Direction

Dumbledore studied the young man in front of him with undisguised interest, his blue eyes twinkling almost merrily in the always dimly lit Grimmauld Place. Only almost, because he couldn't ignore the light frown that seemed permanently etched on Harry's visage, nor the coldness in his green eyes.

"Nice gloves, professor." Harry pointed out the garishly colourful pair the headmaster was wearing, receiving a chuckle as an answer.

"Of, course, there's a story behind these gloves too, but tonight, I'd rather you accompany me to meet an old colleague of mine, Harry." Albus spoke while distractedly noticing the marginally better conditions of the house: apparently, with a master dedicated to 'harry' the House Elf, Kreacher had found a smidge of dedication to his duties.

The boy's expression didn't change as he leaned his weight into the back of what had grown to be his favorite armchair: "I'd like to know who we'd be going to meet, and why." his voice wasn't as cold as the glint of his eyes, but it carried a seriousness that, until recently, had rarely managed to shine through in moments that weren't life and death.

Too young. The thought came unbidden, and it was one the Headmaster had repeatedly since the first time he had laid eyes on Potter since his first appearance at Hogwarts. Too young to be put on Voldemort's path to the Stone, too young to have to rely on Fawkes to protect the castle when Albus had been ousted, too young to have to face the misery carried by dementors, and too young to be used as a bait to lure out whoever had sought to harm him in the Triwizard.

Oh, he could justify himself in hindsight, just like he had hardened his heart time and time again, doing what was necessary, by pointing out to himself how learning the Patronus Charm in his third year had been the only thing to save him from the dementors that sought him out after young Diggory's death. Albus could remain steadfast in his determination knowing that having Harry's blood, Lily's blood, used to bring Voldemort back to life would prove itself fundamental if the boy was to survive.

Yet, now that he saw Harry after months spent more or less alone in his new chosen residence, the headmaster couldn't help but notice that he looked too old for his age: it was in the eyes, in the distance he had learned to put between his emotional-fueled, immediate reactions, and the actions he actually took. A part of him, an insidious, mean silver of himself, wondered if, with his new awareness of himself and his choices, he'd still do what was necessary when the time came.

He had no doubts about the Harry of old, the one to valiantly run after an adult wizard to stop him from getting the Stone, the one to battle a Basilisk with only a bit of Phoenix's song and the Sword of Gryffindor, would have followed every part of the plan step by step, and that in the end, once the time was ripe to reveal the last, terrible truth, he'd have dauntlessly walked to his death.

But this Harry had been shaped by the murder of Bellatrix, this Harry had wavered, had been human in a way that the pure, unyielding Potter of old had never been: he had chosen to do what was easy, instead of what was right.

No, this is unfair of me. Yes, Harry had fallen to Voldemort's guile in a moment when he was at his lowest: but a single mistake wasn't, couldn't be enough to define the entirety of one person. And the determination that his young charge had put into learning Occlumency betrayed how devastated he had been that night, how terrified he was of repeating his mistake... and how he unjustly believed himself responsible for the entirety of the war to come.

This was a different Harry, yes, who wouldn't change with what he had endured? But while more cautious, this was still the boy who had seen a family he'd never have in the Mirror of Erised, one that had risked himself to retrieve Diggory's body at the behest of the memory summoned by the Priori Incantatio.

It could never be clearer than at that moment. Harry was as always willing to do anything in his power to oppose Voldemort: but where before he'd have jumped at the chance of accompanying the headmaster, he now wished to make sure that it was a good idea, that he agreed with the course of action planned by the leader of the Order of the Phoenix.

"Before the summer, you asked me why I didn't try to kill Voldemort." Albus sighed tiredly before peering seriously at the much younger wizard from above his half-moon glasses: "This, I will ask that for the time being you don't mention to any, we will, of course, be able to revisit the topic once you're back at Hogwarts."

"Of course professor." the immediate acceptance marked once again how different this Harry was: once, he'd have immediately argued to involve Miss Granger or Mr. Weasley, now he knew and felt seared in his soul the necessity of keeping some information secret: "Incidentally, how would I go about teaching Occlumency to Hermione and Ron?"

