1.
Hopeless
Sometimes, Albus lost all hope.
Harry was destined to fight Voldemort. Did the boy even have a chance? What if Voldemort won? If Harry was hurt…? If Harry was defeated, what would he do?
Why had he let himself get so close to someone he might lose?
Did Harry even know that he cared? Albus had thought it obvious, but sometimes Harry would look at him and see something or someone who threatened him. Albus had taken great care not to hurt the child by keeping him at arms length, but that plan had been quickly discarded when he realized all the inconsistencies Harry's behavior.
He had found them worrisome (or had that only been his excuse?) and had drawn him unwittingly into trying to solve the mysteries that surrounded Harry James Potter.
Before he knew it, Harry was spending the remaining weeks of his summer holiday before his second year at Hogwarts. And the year after. Now Harry was thirteen. Would he stay the next summer?
Albus wondered when he had become so accustomed to the boy popping in to just say hello (such a simple thing, but it meant quite a bit) or requesting advanced materials that he really shouldn't have giving such a young boy –only he trusted Harry- or the slight boy frequenting the Restricted Section, sometimes even Albus' own private library, though the reason why he had given permission still eluded him…
Albus asked many people to trust him or trust his judgment. Maybe it was time to return the favor.
Because when Harry was around Albus didn't remain hopeless for long.
2.
Escape
Albus sighed tiredly as he sat down at his desk. He waved off concerned questions from the portraits of past headmasters and headmistresses -or in Phineas Niegellus' case a dark comment about his age.
He could imagine the headlines already. He suspected Fudge was more worried about the public backlash that was sure to hit him, rather than fear for the danger of the situation. A mass breakout from Azkaban, with at least one Death Eater who held something personal against young Harry.
Peter Pettigrew. He wondered if the traitor was even brave enough to hold a grudge against the boy whose hand had been so involved in his capture.
He supposed he should call the boy up to his office to break the news gently as opposed to reading it in the newspaper the following week. Sirius would wish to know as well.
"Fawkes?" Albus asked after writing two missives out on a spare bit parchment. "Are you able to take this to Sirius for me?"
The phoenix gave him a withering glance, affronted that the man had felt the need to ask. The firebird snatched the letter and vanished in a shower of sparks.
He settled on having Minerva deliver the second letter after dinner. Albus would be busy trying to convince Fudge that Hogwarts was not in need of extra protection in the form of dementors.
Dementors at a school. Really, what was the man thinking?
3.
Older
It did not escape Albus how much older than his thirteen years Harry appeared during the duel. He ran out of the Three Broomsticks (with a utter disregard to Minerva's warning to "stay put, or else") with wand at the ready hurling hexes and curses into the small crowd of attackers.
His spells were quick and mostly simple, but the creative uses of the charms were noticeable. He felled a Death Eater with three Stinging Hexes and a jinx to his shoelace. Lucius Malfoy was downed by some sort of tongue twisting spell, a stunner and a surprisingly solid punch from the child. Nott, Avery and Lestrange were likewise taken out in a swift manner.
The boy's spellwork in and of itself wasn't too impressive. Stupefy was a fifth year charm, but Remus had incorporated it in his lessons. Stinging Hexes and Summoning Charms were fourth year material. Everything else had been covered in Harry's classes or else were standard schoolyard curses.
No, what worried Albus wasn't Harry's power or knowledge (though he had a feeling the boy was hiding quite a bit) but rather the relentless look that had blazed in the child's eyes when Mr. Weasley had been threatened.
Harry, it seemed, was very loyal to his friends.
…That was an understatement if he ever knew one.
4.
Smile
Christmas had snuck upon Albus that year. He had been distracted by the Azkaban escapees, Voldemort and Horcruxes (Tom's diary had proven his theory), keeping the dementors in line and slowly rebuilding the Order, all the while trying to keep on top of his duties as Headmaster and politician… Christmas came as a little surprise.
Albus still wasn't clear on the story of how Harry Potter had ended up in the Staff Room celebrating Christmas, but he didn't find it within himself to object, even if it was against the rules. Severus had no such qualms, but he hadn't stayed long enough for anyone to pay him any mind.
In any case, Albus guessed the boy had been talked into spending the holiday with his teachers by Remus and Sirius who was visiting for the day. Harry had enough common sense to request to stay at the castle over break to avoid "arduous security arrangements" to quote the boy.
…Sometimes he wondered if Harry was really thirteen.
Surprises abound and Harry had a gift for almost everyone. More proof. What kind of thirteen year old goes to the trouble of picking out Christmas gifts for his teachers?
No. He was being ridiculous. He could easily recall Harry as a young baby and later a toddler with his parents. There was nothing else for it. Harry was simply one of a kind.
"Happy Christmas, Professor," Harry pushed a small box wrapped in gold and green into his hands with a rare smile. "I figured you'd want something other than books this year."
