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Chapter 15

Daphne breathed in heavily, attempting to control the rage building inside of her as nothing happened once again. A few days had passed since she asked Harry to teach her the Patronus Charm, and she wasn't any closer to casting it than she was before. They were again in the Chamber of Secrets, switching between dancing and Patronus lessons.

She had to admit that Harry was making remarkable progress regarding his dancing abilities. His movements were becoming more and more coordinated, and Daphne was pleased to see that he didn't have to constantly look at his feet to avoid stepping on her toes. Of course, that still happened from time to time, but the frequency lessened drastically compared to their first lesson. Also, his body movements weren't nearly as stiff as they were in the beginning.

That's why it infuriated her even more that she wasn't able to make any progress with the spell that seemed to be so easy to cast when Harry performed it in front of her.

The boy next to her let out a heavy sigh. "It is a difficult spell," he commented, contradicting her thoughts. Daphne turned her head to look at him; Harry ran his hand through his hair. "As I've said, it took me a few lessons with Professor Lupin before I managed to conjure it. And I'm nowhere near Professor Lupin's teaching abilities," he added with a nervous chuckle.

"Show me again how you cast it," Daphne demanded, crossing her hands on her chest; her wand was still locked in her firm grip, threatening to break at any second. Harry wondered, for a moment, how someone with such small hands could muster so much strength.

"There isn't anything special in it," Harry countered, though he complied with her demand, stepping towards the center of the Chamber. He raised his wand, focusing on the distant, practically non-existent memory of his parents. The memory of seeing them in the Mirror in his first year supplied his brain with the image of their faces; in his mind, they were smiling at him, muttering sweet nonsense as every parent would to their only child.

Warmth spread through his chest, just as it always did when he was about to cast the Patronus. In an instant, all worries about the Tournament, Ron's and Hermione's abandonment, and years of mistreatment at the hands of the Dursleys faded into the background; all those unpleasant thoughts paled in comparison to that simple yet so strong image of his parents smiling and talking to him.

He could almost feel the silver Stag wanting to burst out of his wand.

"Expecto Patronum," Harry said; the love he felt was heard in his voice as he recited those two simple words.

Unsurprisingly, it had the desired effect. A beam of silver mist raced out from the tip of his wand, focusing two or three meters in front of him. The bright light slowly started taking shape, and before either of the teenagers knew it, a large stag was standing in front of them. As was its habit, the silver animal scanned the area around them in search of any immediate danger. When none could be found, the Stag started walking around the two students in circles, attempting to bring comfort to both of them with its sole presence.

"There is no special wand movement required to do this," Harry said, reminding Daphne what she already was supposed to know. "And the tone in which you say the incantation doesn't influence the outcome of the spell. At least I think it doesn't," Harry added, following the Stag's steps with his eyes. He chuckled slightly. "But I'm sure you already know it. After all, you told me that magic is mostly about intent, right?"

"Then why doesn't it work?" Daphne countered, also staring at the silver animal. "I know what I want to achieve; I can even see myself conjuring it, but it doesn't work!" she hissed. The Slytherin girl turned her head to look at her companion. "Why is it that you've mastered it, and nothing happens when I'm trying to do this?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "I have no idea," he admitted. "As I've said, it took me a few lessons with Professor Lupin before I was able to conjure a simple mist, two times smaller than me," he reminded her, reaching out with his hand to pet the Stag's back. The cold of the silver light wasn't at all unpleasant as he suspected it might be. Instead, Harry could compare it to entering an air-conditioned room after spending hours in the summer heat, even despite the general coolness of the Chamber. The sight of the conjured animal brought a smile to his lips, further cementing the memory of his parents in his mind.

"Professor Lupin told me many times that the most important factor of this spell is the happiest memory you can find," Harry muttered, not fully realizing that he continued talking. "Each time I failed at casting it, he asked me about the memory I used. I honestly have no idea how he could rate them, but he always said that it wasn't strong enough, until… until I finally managed to do it," he said, turning around to look at the Slytherin girl. "I think that, what Professor Lupin failed to mention, was that it's not just the memory. Or, at least, I think that it's not all. I don't know how to explain it, but… each time I want to cast the Patronus, I feel… warmth in my chest," Harry said, biting his lower lip. "The memory I use… it's not exactly a happy one." He chuckled humorlessly. "I can't even remember seeing my parents in real life, but I know, I just know, that they loved me when they were alive," Harry muttered, lowering his gaze. "I don't know. Maybe the memory of it is somewhere in my mind. Anyway, what I wanted to say is that… I think it's mostly about the happiness that fills and penetrates you. The memory serves only as means to reach those emotions, nothing else."

