A/N: Hey, everyone! Sorry this took me so long! I seem to have fallen into a deep writing funk. I just spent a couple of weeks in which I would come to the computer, sit down and stare at the screen, and get back up and leave. I just wasn't feeling it. I think it's probably mostly due to sheer exhaustion of being in middle management in a retail establishment during the holidays, but I was also feeling very depressed about this story. I think I'm finally back on my game, and I plan to update more regularly from now on. In fact, I've started working on another story as well, and I've got five chapters so far! I have no outline or overall plan, it's just a random idea I had one day, so I won't promise a posting date on that one. It's a story about Al Potter that mostly takes place during his 4th-6th years at Hogwarts. I've also had an idea for a slightly AU fic in which Harry raises Teddy Lupin and falls in love with Luna Lovegood, but I'll have to see where that one takes me. I'm trying to write it first-person, present-tense, and it is really slow going. (So, what I'm trying to say is, I've definitely pulled myself out of my writing depression.)

As far as this particular story goes, I have a note to make on this chapter. Despite the fact that I'm setting the scene for Draco to let Death Eaters into Hogwarts and Snape to kill Dumbledore, that is not what is going to take place. And while Harry is still going to go on the Horcrux hunt, he's not going to do much camping in the woods and wandering around without a clue what's going on. Um, that's all I want to say for now.

Chapter Three

"What would you have me do?" Severus asked in a hollow voice.

Dumbledore looked stunned by the information Severus had presented him with. That Draco Malfoy had defected back to his father and been asked to bring down Hogwarts was not altogether surprising, of course, but the fact that Severus had been given an even more odious task had taken him off-guard entirely.

"It is no great matter, is it?" Dumbledore said slowly.

Severus felt a burning fury that the man could so casually dismiss his own life, and Severus', that way. "No matter?" he choked out.

"You have already informed me of the limited time that remains to me, due to the curse. You are certain he wishes you to wait until the boy is successful?"

Not exactly. Wasn't the man listening? "He wishes me to be a useful spy as long as possible. If I can engineer your death during a Death Eater attack on the school, there will be no one to say who did it, and I can remain in my current position. But that is only the most convenient way of doing it. He does not truly expect Draco to have any success at all, and he has told me that I must bring about your death by the end of the school year either way."

"So he plans to deal the master blow this very next spring," Dumbledore mused. "He plans to assume a role of true power, public power, at that time?"

"That would seem to be his intention," he drawled, hoping the man would hear his impatience and explain what he was thinking.

"Then I have little time to waste. Severus . . . you will do as he says. If he is to reach his goals, you are the only one I can trust to stand between him and the students at this school. If I am not here, it must be you who assists Harry, who helps him ensure that his mother's sacrifice was not in vain."

Severus almost choked, but he was too good at schooling his features, tempering his responses. How dare Dumbledore even talk about her, talk about what she'd sacrificed? What was it to him? He loved the boy no more than Severus did! And now he was suggesting that the only solution to this situation was to carry out the Dark Lord's command? To stand between him and the school . . . Severus had known it might come to that, given how much Dumbledore loved Hogwarts. But Harry was a relatively new part of the equation. Severus was willing to help, but he didn't like that heavy-handed mention of Lily as though he would have refused, otherwise.

But what Dumbledore was suggesting . . . "So you wish me to kill you," he stated, feeling numb. It seemed that his whole life was about death, that it had always been and would always be meant for nothing but causing pain, bringing about suffering and murder. And now this man, this man of all people, was asking him for this.

"Severus," the man said gently. "We both know that it will happen anyway. Might I ask you the favour of helping me to avoid the worst of the pain, or the humiliation that would come if Voldemort made the request of another? Could you do that for me?"

No, he couldn't. It was bad enough, what he did to people he didn't know. The tasks he carried out, to stay in the position he held, so that he could do his part for the sake of the boy. He didn't think his soul could take the sheer weight of killing Albus Dumbledore, the man who had given him a life and a purpose in the wake of Lily's death. But it was Albus Dumbledore who was doing the asking.

He gritted his teeth. "If that is your wish."

"Thank you, Severus."

He said it so firmly, so calmly, as if he were totally sure of his chosen course of action, as if he sincerely meant the gratitude. Severus knew better than to doubt him, by now. He didn't lie. He avoided the truth when he thought it best, but he would not thank him for agreeing to this if he didn't feel gratitude. It was the only thing that kept Severus from breaking loose and screaming at the old man. This was the only way, but he'd counted on Dumbledore to give him some sense of hope.

