A/N: Chap 19 Review Responses are in my forums like normal.

Chapter Twenty: Dementors Suck

Detention with Professor Lupin was not like the handful of other detentions Harry had received in his few years at Hogwarts. Instead of writing lines or cleaning, Lupin drilled him—hard.

"So," Lupin said as he ordered Harry up against the wall of his classroom that evening, "you got your arse handed to you today."

"There were three of them!" Harry whined.

"And yet you started the fight," Lupin pointed out reasonably.

"They were picking on Hagrid!" Harry almost yelled now, once more becoming upset.

"And yet, again, Hagrid wasn't upset," Lupin said. "You were. I've heard a great deal that you were an Occlumens. That you learned with the help of Lily's book. When she grew angry, or had any other strong emotion, she reinforced her Occlumency shield to control the emotion. It was a remarkable feat, I'll grant, but I was rather under the impression that you knew how to do that."

"I'm still learning," Harry muttered. Louder, he added: "And Hagrid's been conditioned to take it. That doesn't make it right."

Surprisingly, Remus smiled. "No, Harry, it doesn't. But if that's a battle you wish to fight, you're going to be going against the grain, and will always be outnumbered. If you're going to survive, then you need to learn how to take on three opponents at once. After all, your father did it regularly."

That brought Harry up short. "What do you mean?"

"I mean when Malfoy's father Lucius was fifteen, he did the same exact thing as his son. He sought Hagrid out and tried to get a rise out of him, in the hopes that in doing so he could give his father the excuse he wanted to kill the poor man. And his father did it before him. It is a tradition among the dark families to try and bait and kill Hagrid, and yet he's still here."

"But what about my father…"

"Well, you see, James just happened to be there, and like you, he took offence on his friend's behalf, and started a fight against Lucius, Yaxley and Crabbe Sr."

"Did he win?" Harry asked eyes bright.

"Got his arse handed to him worse than you did," Lupin said, laughing. "He was a third year, like you, but they were two years older each. So James trained like mad, and the next year when Lucius and his gang came back, he put all three on the ground. Served a detention for half a year and lost us the House Cup, but I swear Professor McGonagall had never been more proud."

Lupin leaned forward and conspiratorially said, "Remember your first season of Quidditch?"

"Yeah?"

"I watched every game. Wasn't allowed to talk to you, of course, but I watched. You guys lost all the games in your first round, but came back to win the second round, and the cup. You're going to lose battles, Harry, it's the wars you can't afford to lose. So, get ready."

"Why are you helping me?" Harry demanded abruptly.

Lupin's calm smile turned wistful. "I wasn't allowed to earlier, when you needed me most. I'm helping you now because I can. It's what your mum wanted."

His hour of detention dissolved into a flurry of painful stingers, ducking, running and shooting back. Despite his best effort, he didn't land a single stunner on Remus, while the Professor had to remove an even dozen after just the first ten minutes. By the time it was done, Harry was soaked in perspiration and physically exhausted.

"Tomorrow, same time," Lupin said simply when they were done.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

After Professor Lupin escorted Harry back to Gryffindor Tower, Harry stepped inside the door to a loud, raucous discussion that died so fast even the echo was gone in a heartbeat. All the glowing, intense eyes of every witch and wizard from fourth year up turned and stared intently at him. The fires in their magic core seemed to blur and blend with common intent, each influencing the other by their very presence.

Instinctively, Harry fell back on the time-honoured defence of all children and teens across the world. "I didn't do it!" he blurted.

The others stared at him quizzically, and Harry wished with all his might that Neville was there. While third years did have Common Room rights, their curfew to return to their room was an hour earlier than the others, and sixth and seventh years had two hours more than fourth and fifth years.

He saw the magical currents within his housemates hiccup—it was the best way to describe the sudden interruption of the flow of tension and distrust he saw. That hiccup was Oliver Wood, seventh year Prefect and Quidditch Captain. There was no Head Boy again, but Wood served that role for the seventh year Gryffindors.

"What didn't you do?" Wood asked, smirking.

"Er, whatever it is that has all of you so upset," Harry said quickly.

"Is it true, Potter?" Angelina asked from beside Fred Weasley. Georgina lounged on a chair nearby next to Lee. "Did you speak to a snake?"

"Well, Draco was speaking to me, seemed kind of rude not to talk back," Harry said, still confused.

"No, Harry," Wood said. "Not a Slytherin, but an actual, slithering snake. Malfoy ran back to the castle and said you were a Parselmouth and ordered a snake to attack him."

Harry blinked in surprise. "Well, I suppose, but he's the one that conjured the bloody thing in the first place!"

The tension ratcheted back up; even Wood frowned. "Harry, Parselmouths have a really bad history. The last well-known one was You-Know-Who. They're almost all dark wizards. Why didn't you tell me?"

