Harry Potter Returns
A Harry Potter/Superman Returns Crossover
Chapter Thirteen
When Harry Dated Clea
Updated 21 January 2011
By the end of October, Luthor's indoctrination of Dedalus Diggle into his service was nearing fruition. The old wizard now accepted Luthor as a trusted friend, and had given him many quite a lot of useful information about the Wizarding world. Diggle had described Diagon Alley and its various stores; Luthor had toyed with the idea of breaking into Gringotts, but abandoned it (at least temporarily) once Diggle had described the nature of goblins and what was known of their in-bank security. It was believed by Dumbledore and the Order, Diggle said, that only He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had attempted to rob the bank, and the single item he'd tried to steal, the Philosopher's Stone, had already been removed from the vault where it was hidden.
Luthor had lusted to get his hands on the Stone, but learned through Diggle that the headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore, had it destroyed. The acknowledged creators of this priceless stone, Nicholas and Pernelle Flamel, were by now presumably dead, so they could not be questioned about it.
"Why would he do such a thing?" Luthor asked Diggle, curious about the reasoning behind destroying an artifact as precious as the Philosopher's Stone.
"Professor Dumbledore's about the smartest wizard there ever was," Diggle told him. "If he thought the Stone ought to be destroyed, well, I guess old Flamel just went along with him on it."
To Luthor this seemed highly unlikely. According to historical accounts, Flamel was born around 1330; if he was the same man Diggle was describing, he was well over 600 years old — a man who creates a way to keep himself alive for that long does not simply throw it away! Even if the Stone had been given up, Luthor decided, Flamel would have kept the method for its re-creation safe. Flamel himself was likely hiding out from even the Wizarding world now. But finding Flamel was merely one of his contingency plans. Potter was his primary interest.
Luthor was also fascinated by the histories of the other two prominent wizards in this hidden society: Albus Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort. Both, according to Diggle, were very intelligent men, both very old, and they had engaged each other in a war of wills and magic that seemed to have spanned decades. Diggle was full of stories about Voldemort, who had grown in importance after the previous "Dark Lord," a wizard named Grindlewald, had been defeated by Dumbledore, until he began a reign of terror throughout Britain that lasted a decade, seemingly unstoppable.
Then, suddenly, at the height of his power, Voldemort disappeared, after attacking Harry Potter and his parents in their home in a small village in southwest England, Godric's Hollow. His parents were killed, and Harry disappeared, only to surface ten years later at Hogwarts. Diggle intimated that this was all Dumbledore's doing, that he hidden Harry away, to keep him from falling into the hands of Voldemort's followers.
Now, however, Voldemort was back, somehow! "How could that be?" Luthor asked. "You said that the house blew up around him."
"Well, he is a Dark wizard, Mr. Luthor," Diggle pointed out.
"But you also said, no one can be brought back from the dead," Luthor reminded him.
Diggle shook his head. "That's true enough, too — yet there it is. You-Know-Who had found a way back, somehow, an' he'd used Harry Potter's blood to do it. I saw the mark his lackey's knife left in Harry's arm, before it was healed."
This was becoming more and more interesting, beyond Luthor's bid for power of his own. Dumbledore and Voldemort would make for interesting adversaries to test his wits against, if it came to that. But, if he got what he wanted, they would become irrelevant anyway.
"Very interesting, Mr. Diggle," he told the man, writing out a list of topics on a piece of paper. "I'd like to study things in more detail. If you could just pop down to that book store you say is in Diagon Alley, and find some books on these subjects, I'd be grateful."
"Delighted to, Mr. Luthor," Diggle smiled, taking the list. Flourish and Blotts has an extensive selection — I should have no trouble procuring these for you." So saying, he took the wand Luthor offered him, tipped his hat, and disappeared.
"Are you sure you trust 'im, boss?" Brutus asked a moment later, from the doorway of the ballroom. "I can't see him comin' back."
"He'll be back," Luthor said, smoothly. "He's completely convinced of my good intentions." Luthor smiled, evilly. "Of course, he doesn't know me very well, does he?"
