Disclaimer: Nope.

Author's Note: Hello, and thank you so much for the wonderful reviews!

Yellow 14, I can't tell you how thrilled I am that you loved the chapter. I was really, really hoping you'd like what I did with Rebecca and Matthew. Like I said, they're going to play a large role in the story. I love that you enjoyed their chemistry and the way they supported one another. I can't wait to write more about them.

I agree that there is a lot of prejudice against Slytherin House. I firmly believe that ambition is no way synonymous with evil. It's only evil if it's used in the wrong way. There are traits of every single house that can be used in a way that can make a person evil, not just Slytherin. At least, that's what I think.

I agree about Professor Sprout as well. She should never have been cold towards Harry in Goblet of Fire. Although, in this story, she feels a lot of guilt for how she's treated him and wants nothing more than to rectify it. In canon, I think the way some of the Hogwarts staff acted towards Harry caused a lot of issues.

This chapter delves into another essential character. You already know who he is, but in this chapter, you'll understand why he's so needed for what's coming up in the plot. He's another character I truly adore writing.

The incident with the American Muggle government that I allude to that happened in 1992 is entirely fictional. Just thought I'd let you know that.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter.

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The place was so beautiful - was it really located on Earth?

Healer Arnold Paul Dixon took a deep breath, taking in the freshness of the summer air. It was hot - hotter than it normally ever got in Britain - but Dixon didn't care in the slightest. A gentle breeze blew, and as he sat on the deck chair with a cold drink on the table in front of him, he once again thanked Merlin that he'd stumbled across this place.

Rock Hall, Maryland. It was located on the eastern shore of the Chesapeake Bay. It was a small town that had many beautiful homes in it, and the people were friendly, laid back, and relaxed. It was paradise. When Dixon had first acquired the place three and a half years ago, he instantly knew that it would somehow become very important - he seemed to have a sixth sense about these sorts of things.

And he'd been right - it had become a solace, a place of healing and recuperation. When he'd had to rescue Albus Dumbledore from the clutches of those wicked people that called themselves Mind Healers, he knew that here was the perfect place to bring him. There was something so ... right about healing here, about getting back up on your feet and going on. It was a retreat, and it often felt like an escape from reality.

This place also inspired many hours of reflection. The sheer beauty and peacefulness of it allowed Dixon the space and time to think about his life, about what he had done with it so far and what he planned to do in the future. There were many things he was content with, and many things he definitely was not.

Arnold Dixon was a Muggle-born wizard who had graduated from Hogwarts in 1980. His parents lived in Britain; his father taught courses about all things William Shakespeare at a university in Cornwall. Dixon had grown up hearing about all the comedies and tragedies he had written, and he'd seen many a play of his. Dixon thought his father was one of the most fascinating human beings in all of mankind. He was extremely intelligent, and Dixon had always admired him. He knew that the man was responsible for his Ravenclaw placement at Hogwarts.

His mother worked at a garden center in Cornwall, which sold many kinds of beautiful flowers and plants. Dixon always knew where to find her when she was at home - if the weather was good, which Britain unfortunately was not known for, she was out in the garden toiling over her endless supply of plants. She always made the most of the seemingly endless rain that bombarded Britain. "Why do you reckon we have such beautiful plants here, Arnold? The rain makes them grow." Her smile was infectious.

Dixon was an only child, and in all honesty, he preferred it that way. From a very early age, he'd gone after knowledge. Even his father had been surprised by the sheer amount of intelligence his son possessed - surprised, and extremely proud. But as hard as he tried, Dixon could not explain the phenomenon of why really weird things happened on occasions when he got angry or upset. And neither of his parents had any explanation, either. Unlike other stories he'd heard over the years about other parents of Muggle-borns, his took it in their stride. They were both considered eccentric and were fascinated, not disconcerted, by their son's strange powers.

And then, he'd found out exactly what it was and gone to Hogwarts, where he lapped up knowledge like it was water and he was in the Sahara Desert. Instead of spending time at Quidditch matches and socializing in the Ravenclaw common room, he could constantly be found in the library, poring over books. Often, Madam Pince had to shoo him out of there when it closed for the night.

