To Give and to Get

He stayed at the festival for a little longer. Long enough for it not to seem as if the Seer had said anything of note to him. But he was in no mood for drinking, dancing, and watching a bonfire. He didn't seek out anyone named Grindelwald before he left. He did stop to say goodbye to Munter, who gave him a hug.

No one was home when he returned, so he scampered to his bedroom and locked himself inside. He stood with his back to the door. His heart was racing, so he just stood there with his fists balled, breathing as he knew how.

When he was calm he sat down on the bed. He then devised a plan to make his choice.

About fifteen minutes later, he handed a note to Sport. "Give this to Dumbledore, but only when he's alone. Put it in his hand, but make sure he's alone. And make sure no one can see you. Then come straight home and say nothing to anyone unless directly asked. No one should, but you never know."

Sport bowed. "Yes, Harry."

"Thanks."

With that, his young house-elf took off.

About an hour later, Sport returned with a letter. He gave it to Harry then left with a bow.

Without a second thought Harry unfurled the parchment. Written in long, loopy letters it read:

Good evening, Harry,

I imagine our problem isn't of immediate importance. That is, death – or other such tragedies – isn't imminent. If I'm incorrect, you may come to me immediately. If not, I ask that you join me next Saturday evening for dinner and then we may discuss our problems.

Is that satisfactory? If so, I will see you Saturday evening.

APWBD

That Saturday, he told Henry he was going to have a chat with Dumbledore because he needed to. Henry had raised his eyes in expectation, but Harry hadn't elaborated much, so he just let him go.

Once outside the gates of Birchley House, he took a port-key and landed inside a large, circular office. Opposite him were ceiling-to-floor windows. In the spaces that separated them were glossy bookcases just as long as the windows. Halfway around the room, the bookcases became portraits of Dumbledore's predecessors. Spindly tables full of silver objects that puffed, whirred, and smoked went around the room.

Dumbledore stood before the windows facing the mountains. "Good evening, Harry," he said over his shoulder.

Harry exhaled. "Headmaster."

He walked over to the large, mahogany desk and sat down. He exhaled once more when he was seated.

"You sound exhausted. Such sounds of weariness aren't befit for one so young."

Harry huffed. "Well you people are exhausting, aren't you? Plotting and scheming behind each other's backs. Why don't you lot meet at dawn like in the old days, huh? Fight to the death to be the last, tiresome, old man standing."

Dumbledore looked over his shoulder. "That might not have the outcome you want."

"Not if you plan it right. See, I think you can get Grindelwald and Riddle to battle each other while you and Henry take out their help. Then double team the last one standing. It worked the first time, didn't it?"

Dumbledore now turned around fully. He walked over to face Harry behind his desk. "What brings you to me, Harry? Under the darkness of night and shrouded in secrecy no less?"

"I met with a Seer at the festival – "

Dumbledore looked up ceiling.

"I don't care what you believe in. Just listen to me for a bit, ok?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Go on."

"She told me how she planned for me to be here in the thick of whatever's going on. She told my mother to have me, told Sirius that it was important my name be Harry Potter, told Miss Jones I'd make her dreams come true, told Bathilda I was the key to her redemption, and pointed Barty in my direction. Everything else just fell into place."

By the time Harry finished, Dumbledore had lowered his eyes.

"You see that? How all the little things just added up? My mother had me, but she was too poor to take care of me, so my father put us in Godric's Hollow where Bathilda Bagshot lives. My grandmother hired Miss Jones, who took me to London where I met Barty Crouch. Bartemius was always in the park. If I don't know Barty, I'm not standing in your tent during the World Cup where Egil can push me and Gellert Grindelwald can finally make Harry Potter bend to his will. And if my name was anything else – "

"He wouldn't care," Dumbledore finished. "Fascinating. Did she tell you her ultimate goal?"

Harry nodded. "Balance. The new threat didn't have a foil until me."

"'New threat.'"

Harry licked his lips. "Have you ever heard the term Lord Voldemort?"

Dumbledore steepled his hands. "Many, many years ago, but I hadn't thought of it until very recently. Why do you ask me about the name, Harry?"

"She waved her hand over a crystal ball and I finally got to see the red eyes in my dreams." He shook his head. "That's stupid. She said he's who I'm going to challenge. When I said it wasn't Tom Riddle, she refused to agree."