"No, Mr. Luthor," Brutus grinned.
=ooo=
The Friday of Harry's first date with Clea finally arrived, and Harry found himself both eager and apprehensive. He had not seen her since she asked to take him on a little trip, to show him some things he would need to know if he wanted to become Sorcerer Supreme one day; on the other hand, he wasn't sure if she meant this to be purely a student-teacher thing.
There was also those things Ginny had said about her, like the rumors that she was a thousand years old and from a different dimension. But that was all Harry could see them as — rumors. Things that girls made up about other girls to put them down, or make themselves feel better. Harry wouldn't have thought Ginny was that type.
"You look pretty chipper today," Hermione remarked, as they arrived at the cafeteria at the same time that morning.
"Well, it's Friday," Harry smiled, not wanting to give the real reason for his demeanor — he'd walked into breakfast smiling, unlike Ron, who still looked mostly asleep, and still grumpy. Harry and Ron plopped down into their seats, but Hermione remained standing. "Are you having breakfast?" Harry asked her.
Hermione was staring down the table. "I…think…I'm sitting over there today," she pointed at another table, where Ginny and a few of her friends were sitting. "See you in Potions," she added, their first class on Fridays, then walked over to join the other girls.
Hmm, Harry thought. No good can come of that. He glanced back at Ron, who had poured a couple of small boxes of cold cereal into a bowl, filled it with milk, and was now tossing spoonfuls of sugar over it. "Wonder what they're up to?"
Ron threw a glance over his shoulder at the group of girls, then looked back at Harry with a smirk. "I hear they're looking for a girlfriend for you, Harry."
Harry raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh? Now how do you know that?"
"Ginny's been askin' me if you've been talking about any girls in particular," Ron answered, in a low voice, between mouthfuls of cereal. "They may be trying to fix you up."
Harry looked a bit startled. "They don't need to fix me up!" he hissed. "I'm perfectly capable of doing that myself — if I wanted to go out!" he added.
Ron shrugged and took another bite of cereal. "Why fight it?" he asked. "Who knows — you might even like who they pick." He frowned. "But what if I like who they pick for you, too?"
"They're not going to pick somebody for me, Ron," Harry told him, unequivocally. "I don't need a bunch of girls trying to find me a date!"
Ron smiled at this. Harry wondered if he was afraid they would stop being best mates if he got a girlfriend. "That a way, Harry! Don't let 'em tell you what to do!" He began happily scooping up the last of his cereal.
Harry focused his super-hearing on the table where Hermione, Ginny and her friends were sitting, listening in on their whispered conversation.
"I still can't figure out what Harry's up to," Hermione was saying.
Great, Harry thought dismally. She's suspicious of me, for some reason.
"Do you think Ron's told him about us yet?" Ginny asked.
Us? Harry wondered, us what?
"Knowing Ron, I expect so," Hermione said, plaintively. "They've both been watching us since I came over."
"He never could keep a secret," Ginny muttered.
"It's not like nobody in your family knows about it, Gin," Hermione told her. "You told me what happened the first time you saw him at the Burrow, when you walked into the kitchen in your nightclothes and he was sitting there."
"Ohmigod," one of the other girls said. "In your nightclothes?"
"It was a dressing gown," Ginny said, still sounding mortified. "I could've killed Mum for not letting me know he was there!"
Harry shut off his super-hearing. The gist of what he was getting was that Ginny was the one interested in him, which he had suspected. She had walked away, angry, several days ago after discovering that he'd been talking to Clea. Had she changed her mind, or had that just been an act?
"Hey," Ron said, looking up from his empty cereal bowl. "How about a game of wizard chess after classes?"
"Can't," Harry said, automatically. "Got a —" he hesitated for a moment, realizing he'd almost said "date" without thinking. "— a — er, project I've got to get done."
"On Friday?" Ron looked surprised.
