Chapter 19
Good Luck, Quick Thinking and a Loyal Friend
Harry found himself in a quandary. The missive Fawkes had just delivered specifically instructed him to inform no one, but his absence most definitely would be noticed. Someone had to be informed. He attempted to inform Professor McGonagall but did not find her in her office when he passed by. Possibly he could tell Hermione, but she would ask too many questions. Find Ron instead, he decided.
Unfortunately he ran into the two of them together. In fact, he noticed that the two of them could be found together quite often lately. Occasionally he spied them from afar, before they knew of his presence, giggling and blushing. Obviously they tried to hide it from Harry, because they acted carefully in his presence. If a romance between the two had begun to develop, as Harry suspected, he could hardly blame them. He recalled their conversation at the Burrow during his coma, and he figured that sooner or later they would decide to give it a try, especially now when they had plenty of time on their hands due to Harry's recovery.
"I haven't been good company lately. Why shouldn't they get together?" he reasoned, "Let them do whatever they want." Given his mental acceptance of the situation, Harry did not understand why his stomach churned every time he thought about it.
But at this moment, he had no time to dwell on romantic complexities; Harry motioned them over to a quiet spot and spoke quickly, "Listen, I need to let someone know. I have to leave the castle in a little while. I'm not sure how long I'll be gone. Not too long, I think. Probably I'll be back sometime tonight, maybe tomorrow morning. I can't tell you about it right now." His friends glared at him warily, clearly questioning his motives.
"You aren't going off on some half-brained scheme, are you?" Hermione asked with an air of resigned irritation, her eyebrows raised.
"No I'm not!" the green-eyed teen responded indignantly, "I'm just meeting someone. It could be important or it might be nothing. But I have to check it out." He noted their disbelieving expressions in response to his vague answer.
"Look, I'm coming back," he declared, "I'm not going to fight Voldemort or death eaters or anything like that. You know I'm still not up to that. I'll be back! I just needed to let someone know in case questions are asked. If I was going to do something on my own, why would I be telling you?" He attempted with all his might to mask the excitement tingling throughout his body.
"We can go with you then," Ron suggested, "It would be safer that way." The lanky red head stood a good three inches above his best mate and glared down at him.
"Can't do that. The person I am meeting specifically asked that only I should go. But don't worry, this person is not dangerous. We are just going to talk about some things. It could be helpful." Harry looked at his watch and realized that he only had ten minutes. "I'll talk to you later, I have to go now." And before Ron and Hermione could object, Harry rushed away from them, his robe flapping behind him.
Though he regretted withholding information from his partners, Harry's excitement began to expand as he realized what was about to happen. It all made sense. The portrait that would not wake. The wards on Hogwarts that should have fallen. Snape not dying despite an unbreakable vow. Deep in the recesses of his mind, Harry had wondered, but he had not allowed himself to think it consciously. As soon as Fawkes appeared, however, Harry knew.
Excitement coursing through his veins, Harry jumped slightly when Fawkes made his fiery reappearance. Bird and human examined each other in silence.
"I'm ready when you are, Fawkes." Harry reached out his hand to gently grasp the phoenix's tail feathers, and in a moment he weightlessly floated off the ground until he saw a flash and disappeared. Harry had never traveled in this manner before, and he did not how to call it (phoenixation?), but the sensation felt far different from apparation or portkey, the only similar forms of transportation he had experienced. All in all, he preferred it to the more common methods, though it did leave his body with an uncomfortable tingling. Otherwise the trip passed smoothly, taking a minute or two to arrive, longer than the other forms of travel. He reappeared in a flash and Fawkes gently lowered him to the floor. The phoenix sung a few welcoming notes.
"Thanks Fawkes, that was wonderful."
Taking in his surroundings, Harry found himself in what appeared to be a typical muggle flat. A neutral beige carpet covered the floor, a leather (or perhaps imitation leather) sofa lined one wall, in front of which stood a glass coffee table with beveled edges, on which sat a number of newspapers. A matching leather chair faced the end of the table. On the other wall sat a television in a bookcase adorned with a few books and other knickknacks on its shelves. A moment later, an extremely old man entered the room from the small kitchen, and Harry nearly fell over.
