Aug.19

I have to go meet with Dumbledore in a few minutes. I really, really don't want to. What am I going to say to him? "Oh, hey, Headmaster, thanks a bunch for sending me back to the effing Dursleys, again even though I begged you a million times not to, and told you how much I hated it there. And for keeping an eye out for me, your little Prophecy Boy, so I'd be sure and whack Voldie for ya. Not that I'm bitter . . ."

Yeah. That'd go over like a lead balloon.

But maybe he just wants to let me know he's kept me out of Azkaban as a bloody favor, like he did for Snape. . . . Hm. I wonder if I could be a spy, instead of a killer? The mortality rate would be about the same, I bet.

---

"Can I go flying?" Harry asked. "I wrote."

"Don't you have a meeting in less than ten minutes?"

Harry sighed. "Maybe."

Snape looked at him, dark eyes unreadable. His tells were . . . untellable. "Harry. I was there when you decided on the time. If you don't want to meet with the Headmaster, then tell him so."

"Really?"

"No. You had the chance to beg off earlier. Now it would just be rude."

"All right! Fine!" He bit his lip. "Are you going with me?"

"I believe I will sit this one out." Snape stared him down for another minute. "I trust you will control your temper in the Headmaster's office."

Feeling mulish, Harry debated ignoring the reminder of his last loss of temper in that office, or flat out refusing to agree to mind his temper at all. But Snape was right, and he wouldn't get anywhere with Dumbledore if he threw another tantrum, no matter how satisfying it might feel in the moment. Still . . . "You do?"

"Yes."

Harry offered him a brief smile. "Thanks."

Snape waved the issue away, then glanced at the clock. "I suggest you get a move on."

"Yes, sir." Harry managed not to sigh again, but only barely.

"Do you wish an escort?"

For a second, Harry wanted to say yes . . . but he was going to have to get used to not having Snape there every moment to guard him, and make sure he didn't get waylaid by anyone. Besides, who was he going to run into here? Better to have a dry run at being by himself before all the students arrived. "No, but thanks. I'll be okay."

"Very well." Snape bent his head back over the potions journal he was reading. He didn't look up as Harry stood there, but cleared his throat after a minute. "Your procrastinating will only delay the inevitable, and will grate on my nerves. Now go."

"Yes, sir." Harry slipped out of Snape's quarters and headed for the Headmaster's Office. The school was very quiet, even seeming to be free of ghosts for the moment. The corridors were dimly lit, and everything shone with high polish. Filch must have been busy the last month or so. Harry realized, after he'd finally climbed to the second floor, that he was dragging his feet, so he picked up his pace. He didn't want to be rude, but - if he wanted to be perfectly honest - he was really, really nervous about this meeting.

Once he stood in front of the gargoyles, he paused, gathering what courage he could, then moved forward slightly and said, "I have an appointment with the Headmaster."

The gargoyles leaped aside and the wall behind them opened up, showing him the spiral staircase. Harry stepped onto it as it started to turn, matching the turning of his stomach. Then he was standing in front of the oak door with the brass knocker, but before he could put knuckles to wood, he heard Dumbledore's voice call, "Come in, Harry."

Harry hated when he did that.

But he drew a deep breath and opened the door anyway, then slipped inside. The first thing he saw was Fawkes, looking very plumage-y, full-colored and cheerful, with a broad wing-spread that flapped several times as Harry closed the door behind him. The second thing he noticed was movement out of the corner of his eye, which resolved into Remus when he turned to look.

Feeling his face redden, Harry looked down swiftly. He heard Remus get up and move toward him and forced himself not to shrink back.

"Harry?"

"I thought this was a private chat," Harry muttered.

"My apologies, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Professor Lupin was just leaving."

"Oh."

Remus had come closer, and still, Harry couldn't bring himself to look at the man he'd yelled at a few days earlier. He could see the tips of Remus' shoes, poking out from beneath his teaching robes, and he stared at them, thinking about how scuffed the toes were, and how Remus always seemed to get the raw end of the deal. He was a werewolf, after all, made one when he was only five years old. If anyone knew what a life of being hated and discriminated against was, he did. And then, to have all of his best mates at school dead, except the one who had betrayed them . . . well, Remus deserved much more than Harry's vicious anger. Much more than a stupid, tantrum-having almost-godson.

