THE SORCERER

"No, Harry, the meeting's only for members of the Order," Molly Weasley corrected, shaking her head as her fingers curled around his arm.

"Ron and Hermione are upstairs, you can wait with them until the meetings over," Mrs Weasley continued, trying to drag Harry towards the staircase and forcing the raven-haired wizard to dig his heels in response. "Afterwards we can all have dinner together. Oh, and keep your voice down in the halls," she added in a whisper, glancing around nervously.

"Why?"

"I don't want to wake anything up," came Mrs Weasley's lacking answer, as she once again tried to pull Harry towards the stairs, frustration radiating from her like heat from a fire.

Instead Harry just frowned as he tugged his arm free of the large woman, eyes narrowing as he stepped out of her reach. "What d'you mean?" he asked suspiciously.

"I'll explain later," Mrs Weasley dismissed, scowling at him as she tried to grab his arm again. "I've got to hurry, I'm supposed to be in the meeting – I'll just show you where you're sleeping first".

"There won't be any need for that, Molly," a voice said from the doorway. "I'll be taking young Harry into the study," Albus Dumbledore explained, his eyes locked on the glaring Mrs Weasley. "I believe it's time he and I had a long-awaited talk".

"I think not!" Mrs Weasley exclaimed angrily, rage emanating from her entire being. "He is just a child! I will not have him involved in any of this!" she declared dangerously, jabbing a finger in Dumbledore's direction.

"I think I got involved in 'all this' when Voldemort tried to kill me the first time," Harry interrupted quietly, forcing a polite smile onto his face as Mrs Weasley whirled around to lock her glare on him instead. "And that's not including the times where I was eleven, twelve or fourteen that he tried to kill me again either".

"I'm not going to induct Harry to the Order," Dumbledore said gently, stepping into the conversation as Mrs Weasley opened her mouth to speak, "But should I decide to, I would like for you to remember who runs it," he reminded as his eyes flashed in warning. "Harry is not only uniquely qualified to be a member of the Order, but he remains to this day the only person to duel against Voldemort and win, a feat not even I can claim".

At this, Mrs Weasley drew herself up and took a deep breath, her face going bright red in true Weasley fashion as she prepared to start shrieking. "With me, please, Harry," Dumbledore requested calmly, cutting off what was sure to be a migraine-inducing howler impersonation, "This is a conversation best held in private".

With that the Headmaster was turning on the spot and leading Harry through the dark house, leaving the young wizard unable to resist the childish urge to smirk at Mrs Weasley over his shoulder and send her a crude hand gesture he'd seen various muggle kids using. As the plump woman started spluttering, Harry turned his attention back to Dumbledore, struggling to calm himself down so he didn't lose his temper.

Bad things happened when he lost his temper, bad things indeed.

"Now, Harry," Dumbledore began as they stepped into a warm room, the crackling fire in the fireplace casting eerie shadows on the walls. "I do believe I need to apologise for how things have ended up, it was not my intention to make you feel cut off or unwanted," the Headmaster confessed as he sat down in an armchair and gestured for Harry to sit opposite him. "I was unaware that Ms Granger and Mr Weasley had misinterpreted my request for silence, I had merely wished for them to not speak of the Order".

"What is the Order?" Harry demanded as Dumbledore paused to conjure some tea, remaining standing behind the armchair he'd been directed into. "And what do you mean they misinterpreted it? They didn't send me any letters".

"Exactly," Dumbledore agreed sadly, "They thought I meant total silence. I only discovered this two days ago when I approached them to see how you were faring and they confessed they hadn't written to you at all".

When Dumbledore stopped speaking, leaving Harry waiting expectantly, the dark-haired boy just narrowed his eyes at the Headmaster expectantly. "And the Order?" he pressed rudely, faltering as he felt his hands beginning to prickle with heat.

"A discussion for after dinner tonight," Dumbledore corrected, raising a hand quickly as Harry growled. "I said after dinner, not never. We do not have the time to go over the Order at the present, as the others are waiting on me for the meeting to begin".

"So what?" Harry blurted angrily, "You dragged me in here to say sorry for leaving me alone all holidays? For cutting me off from all communication?"

"No, Harry, I 'dragged you' in here to look at your scar," Dumbledore admitted bluntly, making Harry blink in shock as the heat fled his hands. "Arabella – Mrs Figg that is – told me your scar was bleeding 'black gunk' after your little run in with the dementors. May I?"