"Would you please send word to Harry that I wish to see him? I have some things to discuss with him, as well."

He'd been ignoring the summons from Dumbledore for two days already. If he ignored it any longer, the headmaster would come looking for him, and the whole school would see him brought to heel like a disobedient dog. He hadn't wanted them to see him ask "how high?" when Dumbledore said jump, but it might be worse if Dumbledore had to come get him. So after dinner, when the Gryffindor students went upstairs to work on essays and notes, Harry dropped a kiss on Hermione's cheek and told her he'd see her later.

"I don't really know what this is about, so don't wait up for me," he said with a grimace.

She frowned. "You don't think you're in trouble, do you?"

They were halted at the foot of the stairs, and they were in the way of the other students.

"Oy! Just because you're the Chosen One don't mean you can be blocking the stairs!" a stocky-looking fifth-year shouted.

They moved over to the side, Harry chuckling.

"At least somebody's not taking it too seriously. I think that's probably what Dumbledore wants to talk about, anyway. How the students are taking it, and everything."

"They're taking it rather well, all things considered, aren't they?"

"Thanks to Ron," Harry agreed. He felt a burst of affection for Ron Weasley. The boy clearly knew what he believed, and with all the confidence his prefect status gave him, had declared loudly in the common room that whatever else he might be, Harry Potter had to be an improvement on You-Know-Who. Not only that, but they already knew him, and liked him, and what did it matter if they hadn't known his real name? He was still going to kick arse on the Quidditch pitch, at least. Ron had then invited him to a game of chess on the table closest to the middle of the room, and Harry had sat down and played with the entire room looking on. The sight of him losing a game of chess to Ron Weasley (who was an incredibly fierce player) had seemed to break them of their awe and contempt. Things had been more normal after that.

"I'd better go," he said to Hermione regretfully. He didn't try to kiss her cheek again. If he tried to push his luck, it would be three steps back for the one they'd taken forward. He jogged up the stairs to Dumbledore's office, grateful for all the running he did. He wondered how Dumbledore, as old as he was, managed to make this trek several times a day. Maybe he went jogging, too? It would be just one of the many secrets the man kept, after all.

He knocked and was bade to enter, as per usual. He really wished he and Dumbledore could start meeting somewhere that didn't make him feel like they were on such an uneven footing. Dumbledore's office was his sanctuary, and he was most definitely the one in charge while they were in there. Of course, no where else would have nearly the same level of privacy or safety, so maybe Harry should just admit that the old man had a good reason to feel superior to him (wisdom, experience, power, responsibility for many lives, all that rot) and suck it up.

Dumbledore sat at his desk with his hands in his lap, looking casual, not as though he had brought Harry here for a reprimand. "Harry, it is good to see you, my boy."

Despite himself, Harry answered, "You, too, sir," and meant it. It was hard not to feel that way, when Dumbledore turned those twinkling eyes on you and smiled with such warmth. He was genuinely happy to see Harry, and Harry had no choice but to respond to the kindness the old man had for him. He sat down, feeling more comfortable. He wished he could learn how to do that, of all the tricks Dumbledore knew. He made a person feel confident and welcome. Harry wondered what the secret was to that one.

"Welcome back, Harry. It seems that ignoring Voldemort's overtures has had the intended effect."

Harry thought of Sirius, sitting in his classroom and trying to reconfigure his lesson plan so that less kids wound up in the infirmary. He was overwhelmed by his relief that Sirius was there.

"Yes, sir. Sirius is thrilled to have full control of his classroom this year, now that poor Umbridge has been so sadly disgraced."

Harry faked wiping away tears.

"I am glad to have him back. I might not have guessed it when he was young, but he is quite a good teacher."

"The only problem is that now I'll have to respond to Voldemort, or he'll think I'm not a man of my word," Harry joked. Actually, it was a worrisome idea. If Harry were to go out in public, not to the Ministry building, or to Hogwarts, but actually out somewhere that he would not be safe, maybe Voldemort would stop killing so many people just to get a rise out of him? The only way to end the killing would be to do something reckless that would get him caught by Death Eaters and brought before Voldemort, and he had things to do before he would be ready for that.

"We'll sort that out when it comes up, I guess," Harry sighed.

"Has your first week of classes gone well?" Dumbledore inquired politely.

Harry thought over it. "Yes, sir, I think it has."