This man had shortly cropped white hair and a well-groomed goatee. Tall and extremely thin, his height was masked by the fact that he hunched over a cane clutched in his left hand. His pale skin indicated poor health. He dressed in muggle clothing, a simple pair of brown slacks topped by a thick brown sweater. The flat seemed rather warm to Harry, but the elderly man had dressed for cool weather. Harry knew little of blood circulation problems of the elderly, who can feel chilled even in pleasant weather.
The old man smiled at Harry and joked, "What do you think, Harry? Is this an improvement?"
"Is that really you, sir?" Harry managed to ask through his shock, "I mean, I'm sure it is, but I need to be careful these days."
"Quite right, quite right, Harry," laughed the white-haired man, "Ask me anything to confirm my identity." Harry paused for a moment to think of something that only the two of them would know.
Finally he settled on a question, "What was the last drink you had before you died, or before we thought you died?"
"An extremely vile potion in an extremely vile cave," responded Professor Albus Dumbledore, alive if not well. "You will recall that you forced me to drink all of the terrible brew, all for the purpose of obtaining a fake horcrux." He thought for a moment, then revised his statement, "To be entirely correct, Harry, the very last drink was the water that you gave me after I drank the potion." Though his appearance jarred Harry, the smile remained the same.
Harry grinned and took a step forward intending to embrace his former headmaster and mentor, but he froze when he questioned the propriety of that act. He had never embraced him before.
The professor, however, took a step as well and opened his arms, declaring, "Under the circumstances, Harry, I believe that a welcoming embrace would be most appropriate." The old and young men hugged, and Harry worked hard to hold back tears. Dumbledore was alive!
"Make yourself comfortable, Harry. We have much to discuss. I am afraid that my condition has prevented me from following the news until recently. No doubt we both have many questions for each other." Harry watched as Dumbledore gingerly stepped to the leather chair, and Harry walked around the glass table to the sofa after removing his robe and tie. He had not changed out of his uniform before arriving.
"I saw you die, sir. What happened? How are you alive?"
"Good luck, quick thinking and a loyal friend," Dumbledore responded with a chuckle, "but I fear you would prefer a more detailed explanation." Harry grinned and nodded. "Quite a story it is, Harry. You of course are aware of all facts up to the time that Professor Snape blasted me out of the North Tower window. Quite simply, Professor Snape did not kill me, for he could not without also losing his own life. Many years ago, I required Severus to take a wizard's vow not to kill me or anyone connected with the Order of the Phoenix. This was a non-negotiable condition of accepting him back into our fold."
Harry knew this much from his interrogation of Snape, but he chose not to interrupt. Dumbledore waved his wand with his uninjured left hand and two glasses of water appeared.
After sipping from his glass, Dumbledore continued, "As the senior death eater in the tower, Severus found himself in a difficult position. If he refused to kill me, then his disloyalty to Lord Voldemort would be exposed."
Harry's chest constricted at these words, but he could not bring himself to interrupt the professor just yet. His impassive countenance belied the nausea in his stomach upon realizing that the professor still did not know.
"Thus he thought quickly and used an unspoken spell," Dumbledore continued, "probably expelliarmus, while saying aloud the killing curse. I surmise that he tried to limit the power of the killing curse by combining it with the unspoken spell, hoping to incapacitate me without killing me. The effect of the combined curses, however, (as you are aware) thrust me out of the window and surely to my death. Fortunately the fall from the tower is a lengthy one, and I managed to call for my dear friend, Fawkes, who in a moment appeared by my side. I grasped his tail feathers just a few feet before a certain and unpleasant death, and Fawkes took me to the edge of the forest." The phoenix trilled a few notes of agreement. His eyes wide in disbelief, Harry listened silently, sipping water from his glass.
"The combination of the potion and the two spells left me in dire condition, Harry, but I managed to transfigure a log into my body and clothes, which normally would have been quite simple for me, but in my condition took me three attempts. For many years I have carried a spare wand with me at all times, hidden deep in my robes, a good trick to remember. I then examined the locket, only to be shocked to find the fake. Well, Harry, you can imagine my disbelief and disappointment."
Harry examined the old man during his discourse. Though it seemed impossible, Dumbledore appeared to have aged fifty years since their adventure in the cave. His shoulders permanently hunched forward, and he clearly had lost at least twenty pounds from an already thin frame. Only his blue eyes retained the vibrancy of the past.
