Chapter 12

Harry, Ron and Hermione made it through the rest of their first week, just barely, without incident. There was one frightening moment during Quidditch tryouts on Saturday when Ron, in his desperation to do well, nearly brained himself on one of the hoops, and Harry only just barely missed a bludger to the shoulder. The two were still selected for the team by the fiercely competitive Ginny Weasley, McGonagall's handpicked but surprising choice for Captain. Ginny had, however, ordered them quite harshly to join her for the next 4 weeks in additional early morning Quidditch drilling, to make up for Harry being out of practice and for Ron's only barely acceptable performance. She'd subsequently heard Ron grumbling about being picked on by his kid sister and she'd added a 5th week to his schedule; Harry only just had enough sense to hide his laugh before she rounded on him.

The following Monday, the three trudged up to Defense Against the Dark Arts at 9 in the morning. Though Defense was usually their favorite subject (well, Harry and Ron's anyway), the way Longmire taught it was a little long-winded and tedious. They weren't likely to complain too loudly, though, given their previous instructors, and at least this teacher actually allowed them to use the spells they were being taught.

They'd started last week with the legal system, and now were on to the more practical aspects. Today's spell was on how to check whether a document had been forged, and the long introductory lecture identified the limitations of that kind of spell. 45 minutes into the hour and a half long class, they were finally given leave to try the spell themselves, paired into groups chosen by the professor, apparently at random. It was a Gryffindor-Slytherin class, so Harry, rather inevitably, found himself paired with Draco Malfoy.

As they turned their desks to face each other, they exchanged cold looks, only prevented from openly scowling by the watchful eye of Longmire as she roved around the classroom. Harry eyed the parchment he'd been provided which had the look of a professional contract, though the clauses outlining obligations were left blank. Dipping his quill, he dramatically wrote out Draco's signature at the bottom, making sure to add great looping swirls to the D, M, and Y. He was only sorry Draco didn't have an 'I' in his name somewhere or he would have added a smilie face to dot it.

Barely containing his smirk, he glanced up and found Malfoy had done something similar to his contract, though, admittedly, Malfoy's calligraphy was far the superior. Figures, from a snot like Malfoy, Harry thought to himself. He turned back to his parchment and raised his wand to enchant the spell.

"Quin Marcam!" Harry and Malfoy's voices sounded in unison, each with a hard intensity as they bore upon each other's names. Their voices cut through the din of the other practicing students, who stopped what they were doing to watch as both parchments flared violently red.

And then Harry's caught fire.

"Mr. Potter!" Longmire shouted, coming up behind him as Malfoy lunged backwards, toppling in his chair, and at least three other students squealed in alarm. Before anyone said anything else, Harry extinguished the flames with a muttered 'Aguamenti'. He turned, blushing, to find Longmire at his elbow.

"Potter, did I not specifically warn you all to be careful about the power you placed behind these spells?" Longmire ground out mercilessly. Harry winced and nodded, with a muttered, "Sorry Professor."

"You are a sixth-year student, Mr. Potter. This class is for students who have already learned how to temper their magic sufficiently to continue progressing in this field of study." Harry's head came up sharply at the implied threat.

"You're kicking me out, Professor?" He asked, barely containing his outrage. She glowered at him.

"10 points from Gryffindor for Mr. Potter's behavior," she announced to the class, with equal ferocity. Then her voice lowered to a dangerous whisper, "and detention for your tone, boy. Tomorrow night with me at 7 o'clock. And be warned, Potter, you are walking on very thin ice." She spun on the spot, spat "turn over that desk at once, Mr. Malfoy, and seat yourself properly," and then turned her gaze on the rest of the room. They all immediately began to enchant their own parchments with noticeably less energy, while Harry, staring at his pile of wet ash, fumed silently. He felt Ron and Hermione's eyes on his back, but he kept his head ducked for the rest of class, and then was the first to slip out of the hall.

"Still think she's not a villain?" He asked sarcastically when they caught up to him.

"Harry," Hermione moaned in frustration, "you can't let yourself be goaded into fights with her or Malfoy. You know that."

"I just got one spell wrong, Hermione," He said, his anger bubbling. "That was hardly worth detention and 10 points."

"Well, he's got a point there, Hermione," Ron quipped, and then winced at Hermione's hard look. "Well, I mean, Points is understandable, but only Snape's ever given Harry detention after just one outburst."

"Hey! I don't have that many outbursts," Harry protested, pulling them short. Both friends hesitated to agree with this assertion for half a second too long. "Do I?"

"Well…" Hermione started.

"Oh, never mind," Harry grumbled, and continued down the hall.

