for his grandson, in whatever form it would come.
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