I Don't Want to be a Hero - Ch. 2

The Headmaster's Tower

Percy Weasley one of the prefects for Gryffindor dropped Harry off in a narrow corridor where a large, granite griffin stood glowering down at him. The torch flickering behind the griffin's head gave the statue rather a sinister appearance.

"Password," asked the griffin, and Harry jumped with startlement.

Harry's lips thinned. Another thing that could speak, and was probably magical. At the feast Harry had met a real live dead ghost, Sir Nicholas Porpington who was not quite beheaded (that was gross!) and the twins, Fred and George Weasley, had related tales of one of the teachers (they did not say who) that was a cat, another teacher that was a ghost, a willow tree that killed students (and when Harry scoffed he was told that it was absolutely true). There were even more things about invisible, flying horses, Centaurs, and giant spiders, and it all made Harry wonder why he had thought this world of magic was so "neat".

Taking out the note, he saw that the Headmaster had provided the password, and so Harry said it aloud, "Licorice Whips." He then watched as the huge griffin slid effortlessly to the side to reveal a spiral staircase. Wary, Harry stepped past the griffin that watched him, and then onto the spiral staircase. Before he could ascend on his own power the staircase began to spin in place, and like a corkscrew he rose up to the tower office of the Headmaster.

The office of the Head of Hogwarts was a very large, and intimidating place; Harry felt absolutely tiny. It was in the north tower which was also considered that main, and largest tower of the castle. This gave the office curved walls of cut block stone that resembled granite. One wall was covered with portraits, all of whom were regarding Harry; they were whispering amongst each other as they kept an eye on him. Most of the remaining wall was taken up by shelves that held books, or a variety of figurines, candles, and curiosities that gleamed of brass, copper, and gold. Of those of metal they ticked, whirred, whistled, or moved in circles, parabolas, or even fired off small Jacob's Ladders of what appeared to be electricity but the arcs of colour ran the gamut of the rainbow.

Glass fronted, circular shelves allowed one to view the objects, some of which were very old wands, books, or scrolls, from all sides. These shelves sat about in the office with no rhyme or reason to their placement. There was a spiral, filigree staircase of iron that rose up to two more levels of books and curiosities, and on the topmost shelf, on the third floor Harry saw the Sorting Hat. It wrinkled in such a peculiar way that it appeared to be looking down upon him.

His nose wrinkled as he recalled his time under the hat; it had smelled. If he were at his relatives home he would wash that hat with a lot of soap flakes!

“After centuries of heads with hair in various stages of cleanliness I would not mind a good bath,” murmured the Sorting Hat.

Harry did not reply to the Hat. It was just another thing of magic. He grimaced at the smart aleck Sorting Hat, then continued his examination of the Headmaster’s office.

Harry saw two inner doors; one on the floor he stood upon, and one on the third level. Dominating all of this was a dais at the center of three marble tiled steps in a curve that mimicked the walls, and led up to a large desk of old, comfortably stained oak that held a variety of papers, inkwells, quills, and an open journal where a quill wrote in it all by itself.

Again, Harry felt terribly tiny in the huge office. His small survivor within warned him that he ought to turn tail and leave.

As Harry was turning slowly to do just as instinct dictated he was presented with a bird nearly his height, of flaming red and orange and gold feathers. It squawked softly at him as if aware that the boy was feeling skittish.

"My Phoenix, Fawkes," said a voice behind him. Harry spun to see the Headmaster. Albus Dumbledore walked around him, stepped up the dais, and began to stroke the bird's beautiful crest of feathers on his head. "I'm sure you'd like to pet him, Harry. Fawkes is rather affectionate."

Harry, not terribly sure of the bird, and certainly wary of the old man, stepped up carefully, and stretched out his hand. When Fawkes cooed he melted, and began to pet the bird. Fawkes began to sing, and Harry felt the knots in his stomach loosen.

The Headmaster stepped away from Fawkes and sat down at his desk. He adjusted his spectacles, and then glanced at what the quill was writing into the journal.