Eyeing Dumbledore hesitantly for a moment, Harry just nodded, reaching up to move his fringe out of the way so the standing man could inspect it properly. "It's faded," he mumbled as Dumbledore poked at his scar with his wand, "After the dementor tried to kiss me it just burst open, all this black tar was pouring out, then I uh-"

"Destroyed the dementors?" Dumbledore finished as Harry trailed off, "Mrs Figg told me about that too," he explained. "And if my suspicions are correct, then I may have an idea of why and how this is happening".

"How, Sir?" Harry asked hopefully, feeling his anger fading quickly at the promise of finally getting some answers. It was funny actually, he'd spent all summer brooding and sulking, promising himself to be furious when he was finally included in whatever his friends had been doing. Yet now he was here, and all he felt was this cold anger and hope.

"Your mother," was Dumbledore's cryptic reply.

"It wasn't her protection," Harry interrupted quickly, stepping away from the Headmaster and moving over to the fire, beginning to pace back and forth in front of it. "I know what Mum's protection feels like, and this wasn't it. This was me, I felt the power coming from me," he explained impatiently.

"Tell me more," Dumbledore requested, knowing eyes locked on Harry's, "What else can you feel?"

"I can feel that you enjoy being a cryptic bastard," Harry spat, glaring at the Headmaster who just twinkled in response. "I can feel that Mrs Weasley was furious at me for shooting her down, and I can feel how angry and hurt you were at her when she argued".

"And when you destroyed the dementors?" the old man pressed eagerly.

Harry just shifted uncomfortably, his eyes dropping to the floor as his previous anger fled, "It's stupid," he dismissed.

"Try me".

Allowing himself to feel shocked by Dumbledore's modern 'slang', Harry blinked at the man before the topic caught back up to him and his head dropped again. "I felt Mum," he confessed, "It was like she was right there, holding me, and then I touched the dementor and..."

"And it screamed in pain before exploding," Dumbledore finished, "Arabella allowed me to view her memory of the event," he admitted as Harry's head snapped up to stare at him. "While seeing it was one thing, I needed to understand it from your point of view to be entirely certain".

"Certain of what?" Harry demanded, stepping forward and concentrating on the Headmaster, eye twitching when he failed to pick up any feelings from the old man.

"Your mother," Dumbledore said simply, "I've had my suspicions before now, of course. All the signs were there after all, but perhaps I wasn't willing to see them until now. I blame myself of course, if I hadn't been so obsessed with seeing you as the Chosen One and had just looked a little more at Harry Potter then perhaps I would have caught this sooner. No-one else could get into as much trouble as you, and I truly doubt that even your father's influence would be enough to make you this troublesome. No, there was only one option, something you've confirmed for me tonight".

"Sir?"

Dumbledore blinked before looking up at him as if he'd forgotten Harry was even there. "Sit down, please Harry, I think it's time that I treated you as the young man you've become," he said suddenly, making Harry blink with the shock of the complete change of heart from the Headmaster.

"Does that mean you'll tell me the truth?" Harry questioned slowly, focusing on the Headmaster as much as he could.

"I swear to tell you the truth and nothing but the truth," Dumbledore promised, Harry inhaling sharply as the wall around the Headmaster's emotions collapsed and nothing but brutal honesty washed over him. "Do you know what this is, Harry?" the man asked, reaching out to tap his wand on the black dome covering most of the table, making it melt away as if liquid to reveal a familiar glowing bowl on the coffee table.

"It's a pensieve, Sir," came Harry's reply, remembering the one he'd seen in Dumbledore's office vividly.

"Ah yes, I had forgotten about last year," the Headmaster murmured to himself, amusement filling the air between them, "Which is ironic in itself, considering the purpose for which these were created. Preserving memories, that is".

Harry could only watch curiously as the Dumbledore pulled two vials containing a beautiful swirling silver liquid out from the many pockets of his purple and green robes. "And these, Harry?" the old man asked patiently, holding them up for the black-haired wizard to inspect.

"Memories?"

"Correct," Dumbledore praised, "But I think it is whom these memories belong to, that is the most important thing of all".

"Sir?" Harry questioned curiously as he watched Dumbledore reaching into his pocket to pull out another memory vial.

"I was not sure about this," Dumbledore admitted, "I had my suspicions as I've said, but it wasn't until I spoke to Sirius that it was proven I was correct. Your Godfather directed me to these, buried in the depths of the vault of belongings taken from your parent's home at Gringotts".

