Everything is J.K. Rowling's. I only claim the plot. Everything else, including the characters and the magic, is hers. Please let me know what you think. I encourage feedback of all kinds; just be nice about it!
So, this is a long chapter. It was going to be longer, actually, before I decided to split this Hogwarts adventure into two pieces. I had written the majority of this chapter months ago and had struggled with the Dumbledore part, but it was the DA part that really struggled. So, I decided to split it in half, give you what I had written, and work on the DA visit later.
So the next chapter will be Harry and the DA reuniting and catching up and maybe some torture sessions. I don't like splitting up chapters regarding the same night into pieces, especially because I don't know when the next one will be ready, and it's strange to have a night that would be three hours stretch so long, but I wanted to give you guys something.
I know it's been a few months, but I appreciate all of you so much and that you're all sticking with me. It means so much, you won't even believe it.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter!
Agree to Disagree
Hogwarts loomed in the light of the setting sun, tall and majestic. It was just as magnificent, just as awe-inspiring, just as nostalgia-inducing, just as comforting as it always had, maybe even more so now since it had been months since Harry had seen it last, longer in Marvolo's case. It was home to both of them, their first true home. Marvolo stood still and silent next to him, and Harry knew that he must be reliving all of the poignant memories that the castle's silhouette had brought forth, just as he was. Harry had avoided looking at the castle each time he came to Hogsmeade and when he saw the thestrals two days ago, knowing it would awaken a deep yearning in his chest, but now it couldn't be avoided. Now, he would be able to answer that longing and enter the school again.
"You shall do fine," Marvolo said, his voice quiet in the early evening silence. Harry nodded. His heart raced in anticipation of what was to come, becoming more unbearable the longer they stood and stared. Marvolo's fingers wrapped around his wrist were the only thing to ground him against his racing nerves.
Ever since Harry had awoken from his meeting with Death, wrapped in blankets, cocooned on his bed, with Marvolo's steady and constant presence nearby, he'd noticed a new habit Marvolo developed: holding his wrist. Whenever Harry was silent for longer than a few breaths in a conversation or remained still for a few too many minutes, Marvolo's pale, slender fingers became a bracelet. It took Harry a full day to realize that Marvolo wasn't just holding his wrist out of an attempt to demonstrate sentimentality or affection – a realization that had crushed Harry's hopeful heart – but that Marvolo was checking his pulse. The touch only lasted a few seconds, never longer than a minute. As the days continued and Harry grew strong enough to leave his bed and room, and then the manor, Marvolo subjected Harry to the same treatment – frantic hovering, red eyes analyzing Harry's every feature, and fingertips pressed to the inside of his wrist – whenever they were apart, even if he had only been in another room for a few minutes. The obsessive nature of Marvolo's actions didn't really cement in his mind properly until he returned from visiting the thestrals. Marvolo had hovered like a shadow the rest of the night, even following him to his bedroom, where he watched Harry settle Luna on a transfigured cushion bed near the fireplace and checked his pulse for an entire minute and a half.
Marvolo never mentioned the actions. Harry wasn't fully positive that Marvolo even realized he'd taken up the habit of checking Harry's pulse. It always seemed to be done absentmindedly. And selfishly, Harry enjoyed Marvolo's absentminded fretting over him, and he enjoyed the feel of Marvolo's icy fingers reaching out, not quite holding hands but as close as they would ever come. Harry couldn't bring himself to bring attention to the action and possibly lose the touch completely.
But Harry worried. He knew that Marvolo seeing him after meeting Death would be detrimental. Marvolo already had cause to hate and fear Death. Seeing Death's Child in such a bad state probably hadn't helped the fear, and Harry worried at the quick talking he'd need to do when Marvolo faltered in the quest to reunite his remaining Horcruxes. It would be brought up, Harry knew it would — he was surprised it hadn't been already in their plots to infiltrate Hogwarts and reclaim the Diadem — and so he was mentally preparing his arguments for when Marvolo finally used it as evidence against the cause.
Embarrassingly, Harry had lost himself to fantasies almost every night since the habit developed. Dreams of Marvolo's chilled fingertips moving from his wrist to trailing his arms and chest, encircling his neck, tracing his inner thighs, and…Harry cleared his throat, forcing his thoughts to the present. Needless to say, his nights had become hauntingly torturous in the best of ways.
"I still say you're better suited to this. You can talk circles around anybody, whereas I've proven my skill at breaking the rules," Harry commented softly, his eyes trained on the castle. "Shouldn't we stick with what we're best at?"
Marvolo just hummed in reply, his fingertips dropping from their place at Harry's wrist, leaving an icy brand against his skin. Harry wondered if Marvolo ever questioned the spiked heart rate that resulted whenever he checked his pulse. Did he simply assume it was the result of being a Necromancer?
"It seems we shall have to, what's the saying… 'swap hats' – for the night then. You have also proven quite proficient at talking circles around the idiots at the Wizengamot, and I'm hardly a stranger to illegalities. Our comfort zones have already been broadened." Harry pursed his lips but didn't argue. They'd had this same conversation before, multiple times. "Let us go."
Marvolo stepped behind Harry and flung the Invisibility Cloak over them both. Harry could feel Marvolo's chilled, icy temperature –rivaling the winter snow around them – despite the many layers between them, but Marvolo's breath was hot against Harry's ear and neck. Harry swallowed hard, trying not to breathe in the smell of Marvolo's parchment and spice scent too deeply or too obviously, and took the first step over the Hogwarts property line.
This whole night was a risk but a necessary one. The Cloak and the ward were the first steps in manipulating the circumstances of the risks in their favor.
Using the Cloak to hide them both was the first step in the infiltration and diffusion of risk. Either the Cloak worked and kept them both hidden from the detection ward, resulting in Dumbledore's surprise at seeing Harry and doubt of his own ward's ability, possibly urging more paranoia on Dumbledore's side. Or, the Cloak didn't shield them, and Dumbledore knew they crossed and would be confronted with just Harry, the conclusion being that Harry was doubly powerful if the ward detected both their signatures simultaneously.