"I'd rather get it done tonight and have the weekend free," Harry hastily improvised. He didn't want to lie to Ron, but he couldn't let him know what he was doing this afternoon, not after his comments about dating. Besides, with this being his first date with Clea, he'd rather see how things went before he admitted he was seeing her.
After the final class of the day, Harry headed straight out of class and back to his dorm, to drop off his backpack. He locked it in his trunk, adding an extra spell to make the lock super-secure. Harry smirked at the phrase he'd used, but it seemed a necessary precaution, especially if he was being stalked. Even Ron might be curious enough to sneak a peak inside his trunk, if he thought there might be a clue to "what Harry was up to."
He had told Ron he would be in the Library after class, working on his project. Ron had said he was going back to the dorm to rest for a bit before dinner — he found the magical courses at the Academy a bit more tiring than Hogwarts classes, for some reason — and would meet Harry in the cafeteria at dinner time. If Harry knew Ron, though, he would sleep right through dinner if Harry didn't come and wake him up. If he didn't, Hermione would probably check up on him and find him sleeping. That gave Harry until just about the end of dinner to have his first date with Clea.
From the doorway of his dorm, Harry took off at super-speed, moving through mostly empty corridors in a roundabout path to the front foyer, avoiding areas where Hermione or Ginny were likely to be. They wouldn't be able to see him, but it would be better if he didn't even get near them on his way there. He really didn't want anything messing up his first opportunity to go out with Clea!
When Harry arrived in the foyer, Clea was standing near the front doors, dressed in what looked like a purple armored body stocking. Harry glanced down at the slacks and pullover shirt he was wearing.
"Hi, Harry," she smiled at him. "Not quite what you expected to see me wearing, is it?"
"Uh, no," Harry said, then added, "I mean, it's really, um, nice-looking."
"Thanks," Clea laughed. "It's just some old thing I've had forever."
Harry glanced around, wondering what they would do next; he was apprehensive about someone else walking into the foyer and seeing them together, certain that news would quickly find its way back to Ginny. Clea watched him for a second, then asked, "Afraid someone will see us, Harry?"
"Uh—"
"Don't worry," Clea told him, standing next to him and putting her arm in his. "No one has been able to see either of us since you entered this room."
"What do you mean?" Harry blinked.
"I've made both of us invisible to everyone around us," Clea explained. "I thought we might take a little stroll together, and I can show you what it means to be Sorcerer Supreme. Would you like to do that?"
Harry nodded; mostly, because he wanted to spend time with Clear, not from any great desire to become Sorcerer Supreme — at least, not anytime soon. At the moment there were too many unknowns entailed in that title for him to want to rush in. That, and having watched Dr. Strange after he'd lost the position, seeing how brilliant as he was with magic, made Harry wonder if he could ever learn enough to be that good, even with super-powers to augment his magic.
"Good," Clea smiled. "Let's be going, then." They disappeared.
They reappeared a moment later, on a darkened platform, high in the air. "Do you recognize this place?" Clea asked him. Harry looked around, using his enhanced vision to see in the dark, but was puzzled for a few seconds until he glanced down and saw the structure beneath them.
"This is the Eiffel Tower!" he said, looking at her. "Did you teleport us all the way here from Montana?"
"Of course," Clea said; she looked a bit disappointed, as if she'd expected him to be more impressed. Harry still couldn't perform teleports of distances like this, but she didn't know he could fly from Montana to Paris in about five seconds, if he wanted. "I suppose you don't care for Paris, then?"
"No, it's not that —" Harry started to say, but they'd disappeared before he could finish. They reappeared, still in darkness, in front of a stone rampart. For a moment it seemed as if they had materialized on the Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts, but as he looked left and right he realized the "rampart" extended into the distance in both directions. They were standing on top of a huge stone wall, which could only be a section of the Great Wall of China!
"Wow," Harry muttered, looking around. "We're in China…"
"We're bound to get better Chinese here than the egg rolls from the Academy cafeteria," Clea grinned. "Are you hungry?"