A warmer smile blossomed on the ancient wizard's face as he answered: "Of course, the first step must be completed by them: as you did, they'd have to practice emptying their minds, to the point of being able to do so at any time, and to be capable to distance their thoughts from their actions. Once they feel ready, it'd be simply a question of training to resist a Legilimency probe."

"Would you be willing to test me, Professor?"

"Of course, once at Hogwarts..."

"Excuse me, Professor," Harry interrupted him with a calm tone, but a fierce determination shining in his eyes: "given that this information about your old colleague appears to be sensible, I'd rather be sure I can keep it to myself."

And once more the headmaster was forced to recognize the adult, practical mentality of the boy who had argued his way out of returning to Surrey. Perhaps this was another reason why he was hesitating before accompanying him in this little venture? Now that he had apparently grown comfortable in Grimmauld, he no longer had the keen need to escape what he felt like a prison.

This thought obviously saddened the ancient wizard: how dreadful was it that Harry'd feel better mostly alone in that dreary house than among his relatives. Albus closed his eyes for a long second, and with those still closed, he idly directed Harry's willingness to help his friends into a new direction: "Given your plans of teaching Occlumency, again something that is better kept under warps, would you be willing to spend the rest of the summer at the Burrow?" the boy had long enough time alone to grieve and to come to terms with his circumstances.

Before Harry could answer, Albus added: "At some point, loneliness ceases to be a quiet reprieve from the world and becomes a poison."

The heavy tone of that sentence cut short the instinctive reaction that managed to sneak its way through the detached mindset of the budding Occlumens. And after several seconds during which Potter rose from his chair with a nervous jerk, his hand unconsciously closing around his recently obtained wand, a flutter of white wings interrupted the conversation.

Hedwig landed on the suddenly raised forearm of the Chosen One and shot him a reproaching glare while she squawked with understandable irritation.

"Your owl appears to agree with me, Harry." Albus couldn't help his smile when he took notice of the tenderness with which the younger wizard caressed his owl's breast feathers, murmuring under his breath to the slowly calming down bird, "And I suggest stopping to Ollivander, to make sure the wand you're using is adequate, or if you need a replacement."

With a curt nod, Harry agreed to the subtle bargain proposed by the headmaster: in exchange for having his Occlumency tested immediately, he'd be told why Dumbledore didn't try to kill Riddle at the Ministry, and he'd go to the Burrow for the rest of the summer. Once he was told the truth the ancient wizard had denied him in June, he'd decide wether to follow Albus to meet his 'old colleague' or not.

"Are you ready?" the headmaster asked as he raised his wand.

After a deep breath, Harry opened once more his green eyes, stared blankly into Albus' blue orbs, and nodded one last time.

The ancient wizard spoke: "Legilimens!"

Some sweets jumped up and down in their cauldrons, others sang cheerfully, while small vials shone almost cheerfully from their positions. Weasley Wizard Wheezes was a shop as colorful and mad as its owner had promised it would be. It was as energic and thrumming with unrestrained excitement as the Twins had always dreamed, and it was packed to the brim with students of all ages.

It was beyond the Twins' wildest dreams, and it was a note of hope in the dreary tone that Magical Britain's current state. Voldemort had been revealed to the world, Death Eaters were at his side, people had already begun to disappear from their homes, the Dark Mark hovered above places where selected targets had been murdered.

And yet there were the Weasley Twins, placed in the middle of Diagon Alley: they were there, their shop was a monument against sadness and fear in a way that only a place holding a multitude of clever jokes could be. Weasley Wizard Wheezes: a steadfast opposition to the encroaching darkness. It wasn't a rallying cry for war, but its effect was hardly any different: Voldemort fed on fear, and just like Dementors were repelled by a Patronus, the world seemed less dim when seen through the colored windows of the shop.

"No." Harry's denial cut through Ron's determination before he could start to walk out of the Twins' shop.

"What do you mean, no?" he asked as he rounded back on his friend in the crowded entrance, "You've seen how they look like!"

Not far from the colorful and insanely cheerful ambiance of Weasley Wizard Wheezes, the trio composed by Hermione, Ron, and Harry had spotted the retreating, suspicious forms of Draco and Narcissa Malfoy: they had gone into knock turn alley casting worried glances behind themselves, and of course, the first reaction of the Gryffindors had been to immediately sneak after them.