Harry had tried to argue against Marvolo's attendance at all, but Marvolo wouldn't hear of it. One of Marvolo's Horcruxes was still inside the castle, and Marvolo didn't trust anyone but himself or Harry to retrieve it – and Harry had other items on his list to accomplish. He couldn't guarantee the chance or time to slip away to scour the Room of Requirement, not since he already planned to be in the Room of Requirement to meet with the DA and wouldn't be able to do both, the DA would have too many witnesses even if they'd all sworn loyalty to Harry. It was a risk Marvolo refused to accept, and Harry couldn't disagree; it was Marvolo's soul piece, after all.
Crossing the boundary didn't unleash any warning bells or whistles, so Harry wasn't even sure if the wards had been alerted, but he continued the trek from the gates to the front doors. Marvolo erased their invisibly made footprints out of the snow every few steps.
The distance to the front doors was over much faster than Harry remembered it ever being in previous years. But it was for the best. He didn't want Dumbledore to have too much time to prepare if he had been alerted. The front doors swung open with a simple push, and Harry walked inside the castle, letting the warmth and magic embrace him. Blinking his eyes against the sudden rush of tears that stung his eyes at the feeling of being home after so long, after so much had happened, Harry shoved his fisted hands into the pockets of his leather jacket.
"In and out, remember, don't take forever."
"Careful with your orders, little lion." Marvolo lifted the Cloak off Harry, leaving him seemingly alone in the Entrance Hall.
"Marvolo," Harry said tensely.
"Do not fret. All shall be well. We shall be several steps closer to our victory tonight when we reconvene in the library." Marvolo's disembodied voice came somewhere to the left of him.
"Good luck," Harry whispered as he walked towards the Great Hall doors.
He didn't hear more from Marvolo, but it didn't matter. Harry stood before the closed Great Hall doors and could hear the sounds of conversation filtering through the solid doors. He ran a hand through his hair and readjusted his leather jacket. He'd gone the muggle route tonight to emphasize the impression he wanted to make: jeans, boots, and a dark green shirt under the leather jacket he'd gotten all those months ago in memory of Sirius. Harry glanced at his watch, prime dinnertime. Perfect. He needed to make an entrance. He needed as much attention on him as he could get. He needed witnesses.
Nerves writhed like snakes and worms in his stomach, but he pushed them down. He didn't think he'd ever been so nervous before. It probably had more to do with the fact that he knew this audience. His friends would be watching, his old professors, people who'd known him for five years as a student and fellow classmate, instead of just the Wizengamot and Ministry personnel who were only really being introduced to the new, politically active, and powerful Harry. Closing his eyes, he centered himself and flared his magic to push the doors open. Noise rushed over him as he stepped into the Great Hall.
There was a second of precious anonymity. A half breath of time before anyone realized his entrance. A single moment in which Harry could soak in the sight of the Great Hall, the magical ceiling, and the floating candles, uninhibited. The sight settled his nerves. He tilted his head and brought forth a cheeky, lopsided grin as people noticed his presence, and shocked silence began falling on the Great Hall. It wasn't a proper silence. The gasps and whispers punctured the silence too much to be truly quiet, but it didn't matter. No turning back now.
Dumbledore, dressed in eye-sore, vibrant orange robes, stood abruptly, his grand chair at the Head Table scraping against the floor. Harry savored the shock on everyone's faces. No one seemed to know how to react. Snape even looked astonished. None of the Professors aimed their wands at him, but they all reached for them. In his periphery, he sought out his friends and their stunned faces.
"Hey," he said easily. His voice magically amplified only a few decibels, not to be obvious yet to allow him to be easily heard by all. He took a few casually slow steps further into the room; his fists clenched and shaky in the pockets of his leather jacket.
"Harry, what are you doing here? This is no place for you and your Dark Magic."
Harry rolled his eyes at the Headmaster. "It's your own fault, Albus," he replied, working to sound unbothered and bored, to keep his shoulders loose and rolled back. "You wouldn't answer any of my letters."
"They were drenched in Dark Magic. I couldn't risk touching them."
Harry shrugged, rocking on his heels a bit as he looked around the Great Hall again, admiring the ceiling to appear even more disinterested. "Can't be helped sometimes. A side effect of the whole Inheritance thing, I suppose."
Actually, it had taken a lot of work and effort to make sure the five letters he sent in the past two weeks were drenched so thoroughly in his magic. Harry sighed and looked back at Dumbledore, who stood tall behind the Head Table, his wand held in his hand, but Harry refused to look at the wand. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to keep his temper if he did if he allowed himself to look at Dumbledore holding his property so blatantly. He wanted to summon it back, but he couldn't risk something going wrong, couldn't risk failing publicly in the Great Hall. His pride couldn't handle it.
Not when he was already going to take a similar risk in public soon.
"So, there I was," Harry continued, "attempting to follow the proper protocol of making contact to hold a conversation that is quite frankly far overdue. But then I thought, well, if the old man can't be bothered with the common decency to at least send a response, then I shouldn't be held to the same standards of etiquette either. And well, I'd hardly be one to pass up on a visit to Hogwarts." Harry pointedly looked around the Great Hall again, grinning as he did.
Casually, he walked up to the end of the Ravenclaw table. He didn't recognize the students nearest him, staring at him wide-eyed and uncertain. Harry didn't pay them any mind. Instead, he flicked his wrist, his three Lordship rings glittering in the light of the floating candles, wordlessly summoning an empty goblet and showcasing his lack of a wand. He caught the goblet easily – he hadn't played Seeker in a year, but some skills just didn't fade – from where it came soaring from the Hufflepuff table and then leaned forward to grab a pitcher just a few feet in front of him.