"Because they are, in fact, one in the same. I, of course, don't keep the company he does, so I was unaware he still goes by the moniker," Dumbledore explained.

Harry's heart dropped.

"His old associates; followers used to call him that. Many of the men and women who were kind to you over the Christmas holiday, yes?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Who told you that?"

"Henry is desperate to see you survive, so he opened the lines of communication. As he and I have a common goal, I maintained the line. He sent a memory recounting your theory. Impressive deduction. It seems everyone has lost their charm in old age "

Harry covered his eyes with his hands. "I'm so confused. I think I'm getting a headache."

"Why don't you relax? I already told Henry that you and I would be having dinner tonight. Would you care for something to drink?"

Harry threw back his head. "I can't believe this." He sighed. "Yes, I'd like something to drink." After a beat, he said, "Something strong."

Amused, Dumbledore conjured a glass then poured something amber in it.

Surprised at having been given the drink straight instead of watered down, he inspected it. After a few moments, and understanding there was no other alternative, he picked the glass up and tossed the contents down his throat.

The first thing Harry noticed was that the liquid was spicy; he recognized the cinnamon, cloves, and ginger. There was also a hint of sweetness. The second thing he noticed was the liquid was warm at first. The heat then increased to a fiery sensation. Whatever slid down his throat burned it, his chest, and his stomach. What was left in his mouth was spit back out.

"Ugh!"

"Have you ever had a strong drink before?"

Harry looked up to glare at Dumbledore, who smiled at him. "Don't you think you should've asked that before giving me the drink?"

"I wondered to myself, so, in a way, I did ask beforehand. Ultimately, it would've been the right thing to do, but for my own pleasure I kept the question to myself. You were as entertaining as I hoped you'd be."

Harry clenched jaw.

Dumbledore cleaned up the mess then retook his seat. "How goes your relaxation?"

"I hate you," Harry informed him.

Dumbledore's beard twitched. After a moment, he said, "'Got to see the red eyes in my dreams.' What does that mean?"

Harry shifted.

"Come now. My relationship with divination is complicated as I'm a firm believer in choice. I believe in prophecy and the universe present one choice, but, in the end, the individual may act as they see fit. I'm not altogether dismissive. Just mostly. Why do red eyes give you nightmares?"

Harry closed his eyes. "The four of you give me nightmares. Or three of you. There's only one set of blue eyes and I've never been able to tell who they belong to."

"And where are the eyes that you see?"

"At the end of the road. Blue eyes are opposite the red at the end of another road. Grandad is behind me. Darkness is in front me. The dark eyes are always with me."

Dumbledore hummed. "You hold Bartemius in high esteem if it is he who you believe will always walk with you."

Harry's eyes sprang open. Bartemius?

"You don't dream of prophecy; of the future. Not entirely, at least. Your dreams represent – symbolize – the present. How long have you had these dreams?"

Harry shrugged. "Years."

"Since the August or September you turned six," Dumbledore concluded. "You hadn't yet met Tom Riddle, though." He hummed. "Or maybe you had and we don't know it. So maybe not right after the World Cup. Likely well after. Weeks or months after once Tom received word a new player had entered the arena. I wonder how Voldemort invaded your subconscious."

Harry gripped the chair. "What? He wasn't anywhere near me."

Dumbledore shook his head. "We don't know that, Harry. You aren't living under any protection in London, Godric's Hollow, Corfu, or anywhere in Egypt. You are firmly under his control at Durmstrang. I have always known where you were and I could've entered with no one the wiser. If I know I could've done it, I know Tom could have."

The room began to spin. "He knows about me."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Small things that don't really matter. Like my favorite things to eat and drink. It's never been anything big…who cares about what I like to eat or drink or my favorite things at Alexandria?"

Dumbledore folded his hands. "Who would've told him your favorite foods and drinks?"

"Tristan." Harry shook his head. "Tristan wouldn't know I like coffee. He wouldn't have asked Grindelwald either."

"No, but I fear I scared you unnecessarily – "

Harry shook his head. "No, I think I need to tell the people to protect their houses now instead of later regardless."

"Yes, and you need to pay attention to your surroundings," Dumbledore replied. He raised a hand. "I'm not criticizing the six or seven year old who may have had a conversation with a person who could've been disguised as a teacher or student of the Mouseion. I'm criticizing the eleven year old who swaggered through Durmstrang without a care."