They had potions next and, even with Snape's new regiment of fairness, it was still a chore to make it all the way through class without getting docked at least a few points for wrong answers, never mind earning any for right ones. Mostly to prove a point to Ron and Hermione, Harry kept his mouth firmly shut all through the introduction to that week's potion - Slimewire's Sleep Solvent – and then all through brewing too. He felt Snape's eyes on him a couple of times, and Hermione's for that matter, but kept his head down and his mind as focused on the work as possible. When Snape called on him to ask a question mid-brew, he answered without looking away from the dried rat tail he was nimbly chopping into quarter inch pieces. He answered correctly and Snape had moved on without comment.

As a result of his spite-fueled diligence, he produced a reasonable sample of the potion. He eyed the light blue, bubbling liquid with a bit of disdain before dropping it on Snape's desk to be graded, which earned him a raised eyebrow. As he left, Ron and Hermione exchanged worried glances and followed him out.

That night became the first in a week where Occluding didn't him prevent a nightmare. It did, however, successfully pull him out of one.

He drifted back to consciousness, still wrapped in the glow of a memory of Ginny's hug, until he finally was fluttering his lashes up at the ceiling in the dark of the cold dorm. The other boys were all evidently still sound asleep if their snores were anything to go by. He didn't move from his spot in the bed except to wick away some accumulated sweat from his forehead, which he did with a heavy hand.

It had been an Umbridge dream, he recalled dimly, which he'd not had in a very, very long time. He'd struggled for a long moment to wake himself with an immersive memory, and had been forced to watch Umbridge's approach, a glinting silver knife in her fingers, prepared to carve "I must love Draco Malfoy" into the back of his hand. He shuddered in the dark and resummoned the memory of Ginny until his heart slowed again, and his breath leveled out. Finally, he smiled to himself, thinking he should very much find an excuse the next day to get another hug from her. He fell gratefully back to sleep.

The team's first Quidditch practice of the season was that same Tuesday, at 7 o'clock. Giving Harry a hug was, therefore, sadly the furthest thing from Ginny Weasley's mind.

-SSS-

After Tuesday's detention, which had consisted of lines – "I will learn to control my emotions inside and out of the classroom, for the benefit of myself, my instructors, and my peers" – his week leveled out fairly well. Ginny had eventually forgiven Harry for his badly timed detention, after much groveling on his part. Then she and Luna surprised the Trio in the library during one of their free periods on Thursday to entertain them with news about the Weasleys which Ron had failed to divulge – evidently Bill had a new girlfriend – and also with a bag full of homemade sweets, just arrived by owl from home (they had to wait to eat these, though, as Madam Pince had descended like a vulture as soon as she heard the tell-tale crinkle of packaging).

Finally, Saturday morning dawned to find Harry and Ron slouched over the Gryffindor table. It was 5:00 in the morning and Ron was a moment away from landing face first in his bowl of breakfast cereal. Harry was contemplating a piece of toast, head planted heavily in his palm.

"Hello, Harry," Luna's quiet, mystical voice sounded suddenly in the otherwise silent hall. Harry jerked sluggishly in his seat and turned to find her standing just beside him.

"Sorry to startle you," Luna commented, sounding both genuine, and mildly amused as she cocked her head to the side. "You both look like you might have startled a Wopperhash during mating season." Harry blinked.

"What's a 'wopperhash', Luna?" He asked, muzzily.

"Oh, they are small, mushroom-like creatures, who often bear big blue spots on their heads. If its mating season, they give off a blue gas which some find sweet but makes you quite sleepy. If you eat one, and I'm not sure why you would, you'll be asleep for at least a week straight. Although, I don't think any colonies live nearby."

Harry blinked at her again, and then rubbed his eyes behind his glasses.

"Nope," he said, turning back to lean his elbow on the table, "No wopperhashes. Just Ginny." His extra Quidditch practice with Ron this week was scheduled for 6:00.

"Oh yes, Ginny is quite fierce when she wants to be, isn't she?" Luna said, sitting down backwards beside Harry on the bench, a smile playing on her face.

"Er, yeah. Did you need something, Luna?" Harry asked.

"No, Harry, but I think you possibly do," she responded sweetly. He turned to her, confused, and found she was handing him a neatly rolled scroll, tied with a sparkling golden ribbon. "Professor Dumbledore asked me to give you this as I was coming into the Great Hall," she said, explaining. "He seemed rather cheerful, though he almost always seems that way. I think he rather enjoys waking up in the early mornings."

"Thanks, Luna." Harry said, pulling at the ribbon. Luna stood up but turned around.

"Professor Snape has not slept well today," she said suddenly. Harry stopped yanking on the frustrating bit of ribbon and turned to her. "I saw him earlier, coming in from the grounds. He looked rather tired, or possibly angry. It may have to do with the two Slytherins who came in behind him, who were also rather upset."

"Do you know what happened, Luna? Did they get expelled, too?" Harry asked, waking up more quickly now.