"There is nothing that we need to discuss. I do not negotiate with the Dark," Dumbledore said, his voice both stern and magisterial.
Harry poured pumpkin juice into his goblet, filling it halfway – the drink was more of a statement of how relaxed Harry was than actually needing a drink anyway, though his racing heart was making this throat dryer than he'd like – before putting the pitcher down and stepping away from the table. "Agree to disagree. I have quite a few points of interest that need to be addressed. Look, I even wrote them all down." Harry flashed a boyish grin before pulling out a small scrap of parchment and waving it about.
"This is a place of learning, not a battlefield," Dumbledore said solemnly. Everyone else in the hall seemed content to play witness to the exchange, which was what Harry had been counting on. He had things he wanted to say to Dumbledore for the benefit of the public, and if there were no unnecessary interruptions, this pageant would go smoothly.
"Who said anything about battles? I certainly have no intention of starting a fight." Harry sipped the pumpkin juice and made a pleasant hum at the taste. He hadn't had pumpkin juice in months – it fell into the too-sweet category for Marvolo, so his elves didn't serve it – but Hogwarts did it better than anyone. "But well, you seem to enjoy making a circus of the Wizengamot, so I thought I'd try my hand at it. How am I doing?" Harry asked with a crooked grin. He glanced at the students, focusing more on the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students than the Gryffindor and Slytherins to help him keep his composure. "Anyway, as fun as this is, we need to talk, and I came all this way.
"What is there to discuss outside of your blatant fraternization with Lord Voldemort?"
Harry blinked slowly and frowned, taking another sip before asking, "What blatant fraternization?"
"Not only did you allow him to accompany you to a Ministry-sponsored meeting, but you also brought him with you to Potter Manor."
Harry stared at Dumbledore with a tilted head, allowing the silence to stretch. The students closest to him shifted uncomfortably. "As I told the Wizengamot, my dear friend, Marvolo Tomás, accompanied me to the meeting, not Voldemort. He again accompanied me to Potter Manor just the other week when I met with goblins and cursebreakers regarding the building of my school." Harry pursed his lips before talking slowly as if trying to understand what was being said properly, but also as a way to make sure no one misunderstood his words. He had to play this right in order for it to work, but it was something he and Marvolo had expected and planned for. "So you mean to say that you think I brought Lord Voldemort with me to Potter Manor, my ancestral home destroyed by Death Eaters not even twenty years ago? You think I brought him with me to what pitch ideas on primary school construction?" Harry shook his head as though disappointed. "That's a stretch even for you, Albus."
Whispers alighted down the tables of the Great Hall, giggles and chatter between friends as they all passed along the seemingly ludicrous suggestion. Harry watched Dumbledore with over the rim of his goblet as he took another sip. Dumbledore glared down at him, and Harry fought down the smirk that tickled the edge of his lips.
"Now, if you're done spouting nonsense theories. I recommend reconvening in your office to discuss the actual issues I came here to discuss."
"Nothing you could say to me cannot be heard by all. I do not hide behind secrecy."
Harry snorted, pleased that so far, Dumbledore was behaving just as Harry and Marvolo predicted. Moving away from the head of the Ravenclaw table and towards the aisle between the badgers and eagles. "That's a blatant lie right there. But fine. If you want a public forum, I'll concede. First off, I come to you on behalf of my Thestral subjects. Your enslavement of them will cease. They will receive compensation if you wish to retain them as employees." Harry turned to the young Hufflepuff seated closest to him and offered her his most charming smile. "Would you mind passing me one of those biscuits? It seems the Headmaster has no intention of providing the famed Hogwarts Hospitality, and I haven't had dinner yet." The young girl, probably no more than a Third Year, flushed red before rushing to comply, fumbling the chocolate biscuit in her haste. Harry winked as he accepted it, and the young girl turned redder still.
"The thestrals are not enslaved," Dumbledore insisted, looking slightly confused. Harry wondered what Dumbledore had expected him to say. They were in public, after all.
"Are they not? You expect them to work for you, don't you? They pull the carriages for all Hogsmeade visits, back and forth during breaks, and then at the start and end of term. Transportation is a service you entrust upon them, work you force them to complete. It's not like the mutually beneficial arrangement wizards and house elves have. The thestrals don't benefit from assisting the school. When I spoke to them, the thestrals told me that they'd never received anything in return for their services. Expecting work without payment is slavery in its basest form." Harry took a bite of the biscuit and let the shocked and horrified whispers rush through the Great Hall.
Dumbledore shifted uneasily, and some of the professors looked gravely concerned. Harry took note of a few of them. Professor McGonagall hadn't taken her eyes off him. He was still too far away to read her properly, but from what he could see, she looked anxious, maybe even sad and longing. He wondered if it was because she was still viewing him as a former student who had just returned or because she bought Dumbledore's lies and mourned the innocent he'd been. Professor Flitwick and Sprout seemed to be in similar states as Professor McGonagall. Snape had composed himself once again and sat stiffly in his seat, his dark eyes darting between Dumbledore and Harry and then around the Great Hall as if trying to determine if Marvolo was around.
"They never made mention of desiring compensation," Dumbledore finally said, looking out at the crowd of students as if trying to make them understand that he and Hogwarts weren't at fault. "A thestral can hardly be expected to use or spend coins. This misunderstanding would be easily rectified if they had made their wish known."
"Victim blaming much? How were they expected to communicate their desires when their Lord wasn't present?" Harry asked condescendingly, taking another bite of his biscuit. He chewed and swallowed before continuing. "Besides, not all payment is money. That's why I'm here: to negotiate on their behalf and ensure they receive what they demand. Oh, and Hagrid," Harry said, turning to face the half-giant who sat at the end of the Staff Table, "I'd like to convey the herd's heartfelt appreciation of your efforts. They had nothing but good words for your kindness." Harry gave a shallow bow and smiled as Hagrid went a ruddy red, and he fidgeted under the praise. Glancing uncertainly between Dumbledore and Harry as if he wasn't sure how he was supposed to act, caught between the two of them. "However, if they remain employed by Hogwarts, they wish to put in a request for more dragon flanks if you could. Welsh Green, specifically. It's their favorite."