"I agree that they look like they don't want to be followed." the Gryffindor Seeker spoke with the calm yet firm tone that he had developed during his permanence at Grimmauld Place, "But what if we're ambushed?" his eyes darted at the forearms of his taller friend, before running over the more minute for of Hermione, who bit her lip at the reminder of the last time they had been ambushed.

Her brown eyes shone with concern, but by how her hand was suddenly placed across her chest, it was clear that she was thinking about the disastrous night at the Ministry. "Our efforts would be better spent in learning... you know." the witch spoke hesitantly through the mild chaos of the shop, and Ron's eyes clouded themselves with temporary confusion.

"Learning what?"

"Ron, honestly!" Hermione huffed indignantly, "You know..."

"I have a stop to make." Harry interrupted her before she could start bickering with their common friend, and nodded towards the small, ancient shop of Ollivander whose sign could barely be seen on the other side of the road.

It wasn't that the cobbled path was as crowded as it had always been during the days before the beginning of Hogwarts, but where the air of Diagon Alley had always been charged with eagerness, and a multitude of wizards, witches, goblins, and even the occasional hag moving about their business, it was now populated by people moving in small groups, huddled together and eyeing mistrustfully anyone else.

"Ollivander's?" Ron grimaced openly at the thought of having to go back there: after he had replaced his wand after his second year, if he'd never see again the creepy old wand-maker, it would be too soon: "Whatever for?"

"I need to check if my wand works properly." the Chosen One replied distractedly, "You know how Voldemort..."

"Don't say that name!" the youngest Weasley wizard waved his hands wildly, paling instantly at the mention of the Dark Lord, and casting worried glances around, only to realize that the people surrounding them had been too busy ogling the admittedly mesmerizing shop to pay attention to his bespectacled friend.

"Dumbledore suggested it." Harry shrugged, "It'll be a minute, better you two wait here, don't want to crowd Ollivander, do we?"

Ron sighed in relief at the possibility of avoiding the creepy wand-maker, instead spending a little more time browsing the multitude of things he couldn't afford in his brothers' shop, while Hermione shook her head firmly: "I'll come with."

Not seeing a quick way to make his friend desist, Harry limited himself to nod as he left the shop, his green eyes scanning the surroundings constantly to spot any potential threat while he kept himself ready to fight. And as always, he was partly repulsed and partly reassured by his wand's willingness to jump into a confrontation.

"What is really this about?" Hermione, observant as ever, had managed to guess that there was something Harry wasn't telling either her or Ron.

The Chosen One shot her a glance from over his shoulder before replying with his new, horribly bland tone: "As I said, Dumbledore suggested I check with Ollivander."

The two entered the shop and walked into the eerie, unique feeling that only that building managed to give off. In the gloomy silence of the room, Hermione's indignation at having her quest for a clear-cut answer thwarted was almost audible despite her keeping her mouth shut.

"Harry Potter, holly and phoenix feather, 11 inches long, nice and supple." Ollivander's voice sprang out of nowhere just as its owner, who seemed to melt out of the shadows of a corner of the shop, "One of my most interesting matches, that's for sure... and Hermione Granger, vine wood, 10 inches and 3/4, dragon heartstring: a willful companion if I ever saw one."

Hermione made a small jump and grabbed her wand without consciously deciding it, while Harry simply turned towards the owner, who had just walked fully into the light of the shop. He sported deep bags under his eyes, his orbs shone as silvery as ever, and his gaze seemed to see further than the mere here and now: "I hope they're still serving you well, but you'd hardly be here in that case, would you?"

"Not quite." Potter placed Bellatrix's wand on the wooden surface that separated the part of the shop accessible to all from the one that was exclusive realm of the wandmaker, "Voldemort destroyed mine, I want to be sure I can use this one, and buy a replacement if needed."

"What!?" Hermione's voice rang sharply in his ear while she grabbed his sleeve and forced him to turn towards her: "He destroyed it? Why didn't you tell us?"

