Pain!

That was the first thought that when through Harry's mind as he woke the next morning. His head felt as if he had an evening of heavy drinking, woke with a massive hangover, that hangover then went out on a bender and then woke with a hangover of its own, and the nesting doll of hangovers then decided to try chewing on Harry's eyeballs as a possible cure.

In short, he did not feel overly well.

Harry slowly rose from the guest bed in Albus's apartment, hoping desperately that Albus would have some sort of cure for his ice pick in the brain style headache. He stumbled into the main area and saw the older man sitting at the dining table reading an upside-down newspaper. On the table was a pitcher of lemonade and a bowl of some sugary looking yellow balls, along with a small pile of mail.

"Good morning, Harry! I have fresh lemonade and lemon drops, made with real lemons. The lemonade is nice and pulpy. Feel free to have as much as you want" spoke an irritatingly chipper Albus.

Harry glared at the old man for daring to be in a good mood. He looked at the lemon drops and lemonade in disgust.

"Do you have anything to treat a headache?" he croaked out.

Albus lowered the newspaper and took in Harry's pale and miserable appearance before shrugging. "I can offer you lemon drops and lemonade. If you want anything else, feel free to check the kitchen. If you want a potion, I fear you will have to make it yourself."

Harry groaned miserably, and then made his way to the kitchen. He grabbed a large glass and filled it with water. He gulped down half the glass, refilled it, and then made his way back to the table to stew in his pool of agony.

For the next half hour, no sound could be heard except for the occasional turn of a page and sip of water. Harry simply sat, his eyes resting on the pitcher of lemonade. He found that his headache lessened slightly as he focused on the ice cubes' subtle movements as they floated on the top of the yellow liquid.

Eventually, his headache began to ebb into a simple mind-numbing ache, as opposed to the violently painful feeling of having his brain being smashed into the inside walls of his skull by beaters' bats. The pain in his eyes had finally disappeared completely.

With the decrease in pain, he was finally able to think about something other than his agony. Looking down, he saw a small pile of letters in front of Albus. In front of himself, there were four letters. He supposed Albus must have pushed them over during his half hour of silent misery.

"What's this?"

Albus lowered his newspaper to see what Harry was indicating.

"Ah, that would be your mail. Based on the handwriting, I would guess that they are from Miss Granger, George Weasley, Arthur Weasley, and Minerva. I apologize for the delay in their delivery, but I only got around to checking my post box just this morning."

"Post box?"

"Yes, I have it set up so that I can still receive mail while traveling. As we see the world, I will make sure that our mail gets forwarded correctly. Well, assuming people know to send letters to my post box when attempting to write to you. You could, of course, setup your own box if you desire. You would still need to let them know that it exists."

"Don't owls just… deliver directly to a person?"

"Oh, heavens no. If that were the case, then you would have been receiving fan-mail for years as a child. I suspect I would have received some sort of complaints from Petunia if she was constantly handling a huge volume of mail for you, so it's fair to say your address was not well known. And one needs to have an address when sending an owl… normally at least."

Harry, half interested in the conversation, continued to look at the soothing ice of the lemonade. "Normally?"

"There are of course exceptions, as I have found to be true whenever magic is involved. If the receiver really wants to hear from the sender, then a particularly clever owl doesn't need an address. It would also work if the owl had a deep connection with the receiver. Hedwig, for instance, is clever enough to find anyone who wants to hear from you and would likely be able to find you wherever you went." A hoot of agreement sounded from Hedwig's stand. Albus nodded towards the proud avian and continued, "of course, there are various complex spells that can be used to locate a person, and ways to prevent mail from being received. And there is Fawkes, who can find anyone, but he rarely is willing to do so even if I have reasons that I think are very valid. After the last time I insisted and he responded by setting my beard ablaze, I have learned to accept not to push him too hard." A smug trill sounded from Fawke's stand.

Harry nodded imperceptibly (moving his head being a painful activity) while staying focused on the ice. After three minutes of silence, his brain caught up with something that was said. "But… I mean… That explains why I didn't get mail while living with the Dursleys, and I guess people want their newspapers so the owls can find subscribers, but… but people knew I was at Hogwarts, so…"

Albus smiled. "Yes?"