"Erm — " Harry stammered. "I don't really care for Chinese," he finally got out. "The family I lived with back in England — the Dursleys — would leave me boxes of Chinese take-away to eat whenever they left for a few days."
"Oh, my!" Clea looked shocked. "They left you alone in the house?" Harry nodded.
"That seems foolish, seeing how useful magic can be for non-magicals," Clea said, looking indignant.
"Well, that was before I knew I was a wizard," Harry said. "But I don't know how much it would have mattered — my aunt and uncle hated magic."
"Interesting," Clea said softly, looking at him. "When were you told you were a wizard?"
"When I turned eleven," Harry replied, looking at her. He was beginning to warm up to the conversation. "Hogwarts was trying to send me a letter but my uncle kept stopping me from getting it — we finally ended up in some lighthouse off the coast, in a storm, when Hagrid showed up just at midnight on my birthday, with the letter to give to me."
"Here," Clea said, pointing to a stool, and Harry realized that they'd teleported once again, this time to a small roadside café, where an elderly Chinese gentleman smiled awaiting their orders. "Have a seat — let's get comfortable."
Harry sat, and Clea took the stool next to him, rattling off their orders to the old man, who nodded and began preparing meals for them. "You've come quite a ways since then, haven't you?" she asked. "Your magic seems quite powerful."
Harry glanced toward the old man, cautious about speaking openly, but Clea shook her head. "Don't worry, he doesn't understand English — and I've cast a spell that will keep anyone near us from hearing what we say anyway."
Obviously, however, Harry could say nothing about the increase in his magic since he acquired some of Superman's superpowers. "I figured coming to the Academy was a way for me to kill two birds with one stone," Harry said. "I would be able to learn more magic than I could at Hogwarts, better preparing myself for the day I might have to fight Voldemort.
"And, by leaving England," he continued. "I've given Voldemort less reason to terrorize people, looking for me." Clea chuckled, and their bowls of food arrived.
"What's funny—? Mmmm," Harry smelled the aroma of the food, a type of noodles mixed with stir-fried vegetables. He looked around for a fork, but found only a pair of sticks. Clea had picked up hers and was expertly picking a few noodles and eating them. Harry carefully imitated her — his super control allowed him to make a passable effort without appearing too clumsy.
Clea put down her chopsticks. "I'm sorry, Harry, it's just that I find your naiveté a little amusing."
"Naiveté?" Harry looked confused. "What do you mean?"
"This Voldemort person you spoke of does want your death," Clea said. "But his primary motivation since reviving himself has been the takeover of the Ministry of Magic." Harry sat back on his stool, pondering that statement.
"Even now," Clea continued, "he has operatives inside the Ministry, awaiting his orders to enthrall or kill the Minister and certain key officials in his bid to take over the government. Not directly, of course — I suspect he's waiting until he can consolidate his power over the school as well. Once he controls both the government and the educational system of your country, he will openly begin to rule Magical Britain. Shortly after that he will attempt to subjugate the Muggles."
Harry shook his head in disbelief. "How — how can you know all this?" he asked.
"Harry, dear, I'm the Sorcerer Supreme," Clea said, as if that should be the obvious reason. "Reading that simpleton's mind is hardly a difficult trick."
Harry put down his bowl. "I have to go back, and stop him!"
"At this very moment?" Clea asked. She reached out, putting a hand on his cheek. Harry froze, startled by the gesture. "We have time to finish our stroll at least, don't we?"
Her hand against his skin was intoxicating, making him forget about the danger posed by Voldemort. "Y-yes," he nodded, unable to resist. "I want —"
"Oh, I know what you want, Harry Potter," Clea cooed. "But that will come later, after I'm sure you're the one I want." She moved her hand over the counter and a handful of coins appeared. The old man smiled and bowed, never noticing that the two strange foreigners then disappeared right in front of him.
They reappeared in an opulent throne room, in front of a pair of glittering thrones; Clea sat on the larger throne, gesturing for Harry to sit as well. "Where are we?" he asked, looking around apprehensively as he did so.