Harry took another bite of his biscuit, holding the goblet of pumpkin juice with his ringed hand, enjoying the student's murmured amusement. He looked back at Dumbledore, who spoke quickly, drawing attention back to him and away from Hagrid. "Of course, Hogwarts has no intention of enslaving anyone, and this issue is easily rectified. We shall meet at a later date to discuss the particulars. Now, I think it would be best if you left now, Harry."
"No," he said simply, sipping his pumpkin juice. He saw Dumbledore's face grow tight and his eyes harden further. "I told you there were a few issues we had to discuss, and I'm not leaving until I have addressed them all. We haven't even dealt with the thestral issue yet."
Dumbledore looked bitter but finally said through gritted teeth, leaning forward and resting his fists against the Head Table. "How do the thestrals wish to be paid?"
"Recognition," Harry said with a pleasant smile. "They do all the work pulling the carriages, and most students don't even know it." Harry looked out at the mass of students. Finally, he allowed his gaze to briefly sweep across his friends and allies, who all stared at him in shock and astonishment. "Don't get me wrong, it's a blessing the majority can't see them, but still, it should be known, recognized, and properly appreciated that it is the thestrals doing the carriage pulling, not some spell. If they don't start receiving this appreciation by the end of the year, the few who remain here will no longer be under Hogwarts employ."
"Few who remain?" Hagrid suddenly asked, his face twisted with concern. Harry felt his own heart twist. He missed Hagrid more than he realized. Blatant, genuine concern and kindness felt so rare now that he had dived headfirst into politics and war preparation.
Harry nodded. "During my visit, the herd decided to split up. Something about having more space for populating…I didn't get into the particulars. But they decided it far more favorable for them and their continued health and growth to remain closer to me. They thrive on Dark Magic and well," Harry shrugged and gave a self-deprecating smile, gesturing to himself with the half-eaten biscuit in his hand, "so I'd say about two-thirds of the original herd broke away and are now spread across my various properties. Anyway, the few who remained were the healthiest and strongest, and while they do enjoy interacting with the 'teaching foals,' as they call the students, they do feel they deserve the appropriate payment."
"Recognition is all they want?" Dumbledore asked in disbelief.
"I tried to talk them up, get them to ask for more, but they were adamant. They are content with what they have. They just want the appreciation of their hard work."
Dumbledore was quiet again and looked uncertain of how to proceed, probably trying to think of how giving thestrals praise for pulling carriages could be twisted and manipulated by Harry or for the betterment of the Dark.
"This can be easily done, Har—Lord Potter-Black-Peverell," Professor McGonagall finally said, standing up from her seat. Harry swallowed at the title. It didn't feel right coming from Professor McGonagall, but he wouldn't call attention to it now, so he just nodded graciously.
"You have spoken your piece. Leave now." Dumbledore stood straight and ran a hand down his beard.
Harry rolled his eyes and took the last bite of his biscuit, brushing the crumbs off his fingers onto his jeans. "What part of 'I have a whole list of things to talk about' do you not understand? We only covered topic one. Again, I think it best if we retire somewhere private before continuing."
"You think me so foolish?" Dumbledore asked with a disappointed frown. "No, state your next concerns quickly and be gone. Hogwarts shall no more need to suffer your Dark taint upon its hallowed halls."
Harry heaved a great sigh, put upon and weary, before shrugging as though to say, 'you asked for it,' squared his feet and faced the Head Table with his shoulders back, goblet of pumpkin juice still in his hand. "Very well. I, Harry James Potter, Death's Child, order you, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, to answer for your crimes in Death Magic."
Harry relished in the old man's blatant shock and surprise; he couldn't wait for Marvolo to peel the memory from Snape's mind and witness it himself. Dumbledore stormed around the Head Table, his vibrant robes whipping about him in his haste to stand at the top of the stairs leading to the small dias that held the professors. Dumbledore stood fuming in front of the pedestal he normally used to make announcements, so he was no longer blocked by anything, wand at the ready. "I will not stand for these baseless accusations. I have done nothing of the sort!" Dumbledore said, enraged, his voice thundering. He probably would have intimidated Harry if he used it last year.
Instead, Harry chuckled darkly in the silence that followed the Headmaster's angered denial. "You've been meddling, Albus, and it's time you answered for it." Harry strolled down the aisle between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw Houses. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice? I'm a Necromancer. Death Magic and the practice of it calls to me. I'll admit I couldn't quite identify it at first, but I'll blame the many members of the Wizengamot for providing you with a barrier. However, you didn't think that a simple glamour would be enough to conceal it, did you?"
Dumbledore made an aborted motion to grasp his glamoured hand but stopped himself before he actually did. The movement was enough for those with sharp eyes, though, and there were many in this crowd of witnesses. Harry grinned sharply before drawing his wand. "Finite!" Harry released his magic in a tunneled stream as the spell shot down the aisle in tandem. He couldn't release his magic fully and alert the students around him, giving them potential cause for saying he hexed Dumbledore's hand. So, as the spell landed, his focused magic did as well, calling forth the lingering Horcrux magic that remained embedded in the cursed hand. It wasn't much; it was barely there. The merest whisper of the Horcrux, the brief moment of contact that Dumbledore had with the Horcrux, was enough to leave the faintest imprint of magic, and Harry coaxed it forward. Fighting the glamor from both sides.
It took only a few seconds that stretched far too long for Harry's comfort for the glamor to shatter and Dumbledore's shriveled, dead hand to become visible. Still, Harry was winded after the concentrated burst of his magic. He quickly pulled his magic back to him before his grasp became too loose. Most attention was focused on the Headmaster as he shook his robe sleeves out to cover the dead hand, and Harry allowed himself a few seconds to catch his breath, gripping his goblet a little tighter to hide the tremors of exhaustion.
