Chapter Three: Death
"It is death who should be afraid of us."
"Do you ever think there are things the teachers aren't telling us? Things they think we're too young to know, but that might be useful to us when the end does come?" asked Harry nonchalantly one sunny afternoon sitting in the library of Grimmauld Place.
"I dunno mate. I think Dumbledore would tell us the really important stuff," said Ron.
"What are you thinking Harry?" asked Hermione.
"I think Dumbledore is using me," Harry said.
"He lies to me."
"Harry!" Hermione admonished.
"How could you say such a thing?"
"Because it's true," Harry said.
"Dumbledore has lied to all of us…kept things from us."
"What do you mean?" Ron asked.
"I mean he's just as bad as Voldemort. Worse. He manipulates people. He has manipulated me…"
"How?" Hermione asked, sitting down her book.
"He gave me to the Dursleys didn't he?" Harry asked dryly, his face filled with disdain.
"To keep you safe!" Hermione insisted.
"Says who?" questioned Harry.
"Him?"
Ron and Hermione looked at eachother in confusion.
"Even Professor McGonagall questioned it. Being placed with the Dursleys. Surely she wouldn't have if she had known for a fact it would be beneficial."
"What are you saying?" Ron asked.
"The spells on their house don't work," Harry said plainly.
"If they did Dumbledore would have noticed I went missing the moment I did. It should never have taken him a week to find me. And it shouldn't have taken me coming out of hiding for him to do it."
"Mate..." Ron began.
"Dumbledore is using me," Harry insisted.
"He is using ALL of us. Lying to us. I would have been safe anywhere. Loved even. But he placed me with the Dursleys so he could swoop in and play hero when the right time came. And it worked. I worshiped him for being the hero to save me. I followed him blindly because I felt that I owed that much to him! And what has he done for me? Sent me back to hell for the summer breaks? Let me risk my life daily since I found out what I am? Kept secrets from me because I'm too young? Hid me from people who care about me?"
Harry was mad, and because of it the room was starting to shake.
"Harry!" Hermione said firmly.
"Sorry," Harry said, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.
"Where did you go for that week?" Ron asked.
"Away," Harry said softly.
"To someone who would tell me the truth. All of it."
"Is that what's caused all this?" Hermione asked.
"Did you ever think maybe they didn't like Dumbledore?"
Harry laughed.
"I know they don't like him," Harry said.
"But this man has proof and Dumbledore has none, so what do I believe?"
"Magic can be manipulated to lie, Harry," Hermione said.
"I cast the magic myself," Harry replied.
"With my own spell, and my own wand, under my own terms. And...I bought the potion from a supply shop so..."
"What aren't you telling us Harry?" Ron asked in concern.
"Everything," Harry said.
"But I have to know that I can trust you..."
He had made his friends make unbreakable vows and had warded the room with the strongest magic the three of them knew before he uttered the first word. He had bound them to their silence, and to their absolute trust in him, his mind now jaded by the things he knew.
"I went to see Tom," Harry said, looking out the window of Number 12.
"Tom?" Ron asked.
"The Barkeep?"
"Riddle, The Dark Lord," Harry said, not turning to face his friends, who inhaled sharply.
"Harry!" Hermione shrieked.
"He isn't what we think," Harry said.
"He isn't good but...he isn't bad either. I think...he's just..."
Harry didn't know how to explain it.
"I think I am Dumbledores second try at what Tom was supposed to be. We're both orphans. Both powerful. Both desperate for attention and love. But we're both failed attempts already. Dumbledore failed Tom before he could even try with him and...Dumbledore failed me when he lied."
"What are you trying to say?" Hermione asked.
"I think we just need to..."
"Facts Hermione," Harry redirected as he turned around.
"We need to gather all of the facts and analyze everything and...go from there. That's what we need to do. Which is why I told you two. Because we are good at this stuff when we work together and..."
Harry's head hurt. It was a constant headache fueled by the pain in his chest left by a gaping wound of betrayal that would not heal.
"Where do we start?" Ron asked, logic kicking in.
"We need a pensieve," Harry said, taking out a small box filled with silver filled vials.
"This might take a while."