"You must be feeling confident after having passed on your OWLs with such skill. I know that you had some concern you might have trouble catching up in the classes you had less experience with."

"I knew I would have to work hard, and I did. I was surprised by my affinity for runes, but Sirius tells me I'm too logical not to love them. I did less well with Professor Hagrid's class, but I'd like to think it's because I have no experience with animal handling, not problems with the material. I was assured that I did very well on the written portion of the exam, despite my poor performance on the practical."

"A small bite on your finger is hardly what I would deem a poor performance. You would not be the first wizard to incur an injury. Your marks seemed to be more than satisfactory."

Harry grunted uncomfortably. Fifth-year exams should have been only too easy, in his mind. It shouldn't have taken him so long to get to that level, and if he was as smart as he'd always thought he was, he should have gotten an Outstanding in every subject. He should have paid more attention during Professor Hagrid's lessons or something.

"My dear boy, you mustn't allow yourself to think that you can be perfect, even on something like year-end exams. It is not possible. Not only that, but dwelling on something that is now behind you will lead to nothing more or less than regret. Regret is a tool, but a dangerous one that must be treated with caution."

Harry was startled, and cocked his head to one side. "I'm surprised to hear you say that," he admitted.

"Are you?"

"I was sure you were about to tell me that regret was useless and it was much better to dwell on the future."

"Were you one of my younger students, I may have done so," Dumbledore said soberly. "But I am certain you are old enough to know by now that past regrets can lead to more cautious and wiser decisions for a person's future."

Harry thought of the lessons he'd learned from the girls he'd known, and thought of Hermione, and smiled. "I think I've figured that out, yes. But what do you mean, that it is dangerous?"

Dumbledore's hands twitched, but remained in his lap. Harry wondered why. Wouldn't he usually have them steepled on his desk by now? He'd just been about to do that very thing, but instead he was keeping his hands hidden. Perhaps he was holding something he meant to show Harry later. Harry would wait until Dumbledore broached the subject.

"Regret can lead to bitterness rather than wisdom, Harry. And it is such an easy path to walk down. It takes a person of great self-awareness, one with a true and genuine desire to better himself, to wield a weapon such as regret with effectiveness. More often, it leads to anger, and isolation."

"If you're telling me that by being disappointed with my performance on the Care of Magical Creatures practical, I am in danger of becoming Professor Snape . . ." Harry said dryly.

Dumbledore chuckled at that. "That might be an overexaggeration of my point. But it is never too early to learn a lesson that you might need later in life. There are many things I know now that I wish I had been told as a young man."

"But would you have listened then?" Harry countered.

Dumbledore continued to smile. "Perhaps not. Young men are not always eager to listen to the advice of someone whom they feel is not in touch with their generation."

Harry grinned at that. "So you're worried that I'm not going to listen to you because of my hair?" He ran his hands through it, feeling like it had accomplished its aim. "I believe that you have a lot of wisdom I could benefit from, sir. This was just one of those tools you're talking about."

"Might I ask what reaction you have had so far?"

Harry knew that Dumbledore likely knew most of it by now. "Well, I've been called everything from Broccoli or Asparagus to Scarface to Chosen Prat around here. The papers have begun to refer to me as Rebel Without a Cause, but then there was that other thing they said. That I have my own mind rather than being an extension of yourself or the Ministry, and that I may actually be the last best hope for our world. That kind of made the whole thing worthwhile, since that was the goal."

"In hindsight, I think you probably made a good decision, so long as you can live with what you see in the mirror," Dumbledore said, not smiling at all now. "I was, however, very surprised when I was asked my opinion of your dramatic change and I did not know to what they referred."

Harry gave him a grim look. "Oh, I am sorry about not informing you. I just thought that since you weren't very big on communication anyway, you wouldn't want to be bothered."

Dumbledore knew what he meant, and he wasn't happy. He'd been pretending that he wasn't holding anything back from Harry, but Harry knew better. What made him most unhappy about the whole situation was that Horcruxes were only a very small part of the vast store of things Dumbledore knew about magic and the wizarding world, and he wasn't sharing any of them. He would probably trust it all to Neville, but Neville didn't have the right mind for it. He wasn't a scholar, he didn't love knowledge, he had no real ambition outside of defeating Voldemort. But he, Harry . . . why shouldn't Dumbledore want to teach him some of the many things he knew? Especially this topic, which was such an integral part of what he believed Harry was meant to do.