"So… why didn't I receive fan mail at Hogwarts? Not that I wanted fan mail, I saw enough of that with Lockhart, but… why wasn't I drowning in it anyway?"

Albus chuckled. "That was a concern I had when you were about to start school. I was honestly flummoxed when you were not hit by a daily deluge. I even received letters from people asking why their letters to you couldn't be delivered. I researched the subject and came up with a guess."

Harry groaned. "Is this another one of those occasions were the answer is 'magic is weird'?"

Albus smirked. "Why would you think that?"

"I just get the feeling that whenever you are talking about guessing, you are really saying 'magic is weird, so here is my shot at an answer'"

Albus grinned. "That's… fair. So, magic is weird and here is my shot at an answer. You didn't want to receive the mail, and your mother's protection responded to your desires by thinking of fan mail as being an attack and hence blocked the delivery. Or, maybe it's because the fan mail is being sent by people who want to write to the Boy Who Lived, and you don't identify as the Boy Who Lived and therefore you confuse the magic that guides the owls. Maybe it's both or neither."

Harry sighed. "Just another way in which I am weird."

Albus shrugged. "We're all weird Harry. It's our weirdness that makes us unique individuals. I find I am much happier embracing my weirdness. I am a powerful wizard who owns a non-magical bowling alley and loves attending Star Wars conventions dressed as my favorite character, and I find great joy in that. Denying your weirdness rarely leads to happiness. In this case though, magic is the one who Is being weird, and there is little point at being annoyed at magic."

Harry shrugged silently and stared at the melting ice for another ten minutes in silence. Albus returned to reading his newspaper.

With a deep sigh, Harry picked up the envelope which had his name written in Hermione's neat handwriting. He opened the envelope, and out came several pages of parchment filled with an exceedingly small font. Harry shook his head in annoyance, winced at the throb of his headache, and began reading.

After two paragraphs, Harry frowned and began to skim through the rest of the pages. With a frustrated growl he threw the pages of the letter on top of his remaining mail, and then swept it all onto the floor.

Albus lowered his newspaper yet again, looking over his glasses at the mess on the floor and then at his table mate. There he saw Harry leaning sullenly back in his chair, rubbing his forehead. Albus folded the paper shut, set it gently on the table, and then violently swept his arm across the table to shove his own mail onto the floor. Harry looked up in surprise.

"Hmm…" spoke Albus. "I do try to keep up with the latest trends, but I must confess that I sometimes find myself at a loss as to what children find to be 'cool' these days. I will admit that the sweeping motion is satisfying, but then I am not sure how am I to go about reading my correspondence after that. What is the next step, Harry?"

Harry stared at Albus in disbelief, before rolling his eyes. Rather, he began to roll his eyes, but the motion caused his headache to flair, so the gesture was somewhat less effective than it could have been.

Harry spoke in a soft and sad voice. "She didn't apologize."

Albus leaned forward, elbows on the table with his fingers steepled. "Since I see that the only opened letter is from Miss Granger, I assume she is the one who did not apologize. What did she do that required an apology?"

Harry rubbed the moisture from his own eyes before meeting Albus's eyes. "I don't know why I am so upset, my mum helped me understand that I would be better off by separating myself from my frien… former friends. But…"

Albus smiled kindly. "But there is a world of difference between knowing what you need to do and actually doing it. What did Miss Granger do to deserve being called a former friend?"

"She said that I was the one who was petrifying everyone. That I was 'Dark' because I could speak to snakes. How can I continue to be friends with someone who thinks I would attack people like that!?"

"She actually said all of that directly to you?"

"No, she told the Weasleys that, and I overheard her."

"And what did she say when you confronted her?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer, and then closed it. After a few silent seconds he spoke. "I didn't confront her. I don't think she even knows that I know."

Albus nodded his head knowingly, as if he expected that to be the answer. "I see. When interacting directly with you, did she say or do anything that would indicate her belief in your… darkness?"

"No… but, that is no excuse!"