"Harry," Remus said softly. "I-"

"Sorry, Remus," Harry burst in, bringing his head up at last. Remus' eyes were soft brown and warm and not at all angry, and Harry swallowed hard. "I'm really sorry. Please, I didn't mean those things. I was just angry, and I lose my temper a lot, but I shouldn't've . . ."

"Shhh, cub." He reached out to touch Harry, but dropped his hand instead when Harry leaned away from him. "It's all right. I'm not angry with you. I understand, all right? You were right to be furious with us. With me. I let you down. I hope you can forgive me."

Harry bit his lip and nodded. "Yeah, okay."

Remus gave him a small smile. "Thank you."

With a little shrug, Harry looked away, not really wanting to prolong this anymore.

"We'll have more time to talk later, all right, Harry?"

"Okay, Remus. But I'm not . . . I'm not . . ."

"I won't ask you to speak of anything you don't want to, all right?" He gave a soft laugh. "Professor Snape was quite clear on that issue. But I wouldn't push anyway. I'm sorry I did before, Harry. You know I'm just worried about you, right?"

"Yeah." Harry sighed and his gaze flicked to Remus' face, which was open and kind, like always. "But I'm doing better, like I said."

"I believe you." He smiled again, a little wider. "But you're here for a meeting, and I'm taking your time up with the Headmaster. I'll see you later."

"See you," Harry said, watching as Remus left, and the door closed, leaving him and Dumbledore alone.

"Everything all right, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry sighed again and went to sit down in one of the chairs in front of the Headmaster's cluttered desk. "Yes, sir."

Dumbledore peered at him over his half-moon spectacles, and Harry felt himself almost squirming under that knowing look.

Then, despite his promise to Snape, he felt his temper getting the better of him. "Is this going to be another of those talks where you tell me my greatest strength is my ability to feel pain? Because I really don't think I could take it right now, no offense."

The silence went on a long time, but this time, Harry refused to look away. Amazingly, Dumbledore backed off first, turning to Fawkes and rubbing the phoenix's chest with his index finger briefly, before settling his gaze on Harry again. Then his blue eyes drew Harry's gaze and held it in a firm grip. For a heartbeat, Harry felt a light pull at his mind, before he shoved a block of stone in front of his thoughts. The pull vanished, and Harry barely kept from glaring at Dumbledore's attempt to Legilimize him.

Dumbledore spoke without referencing what he had just done, his gaze just as sharp. "I believe I told you at that time that I had made many mistakes regarding you," he said. "And how, because I had grown to care for you a great deal, I was not as forthright with information as I might have otherwise been." His voice was calm, and not cold, but without even a trace of remorse, unlike how it had been in June.

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir."

"I want you to know, Harry, that since I am human, I will continue to make errors, though I hope to keep them from being catastrophic."

"Me, too," Harry muttered. Sirius' death was about as much catastrophe as he could deal with, ever.

Dumbledore smiled wryly. "I learned many lessons from the mistakes I made with Tom Riddle, and I would hope not to repeat any of them with you."

"But you did!" Harry said, stung. "You sent him back to his orphanage, even when he begged to stay here over summers. Just like you sent me back to the Dursleys."

"I do regret that."

"Do you? I think it's just real easy to say so, now, when you can't send me back again."

"Harry, I never wished for any harm to come to you-"

"No? Then why didn't you tell me about . . ." Harry stopped. He wasn't going to go into a tirade over all the sleights, real and imagined, he could lay at Dumbledore's feet. He was too goddamned tired for it. "Never mind," he finished lamely. "I'm sorry. For yelling." He paused. "And for wreaking your stuff before."

Dumbledore nodded. "I understand. You were very upset that night. With good reason."

"Yeah. Well, I'm still sorry." There, now Snape would have one less thing to pester him about.

The Headmaster watched him silently for a few minutes. "How are you doing with that, Harry?"

"With Sirius being dead you mean?" Harry asked harshly.