Harry went on before Dumbledore had composed what he might say.

"What's wrong with your hands, sir?"

"My hands?" Dumbledore asked innocently.

"Yes, sir. Your hands. You haven't moved them this whole night, and there were about three places in this conversation when you'd normally have put them on your desk. You can't have thought I wouldn't notice."

Dumbledore gave Harry a brief, sad smile. "No, I shouldn't have thought you wouldn't. You are remarkably observant, sometimes."

Harry was surprised and concerned by the tone of Dumbledore's voice. "Headmaster? What is it? May I see?"

Dumbledore put his hands on the desk, and shook the cuffs of his sleeves back. One was the same unmarked but rather wrinkled old hand, but the other . . . it was black and burned and dead-looking.

"Sir— Merlin. What happened?"

Dumbledore offered another sad smile. "I made a regrettable mistake, Harry."

The choice of words was not an accident, Harry understood. He'd brought back up regret on purpose. He'd done something with one of the Horcruxes that had caused this. Things suddenly made more sense. His caution with Harry was only because he didn't trust himself, either.

"Sir?"

"I was foolish enough to think I was stronger than I was, and wiser than I was. It has cost me dearly."

"But Madam Pomfrey could— or maybe Sirius or Professor Snape would be able to help. You don't have to lose your hand permanently, do you?"

"I am afraid that I will lose rather a great deal more than that, before it is over," he murmured. "Harry, I must trust you with the information that I have been reluctant to share thus far, because I will need your help."

Harry was stunned. He tried to think. Why would it be Harry, rather than someone else, someone he had known longer? Was there no one else? No, likely not. The only other person that Harry could think of would be Professor Snape, and he unfortunately shared Dumbledore's caution about letting Snape in on all the information about Horcruxes. If for no other reason, than because there might be a day that Snape's mental defenses failed, and it would be nice if Voldemort did not discover on that day that they were on to him.

"Sir . . . you can trust me. You can count on me. I am just as upset as you by what Voldemort is trying to do, this immortality he is trying to acheive, and I am just as interested in putting an end to it. It's unnatural. It's evil. But I'm very confused about your deciding to trust me with it. Why now? Why have you suddenly decided that it's got to be this way, when you've been fighting me about it?"

He hadn't meant to sound like a scared kid, but that hand looked nasty and Dumbledore looked sad, and he didn't like the danger that Horcruxes suddenly posed in his mind. Up till now, they'd just been objects, despite the scars the diary had left on Neville. Obviously, they were something a bit more than that.

Harry found himself clenching his own hands together painfully. "Please sir, just the truth. I have to know, if I'm to help you. If I'm really going to face him, I have to know it all." He was afraid that if he couldn't get Dumbledore to speak tonight, he never would.

Dumbledore nodded tiredly. "I touched an object containing a powerful curse," he said plainly. "Severus has contained the curse to my hand, for now. He assures me that even his skills will not contain it forever."

Harry nearly jumped out of his seat, and had to fight for control. "Sir. You're not— you don't mean that it's going to kill you?"

"Eventually, yes. I will simply continue to hope that matters will be resolved by that time." He seemed to be bolstered by the look of shock and fear on Harry's face. "Don't worry, my boy. I will fight it for every moment that I can spend working against Voldemort. I have not even come close to giving up yet."

"You aren't afraid?" Harry blurted out.

Dumbledore met his eyes squarely. "A person should never fear death, Harry. That is the mistake that Voldemort makes, and one which you must never make yourself. Death is nothing more than going to sleep after a very long day, and waking up in the midst of a wonderful new adventure."

"An adventure?" Harry said, trying not to sound derisive. "I could almost believe that it's like going to sleep, but that seems a bit too hopeful. Like a pep talk to keep yourself from being afraid."

"Perhaps I should put it this way, then: we have very few guarantees in this world, but that we will die is one of them. It has always made more sense to me to believe that what will come after is something to look forward to, rather than to fear. If we all must go there, just as we all must be born here, it can't be so bad, can it?"

At that, Harry smiled, and felt better. Dumbledore seemed completely sincere. He really did believe that. He really did have that assurance. Whether or not Harry might fear death, he hadn't really decided for himself. But it helped, to know that someone who had seen as much as this man considered it that way.

"But aren't you in pain? It looks pretty bad."

Dumbledore carefully shook his sleeve over his hand again. "I could tell you that I am not. But you will realise the truth eventually, and you, Harry, do not strike me as the sort of person who appreciates a comforting lie."

