A/N: My beta has christened herself Thea. This is beta'd by…Thea. Thanks, Thea.

Chapter 34: Building a Mystery

Harry awoke to the feeling of the arm over his eyes going numb. He picked the arm (his arm) up off his face and groaned as the light from the windows attacked his eyes. He rolled onto his side, but something round dug into his hip from within his pocket. He groaned again and kept rolling. He fell stiffly to the floor, and thrashed around to get some mobility in his restrictive clothes.

Looking down at himself, he realized that he hadn't changed out of his formal clothes from the previous night. He was still wearing his plaid vest and trousers. No sooner had he wondered where his original clothes were, than he spotted them folded neatly on a chair in the middle of the room.

Looking at the chair, he had the image of several leprechauns coming in and putting them there in the night.

Harry stood up from the ground and began peeling off his fancy clothing. He discarded the vest, only to have it clunk as it hit the floor. He remembered the round thing that had been digging into his side. He scooped the vest back up and rummaged around until he found…the watch from the vault in one of the pockets.

The unscratched gold shone, but the crystal face of the watch didn't glare in the sunlight. Harry could see the face perfectly, and all twelve of its arms and planets.

According to the watch, the time was half past two in the afternoon. He'd been sleeping for almost twelve hours. He tossed the watch back onto his purple comforter and went to take a shower.

In the shower, Harry went through the day before. It had been a long day. He'd gone shopping at the bookstore with Minerva, discovered the vault, met Nicolas Flamel (and solved the mystery of Albus's secretive correspondences). They'd discovered that the kitchens were broken, and consequentially ate at the incredible Comede Noctem. They'd visited Grimmauld Place, been chanced away from Grimmauld Place, and had ridden the Underground. Harry felt like he'd been gone for a week.

He needed to retrieve the books that he'd left in vault. He got out of the shower and dressed without magic. He sat down on his pile of clothes from the day before, and pulled on his clean socks. As he leaned to the side for balance, he heard paper crinkling underneath him. He stood and took the old clothes off the chair to find a newspaper there. On it was a note.

Harry,

I wasn't sure if you subscribe to the Prophet, but I thought you'd enjoy this article. It was wonderful meeting you last night, and I hope I will have the pleasure again soon.

Yours,

-N. Flamel

Harry looked under the note to see Albus looking back at him in black and white, smiling mysteriously. The headline was "DUMBLEDORE DISCOVERS USES OF DRAGON BLOOD." Harry scanned the page smiling faintly. He chuckled at one of the quotes: "'It was a pleasure watching it all happen. I've witnessed a lot in my life, but Albus's work is inspirational. To watch the crease in his brow as he studied his subjects with the utmost care. To see the precision of his un-shaking hands. To watch the sweat trickle down his cheek in moments of cruciality. The experience was spiritual. I hope to witness his work again,' says Flamel, Dumbledore's financial backer. But what the question industry experts are asking now is, will the price of dragon blood increase with this new…"

Harry put down the newspaper when his stomach growled. He could read the article later; he had a lot to do. First he needed to get the books from the vault. He decided to go alone this time to make it a quick trip. After that, he needed to talk to Albus about Bellatrix. Well—first, he needed to eat breakfast.

It was late, so Harry figured the great hall would be mostly empty. Food was served most of the day on Sundays, though, so he would be able to eat in the great hall despite the hour. He dropped out of his tower and went to the great hall. He was pleased to see the hall empty except for Albus sitting at the staff table; he could have his conversation with Albus and eat breakfast at the same time.

"Good morning," he said cheerfully to Albus as he slid into the chair next to him. Albus nodded to him. Harry turned to his plate and loaded it up.

"Did you sleep ok?" he asked conversationally.

Albus nodded.

"How's your leg?"

"There's no pain."

"Do you still want the scar?"

"Yes."

"Did you see the Prophet?"

"Yes. I'll have some words for Nicolas about that stunt. I've been asked to visit several major research labs to present our findings. I'd hoped that this wouldn't happen until the summer, but I'm afraid I'll have to be absent from school for a month or so."

"Oh. Where will you go?"

"The details haven't been settled, but I will be traveling to North America first."

"Wow. When will you leave?"

"Tonight."

Harry ate for a minute or two, not really sure how to respond. "So, I was thinking," he said after swallowing his food, "I'm worried about Bellatrix. I don't think we left her in a very safe situation. I should stop by the Black's house and—"

"I don't think that's a very good idea."

"I was just thinking I'd—"

"Harry, it isn't necessary."

"Not necessary? Did you see what they did to her?"

"She's better off without our interference. We cannot risk her parents discovering our identities. Can you imagine the consequences?"

