Well I was moving at the speed of sound.
Head-spinning, couldn't find my way around, and
Didn't know that I was going down.
Yeah, yeah.
Where I've been, well it's all a blur.
What I was looking for, I'm not sure.
Too late and didn't see it coming.
-"Crashed" by Chris Daughtry
--::--
Albus Dumbledore felt old.
He was no fool. Time ran its course on all, no matter what magics or curses were chosen to lengthen life. When the end arrived, there was no denying its greeting. While it was highly unlikely he was close to death, he wondered how far off it could be. Was it that glimmer on the horizon, reshaping and molding into an unforgiving sun? Or was it the tinker of the train, puttering along a track destined for only one stop? Sometime during the last month, he had found himself wanting it, the final rest. Wars had come and gone in his lifetime, great men had risen and fallen to rise thrice in the throes of darkness.
Voldemort himself could not cheat death. A plethora of pretences and half-truths were his reality. Not even the Philosopher's Stone had granted the eternal life some desired.
He did not fear the unknown.
In all history, a single individual had truly and irreversible cheated the grim.
"Albus, we've arrived. The train has stopped."
And he was missing.
"So sorry, Minerva." Dumbledore smiled apologetically, removed from a line of darker thoughts. "Any word from our friend Snuffles?"
If possible, her face pinched tighter. Minerva McGonagall still, although the urge to sigh and shake her head despondently was encompassing. Harboring a fugitive at Grimmauld Place was one mishap but keeping him close within Hogwarts, surrounded by gossipy children and overly knowing portraits was another. There was a time when she would have protested strongly against such risky actions. The loss of Harry Potter had however dulled her opinionated nature for favor of empathy.
"No. I believe he has been working with Severus and Ms. Granger on the Locator Potion." Minerva said, standing. "There is as of yet no progress made. Severus is waiting the arrival of a new ingredient. It should come any day."
Dumbledore nodded, standing and shuffling his wand deeper in his pocket. His colleague sent a somewhat exasperated but curious glance over her stiff shoulder.
"Albus, why are you on this train? I myself have not ridden this blasted machine since my school days." She narrowed her eyes. "Allow me to inform you: that was a very long time ago."
Chuckling lightly, he stepped into the bright sunlight. The bustle of students greeted friends and housemates was intimidating. The entire courtyard was brimming with Slytherins sneering at Gryffindors, and Hufflepuffs squealing at detached Ravenclaws. Dumbledore was proud to say they were having their childhood. In all likelihood the war would ruin lives after Hogwarts, and touch each one.
Minerva halted at his side.
"Ah, but this is why. My dear, it is revitalizing to come and remember why we strive to teach. This is what we are protecting at Hogwarts. After everything, this is what I needed most."
--::--
Green eyes wavered. "Sorry. I forgot how sensitive you were."
"Sensitive? Harry, you just surprised me is all. It's been a while since I've had a good reason to-"
"Are you about to insult me? I'd rather you not."
"Ferox! Wait, Ferox!"
Harry crashed down the lane, hooves slapping the cobblestones with each long-legged stride. He had not demanded speed like this since his continuous flight from the Death Eaters. Following the last few hours of slight pains in his leg, running so fast seemed impossible. Such a thing for an average creature would in fact be a large feat.
Three days ago Harry had almost died.
Sooner than expected, the Hogwarts Express loomed around a corner, trees parting to reveal the gathering of students. First years were easy to pick out. They stood huddled in tight-knit clusters, gazing around in a mix of alarm and excitement at the new surroundings.
Longing inveigled. If he was in any sort of poetic mood, he would dare say his heartstrings were contracting in an elegy of beautiful but tentative lyrics. Harry knew better, and stopped sentimental wonders instantly. To succeed in gaining Dumbledore's interest he would need a surprising amount of daring, and luck.
Fortunately, Harry Potter always lugged about some luck for spare usage.
Please, please, recognize me! Harry hoped, and prayed, as he finally came to his goal.
Dumbledore's power weaved inexplicably throughout the masses.
A sixth year Ravenclaw he barely knew saw his approach first. Mouth agape, she smacked her closest friend hard, knocking books to the ground. Pausing mid rant to see what the pale girl was ogling, she froze with owl eyes. It started in every house, one by one noticing the black unicorn cantering toward them, haltered but alone.
Someone screamed in giddiness.
-Where is he?- Harry hissed, roving over the students but finding no purple hat or twinkling eyes or ridiculous lemon drops… Surely he was still present. The magic of Albus Dumbledore was intoxicating, making Harry snort uneasily. A pleasant replacement for one of Professor Snape's Pepper-Up Potions.
The black halter clanged on his cheekbone when he shifted sideways, tripping on polished ebony hooves.