As he'd gone through his Hogwarts years, Dixon discovered that the majority of witches and wizards seemed to be very insular and very stuck in their ways. He couldn't believe it when he found out they used quills and parchment, not pen and paper. They used owls to communicate with each other and not telephones. The whole thing was incredibly strange. And when he did attempt to ask people about it, many looked down their noses at him, some outright sneering at what they thought were ridiculous questions. Why was this world so antiquated and old-fashioned? Why didn't they move with the times?

He also observed that even Muggle-born witches and wizards like himself sometimes got so integrated into the wizarding world that they left their Muggle backgrounds behind them. Arnold Paul Dixon did no such thing. He loved magic - it still floored him that he could do it. But he would not give up some of his Muggle ways either. His parents were not lesser beings just because they couldn't do magic. They had every right to know what was going on in their son's life even if they couldn't fully understand it. Dixon couldn't count the number of times he'd had to correct them when they got a wizarding word or phrase wrong. But it certainly did not mean he loved them any less, and the fact that their son was a wizard did not change their relationship with him at all. In fact, the difference between their worlds gave them a lot to think about. His father, especially, engaged in many philosophical discussions with him about it.

And when the war came, he did not hide that fact from his parents. It was the first time he'd seen them truly scared, but he thought that honesty was the best policy. He warned them about Voldemort and the Death Eaters, which led to a discussion about whether Muggle weapons could be combined with magic spells. It was a concept he hadn't thought of before, but a very interesting one indeed.

But Arnold Dixon found that what fascinated him the most, what was so truly riveting that it made him hunger for more and more knowledge, was the Mind Arts. One of his former Defense Against the Dark Arts professors had seen his intelligence and potential and given him permission to peruse the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library. There, he'd come across the first books he'd seen on the subject. And from then on, he knew exactly what he wanted to do with his life.

Many had always thought of him as a mysterious man, and they were right. He had been working at Saint Mungo's for ten years, but that wasn't all he did. What the hospital didn't know was that he had secret contacts at the British Ministry that also had a working relationship with the American Muggle government. They'd seen Dixon's intelligence, or, as they called it, pure genius, and hired him to work on secret missions for them as well. The missions involved counteracting any nefarious activity that went on - not many people knew that there were dark wizards hidden in the American Congress that could cause a great deal of harm. Three years ago, there had been a scandal where the Imperius Curse had been cast on the President of the United States, causing him to botch up negotiations with other countries. Dixon's job had been to seek out which member of Congress it was that had done such a thing and bring them to justice. Dixon's contacts had guessed that magic was involved in the President's talks with those countries - it was a miracle that it hadn't caused a downright catastrophic disaster.

In America, Muggles were forbidden to know about the wizarding world unless they were directly related to a witch or wizard - the same law that had been passed in Britain. But Dixon had been able to fix the situation without the Muggles being any the wiser. The man that had been President three years ago hadn't been the best at decision-making, so the Congressman wasn't blamed at all. In the eyes of the Muggles, the President was the one who was entirely at fault. And that Congressman, who had landed himself in Muggle prison for crimes related to stealing money, was out of the way anyway. It was just lucky that Dixon had been able to find out about the man's thieving tendencies. It was also lucky that he'd been able to "convince" another Congressman into ratting out his colleague. And oh, it was just such a pity that the guilty man could not have used magic again to get out of trouble - his wand had somehow gone missing. All Dixon's doing, of course. The Muggles would never know that the President bungling those negotiations was due to such a thing as an Unforgivable Curse. The culprit was in prison for something else, so what did it matter?

He was always Apparating between Britain and America, fulfilling his duties. Once again, he was completely honest with his parents about the deeds he performed. They were the only ones who knew about him splitting his time between countries. His father was still exceedingly proud of him, but his mother had many misgivings about his career, especially in America. "Why are you interfering in Muggle affairs?" she'd asked when he'd explained about the bungled negotiations. "Of course, I believe you that you didn't cause anyone any pain. But you manipulated them into doing what you want. You say you never forgot your Muggle heritage and background - but you're playing God, Arnold. I did not raise you that way. You told me about those Memory Charms that are used on people like us. I've always thought that was incredibly wrong. And what you're doing is wrong."

No matter how many times Dixon tried to explain it to her that he was only counteracting harm that had already been done by wizards, she still didn't accept it. That had led to a cooling of their relationship - and Dixon hadn't seen her in a long time.