"I can imagine them pretty well, actually, yeah," said Harry. "Besides, I can disguise myself. They'd never know it was me. I could disguise you too, if you wanted, but I bet you could do it yourse—"

"I'm not going with you and you're not going at all, Harry."

"Albus, this could ruin her life. She could be traumatized, isolated, and turned into a criminal—you have no idea what psychological damage she could have from being left with abusive guardians."

"And you do?"

Harry blanched. The true answer was "yes," but the answer "yes" would have had to come with "yes, you left me with abusive guardians for ten years and it was horrible." Harry wasn't prepared to have that conversation yet and wasn't sure he needed to have it ever.

Albus took Harry's pause to mean "no" and his eyes gleamed in triumph—or maybe bitterness.

Harry didn't want to bother correcting him. He took a different tact instead. "It's not dangerous."

"We were cursed at and pursued for blocks, Harry."

"We're both fine."

"I got hit by a curse."

"And you're fine—or you would be if you'd let me heal that—"

"I'm not," whispered Albus.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

Albus was silent for a moment.

"I'm not fine," Albus enunciated coldly, turning slowly to look at Harry. His words echoed around the empty hall.

"Albus, why didn't you say so. I'll fix—" Harry reached out immediately with his magic towards Albus's leg only to encounter a wave of emotion that sent nausea to his stomach and fear to his heart. Harry cried out and recoiled physically, falling to the floor, his heart suddenly racing.

Albus stood from his chair, looking down on Harry. Albus's gaze scorched Harry, and Harry had to look away.

"Not everything," he enunciated. He paused, realizing he was speaking loudly, and continued in a dangerously soft voice. "Can be fixed." He looked down, his hair falling in his eyes. He clutched his own bare left wrist with his right hand and kneaded it until his knuckles turned white. "Interfering always causes unexpected casualties," he whispered.

Harry wanted to say something, to comfort Albus, to ask what this was about, but he was too busy trying to repress the bile rising into his throat caused by his brush with Albus's feelings of regret and anguish.

Albus let go of his wrist and put his hand in the pocket of his robes. Harry could see the tendons in Albus's arm clenching his hand into a fist in his robes. Albus exhaled and turned around. As he was leaving Harry heard him mutter, "Don't be a fool and break something else you can't fix."

Harry sat frozen on the ground for a long time, and eventually moved to sit back up on his chair. He sat with his head in his hands, frowning down at the rest of his cold, uneaten food. What had he done? Was this about Wister? He couldn't believe Albus could have gotten so angry at Harry without it being obvious to Harry why. He'd never even seen Albus that angry, had he?

He thought back to his school days, and remembered the end of his fourth year when Professor Dumbledore had discovered that Moody—or Barty Crouch Jr. had taken Harry from the third task maze. Harry remembered thinking that he finally understood why Dumbledore was the only person Voldemort had ever feared, because Professor Dumbledore was terrifying when he was angry. Harry understood completely why Professor Dumbledore had been furious at that time. Barty Crouch had led one of his students to be murdered, kidnapped his friend and held him prisoner for months, and helped his enemy return. The causes for his anger were obvious.

Albus Dumbledore was a remarkably understanding man, though, and Harry couldn't remember seeing him angry about anything else. He hadn't gotten angry when Fudge refused to believe Voldemort was back, or when Pettigrew escaped. So, what was it that could have made him so angry at Harry?

–But though Harry couldn't remember seeing Professor Dumbledore that angry, he had heard of him being angry during his time at Hogwarts. The instance that came to mind was when the dementors had attacked the Quidditch match in his third year. Harry knew that Dumbledore detested dementors, but what had merited such fury? Harry decided that revisiting the memory might help him understand what would make Albus that angry at him, Harry.

He got up from the table and made his way up to the Room of Requirement. As he paced, he thought, I need a place to review my memories. I need a pensive. I need a place to look at my memories of the future. The door appeared and Harry went in. There was pensive on a table. Harry wasted no time in pulling the memory of the Quidditch match out of his head and dropping it into the pensive. He dove in after it.

Sheets of rain sliced through Harry as he stood in memory mud. A shrill whistle of wind pierced his ears. Harry shivered, despite the fact that the rain didn't touch him. Harry could barely make out fourteen grayed-out players struggle into the air.

He squinted around at the stands, trying to spot the silver-white beard of his Professor Dumbledore. He couldn't find him, so he found a staircase into the stands. He climbed up, temporarily sheltered from the blinding rain, and emerged in a throng of drenched bodies. He began making his way around the stands. After two laps around the whole stadium, Harry still hadn't found Dumbledore. Lightning crackled in the sky, and Madam Hooch blew her whistle to signal the players to stop. Harry watched the players land in the deep mud and make their ways over to a large tent at the edge of the field. Harry saw Hermione dart out to talk to his younger self. Harry felt a wave of affection for her as he saw her tap his glasses and run back off into the crowd.