"Silence!" Dumbledore roared. Silence fell, but it was fraught with tension and unease. Harry took another drink of his juice to hide his enjoyment of it all. "Harry, perhaps we should take this conversation to my office."
Harry smiled, letting it curl slowly and sweetly across his face. He tilted his head just enough to convey his blatant smugness. "Well, if you insist, Albus."
Dumbledore glared at Harry, no longer bothering to hide his hatred as he strode purposefully down the aisle between the Gryffindors and the Ravenclaws.
Harry watched the Headmaster storm up the Hall as he took another large drink, not bothering to hide his amusement. He waited until Dumbledore reached him halfway down the hall before speaking again, looking down at the last remaining dregs of pumpkin juice in his cup. "I could save you, you know."
The volume in the Great Hall had started to rise due to the whispers jumping between students, but it all fell quiet again. Dumbledore stopped midstride and turned to face Harry. This close, only separated by the Ravenclaw table, Harry could see the confusion in the Headmaster's eyes as his face smoothed into a calm facade. The students stuck directly between them shifted in their seats, scooting closer to their friends as if to escape the crossfire.
"I could call the Death Magic suffocating your hand back to me. I could heal you."
"If you had the ability, you would have done so by now," Dumbledore said sagely. Glancing out among the students, shaking his head sadly. "False promises are the simplest trick of Dark Magics lure."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Well, I'd hardly do it for free."
Dumbledore tsked loudly. "And that is how I know you are too far gone. You have sunk so low into the thrall of Dark Magic. Any good man, any man of the Light, would have done whatever necessary to save a life, with no regard for payment."
"No one does anything for free. There is always a cost. But this cost is relatively simple. I can save you; all you have to do is ask."
"I would never lower myself to asking someone to perform Dark Magic on me. The –"
"But you'll do it yourself," Harry countered before Dumbledore could continue talking. Obviously annoyed but trying to appear sadly disappointed, Dumbledore turned his back on Harry and began walking again towards the doors. "It's what you've done already. You messed about with Death Magic, meddled with things you know nothing about, and then practiced Dark Magic to conceal the consequences."
Dumbledore turned again to face him; his garish orange robes resembled a flame under the floating candlelight. "I have never–"
"I mean, that's what a Glamour Charm is, right? In its basic form, it's a Dark spell. Admittedly, it is more Dark Grey, a milder version of Illusionary Magic, which is a Dark branch of Mind Magic."
"You focus so strictly on the technicalities; magic is about intent."
"And yet you still refuse the intention of healing, of offered help."
"Nothing you offer is based on good intentions," Dumbledore said gravely and continued walking.
Harry started walking as well, but he made sure his pace was even and steady to indicate that he remained unperturbed and was in control because he wasn't fleeing the scene. "Your hypocrisy is growing more blatant with age, old man."
Dumbledore passed through the doors and didn't turn around. Harry didn't mind. He'd done what he needed to do. He put his now empty goblet on the Ravenclaw table's edge as he passed before strolling out himself, hands shoved back into his pockets. He didn't bother shutting the doors behind him, and he savored the chaotic shouts and chatter that followed him as he followed the Headmaster.
Harry allowed himself to savor the effects of a job well done.
He reviewed the events in his head as they walked in silence. He'd managed to hit every necessary point before Dumbledore made the conversation private. Of course, he'd had a few more to drag up, a few more digs and insults he'd thought up, but those could be done at another time when they had another set of witnesses, a new audience. He'd never actually believed that Dumbledore would accept his offer of help, and that's precisely why he offered it. It presented him in the best light. It was no secret that he and Dumbledore were enemies, but for him to still offer help to someone he was so obviously against shined more golden light on him and showed Dumbledore as the hypocrite he was.
They reached the gargoyle statue, and Harry rolled his eyes at Dumbledore for whispering the password. Really, what was the secrecy for? The bastard could just change it immediately after Harry left. Just before he stepped onto the stairs, Harry felt a light pressure on the small of his back. He glanced over his shoulder but saw nothing.
The tension in Harry's shoulders eased at the knowledge that Marvolo would be joining him in Dumbledore's office. He'd be invisible, but it still comforted him. It also checked off another successful aspect of their multi-layered plan. It meant Marvolo had retrieved his Horcrux. Harry stepped onto the stairs, and the pressure at his back never ceased, so he knew Marvolo remained behind him.
Harry pulled out the small rock in his pocket and brought it behind his back, showing Marvolo the small stone in his palm. Marvolo's invisible fingers, covered with the silky fabric of the Cloak, brushed his hand, resting momentarily at his wrist before the stone and the pressure were gone.
Originally, Harry thought he'd have to simultaneously suffer an aimless palaver with the Headmaster and hunt for Death's Stone. With Marvolo's help, he'd only need to do one– the more annoying one, but needs must. Recreating a pretend Resurrection Stone had been easier than he thought it would be. All he had to do was find a small pebble, transfigure it into a replica of what the stone looked like in the journals, and coat it with Dark Magic, much like he'd done with the letters he sent. It would pass a cursory inspection, and Dumbledore wouldn't truly know it had been swapped until he tried to use it, if he ever did. And if he did, then he'd know and have no one to tell.
It annoyed Harry that he was doing such an elaborate swap for his own items. All he should need to do was demand that Dumbledore return his Holly wand and Death's Stone and Wand. Better yet, it would be easier just to kill the man and take his possessions back, skipping the unnecessary talking step. It would save so much hassle. But as much as it would make things easier at the moment, the fallout would be detrimental and still had the potential of making Dumbledore a martyr. As Marvolo said, his reputation was fracturing but still intact enough that it could be glued together with his death. Plus, swapping the items still kept Dumbledore in the Dark, giving them more cards stacked in their favor, and while Harry was confident in their success, it never hurt to be overly prepared.