Was she right? Was he playing God by doing what he was doing? "Would you want that done to me?" He remembered the woman's words and felt a sudden pang of guilt. Maybe she was right and he was doing the wrong thing.

But he wasn't like his former colleagues - he could comfort himself with that knowledge. Healers Pollander and Shaddock had literally tortured Albus Dumbledore in an attempt to change the fabric of his beliefs. They'd gone into that room, day after day, and plumbed the depths of evil to such an extent that it made Dixon feel physically nauseated. He'd known they disliked Dumbledore immensely - but everyone had an opinion and Arnold wouldn't attempt to change theirs, even though he was sure he could, with the skills he had. But he never would have suspected that they had such cruel, insane intentions towards the old man.

"Arnold?"

Dumbledore's voice brought Dixon back to the present. He had wandered outside their cozy retreat and sat in a deck chair beside him, enjoying the warmth of the evening air.

It had been a little over two months since Dixon had rescued him from the Ministry. He still shuddered when he recalled those early days - the damage Shaddock and Pollander had done was so extensive that Dixon had almost lost hope. The damage was intricately woven into Albus's mind, like a spiderweb that was so entwined that it was almost impossible to reverse it. But somehow, Dixon had kept going, kept trying. He was not accustomed to failure. And Merlin, this was Albus Dumbledore. He wasn't usually an emotional person - he was well-known for being distant and aloof - but as he uncoiled each knot from Dumbledore's mind with every shred of power he possessed, it was hard to keep the fury from exploding out of him.

And then, when Dixon had finally brought him out of the coma, he'd still been bedridden for a little over a week. He'd been on a strict regimen of strengthening potions, and when he'd first made it out of bed, he'd been extraordinarily shaky on his feet. Dixon had tried to help as he'd watched the depression set in, the horrific knowledge that he'd lost a year's worth of memories because that was the only way the Healer had been able to fix him.

And even now, he was still weak. He was eating solid foods again and drinking plenty of fluids, but it was easy to see that not all his strength had returned. He'd walked much, much slower when coming out here, for one. Dixon made him exercise every day, which always left him exhausted. Dixon could see the frustration building as each day passed with very little progress. "It will get better," he always reassured, but it was clear that Albus didn't really believe him.

"How are you feeling?" Dixon asked as Albus poured himself a drink from the pitcher of water lying on the table in front of them.

"I have a little more energy tonight." Dumbledore attempted a smile. Dixon suddenly felt a rush of sadness - he could remember Dumbledore's smile from his school days, and it certainly wasn't the one he was giving now. And those blue eyes used to twinkle - now, they just looked haunted.

"That's good to hear." Arnold worked past the sadness. "Are you hungry?"

"Not currently, no." Dumbledore looked out at the night sky. The moon was just beginning to rise and the stars were picturesque with their sheer beauty. Along with the wonder of this place, this was magic all in itself. Dixon knew that it was mostly Muggles who inhabited this area, which reinforced the notion that magic could exist without spells or wands. Muggles created it without knowing they did so.

"What have I told you, Albus? You need to eat. You need to regain your strength." Arnold spoke sternly. "Healer's orders."

He almost laughed at the look of brief annoyance that flickered over Dumbledore's face. He was a man who was so many years older than Dixon, and was convinced he always knew what he was doing. To have Dixon being so bossy was rankling him, even though he was trying his best not to let on that this was happening.

As Dixon had spent that long, arduous month perusing Albus's mind, he'd come to learn a lot about the man. Albus thought he knew what was best for people. He'd been involved in many battles and was well-known for defeating the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, the same year as World War II in the Muggle world had ended. What the Muggles didn't know was that Grindelwald and his supporters had influenced many events during that period. It wasn't a coincidence that shortly after Grindelwald's defeat, the war was over.

Now, Dumbledore's confidence had been thoroughly shaken. To be the one rescued ... to be completely dependent on another person for healing ... it was almost too much for him. There were times when he'd sit out here and stare into space, almost crushed by it all. Dixon thought that it was only the beauty of this place that stopped the old man from doing something drastic.

