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Chapter 21 - Protecting the Snake
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Outside, the rain continued to pour down as Harry made his way back to the Gryffindor common room. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen this much rain. The conditions were miserable, and Harry had to sneer, thinking of Malfoy and what he’d have to do to return to the castle. By now, the Slytherin would be up and about in Hogsmeade. What would he try to do? Harry stopped to look down through a window to the Hogwarts grounds below. Through the glass he could see large puddles forming everywhere, and the lake burgeoning. He leaned his head against the cold glass and thought back to Dumbledore’s words of forgiveness, but then quickly shoved them aside. “If they can’t help her, Malfoy,” he whispered, his words fogging the pane before him, “you’ll join her there. I promise you that.” A hand touched his shoulder.

“Hey, Harry,” he whispered. “Got a minute?” Harry spun ready to fight, and found that it was only Anthony Goldstein, the Ravenclaw’s eyes darting up and down the corridor. “We’ve made a plan if you want in.” A smile broke out on his face, and for a moment Harry thought he was looking at the smirk of Lucius Malfoy.

“Plan?” Harry asked. “Really, Anthony you’ve got to…”

“Great!” Goldstein jumped in not listening to a word. He held Harry’s arm and walked over by one of the pillars lining the corridor. “Franklin tells me that every night there’s a group of Slytherins that sneak out to one of the classrooms on the second floor for a bit of dueling practice. One of them is Malfoy. But, he seems to have disappeared… somehow,” he winked at Harry. “That conveniently drops their best duelist out of the group.” Again his eyes shot back and forth scanning the corridor. “I’ve got six, maybe seven Ravenclaws. We’ll be waiting for them tonight at ten. Once they’re down, we’re taking them into the forest and leaving them there.”

“The forest!” Harry exclaimed. “You can’t go in there. Do you have any idea…”

“You’ve been in there loads of times, Harry, and you’re fine. We’re just going to scare ‘em a bit. A night’s sleep under the trees will do ‘em some good.” Goldstein’s face was sinister and full of malice. “They’ll pay for what they did to Cho. They’ll all pay!”

“Anthony, listen,” Harry was searching for the words, “it wasn’t all of Slytherin. It was Malfoy. You can’t just assume…”

“They’re all the same, Potter!” he choked. “Luna told us how you fought them off last year. I didn’t believe it, not until today in class. And we know their dad’s are Death Eaters. We need to get them out… eliminate every… last… ONE!” Harry saw a picture of Vernon flash before him as a bit of foam formed on the corner of Anthony’s mouth. “It was a Slytherin that killed your parents, Harry. It was a Slytherin that killed your godfather. Are you in with us, or out?” Harry suddenly found his compass spinning again. The need for revenge was deep and dropping Malfoy in Hogsmeade for a walk home in the rain had not quenched his thirst. “Well?” Goldstein pressed.

“In,” Harry breathed. A broad smile broke out on Goldstein’s face. It was not a smile Harry shared. Then, quite suddenly, Harry’s forehead split open in a searing pain. His hand shot up to his scar. It was on fire. It was the first time he’d felt like this since… since…”

“Harry? Are you okay?” Goldstein asked as Harry bent over in agony.

“What? Are you daft?” Harry yelled. “No, I’m not okay!” He was rubbing his forehead, and as quickly as it had come, the pain receded. He straightened and took a deep breath. Then looking at Goldstein with a scowl he snapped, “Well?”

“Okay… nine-thirty then,” he whispered to Harry, “outside the Ravenclaw common room. If you don’t show, Harry, we won’t wait for you.” He slapped Harry on the shoulder. “Tonight we begin to take back Hogwarts.”

His head pounding, Harry made it back to common room and he began a feeble attempt at working on what homework he could. Throughout, he was wondering what might have caused the pain in his scar again. Throughout, he knew that, somewhere, something bad was about to happen, if it hadn’t already. He went to put his things away as students were making their way in from the last class of the day. When he entered his room, he found Neville lying in bed, his pillow over his head. “Hey, Neville, everything okay?” he asked. Neville pulled the pillow down to reveal a smile on his face.

“Perfect,” he said with an uncharacteristic grin. It was an unusual look for Neville, and an even more unusual response. Harry started to change for dinner and noticed the dragonhead in his trunk. He pulled it out and set it by his bed. “Whoa!” Neville exclaimed. “Cool! Where’d you get it?”

“A friend,” Harry said simply. “For my birthday.” He handed the dragonhead to Neville.

“It’s a Hungarian Horntail, isn’t it?” asked Neville. Harry nodded. “Look at the teeth! Does it move?”

“Nope, just a statue.” He paused. “A Muggle made it.” He was wondering what Neville’s response would be.

“Fantastic!” he exclaimed. The acceptance seemed to warm Harry’s heart which had been so cold of late. “But… a horntail? How?”

“She saw the statuette I had from the Tri-Wizard tournament.” The explanation satisfied Neville, as it had Harry before, but this time the words coming from Harry’s own mouth were troubling; something wasn’t quite right. Still, not everything slipped passed Neville.

“She?” he asked, handing the dragonhead back. The tone in his voice was obvious and the flush of Harry’s skin, and grin on his face gave Neville the answer before Harry said a word. “That makes us two for two, Harry! After Professor Sprout’s N.E.W.T. today, Helen Hedera from Hufflepuff pulled me aside. She wondered if I’d like to help her pot some plants tonight.”

“She’s pretty, Neville,” Harry winked, noticing for the first time that Neville seemed to be growing more handsome himself. “Always wears a flower in her hair, right?”

“Yeah,” Neville sighed, flopping back on his bed and smiling at the ceiling. Ron and Goyle walked in. Goyle was laughing about something as he entered, but stopped abruptly when he saw Harry.

Harry set the dragonhead down next to his bed, but when he pulled his hand away his finger caught on one of the creature’s sharp teeth. “Ow!” he yelped. A small red bead of blood began to prickle to the surface. Harry sucked his finger. When he looked back at its tip, the wound was gone. When he stood up, he saw that Ron had noticed, but no one else.

“Hey, Neville,” Harry called. “How ‘bout dinner.”

“Sure!” Neville said. “I want to hear more about this girl of yours.” Harry watched Ron’s eyes widen a bit, but he ignored him. “See you guys at dinner,” Neville said brightly.

When he and Harry sat to eat, the sky above was still dark and foreboding. The sound of rain filled the Great Hall. His heart growing lighter with the telling, Harry actually opened up about Gabriella in the broadest of terms. It was nice to share with someone else, in a small way at least. Neville seemed to be perfectly accepting.

“You know,” Neville said, munching on a dinner roll, “Seamus’ dad’s a Muggle. You ought to ask him how his folks met.” Harry nodded looking over at the Ravenclaw table. Seamus was sitting with a group of Ravenclaws, one of which was Anthony Goldstein. They were huddling together.

“How obvious can you get,” thought Harry. He looked up to the head table. Nobody seemed to be paying any attention. Dumbledore was gone, and Professor Snape was actually discussing something with Hagrid. Harry walked over to the group of Ravenclaws.

“Why don’t you tell the whole bloody school you’re planning something,” he hissed. “Break it up.” Then, in a louder voice to give a reason for his visit he asked, “Seamus, can I have a word?”

“Sure, Harry!” Seamus stood up and walked over with Harry against a side wall.

“You’re not in on this are you?” Harry whispered.

“Why not?” Seamus snapped back under his breath. “Goldstein says you’re in. Are you?” Harry looked around the hall. He really wanted to be having the conversation Neville suggested.

“It’s not safe Seamus,” Harry pleaded. “Just stay out of it.”

“They figure the one thing I got bein’ from Gryffindor is guts, an’ you wan’ me teh chicken out?” It was Seamus who was turning scarlet. “I don’ back down from a battle, Harry, never. Besides… she’s yer girlfriend, ain’t she?”

“Yes… I mean, no. It’s just that….”

“Yeh better figure it out, Harry, ‘cuz we’re doin’ it tonight, with or witho’ yeh.” Seamus patted Harry on the chest and walked back to the Ravenclaw table. Harry took off his glasses with one hand and rubbed his eyes with the other. He was suddenly very tired, and still had Astronomy. The cluster of Ravenclaws broke up and began to leave the hall in twos.

There was a clap of thunder that shuddered through the Great Hall, and Harry walked over and said his goodbyes to Neville. He was on his way to the tower when two students burst through the front doors soaked to the bone. Through the opening he saw Dean and Ginny on the steps. He walked over for a closer look.

“Really, Ginny,” said Dean smiling, water dripping down his face, “I’ve got to go. Astronomy will start any minute.” The two kissed. The rain was splashing down on them.

“Stay,” Ginny teased. “You can’t see any stars tonight.” Dean caught a glimpse of Harry in the doorway.

“Look,” he pointed, “Harry’s headed there now. If Professor Sinistra cancels, I’ll be right back. I swear.” They kissed again, and he pulled himself away. Together, Dean and Harry made their way to the astronomy tower, Dean’s shoes squeaking at every step.

As the pair entered the tower a bit late, Professor Sinistra directed them each take a seat. “I’m afraid viewing the stars will be quite out of the question,” she said. “I thought we…” and as if someone had turned off the spout, the rain stopped. Suddenly, silence filled the air, and the class gave out a small round of applause. Professor Sinistra walked out onto the parapet and looked up to the sky. “Hmm.” She stroked her chin.

For the first half of class, they reviewed planetary information from last year. This year, they were to examine the major gaseous clusters and galaxies. Professor Sinistra kept walking out onto the parapet to check the sky. Finally, she said, “Yes, I think we can have a go.” Each student conjured up a telescope and began to examine the stars. For quite some time they compared their charts with their observations. Dean and Harry were working side by side comparing notes and helping each other out with their charts.

“So, Dean,” Harry asked, “any more trouble from Ron?” He tried to keep his voice as light as possible.

“Tell you what, Harry,” Dean replied, “when Ron stops being an ass, that will be news. Believe me, I’ll let you know when it happens.” He took his quill and scribbled a note on his star chart. “I’ve been thinking about what you said though, and you’re right.” He looked up from his telescope to Harry. “I’ve got his parents on my side, right?” Harry nodded. “Ginny told Fred and George last year when we were first going out and they’ve been cool about it.” He shook his head. “What am I doing looking for Ron’s approval? I don’t need it, and neither does she.” His voice had been resolute throughout, but wavered at the end.

“What?” Harry asked. “Ginny said that…”

“Oh, I know what she says,” Dean interrupted. “I also know what she feels, and it really hurts her that Ron’s being so… so… hell I don’t know.” Harry could feel his blood begin to heat. If Ron was really hurting Ginny in all this, he’d do something about it, and fast.

“Well,” Harry said, trying to keep it light, “I’ll bet he’ll turn around. You’ll see.”

“I hope so,” Dean sighed looking back into his telescope. Harry glanced back into his own eyepiece. A bright swirling galaxy was flanked by countless stars.

“They are beautiful, aren’t they?” he admired.

“Yeah, I think I’d rather draw the galaxies than study them,” Dean whispered. They were almost through when the sound of a cart coming down the flagstone path to the castle broke the silence. The night was dark except for the torches burning outside the castle, and the flashes of lightning that could be seen on the horizon toward Hogsmeade. It was hard to see. A wizard stepped out with a student dressed in class robes. Harry’s heart skipped; was it Malfoy?

“Ladies and gentlemen, that should be enough for tonight,” Professor Sinistra called. “Put your things away. Next time bring with you a description of the ten largest galaxies in the known universe. Three scrolls should suffice.” Harry conjured away his telescope and dashed down the stairs ahead of the rest. He had to see if they’d dragged the Slytherin back to the castle.

When he came around the corner into the castle entranceway, all he could see was the back of Professor Dumbledore. He was speaking to the wizard that had just arrived.

“He didn’t want to come back,” the wizard said. “He’s a bit frightened after what happened to him.” Harry’s heart began to race… it was Malfoy. “But, when he woke up all he could talk about was missing classes.”

“I’m sure,” said Professor Dumbledore, “he can easily make up the material from the classes he’s missed.”

“No!” Harry yelled stepping out into the entranceway. “You can’t let him back in! You can’t.” Dumbledore turned to face him, and when he did so Harry instantly realized his mistake. There stood James Chang, and obviously the wizard next to him was his father.

“Excuse me, Mr. Potter?” Dumbledore inquired, glancing over his spectacles. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.” Harry was caught. He’d just given it away, all away. Dumbledore would put the pieces together in an instant.

“Potter?” Mr. Chang asked, walking over to Harry.

“Yes, father,” said James. Mr. Chang walked quickly toward Harry, his arms lifted in the air, and then he wrapped them around Harry in a large embrace. Without saying a word he began to sob uncontrollably. Harry put his arms around him in return.

“Thank you my child, thank you,” he heaved. “James has told us about your bravery. My daughter owes you her life.” He let go of Harry and then put both hands firmly on his shoulders. “You’ve saved her, Harry.”

“No,” Harry backed, “no, I didn’t. It… it was Hermione. She went and got the healer.” He was starting to feel cold. To feel death. It didn’t make sense.

“Not on the train, Harry,” Mr. Chang continued, “in the hospital. They say she was holding on to something, not wanting to let go. When she finally came around and started asking about you, we knew. You, or the thought of you, brought her back from the dead, Harry.” Mr. Chang took a deep breath and wiped his face. Then he addressed Dumbledore again. Harry was growing more nauseous by the minute. “I would like to meet this Malfoy, Professor Dumbledore. I need to know why.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible at the moment, Mr. Chang,” Professor Dumbledore said calmly. “Mr. Malfoy has been missing since this morning. He was involved in another altercation,” Dumbledore’s eyes flashed at Harry showing a mark of concern, “and was last seen on his way to my office.”

“He has… run away?” James called out.

“Perhaps, young Mr. Chang,” Professor Dumbledore said with a slight twinkle in his eyes, “but I think not.” The wise wizard looked at Harry who was now starting to turn a bit pale. Harry knew the feeling washing over his body, but it couldn’t be. “Harry, the Sorting Hat and I have decided to place Mr. Chang in Gryffindor for this term. He will rotate as the year progresses. Would you help him with his things and escort him to the common room. Find Mr. Weasley, and have him set up a bed for him.”

“Yes, Headmaster,” Harry said weakly, as a cold shiver ran down his spine. He walked over by the door and pulled out his wand to levitate James’ trunk when the door flew open and a body smashed against his arm flinging his wand across the flagstone entranceway.

The intruder was breathing hard and was covered in mud. His clothes were in tatters and the muck was dripping from his robes onto the floor. The thing crawled on all fours toward Professor Dumbledore. Harry couldn’t tell really what it was, much less who. A cold wind blew through the door.

“S-s-ss-sir,” it shivered reaching for the hem of Dumbledore’s robe. “D-d-Demen-Dementors!” Immediately, Dumbledore crouched down holding the person close him.

“Dementors? Where Draco?” he yelled, his voice anxious. Malfoy pulled away from Dumbledore, crawled toward Harry by the door, and pointed. He was shaking violently.

“H-Hogsmeade” he croaked. James had caught the name ‘Draco’ instantly. Standing behind Dumbledore now walking toward the door, the first year was pulling his wand. Mr. Chang was on the far side of the hall. Harry saw it all begin to play out, and reached for his own wand, but it was gone. He could feel the surge in his right arm again.

“Draco!” James screeched. “You’ve killed her!” Malfoy was either unaware he was under attack, or unable to defend himself. In an instant, Harry crouched down close to him holding Malfoy with his left arm and raising his right. “Incendio!” James screamed. A huge blast of flame erupted from his wand. Harry opened his right hand.

“Protego!” Harry called. The flame hit his hand and spread out over him and Malfoy. It was as if they were surrounded in a glass cocoon. The spreading fire was warm, but it didn’t burn. A moment later the flames were out. Mr. Chang had taken his son’s wand and was holding him around the chest. Dumbledore strode to the door and looked back at Malfoy.

“How many Draco?” But Malfoy just sat shivering, unable to speak. Dumbledore strode to a painting of a wizard in the hallway. “Everard,” he said, “sound the alarm. Get as many as you can to Hogsmeade, but make sure the rearguard remains in place.” By this time a group of students had begun to gather around; Hermione was among them. Dumbledore’s voice took command of the situation.

“Ms. Granger, see that James is escorted into the Gryffindor common room. Mr. Potter, find some others and carry Mr. Malfoy to the hospital wing. Don’t use magic, not in his state. Mr. Chang, I believe we have some work to do?” Mr. Chang who was staring at what he’d just seen, handed his son’s wand to Hermione and drew his own, a moment later both he and Professor Dumbledore were flying the carriage toward Hogsmeade.

Hermione walked up to Harry. “What happened?” she asked.

“Look out!” Harry called. James, free of his father, shoved Hermione, and started pounding on Malfoy. “Get him out of here!” Then Harry called to those gathered. “Dementors are attacking Hogsmeade. Alert your Heads of House! Everyone to their rooms!” When he caught sight of Dean in the hall, he called, “Dean! Do you have any more chocolate?”

“Sure, Harry.” Dean walked over and gave Harry a bar. Harry ripped it open and handed it to Malfoy.

“Eat it Malfoy,” he said, but Malfoy glared defiantly at him shivering. “Eat the damn chocolate!” Grudgingly, he took a bite, and the shivering began to calm. He took another. “Dean, can you give me a hand? I can’t carry him myself.” Earlier, there had been three or four Slytherins in the entranceway, but when they’d heard Dementors they had vanished. “There’s loyalty for you,” Harry thought. “Accio wand!” he called, and his wand flew back in his hand. Dean shot him a glance.

The two Gryffindors lifted Malfoy onto his feet. He was barely able to walk and was still shaking. How he made it from Hogsmeade was a miracle. They were about halfway to the hospital when Dean noticed. The left side of Malfoy’s face was exposed, covered in mud, but the scar was clearly visible.

“Oh, my,” Dean gasped. Malfoy either didn’t notice, or didn’t care. For a while, Dean just stood examining it as they continued down the corridor. And then, in a voice of pure admiration, he said, “Harry, Ginny said this was your handiwork. Did you do it?” Harry took a second to figure out what Dean was talking about. He wasn’t feeling well, and it was hard trudging Malfoy down the hall. Harry was starting to think Malfoy wasn’t walking on purpose.

“Yeah, I did it,” he huffed stopping to look at the staircase they needed to climb.

“It’s bloody exquisite!” Dean breathed. Suddenly, as if broken from a trance, Malfoy realized they were talking about the scar on his face. He pushed Dean away.

“Get away from me you filthy mudblood!” he croaked. But the second he tossed Dean off, he lost complete support and crumpled down to the floor. He tried crawling on all fours up the stairs. “I…” he gasped, “… can get there… myself.” They watched him climb about six steps and then collapse. Harry knew what it was to feel the Dementors drain you of your happiness. Malfoy had laughed at Harry’s vulnerability during their third year. He wondered what had changed to make Malfoy so overcome.

“Your father?” breathed Harry.

“Stay away from me!” Malfoy screamed, but the voice was week and shaky. Harry wondered what it would be like to have first known, then lost his own father, even to prison. Had the Dementors found this new weakness in Malfoy? Harry bent low to one knee.

“Draco let us help. We’ll just take you to the hospital wing and be out of your hair.” Malfoy looked ready to spit in Harry’s face. “You have my word.” Malfoy looked into Harry’s eyes. The blonde’s gray eyes were bright against the dark brown mud caking his face. For a second, he knit his eyebrows, the fire still burning with hatred. Then, the fire left, and an expression Harry had never seen cross Malfoy’s face appeared. Malfoy nodded his head, and fell back on the steps.

Harry reached down and took one arm and Dean took the other. The going was slow, and Harry wondered why Professor Dumbledore told them not to use magic. Dean broke the silence of the journey just before they were at the doors to the hospital wing.

“Malfoy, I know you hate it, but it’s… well fantastic! I’d swear it was Tibetan. And how Potter put it on your face when he draws like a monkey is beyond me.” Malfoy remained silent. They were at the doors and about to go in when Harry held Malfoy against the wall. All three of them were now covered in mud and stained with blood. He held his face close to Malfoy’s.

“I need to know. How many?” he asked. Malfoy’s eyes began to float into space. He began to tremble again.

“Hundreds,” he breathed. His eyes were wide. “They were like flies. I tried to outrun them, but…” He looked down at his hands. They were bleeding and raw. “Someone from the town saved my life,” he whispered as tears began to fill his eyes. “He summoned a patronus, but it was too weak.” The shivering was growing. “I just wanted to die… they were over me… and reached down, and…” He felt the left side of his face. “They dropped me… they… they took him.” Malfoy was now shaking violently. Harry took his own sleeve and wiped the mud from Malfoy’s face the best he could. The ache in his arm was gone.

“I… I’m sorry Draco,” he whispered. “It’s my fault.” His words were heavy, but sincere. He took a deep breath and pulled Malfoy’s arm around his neck. “Get the doors Dean,” he said. And walking through the archway Harry Potter carried for the first time the full weight of Draco Malfoy--body and spirit.

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Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Chapter 22 - Salazar’s Pride
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At breakfast the next morning, everyone looked exhausted. No one had slept the night before. Harry, Dean, Neville, Ron and even Goyle were huddled around their window looking for some sign of what was going on. It was early in the morning when wizards and witches began to appear on the grounds. The night sky glowed with a hint of the sunrise to come. At one point, Ron and Hermione had been called out by Professor McGonagall, only to return saying no one was to leave their dormitories. There was no more news to give other than all was safe. When the sun finally peeked over the horizon, the students were released to head for breakfast.

In the Great Hall, there was a frenetic thirst for information. In such an environment rumors grow exponentially. One common thread was that somehow Malfoy was linked to the Dementors. “Why else would he be in Hogsmeade,” called Parvati, “if he wasn’t in on it?” Many echoed her opinions; even the Slytherins were thinking that Malfoy had summoned the Dementors to town.

Then there was the talk about how Harry, having heard of the evil that Malfoy summoned to Hogsmeade, brought the Slytherin down in the entranceway, dueling him while Dumbledore watched. Their only evidence… the witnesses that had seen Harry crouching over Malfoy like a lion ready to devour its prey. Some spoke of how James Chang had tried to stop it, but that he was sent away by the Head Master. Considering that every Slytherin ran in panic the moment they had heard the word Dementors, Harry was not surprised that they didn’t have a clue as to what really happened.

Assigned initially to Gryffindor, James sat a few tables down from Harry. He was making a halfhearted attempt at eating. He seemed content to listen to Dennis Creevey tell him all the wonderful things there were to learn about Hogwarts. Seated next to Harry were Hermione and Ron. He had tried to leave when Hermione arrived with Ron at her side, but she grabbed Harry’s robes and with surprising force insisted that he sit.

“I’ll sit,” he said, “but don’t think I’m talking. Not with him.”

“I don’t know what you two are having a row about,” Hermione chided, “but I want you to talk about it and get it out in the open right now.” Harry raised his eyebrows.

“I told you to ask him for answers, not me,” Harry retorted. Then looking across the table he added, “Unless, Ron, you’d like to tell us all what you’re upset with me about.” Sitting to the other side of Hermione was Neville and Dean.

“Yeah Ron,” chimed in Neville, “you’ve been in a pretty lousy mood ever since you got here. What’s up?” Dean flicked Neville on the arm and shot him a glance that told him to be quiet. Harry caught it, but Ron had his hands to his forehead, and did not look well.

“Really, Hermione,” Ron said, looking at his uneaten breakfast, “I’m too tired this morning, okay? Maybe tomorrow.” When he looked back up to Hermione, his eyes had a look of fright in them. It wasn’t there when the two had walked in. Harry looked around the room, then back to Ron. It was as if everyone’s emotions were leaving an imprint on Ron’s face.

As they were talking, a murmur fluttered through the Great Hall and it suddenly became quiet. Harry looked from Ron to the Head Table. Dumbledore had just entered and stood beside his chair, waiting for complete silence. When it came, he began to speak.

“Last night,” he said, his voice clear and strong, “some two hundred Dementors rampaged through the town of Hogsmeade.” There was a collective gasp. Many had heard it was Dementors, but the words coming from Dumbledore’s mouth made them real and Hogsmeade made them close. “The Ministry, many local inhabitants, and many witches and wizards of the staff here went to repel the attack. By midnight, nearly one hundred Dementors had been captured; the rest fled. There were many injuries, and much damage, but no fatalities. Such is the way of the Dementor. There was one wizard, Mr. Silverton, who lost his soul saving the life of one of our own students.”

There was a general murmur. The words “Malfoy” and “Draco” bounced off the walls like ping-pong balls. James Chang began scanning the room, looking for his nemesis. Dumbledore pressed on.

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy. He is recuperating in the hospital wing. He is well and will be returning to class shortly.” There were more whispers. “No,” Dumbledore boomed emphatically, “he did NOT have anything to do with the attack. He was unfortunate to find himself in Hogsmeade at the wrong time.” Dumbledore’s face did not move, but Harry was sure he saw a flash of blue glance his way. “The school is safe, as are the grounds.” The elderly wizard seemed to age for a moment, and then stepped away from the Head Table and down among the students. It was most unusual, but as he surrounded himself with the students, he gathered strength, and years were wiped from his face. His stature straightened and he spoke as if holding the hands of each individual student. Harry noticed the fear begin to fade from Ron’s face.

“We will not let terror rule our lives. We will defeat this evil on every front. We will push back his advances. We will deny his goals at every turn. The day will come when Voldemort is utterly destroyed.” This time his eyes bore straight on Harry. Hermione noticed and held his hand. Dumbledore turned and took in the Great Hall. “By staying true to the principals this school was founded on, by working together for a greater good, you will lead the charge. Yes, each of you will have your hand in his ultimate defeat.” The room fell silent for a moment as Dumbledore began to walk back to the Head Table. There were a few whispers weaving their way through the air like snakes.

Dumbledore returned to his chair, and spoke one last time wearing a broad smile. “We will continue as we have for centuries. The Hogsmeade weekend will not be canceled. We will fight fear with bravery, destroy hate with love.” There was a loud cheer throughout the room. As the room quieted, Dumbledore smiled. “There is one thing more we have done for centuries… study hard, and do our homework.” There was a collective groan. “You have only fifteen minutes before class. Finish your breakfasts!” He clapped his hands, and the sound of forks and plates clanging together returned to fill the room.

Ron turned back to see Hermione holding Harry’s hand. For a moment his face flushed, then it lost all expression as he closed his eyes. Hermione pulled her hand away, slightly embarrassed, while Harry tried to kick Ron in the leg, but he was too far down the table. It was too late. Ron had read Hermione’s mind, and now knew what she had been thinking -- the prophecy of Harry’s fate. When Ron opened his eyes they were as big as silver dollars and focused straight at Harry.

“Why… why didn’t you tell me?” he gasped. Hermione thought he was upset about her holding Harry’s hand. She began to explain how she was just holding Harry’s hand because of last night’s trauma. But she was telling a lie that Harry knew Ron could see through. Ron now knew of Harry’s ultimate confrontation, at least, Hermione’s interpretation of it, and she was dead bang on. Harry didn’t say a word. He stood up from the table and walked away.

“Harry,” she called. But Harry was having nothing to do with Ron… ever. He was nearly out of the Great Hall when the sound of multiple screeches signaled the arrival of the morning post. He waited, but Hedwig was nowhere to be seen. Her absence only plunged his heart lower. He was about to leave when Seamus walked up to him from the Ravenclaw table.

“We’ve moved the timetable, Harry,” he whispered, “for obvious reasons.” He glanced over to the Slytherin table. “Late next week. I’ll let yeh know.” And before Harry had a chance to say a word, Seamus was back laughing at the Ravenclaw table.

“At least he’s happy,” Harry thought, and he left to make his way to Potions.

He was early. There was only one other student waiting for Professor Snape. In the back of the room, considerably cleaner than the night before, sat Malfoy. His blonde shoulder length hair was pristine and his robes pressed. He was certainly not the tatters and blood of just a few hours ago. For a moment Harry hesitated, then stepped back to leave when Malfoy turned his head to see who had entered.

Harry just stared. Malfoy had removed the bandage completely, the scar was revealed. It was the first chance Harry had time to truly examine the design up close. Save for the two lightning-bolts on the base of the sword that burned his forearm, the marks were identical. Malfoy just stared back, his lips turned in a slim smile. The mark was less red than the mark that appeared on Harry’s arm. But against Malfoy’s light skin it was clear to see from a distance.

“Well, Potter,” he snapped, “what do you think? Your mudblood friend thinks it’s ‘exquisite’, or am I simply some sort of freak?” He turned back facing the front of the classroom. “Well, either way, I’m not hiding it anymore. We’ll see what the school thinks of your handy-work.” Harry just looked at the back of Malfoy’s head. Could this statue of ice before him be the same sniveling creature he saved from being torched? Harry simply walked toward the front of the class and sat down.

“I hope, Draco,” Harry said, facing the front of the classroom himself, “you won’t stun me in the back again.” He turned to face Malfoy, a sneer slashing across his own face. “It would be a shame if you found yourself waking up in Voldemort’s basement this time. But then, maybe you’d prefer…”

“You!” Draco yelled. “I knew it! How Potter? Damn you! You almost cost me my life!” He stood drawing his wand, the chair he was sitting in scraping across the stone floor and reverberating in the empty classroom.

“And YOU!” cried Harry. “You killed everything that made her Cho! Not nearly Draco. She’s as good as dead!” And Harry stood, wand in hand.

At the same moment about six students walked through the doors, stopping instantly and gawking at the scene before them. An encore, they thought, to the duel from the night before. Harry pressed on.

“You’ve been a slug, Draco, and a ferret,” he taunted. “What would you like to be this time?” Students were piling up on the outside of the door. It was a commotion that went unheeded by either of the two students inside.

“If it hadn’t been for you Potter, Old Man Silverton would be having breakfast with his wife this morning. They took him because…” Malfoy took a deep breath as a pang of regret welled up inside him. “…because he tried to see me here safely.” Malfoy’s words were a stiletto slicing deep into Harry’s innards. Immediately, the Gryffindor dropped his wand to his side, turned and slumped to his chair. He could hear the crowd outside collectively sigh and make their way into the dungeon classroom.

“Harry, what’s going on?” It was Hermione, her hand on his shoulder as she sat down next to him. He was looking down to his hands, rolling over Hagrid’s words of manhood in his mind. He looked over to Hermione.

“I killed him,” he whispered. There was pain in his green eyes. “I killed her,” he whispered again. “I’m death, Hermione. Death.”

“Harry you’re not…” The dungeon door burst open with a clang. They didn’t need to turn to know it was Professor Snape.

“I’m glad you could find your seat today Mr. Potter,” he sneered as he came to the front of the class. Then he looked to the back. “Mr. Malfoy please face the front of the class, you can…” his sentence broke for just a beat as Malfoy revealed his face, “…take these notes down.” He waved his wand in the air and the class board filled with the morning’s lesson. Throughout the lesson, Harry was an automaton. Mechanically, he read the instructions and mixed the ingredients. When the lesson was over, he’d made the best draught he’d ever attempted in Potions, but he didn’t care. After he handed his flask to Professor Snape, he turned to speak with Malfoy, but the blonde had already left.

During Care of Magical Creatures he was silent, standing to the back away from Ron, away from everybody. When Hagrid tried to engage him with questions he would respond with a simple yes, no, or just shrug his shoulders. At lunch, Hermione and Ron were talking to Goyle and laughing about something. Harry deliberately sat with Colin so that he wouldn’t have to say more than a word or two. Once again he had found his internal compass spinning. How could he possibly save the world when everything he touched turned to death?

When it came time for his Transfiguration lesson, Harry found himself arriving early. For some time he sat alone drawing his own doodles around the edges of his notebook. They weren’t pictures of brooms, but of sunsets. Without invitation, Malfoy sat down next to him just before class was to start. He sat on Harry’s right ensuring his partner would have a good long look at the mark on Malfoy’s face. But Harry didn’t need to look; he knew what was there. The two sat silently before the start of class as Professor McGonagall chatted with Hermione in the front.

Harry took his wand out and set it on the table in front of him. Without looking at Malfoy he said, “Draco, I’m sorry.” Except for the soft murmurs of students in the class, there was silence. Then Malfoy pulled out his wand and began to twiddle with it in his hands.

“It’s just that…” Malfoy started. With a finger he slowly stroked the grain along his wand’s shaft, and then he shook his head. He set his wand down next to Harry’s and brought his left hand to his face. Before he could say more, Professor McGonagall called the room to begin.

While she had most the class working on the previous lesson, a few students were moving on to more advanced efforts. Hermione along with Anthony Goldstein, and Harry with Malfoy were given a box turtle again, but this time they were asked to change it directly into another animal, a snake. It was the first time in class they’d attempted an animal-to-animal transfiguration. McGonagall showed the new spell and wand movement to both pairs. Harry wondered if it would be more difficult than when he was angry and turned Goyle into a toad.

After the professor left Harry and Malfoy, they grabbed their wands and began, neither wanting to be second best. It was as if the two were dueling. With each flash of the wand their transfigurations became better and better. At one point, Harry had turned the turtle into a rather squat snake with stubby legs.

“Pitiful Potter,” Malfoy drawled. He untransfigured the creature back into the turtle and attempted the spell himself. “Quadrena Serpses!” The turtle stretched and lost its legs. The head became snakelike, but the shell remained.

“Not QUAD-re-na, quad-RE-na,” Harry corrected. It goaded Malfoy, but Harry was right, and Malfoy nodded. Toward the end of class, it was Malfoy who succeeded first.

“Looks like a snake to me,” the Slytherin snickered.

“You should know,” Potter griped back. Two more attempts later, Harry succeed in the transfiguration. A glance to the front revealed that Hermione still hadn’t mastered the spell. When he looked back to his desk, the snake was attempting to slither over the edge. Malfoy re-centered it with his wand. Then, an idea flashed across the blonde’s face.

“Can you talk to it?” he whispered.

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “It was a turtle, after all.” There was a mischievous glint in Malfoy’s eyes.

“Well, give it a go,” Malfoy coaxed. “Ask it something.” Harry glanced up to find McGonagall correcting Anthony Goldstein’s wand movement. He wasn’t sure why, but the tone in Malfoy’s voice was compelling. He leaned down next to the snake.

“Hassa hayaheth?” he whispered. The snake raised its head and looked at Harry. “Hassa shessa rahess,” Harry continued. The snake clearly looked at Malfoy, flicking its tongue then back at Harry. Malfoy leaned in close, transfixed.

“Well?” he asked Harry. The scene looked very conspiratorial: Harry and Malfoy shoulder-to-shoulder, forehead-to-forehead leaning down over the snake.

“She says,” Harry replied, “you’re better at this than I am.” Malfoy leaned up grinning and punched Harry on the shoulder.

“Hah!” he shot. The smile curved the dagger that plunged down from his eye. Harry forced himself not to look.

“She also says,” continued Harry, “the whole thing is making her dizzy, and could she be a turtle again? It feels safer.”

“Simple enough,” Malfoy smiled and flicked his wand, “Quadrena!” and she was back to being a turtle. He stared at her for a moment, and then looked back at Harry. He squinted his cold gray eyes. “Father says you learned it from him,” he whispered looking slightly nervous, “when he gave you that.” Malfoy’s eyes shot to Harry’s scar then dropped meeting Harry’s. For a moment, eye-to-eye, the two were frozen in time, then Harry leaned back.

What was this about? Had he forgotten who he was sitting next to? Every word he said, every deed he accomplished would certainly be recorded and reported back to Voldemort as surely as he was speaking to a Death Eater’s son.

“I don’t know, Draco,” Harry said at a distance but squinting his eyes to match Malfoy’s. “I’ve left you with a mark; can you speak with snakes?” For a second Malfoy considered the possibility, but Harry didn’t let the thought stay for long.

“Oops! I take that back,” Harry smirked. “You talk with them every day… don’t you?” He turned and watched Professor McGonagall as she began to clear the desks with her wand. Without looking at Malfoy he said, “I won’t be your personal spy back to daddy, Draco.”

“Spy?” Malfoy hissed. “I’m not a spy, Potter.” For a beat Harry resisted the temptation, but he couldn’t resist; he needed to be cruel.

“No?” he spat a bit too loudly; a few students looked their direction. “Then tell me Draco, whose side are you on? Are you with your father, in league with Voldemort or not?” Malfoy looked up to see far too many eyes on him.

“You’re insane Potter!” he called out certain that those near would hear. “Simply insane.” By now Professor McGonagall was at the back of the class clearing the desks there.

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy,” she called from a few rows away looking over the top of her spectacles, “I’ve been watching you this afternoon. You both performed exceptionally. Ten points to Slytherin.” The other Slytherins in the room cheered.

“What?” Harry called out. “You said BOTH of us!” He stood up out of his chair, half leaning on the desk in front of him.

“It was Mr. Malfoy who transfigured the turtle first, Mr. Potter.” It was almost as if she were enjoying the words. Harry couldn’t believe it. His own Head of House! “Perhaps next time, Mr. Potter,” she said. Harry sat back down and shoved his wand back inside his robes. Malfoy slipped his in grinning all the while.

As class broke out into the corridor Harry deliberately stayed behind to ensure he was one of the last to leave, and giving Hermione a long head start. When he finally left the class and entered the corridor he was stunned to see Malfoy leaning against the far wall.

“Here to gloat are you Malfoy?” he said without stopping. “I noticed you didn’t answer my question.” Malfoy paced at his heel.

“Too many ears, Potter,” he whispered. “Something you would have learned if you’d have been in Slytherin.” The only students in sight were those well in front and heading to the second floor.

“You know, Potter,” said Malfoy, “you should have been in Slytherin.” The words, so close to a path that Harry often wondered about, prickled the hair on the back of the Gryffindor’s neck.

“Never,” he spat through gritted teeth still striding down the corridor.

“How did you do it? How did you get me to Hogsmeade?” questioned Malfoy.

“Playing spy again, Malfoy?” Harry turned to the stairs for the second floor.

“Somehow,” Malfoy drawled, “I doubt you were playing by the rules. Were you?” Harry was silent and the smile of Malfoy’s face widened. “You never play by the rules, do you, Potter?” And then he hissed at the back of Harry’s ear, “Salazar would have been proud.”

Harry could feel Malfoy’s warm breath, but it sent a cold shiver shooting down Harry’s spine. Harry remained silent until they reached Basic Apparation. Malfoy’s words, however, kept bouncing off the walls in his mind, and kept resurfacing all through the day. There was a part of Harry, deep inside, that smiled at their retelling.

At dinner that night, Harry found himself sitting with Katie, trying to discuss Quidditch strategies. Once again, he had shunned Ron and Hermione. Sitting, talking Quidditch with Katie, surrounded by dozens of people Harry would have called friends, a sense of loneliness began to come over him.

“Where’s your head, Harry,” she snapped. “If I wanted to talk to the wall, I would.”

“What? Oh, sorry,” Harry said. “Can’t seem to get my mind clear tonight.”

“Well you better get it clear soon. We’ll be playing before you know it. I don’t know the playbook like Angelina did. I always flew the way I was told, and I’m going to need your help putting something new together this year. If we give the same look again, we’ll be destroyed.” She dropped her fork into her mashed potatoes splattering gravy on her robes.

“Here,” Harry said sliding out his wand, “let me get that.” He pointed at the gravy dripping down the front of Katie’s dark blue blouse. “Scourgify!” he called. The gravy vanished, but then the blue began to turn white, and suddenly the threads on the front of Katie’s skirt began to tatter and disintegrate. Katie quickly held one hand over her front while grabbing her wand with the other. Un-phased, she pointed the wand at her napkin.

“Vestio!” she called, and the napkin transfigured into a gray smock. She held it over her front. “Potter,” she said, rolling her eyes, “you’re a genius on a broom, but how you ever got in to six N.E.W.T.s is beyond me.” She stood up and walked to the entrance of the Great Hall to the sound of claps. Fenton Clint of Hufflepuff let out a whistle and said something derogatory Harry couldn’t make out just as she was at the doors. Katie flashed her wand his way, and a bowl of soup flipped over and landed in his lap. “Potter!” she yelled. “Clint needs some help!” And she turned and left the room. Harry held up his wand as if to offer Clint a hand, and Clint quickly covered up, which brought laughter to everyone watching.

“I told you to be careful.” Harry turned to see Hermione. “Your wand’s amplifying.” Harry held his wand up and looked at it.

“Looks the same to me,” he said and slumped down on the bench, his back to the table.

“Anything else?” she asked.

“What did you and Ron talk about at lunch?”

“I’m not going there, Harry,” she said emphatically. “If you have a question for Ron, ask Ron yourself. I’m not playing envoy.”

“Sorry,” he said, and then he grunted a laugh. “Hmm… I’ve been saying that word a lot today; what a waste.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands to his face. His long black hair hung down hiding his expression. “I can’t do this, Hermione.” She reached her hand and slipped the hanging hair over his left shoulder. The silver lightning-bolt dangled down. She remained silent. Harry began to wonder if things would be better if he had parents he could talk to.

“Last year,” Harry said, staring at the floor, “did you write your parents about Umbridge?”

“Well, sure,” Hermione replied, “as best I could. She was reading the post, you know that.”

“When you write, what do you write about?” Hermione turned a little on the bench.

“Well,” she searched, “all kinds of stuff. I tell them about what’s been happening, and what I’ve been learning.”

“Did you tell them about Victor?”

“Victor?” she looked bewildered.

“Yeah, Krum, and the dance.” He sat upright and looked at her. “Did you tell them how you felt, or ask them what they thought about you going to a dance with someone from a foreign school?”

“I guess you could say,” she paused, “I asked for some advice about the dance.” Harry could see she was sidestepping. Why couldn’t she just tell the truth? What was she hiding? He stood up.

“Lies,” he sighed. There was no energy left in him to be angry. “All lies.” He wanted, no, he needed to talk to someone… to get it all straight in his head. For a second, part of him thought he could use Hermione, or maybe her parents. He suddenly felt that it was a stupid thought, and only made his sense of isolation build.

The Great Hall was emptying. At the teacher’s table, locked in conversation, only Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore remained. Stars were breaking out on the ceiling above, a large, red glow shown bright in the center of the sky, almost mocking him.

“Harry,” Hermione said, “I would never…”

“Stop it!” Harry snapped. His words echoed off the walls in the emptying room. He held his hand up, palm outward, and backed toward the wall. “Just… just stay away.” When his back hit stone, he began to slide down coming to rest on the flagstone floor. “Just stay away,” he repeated in a weak whisper.

Hermione was helpless. She looked around. Save for the two Professors, seemingly oblivious, there was no one in the room. Slowly, she made her way to the entrance of the Great Hall. She glanced back one more time to see Harry, in a heap, motionless against the wall, and then she left.

Harry sat on the ground with his head slumped against his folded arms. “Why am I here?” he said to himself out loud. “It isn’t fair. It isn’t right.”

“No. No it isn’t,” a deep voice echoed off the walls. “But you won’t find answers sitting on your bum, Harry.” He looked up to see Dumbledore standing over him. “Get up son.” His blue eyes were kind and he was smiling, but his face still bore a deep sadness. “I’m thinking desert is in order. Would you care to join me?” Dumbledore held out his hand and Harry took it, standing by his side.

They walked toward the chamber behind the teacher’s table off the Great Hall. “I’ve had them fix up something my mother used to make.” For the first time since he’d arrived at Hogwarts, Dumbledore put his arm around Harry’s shoulder. “Far too much chocolate for an old man, but with your help, I think we might just finish it.”

________________________________________
Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Chapter 23 - Chosen Paths
~~~***~~~

The anti-chamber seemed somewhat smaller than Harry had remembered. It was cool, and the only light flickered from a dozen candles floating above a small round table to one side of the room. There, were placed two small purple plates and in the center an enormous desert that looked like a mixture of whipped chocolate pudding and fudge cake, topped with cherries.

Dumbledore walked over to the fireplace. “Incendio!” he called and the logs burst into flame. Warmth and light filled the room. “A simple spell, with so much impact,” he said whimsically walking toward the small table. “It’s one of the first spells Wizard children learn, often camping with their parents in the woods. And yet, even you have not realized its full potential. Please, Harry, have a seat.” He held out his hand for Harry to join him at the table. Harry sat down and Dumbledore began to slice into the desert with a large knife. “I find desert tastes better if you use your hands, don’t you?” he said with a sparkling smile and a twinkle in his eye. Harry couldn’t help but smile back. Dumbledore gave Harry a very large portion, and then he served himself spilling it over his plate. With a finger he wiped the table and licked the chocolate.

“Did Cho ever tell you her brother was a Wizard scout?” Dumbledore asked, stabbing a cherry on his plate. Harry, his mouth full, shook his head. “He’s very impressive for his age. Holds more badges than any other youth in Britain. There was never any doubt he’d make it into Gryffindor,” Dumbledore winked taking another bite. Suddenly he grimaced.

“Ouch!” He reached to his mouth and pulled out a cherry pit. He held it up like a diamond examining every detail. “Fascinating, don’t you think Harry?”

“How so, sir?” Harry asked wiping his mouth with his napkin and wondering what in the Wizarding world would be fascinating about a cherry pit. Dumbledore looked longingly at the pea-sized seed.

“Cherries are, I’m afraid to say, one of my greatest weaknesses. They are, in my opinion, the most perfect fruit on the face of the earth.” Dumbledore’s face was filled with rapture. “And yet, every now and then… they bite back.” He placed the pit on his plate, and stabbed another cherry holding it out on the tip of his fork. “Tell me Harry, should I stop eating cherries because a few challenge my chewing?”

“Of course not sir,” said Harry smiling.

“I agree!” Dumbledore smiled back and popped the cherry in his mouth following it up with a large scoop of chocolate whipping. Harry took another bite from his own plate and then put his fork back down.

“Sir, I…” he stopped unable to find the words. Where would he begin, or should he bother saying anything? It was Dumbledore who spoke again.

“Have you been writing to Gabriella?” he asked. Harry reddened.

“Yes,” Harry answered, “I’m waiting for a letter from her now.” Dumbledore grinned almost mischievously.

“I hope you don’t mind Harry, but the other day I had to take a look. She is quite beautiful.”

“You… you’ve seen her?” Harry shot out. “How is she? Is she okay?” Dumbledore held his hand up.

“Easy, easy,” he laughed. “I stopped in to see her the day before classes began. I understand how you might be taken with her.” Dumbledore sat upright in his chair then leaned in toward Harry. “I’ve taken the precaution to place a few protections around her, Harry. Just in case.” His face darkened somewhat. “I was busy there the night the train arrived.” Harry looked down to his plate, and then up to meet Dumbledore’s eyes.

“It’s my fault, sir.” His voice was raspy. “You wanted me to bring them together, and all I did was start a war among the houses…”

“Really? Dumbledore asked wiping some dripping cream from off his beard. “Last night I thought I saw a Gryffindor save a Slytherin’s life, or at least save him from untold weeks in the hospital wing. Was I mistaken?” He looked at Harry over his half-moon spectacles. “And the way you accomplished that was most interesting.” Harry subconsciously began to rub his right forearm.

“And what about Mr. Silverton?” Harry countered. “If Draco hadn’t been in Hogsmeade, if I hadn’t…”

“There are untold paths to every action, Harry,” Dumbledore cut in. “It is impossible to predict the outcome of every one. Even the greatest seers of our time have been wrong. The difficulty always lies in staying true to our hearts. I believe this,” and he tapped his finger to the side of his head, “far too often gets in the way.” Dumbledore wiped his mouth, set his napkin on the table and walked over to the fireplace.

“And even when we remain true I’m afraid, the path can twist.” He held his hands up warming them against the flames. “You sat with Cho, because you like her. Draco entered your carriage because he hates you. But Draco hates so much,” Dumbledore shook his head, “he hates everything he doesn’t understand… a poisoned mind. Cho decided to stand against him… another choice. And today… today Ravenclaws conspire to attack Slytherins in secret.” Dumbledore turned to find Harry’s eyes were wide and his mouth a bit slack. Dumbledore continued.

“And still, last night you chose to reveal one of the gifts you hold secret to save your very enemy. A powerful gift, I must say, I have only seen one other use in my many, many years. And a choice… a choice that promises very interesting consequences.” Harry walked to the fire and stood next to Dumbledore.

“Professor,” Harry whispered, “am I… am I some kind of freak?”

“You are growing up, Harry,” said Dumbledore warmly. “Nothing more, nothing less. You are becoming a man, and a very fine one too if I might add.” Again, Dumbledore put his arm around Harry. “As old as I am, I still learn new things. I fear the day when the morning sunrise doesn’t promise a new discovery. Why, just last night I discovered a very curious thing happens when a patronus traps a Dementor against a wall.” Dumbledore’s eyes seemed to flash a small glint of revenge, and his mouth formed a silent “Pop!”

Harry simply stood there, and watched the flames flicker. His mind was racing through time and space trying to gather the courage to ask the one thing he most wanted. But his bravery faltered.

“Sir, can people change?” he asked, “I mean, really change, deep in their hearts?”

“You already know the answer to that Harry,” answered Dumbledore. “And Dudley sleeps under your very roof.”

“The remember-ball,” Harry chuckled, nodding in agreement.

“As for Draco,” Dumbledore shook his head, almost reading Harry’s mind. “If he has any hopes of changing, it is with his father behind bars, with himself at Hogwarts, and…,” he hesitated, “with you as his guide.” He walked over to the table and waved his wand. The plates of desert vanished, and almost instantly the lines on his face grew deeper. “Harry, I tell you this in deepest confidence, do you understand?” Harry nodded. “If Cho does not recover, I’m afraid he’ll have to join his father.” Again he flicked his wand and two chintz chairs appeared. Dumbledore sat with a slight groan.

“You asked what you were doing here, Harry. Do you know the answer?” At these words Harry threw himself back into the other chair and sank deep into the cushion.

“To save humanity?” he quipped.

“No,” Dumbledore said immediately. “You are here to learn. Our founders established this school so that knowledge, and even some wisdom, might be handed down from generation to generation. This is a time to discover and sharpen your skills, to deepen your understanding of Wizardry. Tools you will need in the war to come. But it is also a time to discover who you are, who you will become, and decide what difference you are willing to make in this world.” Harry couldn’t help but think of Soseh’s words on his birthday.

The log popped throwing a red ember out on to the floor. Dumbledore swished his wand and tossed it back to the fire. “The mark on Mr. Malfoy’s face,” Dumbledore began. “Was it Ms. Granger who gave you the idea for the design?” Harry repositioned himself in the chair.

“No,” he said. “I just… I just wanted him to know what it was like to be different, to be stared at all the time.” He started to squeeze the cushion of his chair. “If I had known…”

“Yes?”

“If I had known, I’d have thrown him out the window!” Harry spat.

“And it would be you who would face the unhappy prospect of joining Lucius Malfoy at Azkaban,” Dumbledore replied. “Instead, Draco is alive, and there is hope. Given the choice, it is always wisest to choose hope. Indeed, I had hoped you’d be Quidditch Captain this year.” Harry’s ears perked. “But, alas, Professor McGonagall said you were too prone to adventures.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Harry sang out.

“Exactly what I said!” Dumbledore chimed in. “You’re the best flyer hands down in all of Hogwarts I said. Certainly, you have one of the best heads for the game.” And without knowing what had happened, Harry plunged into an exchange of Quidditch with Professor Dumbledore that lasted twenty minutes. All thought of Dementors or Death Eaters had evaporated. The pressures of playing the hero disappeared. The conversation ended with Professor Dumbledore telling Harry that next year, he’d have the All-England Team out to see him fly. “A noble profession, Quidditch,” he finished.

“That would be excellent, Professor,” said Harry, grinning. “We’ve tryouts this weekend. I think I might want to put a few plays together for Katie, just to put the rookies through their paces.”

“Wonderful, but I think you need to finish your homework first, and I’ve kept you far too long.” Dumbledore stood and Harry followed. He waved his wand and the chairs were gone. “I understand that you want to become an Auror,” he said. “Something to fall back on should Quidditch fail.” They laughed together as they walked to the Great Hall.

“Harry, I was a fool last year for not telling you how I felt. This year will be different. My door is always open, do you understand?” Harry nodded smiling, and Dumbledore patted him on the back.

They left the darkened Great Hall and walked out to the front corridor. As Harry took hi