It is at an end. I no longer have to exist with the knowledge I will be forced to attend Physics lectures ever again. Rejoice: this chapter is dedicated to the end of a life.
MEETING
The hallways were not exactly deserted, Harry found. A few students shuffled along the corridors, barely glancing his way once their eyes passed over his school robes, aparantly heading back to common rooms as curfew loomed. Harry was pleased to be able to fit so unobtrusively in, but was not about to be testing his invisibility any more than he really needed to: he avoided as many people as possible.
He reached the Headmaster's gargoyle after a soothing ten minute walk through the castle. The slight crackle of magic in the air as he breathed it in, the moving stairwells as he made his dogged way through, the haughty paintings – had all helped him come to the conclusion that this was Hogwarts. This was Hogwarts, and it wasn't as different as his magical senses seemed to want him to believe.
He considered the gargoyle for a few moments, unconsciously running a hand through his hair in frustration. For some obscene reason, he couldn't remember the password.
"Ice Mice?" he said, mentally beginning to form a list of all the sweets he knew. Nothing happened to he tried again. "Tictacs? Polo?"
He startled at the sound of footsteps echoing along the hallway. A small girl turned around the corner at the end of the corridor, robes swirling around her tiny frame. Harry instantly felt like hiding, but there was nowhere to go, so he found himself facing the grey-blue eyes of the first year.
"Are you here to see the Headmaster?" she asked him as soon as she was close enough to speak normally, seemingly unconcerned at the faint look of disbelief he sent her.
There was a pause while he considered if he should answer.
"Yes" he finally reluctantly replied.
"Don't have the password?" the first year continued perkily, flicking her red hair over one shoulder as she gave him a considering look. He shrugged in reply, not at all pleased with the happy-go-lucky tone the junior was using with him.
There was a longer pause while the girl squinted at him, as though she was trying to remember something very important.
"Well I guess you can come on up with me." She finally consented, dipping her head as though agreeing with herself. Harry felt an ironic smile tilt his lips sideways, and he thanked her politely, feeling strangely out of his depth.
The 'feeling' returned to his stomach like a lead cannonball.
The girl whispered the password so low that he couldn't hear it properly, and sent him a smirk while he mentally cursed. They stepped onto the stairwell, and waited in silence as they rose up to the Headmasters office. The first year looked completely comfortable on the rising staircase, but kept shooting him would-be-sly glances.
"You're really familiar, you know," the girl told him suddenly, turning to study him again. Harry felt instantly uncomfortable, for two reasons: he was against people he'd never met before knowing who he was normally, and he was trying to go incognito.
Before he could answer, they had reached the top of the stairwell.
From what he could see, the office was exactly as it ought to have been, and Harry felt his shoulders sag in relief. The girl sent him another strange (and slightly Slytherin) look, before hopping off the stairwell and walking confidently through the open door, pausing only to motion for him to follow her.
Harry took a deep breath and made to follow her, but faulted as he heard Dumbledore's voice drifting through the doorway towards him, "Amy, I have been expecting you." The headmaster used a softly rebuking tone that had the hairs on the back of Harry's neck standing firmly on end. Wrongness seeped into his stomach again, making him feel sick.
Shaking his hesitancy aside, he stepped through the door, mentally preparing himself for anything at all.
'Anything at all' was exactly what he was least expecting: the utterly expected. Amy had a slightly shamed look on her face as she turned to look at him, and the Headmaster looked disappointed – the disappointed look that had made Harry's gut twist with sorrow and deep shame when it had been directed towards him.
As the other person stepped into his office, Albus Dumbledore's eyes shifted instantly to see who had accompanied his student, but the sight before him was clearly shocking enough for his crystal blue eyes to swim in a moment of indecision. Harry waited patiently for the professor's eyes to clear once more, that ominous feeling wrapping cold tendrils of dread around him.
Amy was looking at him strangely, again. He wrapped an arm around himself, self-conscious of the two pairs of eyes that were studying him carefully. The moment continued until Dumbledore flicked his wand, conjuring a comfortable looking chair right behind Harry, and motioning for the boy to sit.
"Miss Andrews, my dear, I think I will be forced to request your presence at a later date. I was not quite expecting my young visitor, but I fear his presence here does out-rank your own." He said, turning to the first year, who visibly relaxed, choosing to throw a thankful look Harry's way. She bobbed her head once, before spinning around and slipping into the stairwell before the Headmaster could change his mind.
Dumbledore's eyes re-focused on Harry, a contemplative look settling across his wizened face.
Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
"You are Harry Potter, are you not?" the Headmaster eventually asked him, and Harry felt his eyes widen comically. And his heart stopped beating in his chest, too. And all the blood drained from every limb of his body, as well. Because Albus Dumbledore knew him. Albus Dumbledore could tell who he was, just by looking at his face with those scarily twinkle-less eyes, and that meant only one thing in his mind: there had been no time mishap. Albus Dumbledore had known him since he was smaller than a foot tall, and yet, Albus Dumbledore was suddenly looking at him as though he were a less-favored, less-seen, less-remembered, nephew. And Albus Dumbledore would not treat him like that.
His eyes span around the room quickly, observing as closely as he possibly could: he had been compliant in assuming that the office was exactly as he had left it, and as his eyes roamed he could see that he had been wrong. Small differences, of course, small enough not to notice on a first glance, but certainly enough to jump out at him when he really looked: that strange device hadn't been there since his fifth year, and that odd piece of rock he'd never seen before in his life.
His eyes zoomed back to the Headmaster. His heart, having jump started in his chest, was now beating at several times its normal rate. Before he had even realized it, his eyes had come to rest on the headmasters hands.
"And yet there is something very different about you, indeed," the man mused, lifting his spidery hands up cautiously, and watching in bemusement as Harry's eyes trailed them, a shocked expression on the teenagers face.
Albus Dumbledore was not one to jump to conclusions easily. There were a number of principles that the old man held very close to his chest in regards to the 'facts of life'. If something didn't fit entirely with those facts, Albus Dumbledore was the kind of person who would set his sights on finding out exactly why not.
Harry Potter, walking into his office in the late afternoon, dressed in dirty and ruffled Gryffindor robes, accompanying a Slytherin first year civilly, did not fit into any kind of comprehensible order he had ever heard of.
He abruptly silenced his thoughts as the boy looked like he was about to speak.
"I – Sir – Wha…?" A pause while the boy collected his scattered thoughts, "Headmaster, there's something weird going on," Harry finally stuttered, looking unsure about who exactly he was addressing, and what he was trying to say. Albus remained quiet, watching the confused expressions that were blurring across the teenagers face. He was reluctant to let his own face mirror the teenagers, feeling the familiar curiosity welling up inside his chest. That particular trait had put him in Gryffindor: a rampaging and usually reckless need to find out all of the answers, often at some great cost he could ill afford.
The teenager had clammed up, looking at him with calculating, and yet somehow naïve, eyes. Albus let the realization settle on his shoulders gently, confirming what had stopping him snapping off a stunner as soon as the child had entered his office: this was not any Harry Potter he had ever known.
"'Weird', Mister Potter?" he asked quietly, encouraging the young wizard to continue.
"I don't understand anything that's going on!" the young wizard suddenly exploded, throwing his hands up in the air. Harry jumped up, his confused anger blinding him to the twitching of the Headmasters wand-hand, and started pacing. After letting off something between an agonized moan and a furious shriek (which came out as a frustrated gurgle) he flopped back into his chair, feeling marginally better.
Dumbledore was eyeing him with an amused look twitching at the corners of his mouth. Harry adopted a vaguely sheepish expression before shaking his head as a serious look clouded his face.
"Headmaster, I need to know what's happened over the last few days," Harry said urgently, "the last thing I remember is going with you to the cave, for the horcrux, and you drank that potion, and then I tried to apparate us back, and the next thing I know I'm passed out in some alley." Harry paused for breath, before continuing.
"The next time I woke up, I was at St Mungos, but none of them knew who I was, thank God, I guess. Then I left and went to Grimmauld Place," Harry scowled at the mention of the Black Manor, "but there was this man there," Harry's eyes widened again, "he said his name was 'Regulus', but I thought Sirius's brother was dead – I thought Voldemort killed him!" Harry stopped abruptly, his emerald eyes taking in Dumbledore's carefully blank face. It seemed however that the teenager knew him a lot better than Dumbledore was able to comprehend, because he could sense the boy's sudden reluctance to continue until he confirmed some of what had been said.
Albus' mind was churning. The truth in the child's words jumped out at him, so much so that Albus was beginning to feel very uncomfortable indeed. The mention of a horcrux had caused Albus' stomach to plummet: whoever this person was, they were in deep enough for it to be dangerous. For them to be dangerous.
He clasped his hands together on the desk, considering what he could say to the teenager who clearly trusted him. A momentary frown marred his face. That was another thing – clearly this child knew him, and expected to be known. And yet Albus was positive that the only Harry Potter he knew would rather cast Avada Kedavra on him than as for any explanations.