He looked back at her and gasped, startled by what he saw: Golden flames were now emanating from her hair and face, though they seemed not to harm her. "Did — did you know you're on fire?" he asked her, as she looked at him.
"These are the Flames of Regency, Harry," she told him. "We are in my home, the Dark Dimension."
"So — you are from another dimension!" Harry said, now looking at her with near revulsion. "Are you really a thousand years old?"
"Much older, really," Clea smiled. "Does that bother you, Harry?" she asked, seeing the look on his face.
Harry didn't answer. He looked around the throne room, taking in its size and splendor. "What I don't understand is, with all this," he gestured at the room, "what you need with someone like me."
"You underestimate yourself, Harry," Clea said, a bit reprovingly. "You are quite a powerful wizard, easily the most powerful I've met on your world — you have even more natural magical power than Stephen possessed when I first met him. That intrigues me."
Harry didn't like how that sounded. "Why?"
"When I realized that your power rivaled Stephen's, I knew I had to bring you over to my side, to help me protect my dominion from any — incursions."
"I don't see how you can expect any willing help from me, now," Harry said, flatly. "You did something to make me forget about Voldemort, momentarily, but I've shaken that off."
"I lifted its effects once we arrived here," Clea informed him. "You will not be able to return to the Earth dimension unless I allow it, Harry. I want you to help me of your own free will."
Harry looked around again, then back at Clea. "I don't think that's going to happen, now," he told her, a tone of defiance in his voice.
"Oh, I'm still going to help you get rid of Voldemort," she added. "He won't be a problem."
But Harry had recalled something else. "There's also the matter of the curse on Professor Dumbledore's hand. I wanted to find a counter-curse to remove it."
"Oh, yes…" Clea looked thoughtful for a moment. "That curse…"
Harry stared at her. "You know about that curse?"
"Of course, Harry, I'm the —"
"Sorcerer Supreme, right," Harry finished. "Is there are counter-curse for it?"
"Voldemort created that curse expressly for protecting his ring Horcrux," Clea stated. "Of course he did not bother with a counter-curse." Harry slumped, realizing that Dumbledore was doomed.
"And of course," Clea went on, slyly, "As Sorcerer Supreme I have the ability to break any curse."
Harry's eyes widened with hope, but narrowed again when he saw her point. "So you're going to force me to do you bidding by offering to cure Professor Dumbledore if I — do what?"
Clea folded her arms across her chest, giving him a reproving look once again. "I'm not going to force you to do anything, Harry. I'm going to help you get rid of this Voldemort character, and I'm going to cure your precious Professor Dumbledore — something not even Professor Snape, whom you loathe, has been able to do so far. All I'm asking is that you help me protect my domain."
"And how am I going to do that?" Harry wanted to know.
"Dormammu will shortly make an effort to retake the Dark Dimension from me once again," Clea told him. "He has been gathering power for some time, forcing me to do the same."
"Who is Dormammu?"
"He is my uncle, murderer of my mother and father," she replied, her voice hard with hatred. "It was he who first subjugated the Dark Dimension, untold millennia ago, and enslaved all of the inhabitants of this domain. He and Stephen have done battle for many decades as he tried to add Earth to his list of conquests."
"What about getting Dr. Strange to help you?" Harry asked.
"Stephen no longer has the power — or the inclination — to help me," Clea replied, flatly. "When he gave up being Sorcerer Supreme of Earth, the mystic energies passed to the next worthy person capable of holding the title, which was me. But even with his power, and yours, Harry, it will be a near thing — Dormammu is very powerful, even in his weakened state. But I am determined to keep him from taking over this domain once again, and enslaving all the people."
Harry dithered. He didn't like the idea of people being enslaved, either. "So, once you stop this Dormammu, what happens?"
"Then we go back to Earth, I take care of Voldemort, cure Professor Dumbledore, and we're even."
"What do you mean by 'take care of Voldemort'?"