Harry's smile changed into what could almost be described as a… mischievous smirk. Could Harry smirk? It was such an odd thing to see Albus was left momentarily speechless as Harry sauntered away.
The boy soon found himself trying to wrangle his godfather away from the resident Potions Master.
And Harry was still smiling. Well, no he wasn't, but the unhealthy pallor that usually haunted the boy's features was gone and he stood as if someone had lifted a great weight from his shoulders.
Pulling himself from his daze, Albus unwrapped the gift to find a bright blue pair of thick woolen socks.
Not for the first time, he wondered if Harry knew more about Albus than Albus knew of Harry. Still, it didn't matter because Harry had smiled.
For a brief moment, Harry had looked like any other ordinary third year boy. An ordinary third year boy who attended staff parties and gave gifts to his teachers, but ordinary nonetheless.
5.
Speak
Exams were drawing near. Or they were if one listened to Ms. Granger. In actuality, they were still three months away.
Albus had noticed the group of students studying by the lake. While he was a teacher and approved of the idea of preparation he could tell it was doing Harry little good. Harry didn't need to revise for school. Harry needed to relax for his own health.
Or perhaps it was something else. In any case, Albus found himself inviting a third year boy to stop by his office. He could tell there was something wrong. The brief smile the boy had held at Christmas was gone. Harry looked more tired than ever and though he held his head high (with purpose, even) but the rest of his body was battered and use and so very tired.
Thus, a sort of unspoken routine began without Albus even realizing it. Every Friday an hour before curfew Harry would drop by his office just to talk. To make conversation. Albus though it might do Harry some good just to know that he could confide in someone if he wished.
They talked about almost anything.
"That's ridiculous!" Harry protested one night, as if the notion was truly that foreign to him. "The opposite of love isn't hate."
Albus knew he should probably find himself amused at the antics of the boy, but was simply wanted to know the answer as Harry saw it. "What is it then, Harry?"
"Fear," Harry said simply. He took a sip of tea then felt the urge to elaborate.
"All hate can be traced back to fear, somehow. A place where love didn't touch because we won't let it. Because we're scared that we might lose someone we love if we say something or do something. Some insecurity."
"I think you are correct, Harry," said the teacher faintly. "I've thought the same thing myself, on occasion."
Sometimes Harry would just speak of his friends.
"Neville is doing really well in Charms. He's gotten so much better now that his confidence has grown. It helps that he has a wand that is better suited to him now, but he keeps his father's as a secondary."
"Your idea, I might guess?" Albus asked dryly. There is no other way to say it. Harry is a little paranoid. He was a wary and cautious child, but Albus doubted that the boy even knew that things keeping a secondary wand or checking to see if he was being followed wasn't part of most people's everyday lives.
"Well… yes," Harry muttered, flummoxed. "How'd you know?"
"It seemed like one of your suggestions."
Harry gave him an unconvinced stare but evidently decided he didn't want to know the real answer.
Only once did Harry bring up the Azkaban escapees, though he had been a little more willing to speak of the attack on Hogsmead. Albus had a sinking feeling the reason behind that was less a matter of the trust he had in his teacher and more the hope that Albus might show him some dueling tricks.
"I noticed you've been taking dueling lessons with Filius," he began one night when Harry was being unusually silent.
"Yes. I tutored my friends in Defense in the past two years. We've learned a little dueling and after the attack I needed to know more."
Albus noted the use of need rather than want. Let it not be said Harry Potter didn't have a clue about what a Death Eater might do to him.
Harry liked to sit back and listen, sometimes. Albus found himself reliving memories of his own school days and years as a teacher for Harry's amusement. Almost every night Harry stayed up long past curfew causing Albus to escort Harry back to Gryffindor Tower every week.
Albus skirted around darker subjects like Hallow'een night 1981, Horcruxes and the prophecy, but refused to lie, even by omission, simply stating that he didn't wish to speak of those things. Not yet, at least. Harry didn't press but they came up rather often and it was becoming harder to change the subject. Harry still didn't push, but Albus simply felt guilty not sharing what he knew.
He's only thirteen, he reasoned. How could he tell him now? He couldn't be ready. Only, sometimes he felt as if Harry already knew but respected Albus enough to not bring it but until he was ready.
It was absurd. Sometimes it felt like it was true, regardless.
6.
Prisoner
No one was sure how it happened, but the result was clear. Harry Potter had been kidnapped by a Death Eater by use of portkey when he got off the Hogwarts Express.
Two agonizing weeks of fruitless searching, disheartening headlines on every newspaper and a deep-set worry that threatened to overcome him.
Two weeks afterward, Harry Potter telephoned Hermonie Granger from a Muggle Hospital.
Albus read the girl's hastily written note that said yes, Harry was alive, but no, he doesn't seem well. He rushed off to the hospital without proper backup for a trap.