Harry shook his head. "Can you tell me what about the walk bothers the three of you exactly?"

"I told Gellert to remember what it was like when he walked in your shoes and reminisce."

"So it is because you see yourselves. Why is that bothersome?"

Dumbledore hummed. "That is true for me and likely Henry. Gellert sees a growing threat."

Harry snorted. "I'm the growing threat, but not the one who wants me to hand him the East plus your head or Bartemius'."

Dumbledore closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he said, "The conversation has gotten away from us. I meant to make a few points, so we will backtrack for a moment. Tom is cunning, so he would never purposefully let it slip that he knew something important about you. Your deduction skills are impressive and your mind is quick. I'm certain he recognized the heavy-handedness of his associates and moved quickly to bring you into the fold."

"Great."

"Now how did Gellert behave during the festival?"

Harry frowned. "Like he always does. Why?"

"Zoltan has, at last, been successful in convincing his father of a threat. Unfortunately, you are who Gellert is concerned about," Dumbledore said. "Zoltan told him of your separate interactions with Andrei Vulchanov."

Harry snorted. "Well, I guess it's good to have confirmation that Christmas is the reason I didn't get to go to Dreamtime."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "Tom informed you of Gellert's decision? I'm pleased to learn my faith in you wasn't unfounded."

Harry stretched. "I promised him your head and the East. Does that change your mind?"

Dumbledore closed his eyes. "The East and me. That is…you've promised him the world."

Harry paused than rolled his eyes. "Of course I did and he expects that I'll do it – "

"No, we must assume that he expects you to die trying."

"Huh?"

Dumbledore opened his eyes. "He does expect you to give him the East in some capacity. However, if I know Tom, he expects – hopes – I will eliminate you as a problem. If you succeed, it'll be better for him as you are significantly less of a problem than I am. Regardless, he will want you dead at the end of all this."

"Why?"

"Do you know what power it would take to rally the East against the Grindelwalds and to a Potter's side? He believes you have that power. Why would he want or allow someone with such power to live in his world?"

Harry licked his lips as his heart raced in his chest.

"But that is exactly what you are going to do. You will rally Eastern statesmen. We will decide who will actually benefit you and you are to get to someone besides Maxim before Tom does."

"You think I have Morozov?"

Dumbledore's eye twinkled. "No, I think Maxim Morozov has you. Be warned: he has two sons. They've both – "

"Are fans of Zoltan. Yeah, I know how the story ends. I don't need the details." Harry shook his head. "How do the sons end up like that?"

"They lack the skill and audacity of their controlling, domineering mothers and fathers," Dumbledore said. "In their own way, Fleamont and Gellert saved you."

Harry snorted. "I'd rather be a…"

"An overgrown, jobless bitch than dead?" a portrait asked.

Harry turned to the portrait. It was of a clever-looking wizard with shrewd, dark eyes. Immediately, Harry spat, "Black. No, I'd rather be dead than to be Taurus. I'll die having accepted Fleamont doesn't want me. Taurus will die because he can't accept you people don't want him."

"Heavy words, Harry," Dumbledore said.

Harry shrugged. "Everyone can't be saved, can they?"

"You hate your cousin that much?" Dumbledore mused.

"That man isn't my cousin. He doesn't want me either. Bellatrix may have is worthless…" Harry said.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "What of Fleamont and Albert?"

"Fleamont is a grown man who made his own choices. If he has no place – or life – to live at the end of all this, that's his fault and his problem." He exhaled. "No, I'm not Henry Potter."

The Seer's words had made it all plain, not Riddle's request had made it real to him first. Now that it was real, he didn't think he could suffer placating and pleading with people who would let him die.

"No, you aren't. Henry raised you to be more vindictive and decisive than him," Dumbledore said. "You won't suffer Taurus and Stephanie as he suffered your grandparents or Charlus' parents. Might I suggest you familiarize yourself with grace and mercy?"

Harry licked his lips. "Is Henry alive because of grace and mercy? Or because of vindictiveness?"

"A little of all three."

"Fine."

Dumbledore tapped the table. "Backtrack: Maxim's oldest son is without offspring. His youngest has three daughters. He has you exactly where he wants you."

Harry sighed. Midway through it he thought 'win by any means necessary.' "Merlin, help me. Russia is a big place. What else can Morozov do for me?"