Still, Harry regretted not making a fuss about his wand when he first found out Dumbledore had it—cursed his past self for not taking action at the start. Sure, he had the replacement one Marvolo gave, but it wasn't the same. He could only blame himself for not speaking up sooner because he had chances. He had literally sat down with Amelia and Rita Skeeter and should have said something then, but he hadn't. He'd been too focused on not releasing the build-up of magic and making sure the story of his kidnapping and torture became known that he hadn't thought of his wand because he'd had a replacement. The necessity to have his own wand back had seemed lesser than everything else. It would only be bad for him if he made a fuss now. First, no one would believe he hadn't accused Dumbledore when it first happened. Second, everyone had seen him using a wand, so questions of where he got the new one would arise that he didn't want to answer because he still didn't know who the original owner was and was a little nervous that it would be checked if people started asking questions.
Harry entered the Headmaster's Office, Marvolo an invisible shadow behind him, and looked around as the door shut. The office looked exactly the same as the last time he'd been here when he'd destroyed it after Sirius died. The small noises from the multiple instruments created a juxtaposing background noise, sounds that were too cheerful and tinkling for the tense atmosphere. The numerous windows showed the sunset, lighting up the Hogwarts grounds beautifully. The pressure at the small of his back disappeared, and Harry took that as the signal that Marvolo was now wandering around the office.
The portraits covering the walls were all awake and staring at Harry. He ignored them all, though he couldn't help but glance around for Phineas Nigellis Black. But his portrait was the only one empty… actually, it wasn't just empty; the space it once occupied was blank. The portrait had been removed. Harry thought back to his visits to Grimmauld Place and couldn't remember seeing the grouchy man there either. He hadn't thought much of it then, but now he knew he needed to look into it.
Swallowing, Harry rolled his shoulders and sat in front of the large claw-footed desk covered with parchment and books. Now came the hard part, the part he was least looking forward to out of this whole plan. He had to sit across from Dumbledore and banter words, accusations, and insults without actually saying anything detrimental or threatening that could be used against him if Dumbledore shared the memory with anyone. All while Marvolo hunted for his lost items, which meant Harry couldn't let this private session end until Marvolo was successful in his part of the plan.
Reclining in the chair, Harry offered Dumbledore a close-lipped smile and gestured for him to take a seat in the chair behind the desk as though this were Harry's office, and Dumbledore was there at Harry's request. Dumbledore stood standing instead, a counter-power move that Harry couldn't protest right now. So he remained silent, took deliberately calm breaths, and watched Dumbledore stand tall beside the desk, most likely trying to appear imposing and using the height difference to his advantage. But Harry wasn't bothered; Marvolo was in the room, and if Harry couldn't defend himself against a surprise attack, then Marvolo would cover him.
For almost two minutes, Dumbledore and Harry simply stared at each other. Harry didn't worry about meeting the man's eyes because he knew his mind was protected. So he simply stared back at the man he'd once admired and respected, the man he'd once loved as a beloved grandfather, the man he'd once trusted sometimes more than he trusted himself.
"It saddens me greatly to see you like this, Harry," Dumbledore finally said, sliding into his chair behind the desk, a physical barrier between them. So that was how he was going to play it, Harry thought. Play the disappointed card and maybe try to sway him back. It was a tactless and ridiculous trick, but it bought Harry and Marvolo time, so he didn't shut it down.
"Really? Why is that? Is this not the future you envisioned for me?"
"Whatever do you mean?" Dumbledore asked in surprise. "I would never wish Darkness upon anyone."
"No? Then why were you so quick to condemn me? Obviously, you expected this outcome if you were so quick to kidnap, torture, and bind me only this past summer."
Silence fell once again, and Harry refused to let his agitation show. Instead, he clasped his hands together on his lap with his legs stretched out before him and leaning back as comfortably as he could in the pretentious, stiff chair. Had it always been so stiff? He didn't remember it being so uncomfortable all the other times he visited this office.
Not for the first time, Harry wished they could just imperio Dumbledore into handing over Harry's things. But they couldn't. Marvolo had explained it countless times because Harry had suggested it countless more throughout the planning period.
"Dumbledore's mental defenses are near impenetrable," Marvolo explained, sounding patient, though Harry could tell he was annoyed at the repetitive explanation. "A mental attack of the strength that we would need to break them would be identified immediately, and our cover would be blown. And Dumbledore's guard will be at full strength when you are together."
Harry huffed as he slouched in his chair. A blanket of the softest wool lay on his lap while Luna lay curled up at his feet, snuggled between Nagini and Raaja before the crackling fire. "Well, how do we know if the potion Snape and the twins are using will work then? That's a mental thing, too."
Marvolo sighed and sipped his after-dinner tea. "As I've said, potions and spells are not the same. "A potion is different and stronger than a spell because it is ingested, allowing the effects to directly infiltrate the bloodstream, body, or mind. It is harder for a person to fight their very self, especially when they are unaware of the potion and thus unaware of the infiltration than it is to fight an outsiders' attack."
"It's unfortunate you viewed this past summer's events in such a light. The trial was a tad unnecessary and dramatic, was it not?" Dumbledore said, pulling Harry's attention back to the present.
"Very unnecessary since both of them got away before they ever stepped foot in Azkaban."
"In truth, it was not out of malicious intent," Dumbledore continued as though Harry hadn't spoken. "I truly was hoping for you to see reason. I hoped that since we caught the infection of the Dark soon enough, we could eliminate it without further harm."
"So the Crucios, the starvation, the kidnapping, all an attempt to reason with me," Harry repeated with a sneer.
"Harsh measures, yes, but believed necessary at the time," Dumbledore said gravely. "But let us not bring up the past; we are both intelligent men, are we not? You've certainly shined outside of these hallowed halls. Why are you really here, Harry?"