Then he was in pain, and it would likely get worse over time. That didn't sound like the sort of death that Dumbledore was talking about. "Then how can you call it going to sleep?"

Dumbledore was smiling again, with that calm assuring way he had, and it made Harry mad because he knew he was being an aggravatingly curious little boy and stirring up something Dumbledore likely didn't want to talk about, and yet Dumbledore still made him feel as though there was nothing more important than Harry's question. "When you become as old as I have managed to do, there are many little pains you experience and they stop seeming so important. And when you have lived so long, the chance to lay down your head and rest becomes very attractive, enough so that a little pain is a small price to pay for it. For some people, there is no pain in their passage, but for others there is a great deal. I have seen quite a few people who were murdered, and I would not judge by them. But I have also seen several people die quite naturally, in pain or out of it, and I can tell you that all of them let go of their last breath with a smile."

Harry tried to remember if anyone he knew had died. The only people he could think of were the two he'd learned of through his scar dreams— Two Rivers and Buster. He tried to imagine what they would have said about it. Two Rivers would have told him that death was just as much a part of the natural order as life was; death could not be feared because it was all part of the same whole. Buster would have said that death was a total mystery, the way everything else was, and that he hoped it would totally blow his mind. It was comforting, in a way, to think of what they would say. In their own way, they'd had a lot of influence on him. Two old men who'd seen much of what the world had to offer and still believed it was beautiful—just like Dumbledore.

"I hope that when I'm old, I can teach kids to love life enough not to fear the end of it," Harry said quietly. "I hope my life will make that much sense to me later on."

"And it is my sincerest wish that you will always feel that way," Dumbledore replied. "There is so much that you can offer the world, Harry. I hope that you will always be that generous."

"The pain will get worse, won't it?" Harry muttered. "You're going to be in awful pain when you die."

"It is not going to happen for a long time," Dumbledore said gently. "Severus and I will both work very hard to be sure of that. But when it does come . . . I do admit that I worry I will lose some dignity at the end. But there is a way to avoid that, one that I am not sure you could understand—"

"Sir. Please. I don't— I don't know if it's right for me to say this. I don't know if you'll appreciate it at all, or if you'll be upset with me, but— well, I have a lot of respect for you, sir. I hope you know that. And I really can't stand the thought that people might see you in pain and think less of you for it. Professor, I just . . . I won't let that happen to you. If I can do anything, to make sure that people don't see you like that, then I'll do it." Harry found that completing his thought took away some of his embarrassment, and he ceased to stammer. The man in front of him was one he respected immensely. He was not ashamed to admit mistakes, and to continue to learn and grow, at his age, just as he expected the youths under his charge to do. Harry didn't think he would meet too many people in his life like Dumbledore. "I'll do it, whatever it is," he said firmly. "You deserve that."

He was still afraid that it was not his place to say such a thing, but there was no one else, was there? Dumbledore was being forced to trust him, just as he'd said. Harry could do this much in return for Dumbledore's help in escaping the trap he was caught in.

Dumbledore looked surprised, and touched, and even maybe the slightest bit teary-eyed. "I did not know you felt that way, Harry. I am very touched by what you've said, for I know it came from your heart."

Harry was embarrassed again, now. And he felt a squeezing in his chest at the thought of the loss of Dumbledore, of how much the world would no longer have when he was gone.

"Sir. I've heard that you speak Mermish, and Gobledegook."

"I do, among other things."

"And that you have the respect of the centaurs. I know that you made a lot of advances in the magical sciences, discovering all twelve uses of dragon's blood, and all that. And . . . you know so many things. You know how to make people listen to you, and you know the history of this school, and you probably know why Voldemort is such a git."

Dumbledore folded his hands in his lap, which seemed to be his new gesture now that he had to hide one of them.

Harry took a deep breath. "How much do you think you can teach me?"

"I am flattered, Harry."

"I'm serious. I want to learn everything you can teach me."

Dumbledore smiled a little. "You are a very driven young man."

"I am."

He stood up slowly and walked to a shelf of books, pulling down two thick tomes. "Shall we begin here?"

Harry glided through the school on nearly-silent feet. Argus Filch, the old caretaker, was directly down the corridor, it was well after-hours, and yet Harry strolled past him without a care in the world. Filch didn't notice. Harry felt a rush of thrill and—dare he say it?—power. He was untouchable, for the moment.