Harry risked lifting his head to look at Daphne. He didn't know what he expected to see on her face upon revealing the secrets of his heart to her. Pity? Loathing for something so childish? Amusement? Maybe all of those things combined?

Whatever it was, the almost sad look in Daphne's eyes wasn't on that list. Her smirk dropped ever so slightly, barely noticeably.

The Slytherin girl slowly nodded her head. "You're right. It's not a happy memory," she commented, turning her gaze back to the silver Stag. "And what you've said… about your parents' love… weren't you raised by your relatives?"

"Yes," Harry answered stiffly; his Patronus flickered slightly as the memory of the Dursleys shadowed the memory of his parents. Daphne turned her head back towards him.

"Why do you need the memory of your parents to feel the love?" she asked him; the flickering of the silver Stag intensified. Instead of a practically white mist, the conjured animal became almost transparent.

"I've told you already that they hate everything about magic," Harry replied slowly. "And that includes me."

The silver Stag evaporated entirely, leaving no trace of its previous presence.

"I'm sorry," Daphne whispered, shifting her gaze to the spot where the Patronus was barely a few seconds earlier. "I forgot about it."

"Don't mention it," Harry replied, attempting to dismiss her worries with a wave of his hand. "It's not like it's your fault or anything. So, what memory did you use?" he asked after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence.

"Of me and my sister when we were younger," Daphne replied with a hint of hesitation. "How we used to spend our time in the garden at our home, or in a nearby forest with nothing but nature around us. We had no worries back then, and life was just… easier, I guess, until…"

"Until?" Harry encouraged her to continue when Daphne's voice betrayed her. She shook her head violently.

"It's none of your business," she replied sternly, crossing her hands on her chest.

"That's not really fair," Harry countered, shaking his head. "I've told you practically everything about my past, including things that were supposed to remain secret. I… I trust you, Daphne, though I'm pretty sure I lost my mind when the Tournament started. I mean, if someone told me in the summer that I would trust a Slytherin, I'd have thought that person lost their brain," he added with a small chuckle.

"I also don't know why you trust me so easily," Daphne replied. "I'm pretty sure that it's your Gryffindor stupidness," she clarified, earning herself another chuckle from Harry.

"Perhaps," he agreed.

"But you're also right," Daphne continued. She took in a deep breath in an attempt to collect her thoughts. "Remember how you've seen me next to Tori's bed?" Harry nodded his head. "My sister is… ill. Permanently. Many healers, including my mother, attempted to find a cure to her sickness, though their efforts always proved to be in vain. She has these… attacks once in a while when her sickness reminds all of us that it's still there and it won't go away. And that's all I'm willing to tell you," she said in a tone that left no room for argument.

"So, when you think about the memories with your sister… you remember her sickness, right?" Harry deduced.

Daphne nodded her head. "Yes. Each time I try to find the happiest memory I can, it always comes with the image of Tori in her bed, unable to move."

"That was your Boggart last year, wasn't it?" Harry asked, carefully pressing the topic forward.

He vaguely remembered that lesson with Professor Lupin. Many of his classmates faced the Boggart, showing their deepest fears for everyone to see. However, when he tried to recall Daphne's confrontation with the dreaded creature, Harry couldn't exactly remember what form the Boggart took for her. It wasn't because his memory failed him, but because Daphne never allowed that creature to fully form before she cast the 'Riddikulus,' turning it into a dancing skeleton. He shuddered at the memory; there was nothing funny about that in his opinion.

Daphne slowly nodded her head.

"Then perhaps we have an answer as to why you can't cast the Patronus," Harry commented.

"Perhaps," Daphne echoed emptily. "Well, I guess that if I can't summon a Patronus, I can always attempt to summon Professor Dumbledore," she added after a moment.

Harry looked at her as if a second head suddenly grew out between her shoulders. "What?" he asked when the initial shock wore off. Daphne's usual smirk returned to her lips.

"Summon Professor Dumbledore," she repeated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"And how would you do that?" Harry asked hesitantly, unsure if he should laugh at her statement.