"Though I had not died, I felt my death may arrive within hours, or even minutes, so I placed the locket and note into the pocket of my transfigured robe, hoping that you would find it. I then needed to disappear for I wanted the world to believe in my death. I asked Fawkes to take me to the Shrieking Shack for the moment, where I waited to determine if my time to leave this planet had arrived. The potion had taken full effect, and though I believe I could have withstood that alone, I feared the additional effects of the spells would prove too much. I lay down in the Shrieking Shack to await the verdict - life or death."
Dumbledore gazed at Harry up and down, realizing how gaunt and weak the teen appeared, mentally noting it for later discussion. For the moment, however, Dumbledore knew that he must finish his tale, which neared its end.
"As you can see, I did not die. In fact, in a few hours I felt just slightly better, and I managed to call for Winky."
"The house elf?" Harry asked with surprise, as if he knew any wizards or witches by that name.
The old man smirked, "Yes, the house elf, she had secretly been helping me through the year, and I knew that only she could help me now."
"But weren't you taking the chance that Winky would tell someone," Harry reasoned, "since she is a free elf?" Harry knew much more about house elves having spent so much time with Dobby.
Dumbledore hesitated a moment contemplating his answer, "I had taken measures to assure that this would not happen. She could not . . ."
"You made her your slave, didn't you?" Harry asked, though without any hint of accusation that Dumbledore would have expected. The headmaster rarely found himself surprised by anything at his advanced age, but Harry's question caught him off guard.
He decided to answer truthfully, "Yes, Harry, I made her my slave, but with her consent. Winky, as you know, had become terribly unhappy with her status as a free elf, and, . . . May I ask why you are chuckling about the enslavement of a house elf?" Indeed, Harry did chuckle; in fact he struggled to prevent full from-the-gut laughter.
He gathered himself after a few moments and explained, "I'm not laughing at that, sir, just at the irony of it all. You see, I made Dobby my slave a few months ago for the same reason - so that he could not be forced to talk. It was Dobby's idea," Harry continued, suddenly feeling a need to defend himself, "I never would have done it otherwise." Dumbledore smiled too at this news.
"Undoubtedly an extremely wise decision for the two of you, for I know that Dobby desired nothing more than to serve you. In my case, Winky exhibited extremely self-destructive behavior, and I thought that by enslaving her, she would be much happier and I would have assistance from an extremely capable elf. Do not forget that Winky, despite her appearance at Hogwarts, was known as one of the finest house elves in all of Britain while in the service of the Crouches."
"You don't need to convince me, sir. I have nothing but admiration for house elves, and for Dobby in particular. He has been a tremendous help to me"
"Yes, well," Dumbledore stuttered, trying to get back on track, "where was I? Oh yes, Winky helping me at the Shrieking Shack. For several days, Winky tended to me there, but I realized that I needed to move to a more secure location. I was extremely weak, and frankly in and out of consciousness. Without Winky's care, I most certainly would have died, though of course she tried to convince me to see a healer. This I refused, for I knew that if I survived, as a dead man to the world I could accomplish much. I agreed to allow fate to determine the outcome. Winky found temporary accommodations in an unused wizard's home. In fact, if you must know, we occupied the former home of Barty Crouch. Fawkes moved me there, and I slowly recuperated from the combined effects of the potion, the spells, and my preexisting old age." Dumbledore's smile remained familiar to Harry, despite the new visage of his mentor.
His wand refilling both glasses, Dumbledore pressed on with his tale, "I need not bore you with the details of my recovery, suffice it to say that I suffered great pain and discomfort. More than once I thought my final day had arrived, but I deceived fate once more. My condition improved substantially three weeks ago. I cut my hair and shaved my beard (though after a few days, I had to grow something on my face, thus the goatee), and rented this muggle apartment in London. For now, Harry, I am living as a muggle, and I wish to remain dead to the wizarding world. As far as our struggle is concerned, I have been absent and useless, but I am sure you have not. It is now my hope that I may be of assistance to you in my invisible state." Dumbledore took a deep drink from his glass, apparently satisfied with his tale.
Gazing at Harry, he changed the subject, "You appear thin and weak, Harry, I am sure many things have happened since my unfortunate demise."