"His second son's wife is a daughter of Cynric Erling. Yes, that Erling. One will bring the other and both will bring you the old and insulted of the North. Maxim brings the added benefit of old friends from Hwarang."

Harry rubbed his eyes. "I can't believe this."

Dumbledore tapped the table. "Backtrack: Gellert. Zoltan's complaints not only made him question why his oldest Acolytes were tolerant to outright kind to you, but it also made him recall a similar discussion after they were polite to Tom and rude to Zoltan."

"Did you tell him?"

"Yes, but it made him more concerned. Unlike Tom, you were raised you to impress the high-handed, domineering elderly of the magical world."

"You're happy about that, though?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Whatever do you mean, Harry?"

Harry scoffed. "I just gave you an opening."

"Which I don't intend to take today," Dumbledore replied. "Today, we will deduce and begin planning for your survival."

Harry rubbed his face. "Can't you just go to Durmstrang and kill Riddle?"

"Yes, but that will not eliminate our problem."

"Huh?"

Dumbledore folded his hands. "You came to me, Harry. That is a problem in and of itself. You came to me after a few days to a few weeks delay. You hesitated to tell me this and refused to tell Gellert at all. I may kill Tom – I will kill Tom Riddle – but that places you – and Jonathan – in a predicament."

"Fu – Jonathan may go jump off a tall tower." Harry threw up his hands. "Ok, so you can't die until one of them is gone, alright? I'm not fighting those two and Zoltan with..." He rolled his eyes. "Alexandra…Thanos. Can you give her a job?"

"If that becomes necessary. Why do you think she needs one?"

Harry shook his head. "She's having sex with Charlus, so I'm going to need a little help there and soon. Grindelwald knows – "

"And now I know why you're at Durmstrang," Dumbledore said. "I was in the middle of a point…ah. I'll allow Tom to come to me as you aren't yet skilled enough for Gellert to come to you. Tom is the very reason I've refused to leave my seat for fifteen years. However, I needed to see you at Durmstrang for myself and confirm my suspicions. Tom and Maxim acted as I expected. Karkaroff and Black were curious surprises."

Harry sat up. "Oh, yeah. Karkaroff isn't smart enough to be playing Riddle for Zoltan, right?"

"No. He is just stupid enough to play the fence until he is forced to make a choice. He will never be of any true use to anyone. I'm also both amused and impressed you've chosen to fixate on him."

"I don't think I would have if Morozov hadn't confirmed I wasn't imagining things."

When Dumbledore hummed, Harry told him of his first day of classes.

"Zoltan has never liked or trusted Tom. I'm certain Maxim has told you Zoltan sent Karkaroff as a spy?"

Harry nodded.

"Zoltan is clever. The move was smart in theory, but a failure in practice. You asked about the sons and why they are the way they are? It is because of their fathers. Their fathers are powerful in skill, highly intelligent, sociable men able to charm and smile to get what they want," Dumbledore said. "Zoltan, in particular, doesn't understand that his skill doesn't equal his father's and that you must give to get." He raised his eyebrows. "Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

Harry stretched. "Yeah. What happened to Vulchanov's hands?"

"Radimir Krum. Gellert told Vulchanov if he could take the power in the Balkans from Krum, he could have the power," Dumbledore said.

"Krum…"

Dumbledore inclined his head. "Viktor is his grandson, I believe."

"Ugh. So why does Vulchanov dislike – no – Zoltan has promised not to let him keep his power, right?"

"Yes."

Harry shook his head. "I hate to take Zoltan's side here, but isn't it reasonable to expect him to come in with his own people? Like any other government?"

"No."

Harry frowned. "Err – "

"The titles, Harry, are supposed to be hereditary. We must also study the East."

Harry rubbed his head. "Why didn't you do that?"

"Because I had no heir."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Moving on."

"Indeed."

Harry held up a finger. "Hold on. Let's talk about hereditary."

Dumbledore hummed.

"We're on the same side, right? And you have your own special plans for me?"

Dumbledore inclined his head.

"I'll be your spy. Try to get you to Death's door peacefully. You want to go in your sleep after a long life of terrorizing people, right?"

"I would appreciate that, yes."

Harry nodded. "Fine, but I want my houses back. All three and my swords." He smiled as Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "You have to give to get, right?"