When he reached Harry's room in the hospital he paused in the doorway to observe the child. Harry couldn't stop shaking.
The Cruciatus Curse, Albus recognized, with horror. His right hand was in a thick blue Muggle cast.
He couldn't stop himself from wrapping his arms around the child just to see if he is alright. He felt his heart break when Harry flinched from the contact.
Harry did not like being touched.
"Harry," he began, barely controlling the urge to hold the boy again and never let go. "Harry, are you alright?"
"Professor, it was Voldemort. He took some of my blood. He use it to- to… He's back, Professor," Harry looked down at his blanket covered lap. "I… I couldn't stop him."
Around the boy's head and peaking out of shirt are bandages. Scratches and bruises were numerous. Harry's eyes kept darting from Albus to the window to the door.
"I tried, Professor… I need to-"
"Harry," Albus cut the boy off. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine, Professor. Please, Voldemort-"
"Voldemort can wait. What I worried about now is you."
Harry looked startled. "I'm fine, Professor. Just sore. And I'm not sure if I'll be touching anything with my hand for months. But that's not important right now! Voldemort is back. I need-"
"Harry."
"What, sir?"
Albus leaned forward to make eye contact. He pretended not to be hurt when Harry leaned away. "Listen to me. You are important. Very much so. Not because of anything to do with Voldemort or magic or anything else. You are the most kind and genuinely caring person I have ever met."
Harry flushed spectacularly and did not meet his gaze for a long moment before he changed the subject.
"Voldemort used my blood in a dark ritual to get his body back."
Harry was not going be distracted by things like his health it seemed. Still, it would be better to hear the boy out before he became hysterical.
Albus was going to spend time with Harry this summer. He would make sure of that.
7.
Guess
Harry had been released from the Hospital Wing hours before and had decided the best way to celebrate was to hide in the library's Restricted Section from prying eyes and "overbearing nurses, godfathers and friends" was the message Albus had overhead Harry mutter.
For that reason, Albus decided it would be a good time to strike up a conversation. He had the advantage of being Harry's professor not the school nurse, godfather or friend.
Harry shot him a dark look for disturbing him but it took too much effort to maintain.
"I see you convinced Madam Pomfrey to let you out early. An impressive accomplishment, I'm sure."
"Not exactly," Harry deflected, like he did with anything that sounded like a compliment. Or he would ignore them. Albus watched with amusement as Harry struggled to remove a large history book from the shelf with only one hand.
Harry heaved the book onto the table and sat down, resting his injured arm in his lap. "I told her it was better for my metal health. I wanted to get my life back, see? Write letters to my friends, sleep in my own bed, do my homework… things like that."
"You aren't doing any of those things now."
"No, I'm attempting to sequester myself away in a dark corner to read a book, but someone decided I should be social," Harry mocked before turning to his book.
"Harry."
"Professor."
They stared at each other for a moment. Harry looked away first. He looked instead to the window. Then Albus. Door. Other window. Albus.
There was no denying it. Someone had hurt Harry long before Tom Riddle and his snake in his second year.
"What happened to your hand, Harry?"
"What?" Harry's attention snapped back to Albus. "Pettigrew broke it. I think he might have tried to heal it but didn't do a very good job. The doctors –er, Muggle healers- did the best they could… it's going to need to heal naturally."
"No, Harry, before that. You have a curse scare on your hand that I might guess makes it resistant to magic."
"Really?" Harry asked, sounding vaguely surprised and interested. "A magical object got really hot in my hand and burned me. I think it may have even melted."
Intrigued, but unwilling to let Harry get away with such vagueness Albus pressed, "I've seen the scar before. I wasn't going to ask you about it until you were ready, but it is causing you pain now so I'm afraid I must break that resolve. What "object" was this?"
"It was- no. I'm not going to tell."
Harry met his eyes. Albus frowned. This was the first time Harry had straight out refused to tell him something.
"Anyways, what's more important is this... I can feel magic with my hand. Sense it. What kind it is, what it can do. It's painful sometimes if the magic is too strong. That's why I'm left-handed now. I can't use my right for my wand. There's too much magic," Harry explained reluctantly.
"Writing hurts too sometimes depending on my mood or if I'm doing Runes or Airthmancy or doing an essay with spell incantations I need to write. I got sick of my hand picking up all the magic so I switched."
"I see. Why won't you tell me what caused this?"
"You'll have to guess," Harry said a little sadly.
Albus thought there was more to Harry's answer than childishness. "You mentioned that it hurts sometimes?"
"Only if there is too much magic or someone tries to heal it with magic. Some things are quite nice."
"Is there anything else you can tell me?"
There was something wrong about the way Harry had refused to answer. He was determined to find out. Why did it sound familiar? Like something he had heard long ago, but had forgotten.
You'll have to guess.
Why did that sound familiar?