Hagrid immediately withdrew.
Watching the half-giant closely now, Harry steered clear. Out of arms reach, the Magical Creature expert had no chance of ruining what was possibly the most important thing he would ever do.
Beside killing Voldemort, of course.
-Hagrid, where's Dumbledore? I know he's here, where is he?- Harry said, pawing the stones. -Damn it, understand me!-
Frustration fueled his urgency. A sharp whinny bit the muggy air and left behind a sudden nervous tension. Where awe had claimed the students they now were wary. Any animal Hagrid had no control over was a dangerous one.
Where was that manipulative man?
there
Harry charged. Students converged, folding in on each other to make room for the stallion, seventh years holding back quaking first years. His horn glittered in the daylight, two feet of impressive spiraling translucency. Emerald orbs goaded the humans, wanting the fight that might come from his provocations.
Dumbledore met him without a flinch. Skidding to a stop, spraying rubble on the hem of black robes, Harry shook hair off the scar on his forehead. It was there. He could only hope the wise old wizard acknowledged it for what it was.
Proof.
-Professor, can you understand me?- Harry asked hopefully. No twinkle entered the cerulean eyes, no spark. -No one can understand me, but this is important. I need your help. Voldemort is planning something, something big, and if I don't get out of this body he'll get it. Please-
Stooped and obviously fearing no threat, Dumbledore grinned. It was weak and watery.
"Come to greet me? Unicorns are creatures of peace and are addressed as animals of ageless beauty." His voice rose to reflect on the listening audience. "A black unicorn however is a creature of divinity. Their rareness merely accentuates the mystery surrounding their existence." Dumbledore leaned in; his breath smelled of muggle candy. "Are you a harbinger of death? Are you foretelling the end of something, or perhaps the loss of someone?"
His words rocked Harry to the core. Recoiling on sprawled legs, he shuddered.
-You think…I came to predict my death?-
Horror bruised a path down his thoughts, trailing into a bleak subconscious.
"It has been a very long time since I had seen what was lost. Tell me, black beauty, is he forever gone?"
Harry worried, abruptly, utterly, for the sanity of Albus Dumbledore.
"Ferox!"
A gnarled hand reached out for his nose, slowly but not hesitating. The rushed footsteps came up from behind him. Enthralled, Harry did not have the energy to care to look. Only the hand, and the magic…
Dumbledore touched Harry—
A pause that is graced with an overly confused stare.
"Afraid of an insult? I've said worse, I can assure you."
"Of that I have no doubt. No, I'm not afraid of what you might say. I'm afraid of what you might mean." Silver eyes widened, then closed.
—And the sky imploded.
--::--
Where am I?
Harry groaned, reaching up to hold his pounding head. A dull grinding was coming from his scar, like someone was attempting to dig their way into his mind. Not exactly painfully, it made his eyes water and his sinuses sting.
Stop it.
The feeling retreated.
Satisfied, the wizard glanced around. He was—
-"Good evening," Hisses. "Harry Potter."
The aforementioned boy jolted, knocking an inkbottle off the stand. It clattered to the parchment, masking the essay written across its surface. Harry didn't try and save it. Turning, rigid and tense, he met two glittery scarlet eyes.
Voldemort was seated on his bed, quite relaxed. Menace warred with triumph in his stare.
"Homework, Harry? My, my. I was informed you cared little for any school work." A sneer graced his lipless mouth. "In fact, I was under the impression you cared for nothing but friends and Quidditch. How wrong I have been, hmm?"
Harry's wand was locked downstairs. Unarmed, he doubted he stood any chance against the Dark Lord. Prickles traveled across his scar.
"What do you want?"
Voldemort laughed as if he had told him mudbloods were people too. An insane, mocking laugh that ridiculed Harry's bravado.
"Honestly, Potter. I merely want to talk." His gaze turned icy. "How have you been? Is my life still giving you nightmares? I have been trying harder to torture more people you know. Anything to make you cry."
"I don't cry," he lied.
Tilting his head, the slits where as nose would normally be, flared. Voldemort sighed woefully.
"Harry, when will you ever learn? You can't lie to me."-
—Dreaming.
That never happened.
Harry trembled, clasping very human fingers tightly. The memory felt real, felt vivid. To an outsider, it would be like every other memory they found in his mind.
It was fake. That was the only explanation. Voldemort had never visited him in the middle of the night, never seen his room in Number Four Privet Drive.
What's going on?
Magic glistened, a fresh coat of paint over his sleeping mind. Was he really asleep, or was it all fiction?
Can I be asleep but awake?
--::--
"Harry, I would never lie to you."
"I know, which is why I don't want you to finish that sentence, insult or not."
"Why?"
"Because—I don't love you yet."