Title: The War We Fight
Summary: This is the story of a war. A war between good and evil, light and dark. This is the war Harry will fight, fight until the last breath leaves his body. This is where he will learn the meanings of life and death, love and friendship, sorrow and betrayal, honor and hardship. This is the war where he will fulfill his destiny.
H/G with some R/H sixth year fic.
Disclaimer: Nothing here belongs to me, as anyone reading this probably knows. I'm only enjoying myself while waiting for HBP.
A/N: I feel like this story is running away from me, as nothing is going according to plan anymore. But, as I'm always open for a little adventure, I'll go on and see where it leads me. This chapter is dedicated to my dear friend Ju, who said she would never read something that has more than 60 pages already, and yet manages to encourage me to keep on writing by listening to me babble on and on about this fic. Luv ya!
Adversity is like a strong wind. It tears away from us all but the things that cannot be torn, so that we see ourselves as we really are.
Arthur Golden
Chapter Eight: Recovering
Harry woke up in a warm bed, wearing comfortable pajamas. It took him a moment to recognize the pleasant feeling, and realize where he was. A warm afternoon light was streaming in from the high windows of the empty hospital wing. It was a sight Harry had missed. Light wasn't forthcoming in a dungeon. He basked in the heat, closing his eyes, and simply enjoying the sensations pouring trough him. Warmth, safety, light. Simple pleasures he had learned to appreciate after living without.
He opened his eyes, but his vision was blurry: he had lost his glasses a long time ago. He wondered how much time had passed; every day was eternity in that place, every minute a century under the Cruciatus curse.
He tried to sit up, but every fiber of his being protested against the sudden, unwanted movement. A groan escaped him, and he fell back on his pillow. He didn't really mind staying where he was, truth be told. He was singularly pleased with himself: he had somehow escaped a house full of Death Eaters, not to mention Voldemort himself, and no one was hurt but himself. A most successful result, in his own meager opinion.
He was about to doze off again when he heard footsteps approaching his bed, looking up quickly, a momentary wave of panic, immediately quenched, spreading through him. He saw Madam Pomfrey's familiar, reassuring face moving towards him, and immediately felt ashamed of himself for his unreasonable fear. He thought he saw a look of profound relief cross the nurse' s face, before her professional mask fell firmly into place. Things had been bad, then. The woman wasn't easily scared.
"Good afternoon, Mister Potter," she said, in her usual, no nonsense voice. "I'm glad to see you awake, you've slept for more then two days. I'm sure your body was thankful for the necessary relief. How are you feeling? I want a truthful answer."
"I'm feeling great," he answered smiling softly. But his answer didn't seem to please the mediwitch. She huffed exasperatedly, and chided:
"You're feeling nowhere near great, Harry. You're probably in terrible pain, almost died of exhaustion, not to mention a near magical burnout, which kept me from treating you by normal means. Humph! Feeling great! Maybe in a few days I'll believe you…"
Throughout her rant, Harry was hard pressed to keep himself from laughing out loud. Seeing the expression on his face, the woman before him couldn't help but smile too, and say, in a warm, affectionate voice.
"It's good to have you back, Harry. I was really worried for some time. You gave me a right fright this time. And in the holidays, no less. Couldn't wait until term started?"
"And here I thought you had missed your favorite patient! I'm not sure if I should feel offended, Madam Pomfrey!" He laughed, but quickly stopped, as it made his breath catch and a painful, harsh cough to rack his body.
"Here, drink this Harry." She said, handing him a steaming goblet, and helping him drink the potion in small sips. "I told you you'd have a long way to go before being 'great' again."
When Harry managed to breath normally, the witch told him to lie down quietly, while she checked his magical reserves, and other injuries. She made small noises, as he glowed different colors after each spell she muttered.
"You're progressing nicely, Harry. Your magical reserves have gone back to their normal levels, or as normal as they'll get after this whole ordeal you went through. I can't even imagine what kind of spell you performed to use so much magic in so little time. Anyway, I think that by tomorrow I can start treating you by magical means again, and then your pneumonia should be a work of a few minutes. After that, you'll begin to feel better, and the after-effects of the curses will start to fade. In maybe a week you can get out of here, and see your friends."