"Indeed, you are right. She still, at the very least, told your other friends you had gone dark. I agree that she harmed you. Whether or not you knew of it, the harm still happened. However, I wouldn't be overly surprised that she didn't apologize. For all of her apparent maturity, she is still 13 years old and it is a rare person that age who will readily admit to doing something wrong, especially when they believe they haven't been caught and admitting to the wrong might cost them something precious like a friendship."

Harry would have continued to argue, but his headache made it difficult to maintain his anger. He instead sighed and resumed staring at the ice floating atop the lemonade. Silence filled the room, until it was broken by a rumbling sound that came from Harry's stomach.

Albus chuckled. "I suppose it is near time for lunch, so I will go order something from downstairs. I will be back shortly. Feel free to have some lemonade. You seem fascinated by it, and I assure you it is even more refreshing when you drink it in addition to staring at it."

Harry ignored Albus as the man stood and walked out of the apartment. Looking down, he decided to pick up the letter from McGonagall. At least that letter seemed thin.

Dear Mister Potter,

I do hope that Professor Dumbledore has not taken too long to deliver this letter to you. He is a brilliant man, but he has an unfortunate tendency to forget about his post box when not expecting correspondence. Whenever you receive this letter, I want to assure you that it was written the morning after you left Hogwarts.

I am sorry.

I do not expect you to forgive me, as what I did to you last night was unforgivable. I let my fear and the stress of the year to overcome my good sense, and I punished you instead of rewarding you. You saved Miss Weasley's life, and I responded in anger. I am ashamed of myself.

As a way of explanation, though certainly not as an excuse, my anger stemmed from discovering how many times you put yourself in mortal peril this past year. And when you mentioned being struck by a green curse… I don't know if Professor Dumbledore explained what that was, but that moment in your story broke my sense of… well, it simply broke any sense I had. I wanted to yell at you for risking your life. I wanted to tell you that it was not your job to put your life on the line. I wanted to invoke the strictest punishment I could, to impress on you how unacceptable your behavior was. And, without stopping to consider, I followed through and gave you the strictest punishment I was empowered to dole out as Headmistress. I wish I could say I was anticipating the actions of the Board of Governors, as I initially justified my actions, but it was truly just me making a terrible decision. I am grateful that Professor Dumbledore was there to stop me from compounding my stupidity of following through on my threat of snapping your wand.

With a sleepless evening to contemplate my actions, I realize that I shoulder a great deal of the blame for your actions these past years. Over the past two years, I fear I have given you very little reason to trust me to do right by you. I punished you excessively for being out after curfew. I dismissed your concerns about the incident from the end of your first year. Had you come to me about your belief in the location of the Chamber last night, I am ashamed that I honestly can't say I would have listened to you. I am sorry that I have contributed to making Hogwarts a place where you felt you had to take on life threatening risks because you couldn't trust the staff.

I know it will be of little comfort to you, but I wanted to let you know that I have decided to decline the offer of Headmistress, assuming it is offered and I still maintain a job after how poorly I handled our last meeting. I also intend to resign from my post as Deputy Head. I will focus my attention on being the best possible Professor and Head of House. I tell all the new student that one's House is like their family, and I have failed my family. I intend to rectify that mistake.

Once again, I am sorry Mister Potter for all the pain I have caused you. Know that you are welcome to return to Hogwarts whenever you wish, as the expulsion papers were never filed. And that I am available if you ever wish to write me for any reason, be it for Transfiguration advice, or for stories regarding your parents, or to complain about your new tutor's… eccentricities. I wish you well and hope that the next step on your educational journey will bring you more joy than Hogwarts was able to provide you.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Harry read over the letter for a third time, as he heard Albus walk back into the room. He felt Albus walk up behind him, and so he angled the letter for the older man to read.

Albus sighed. "Probably for the best. I'll have to make sure that Lucius knows that he should aim to keep Minerva on staff and to not to give Severus the position of Headmaster."

Harry looked at Albus in confusion, as the man set two sandwiches on the table and took a seat. "What?"