Lost in the action of the game, Harry almost missed the familiar voice that shouted through the gale from behind him.

"I'm beginning to regret not taking Albus up on that cup of coca he offered! Don't you dare tell him I said that, of course. He's probably looking out his office window at us thinking—"

Professor McGonagall's voice was drowned out in the wind, but Harry didn't need to hear more, nor did he turn to see who Professor McGonagall was talking to. He darted through the crowd and exited the stadium. He ran across the lawn and burst through the entry hall making straight for the stairs to the seventh floor. After spending a minute trying to figure out how to get through the password protected entry to the Headmaster's office, Harry remembered that he was insubstantial in memory and could walk through walls. He bounded up the frozen escalator and slid through the door to the office. Professor Dumbledore was at the window, and he seemed to be talking to himself.

Harry wondered how he could possibly be seeing what he was seeing, as he had most certainly not in the room at the time the conversation had taken place. It must have been part of magical memory.

Harry moved into the room, trying to pick up what Dumbledore was saying

"…and perhaps your focus should not be on trying to fix his watch, but on fixing yourself so that you might take the time from a new watch, should you happen upon one." The memory flickered, and Harry looked around alarmed. Were the dementors closing in? Why wasn't Professor Dumbledore running to his rescue?

"It will be difficult, but it will be better," said Dumbledore. He stroked Fawkes's head, and Fawkes looked straight at Harry.

The memory flickered again, and Fawkes fluttered agitatedly. Dumbledore's attention shifted to Fawkes.

"Now?" he asked the bird, surprised.

The memory dimmed and flickered again.

"Harry…" Fawkes grabbed Dumbledore by the shoulders of his robes and they vanished in a whirl of flame.

The memory blacked out completely and Harry found himself back in the Room of Requirement. It took him a moment to realize that he was face to face with the real, young, solid Albus. Harry inhaled in surprise and backed towards the door.

"W-well, I'm off, then," Harry stuttered. "That is, I need to go. To do some errands. I'm not visiting the Blacks. I'm just going to Gringotts. I promise." Harry fled the room.

Albus frowned stormily as Harry left, but continued directly over to the pensive without a glance back at Harry. He drew out one of his own memories from beneath his auburn hair and dropped it into the basin. He paused for a moment and followed the memory in nose first.

He plunged down into the basin, finding himself in his childhood bedroom. His younger self was lying in his twin bed. His legs were crossed, his arms were behind his head, and his eyes were closed. There was a tapping at the window, and his young self opened his eyes. The tapping at the window became more insistent. The teenage Albus sat up suddenly, peering around his bedroom. He swung out of bed and flew to the window. No sooner was the window open, than there was a sandy haired man crouching in the frame, the light curtains floating around him. Albus breathed in the scent of the summer night air, and that of the man crouching on his window sill.

"Do you happen to have the time, sir?" asked the man in the frame.

Albus smiled. "I'm afraid I don't."

"May I come in?"

Albus stepped aside.

"What kind of person are you, letting mysterious men into your bedroom just before midnight?"

"I thought you didn't know the time."

"I know the time. I was asking if you did."

"And since when were you mysterious?"

"Do you know why I'm here, Albus?"

"No."

"Then I am mysterious."

"I don't think that's mysterious as much as ambiguous."

Albus heard a small pop from somewhere on the blonde's person.

"Well, then, it's time for us to remove the ambiguity," the man said, grinning. He reached into his pocket and pulled something out. A watch shone in the moonlight. "I believe that it is a tradition to give a wizard a watch when he comes of age?"

Albus's face opened up, and his lips parted for a moment, before he covered his surprise. "Gellert, I'm not sure if I should just thank you or remind you that I've just turned eighteen, not seventeen."

"Well, I didn't know you when you turned seventeen, did I? I really must make up for lost time." Gellert moved past Albus into the room, but turned and pinned Albus against the sill.

Albus met his gaze for a moment, but blushed and looked away.

"It's midnight," said Gellert as he handed Albus the watch.

Albus took it, and examined it in the moonlight. There was an inscription on the back plate.

"'G. G.' Is that for 'Gellert Grindelwald'?" asked Albus.

"That, my partner," Gellert said, taking the watch from Albus's hands and slipping it onto his wrist, "is for me to know, and for you to wonder about. Is that mysterious enough for you?"

"Enchantingly so," whispered Albus, and the two teens leaned towards each other.

The memory changed.