Daphne shrugged her shoulders. "You only need to announce that Slytherin wins the House Cup, and he will appear out of nowhere, awarding Gryffindor with a thousand points for your incredible breathing techniques or some other bullshit," she clarified. Unable to stop himself, Harry started laughing uncontrollably, attempting to imagine such a scenario. "Come on. You must admit that what he did at the end of our first year was nothing more than a Troll's crap. We won against you fair and square."

"Well," Harry said, clearing his throat after regaining full control over his body and voice. "Those things he awarded us for really happened," he tried to argue.

"It doesn't change the fact that it was bullshit," Daphne countered immediately. "We should have won the House Cup back then, and yet you still dare to say that Professor Snape is a biased teacher."

"Isn't he, though?"

"Maybe, but Professor Dumbledore is as well," Daphne replied, causing Harry to chuckle again.

"You want to continue practicing the Patronus?" Harry asked her after calming down. Daphne shook her head.

"No," she replied. "Let's focus on dancing now. There's still a room for you to improve," she added.

"All right," Harry agreed, stepping towards Daphne and placing them in the starting position of the waltz. Immediately, the smell of her strawberry shampoo filled his nostrils, blocking the unpleasant odor of the Chamber. "One, two, three…"

It was almost an hour later when Harry was returning to the Gryffindor Tower. He was actually proud of himself. Throughout their practice, he only stepped on Daphne's feet once, and it seemed to him as if they were able to predict each other's movements by that time, resulting in much more fluent dancing. Harry mentally patted himself on the back, congratulating himself for making such progress. Maybe the Ball won't be such a tragedy as I thought.

"Harry, there you are," a voice called out to him as he made his way through the rotating staircase on the third floor. Lost in thought, Harry nearly jumped at the sudden sound. Turning around, he saw Professor Dumbledore standing at the entrance to the corridor that Harry knew led to the Headmaster's Office.

"Professor Dumbledore. I'm sorry; I didn't see you there," Harry said, stopping himself from continuing his walk to the Gryffindor Tower. Maybe there really is a spell to summon him, he thought, recalling Daphne's words from earlier.

Professor Dumbledore smiled softly as if he heard Harry's silent comment. "Nothing to worry about, my boy," the Headmaster replied, dismissing his concerns. "I would be surprised if you noticed me earlier. I might be old, but I like to think that I still can move through the Castle with what little grace I have remaining," he added with a soft smile and a twinkle in his eyes. "Harry, may I ask you to accompany me to my office? We haven't had many opportunities to talk recently after all."

Even though it was a question, Harry doubted that the possibility to say 'no' actually existed. One didn't simply refuse Dumbledore's request. "Of course," he replied, correcting his glasses. The Headmaster smiled softly and turned around, silently urging Harry to follow him.

The two walked through the mostly empty corridor; occasionally, a lonely portrait or armor diversified the stone walls. The echo of their footsteps was the only sound penetrating the silence of the Castle around them.

"Fizzing Whizbee," Dumbledore said once they reached the Gargoyle Statue. The stone animal moved aside, revealing a spiral staircase leading up to the Headmaster's Tower. The old wizard swiftly leaped on the top stair just as they started moving, and Harry followed him immediately, landing a few steps lower than the Headmaster.

As was the case each time he was there, Dumbledore's Office was filled with a variety of stuff and equipment that Harry couldn't recognize. Some of those instruments were familiar to him from his previous visits, while others appeared to be brand new, although, if he had to guess, Harry would have said they were as old as Professor Dumbledore himself. If not older.

"Would you like a lemon drop, Harry?" Dumbledore offered, as was his habit.

"No, thank you," Harry declined, just as the Headmaster sat down in his chair.

"I never had an opportunity to congratulate you on your accomplishments in the First Task," Dumbledore spoke in his usual grandfatherly tone, popping one of the sweets into his mouth. "I cannot exactly say what I expected to see from you, but what you've done most certainly wasn't on my list. Not many would attempt to outfly a dragon - I can tell you this. However, your display previous to that is also praise-worthy. I have to admit that it was the first time I've seen someone so young successfully defending himself against the dragon fire. Not to mention your Patronus; it truly is a remarkable sight. Would you satisfy an old man's curiosity and tell me how you've done that? That shield, I mean," Dumbledore clarified. "But where are my manners? Please, sit, Harry," he added quickly, gesturing at the chair on the other side of his desk.