He sighed, deeply troubled. Green eyes did not leave him for a second.
"Harry, I must confess that I am unfamiliar with you." He saw the teenager blink in confusion, but plowed on regardless, "I am uncertain of how you came across any information regarding horcrux's, but I would advice that you forget you ever knew any single thing about them." His voice turned hard, eyes glittered at Harry with enforced warning.
"I suspect that something quite magical has occurred here, Harry, and I would like you to stay here whilst I assemble a friend who may be able to help us understand who, exactly, you are."
Harry was looking at the Headmaster stunned, but he snapped his mouth shut, and shook his head furiously. When he finished, he blinked again, apparently expecting Albus to have disappeared and been replaced with something more accommodating of his comprehension.
Albus gestured him to speak.
"I'm Harry Potter," he finally said, helplessly, "You know I am professor! I don't understand what's going on! Why don't you remember what happened the other day?" his eyes fastened once more onto the Headmasters hands, "and why isn't your hand all… black?"
Albus turned his own gaze back to his hands, and for a few moments they were both staring at his wrinkled palms. He looked up again, wondering if perhaps this wasn't as sinister as he thought, and the boy was simply mad.
"I confess that I find my hands in exactly the condition I would most wish for them to be. Why did you think they were 'black', my boy?"
Harry had become very silent, and very still. Nothing was going as he had expected it to. To begin with, he had not expected the excruciating pain of apparation, and after that? Well, it had all gone to the dogs. Even Dumbledore didn't appear to have any type of answer. Instead, the old wizard was looking at his as though they had never met before, as though he truly believed that Harry was not whom he professed to be. Harry had to admit, that since he had woken up from the initial oddness (apparation), it had almost seemed as if he were in another world. He dismissed the idea immediately, though, he'd never even heard of such a thing before.
Harry had no idea what was going on, but he was sure as hell going to find out.
At the Headmaster's soft cough, Harry realized he hadn't answered the question.
"Well…" he started unsurely, but gained momentum at the encouraging look he received from the Headmaster, "you didn't tell me the specifics, of course," Albus' eyebrow shot up, although Harry was too absorbed in observing his own pale hands to notice, "But I think it had something to do with you destroying the ring." Harry finished what he had been saying and looked back up, waiting to see some flare of recognition in the Headmasters eyes. There was nothing.
He could feel a small part of his soul curl up and die. For some reason, something had happened, and it had rendered him utterly alone. Not even Dumbledore could reach him.
He considered the possibility that it was all just some terrible nightmare, but dismissed it also as he ran his fingers across the velvety material the conjured chair was made from. He didn't have this kind of wonderful yet terrifying imagination.
Dumbledore coughed again, this time just to gain Harry's attention.
"I informed you that I had hurt my hand from the destruction of a ring, Mister Potter? Could you, perhaps, tell me precisely when this happened?"
Harry shook his head dully. He couldn't remember when he had gone up to Dumbledore and found out about his hand, he couldn't remember anything so specific.
The Headmaster sighed again, his eyes once more contemplating the brunette before him. Harry repressed a yawn and hoped that he had not seen it. But, after a pause, the twinkle was back in the old man's eyes as he cleared his mind of trouble and stood up, motioning for Harry to do the same.
"I believe that this is quite enough, Mister Potter, and I also believe that it would be best for you to stay at Hogwarts until further notice." Harry nodded, relieved. The way things had been going, he was sure he would be kicked out onto the streets. If Dumbledore noticed his relief, the old man didn't show it.
"Whatever has happened has clearly resulted in the two of us with quite mismatched memories. I am looking forward to discovering which of us, if not both of us, are correct in our recalling abilities." He gave Harry a warm smile, trying to comfort the child, who was looking as though his favorite pet had just been murdered before his very eyes.
Harry stood up and took a half-step towards him, before faltering. Albus' mind reeled, however, as the sheer amount of magical residue clinging to the boy's form struck him. How he had not noticed the stunning amount of power before spiked a moment of fear within him, before it subsided and he concluded that he needed to sit down and think. He needed to know more about what Harry's last memories were, of why the boy thought he knew him. Of who the child could possibly be.
But not now, he thought, observing the wilting teenager with still bemused eyes. He could wait until the morning to further this interrogation. Wait until the morning to tell Harry exactly what the name 'Harry Potter' conjured up within most wizards and witches in Modern Wizarding Britain.
Because he was certain the boy was not yet ready to find out.