"Where to start?" Harry began, and over the next hours, he filled in Dumbledore on many of the happenings of the summer and fall. When he described the destruction of Hufflepuff's cup, Dumbledore sat in rapt attention, often nodding his head, and demonstrating great concern at Harry's understated description of his week in a coma.
"Yes," he nodded to himself, "That is consistent with my theory."
The professor displayed special pleasure at Harry's unplanned speech at Diagon Alley in August.
"You performed a great service for Hogwarts, Harry. I have no doubt that your words influenced many to enroll."
"Well, yes, they did, though I still don't understand why," Harry reflected as he stood to stretch his legs for a moment, "Why should it make any difference what I do?"
"There is no good answer to that question, Harry," Dumbledore answered, "As you know, I have been a public figure in the magical world for a number of decades, and for many years I resented the attention given to my words. As the years passed, I simply learned to accept the fact, and to choose my words carefully when in a public setting. I would advise you to do so as well, though it seems you chose your words especially well on this occasion."
Buoyed by the praise of the headmaster, Harry continued with his comings and goings. The next topic of conversation involved Regulus Black and Amelda Barlow, and Harry described their conversation in some detail, causing Dumbledore to search his memory. Harry conveniently omitted any explanation of how he had come to know of her.
"Of course, I remember Regulus quite well, an unassuming boy, unlike his brother. But Amelda Barlow . . . , I must confess that I cannot picture her at all, though the name seems vaguely familiar. After all, I must have read it numerous times on Hogwarts forms, yet I have no memory of her. But as we know, Harry, anonymity has its advantages."
"Well, she sure helped us, because she had Slytherin's locket," Harry concluded, to Dumbledore's great surprise.
"Mrs. Barlow had the locket?" the old man repeated, scratching his small goatee, "I most certainly did not foresee that. Sometimes, Harry, we must depend on fortune." Dumbledore's bright smile vanished when he returned his gaze to a downcast Harry. "I take it that the destruction of the locket did not proceed as well as the cup?"
Harry inhaled deeply and shook his head, "No it didn't. It almost killed me in two seconds. Pain like I've never felt before, right after I opened it on my chest. I was sure I died, that my heart had been ripped right out of me. Even now, I don't know how I survived it."
Dumbledore's eyes betrayed his pride as he stated flatly, "I am sure few wizards would have."
Again the headmaster paid special attention to the smallest details of Harry's battle with the locket, asking Harry questions about seemingly unimportant matters. He clapped happily when Harry described his final defeat of the horcrux.
"Yes, we have discussed it often. Voldemort cannot survive love, his Achilles heel. His ultimate demise will be a result of this, I am positive." He glanced back at Harry expecting to see a look of triumph, only to be stunned by the pain on the young wizard's face.
"What happened, Harry?"
The young man paused a long time before responding, "I died." Dumbledore did not answer, not understanding Harry's meaning - died physically, emotionally, spiritually?
"I stopped breathing. Earlier Hermione sent Ron to Hogwarts for Madam Pomfrey, so Hermione was alone with me. I had passed out by then, so I don't remember anything. But they tell me that I stopped breathing and that I had no pulse. Ron and Madam Pomfrey were still ten or fifteen minutes away, so Hermione did the only thing she could think of."
"She performed Cardio-Pulmonary Resuscitation, correct?" asked the old man.
"Yes, how did you know? She really didn't even know how to do it; she'd never had a CPR class or anything. She just punched me in the chest and pumped, and luckily she brought me back to life. By all rights, I should be dead right now." Harry's eyes had focused on the carpet between his feet, but he leaned all the way back on the sofa, linking his fingers behind his head. "I was as good as dead for about a week, and I'm still recovering, still very weak, and that was a month ago. So now I'm just doing nothing but waiting to heal. I'm just wasting time!" Dumbledore stared seriously at Harry, eyes narrowed.
"Several things need to be noted, Harry. Firstly, you have accomplished more in two months than I have in ten years. You must not be discouraged. We are making excellent progress. However, I am deeply concerned at the toll these battles have taken on you, for you have had to battle the most deadly of the horcruxes, if my theory is correct. Your recovery is of utmost importance, Harry. You are not wasting time! Any army after a great battle must pull back in order to replace casualties and regroup. That is what you are doing at this time, and you must not feel that this is a waste of time." Harry nodded his understanding.