And lately, he'd been demanding to know what was happening in Britain. He wanted to get back there. Dixon knew all about the Order of the Phoenix. He knew the role the man played in the life of Harry Potter. He knew the entirety of the prophecy and that Harry was being counted upon to defeat Voldemort. Every scrap of knowledge and memory that Albus had - Dixon knew. He knew this man more intimately now than any human being on the planet. He knew his every secret - he'd peeled back the layers of his consciousness to see the deepest, darkest parts of Albus's soul. Dixon thanked Merlin they were here, in this place - after a month of that, he himself needed time to recuperate.

But Dixon had refused to let him see any of it. Albus needed a break from all of it, and it would do him no good to wallow in what he could not change. He hadn't allowed him to send any owls to people in Britain. Albus needed to have all his mental faculties in order before Dixon let him anywhere near the war or the Order or ... Merlin forbid ... Harry.

"I suppose you will go and fetch me something, whether I like it or not," Dumbledore said mildly, still trying for his old, lighthearted attitude.

"And you would be correct. I will return shortly." Dixon got up from the comfortable chair and proceeded to go into the house, where he entered the kitchen and began cooking them a delicious meal of salmon, baked potatoes, and green beans. Well, Dixon would find it delicious. Albus currently had no appetite, but if he was going to get his strength back, he needed to eat. Nutrition potions could only do so much for the human body. He'd had to resort to that during the coma and his first few weeks of recovery, but now, he was able to eat solid foods again.

Upon returning outside with their plates, he sat next to Albus and studied the man closely. They ate in silence for several minutes, and Dixon wasn't at all surprised to see his patient studying him just as closely. Albus had apparently decided that two should play that game, and therefore, two would.

"What are you thinking about, Albus?" Dixon asked quietly, although he had a pretty good idea of what the answer was. He'd taken to having these discussions in the evening while they sat eating dinner. Up in the tree, the gentle sound of a mourning dove's cooing filled the air, adding to the beauty of where they were.

"I am very thankful that you have taken it upon yourself to care for me as you have done," Albus said, the words careful and measured. "I understand that the effort must have been very emotionally taxing, and very difficult."

Dixon didn't doubt that Albus meant every word, but he could sense the layer of manipulation on top of it. The silly old man had the notion that if he talked a good game, Dixon would relent and allow him to start communicating with Britain again. Dixon was not going to fall for any such trap.

"You are very welcome, Albus." Dixon smiled at him, giving no indication that he knew exactly what trick the other man was pulling. "It is my pleasure."

"When will I be strong enough to leave the house?" Dumbledore asked. "You have told me that there are some wonderful things to do around here."

Dixon could give him a positive answer to that. "I think you will be ready to venture out into the town in a week's time, as long as you do nothing too strenuous. It might help your appetite if I take you to one of the restaurants around here. I could give you rave reviews on how excellent the food is."

"I would like that very much." Albus smiled. "Thank you."

"Of course." Dixon took a deep breath and continued. "As you might have guessed, I will have to disguise you. You are very well-known, even in this country. There are very few witches and wizards around here, and the ones that do reside in this area make themselves very scarce. They do magic in their own homes, but are completely acclamated to the Muggle world if they go outside. They are taught to adapt much better than British magicals are. We do not want to run into any situation where someone might recognize you, no matter how slim that chance is."

"I suppose you're worried that Lord Voldemort might come here?" Dumbledore surmised.

"Yes, that is a concern." Dixon nodded. "But I won't lie to you that there isn't another one. I know you are hankering to find out what has been going on in Britain. But it is my duty, as your Healer, to prevent that from occurring. You are to rest and recuperate. I can assure you that the Order of the Phoenix and Hogwarts are in good hands."

Dixon saw the brief flash of anger that passed over Dumbledore's face, but he was calm when he spoke. "Arnold, I have told you how much I appreciate what you have done for me. But there are things I must do, people I must get back to. I have a feeling - call it a hunch - that things are not as they should be at home."