Complying with his request, Harry sat down. "I'm sorry, sir, but I can't really explain how I've done that," he admitted, scratching the back of his head. "I remember that I wanted to cast 'Aquamenti;' I've even said the incantation, but I messed up the wand movement," he explained with a nervous chuckle. "So, I truly have no idea how that worked. Although, a friend of mine told me recently that magic is first and foremost about intent. Maybe that's an explanation? Maybe I just wanted to conjure a shield strong enough to stand against the dragon fire?"

"Remarkable," Dumbledore commented softly, nodding his head a couple of times. "Your friend is a very wise person then and has an incredible understanding of magic," he said. Once again, Harry couldn't stop himself from thinking if summoning the Headmaster would work. And, once again, a small smile danced in the corners of the old man's lips. "Yes, one can do wonders with magic beyond human imagination; that is true. If you find time, perhaps it would be wise if you… tried to repeat your performance with different spells. It might be worthwhile further in the Tournament."

Harry nodded his head. "I'll think of something when I return from Christmas Break, sir."

"Ah, yes, Professor McGonagall told me about your decision, Harry," Dumbledore said, though there was no trace of his previous smile on his face. "Are you sure it's wise for you to leave Hogwarts? You have protection here, and I'm sure you remember what happened during the World Cup this summer, Harry."

"I've already told it Professor McGonagall, sir, but I doubt Hogwarts is the safest place for me," Harry countered immediately. It was going too smoothly, he commented in his mind. "I'm sure you see it, sir, that this Tournament is good enough proof of this. And I want to spend some time with the only family I have left."

"Sirius isn't your only family, Harry."

"I'm sorry, Professor, but 'family' is the last thing I'd call the Dursleys," Harry replied. "As far as I'm concerned, Sirius and Professor Lupin are my only family."

Dumbledore nodded his head solemnly. "It won't be easy to convince others to allow one of the Champions to leave Hogwarts," he said after a few seconds of silence. Harry's face dropped at that information; he hadn't considered such a possibility. "But I can't keep you here against your will, Harry. I'm sure I'll find a way to persuade the other judges to let you leave. But I must ask you, Harry, to be careful."

"I'll do my best, sir," he replied, enthusiastically nodding his head.

"Speaking of the Tournament, how are your preparations going regarding the Second Task? Have you figured out the clue yet?"

"No, sir," Harry informed him. "Honestly, I haven't given it much thought yet. This whole Ball is keeping me occupied right now."

Dumbledore nodded his head. "I see. Well then, I'm afraid I won't be able to help you with this one, but I'm pretty sure you'll manage to figure this one out. Perhaps your friend might be able to help you?" he offered.

"She's helping me a lot," Harry commented; that soft smile found its way back onto Dumbledore's lips, though it quickly faded away with his next words.

"How are you feeling, Harry?" he asked; instead of jovial, his tone was serious. "I can only imagine what you're going through with this Tournament thrust upon you."

"To be honest, sir, I'm terrified," Harry replied after a moment of hesitation. "I have no idea what I'm supposed to do, and it doesn't help that Ron and Hermione…" he bit his lower lip, stopping himself from saying too much. However, he doubted that it was a mystery to the Headmaster. After all, the entire school was aware of their fallout.

As if in confirmation of his thoughts, Dumbledore nodded his head again. "I know," he commented simply. "I'm sorry, Harry. I'm truly sorry I've allowed something like that to slip under my nose." Harry nodded his head, unsure of how he should reply. "There is something else I wanted to ask you. I couldn't help but notice that your scar has reopened itself recently," Dumbledore continued without waiting for Harry to say something. "I'm certain that it's the first time it has happened since your first arrival at Hogwarts. Is there something bothering you, my boy?" he asked after a moment of hesitation.

Harry turned his gaze at the desk in front of him. Should he tell Professor Dumbledore about his nightmares? A part of him was against that idea; it was one of his unpleasant secrets that he dreaded to reveal to the rest of the world. On the second hand, though, he had told about them to numerous people already. Ron and Hermione were aware of them, and they weren't a part of his life anymore. He described his first nightmare to Sirius in a letter, and he told Daphne about both of those dreams.

Maybe Professor Dumbledore can help me somehow, he wondered. Taking a deep breath, he described both of his nightmares to the old Headmaster.

"That is… unsettling," Dumbledore commented when Harry finished talking. "How many times have you had those dreams?"