"I told you I have some serious issues to discuss with you. You never answered my letters, so I took matters into my own hands. So sorry to interrupt dinner."
"Of course, so unfortunate. Not intentional, hmm?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes twinkling harder than ever.
"Complete coincidence. I guess I never checked the time before I left the house."
"Come now, let's speak plainly. I know what you were doing, Harry."
Harry smirked. "Oh, really. Explain it to me then." He kept his eyes trained on Dumbledore but could see the slight disturbances on the bookshelves just behind the old fool.
"You are seeking asylum. Despite your descent into the Dark, you've realized the error of your ways. You wish to wash your hands of Tom and his wickedness. You hoped that you would gain more leverage by drawing enough eyes to your entrance, to the fact that you sought me out, and you hoped to force my hand in rejoining the Light."
Harry laughed. He couldn't fight it if he'd tried. He laughed hard enough for his stomach to hurt. When he finally gained control of his amusement, he leaned back in the chair and met Dumbledore's sour expression, which almost brought forth another round of laughter, but Harry swallowed it down.
Coughing, Harry took a breath before saying. "Have you always been this terrible at theories, or are you seriously slipping? What about what happened in the Great Hall gave you the impression I wanted to rejoin the Light?"
"I understand you had to present appearances. I'm no stranger to performing for an audience, a skill you have developed well in the past few months. There are many loyal to Tom in the Great Hall, but you were rather desperate to get me alone. The only reason I can fathom is to ask for forgiveness."
Harry ran a hand through his hair and felt an invisible hand brush against his shoulder, reaffirming Marvolo's presence. Harry wondered how many time-delayed hexes Marvolo had planted about the office. He wondered how many books Marvolo had stolen. "No, just no. I came here to discuss a few things; you refused my letters, leaving me no choice but to come in person. No other reason, you are a top-tier manipulator, but I can see through your bullshit now, old man, and I'm never falling for it again."
"Surely you don't believe so little of me. I only ever had your best intentions at heart, my boy."
"Not your boy. I'm not insisting you refer to me as Lord Potter-Black-Peverell because we aren't operating within our Wizengamot roles, Albus. Besides, what do you need me for? Word on the street is you've got Neville stepping up as your new Chosen One."
Dumbledore's face did something odd, but it was smoothed over quickly enough. "Are these the words told to you or Tom?"
Was he wondering if Harry had his own spies or just borrowing Marvolo's? Either way, did he really think Harry was stupid enough to admit to either? "People talk, Albus. Does it really matter who does it?"
The office fell silent, and Harry let his eyes drift over to Fawkes, who cooed softly at Harry. Luckily, the portraits seemed wholly occupied with Harry and Dumbledore, so they didn't notice a few of the trinkets over by the back corner shifting ever so slightly. How much longer until Marvolo found what they came for? Harry looked away from the back corner, and his gaze fell on the desk's small jar of lemon drops. Soon, those would be Dumbledore's downfall, and Harry could not wait.
"Care for a lemon drop, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, reaching for a candy and plopping it in his mouth.
"Watching my sugar intake," Harry replied dryly.
Dumbledore chuckled. "The frustrations of youth, I suppose. Don't tell me you're feeling jealous of my attention to Mr. Longbottom."
Harry sneered. "Not in the slightest. Guess I feel sorry for the bloke, though. He's the one who has to deal with you constantly."
"There is no need for hostilities between gentlemen, Harry," Dumbledore said disapprovingly. Harry snorted and crossed his arms, leaning further back in the chair.
"Gentlemen? I think you need your prescription checked. Your eyesight is really failing you. Look, we can go about this one of two ways. We can sort out the issues I came here to discuss, or you can cut to the chase and return my belongings."
"What belongings do I have of yours?"
Harry counted off the items on his fingers. "My holly wand, the Elder Wand, and the Resurrection Stone. All items in your possession and all items that belong to me."
"Belong to you? That's a steep argument, Harry." Dumbledore pulled out a key and unlocked a drawer in his desk.
"I'm Death's Child. The Resurrection Stone and Elder Wand are mine by right."
"Fairy tales, child. It doesn't do to dwell in fantasy."
Harry bit back the retorts that bubbled on his tongue and took a breath. "I thought you said we were gentlemen. Why disgrace what little respect you still hold by blatantly lying? The Stone and Wand belong to Death."
"A wand does not belong to any aside from its owner, whether through first connection or through conquest. If that weren't true, then Ollivander would be the Master and owner of hundreds of wands simply by being the creator of them. You know this, or else you would have tried summoning the wand to you sooner."
Harry ground his teeth. He did. While the Elder Wand was Deaths' at its foundation, it was still a wand that gave its allegiance to the victor, and Harry had not defeated Dumbledore…yet. It's why he could risk pulling the Death Magic in Dumbledore's hand in public but couldn't risk trying to summon the wand, because the bloody goat was right. The Wand was made by Death, yes, and was very powerful, yes, and was first given to Necromancers, to the Peverells, but it still submitted to the foundations of wand ownership.
"That may be true, but my holly wand was not won by conquest and is still mine by all wand ownership rights."
"You mean this holly wand?" Dumbledore asked congenially. Harry stared in shock as Dumbledore pulled out his holly wand. His holly wand neatly snapped in four different places. Bits of red phoenix feathers were visible at the broken edges. The pieces rested on the desktop, and Harry stared, unable to even form words or thoughts to express his state of numbness. His wand…
A vicious rage crashed through him, sweeping him along a current of heated despair. "Bastard!" When his vision cleared, Harry was on his feet and lunging towards the vile goat. Before he could lunge the last few feet across the desk and wrap his hands around the wrinkled neck, Harry found his feet stuck to the floor. His magic flared loose and riotous, whipping up a windstorm in the office. "You snapped my wand, you pretentious, manipulative fucking prick!"
Dumbledore smirked at him, leaning back in his chair as he watched Harry fume. "Come now, no need for language. You have a wand of your own; what need do you have for this one?"