Frightened by the tension in the room, Harry said quickly, "How was I supposed to know? I was Muggle-raised. I thought all Witch-born could talk to animals. And why is it just snakes that are bad? Am I evil because I can talk to Kneazles or Thestrals as well? Are you going to lynch me because I talk to my owl and I can understand when she talks back?"

Once more the tension hiccupped. The seventh year female prefect (Ravenclaw held the Head Girl position this year) stepped forward with wide eyes. "Potter, are you telling me you can talk to other animals?"

"Well, sure. Magic ones, anyway. I used to talk to kneazles and ravens as a kid in primary, though I just thought they were cats, and I suppose all ravens are a little magical. Like I said, I thought all Witch-born could do it! It's not my fault!"

Wood suddenly started chuckling. "Only you, Potter. You're like a magnet for strange!"

With his laugh, then currents of tension running through the Common Room broke up. "Go on up to your room, Harry," he said. "If Ron or Neville ask, just tell them you're a magical Omniglot, not a Parselmouth. Neville probably knows what that is, at least."

"Oh, okay." Feeling as if he'd just avoided the firing squad, Harry ducked his head and ran up the stairs as fast as he could.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Of course, that wasn't the end of it. That Monday, after a double charms class, Professor Flitwick asked Harry to stay. Because it was lunch, the diminutive professor even ordered lunch for the two of them.

"So, Mr Potter, current rumour is that rather than a Parselmouth, you are in fact an Omniglot."

"I haven't had a chance to even look up what that means, Professor," Harry said.

"It means literally 'All Tongues', which is a fancy way of saying that you appear to be able to speak to anything," Flitwick said.

"Was my mother one?" Harry asked.

"Not in the slightest, which is why this is so interesting!" Flitwick said. "I'm going to cast a simple charm on you that will measure your mental response to magical languages. It might be disconcerting, but I've been assured that it will not hurt."

He cast the spell, which looked like a deep, forest green. Almost instantly Harry heard whispers—hundreds of faint whispers. However, before the whispers grew too loud or uncomfortable, the spell ended.

Flitwick was beaming and hopping on the balls of his toes. "How very interesting!" he said. "You are indeed a magical polyglot, however it appears that talent is limited solely to magical languages, so technically you're not a true Omniglot. I dare say you will have quite the challenge learning other human languages. I'd stick to your Latin if I were you."

"Er, thank you, Professor," Harry said.

A moment later an elf appeared with a tray of delicious beef sandwiches with a thick bowl of horseradish. "I hope you don't mind, Mr Potter," Flitwick said. "I am part Goblin, and as a result my palate is more suited to strong flavours."

"That's fine, professor," Harry said quickly. He tried a little, and then downed his pumpkin juice to wash away the foul taste. "So, are there other magical Omniglots?"

"A fair few," Flitwick said. "Dirk Cresswell, the new head of the Goblin Liaison Office, is a true Omniglot. Would have to be to be able to speak Gobbledygook. I heard that the Scamander family are all as well, though they generally attend Beauxbatons in France despite being English. There was a rumour that Lycan Scamander, the head of the family, was banned from Hogwarts for killing a former headmaster in a duel. Quite the scandal."

"When was this?"

"Oh, late sixteen hundreds or so. Have to remember that wizards have long memories—comes with having long lives. Now, how are your classes coming?"

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

The first game against Slytherin marking Oliver Wood's last season as captain was the first in which Gryffindor started as the clear favourite.

That didn't make the game any easier. What made the game actually hard was Draco Malfoy as the new Seeker. Harry remembered talk during his second year of having Malfoy start, but the miracle win by Gryffindor the previous year convinced the old seeker to play through her NEWT year, not that it helped them.

With Malfoy, though, came new brooms purchased by an unnamed benefactor (unnamed only in the sense that Snape refused to admit Lucius Malfoy bought the team new brooms). Unfortunately for Harry, Draco Malfoy knew how to use those brooms.

What neither Malfoy nor his brooms could make up for, though, was three of the best, most cohesive chasers the school had seen in years. Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell were all but unstoppable, blowing through the Slytherin defence despite the Snakes' best efforts to foul them. Their efforts were enhanced by Harry's "raptor" offense, as Wood called it, where he would dive without warning to disrupt Slytherin passing routines.

Malfoy tried to emulate Harry, but despite his legitimate skill, lacked the experience to do so.

It was looking like a rout, when the air, which had been cold but not bitingly so, turned suddenly frigid. Harry slowed in his circle around the pitch as he noticed ice forming on his goggles despite the de-icing charms on them.

The other players on the field noticed the cold too, and play ground to a halt as the two teams sat upon their brooms, trying to determine the source of the cold and the creeping unease that came with it.