"At least Voldemort has been laying low. Nobody seems to know why."
"Ah, well I cannot be sure, of course, but I do have an idea. Voldemort, you see, for all his bravado is something of a coward. As you have experienced, he only attacks when he is sure he has a clear advantage, either in numbers, surprise, experience. He will have realized that I may not have died. If I were deceased, the wards should have fallen at Hogwarts. The fidelius charm on Grimmauld Place should have disappeared. I am quite sure that an attempt on the castle and perhaps on your home was made, but both would have failed. Voldemort is also paranoid. Simply put, Harry, he suspects a trap. However, I would not expect him to wait much longer. No, I am surprised that he has not acted by now. I am hopeful that at some point contact can be made with Severus, as he can provide us with extremely valuable information."
Harry had not been able to raise the subject of Snape, and had managed to avoid any mention of the traitor. Professor Dumbledore would be devastated, he knew, by proof of Snape's treachery, and Harry just could not bring himself to tell him. But he now had no choice.
"Professor," he mouthed reluctantly, "we have made contact with Professor Snape."
At Dumbledore's astonished expression and reaction to Harry's long face, the young man returned to that night in August that he had passed over previously. He omitted a few of the more graphic details, but made clear that Snape had lied, that under the effects of veritaserum he had sworn his allegiance to Lord Voldemort, that he had fooled Dumbledore for more than a decade.
Harry could hardly bear to look at the face of his devastated mentor. At first the headmaster asked questions, seeking additional detail in an attempt to dispute the indisputable, but as the story unfolded and Snape's true loyalties had been proved conclusively, Dumbledore looked like a child who has been told that Christmas had been cancelled.
"You have done well," he managed to mutter, attempting with all his might to hide his disappointment, "I must admit that I feel the fool. A complete and utter fool!" He shook his head again. "I still find it difficult to accept, though I know I must. What damage have I done! All these years, Voldemort knew all of our plans." He threw his head into his hands in despair.
The headmaster leaned his head back, gazing at the white ceiling, explaining, "I trusted Severus completely. Now I can see how important it was to Voldemort to place a spy in our midst. Severus provided us with extremely sensitive information that led to the capture of several of Voldemort's most trusted lieutenants. Voldemort sacrificed them; now I understand. I could not comprehend that he would sacrifice so much. He apparently also allowed Severus to take the wizard's vow, meaning that he could not directly damage the Order of the Phoenix. My incredible stupidity, Harry, was in thinking that Voldemort still retained human values, that he would not willingly sacrifice so many of his dearest supporters. To me, loyalty is a value of greatest importance; to Voldemort, loyalty means nothing. I repeat, I have been a fool!"
What can I say? Harry desperately thought, for the suffering of his mentor broke his heart. In the end, he remained silent. Dumbledore soon sat back and mastered his emotions, noticing the concern on Harry's face.
"Do not worry for this old man, Harry," Dumbledore requested with a forced smile as he noted Harry's preoccupation, "For I have made more mistakes in my life than I care to remember. This happens to be one of the largest, but we must accept our imperfections and move on. At least we are aware of the true state of affairs, and Voldemort is denied his source of information. Let us use this to our advantage."
"I'm at a dead end, though," complained Harry despairingly, "We've destroyed the two horcruxes we knew about, but Nagini is the only other one we know, if in fact it is a horcrux, and I don't know if I can get to it without facing Voldemort. The snake is always around him. And . . ." Harry's voice trailed off.
"Something is bothering you, my dear boy. It has been since you first sat down. Why don't you tell me now, since we have exchanged our fascinating tales of adventure," Dumbledore requested with a wink. Harry did not smile back.
"I can't do it again, sir. I can't take on another horcrux. When I sat on the bed with the locket around my neck, I almost couldn't do it. They have affected me. I don't feel like I'm the same person I was just a few months ago." Harry could not say the next thing on his mind, but the professor understood anyway.
"You think you are turning dark. Am I correct, Harry?" The young man nodded affirmatively. The professor stood up and slowly paced the room, deep in thought. Returning to his chair, he eyed Harry for several moments before speaking.
"That the horcruxes have permanently affected you, I have no doubt, both physically and emotionally. Recall that I also have destroyed a horcrux, and I too felt its effects." He lifted his withered arm. "But I believe you misunderstand the effects of the horcruxes." Harry replaced Dumbledore in pacing the small room while listening to the older man's theories.