Harry felt that, at the moment, she could have told him that he wouldn't last the day, and he couldn't have cared less. The potion was spreading in his body, leaving pleasant warmth and numbness in its wake, coupled with her soothing voice, and was slowly making him drowsy.
"Just one last thing, Mister Potter, before I let you rest." She said, rousing him slightly. "I wondered what you wanted me to do about your eyes. I believe you lost your glasses. Do you want me to order another pair?"
He thought about it for a fleeting moment, and hesitated for just a moment, before asking:
"Can't you fix them? Like Muggles do with surgery? It would be great not to depend on glasses anymore." And in a much quieter voice, not quite meeting her eyes, he added. "It's horrible not to see your enemy."
He thought he saw a light sheen of tears in the nurses' eyes, but she quickly blinked and they were gone. She nodded said:
"I can fix them. Right now if you want, it's a simple spell that won't interfere with your magical reserves. Is this what you want, Harry? The spell is permanent."
"I'm sure." He said in a resolute voice, leaving no space for discussion.
"I suspected you'd say that. You can close your eyes. The spell takes a few hours to take effect, and your vision can be a bit blurry for up to ten hours. But I expect you'll be asleep during this time. Once you wake up, your eyesight will be perfect, maybe slightly above average. Nothing big, mind you, only slightly better than what you had with your glasses."
As she waved her wand above his face, Harry had already slipped into the realm of dreams. Madam Pomfrey realized as he did, that she had never come round to giving him a Dreamless Sleep potion, and she shuddered, as she thought of what might await the boy before her, as he traveled inside his own mind.
Severus Snape, dignified Hogwarts professor and a most useful asset to the underground resistance group intent to stop Lord Voldemort's rise to power, stepped through his Headmaster's office door, a most unpleasant scowl marring his features.
The above-mentioned Headmaster welcomed him with a smile, studiously avoiding any comment on his professor's features. At the snapped response to his warm welcome and proffered sit, the old man said:
"Severus, sit down, I have a very good idea as to how you are feeling. You may be able to fool your students, but not me. Voldemort is obviously in a high temper, with extremely good reason, might be said. Today's meeting can't have been pleasant."
"The understatement of the century, Headmaster," growled Snape.
"I will not keep you long, then, Severus. How did the meeting go? Is Voldemort planning to retaliate to Harry's actions?"
The spy's face darkened considerably, as he started to speak:
"The Dark Lord considers Potter's escape as a direct attack to his authority and power. He is planning several attacks, mostly in small wizarding communities, and muggle villages. He expects Potter to do something foolish, such as think that he was the cause of the attacks and the deaths that will follow."
He shuddered before continuing, voice not quite so assured as it once was. "The Dark Lord does not deal well with failure: he's killed at least half a dozen new recruits in the last couple of days. The rest are suffering the brunt of his anger. He's never used the Cruciatus so much before: he wants us all to see that mistakes have consequences very dire indeed. Brooks' screams could be heard through the whole house, after he allowed the boy to escape. His explanation was less than satisfactory, I'm told. That a wandless teenager could do magic strong enough to subdue a fully trained Death Eater wasn't very convincing, to say the least."
Dumbledore's head snapped up, and he said:
"And yet he did. Harry managed, without any training, to unseal his magical reserves. That he did this without help is not a little frightening. It's magic almost never attempted today, because of the sheer force of will needed, and even then, not before years of training and apprenticing with a master. It is usual for his lineage to unseal power, but never like this, never without the proper trainings and rituals. I wonder what the consequences of his actions will be."
"It's a good thing, Headmaster, that the Potter boy can barely keep his eyes open. He will need to learn to control his magic all over again." A small, cruel smile lifted the corners of his thin lips. "Perhaps we should block his magic until he does learn to deal with his powers, after all, right now; he's a danger to himself and to others. Restraining him somewhere safe would also be wise. Completely volatile powers, and no control at all over them. A very dangerous situation, if you ask me."
Dumbledore's glare was enough to silence the man.
"Although you might be right, Severus, in regards to Harry's powers, there will be no restraints imposed on him, while we don't discover the extent of the psychological damage that was done. I am not foolish enough to believe that there won't be any long-term consequences because of Harry's captivity. I won't risk any further damage, or an incident with his powers, should his emotions run wild. There is too much at stake."