On the floor of the pitch, Harry saw a huge black dog suddenly shoot out from the stands to his right and run pell-mell across the pitch to the stands on the left almost directly under him. A second later, the dog was followed by an army of monsters.

There was no other way for Harry to describe what he saw. The creatures were draped in ragged black cloaks that he could see through, and flittered with their passage without actually disturbing the air. Inside, though…was blackness. Harry had never seen true black in magic before, not like these monsters. It was not a colour, so much as the complete absence of colour. It was a visible darkness that radiated out in an aura around each creature, and the cumulative effect of an army of them chilled the whole castle.

Distantly he heard screams as people in the stands tried to flee, and he saw white, brilliant flashes of magic that seemed to force the demons back, but all the centre of his concentration was on the monsters rushing toward him. One in particular seemed to be coming for him directly. Its black, featureless face pulling at his magic so painfully, he felt his stomach clench and tears coming to his eyes.

As it swooped down on him, he heard a woman's voice whispering to him, but he could not understand what it was she was saying. All he knew was that in the rush of cold pain and terror, he heard a wonderful, soothing voice of comfort before everything went dark.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

"Dementors suck," Harry said when he woke that afternoon in the Hospital Wing. Beside his bed, Neville nodded agreement while Wood snorted. The captain was still in his Quidditch robes and sported a bruise on his jaw from the game.

"And they have terrible timing," Wood said. "Blasted things! We almost had it in the bag!"

Gryffindor lost the match by only ten points when an unopposed Malfoy caught the Snitch. "I'm sorry, Wood," Harry said sadly.

"Harry, remember first year," Wood said. "One game doesn't make the season. Malfoy might be a right bastard about it, but the rest of the school knows he won by default. Nor were you the only one. Katie was attacked too."

Harry sat up in alarm. "Is she…?"

"She's fine," Wood replied. "She's in the girl's wing. No, you were both lucky that Professor Lupin was able to cast a Patronus spell. I had a good feeling about that man, and after seeing him do that, I know why."

"What's a Patronus?" Neville asked.

Wood grinned. "Mastery-level spell, and a choke-point for Auror training, I've been told. It's the only known spell for controlling and driving off Dementors, and it's right bloody hard. My sisters both washed out of the Auror Academy because they couldn't master it."

The door opened and Professor Dumbledore strolled in. While his outward countenance was calm and collected, the vast magic inside his chest sparked with irritation. "Mr Potter, I trust your friends are not bothering you?"

"Not at all, sir," Harry said.

"Very good. Still, Mr Longbottom, Mr Wood, would you excuse us?"

"Of course," Wood said quickly, while Neville nodded nervously. The two boys scampered quickly out of the hospital wing. In their absence, Dumbledore conjured a thick cushioned chair by Harry's bed and sank into it with a sigh.

"An exciting day," the Headmaster said.

"Yes, sir."

Harry looked down at his hands, at his feet—anywhere but the ancient wizard's face. Though Dumbledore was not the oldest wizard he'd met—Binns had decades on the man—his was still so ancient he did not look human at all, and that made Harry feel distinctly uncomfortable. Finally, though, he could not help it and met the older man's gaze, his Occlumency barriers as strong as he could make them.

Suddenly, without any warning, he saw the headmaster falling from the Astronomy tower, his face serene and expectant.

The image was followed a moment later by a horrific pounding in his head. He bent over with pain, and when he straightened he found a phial and a handkerchief waiting for him in the old wizard's hand. "For your nose, it is bleeding," Dumbledore explained. "The potion is a headache potion. Professor Trelawney suggested I should have both on me when I visited the hospital wing. Of course, she told me this last night over dinner, but I've learned over the years to take her at her word. May I ask what you saw?"

Blinking back tears, Harry downed the phial before dabbing at his nose. The white cloth absorbed the blood, staining it bright red. A moment later, the red faded away leaving behind it unblemished white. Only then did he notice a thin sheen of magic running through the cloth—a dark purple magic that seemed to suck in everything. "Nice kerchief," he said.

"A gift from my last wife, who died some sixty years ago. Harry, what did you see?"

"How do you know I saw anything?" Harry asked belligerently.

"Harry, I understand you are not happy right now, but please do not let your anger lead you into thinking I or my professors are not intelligent. I know you had a vision, and I would like to know what you saw."

"I saw you," Harry snapped. He suddenly remembered Lupin's words and tried to couch his irritation behind his Occlumency barriers. He was surprised to find that it worked, at least a little. "I saw you falling from the Astronomy Tower. But you looked peaceful."

"Good," Dumbledore said. "Another Aether said I would fall from the tower, but the fall would not kill me."

"Maybe she meant the landing would," Harry said, a tad bitterly.

"Or perhaps I was dead before I fell," Dumbledore said lightly. "When you get to my age, Harry it does not matter. Death is not frightening to me, my boy. Rather, when my time comes I shall greet her like an old friend, and begin my next adventure."