She gave him a condescending look. "What do you think? I mean kill him. Isn't that what you're supposed to do, that quaint little prophecy Dumbledore puts so much faith in?"
Harry had nothing to say to that — he was supposed to kill Voldemort, somehow, though he was never sure how he was going to match his magic until he got superpowers. But if he helped Clea, she could solve that problem and remove Dumbledore's curse, as well!
Besides that, he was stuck here unless he could trick Clea into returning him to Earth. "I'm not going to know how to help you," he reminded her, "unless you plan on showing me what you need me to do."
"True," Clea agreed, readily. "You'll need some training to increase your magical power to even greater capacity than it is now." She stood. "Come, we'll begin now."
"Shouldn't I go back, before I'm missed?" Harry suggested, casually. "I don't know how long you intend to keep me here, but—"
"Nice try, Harry," she cut him off, smiling. "But the Dark Dimension has the advantage of time moving at different rates in different regions, which I can control. I can give you several months of training in the equivalent of an Earth weekend. There's no need for you to return to Earth until after you and I have repelled Dormammu."
Harry fell silent, knowing he was beaten, at least for now. He remembered the Yule Ball, with Parvati, that was a fiasco, then the Valentine Day outing with Cho Chang that turned into a disaster, and now this! No wonder he hated dating!
=ooo=
"I believe that concludes our business for today," Albus Dumbledore intoned, bringing the latest Order of the Phoenix meeting to an end. "I hope to see you all again next month."
Mrs. Weasley stood. "Would anyone like more tea?"
"That would be delightful, Molly," Dumbledore murmured. Arthur nodded and held up his cup as well. Most of the other members were making their apologies before leaving; only Snape and Moody hung back; Snape shook his head, as usual, at the offer of food or drink, while Moody accepted only a splash of tea and drank it almost immediately.
"Noticed Diggle wasn't here again," he said as he put down the cup. "This is the second meeting he's missed in as many months."
"I'd noticed that as well, Alastor," Dumbledore said, sipping at his own cup.
"Did he say anything about taking a trip somewhere, or visiting someone?"
"Not as far as I recall," Dumbledore replied. "And of course, my recall is excellent."
"Mmmm," Moody looked unhappy. "The old berk is probably off wandering the streets of some Muggle city in some ridiculous getup, frightening the Muggles. He never did have much sense, that one."
"We could have Kingsley make some inquiries," Arthur suggested. "Under the pretense of having him brought in for questioning on some matters he's made known to the Ministry in the past."
Dumbledore was silent for a moment, then nodded. "That is an excellent idea, Arthur. It's not like Dedalus to remain incognito for so long." He drained the last bit of tea from his cup, then smiled appreciatively at Mrs. Weasley.
"Excellent tea, Molly!" he told her, and Molly beamed back at him.
"Thank you, Albus!" she said, and reached for the teapot. "Would you like some more?"
Dumbledore held up a long-fingered hand. "Thank you, but no — Severus and I must be on our way back to Hogwarts."
At the mention of Hogwarts Molly's features fell slightly. "I wonder how they're all doing right now, over there in America…"
"I'm sure they're all doing quite well," Dumbledore said, smoothly, as Snape let out an almost inaudible sigh. "Perhaps when they return for the Christmas break they will be able to regale you with the magic they've learned thus far."
Molly snorted. "We'll see," she said, still unconvinced about the usefulness of American magic. "Lot of fancy tricks rather than a good, solid Hogwarts education, is what I think!"
Dumbledore inclined his white-haired head. "I'm gratified by the trust you put in our education system, Molly."
"Well, if it was good enough for Arthur and me, it ought to be good enough for all my children," Molly added, a bit heatedly. "I just hope they come to their senses and decide to come back next year."
"Only time will tell," Dumbledore said. "Well, we'll be off. Thank you again for looking after Grimmauld Place, Molly."
"My pleasure, Albus."
"Come, Severus." Dumbledore and the Potions teacher made their way up the stairs and down the hallway to the front door of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. The headmaster stepped onto the threshold, turned on his heel, and vanished, followed a moment later by Snape.