His tone was final, enough to quell any remaining ideas in the Potions Master's mind of torturing unsuspecting students. Dumbledore continued, laying out thoughts that were on his mind, more for his own benefit than his interlocutor's.
"Harry will certainly need training, though. Occlumency, for starters. He will need control over his emotions now more than ever. Before he was captured I was planning on giving you this task, Severus. After all, you're probably one of the most accomplished Occlumens of the century. Now, however, I don't think I'll force Harry to go through this. I'll train him myself."
"Very well, Headmaster," answered the Potions Master, "I can't say I'll miss my evening sessions with the brat."
"This does not mean, Severus," said Dumbledore gravelly, "that I don't wish you to work on your relationship with Harry. It will do our side no good to fight among ourselves, and trust must begin somewhere, I expect you to act more humanely towards your students, Harry Potter included, this year." He locked eyes with his potion professor, and said, more gently, "Severus, times are much too dangerous to concern ourselves with petty rivalries. I know James Potter wasn't the most respectful young man to cross this school, but although Harry is his son, his attitudes are vastly different. You might do well to reflect upon that."
"Your talent for understatements is surpassing itself this evening Headmaster. James, not the most respectful person! Quite an exploit, really."
The headmaster chose to let this remark pass, knowing full well that entering a verbal duel with Severus would lead them nowhere.
"When does Voldemort plan to start this series of attacks, Severus?"
"He didn't give us precise dates, but the attack parties are already formed, all of them under the orders of a member of his Inner Circle. I was spared this relishing task, as he wants me to brew him some kind of potion, that will slowly allow him to regain his former appearance."
A surprised look crossed the Headmaster eyes.
"Why would Tom do that? I thought he would be pleased by his less than human appearance. It certainly gives him an edge over possible adversaries. Fear always was one of his preferred weapons!"
"I won't even pretend to understand the workings of the Dark Lord's mind." Said Snape tiredly. "What I do know, however, headmaster, is that he never does anything without good reason. He wouldn't use my skill in such a fashion by simple caprice, he must have a reason, and probably a very good one."
The old man sighed tiredly, and rested his ancient head on his hands. After a few minutes of thoughtful silence, he finally said:
"I cannot see how changing his appearance will benefit Tom in any way. You should proceed with the potion as is expected of you. It might regain you Voldemort's trust, something that has been less then forthcoming this past year."
The other man nodded his assent:
"Very well, headmaster. I will proceed likewise."
"You should retire, Severus, and rest. I must now go check on Harry. Madam Pomfrey tells me he should be awake and coherent sometime today."
As they made their way down the revolving stairs outside Dumbledore's office, and slowly walked towards the entrance hall, Snape asked:
"Will you question him as to what happened during his captivity? It might not be the wisest curse of action, considering what he went through."
"I feel like I must. Talking about it can only help him deal with what happened. It will do him no good to repress the memory, in the long run. Furthermore, I need to know what he said, in order to take measures to ensure all of our safeties."
"What makes you think that he said anything? The boy is stubborn, if nothing else. He might have held his tongue. Rumors were that he was holding his own, even faced with the best interrogators of the Dark Lord's army. Even before the Dark Lord himself. He resisted my Veritaserum. Three drops of my own Veritaserum, and that is a feat not many can boast. In fact, some egos were severely rumpled by him, I've heard."
There was something akin to respect on the Potion's Master eyes and voice. But Dumbledore had no such faith:
"No one keeps quiet for two weeks." He should have learned by now that general rules didn't apply to one particular boy.
Harry's eyes snapped open, as wave upon wave of panic flooded his body, he sat up in his bed, heart beating loudly in his chest, unseeing eyes scanning the room he was in, looking for a way out. A gentle hand in his arm, from witch he flinched away reflexively, brought him back to reality.
"Easy, Harry. You're safe. No need to panic."
He immediately felt ashamed of his reaction.
Letting his sore body fall down on the bed, he muttered an apology.
"Sorry, Professor. Nightmare."
As he said this he didn't quite look his headmaster in the eye. He was still rather out of breath, and the images were still running wild in his mind, sending shivers down his body. He hugged his covers closer, drawing comfort from the heat.
"Harry?"
"I'm sorry professor," he turned his head towards the old man, and said in a low voice smiling slightly, "it's good to see you again."
"I must say, it's good to see you again too, Harry. It's been a long time." There was a deep sadness in the old man's eyes, that didn't escape Harry.
"How long exactly, Professor? Time hasn't exactly flown normally to me lately."
"Two weeks since you were captured at your relative's house, four days since you arrived at Hogwarts. Term starts in a little over two weeks."
Harry closed his eyes, and in an inaudible voice whispered:
"Two weeks… only two weeks. It felt like a century."
They were silent for a some time, each seemingly absorbed by their own thoughts, waiting for the other to start unloading the burden that had been accumulating over their once crystalline relationship.
While they stood there, face to face, in total silence, footsteps approached from the end of the infirmary, and Madam Pomfrey approached the bed, not noticing, or choosing not to comment on the obvious tension that had settled in the air.
"Headmaster, I told you to call me the moment Harry woke up!" She said to the headmaster reproachfully. "What were you waiting for? You will have your ten minutes after he's eaten and had his potions."
Dumbledore only smiled apologetically, somewhat grateful for the interruption, that gave him time to assemble his thoughts and plan on the best way to approach his young charge.
The mediwitch settled about half a dozen bottles of potions that were levitating in front of her, and a plate full of scalding chicken broth in Harry's bedside table, and started fussing around in his bed. She arranged his sheets and his pillows so that he could sit halfway upright without effort. Then she started handling him potions, one after the other, watching him intently as he drunk every last drop of each and every one of them.
"Blood replenishing potion, this is your last dose. Nourishing potion, you can expect a few more of those. Strengthening potion. Regular antibiotics, much more effective than the muggle medicine I was having you take before. Numbing potion, nothing too strong, as you've taken just about all your body can accept of those." After each potion she made a small mark beside the name on her list.
"This is to dispel all magical detritus that have accumulated in your body, it should help with the aftereffects of the curses. Finally, an energizing potion. This is to help you stay awake long enough to talk with Professor Dumbledore. I'll leave the dreamless sleep potion on your bedside, so you can take it afterwards and rest some more. Now drink your soup, and I'll leave you two to it."
As Harry slowly made his way through the bowl of soup, Dumbledore took the time to look at him, truly look at him after his imprisonment. For someone who didn't know Harry well, they might see little difference: indeed, physically at least, he hadn't changed much. A little paler than he was before, thinner too, but nothing that two weeks of Molly's cooking couldn't fix. The true difference was in the eyes.
All the softness, the childish goodness was gone, replaced by a sharp edge and twirling silver power. And even the silver would be gone soon. As soon as Harry was well enough to start training. All that would be left was the sharp gaze, which seemed to pierce one's body and look directly into the soul. It wasn't a look that fit the face of a boy who had just turned sixteen. It was a look that spoke of experience and pain, sorrow and suffering.
Dumbledore noticed that while he ate, Harry was casually bantering with Poppy, as if they were long time friends. Another drastic change, if one were to look back towards the old Harry, one of the most closed off persons he knew, not someone who chatted with the first person to cross his path, simply for the joy of hearing a familiar voice.
All small changes, maybe, that spoke of a much deeper, much more drastic transformation, one that Dumbledore had yet to discover.
Madam Pomfrey, managing somehow to giggle and look disapproving of one of Harry's remarks at the same time, took the empty bowl from him and turning to Dumbledore said sharply:
"Ten minutes. And I mean it, headmaster, the boy isn't complaining, but he's exhausted and in pain. He needs to rest, in order to give his body time to heal."
With those parting words, turned round and entered her office.
"Harry, I believe we have much to talk about."
"Indeed, sir. But there's something important I needed to tell you, I've been sleeping so much that I didn't get the chance… Ginny's in danger, or at least she was in danger, I'm not so sure now, but you must protect her." The strong urgency that was becoming a familiar feature to his voice was back, as was the palpable tension radiating from him.
"We already knew that Ginny was in danger, Harry. She's well protected. Or as well protected as someone can be during those dark times. May I ask you why you thought that Miss Weasley was in danger Harry?"