Albus lifted his sandwich, a BLT, wafting it under his nose. "Smells delicious, as usual." He lifted his eyes towards Harry and responded to the question, "Minerva would have made a decent Headmistress, especially if she could get over her tendency to punish students while angry. Then again, she might be right that she needs to focus on her role as Head of House. Severus though… the man cannot let go of anything and would be an exceedingly poor fit for Headmaster. I would only want him with that position if the government has fallen to Tom and he's trying to minimize the damage."

Albus took a bite and smiled contentedly. Harry wanted to ask more about Snape, but his stomach grumbled again. He picked up his BLT and took a tentative sniff and then huffed in annoyance.

"Still nothing. I haven't been able to smell anything in days. This is ridiculous! Am I getting sick? Is that why I have this damned headache?"

"Is that a rhetorical question, or are you asking me?" asked Albus with a slight smile.

Harry narrowed his eyes and stared suspiciously at the man's smile.

"It was rhetorical. But now I'm asking you."

Albus placed his sandwich on his plate and sat back into his chair. "When is the last time you remember smelling something?"

Harry frowned as he thought back over the preceding days. "I don't know. It's been a week or two."

"Are you sure you can't remember complaining about an odor recently?"

"Complaining about an odor? Well… riding down Hogwart's pipes was definitely unpleasant… and I wouldn't recommend sticking your head into the mouth of an ancient basilisk… the basilisk! I complained to you when we visited that Goblin… Jeff, when we went to see Jeff. His place smelled like death. You then helped me cast that spell so I would have a bubble of fresh air around my head, so the smell wouldn't bother me anymore… but that was a week ago. There is no way that bubble is still active… right?"

Albus raised his eyebrows. "Why couldn't the bubble still be active?"

"Because…" Harry paused, trying to formulate an answer. "Because I have never learned a spell at Hogwarts where I was able to keep it going without trying to. And, I slept a lot. Though, I know older kids spell their curtains for silence overnight, so I guess there is nothing stopping a spell to work while I'm sleeping… but, still… a week seems excessive."

Albus nodded. "That is well reasoned Harry. Of course, in your later years at Hogwarts you would have learned about how to power longer lasting spells. However, you are correct about the Bubble Head Charm. It typically lasts between one to two hours, without refreshing it."

"Then why did my Bubble Head Charm last a week?"

Albus smiled broadly. "You didn't cast the Bubble Head Charm. You invented a spell and didn't include a time limit in your intention. So, your magic doesn't know that it's supposed to stop working."

Harry forgot about his headache for a moment, as his jaw slackened. "I… invented a spell?"

"Indeed."

Harry's eyes widened in concern. "Does this mean I am stuck like this forever? I'm never going to be able to smell anything again!?"

Albus chuckled, clearly struggling to keep the chuckle from escalating. "No. The spell can be dissipated."

"How?"

"Well, if I were to cast an overpowered Finite at your head, that would probably do the trick. Though that depends a bit on how much power you put into your invented spell. Oddly enough, spells cast using my unique technique normally cannot be cancelled by others. A trait that can be either useful or harmful, depending on the circumstances. You could also cast a Finite on yourself, and it would work immediately. Or, you can do it the easy way."

Harry couldn't help but grin slightly at that response. "What is the easy way?"

"The key to casting the spell in the first place was distributing your magic properly within your wand, perfectly picturing what you wanted to happen, and fully feeling the need for the spell to succeed. Since the spell was successfully cast, you just need to fully feel the need for the spell to end. It may help if you justify to yourself why you want it to end."

Harry looked at his BLT, picturing the delicious odor that he was missing out on. He closed his eyes tightly and wished that the fresh air spell would end so he could smell his BLT. His eyes opened in shock when he inhaled and immediately could smell the sandwich.

"That was… easy."

Albus shrugged. "I told you it would be. Ending one's spells is almost always easier than casting them."

Harry smiled in delight, and then slowly the smile turned into a frown.

"I've mentioned not smelling things all week long. Why didn't you tell me this earlier?"

Albus's eyes twinkled. "You didn't ask for assistance."

Harry stared at the old man in annoyance, feeling his headache ramping back up. Rubbing his head, he grumbled, "Well, what about this damned headache? Should I ask for assistance for this? Do you know what is causing it?"