"And you need to stay out of it," Dixon persisted, thinking of Sirius, whose healing sessions were very difficult. He shuddered at the memories of Azkaban that he had seen when gently, with Sirius's permission, he went through his mind. That place was a torture chamber, a true pit of hell. And he knew Healers Pollander and Shaddock were there now, largely due to his testimony at their trial. It was only for people like them that Dixon thought Azkaban a just punishment. They had tortured another human being to the point where he'd been catatonic. But Sirius ... if not for his Animagus form, the damage those Dementors would have done to him would have been catastrophic. It had been bad enough even with Sirius turning into Padfoot. A dog barked in the distance, a rather large one considering the pitch was low. It was a coincidence that he'd been thinking of Sirius at that exact moment.

"Arnold, you have no idea what you are asking of me," Dumbledore said, his voice growing quiet. He looked at Dixon, his gaze intense. He was trying to persuade the Healer to change his mind just by his stare alone.

But Dixon wasn't having it. He knew the man's game, and had learned how to play it himself. And he would win. "No, Albus. You are not to meddle with young Harry Potter. That poor child has been through enough."

"How do you ..." Dumbledore began to ask, but stopped himself. It seemed as though he kept forgetting that due to the fact that Dixon had to peruse his mind intensely in order to heal him, he knew everything about him.

"Yes." Dixon's voice was quiet as well. "I know about the curse scar. I know that you have suppositions on what you think it is. And I know what you think must happen in order for the war to end." He straightened, looking Albus directly in the eye. "You are so sure that the boy must sacrifice himself. You did not think for a moment that there might be another way to purge that piece of soul from inside him."

Dumbledore paled at Dixon's knowledge of what Harry's scar was. "Does ... does Sirius know?" he asked quietly.

"No. Not yet. And be glad he doesn't, Albus. That man would hunt you down in a heartbeat if he knew what your plans were for Harry."

Dumbledore looked incredibly sad, and Dixon knew that the old man did not want this - he was just convinced this was the only way to end the war. "There is no other solution, Arnold," he whispered.

"And that is where you are wrong, Albus," Dixon whispered back. "Ever since I began healing your mind and found out about the curse scar, I have been doing research. I'm ... unfortunately familiar with some extremely dark spells. The things witches and wizards can do to each other's minds ... it's diabolical. Suffice it to say that some of the things I have discovered ... they make Lord Voldemort seem like a petty criminal in comparison."

Dumbledore looked at Dixon in sheer shock. "You should not be researching these things, Arnold. Do you know what too much dark magic does to a person?"

"Do not lecture me, Albus. Do not think that I am not perfectly aware of just how long it took you to defeat Grindelwald. You had a rather ... interesting past yourself."

Dumbledore's eyes suddenly blazed. "How dare you bring that up, Arnold." His voice was suddenly low and dangerous, but Dixon wasn't afraid of him.

"I apologize," said Dixon, though it was clear that the apology was insincere. "You are no longer my Headmaster, Albus. I am your Healer. And it is pure hypocrisy to lecture me on the use of dark magic. Yes, I have researched it extensively. But I have not used it. I am a Healer, Albus. It is my duty to know my enemy so I can heal the worst wounds they can inflict."

Dumbledore sighed. "Very well. But I have researched as well, and have discovered no other way to rid Harry of the Horcrux inside him. What, exactly, have you learned?"

"There are spells, Albus. Spells that were originally designed to rid the mind of a foreign entity. Over the decades, dark witches and wizards have experimented on others. One such case happened here in this country - a witch left an imprint of herself in the mind of a wizard who had dumped her. The end result was that he couldn't go a day without her voice bludgeoning through his mind at the most random times. He had to live that way for years until a wizard came up with a spell that would destroy that connection. It was a long process, but the end result was successful."

"And you think that this same spell would work to get rid of the Horcrux?" Dumbledore asked, something lighting in his eyes. There was no denying what the relief in his eyes meant - he had truly never wanted Harry to give up his life for the cause.

"I am currently consulting with some of the best Mind Healers in this country," Dixon replied. "And yes, Albus, I told them everything. But I have made sure that they won't tell a soul."

"How?" Dumbledore whispered, unable to hide his surprise.

"I made them swear an Unbreakable Vow." Dixon's tone was dead serious. "That certainly gave them incentive not to tell anyone."

Dumbledore simply stared, unable to form a reply for several seconds. "And so ... I gather that this continued research is why you have not informed Sirius or anyone else in the Order of your discovery?" he asked.