"Expelled? No, I don't think so," Luna pensively, fingers playing with her bottlecap earrings. "I imagine they'd have been walking in front of Professor Snape, possibly at wand point, rather than behind him, if he were taking them to the headmaster."

"Oh," Harry said, returning to the scroll. "That's good."

"Yes, it is, isn't it? I think Professor Snape probably never wants to expel students, really. He just sometimes has no choice."

Harry thought suddenly of second year when, in fact, Snape had tried to have he and Ron expelled and seemed thoroughly disappointed when he could not. Harry chose not to comment on Luna's speculation.

After a half second more of silence, Luna turned on her heel and bounded away down the hall to the Hufflepuff table, without another word to Harry. He watched her with an eyebrow raised as she sat at the wrong table and helped herself to eggs and bacon. He turned, caught Ron's attention, which finally was possible, and he shrugged.

The scroll was, indeed, from Dumbledore. It was very short but written with the headmaster's usual flourishes.

Dear Mr. Potter,

If you would be gracious enough to meet me tonight in my office, just after dinner, I should like to discuss a few matters of business with you. The password is unchanged.

Additionally, I wish you the very best luck during practice today and commend your dedication to your House and team.

Yours,

Albus Dumbledore

Harry rolled his eyes lightly – how Dumbledore managed to know all the comings and goings of the school at all times, he could never begin to guess.

"What's that then?" Ron said, gesturing with his fork.

"Dumbledore," Harry said, dismissively. He shrugged at Ron's confused look and dished himself some scrambled eggs.

-SSS-

That night, after a grueling practice captained by Ginny, an even more interminable study session captained by Hermione, and a rapidly consumed dinner, Harry parted ways with his friends and made for the stone gargoyle on the second floor. He regarded the statue with a touch of anxiety, thinking through all the times in his life when he'd gone up that spiral staircase to hear news of peril, lamentation, or to be reprimanded for rule-breaking of some sort. He wondered, silently, if there were any other student on campus, aside from perhaps Ron and Hermione, who knew the Headmaster's office so well as he did.

What new disaster awaits, he thought grimly to himself and exhaled a sigh.

"Licorice Wand," he said quietly to the gargoyle, who sprung immediately to his feet and out of the way.

Standing before Dumbledore's intricately carved door only moments later, he hesitated again, then steeled his face and knocked with conviction. He wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing.

"Enter," he heard, and turned the knob.

Dumbledore was standing beside his desk, a welcoming smile on his face. Harry glanced around and couldn't help but remember the last time he'd been here had with Snape, to retell the awful story of his abduction. The memory left a sour taste in his mouth. The room was set up much like before, but the extra chair before the desk was missing, of course, and he noticed a young Fawkes was gazing at him from his perch. He smiled at the headmaster and the bird, and then took the indicated seat. Dumbledore took the other, again on Harry's same side of the desk, and Harry felt himself tense at the obvious informality.

"Thank you for coming, Harry," Dumbledore said, leaning back into his chair. "Can I offer you some tea, perhaps?" Before Harry could answer, Dumbledore had waved his wand and a tea tray had appeared on the desk. Another swish had the kettle pouring itself into the two delicate periwinkle teacups. When full, the cups leapt nimbly off the tray to hover before Harry and Dumbledore, respectively, until they each plucked theirs out of the air.

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, a bit awkwardly, and sipped from his cup more for something to do than anything else. The headmaster was eyeing him, and Harry could tell what he was about to tell him something important, but, as usual, the man could not be rushed into divulging his secrets.

"I hope your classes this term are going well, Harry." Harry nodded. "Good, good. I don't think anyone, except perhaps Severus on occasion, has ever doubted your aptitude for classwork. It was, after all, true that both your parents were quite capable in school as well." Dumbledore took a drink of his tea while gazing over Harry's left shoulder through the quickly darkening window. His voice had taken on a melancholy tone upon mentioning Harry's parents and the sparkle had faded from his eyes.

"Everyone says my mum was very good at Charms," Harry offered into the silence. Dumbledore shifted his eyes to meet Harry's for a moment, he smiled lightly, and then shifted back.

"Indeed, she was, Harry," he continued, slowly, the gravel of his voice growing melodic, "And your father, of course, was quite good at Defense Against the Dark Arts, and also Transfiguration. The latter, I'm certain, was most helpful in his pursuits to become an unregistered animagus," he added with a mischievous grin. Then, capturing Harry's eyes with his own and holding them, he said, "I am sorry, Harry, for the way you have been tossed and tormented by this war. I'll openly admit to having made a lot of mistakes regarding your upbringing and I have failed you more times than I'd like to count," he held up a hand to silence Harry's automatic protests. "There is no time for mincing words anymore, Harry, I am afraid. No time for side stepping around mistakes for shame or regret. Your abduction over the summer served, at least, to ensure that I would not be tempted to allow the same mistakes to occur."