The castle looked different, by night. Lit only by the moon, with the people in the portraits snoring around him, it was eerie and unfamiliar. He was breathing light, quick breaths and walking with soft steps, the way that Miguel had taught him to sneak up on someone. Once he was out of Filch's sight, he relaxed a bit, but he tried to stay quiet. No telling if there might be a teacher awake at this hour.

He considered going to Sirius' office and Flooing home to see him, but it was too late at night. Sirius would be fast asleep by now. Remus was likely only just getting off work, he was working nights all week because they always gave him crap shifts after he took two days off "for medical reasons." But he'd be tired, and Harry wanted to show Sirius first, anyway. Well, he'd probably show Hermione first thing in the morning, and Sirius right after that. Hermione would get all concerned and tell him not to get into too much trouble, but Sirius would think it was brilliant. He would feel the need to give him a similar warning about making trouble, but it wouldn't be all that sincere. He was still one of the Marauders at heart.

The cloak was warmer than he'd expected when he'd first felt the silky material between his fingers. He clutched it around him in the drafty corridor for warmth, and tried not to laugh at how free and clever he felt. He was invisible! It was an incredible feeling.

He marveled again that Dumbledore had kept the cloak so long for him. It had been collecting dust on a shelf for several years, but Dumbledore had told him only a couple of hours ago that he'd never been able to pack it up or give it away. He had never felt that it was his possession to dispose of. It had been James Potter's, and so it belonged to Harry. It couldn't exactly be considered a gift, since it already belonged to him, but it still was a nice gesture that Dumbledore had given it to him tonight. It was like a final declaration of the faith he was extending to Harry, a symbol of the new trust he was placing in him. He believed that Harry would use his father's Invisibility Cloak for good things, just as he believed that Harry would use the information he was getting for good things.

He finally, regretfully, headed back to his dormitory to go to bed. Invisibility Cloak or not, he had classes in the morning, and he was in danger of abusing Dumbledore's trust if he used the cloak to cause mischief tonight. But when he did get into bed, he just tossed and turned and couldn't sleep.

Seven Horcruxes. Was it possible that there were so many? How would they find them all? Dumbledore said he had a plan, and they were going to discuss it at length soon. But Harry felt a little sick. It was a staggering task to undertake. Voldemort was going to continue doing what he did, without any thought of consequence, because he thought he was invincible. He thought he couldn't be punished for the crimes he committed. And what he had done to make himself that way . . . Dumbledore was right to keep it as secret as possible. It only made sense to share the information with Harry, over anyone else. Harry had asked, for one thing. For another, Voldemort was planning to kill Harry anyway, so they weren't risking any extra lives in making this attempt. It was a good business decision, if nothing else. Minimalise losses.

Except . . . Harry didn't want to die. That just wasn't in his game plan. He wanted to put a stop to Voldemort, bring him back down to the status of a mere mortal, and put him on trial for his crimes. Force him to see what he was and face the consequences of his actions. Nowhere in that plan did he see room for himself to die, nor for Voldemort to do so.

The problem, he thought as he fitfully turned over in bed yet again, was that Voldemort's followers didn't play fair any more than he did. You couldn't block the Killing Curse, and they were pretty free with that one, weren't they? To track down the Horcruxes was going to be difficult. It would require all his efforts, all his patience, and everything Dumbledore could give him. Actually bringing Voldemort down? That would almost require him to take steps towards immortality, himself.

But dividing one's soul and placing it into something else by way of vicious murder . . . that was the wrong way to go about it. That was so very wrong. There had to be another way.

"If you can't sleep, O Chosen One, d'you mind at least being quiet?" Seamus croaked across the room.

Harry stilled his turning about and his sighing. He slipped out of bed and put the Invisibility Cloak on and left their room. He wished he could be flying, but he would never transform here at the school where anyone might figure it out. He wished he had a girlfriend he could go to in the night for a little TLC, but that wasn't going to happen anytime soon. That thing last year had been a one-time deal and his current girlfriend just wasn't up for it.

"No wonder Dumbledore spends half the night pacing his office," Harry muttered.

"If that's a student out of bed, I'll wake a professor," one of the portraits warned him.

He held his breath and glided on.

Did Dumbledore ever wish to be immortal? He seemed so comfortable with death, now that Harry was there to finish the fight. But how Harry was going to actually pull this off hadn't really come up in conversation yet. Maybe Dumbledore didn't know, either.