"Death is a her?"

"Death is whatever we choose to make her," Dumbledore said. "She can either be a creature of terrifying visage, or a beautiful young man with golden curls and laughing blue eyes. However, my own mother believed in the Morrigan, the triple goddess of war, death and…well, domination. Not surprising considering our society really. My mother was a Muggleborn, and yet managed to poach a young pureblood. She required that he marry another Muggleborn rather than a pureblood, and by that means maintained her dominance of the family and became an important member of our coven at the time, though never a Dame herself. She always thought death was a woman—the Macha aspect of the Morrigan, in fact, since that face was often associated with domination over men."

Harry blinked. "That doesn't sound very nice, sir."

Dumbledore, momentarily lost in memory, blinked. "No, I suppose it was not. Most especially considering her sister wife had another boy—my brother Aberforth. Two boys was a feat, especially in those days. But regardless, our youths shape us."

"What shape did you want me in when you sent me to the Dursleys?" Harry said, surprising himself with his bitterness.

Dumbledore blinked, momentarily taken aback by his anger. "Was it really so bad at the Dursleys?" he said, somehow sensing the source of Harry's anger.

"Were you the one to place me there?"

"Yes, but only at your mother's direction," Dumbledore said simply. "Your mother left instructions on how to weave blood wards around you and your aunt. They were the most powerful wards I had ever seen, and I owed it to you both to do as she asked. She knew, Harry—somehow she knew she would not live."

The idea that his mother was behind the placement stole away much of his ardour. "What about my father? Did he want me going there?"

"No, your father wanted you to go to your Godfather, Sirius Black. Given Mr Black's role in their deaths and your abandonment, and the fact he was captured and sent to Azkaban, that didn't seem to be an ideal choice. You've been waiting a long time to ask that question, haven't you?"

Suddenly feeling shamed, Harry looked back down at his hands. "They hate me," he said.

"But have they ever harmed you?"

"No, not really. Aunt Petunia hit me in the head with a skillet once, and Uncle Vernon accidentally broke my arm, but otherwise I just got lots of spankings with a belt and not enough food."

Dumbledore nodded, while within his chest his magic sparked angrily again. "I am sorry for your difficulties, Harry, truly I am. You are not the first wizard raised by Muggles to experience hardship. However, those wards have already saved your life. In your first eleven years, no less than five wizards attempted to attack you—one I've been led to believe you even witnessed. We're still not sure how they located you, but nonetheless they tried. And not at your home, either. Two attempts were made at your school, another at your local park. However, because you called that place home and charged those wards, the protection followed you in a ten square mile area around that house. That is a feat of magic I could not have done without your mother's instructions and sacrifice. All five men died."

That was news! "What about here, though, or Diagon Alley?"

"The protection is dependent on proximity to your aunt," Dumbledore explained. "And I'm sad to say there was probably a price to pay as well for your Aunt. She would not have been able to conceive a child with the weight of that ward anchored to her soul. It may be it even affected her personality."

"Mum wouldn't do something like that," Harry said fiercely.

Dumbledore looked at Harry intently. "How do you know, Harry?"

The question stumped him. Continuing, Dumbledore said, "It is normal for children to want to believe the best of their parents. I for one believe that your mother was an extraordinary, loving witch. But she was still a witch, caught within the expectations and needs of an imperfect society. I have absolutely no doubt she would put the needs of herself and her family above the needs and desires of her sister. Before you think too ill of her, though, remember that Lily knew her sister as well as you do, and knew what kind of person she was. Perhaps there was some spite in her instructions, or perhaps a sense of karmic justice. Regardless, she knew what she was doing. Whatever else could be said, Lily Potter was extraordinarily intelligent."

"You make her sound…"

"Like a human being," Dumbledore said lightly. "A complex woman with good qualities and bad, just like you. Just like myself. None of us are perfect, Harry, and for this at least I am grateful. Perfection, I think, would be terribly boring."

The old wizard stood with a grunt at the effort, his magic no longer sparking. "Also, Mr Potter, I wish to congratulate you for your unorthodox use of Occlumency during our discussion. It was something that your mother explored and perfected, and it is good to see you taking after her in this regard."

"Do you think I'm as smart as my mum?"

Dumbledore suddenly laughed. "Mr Potter, I am not as smart as your mum, so don't feel too badly if you don't quite match up as well. However, there are many types of intelligence. You have a situational awareness and I daresay a mind for tactics that Lily most definitely lacked—that you get from your father. Now, if you will excuse me, I should get back to my duties. I'm sure Madam Pomfrey shall be excusing you shortly."

Harry watched the old wizard shamble away, his thoughts racing over the idea of his mother purposely hurting Aunt Petunia to keep him safe.

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Author's Note: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading.