Back to School
I saw him again today. He was in Diagon Alley with another woman, who was a little too familiar for my liking. Not that it is any of my business.
- The Diary of Cassiopeia Black
“Now Master is ready to return to Hogwarts,” Kreacher declared, standing back to admire his work.
Th elf had insisted Harry not allow his hair to grow long. According to him, it was most unbecoming of a future Lord to appear unkempt and unclean, and he’d even thrown Harry’s old clothes into the fireplace.
“What will you do while I’m away?” he asked curiously.
“Kreacher is always having things to do,” the elf said dismissively. “There is much work in the house, and if Master needs Kreacher, he needs only ask.”
Harry nodded appreciatively.
It had not been the easiest of starts between them. Harry wanted to blame Kreacher for what had happened to Sirius, and the little house-elf had not had a master he could follow in so long, not whilst Walburga’s portrait had been influencing him.
Regardless, they had found something of an understanding of one another and had certainly come to cooperate over the course of the summer. Harry even found he would miss the elf, somewhat, and if he was honest, he wasn’t relishing the thought of returning to school.
He was looking forward to seeing Ron and Hermione again, even if they would give him a piece of their minds for his silence these past months, but he would prefer to remain at Grimmauld Place.
His progress with his magic was significant, much more so than when he’d dedicated himself to it for the duration of the Triwizard Tournament. Now, Harry felt as though he was truly focused.
He’d learned so much from the Black library, of which he had liberated several books to take with him, and he’d heeded to advice of the voice. He’d being using his Occlumency practices to familiarise himself with his magic and found that it wasn’t just something he possessed.
No, it was a part of him and could even feel it within his mind. Although he did not feel that he fully understood it, not yet at least, the more he used it, and the more time he spent working on the Mind Arts, it was as though they were getting to know one another.
It was odd, but it was the only way he could describe it, and he quite looked forward to building on that bond each day., whilst he had been granted the peace to do so.
Outside of the attack in Bolton, Voldemort had been quiet. Not that it would last for any length of time, and Harry did not doubt the man was planning his next move.
What that would be remained to be seen. Of course, it was frustrating to be plagued by the knowledge that the man who’d attempted to kill him on numerous occasions was out there planning his next attempt, but Harry was not so eager for it to come.
He did feel more prepared than he ever had. However, he was not ready for that eventuality, and perhaps never would be.
Still, it was coming, somewhere, and with each passing day, he was determined to get better and better.
Along with the silence of the Dark Lord, he’d not felt the compulsion to return to Godric’s Hollow. The presence of the voice was always with him, even when he settled it each night with a few chosen words, usually a plea to watch over him and those he cared.
He could feel it within him, even within his magic, and if anything, it only grew stronger.
Not that Harry minded,
It had become a source of comfort whilst he learned new spells and worked on his magic. It served to remind him that he had not taken leave of his senses, that the voice was very real, and that the words he continued to read of Iolanthe Peverell resonating with him was undoubtedly strange but not concerning.
Even so, Harry felt that his journey, despite having already spanned almost fifteen years, was only truly beginning. So very much lie ahead of it, much of it things he could do without, but there was hope that could be some good too.
Whether or not such hope was false, he did not know, but he refused to be little more than a sacrificial lamb for Fate. No, he would not accept that was all his life was meant to be, not when he had defied the odds more times than he cared to count.
One day, Harry would die. There was no escaping that eventuality, and he did not fear it. He was becoming almost worryingly familiar with it. What he could not abide, however, was the very thought his life would be cut short by things out of his control, and that stubbornness, or maybe strong will, he possessed, would not allow him to simply hand himself over to the Dark Lord in a bid to lessen the length of time he would suffer.
No, Harry Potter would not do that.
“I know,” he comforted as he felt a wave of coldness wash over him. “You won’t allow me to do that either.”
The coldness settled, and Harry’s gaze shifted towards the clock. It was nearing 11am, and he needed to make his way to King’s Cross Station to board the Hogwarts’ Express.
Checking that he had all he would need for the next few months, he shrunk and pocketed his trunk before releasing a deep breath. So much had changed since he’d last left the castle.
Harry had changed too.
Although he could not explain it or even point out a moment things had become so different, he could feel it within himself.
“Kreacher?” he called.
The elf appeared and offered him a bow.
“Kreacher will be taking Master Harry now,” he declared, taking him by the hand, and taking Harry away from what had become his haven these past months to where things would inevitably be different than what he’d come to know since arriving at Hogwarts.
(Break)
“I’ve never seen Ronald so keen to return to school,” Ginny commented.
He ignored her in favour of stepping through the barrier between platforms 9 and 10, his gaze roaming over those gathered, preparing to send their children off for another term at the castle.
There was an undeniable tension in the air, and Ron noticed that even those that would usually be talking to one another were keeping their distance,, their expressions downcast with most keeping a hand wherever they concealed their wands.
Ron didn’t pay them any further heed as he sought out the one person he was eager to see, and when he realised that Harry wasn’t on the platform, he boarded the train, frowning as he caught sight of Malfoy.
For the first time since he’d had the misfortune of meeting the boy in the entrance hall of the castle before they’d been sorted, the blond said nothing, merely offering a look of disgust before entering one of the carriages.
“Wait up, Ron,” Hermione huffed, dragging her trunk into the corridor with Ginny in tow. “He’ll be here somewhere.”
Ron nodded and began making his way through the length of the train, peering into each of the compartments as they passed them by, but there was no sign of Harry, and Ron wondered where he was.
“He’s not here yet.”
“Neville!” Hermione greeted the boy enthusiastically. “How’s your nose?”
It had been broken during their time in the Department of Mysteries, and Neville waved her off.
“It’s fine,” he assured her. “You can share our compartment if you like. It’s just me and Luna.”
Reluctantly, Ron entered the compartment to find the odd girl reading a copy of The Quibbler upside down, but he knew better than to ask what she was doing.
Luna was certainly quirky in her ways, though he could not deny he’d become quite fond of her. She had not hesitated to come along with them to the Ministry of Magic.
“His elf will bring him soon,” she spoke.
“Harry?” Hermione asked.
Luna nodded, but said nothing else, and Ron took a seat next to Hermione whilst Ginny joined Neville and Luna on the other side of the compartment.
“It’s a bit tense, isn’t it?” Neville asked. “Gran said no one knows who they can trust, just like last time.”
“It’s only going to get worse, isn’t it? Did you hear about what happened in Bristol?”
“The aurors should just get Harry to teach them the patronus charm. If all of them could do it, then the dementors won’t matter.”
“Harry won’t have time for that,” Luna mused aloud. “He has other things to do.”
Ron frowned when she once more did not elaborate, though his eyes widened as the door opened.
“Harry,” Neville greeted the boy with a nod.
“Bloody hell, what happened to you, mate?” Ron asked.
Harry looked different.
It wasn’t just that he was taller and not so skinny anymore. He was wearing much nicer clothes too, but it was more that he carried himself a little straighter.
No, that wasn’t just it.
Ron couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but Harry was not the same boy that had left them at the end of the school year. Before he could say anything else, however, Hermione all but launched out of her seat and wrapped her arms around him.
“Where have you been?” she demanded to know.
“Well, if you stop trying to choke me, I might be able to answer,” Harry wheezed.
Hermione did release him after a moment, and he rubbed his neck.
“I just needed some time,” he said with a shrug.
“We’ve been worried about you!”
“I’m fine, Hermione,” Harry assured her.
She didn’t believe him, and nor did Ron, but Harry had always been something of a closed book when it came to discussing anything. Losing Sirius had undoubtedly been devastating for him. They had seen it during the final days of last term, and as ever, Harry had not spoken about it.
“What’s with the clothes?” Ginny asked, “and the hair?”
“Kreacher made me cut it, and then he burned my clothes,” Harry answered amusedly. “He says that I did not dress as someone befitting my station.”
“Little git,” Ron muttered.
“He’s not been so bad,” Harry sighed. “He’s trying to be better, and it helps that I got rid of Walburga’s portrait. I tore the old bitch off the wall.”
“Good,” Ginny declared before Hermione could chide him for his language.
“So, you’re living there now?” Ron questioned.
Harry nodded.
“I told the Dursleys to bugger off and hide, for what good it will do. I don’t think Voldemort with bother with them, and I’ve left a nasty surprise for anyone who might go looking for me in Little Whinging,” he added with a smirk. “Personally, I’m hoping it will be Malfoy.”
“Or the rat,” Ron interjected.
Harry’s expression darkened as he shook his head.
“No, I want to find Peter myself.”
Ron winced at the murderous expression he adopted, the very same one that had twisted his features when he’d attempted to pummel Sirius to death in the Shrieking Shack the night he’d learned the truth about what had happened to his parents.
Harry had always been rather terrifying when he lost his temper, but Ron wouldn’t feel sorry for Pettigrew. The man deserved everything coming his way.
“How do you think it will be this year?: Neville asked, changing the subject.
“Worse than usual,” Hary snorted. “We’ve got Snape teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts.”
“WHAT?” Neville yelped. “I thought I managed to escape him this year. I only got an Exceeds Expectations on my OWL in Potion.”
“Well, Slughorn will let you continue with it.”
“Bloody hell,” Ron groaned. “Trust us to get lumbered with the greasy git for Defence. At least we will have the DA.”
“Snape knows his stuff,” Harry said with a shrug. “We won’t need it this year.”
“You’re not going to keep doing it?” Ginny broke in.
“No, but if anyone else wants to keep running it, feel free.”
“No one is as good as you, Harry,” Neville huffed.
“I just won’t have the time for it,” Harry said apologetically.
He didn’t say anything else on the matter, and chose to lean back in his seat, closing his eyes and losing himself in his thoughts.
Harry truly was different, and although Ron understood that he’d just lost his godfather, and everyone else now knew that You-Know-Who was back, it didn’t explain everything.
Worse yet, he too thought he’d managed to avoid the rest of his days at Hogwarts without being taught by Snape, but he snorted at the thought.
“What’s so funny?” Ginny asked.
“Snape. When was the last time we had someone last more than a year teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts?”
“Ronald! That is a horrible thing to even think about!” Hermione chastised.
“Yeah, well, Snape is a bastard anyway. Who gives a shit about what happens to him?”
The girl scowled at him, but Ron didn’t care.
He despised the man and wouldn’t lose any sleep over him if he was to disappear at the end of the school year.
(Break)
There was much playing on his mind, many things he could not ignore, and Albus could not help but think that the stars had only just begun to align. Draco’s inevitable attempts to murder him were indeed pressing, though considerably less important than others given his own foolishness.
His gaze shifted towards the blackened appendage he’d covered with a white, silken glove.
The flesh was almost tar-like in colour, the skin taut and wrinkled, and the bones within weakened significantly. By rights, he should already have perished and would’ve done had it not been for Severus’s timely intervention after he’d managed to make his way back to Hogwarts.
Nonetheless, his efforts that night had not been for nothing.
He had secured the Horcrux, and so much more than he could’ve anticipated.
Albus could not deny that it was his own weakness that had caused him to fall victim to the curse, his desire to see his family reunited that had seen him ignore the danger, and now, his days were numbered.
This would be his last year as the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and though there was much he needed to do, there simply was not enough time.
Harry needed to be ready to face Tom when the time to do so came, the future of the school needed to be secured, and for the first time in many decades, Britain would need to be prepared to stand against its enemies without Albus.
There is only one direction he knew that they would look in, and that was towards the boy who’d ridden them of the Dark Lord once before.
Albus knew that he could only apologise to Harry for such a burden, and he wished more than anything that he had not been so damned foolish during his moment of weakness that might just prove to be to the detriment of many.
That remained to be seen, but there were those other things he’d already considered that would undoubtedly come to pass, and he must prepare those they pertained to accordingly.
“Minerva, at the end of the feast, I would have you escort Mr Potter to my office.”
“Surely he isn’t in trouble already?”
If only she knew.
“No, but I must speak with him.”
His deputy eyed him questioningly before nodding and taking her leave of the Great Hall to greet the new influx of first year students who would be waiting to be sorted shortly.
Before then, however, the other students were already beginning to arrive, and Albus allowed himself to savour this moment. It would be the very last time he would experience the return to Hogwarts from the extended summer break, after all.
(Break)
He could barely conceal his smirk as his and Malfoy’s eyes met in the entrance hall of the castle. Harry had not forgotten his brief conversation with the other boy and his mother at the beginning of the summer.
In the grand scheme of things, Draco was insignificant, but if he proved to be a nuisance, attempted to assert himself over others, Harry would not hesitate to put him in his place.
For five years, Malfoy had gotten away with everything he’d done in the castle. That would not be so any longer.
“Harry, you’re glaring,” Hermione whispered.
He held Draco’s gaze until the blond looked away, and he snorted.
When it came down to it, Malfoy was a coward who could only use his father’s reputation as a shield. That had certainly changed since it had come to light that Lucius was a Death Eater.
The Malfoy name was mud in wizarding Britain, along with many others.
Not that it truly mattered if the war was lost. No, victory would ensure that those that had willingly followed Voldemort would be suitably punished, should they survive.
Defeat would see them once more at the top of society, with few who would be willing to even mention their previous transgressions. That, to Harry, was unacceptable, and even if he was to fall to Voldemort at the final hurdle, he would ensure that he would not find himself in Death’s embrace alone.
Many others would be crossing over long before him, and if he were to have his way, he would take Tom Marvolo Riddle along.
Voldemort, unlike Harry, did fear death, and the young man would see it so that the cloaked figure Iolanthe Peverell had written, the very same that he now carried, would have its due from the Dark Lord.
That day would indeed come, though not today, and as he entered the Great Hall, he did not miss the tension among the students. Having been one of the last to arrive on platform 9 ¾ most of the parents had already left, but it was silent within the castle, where it would usually be rather raucous with friends reuniting.
Instead, most of the students were staring at him, many having not believed him the previous year when he’d revealed that Riddle was back, and that he had murdered Cedric Diggory.
He’d heard the poorly hidden whispers, and even outright accusations that he had been the one to kill the Hogwarts champion during the third task. Now, they all knew the truth.
Harry knew that it was a rather petty celebration, and if he were honest, he couldn’t care less that anyone else believed, nor did he care for any apologies that might come his way.
The students of Hogwarts were fickle at best, and he had more important things to focus on.
“I know,” he murmured comfortingly as the cold presence within him became more prominent.
“Look who’s popular again,” Ron snorted.
Harry shook his head in response.
“Well, everyone can bloody well sod off,” he grumbled. “If they’re looking for a hero, they can look elsewhere.”
Hermione frowned at him but said nothing as the doors to the Great Hall opened once more, and a sombre Professor McGonagall led in those that were here to begin their first year of education.
As far as Harry was concerned, they couldn’t have chosen a worse time to do so. Wizarding Britain was at war, and despite how bad things had already been, there was no doubt in his mind that it would only get worse.
“When I call your name you will step forward,” McGonagall instructed. “You will take a seat, and the Sorting Hat will decide which house you will belong to for the duration of your time here. Belinda Abercrombie.”
Harry watched as a diminutive blonde stepped forward and took a seat on the stool before his gaze drifted towards the rather grave expression of Albus Dumbledore.
Once more, he found himself pondering the experience he’d had courtesy of the voice in Godric’s Hollow, and what else might just lie ahead of him.
(Break)
“All is in place, my lord. The others are wondering why it is we are inactive,” Macnair enquired.
“Because, Walden, there are other things afoot, and I would see things done correctly this time. I made a grave error almost fifteen years ago, and I have no intention of doing so again. I must learn the contents of the prophecy, and I would see Draco successful in his efforts. All must be calm, and the calmer things are, the more they will be wondering what it is we are doing.”
“Of course, my lord,” Macnair replied, offering him a bow.
He was a patient man and understood the need for caution. The same, however, could not be said for some of his other followers, who wished for nothing more than to exact misery upon their enemies.
Their time would come, but for now, the subtle intricacies of his many plans needed to be appreciated for them to bear the desired fruit. He did not truly expect Draco to succeed in his efforts, but at the very least, it would serve as something of the perfect distraction for the time being.
Still, the sight of the boys’ father caused him to frown, and even the prostration of the man no longer filled the Dark Lord with joy. There had once been a time that he’d taken no small amount of joy at seeing the most prominent member of pureblood society falling to their knees in front of him. Now, Lucius just appeared to be pathetic.
“My lord, Potter did board the train to attend Hogwarts.”
Lord Voldemort nodded.
Although Potter had been noticeably absent these past months, except for a single foray into Gringotts, he expected nothing less. Of course, he would place himself under the protection of the old fool once more.
It would indeed be much more desirable to be rid of him sooner rather than later, but he’d meant what he’d said to Walden. He had no intention of repeating his mistakes of the past.
No, he would take his time in dealing with Harry Potter to ensure it was done correctly. To ensure that, he needed to learn the contents of the prophecy, and he nodded to himself thoughtfully.
He and Potter would inevitably meet, but the Dark Lord would do so when it was to his advantage, but that didn’t mean the war would come to a halt. There was many other things that required his attention, which would serve him in his quest to be rid of the blasted boy, after all.
(Break)
There had been little talk throughout the entirety of the feast, and something of a collective sigh of relief sounded throughout the Great Hall when Dumbledore stood to address the students.
“I would like to once more welcome you back to another year at Hogwarts, and my message comes with another warning. For those that were here at the end of last year, I spoke of choices that would one day need to be made, that there are those among you who will feel yourself compelled to make decisions against your better judgement, that it may seem the only way for you is to follow the Dark Lord Voldemort. These are choices that will follow you for the rest of your lives, more so when he is inevitably defeated. I urge those that need help to seek it and remind you that Hogwarts is a place of safety for all of you. Prefects, if you will show your students to their common rooms.”
With that, the headmaster left through the door to the side of the stage, and Harry stood with the others. He’d not expected anything less from Dumbledore, but there would be so few who would heed his words.
Voldemort’s pull was far and wide, and there would be those who want nothing more than to follow in the footsteps of their parents, aunts, uncles, and even older siblings and cousins who had pledged themselves to the man.
What they did not understand, however, and wouldn’t until it was too late, just what serving Voldemort would mean for them.
“Bloody hell, that silence was creepy,” Ron murmured as they began climbing the first of several staircases.
Harry nodded, and did not miss the presence of the ghosts.
Of course, many would be present for the duration of the feast, but there were several others dotted throughout the castle, some he’d never seen before or paid attention to.
“Mr Potter!”
The voice of his Head of House pulled him from his thoughts, and he found that Professor McGonagall’s gaze was as stern as ever as she looked upon him.
“You are to come with me.”
With a reassuring nod to Ron and Hermione, he followed the woman, his wand ready to be used if necessary. He did not know when he’d become so paranoid, but it certainly couldn’t hurt to be more vigilant than he had been.
Barty Crouch Jr had managed to fool even Dumbledore for an entire school year whilst using Polyjuice potion, and Harry had no intention of being caught out again.
“Professor Dumbledore wishes to speak with you, Mr Potter,” the woman informed him as she took in his appearance.
She seemed to be quite troubled, which was understandable given what was happening outside the walls of the school. The world was uncertain at best, and in the coming weeks, months, and years, it could well change quite significantly.
“You are not wearing your badge.”
Harry offered her an apologetic smile as he removed it from his pocket.
Had he been granted the privilege of living a mundane life, he would love nothing more than to accept it, to maybe even pursue Quidditch beyond it being a pastime at school.
He had thought of all possibilities in the hope that he could take on the responsibility, but Harry could not even consider playing let alone being the captain.
“I can’t do it,” he sighed.
Professor McGonagall did not seem to be surprised, but she could not hide her disappointment.
“I see.”
“I want to, I just won’t have the time, and if I accepted, it would be for all the wrong reasons. The team and the house deserve better than that when my heart won’t be in it.”
McGonagall nodded her understanding.
“Then you chose the right reasons for not doing so,” she replied, taking the badge from him. “It truly is a shame, Harry. If you were to dedicate yourself, I expect you could be one of the very best. The only other person I have seen who possessed as much talent as you in all my years here was your father. I don’t suppose you know, but he was scouted by several professional teams during his last two years at Hogwarts. I understand he even received offers to join a few academies, but he chose to fight against Voldemort.”
“Some of us don’t have the luxury of choice, Professor.”
The woman offered him a sad smile.
“Well, for what it is worth, if there is anyone who might just find a way to survive this war, I would bet my last galleon on that person being you.”
“Thank you, Professor.”
Her smile became warmer, and she gave his shoulder a squeeze as they reached the gargoyle that guarded the headmaster’s obviously.
“You look well, Potter,” she said sincerely. “Pear Drops.”
“He’s moved on from Sherbet Lemons?”
“I’m afraid not, but he has been delving into different things lately. I even saw him eating Flying Saucers.”
Harry chuckled amusedly.
“I bet they were quite the surprise to him.”
McGonagall nodded.
“He was not expecting them to be so sour. Now, best go up, Potter. I don’t know what it is he wishes to discuss with you, but he wouldn’t send for you if it wasn’t important.”
Releasing a deep breath, Harry ascended the stairs, and before he could even knock, Dumbledore bade him to enter.
“Ah, Harry,’ he greeted him. “Thank you for joining me. Please, take a seat.”
It appeared that the man had managed to repair the damage to the office Harry had done in his fit of rage at learning about the prophecy.
“Can I interest you in a Mint Humbug? I find them to be quite palatable after a hearty meal.”
“No, thank you, Professor.”
“Very well,” the man chuckled as he unwrapped one of the confections and placed it into his mouth.
He savoured it for a few moments before sobering and leaning back in his chair.
“I believe that I owe you quite the apology, Harry, even more than I’d thought when we first returned from the Ministry of Magic back in June. You see, I truly believed that I had done right by you, as best as I could, given the circumstances. When Tom first disappeared, I was unsure who could be trusted with your care, and I admit, I took advantage of your mother’s protection whilst placing you with Petunia. It as the safest you would be from anyone who might mean you harm. I did not consider that the harm might be done to you from your own relatives. At the very least, when the protections were removed at the end of your fourth year, I should’ve made alternative arrangements immediately. Perhaps then, the unpleasantness of the trial could’ve been avoided.”
Harry nodded.
“Did you also think that my mother’s protection would be the reason I could defeat him?”
“Partly,” Dumbledore admitted, “but there is more to it than that, Harry, which we will discuss at length. Given recent developments, I suspect my reasoning may no longer be as sound as I believed.”
“But your reasons are why you haven’t prepared me to fight him.”
The headmaster deflated at the question.
“Yes. You have seen some of what he is capable of, Harry. Tom is a most capable and gifted wizard who has done things I have seen from no other. When we first met some years after he left Hogwarts, I was hard-pressed to defend myself from him, and now, any prolonged confrontation between the two of us would end most unfavourably for me.”
“And me,” Harry chuckled humourlessly, “but if the prophecy is true, then I have to be able to kill him.”
“Indeed.”
They fell silent for a few moments, and Harry once more found himself contemplating the enormity of the task ahead of him.
“My intention was for us to discuss Tom himself, and what led to him becoming what he has. I had the misfortune of meeting him even before he knew what Hogwarts was, and even as a boy he displayed the most troubling of tendencies. He was a bully, Harry, and a thief with a lack of empathy and compassion. When he arrived at Hogwarts, I hoped the more unpleasant traits would be curbed, but he only became cruel, cunning, and garnered quite the following for himself from amongst his peers. You already know of the opening of the Chamber of Secrets. His transgressions, however, were numerous.”
“He’s a monster.”
“The very worst kind, and from what I have uncovered about him since, even more than I could’ve fathomed when I first met the eleven-year-old boy. I have gathered a significant collection of memories from others who have encountered him in a bid to learn as much as we can, to paint a picture if you will of his shortcomings, his motivations, and anything that might expose him. Knowledge will be a significant tool for you, Harry.”
“Bu it will it help me kill him?”
“Knowing your enemy is the first step, but yes, it will be invaluable to you, and I will assist you in any way I can. I expect our conversations moving forward will be franker than they have been previously, Harry, beginning now. I do not wish to burden you further, but I fear that our time together will be quite limited.”
Harry looked on in horror as the man removed a white glove he wore over his right hand to reveal a limb that appeared to have died.
“A rotting curse,” he murmured.
Dumbledore was surprised that Harry knew what it was he had fallen victim to, but it was one he’d come across in the Black library whilst perusing the books there.
Worse still, although Harry did not have much experience with the magic itself, he knew that it was fatal unless reversed immediately, and there were not many with such knowledge.
The implications of such were not lost on him, and his heart sunk into his stomach.
“How long?” he asked.
“Less than a year, Harry. I am sorry. I will, of course, share the story with you soon enough, but I fell victim to my own foolishness, but let us not dwell on what we cannot change, and focus on what we can. I would prefer what time we do have together to be productive, but much of the work ahead will be your own.”
He removed a shrunken trunk and placed it on the desk, eyeing it or a moment before sliding it towards Harry.
“Within the trunk, you will find the memories I have managed to gather, along with my pensieve, which has been a most useful asset to me since it came into my possession many years ago. I ask, Harry, that you study these memories closely, and take note of all you see. We will discuss them when you have done so.”
Harry nodded as he pocketed the trunk, unable to shift the state of shock he found himself in.
He’d always seen Dumbledore as some ever-present presence that he would never be without, someone who had managed to help him when he’d needed it most more than once.
Knowing that he would soon be gone, and the impact his loss would have was something he could scarcely bring himself to think about.
“I will,” he promised.
The headmaster offered him an encouraging smile.
“Worry not, Harry, death is just the beginning of our next great adventure. It will happen to the very best of us, and we can only hope that the lives we live are full before the inevitable happens.”
Harry nodded his agreement as he felt the cold magic within him almost agreeing with the sentiment.
“So, what happens next?” he asked.
“From now on, Harry, our work together will truly begin. I will not profess to be much of a warrior, but there is much that I can show you that will, just as the trunk is, be invaluable, but it is getting rather late. I think a little time to rest and come to terms with what we have already spoken of is prudent. There is, however, one other thing I would ask, even if I do not expect as open an answer as I hope you will be able to share with me.”
“What is it?”
“You asked me whether or not I had heard of the Peverells.”
Harry had already chided himself for doing so, not having fully understood the implications of doing so. For a moment, he was concerned that somehow, Dumbledore knew of his association with the voice, and subsequent journey to a place a century in the past.
“I know that I am related to them through Ignotus Peverell,” he revealed. “His daughter, Iolanthe, married Hardwin Potter almost 900 years ago. I found some of their belongings in my vault.”
“And you already know that the cloak you possess belonged to them.”
“I do.”
Dumbledore eyed him curiously for a moment before nodding.
“I suspect you already know more, but that is another thing we can discuss, Harry, when the time is right, but I must warn you, the reputation of the Peverells was one they earned. They were once as feared as they were revered, brilliant men who undoubtedly delved into things they could not comprehend until it was too late.”
“I know,” Harry replied. “Do you know their story?”
“I know what others believe and what has been written about them, but I do not believe anyone truly knows the story of what led to them garnering such a reputation. Perhaps there is some truth in the many iterations told, or maybe very little. I have never been certain, but the more I have learned about magic over the years, such things can never be dismissed out of hand. Your cloak is an exceptional feat of magic, Harry, whether it was gifted by Death or created by an exceptionally talented wizard. I cannot say with any certainty that I know the truth.”
“But you have your own thoughts.”
Dumbledore nodded gravely.
“I studied the cloak extensively, Harry, when your father loaned it to me. I will not deny that I asked for him to do so because I knew of the connection to the Peverells, and their story. What I learned about it was that it is an incredible piece of magic unlike anything else I have ever encountered. I could glean little overall, but I could not and cannot fathom how any man could’ve created it.”
“So, you believe it was gifted to Ignotus by Death?”
“As odd as it may be to believe, yes, Harry. I believe that somehow, the cloak came into the possession of your ancestor by way of something not truly of this world.”
Harry was surprised by the admission, and even more so as Dumbledore stood and began perusing the bookshelf next to his desk. Removing one, he offered to him.
“I think you will find The Tale of the Three Brothers to be most fascinating.
Harry accepted the book to see that it appeared to be a collection of children’s stories, but he knew better than to question it. With a nod, he pocketed it before making his way towards the door, pausing as his hand came to rest on the handle.
“I visited my parents,” he admitted. “I used the cloak, but I felt like I had to go, at least once.”
“You were hoping for closure.”
“I didn’t get it, not how I hoped.”
“We seldom do when visiting where we lay our loved ones to rest.”
“I saw your family graves, Professor. Your parents were not so old when they passed, but…”
He broke off, deciding that now was not the right time, but before he could leave, Dumbledore spoke once more.
“Ariana.”
The name was spoken in barely a whisper, one that was filled with an abject sadness and regret that Harry had not expected.
“She was just a child,” the man murmured, “a troubled girl that deserved better than what she was given.”
Harry nodded.
“I am sorry for your family, Professor.”
Leaving the office, he himself felt guilty for mentioning the girl, and even planting the seed of manipulation he intended to see blossom into the knowledge he knew he would need if he was to find a way to help Ariana.
He did not expect such a conversation to be pleasant, but the remorse in Dumbledore’s voice spoke of a pain he’d carried with him these past decades, and yet, Harry knew that if he was to be able to change the girl’s fate, he would need the headmaster to open up to him before he perished from the effects of the curse.
For now, however, he had some memories to study, a tale to read, and Harry needed to come to terms with the undeniable fact, that much sooner than he’d anticipated, it truly would be down to him to fight against Voldemort and his followers without the crutch that was Albus Dumbledore.