Albus leaned forward, his eyes twinkling away as he smiled in a way that clearly indicated the man was enjoying himself. "I'm glad you asked, Harry. I do know the cause. You looked at magic last night. You perceived something visually that was never meant to be seen by human eyes. Your mind is now coping with the aftermath. The aftermath is always painful."

"A warning would have been nice."

"Yes" Albus laughed. "Yes, I imagine it would have been. It's a pity you chose to go to bed without asking me any questions about the magic you observed last night."

Harry glared at the old man. "Is there a cure for the headache?"

Albus nodded. "Yes, there is. It took me a decade of trial and error, but I figured out at least one cure. For all I know, there is another cure out there that is more effective. I will tell you right now that a normal headache potion makes the pain ten times worse. However, considering sight and magic perception appear to be conflicting elements, I used the working theory that a solution could be found in utilizing other conflicting elements. What you need is a combination of sweet and sour, liquid and solid, warm and cold, visual and edible, with the yellow of the sun, and citrus for some reason."

Harry put the combinations together in his mind, looked at the table, and couldn't help but bark out a laugh.

"So, the cure is…"

"Pulpy ice-cold lemonade with a room temperature lemon drop, while making sure to look at the yellow elements until the pain in the eyes disappears."

Harry quickly ate a lemon drop and downed a glass of lemonade. His headache immediately diminished to a dull ache that was easily ignorable.

Harry sighed in delight. Now that the pain was mostly gone, he could see the humor in the situation. "Much better! So, out of curiosity, did you have a reason for letting me suffer like that? Or was it just for your amusement?"

Albus smiled. "You may want to try a couple more lemon drops, I have never managed to find the right cure to fully remove the headache, but usually three lemon drops with a glass lemonade is what it takes to minimize the pain to the lowest it will go. Funnily enough, I discovered the soothing nature of the color yellow early on in my quest to see magic. But I hated lemons and was not a fan of sweets due to an unfortunate encounter with a Bertie Botts Every Flavor Bean, so it took me longer than necessary to stumble upon this solution. And, yes, I did have another reason. Though it was amusing to make bets in my head for how long you would ignore the salvation sitting right in front of you."

Harry dutifully downed two more lemon drops, and felt the pain subside further. The fact that Albus had suffered this for a decade made it much easier to not hold a grudge. "So, what was your other reason?"

"I'm your tutor, Harry. As such, I want you to be intellectually curious, and willing to ask for help when seeking answers. And as a person who cares about you, I don't want you to suffer in silence. I want you to confront your pain head on and seek help when you can. You sat in pain in for over two hours, simply because you assumed that I was being unhelpful and then you didn't confront me about my ignoring your obvious pain. When we went to go make a deal on the basilisk, you didn't ask any questions about the plan to make you a small fortune. In short, I was trying to teach you the importance of asking questions."

Harry took a bite of his BLT, and silently processed Albus's answers. After swallowing, Harry nodded slowly.

"I'll try to ask more questions. Though I will get you back someday."

Albus smiled. "Thank you, Harry. I look forward to seeing how you escalate our prank war."

Harry took another bite of his sandwich, feeling an odd warmness filling his heart and a smile forming on his face. As he finished his last bite, a thought came to him.

"Albus… if you can see magic, then why didn't you know that Quirrell had Voldemort on the back of his head. Also, shouldn't you have seen the cursed diary sooner?"

Albus sipped his lemonade thoughtfully before answering. "The answer is the same as why I don't often adjust my magic to match wards, like I did last night with the Malfoys. It's a pain to use the ability, and so I limit how often I do it. I usually take a quick look at everybody right before the opening feast of the year, but then I only use it when doing personal research, training my magic, or if there is a specific reason to do so. From what I saw, Tom hadn't attached himself to Quirinus before the opening feast and Miss Weasley must have had the diary in her luggage as I didn't see its taint in the Great Hall that evening."

"I thought the lemon drops and lemonade removed the pain."