Icy rain fell through Albus's robes, and the wind howled around him. His boots sank inches deep into mud that couldn't touch him. He looked around, surveying the storm. The Quidditch stands rose around him, and the roar of a crowd could just be heard over the wind. Albus headed over to the stands, looking around. He ducked into a flight of stairs that was sheltered from the rain, turned on the landing, and nearly ran straight into himself.

Professor Dumbledore stood before him, his silver beard glistening slightly with drops of water.

"You should come with me," said the man in the memory before sweeping off in the direction of the exit.

The auburn haired man hesitated slightly before hurrying after his older self.

Soon the two men were back in the storm, fighting their way back to the castle. They finally reached the stairs and the empty entry hall. Professor Dumbledore dried himself wandlessly.

"Welcome. The year is 1993. Harry is in his third year, and I…I am still headmaster, remarkably."

They climbed the grand staircase and started treading the path towards the headmaster's tower.

"I believe…you have accidentally stumbled upon this memory after Harry left it in the Room of Requirement. The watch is broken. You are in pain. Harry does not understand why. You're blaming him, and you're blaming yourself. Of course, I have never figured out why he wanted to look at this particular memory, but it gives us a chance to talk."

"Or a chance for you to talk to me," said Albus.

"It isn't a two way communication, but I'm not senile yet," said Professor Dumbledore.

"In that case, how might I fix the watch?"

Professor Dumbledore smiled faintly. "Do you remember what the inscription said on the back of the watch?"

"Asking yourself rhetorical questions…"

"What did it stand for?"

"He gave me a watch with his initials. He called me his partner and gave me the watch."

"His partner," said Professor Dumbledore. "His partner in what?"

They reached the spiral escalator. "Crock-pot," said Professor Dumbledore, and the gargoyles leapt aside.

"You know perfectly well what we did as partners," said Albus.

"All too well. But have you forgotten your partnership for the Greater Good?"

Albus stopped at the landing, bringing one hand up to grip his bare wrist.

"Greater Good," he exhaled. Professor Dumbledore had gone into the office and was standing at the window. Albus followed him inside.

"There is no way to fix that, Albus, and perhaps your focus should not be on trying to fix his watch, but on fixing yourself so that you might take the time from a new watch, should you happen upon one." The memory flickered and Albus looked around, slightly alarmed.

"It will be difficult, but it will be better," said Dumbledore. He stroked Fawkes's head, and Fawkes looked into the distance.

The memory flickered again, and Fawkes fluttered agitatedly. Professor Dumbledore's attention shifted to Fawkes.

"Now?" he asked, his grey eyebrows meeting with worry.

The memory dimmed and flickered again.

"Harry…" Fawkes grabbed Dumbledore by the shoulders of his robes and they vanished in a whirl of flame.

The memory blacked out, and Albus found himself back in the Room of Requirement, sitting on the floor.

Harry pushed the door of Minerva's closet open and peered into her bedroom. With much restraint, he'd managed to pick up his books from the vault, and left immediately through the vanishing cabinet that led to Minerva's rooms. Next, he needed to find Minerva. He needed a project to distract himself from Albus's mysterious fury. Harry was surprised to see a large lump in the bed, showing that Minerva hadn't gotten up. He felt his arm caught on something, and turned back to the wardrobe to detangle himself. He stepped backwards out of the wardrobe, promptly tripped over a pair of shoes and fell flat on his back.

Someone yelled behind him.

"It's just me! It's Harry!" blurted Harry before Minerva started sending curses at him.

"Crockett! You gave me such a start. What are you doing in my bedroom?"

"Sorry, I had to pick up the books from the vault. We left them there yesterday. I used your wardrobe because, well, I don't fancy a meeting with Albus right now."

Harry got to his feet.

"Why? Did something happen between you two last night? Did he come onto you, Harry? I warned him, and I told him that if he—"

"No…Nothing like that," interrupted Harry. "I think I upset him."

"I'm sure you didn't. Nothing upsets Albus. I've never seen him get angry. You must have misunderstood."

"I'm pretty sure he was angry. I'm pretty sure he doesn't want to talk to me. He got really scary. Anyway—what are you doing still in bed?"

"I…well, I like to sleep a lot." Harry raised an eyebrow. "Oh, alright. Nicolas took me home and, well, he's so interesting. He started telling me stories about his life and before we knew it, it was four in the morning. He doesn't exactly have a normal sense of time."

Harry snorted. "I bet that was interesting. Do you want to look through these books?"

"That sounds lovely, but I'm not dressed, and I'm hungry. Maybe after I get dressed? And some food?"

Harry smiled and waved his wand. Trays of all different foods appeared. "What's your pleasure?"

"How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Harry, I'm a transfiguration teacher. You can't…people can't…It's just…it's impossible to conjure food!"

"I guess I'm just mysterious."