"What do you think of Hogwarts, Harry?" asked Albus as he watched the boy carefully.

Reluctantly Harry left Fawkes, and turned his attention to the Headmaster so he would not be perceived as rude. Carefully he replied, "Amazing, sir."

Albus smiled. "I am glad you approve, Harry."

Harry doubted that 'amazing' meant he approved, but if that's what the Headmaster thought... let him.  Looking into the man's twinkling eyes Harry had the odd feeling that his brain was itchy. The survivor within warned him to look away so he did. He cast his gaze elsewhere pretending to be dazzled by everything he saw.

"We try to show the students that the world of magic is a place of wonder, and it is something we do not ever want our students to forget." Albus eyed the small boy with practiced study. He had tried to see into the child's mind with his Legilimens but he was not as subtle as Severus Snape was, and it was clear the child had noticed the Headmaster's attempt. "Harry, have you any questions for me?"

Harry turned to face the Headmaster, and heard the whispers of all the portraits behind him. It was eerie. "Hagrid told me about my parents. Aunt Petunia told me that I lost them to a car accident that was... my fault because my father was a drunk." Harry delivered his accusation blandly as he gauged what the Headmaster's reaction might be.

Albus sighed in regret. "I'm afraid Petunia was not able to tell you the truth, Harry, due to the magic that was in place to keep you safe."

Harry frowned as his mind snapped back but not aloud, 'But Aunt Petunia was allowed by the magic to tell me it was my fault, and that my dad was a drunk.' Dumbledore seemed not to notice that Harry did not accept the Headmaster's 'simple' explanation. The older wizard was apparently not aware that Harry was angry with him.

Harry walked down the steps and moved over to the fireplace/Floo that was taller than him. He faced the Headmaster, and asked, "Who was I being protected from, sir, if I killed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named when I was a baby?"

"Voldemort is his name. To say his name reduces any power attributed to that name," Albus replied softly.

Harry believed that. His relatives never used his name. He had always wondered if they did would they disappear in a puff of smoke? After seeing Hogwarts he expected that such a thing was possible.

The Headmaster continued to speak, "Voldemort’s followers were called Death Eaters. Many escaped. I am certain that if they knew you were alive they would kill you for having destroyed their master."

"I was a baby!" shouted Harry, and many of the curiosities shook ominously in the glass cabinets. "I didn't even have a wand. If someone believes I killed Voldemort then..."

Albus smoothly corrected, "It appeared as though you killed him but what you succeeded in doing was separating his spirit from his body. The kind witches and wizards of our world believe you did kill him. The visible proof lies there," Albus pointed a slim but crooked finger towards Harry's head, "in the scar that the wizard bestowed upon you."

Harry touched his fingers to the scar, "They're all wrong," he mumbled softly.

"Perhaps," shrugged Albus as if he knew better. "The fact is you are a hero in our world, Harry Potter; the Boy-Who-Lived. And someday, when Voldemort has regained his strength, and a new body, the two of you will meet and decide our world's future."

Harry dropped his hand from his forehead, and stared incredulously at the old wizard. "You think he's coming... BACK? And, you want me to kill him?" Harry felt the rise of the anger he often kept beneath what everyone saw. Although a fire flickered dangerously beneath a facade, on the outside he was the bewildered, stupid 'freak' that he looked like to his relatives.

"Not I," smiled Albus, and again gave that tiny shrug along with a deadly serious twinkle of his blue eyes, "but Destiny. You are Fated to do so."

Harry's fists clenched. More of the shiny instruments shook dangerously. He muttered darkly, "I don't want to be a hero; not yours or theirs." He turned, stomped out of the office, and gratifyingly slammed the door behind him.

Albus Dumbledore sighed heavily as the worries of the world sank down upon his shoulders. He looked sadly after the little boy who just did not understand; one could not outrun Destiny. Albus smiled thinly; he would test the boy and know his power. Power, he assumed, was great.