Harry snarled. His thoughts were too wild to think of the countercurse to the spell keeping his feet stuck. A Cloaked hand gripped the back of his neck and squeezed tightly, a reminder of what was at stake, a reminder that he no longer had to handle things on his own, a reminder that he couldn't kill Dumbledore yet. It would get ridiculously messy, but Harry didn't care right now. The hand remained tight on the back of his neck, and another hand landed on his back, a strange soothing gesture that allowed Harry to finally suck in a full breath of air. His ribs hurt with the heartbreaking pain that lodged itself firmly in Harry's chest.
He felt the spell gluing his shoes to the floor fade, and he pushed away from the Cloaked figure behind him. Harry slammed his hands against the desk, separating him from the Headmaster. He leaned over the desk, his hatred unhindered and shining in his eyes, demonstrating the sincerity of his words. "You will die, Albus. You will die, and I will make sure it is so painful that your mind breaks. You will beg me for the chance of a single un-agonizing breath because you know your life is already forfeit. But I swear to you now, death will be no mercy. Your torment will be everlasting. The grave will not save you."
Harry savored the fear clouding the blue eyes, the panic amplified by the half-moon glasses. His hand wrapped around the pieces of his holly wand blindly before pushing away from the desk and storming out of the office.
He needed to get away. He needed to put distance between himself and the Headmaster, or his moment of sanity would fade, and he would slaughter the man, torture him until his screams became a beautiful chorus, bleed him until his beard was dyed a permanent red.
The corridor was empty, and that was for the best. Harry's magic still couldn't be reined back in. He needed an outlet, a distraction of some kind. It took being bodily shoved into a shadowed alcove for his mind to finally latch onto something concrete. Harry blinked rapidly at the empty space of the alcove before he was enveloped in the Cloak and was faced with Marvolo.
Panting with anger, Harry met Marvolo's eyes, daring him to argue with him, wanting somewhere to direct his anger. Marvolo stared at him intently, eyes so dark, Harry couldn't even see the red.
"Breathe, Harry."
Harry didn't want to breathe. He wanted to rage.
"Harry, focus." Chilled fingertips gripped Harry's chin and brought his gaze back to Marbvolo's. "Focus. You will get revenge. Dumbledore will be dead in a few months. Breathe. Grieve your wand, but do not let that grief control you. You have your new wand. You have the Elder Wand."
"That's not even mine—"
"It will be." Marvolo was so firm and steady in his words that Harry's anger flickered and ebbed. "You will reclaim what is yours. I will see to it that you destroy Dumbledore, Harry. I swear that to you. You will be victorious. But you must breathe and focus; do not forsake an entire future for a moment of anger."
"Hypocrite! You react with anger all the fucking time. You torture your minions. You kill enemies without any thought. Don't fucking lecture me, Marvolo!"
Marvolo clenched his jaw before taking a breath but the pressure on Harry's chin didn't relent. "I release my anger, I do not disregard entire plans on the emotions of a moment."
"Then what do you call attack me? You're such a —"
"Harry."
Harry felt tears sting his eyes as he gripped the broken pieces of his wand in his hands. "He snapped my wand," he said brokenly, feeling like a child.
Marvolo's face didn't soften, nor did he offer platitudes or sympathies. "And he will die. Now, breathe." Harry took a breath. Felt his chest expand and felt the ache worsen with the action. "Again." Harry obeyed. It took five minutes of Marvolo ordering Harry to perform basic bodily functions before Harry felt he could handle the action on his own. The ache didn't lessen, only renewed each time he felt the pieces of his wand in his hands but it became manageable.
"You still must meet with your….friends. Are you ready?"
Harry nodded. "Yeah," he said, his voice hoarse.
Marvolo just nodded before forcibly turning Harry so that he stood in front of Marvolo, pulled beneath the Cloak, and walked — leaving Harry no choice but to walk too — out of the alcove and towards the one-eyed witch statue. Luckily, Harry had described the location enough in the past few days that Marvolo could navigate without assistance from Harry, who felt numb now that his anger had been shoved aside.
They stopped at the one-eyed witch, and after glancing down the corridor to confirm that no eyes were upon them — especially no portraits — Marvolo opened the passage and shifted their positions. "We were successful, Harry, remember that."
"How?" He asked dully.
Marvolo smirked. "I'll show you when you return. No need for distracted thoughts when you meet your young followers."
Harry glared but didn't argue. It was probably for the best. "How are you so calm about everything?"
"I consumed an Enhanced Calming Potion before entering the old goats' office."
"And you didn't want to give me one!"
"No. Your reactions needed to be genuine for Dumbledore to believe them. And no one reacts calmly to seeing their wand snapped." Marvolo pulled out a vial. "However, now that you are no longer in that man's presence and must put on a suitable performance for your followers, you can have this one."
Harry huffed, snatched the vial from his hands, and drained it. "You're sure we were successful?"
Marvolo nodded. "More than. You shall see tonight the treasures I collected in addition to the gift that shall be waiting for you."
"A gift?" The potion had started kicking in, soothing his anger, throwing a blanket over his heated emotions to smother the intensity for now.
"One that will allow you to extract the justice you deserve and adequately release your rage and grief."
Harry frowned but before he could ask more questions, Marvolo turned to leave down the tunnel. "Wait –" Marvolo paused and looked over his shoulder. Harry handed him the broken wand pieces. "Please, can you…please…I won't be able to focus if I keep this with me. Just…just keep it safe for me."
Marvolo stood in the darkness of the tunnel, so Harry couldn't see his face well, but he saw Marvolo nod and grab the wand pieces with a gentleness Harry normally associated with Nagini.
Harry debated saying something else but waited to long, and soon Marvolo was strolling down the tunnel and was soon lost from sight. Harry sighed, readjusted the Cloak around his shoulders, and started walking to the seventh floor, to the tapestry of dancing trolls.