"There's a vault there?" Harry blurted, "Can… can I go there? Not now," he corrected quickly, "But soon?"

"Of course, I must admit I never thought to tell you of it myself," Dumbledore explained, "I had assumed Gringotts mentioned it to you when you visited before first year. Now, this first memory," he began as he uncorked a vial and poured it into the pensieve, "Do you remember back in your first year, when you asked me why Voldemort was after you?"

His heart beginning to beat faster in his chest, Harry nodded quickly, "You said you'd tell me when I was older". He paused for a moment before took a chance, already certain that it was time, "I'm older now, Sir".

"Indeed you are," Dumbledore agreed as he tapped his wand on the surface of the pensieve, causing the liquid inside to bulge up and morph into the form of a more than familiar witch.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him… born as the seventh month dies…" Professor Trelawney rasped out, "And the Dark Lord shall mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives… the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies".

Now, despite not being of Hermione-level intelligence, Harry was still quite the bright young man and managed to piece what he'd just heard together.

"There was a prophecy?" he blurted, looking between the shrinking form of Trelawney and Dumbledore's sad face. "He went after me because a prophecy told him too?"

"Unfortunately so," Dumbledore confessed, sounding like he was getting a heavy weight of his chest by admitting this. "A spy of his overheard the prophecy being given and ran to tell his Master. However, perhaps luckily for us, the spy only heard the first half of the prophecy".

Staring down at the pensieve as his mind raced, Harry looked up at the nearly crying Headmaster who was clearly locked in a memory of his own with glazed over eyes. Reaching out to touch the man's hand, causing him to jump and refocus his eyes on Harry's own, he asked "What's the 'power the Dark Lord knows not'?"

"Love," Dumbledore rasped out, clearing his throat before trying again. "I believe it is love. Growing up in an orphanage, Tom Riddle never knew love, and then when confronted with your mother's love-based sacrifice and protections it undid him".

"Love?" Harry echoed, face scrunching up in disgust. "What good is love against him?"

"I think you'll be surprised, my boy," Dumbledore said knowingly. "Did you know that I am a certified master in the art of occlumency? The magical skill of closing one's mind to foreign invasion," he explained when Harry frowned at his non-sequitur. "I was taught the art by my father, who was a master himself since I could walk. And yet your mother arrived at Hogwarts one year and walked straight into my mind as if I were a toddler," he continued with a chuckle, "And that's not all she could do. Oh no".

As the man reached for the empty flask, his hanging robe knocked straight into it, Harry's hand snapping out before he could stop himself to catch it mid-fall. "Hmmm, yes, your mother could do that too," Dumbledore confirmed innocently, eyes twinkling as Harry looked between his hand and the floating flask guiltily, "It took me far too long to understand how and why she had these gifts when even the 'strongest pureblood' lines didn't".

"What do you mean?" Harry demanded as the Headmaster plucked the flask from the air and returned the memory to it. "My Mum was a muggleborn, not a pureblood".

"Which was precisely the problem my boy," Dumbledore agreed, the corners of his eyes tilting up with his smile. "Have you seen young Nymphadora's fascinating ability yet?"

"You mean when she changed her hair colour?"

"She can do much more than that, Nymphadora is a metamorphmagus, something I believe muggles call a 'shape shifter'," Dumbledore explained, making Harry's eyes widen. "Yes indeed. This is a very rare magical gift, one that cannot be taught nor trained. Nymphadora's gift – despite what the purebloods wish to claim – comes from the infusion of fresh muggleborn blood into the Black family's lineage, the origin family for the metamorphmagus trait".

"What does my mother have to do with that though? Sir?" Harry tacked onto the end of his question, staring at the Headmaster expectantly.

"Lily Evans was a muggleborn," Dumbledore said simply, "And yet she bore a magical gift long thought extinct after the pureblood family wielding it died out. Rather curiously, the goblins at Gringotts were able to trace her lineage back to the Heir of the family who was denied his title by the Wizengamot due to his squib status".

"So these feelings? The whispers in my head? And the moving things," Harry added hopefully, "They're normal? I'm not... I'm not a freak?"

"You, Harry Potter, are certainly not a freak," Dumbledore corrected firmly, "What you are, is perhaps one of the last Sorcerers in the entire United Kingdom".

THE SORCERER

Based off my own "Psyche" challenge.