At Dumbledore's nod, Harry grated out, "How do you think? I miss him so much I can't even think about him without wanting to scream my head off or smash stuff or both. And the worst part is it's my fault he's dead. I know you said it wasn't, and so does Snape. But it's the same as Cedric, and my parents and everyone he's killed since taking my blood in the graveyard. If not for me, they'd all still be alive! SO HOW DO YOU FUCKING THINK??"

Harry was panting hard, sucking in breaths when he could catch them, and glaring at Dumbledore, who gazed serenely back at him. That calm, untouchable gaze just stoked his fury to greater heights. He couldn't take it anymore, just could not take it.

In that moment, he wanted to make the Headmaster hurt as much as Harry did right now. He wanted him to see what he'd been through at the manor, cursed and blinded and raped, wanted him to know the awful things his aunt and uncle had said to him day after day, to hear his screams through the nightmares he had lived with for years, while Voldemort's tortures flowed like fire in his veins, to feel the beatings Dudley had dealt him, and to know what it meant to be starved and unwanted and made to feel like a freak, every day of his life for ten long, unforgivable years.

So, in the next moment, instead of turning away or walking away, or even having another screaming fit in this office, Harry Showed him. He dredged up every memory he could and pressed all of them into a tight, narrow, razor sharp ribbon. Using every ounce of magical energy he possessed, he flung the spear of memory toward Dumbledore, through the connection the Headmaster had tried to use earlier with his own Legilimency.

The piercing blade sliced right into the Headmaster's mind. Quicker than thought, Dumbledore's whole body went rigid, his face frozen in a mask of pain and fear and torment. Only his eyes moved, blue orbs flicking in terror at images that, up till now, only Harry had seen all of, only Harry had lived through, felt and experienced. At the same time, Harry saw it all again, with him, remembered every minute of torture, every harsh word, every bruise and cut and curse, and it was only the continued connection between them that kept him from screaming and screaming and screaming. . . .

But now . . . now Dumbledore could understand his pain.

Time passed. A breeze touched Harry's back, from the door slamming open behind him, and a sweep of black robes suddenly blocked the Headmaster from view.

Snape. His every sharp gesture and movement showed his fear and, yes, his complete and utter wrath. He grabbed hold of the Headmaster's chin and forced the man to look away from Harry and into his own eyes, shredding their mind connection.

Harry staggered and grabbed at a chair to keep from falling. At some point, he must have stood up, but he didn't remember doing so. He could barely breathe, his chest hurt like he'd been running for hours, and his throat felt raw like he'd been screaming almost as long. His head was in agony, like an army of trolls was marching on his skull. He squeezed his eyes shut, pressed the heels of his hands into the sockets and clenched his jaw against the pain.

It was just starting to lessen when someone grabbed his arm and wrenched him around. He looked up into the dark fire of Snape's eyes, too exhausted to do more than loll his head against the man's black robes. Snape was angry, more so than Harry had ever seen him, even after the Pensieve Incident. But Harry could not work up enough energy to care.

"What the HELL do you think you were doing?! You stupid, stupid child! You could have killed him! Killed yourself!"

Still panting for breath, Harry shook his head, but it took too much effort, so he stopped. He couldn't form words, couldn't push Snape away, couldn't stand without support . . . and he just wanted to lie down, maybe forever.

"Sit," Snape snarled and pushed him into a chair. He crashed into it, glad to be sitting again, and hung his head close to his chest. Snape's voice continued, like so much buzzing in his ears, and he could barely focus, but the man's face was so close he could feel spittle hit his cheeks. "I would not have thought it possible, but I was wrong. You do not seem able to have even one conversation with another human being and not completely disintegrate! Do you even realize what you've done? It took me fifteen minutes just to get him to respond to his own name!"

Harry shook his head again. Too tired. He was too tired for this.

A flash in the fireplace of the office heralded the delivery of something, and Snape stomped away to collect the tight scroll, sealed with blue wax. Harry took the opportunity to rest his head on his arms, even as Snape broke the seal. He did not lift his head or open his eyes when Snape gave a grunt of satisfaction.

"The Ministry has seen fit to grant my request, Mr. Potter. You are now my ward. I do believe the first order of business will be to fully address this horrific display of your lack of judgment. Please come with me."