"What are you talking about, Professor?" Harry asked.

"Think back, Harry," Dumbledore instructed gravely, still eyeing Harry with his sharp gaze, "Think back to last year when you stood in this very office and listened to the complete prophecy from my own lips." Harry blanched. "You were, of course, rightly angered and aggrieved by the night's events and by the secrets I had kept from you. I had allowed sentiment to keep you from the truth, and, because of this, you were left to find other avenues that led you down dangerous paths. I accept the weight of Sirius's death wholly and completely on my shoulders, Harry, because of my behavior to you last year and even the years before. But, difficult as it must be to trust me after such a disastrous event, I must beg it of you. We must look forward now, together, if we are to defeat Voldemort."

Harry was silent throughout Dumbledore's monologue. He heard the words and recognized how much it must be costing Dumbledore to confess these faults to him but, Harry was also reasoning to himself as he spoke. The last few months, since Sirius's death, since his abduction, since the torture, recovery and dreams, he'd been forced to come to terms with the reality of the war, and as he listened to his mentor, his leader, the most powerful wizard of his age, he found that he could now finally make his way beyond his feelings of betrayal and grief. He found that he could think.

"What else are you hiding from me, Professor?" he asked quietly into the silence that followed Dumbledore's speech. The question fell from his lips like stones in air thick with tension. Dumbledore was silent, but Harry now commanded his eyes and did not let go.

"I have…some suspicions, Harry," Dumbledore answered at last.

"Of what, sir?"

"Of a secret Tom Riddle has been hiding from the world effectively for many decades, decades even before you vanquished him 15 years ago," Dumbledore explained heavily. His face was drawn tight and pained, and Harry's heart was beating faster. Dumbledore rose without another word and walked slowly around his desk. From a drawer he pulled a book that Harry recognized as soon as he set his eye on it. Dumbledore set it on the desk before him, waving the tea things away, and Harry could not resist reaching out to touch the once plain black leather cover, which now bore a hole made by Harry himself at the tender age of 12.

"Tom Riddle's diary." It wasn't a question.

"Yes, Harry," Dumbledore confirmed, now collapsing back in his usual seat behind the desk. "That was indeed the first clue which led me down the path of reasoning that induced me to summon you here tonight."

"Is he still in there?" Harry asked suddenly, snatching his fingers away. "I killed him properly, right?"

"Yes, you did," Dumbledore assured him, and his expression became almost proud as he looked back at the boy. "Your quick thinking did, indeed, manage to both save young Miss Weasley and also completely destroy this remnant of Tom."

"This remnant?" Harry repeated slowly. "Do you mean to say…Headmaster, are there other remnants of Voldemort? Remnants from which he could come back like this Tom tried to do?"

Dumbledore hesitated. Harry noted the shine in his eyes was the result of tears building there. As he watched, one crystal tear fell down the aged face, quickly disappearing into his beard. "I am so sorry, my boy," he said, his voice cracking, "I have reason to believe there are more." Harry felt his stomach drop and the blood drain from his face. The grip he'd had on the arm rest had been gradually tightening, but now he released it and looked down unseeing at his white fingertips.

"How do you know?" He heard himself ask.

"Because, Harry," Dumbledore replied, "you contained one of them."

-SSS-

Nearly 2 hours later, Harry returned to the Gryffindor Tower, escorted by Dumbledore. It was not past curfew, but Dumbledore insisted on escorting him all the same. They said nothing to each other, not even when they reached the Fat Lady portrait. Harry muttered the password "Bendiximus" and turned back. Dumbledore met the tired green eyes with his sorrowful blue ones, nodded once, and then proceeded back down the stairs, leaving Harry to crawl tiredly through the portrait hole, head swimming with new and terrifying information.

"What did Dumbledore want?" Ron asked from one of the desks in the Common Room, where he was challenging Neville to a chess match. Hermione beside him, buried in parchments, also looked up expectantly, but Harry just shook his head, cognizant of how many other eyes were on him in the room still teeming with students, and made his way upstairs.

It was only 9:30 when he climbed into bed, but there was a headache pulsing in his temples. He closed his eyes, but his mind wouldn't cease racing. He lay in bed for over an hour and listened behind the closed curtains around his bed as his roommates came and went, getting ready for bed themselves or planning their Sunday excursions. Ron stopped just outside Harry's curtain and said Harry's name, to check if he was asleep, but Harry didn't answer. He just lay there, waiting, unable even to occlude his mind because that required a happy, immersive memory and, in that moment, he felt he could recall none.

Finally, at around 10:30, he fell asleep. 4 hours after that, he woke up screaming.

Author's note: Sorry for the delay in updates. This chapter went through a lot of editing from my original draft and then, of course, real life got in the way. The next one will probably be up sometime this weekend, too, as it's already mostly written and just needs some minor revisions. Fingers crossed.