"They happen randomly, sometimes more often, sometimes less," Harry replied, taking a shaky breath. "Am I going mad, sir? Those nightmares… they were too real to be just dreams."

"Magic can manifest itself through various ways, Harry," Dumbledore replied, gathering his thoughts. "And since you're familiar with Divination," Harry scoffed at that. "I'm sure you know that there are many ways to… receive visions. Future is not the only thing that can be seen through Divination." Once again, Dumbledore ignored Harry's reaction at the mention of that subject. "Sometimes, one can see present and past, though I must admit, I haven't heard of anyone experiencing such visions in dreams. To be able to see the things that were, are happening right now, or are yet to happen, one must focus strongly on their connection to magic, which is almost impossible to do while sleeping." He popped another lemon drop into his mouth. "I can't tell you much about the dream you had in the summer, but I know for a fact that years ago, long before you were even born, Voldemort has indeed broken into Azkaban," Dumbledore revealed to him. "However, we've never learned the purpose of his… visit. It was believed that he did it in order to lure the Dementors to his side. He succeeded in his task, by the way."

"But he wasn't looking for the Dementors in my dream," Harry countered.

"No," Dumbledore agreed. "He wasn't. And this number you've seen – floor seven hundred seventy-seven – are you certain you remember it correctly?"

"Yes, Headmaster," Harry replied swiftly. "It's one of the few things I'm more than certain."

"Interesting," Dumbledore muttered, nodding his head. "And your scar reopened itself only when you first had that dream about Azkaban, right?"

"Yes."

"I won't be taking any more of your time tonight, Harry," Dumbledore said after a few minutes of sitting in silence. "It's almost curfew, and I'm sure you have lessons tomorrow." Harry stood up from his chair. "Thank you for sacrificing your time for me, Harry. Goodnight," the Headmaster dismissed him.

The young wizard left his office after replying with a short 'goodnight.'

Dumbledore slumped down his chair when the door closed itself behind Harry. He took off his glasses and massaged his temples, attempting to collect his thoughts regarding what he learned from the young boy.

One dream was more disturbing than the other. Harry's previous… adventures were enough proof that Voldemort wasn't truly dead as many liked to believe. However, to think that he was attempting to gather his forces once again was a truly dreadful thought. And he wants Harry, Dumbledore reminded himself.

He would have dismissed that dream as nothing else than a nightmare conjured by a teenager's imagination. However, the fact remained that the Death Eater attack happened the next day after Harry had that vision. And who is that third man? He asked himself, only to come up empty-handed. There was no possible answer to that question.

Harry's dream about Azkaban was disturbing as well. Long ago, Dumbledore, alongside many of the Aurors, investigated the magical prison when the news about Voldemort's break-in reached the general population. They found many guards murdered, and the Dementors were missing from their stations, but that was all they managed to learn about Voldemort's actions. But that small detail, floor seven hundred seventy-seven, had to mean that something much more serious took place in Azkaban all those years ago.

Although, there was one thing that prevented him from finding out more about it: as far as Dumbledore knew, floor seven hundred seventy-seven didn't exist.

That's it for today. As always, I hope you've enjoyed it. And, as always, please leave a review, add this story to your favorites and follow it if you haven't done it already.

Truth be told, I'm not exactly sure where I stand regarding Dumbledore. I've read many fics with good Dumbledore as well as the manipulative one, so I decided to take a small step for now.

Also, to answer one comment about the 'nonsense' of floor 777 and how a building with so many floors would be two and a half miles high, think about it this way: how the tent in which our characters stayed after the World Cup was so small at the outside and at the same time was practically a full house in the inside. I KNOW that a building that high can't exist, but that's why, if you read my description of Harry's dream carefully, I've included scenes that contradict themselves. For example, Voldemort goes a few steps down, then a few steps up, etc. And I'm planning to explain it further in the future, so just be patient.

Also, before someone says that I've misplaced Dumbledore's Office: I tried to find the exact location, but many descriptions contradict each other. For example, on one website, I've read that the Headmaster's Office is located on the seventh floor, while at the same time, in books, it's on the second floor (Goblet of Fire) or on the fifth floor (Chamber of Secrets). Then, on the other website, I read that it's on the third floor, so that's why I decided to place it there.

Also, in case you're wondering, I took the idea for Daphne's joke about summoning Dumbledore from the Internet (as well as the jokes with the Marauder's Map). I hope you enjoy those small jokes once in a while. See you next time.