Harry's face, open and trusting, closed immediately. It was as unreadable as a closed book, and it unnerved the headmaster to no end that Harry could hide his emotions so well.
"Voldemort wanted to use her as a persuasion of sorts. Regular interrogation means were obviously not working on me. I'm glad he didn't get the chance, I'd have probably spilled my guts out to him if it meant even a minute less of suffering to her."
Dumbledore's eyes previously wandering around the room as Harry spoke, snapped back to his face:
"Do you mean that during all the time you were there, you didn't talk? You didn't reveal any secrets?"
Harry looked truly insulted by the old man's suggestion.
"Considering, Professor, that there are only two things that Voldemort might want from me, and that both are worth dying for, I'd say that no, I didn't say a thing."
"Harry, I want you to know that I won't think any less of you if you did let something slip. It is only natural after all, a preservation instinct. However, I prefer to be forewarned, so that Voldemort next move doesn't take us by surprise."
Harry's eyes hardened considerably at Dumbledore's words. And considerably more as he felt the slight tendrils of thought magic wrapping around his mind. The headmaster had either lost all faith in him, or wanted to see things for himself: either way, Harry didn't want him strolling around his memories. If he could block Voldemort, he could block his headmaster.
Dumbledore, who had always prided himself on his subtle, delicate touch, was very surprised indeed, when the air suddenly filled with suppressed magic, and a strong barrier snapped up before Harry's mind, as impenetrable as a concrete fortress. He knew he couldn't break this kind of defense without considerable struggle, and certainly not while sitting down and chatting as if nothing was the matter.
"You know, professor, I expected this kind of dirty play from Tom Riddle, maybe even from Snape, but not from you." Harry said, while reinforcing his barriers with the little magic he felt it was safe to use without incurring Madam Pomfrey's wrath.
"I always thought that you trusted me, but in fact, you were constantly double checking my answers… That's why I always felt like you could see into my very soul when we talked in the past. Because you could. You were continually rummaging through my memories, to see if I was lying or keeping something from you. That's why you always knew what I was thinking."
Harry was silent for a moment gathering his thoughts, and trying to regain some sort of control over his powers that seemed to want to go awry again.
"Well, this time you'll have to take my word for it. Voldemort doesn't know about the Prophecy, and he doesn't know where the headquarters of the Order is. And if he somehow gets hold of this information, it won't be from my mouth or my mind. My mind, from now on, belongs to no one but myself."
As Dumbledore was forcefully pushed from his student's mind, he couldn't help but let the surprise he felt from showing openly on his face.
"Professor Snape, Harry, had felt that you had but a very slight grasp on Occlumency. It's heartening to know this is not the case."
"Snape was right in assuming that I hadn't learned any Occlumency from him. It's the perfect truth. Luckily, information is much more forthcoming from other sources, and I grasped the basics during the summer. Luckily it was enough to stop Voldemort, which was my one and only objective." Harry still wasn't pleased with the turn this conversation had taken, but he relented slightly anyway.
It was no use arguing with Dumbledore about something as trivial as his liberty to think freely. He needed his help, no matter how much his trust in the old headmaster was shaken. He needed strong allies, and to focus in the one true enemy, a concept he had grasped much better during the last two weeks. His enemy was Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and although there might be some small obstacles along the way (Harry spared Fudge a fleeting thought) he needed to focus on his task.
"Very well Harry, I trust you, and I trust your judgment. I hope you won't withhold essential information from me," said the headmaster gravely.
"If you can do me the same favor, Headmaster." After all, an unbalanced relationship was no relationship at all.
Dumbledore was silent for a few moments. Whatever it was he had been expecting from Harry, it wasn't this unflinching resistance and slight audacity that he was currently facing.
"I mean it, professor. I won't deny the fact that I need your help to do what must be done, but for this to work, we must be able to trust each other. No more half-truths, no more lies and omissions. I want the truth, plain and simple. You have to realize, Professor, that I'm not a weapon, a chess piece you can direct as you please. For this to work, if you want me to win, I need to know what is happening. From now on, I want to have a say in every decision that is made that affects my life and my well being, otherwise, prophecy be damned, we're finished!"