Albus smiled. "They help with the next day's pain. You had the glasses last night, so they acted as a buffer. Additionally, I was wrapping you in magic and adjusting my magic, so that also acted as a buffer. Normally, activating one's ability to see magic is accompanied by feeling as if one has white hot knitting needles stabbing one's eyeballs. Adjusting one's magic to match a ward makes one's nerve endings feel like they are being scraped with a cheese grater, where each additional adjustment ramps up the pain. I can get up to around 40 adjustments before passing out from the pain. Anything more than 30 adjustments though is pushing me to the point where I start to become useless in a fight. Of course, adjusting one's magic properly also requires one to already be feeling the searing pain of looking at magic, so you can probably understand why it's rare for anyone to have either ability."

Harry stared at Albus in horror. "But… you didn't act like you were in pain last night."

Albus shrugged. "Oh, it was pure agony Harry. But, decades of practice have allowed me to compartmentalize the pain where I can function as if I am not even remotely uncomfortable. It was a useful skill to have for the one time that Tom tagged me with a Cruciatus torture curse, and I responded as if it had no effect. He was so unnerved that he fled the battle and that is when I got the reputation as the only person he ever feared."

Harry wasn't sure if he should be impressed or scared for Albus's sanity. "Could you have broken Malfoy's wards, instead of putting yourself through so much pain?"

"Easily, yes. Not quietly, of course. But I could have done that."

"Then, why did you do the more painful option?"

Albus smiled. "That is an excellent question, Harry! While I could have shattered his wards, and we will have to do a field trip sometime so you can learn how to shatter wards with a minimum of effort, I could have also used Fawkes to bypass all the wards in the first place. Well, assuming Fawkes was willing. Neutralizing Lucius as a threat was my third and least important goal for the evening. The curse on him and Narcissa could be performed anywhere. The secondary goal was to give you a chance to see the look of terror on his face when he realized that there was nothing that he could ever do to escape me. It's why I gave him a week to prepare, just to hammer the message home. I figured, after the pain he caused you this year, that you would enjoy a little bit of petty payback."

Harry couldn't help but grinning at the memory. "And the primary reason?"

"I wanted you to see how awesome magic can be, as long as you are willing to explore its uncharted waters."

Harry shook his head in disbelief. "Well… I certainly believe that magic can be even more awesome than I thought. Also, pretty damn terrifying too."

Albus smiled brightly. "Excellent! Now what do you say to relaxing for today by watching the Star Wars trilogy? You haven't seen it yet, and I want to see if you can guess at who my favorite character is. Tomorrow we can begin the first leg of our exploration of the world. I'm thinking France."

Harry looked at Albus's back as the man made his way over to the VCR. He couldn't help but feel a growing respect for the old man. But still, he couldn't help but ask, "has anyone ever questioned your sanity before?"

Albus laughed, as he picked up the first cassette sitting on top of the VCR. "According to my brother, I lost it sometime in the 1890s."

Harry smiled and looked down as he prepared to stand. There he saw the pages of Hermione's letter spread across the floor. He sighed. He supposed if Albus could handle unimaginable physical pain for an educational field trip, Harry could handle the mild discomfort of confronting one of the sources of his emotional pain.

"Give me a minute Albus, I'm going to write a quick letter to Hermione. I just need…"

Before Harry could finish his sentence, a page of parchment, envelope, quill, and pot of ink flew from Albus's room and landed gently in front of Harry.

"Thank you!"

He dipped his quill and began to write. There was so much he wanted to say, but in the end, he decided to live by Albus's lesson for the day and simply directly asked his questions. Besides, he just didn't feel like his fri… former friend was worth wasting the time he could spend watching Star Wars with Albus.

Hermione,

I heard you talking to the Weasleys. How could you think I was a Dark Wizard? How could you think I could attack my fellow students? How could you treat a friend like that?

Harry

He sealed the letter and handed it to Hedwig. She gave him an affectionate nip. He walked to the couch, where he saw Albus walking from the kitchen with a bowl of unpopped popcorn kernels. With a tap of a wand, each kernel popped into a perfect piece of popcorn. Harry took the bowl gratefully as he sat down to watch as large letters to scrolled up the screen.

One thought ran through Harry's mind as he relaxed into the couch.

Joy!