"The horcrux wants to take over your soul, Harry. That is all it wants; nothing else matters to it. The horcrux does not wish to damage your soul, or kill it, for if your soul is dead, the horcrux cannot possess it. No, Harry, I am quite sure that your soul has not been damaged. You are not turning dark."
"But how can you be sure, sir? I mean, I just feel that something is different inside of me. There's a heavy weight inside of me all the time. Little things make me angry. I don't care about things I ought to care about." Harry shook his head, realizing that he could not find the words to express what he truly felt.
"And I should be astonished if you did not feel these changes," Dumbledore interjected, and stood up to move closer to him, "I have seen many wars, Harry, both wizard and muggle. For various reasons, I witnessed both of the great muggle wars, World Wars One and Two, up close. The men who returned from those wars were not the same men who boarded the ships for the continent. They carried with them a darkness that remained with them for the rest of their days. I too have that darkness, Harry, for I have done many terrible things during my life, just as you have been forced to do terrible things. Not wrong things; not evil things, but terrible things. Do you understand the difference?"
Harry nodded. He had done terrible things. And he would have to do more.
"Eventually, most of those men returned home to their families and lived happy lives, but the darkness stayed with them. I have killed a man, Harry. More than one man. My actions were necessary and justified. My actions were not crimes and in fact were committed for the benefit of the wizarding world, yet those actions have darkened my soul for decades. But I did not turn to the dark, nor will you. You will never be the same person that you were, nor will you ever become the person that you would have been had you not been burdened with your destiny. But believe an old man who has seen much, you will adjust. You can be happy. You will not become a dark wizard."
Happy? Harry silently wondered if he even knew what the word meant. I am not destined to be happy, he thought to himself, but his voice remained mute.
Finally he gathered his courage and spoke his true fear, "I understand your point, sir, but those men did not have a piece of Lord Voldemort's soul inside of them." Dumbledore heard these words and gazed sadly at the boy.
"You may be correct, Harry, though no one knows the exact effects of Voldemort's attempt to kill you sixteen years ago. Something of Tom transferred to you; we have discussed this point often. But your fear is misplaced. You have lived with Voldemort's presence, whatever it is, for many years, and you have done more good in your short life than most men accomplish in a life of my length. Of one thing I am sure: Voldemort's presence inside of you is not a horcrux or anything of that nature. It is perhaps an echo of a soul, or an imprint, but it is not a horcrux."
"But what effect have these other horcruxes had on me? Something is different, not just a darkness in my soul. I feel physically different. Magically different."
"In what way?"
"Well, for one thing, I can now perform advanced magic almost without trying. It just seems that my abilities increased suddenly after I destroyed the cup. But beyond that," Harry scratched his head searching for the right words, "I feel like there is a foreign presence inside of me. I don't know how else to say it." The professor fingered his snow white goatee.
"Perhaps the presence of Voldemort's shadow or echo inside of you contributes to this feeling of yours, Harry, and I cannot rule out the possibility that the intrusion of the two horcruxes has enhanced that feeling, and inadvertently increased your magical abilities. Magic is not an exact science; much about it will never be understood. As you related to me, you also visited your parents' grave on your birthday, and I am certain that the latent protection in the graves further enhanced your magical maturity. You have always been a talented wizard, Harry, more than you understood in the past. I am quite confident that your soul is yours. Your thoughts, mind, body, and emotions have most certainly been damaged by your recent battles, as would be expected, but these are injuries which will heal in time."
"But how much time do I have, Professor?" Harry replied impatiently, "Voldemort will attack soon, for some reason I am sure of it. I don't want to wait, but I don't want to act either. I'm not sure what I want."
"Patience, Harry. We have often spoken of it. You have advanced our cause more than you understand over these few months, but you have paid the price," Dumbledore answered with a stern expression, "You must heal now. Physically and emotionally." Checking his watch, he realized that many hours had passed.
"It is nearly one in the morning; you need to return to Hogwarts, and I need rest. I cannot thank you enough for all that you have done. You are an extremely capable wizard, Harry, filled with more bravery than an entire army. But you are not inhuman; you remain subject to all the frailties of mankind."