As Harry finished his little speech, he was panting slightly. He made himself comfortable, while he waited for the headmaster to absorb all that he had said. All he was asking for was to be treated fairly after all, and he wouldn't back away from his decisions.
"Very well, Harry," said Dumbledore finally, sighing heavily, "I'll do my best."
"Do you still want to know what happened to me, sir?" Harry asked, relieved at the old man's easy acceptance. "I'm afraid I don't have much useful information, as I stayed mostly in a single room…"
"Yes Harry, I think it must know what happened in detail. Everything, what you heard, what you said, what you saw as well as what happened to you in particular."
Harry's eyes darkened considerably as he thought back on the last few days of his existence, image after image flashed before his eyes, all the pain and suffering coming back to him, threatening to drown him in memories. He clutched his sheets, fighting the flood of memories and sensations, and said in a tight voice:
"I would much rather not, sir. I'd much rather simply forget that any of this happened, but I'll tell you everything I can remember."
"Thank you Harry. I think it might do you good to talk about what happened." Dumbledore smiled encouragingly.
"I don't think so, sir. At least not so soon. But I will, if I must." Harry's eyes lost their focus, as he struggled to remember details he wished to forget as soon as possible.
He began talking, a low, monotonous, unemotional voice, that had no feeling, no spirit behind it. He told Dumbledore of the fight at Number 4, and how he had finally been caught. Harry missed the amazed look on his headmaster's face as he explained how he had faced and secured five Death Eaters before being interrupted by his uncle.
He told him of his capture, the cell, and his talks with Voldemort. He mentioned the dementor and the torture, but didn't explain in detail, skipping to the most relevant parts. But the old man caught the painful inflexion in the boy's voice, the shiver that run down his body, the way he closed his eyes tightly, trying to control his raging emotions and fears. He talked about how he had escaped, and how his magic seemed to respond to his need, begging to be used.
Dumbledore knew better than to interrupt Harry's story, so he let him talk, and talk he did. For more than an hour, he talked, and once he was done, he almost immediately fell asleep, exhausted both physically and emotionally.
Dumbledore remained by Harry's side for a long time afterwards, deep in thought. Faced with this boy, all of his previous, long standing prejudices were crumbling, and his certainties were shaking. And yet, he couldn't help but be proud, and pleased by the changes taking place.
He got up slowly, noticing that once again, Harry had slept without dreamless sleep potion. It would be a rough night for him.
He gently, lovingly almost, ran a wrinkled hand through Harry's hair and brow, murmuring under his breath:
"James would have been proud of you, Harry. So very proud…"
The headmaster made his way to the exit, and quietly opened the door. He found Remus waiting for him on the other side, and smiled feebly, all twinkle gone from his eyes.
"How is he?" Asked Remus impatiently.
Dumbledore took a minute to formulate an answer.
"He'll recover – physically, at least." He paused, and Remus was shocked to see a silent tear running down the withered cheek and into the older man's silvery beard.
"But he'll never be the same again."
A/N: Well, what do you think? Better than the last I think! But let me know what you think anyway… This was a hard one to write, so please?
DancingPandaa: Your idea was great, and fit perfectly, so…there it is. Thanks for the review, and the idea!
Tenolian: Emotional in a good way, I hope! Thanks for the review!
Ph03n1x, hpgirl7777: Interaction will come soon! I promise, next chapter it will be there! I can't wait, either…
Treck: Not exactly a right hook, but… You'll see, things aren't going to be pretty with the two, lol!
charmingly-holly: Your review made my day! I go all out to drop small hints, and nobody seems to notice them! sniffle So, to answer your questions: yes, the thestrals bowed for a very good reason, but I won't tell what that is, Ginny closing the window is important too, and will come up again later in the story, and the Orders, well… I won't spoil the story, now will I? Lol, thanks for the review!
OfficersWife: You know, bar this one, it was the longest chapter I wrote… Funny how our perception of things isn't always right… Anyway, thanks for the review!
VoldemortsVeela: I was a bit worried for a moment there, when I didn't see your review! It's always nice to hear from you, and I'm glad you enjoyed. Thanks for the reviews!
danie99, NamelessHeretic, Nightwing 509: Thanks for the review, and I hope to hear from you again!