"Indeed." Dixon nodded. "I will not give false hope. I sincerely doubt that Harry even knows he has that ... disgusting, foul thing inside of him." For a second, pure rage flashed through Dixon's eyes. "Horcruxes are ... they're pure evil," he whispered. "The other ones need to be found and destroyed. If what you suspect is true, we have more to locate."

"How are you going to tell the Order about this without patient confidentiality getting in the way?" Dumbledore asked. "You discovered all of this information from looking into my mind."

"This is an extremely serious situation, Albus. As much as I despise going against the code of ethics, this cannot be ignored. The Order will know everything as soon as I have a better idea whether this spell will work."

Dumbledore simply nodded. "And this is why I need to go back to Britain," he said softly.

"No. This is why you don't need to go back to Britain," Dixon disagreed promptly. "Albus, there is something else I must tell you, something that I think you have been too blind to see. It also concerns young Harry Potter."

Dumbledore's face instantly filled with concern. Dixon looked sadly at him, knowing that in his own way, he cared about the boy.

"I know that you believe that his Muggle family, the Dursleys, will keep him the safest." Dixon sighed. "And it is true that blood magic produces extremely intense wards. They will not let anyone with evil intentions from slipping through them." He looked Dumbledore directly in the eye. "But those wards do not protect him from the people he lives with."

Dumbledore immediately shook his head in denial. "You are exaggerating, Arnold." His voice was low. "I knew he would not be happy there. I knew I was subjecting him to many difficult years. I knew that his aunt and uncle might treat him harshly. But if you're implying what I think you are ... it simply isn't true. I am sure that at least his Aunt Petunia would have learned to love him by now, and put away her resentment."

Quietly, Dixon explained what had happened at Sirius's trial. "I have studied people for long enough that I knew exactly what was going on. That child's facial expression told me everything I needed to know. That child was not just treated harshly - he was treated abominably. And he will not go back there at any time."

"But they are his guardians, Arnold. They have custody of him." Albus shook his head again. "I think that sometimes, you read too much into things. Harry has shown that he is strong and capable of rising above anything that his relatives do. Look," he said, and the pain in his eyes was apparent. "I would give anything for this not to be the case. If it were purely up to me, he would stay with Sirius. It's what they both want." He sighed deeply, and Dixon could see his heart in his eyes. "But even the strongest wards do not rival blood protection. I understand how you feel, Arnold, but I do not think it is as bad as you say it is. I care for Harry deeply - you must be able to see that. But he needs to survive this war."

"So he can save the day again." Dixon couldn't help the anger he felt at the old man. "And this is precisely the reason I am keeping you out of Britain."

"You cannot keep me away forever." Dumbledore's eyes had gone hard. "Once I have fully recovered, you will no longer be able to tell me that I cannot return and do what must be done."

Dixon nodded. "That's true. That boy has been through so much - all I ask is that you give him more time before you come barging into his life again. And I can assure you - it won't be smooth sailing."

"What do you mean? What aren't you telling me?" Dumbledore asked.

"What you don't know is that Harry has many people in his corner now that will protect him at all costs," Dixon replied. "Sirius tells me that Minerva has done a stellar job conducting the Order meetings. And there are many who would go to the ends of the Earth for that boy. They'd protect him from anything." His eyes blazed. "Even from you," he whispered. "If you try to interfere in that child's life, you will have a serious fight on your hands. And you will lose."

Arnold Dixon had never been more positive of anything as he held Dumbledore's gaze. And he knew that if it came down to it, he would join them.

He had healed Albus. He had taken care of him. He'd seen him struggle with depression and anger throughout his recovery. He cared very much for him - he was a Healer and he cared for all his patients.

But he could not support his decision regarding Harry. Right now, Albus didn't even know that the boy wasn't at Hogwarts and was still at Grimmauld Place. He didn't know about what had gone on with the school governors refusing to let him attend due to the danger he posed. These were things Albus didn't need to know right now - it would give him even more incentive to interfere.

And so, Dixon made a vow that he would protect Harry. And he would get that damned, slimy Horcrux out of him if it was the last thing he did. And then, he'd help to hunt down the others so that that bastard could be destroyed.

As he sat on the deck chair and sipped his drink, listening to the sounds of birds and feeling the warm breeze on his face, he knew he would keep his promise.