"What could you have done about it?" the Chosen One's green eyes didn't give away his thoughts, but his voice was tired, and the frown that seemed permanently etched on his features had now a better explanation than the grief Hermione thought was still plaguing her friend. But before she could answer, their attention was returned to the much older wizard that was cautiously handling Bellatrix's wand.

The wrinkles on the wandmaker's face seemed to deepen as he accepted the length of wood offered by Harry, but his eyes shone with uncanny interest, as ever when it came to dealing with his profession: "12 and 3/4 inches long, walnut, and dragon heartstring. Unyielding." Under the distraught exclamation of Hermione, Ollivander's silvery orbs met Harry's: "This was the wand of Bellatrix Lestrange."

"You can't think of keeping it." the witch spoke quickly, only to be ignored by the two wizards, which seemed to be in a world of their own.

"Will it work for me?"

"You won it with unmatched violence," the ancient wizard nodded slowly, only for his eyes to briefly close as if he was in physical pain: "as you know, the wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Potter, and the bond established between the two goes both ways. The wizard learns from the wand, and the wand from the wizard. And this wand learned much indeed in the hands of its previous owner..."

"Will it work for me?" Harry repeated, and there was now a note of impatience to his tone, just as the length of walnut gave off an angry spark that shook the hands of the wandmaker, who dropped it.

With the trained reflexes of a Seeker, Harry snatched it from the air, and he accepted the eager, nervous energy that thrummed through the wand while Ollivander deigned himself to answer: "I think you've already started to learn from it, and I think you knew this before coming here, but yes, that wand will work for you, until violence takes it from your grasp."

"You can't be thinking about keeping it!" Hermione was eyeing the length of walnut like it was a snake ready to strike: "This is the wand that tortured Neville's mum and dad, and who knows how many other people? This is the wand that killed Sirius! And what does it mean taken by violence?"

Harry turned fully towards his friend then, taking a deep breath while he finally admitted out loud what she was already suspecting: "This is the wand that I took after killing Bellatrix."

The Chosen One was forced to blink in astonishment as an instant later, instead of the revulsion he expected to see in his friend's face, his entire view was obscured by a vast mass of bushy, untamed hair. It took a couple of seconds to realize what was happening, and once he did, the distance that he had managed to keep between his thoughts and his actions cracked, letting something different than the cold, searing rage he had grown accustomed to rise to engulf him completely.

Harry's breath hitched in his chest, and he found himself holding Hermione just as tightly.

During his days at the Burrow, even after instructing his friends in the basics of Occlumency, he had studiously been vague about the events at the Ministry. They didn't matter when it came down to doing what was necessary, telling others of his use of the Cruciatus and the Killing Curse couldn't in any way help their side, after all, Voldemort himself had admitted that he'd find hilarious having Dumbledore spend his efforts into protecting Harry from Azkaban.

Telling them of those events hadn't been necessary, and so he had not.

Yet, now that he was being held so tightly that he had difficulties breathing, he realized that he had once again tears streaking down his cheeks.

Maybe, in June he had raged and raved and cried for Sirius, and while at Grimmauld he had managed to turn his grief into determination, he had neglected to cry about something else. Something that he didn't realize was missing until Hermione, for once at loss for words, had decided to crush him in one of her ribs cracking hugs.

Maybe he was crying for himself, and for the boy that he could no longer be.

AN

I did want to start with the first lessons already, but I decided to show once more the changes brought in Harry's character, Dumbledore's thoughts, and the first ripple effects: without the Prior Incantatio problem, Ollivander is still around, and I chose to use the headmaster to point the Chosen One to have his wand checked.

That helped because I managed to sneak in the cautious approach to facing enemies: canonically, Harry & Co went after Draco and mommy to Borgin, and then randomly sent Hermione inside. This Chosen One has as a first thought how to avoid a potential ambush: and so there's no following the Slytherins.

I've skipped the meeting with Slughorn as there is obviously little changing from canon, and there's hardly much of interest in a scene of Harry telling Ron and Hermione to 'empty their minds'.

Of course, there is at least another obvious consequence that forces this timeline to diverge, but that had to pass unmentioned for now: can you guess it?

As always, let me know what you think, and what you hope to see.