They both arrived several yards from the front gates of Hogwarts. Snape started toward the gates, but Dumbledore held up a hand, stopping him. "The situation with Dedalus is worrisome," he said, softly. "Being the naturally gregarious person that he is, he would not remain out of view this long of his own volition."
"What are you suggesting?" Snape asked, frowning.
"I do not know," Dumbledore shook his head. "But I doubt Arthur will find any leads at the Ministry, nor will Kingsley if he uses normal Auror methods. This may require your special touch, Severus."
"So, on top of everything else," Snape said, sounding bitter, "you want me to find your lost Order member?"
"I understand you are quiet adept at sneaking about," Dumbledore said, the ghost of a smile on his lips.
Snape sighed once again. "I'll see what I can come up with."
"Splendid!" Dumbledore beamed. "Now, we should be getting along inside — the Gryffindor team plays Slytherin today, I believe." He took out his wand and tapped the padlock on the gates. The lock snapped open and the chains slid away, allowing the gates to slowly open.
"Yes." Snape almost smiled as he followed the headmaster inside. "I'm looking forward to a game with no Harry Potter in it to cause trouble."
"Tut, tut, Severus," Dumbledore shook his head. "I always thought Harry's gameplay added an element of excitement to the old sport."
"Yes, but then, you've coddled the boy since his first year," Snape pointed out, sourly. "One might think that his leaving the school showed his ingratitude."
"This is a chance for Harry to flex his wings a bit," Dumbledore replied, waxing a bit poetic. "I may have been a bit overprotective, but when you consider how important he is —"
"Oh, really?" Snape gave the headmaster an impatient glare. "You let him run off quickly enough, when it suited his fancy."
Dumbledore took the comment in stride. "It was his decision to make, Severus — I simply supported it this time, rather than trying to undermine it."
"I shouldn't even be complaining," Snape mused, as they reached the front doors of the school and passed through into the Entrance Hall. "Potter's gone, something I've wanted for the past five years."
Snape turned toward the entrance to the dungeon, but stopped and looked back at Dumbledore. "Will you be joining Professor McGonagall and me at the game, Headmaster?"
"Yes," he nodded, "though I have spot of business to take care of first, up in my office."
Snape nodded and strode over and to the door leading down to his own office, his black robes swirling around him. Dumbledore ascended the main staircase, making his way to the corridor on the seventh floor containing a stone gargoyle. Arriving in front of it, Dumbledore nodded and said, "Good morning, Cuthbert."
The gargoyle leapt aside, giving the headmaster access to the moving stairwell that transported him to his office. Dumbledore let himself inside, then walked over to one of the spindly tables holding numerous small, silver devices. He took out his wand and tapped one of them, saying "Harry James Potter" as he did so. The mechanism began to move, small chuffs of steam shooting from it every second or so, as Dumbledore checked his desk for any owl posts.
Not finding any, he turned back to the silver device as it spit out a small strip of parchment. Dumbledore took the parchment, a look of surprise coming over his face as he read,
Trace for Harry James Potter — location unknown
"Interesting," Dumbledore muttered. And a bit alarming — the Trace was the spell used by the Ministry to track all underage wizards. It could not be removed until the witch or wizard reached the age of seventeen, which for Harry was more than half a year away. The only thing that could end it prematurely was — death.
Dumbledore shook his head, unwilling to believe the worst had occurred. But now, he decided, they would have to step up the search for Diggle, as well as try to ascertain what had happened to Harry. Snape could handle the search for Dedalus, while he would have a chat with Professor Potter. Without Harry, the Wizarding world could be in grave peril from Voldemort's threat. Glancing at his withered right hand, Dumbledore knew it would not be he who vanquished the villain this time — only Harry could do that, and now he was gone, after Dumbledore let him out of the safety of the school.
Dumbledore sighed; Severus may have been correct in this instance, he might have chosen wrong in letting Harry have his freedom, too soon.