Backwards Compatible
Opening Statements
By Ruskbyte
The door to the office swung open, allowing the headmaster of Hogwarts to step in. Following closely behind him, albeit with obvious reluctance, was Harry. The pair made their way into the room without speaking, waiting until Dumbledore rounded his desk and settled down into his plush chair.
"Well, Harry--" he began, motioning for Harry to seat himself as well, but was cut off.
"Can we make this quick?" Harry interrupted brusquely. He folded his arms across his chest and remained standing, the Snitch-sized black sphere bobbing gently in the air just above and behind his right shoulder. "I'd like to get to my dormitory before the boys accidentally set off the nukes I brought."
Dumbledore looked at him with some confusion and asked, "Nukes?"
"They're a type of Muggle shoe," the young wizard replied after a moment. There was not any hesitation in his answer that Dumbledore could detect. He did seem somewhat bemused by his answer though. "Usually associated with sportsmen."
"Ah."
That was all Dumbledore could think to say on the matter. He knew for a fact that he had his own... foibles... but he had not expected Harry to start developing such eccentricities at such a young age. Then again, the young man standing opposite him was not the same young wizard he had last seen - during their confrontation at the disastrous end of the last school year.
There was a coldness to Harry's green eyes, a remoteness that had not been there before. His face, usually a wealth of information regarding his feelings --Harry would have been a terrible poker player before now-- was now schooled in such careful neutrality that the headmaster could not discern even glimmer of what his student was really feeling.
Clearing his throat, Dumbledore decided to tentatively broach the subject that had been bothering him since Harry's rather, shall we say... unconventional... appearance in the Great Hall shortly before the start of this year's Sorting.
"I understand, from what you said when you arrived, that you spent your summer in Hawaii."
"Some of it."
"Some of it?" Dumbledore repeated, surprised. "You mean to sa--"
"I spent the summer visiting places." Once again Harry cut him off, the curtness of his voice perhaps the only clue as to his current state of being.
Raising his eyebrows in interest he asked, "Anywhere in particular? Besides Hawaii, I mean."
For the first time since entering the room Harry diverted his attention away from Dumbledore and began to make what appeared to be a vaguely disinterested examination of the office. He responded to the inquiry in an offhand manner that was casually dismissive.
"Here and there."
"Might I ask how you managed it?"
Now Harry returned his attention back to Dumbledore, eyes narrowing just a fraction as he peered at over the tops of his new glasses. "Managed what?"
"Moving from here to there," replied Dumbledore, injecting just the faintest of traces of humour into his voice. He wanted this meeting, unlike the last one, to be a relaxed one - though the tension had been mounting from almost the moment Harry had met him outside the Great Hall after the welcoming feast. "I know for a fact that no withdrawals were made from your Gringotts account and I very much doubt you had enough Muggle currency for such travels."
He realised that he had made a mistake the instant Harry's expression changed from one of schooled indifference to a slightly colder one. If he had learned anything during the previous year, it was that Harry did not respond well to people prying into his life. Keeping tabs on his bank account was something he would most emphatically disapprove of. Before Dumbledore could chastise himself further, Harry gave a curt answer.
"You saw how I arrived here, old man."
Just as his expression had grown cooler, so had his voice. It was nowhere near as chilling as that which he had demonstrated earlier that evening, but it was enough to let Dumbledore know that he was not happy. Even the portraits of the school's past headmasters were able to pick up the coolness in his tone and, remarkably, did not comment on it - aside from a quiet murmur or two.
Successfully repressing a wince, he tried to both agreed with Harry and at the same time prompt him on. To this end he said, "Yes, that rather peculiar bubble that appeared out of nowhere."
"They're called Gates," Harry grudgingly revealed.
"Gates?"
"Don't ask me why they're called that," answered Harry with a frown. He pushed his silver framed glasses up and once again crossing his arms over his chest. "I wasn't the one that named them."
"I see," said Dumbledore, being somewhat disingenuous as he did in fact not see. At least not very clearly.
Trying to pry some more information out of his wayward student, though as subtly as he could, he tried once again to prompt Harry into speaking up. "I am also somewhat curious as to the exact nature of that device you used to fool us into believing you had not gone anywhere. It fooled us rather well."
Harry gave him a sidelong look and, reluctantly, revealed, "I call it a doppelganger unit."
"An appropriate name," Dumbledore said, with a nod. He made particular note of the fact that Harry had said he called the device by that name - implying that he had created it himself, if his earlier statement regarding the Gates held true. He decided to test this inference by paying him a compliment. "A remarkable feat of magical engineering."
"Thank you," was Harry's dry reply.
So much for trying to get a response that way. Dumbledore switched to a different track and made a statement that was more of a question really. "It must have taken you some time to construct it - especially without triggering any of the Ministry's alarms for use of underage magic."
Harry seemed almost amused again as he responded, "Three and a half hours."
"Three--" Dumbledore was speechless with surprise, something that had not happened in a long, long time. He looked at Harry with wide eyes as his half-moon spectacles slid to the tip of his nose and almost fell off.
"I left it in place and Gated away from the Dursleys before sunrise on my first day back," Harry elaborated, a coldly satisfied smile on his lips as he revealed a fact that caused Dumbledore's heart to skip a bear. "I never even slept on that lump they call my bed."
Dumbledore could feel the blood draining from his face, both from the sound of Harry's voice as well as from the terrifying fact he had just revealed. He felt as though somebody, in this case Harry, had just dealt him a near mortal blow. It was a good thing he was already seated, or else his legs would have given out beneath him. It took all of his many years of experience to maintain his composure, though he knew that he was visibly shaken.
Swallowing the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat he sought confirmation of something he realized that he most likely did not want to know. "You didn't even spend a full day at your home?"
"Number four Privet Drive," Harry spoke the name with such derision and disdain that Dumbledore could not help but flinch, "is most certainly not my home."
"Harry, I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation," he told the young man standing defiantly on the other side of his desk. He tried to put a sternness into his voice, but the shock he was still feeling negated most of his efforts.
Harry rolled his eyes and turned to examine the nearest bookcase. "I'm perfectly capable of defending myself from any attack."
"You didn't even have your wand with you, Harry!" Dumbledore protested. "How could you defend yourself adequately without it?"
Harry's reply was succinct as he nodded his head in the direction of the onyx sphere that was now drifting near his left shoulder. "Father."
"Fa--" flustered by the answer Dumbledore sputtered for several moments before pausing to collect himself. Taking several deep breaths and reaching into one of his desk drawers for a lemon drop (to sooth his nerves) Dumbledore propped his elbows on the desktop and spoke in the grandfatherly tone he had mastered decades earlier. He also made a point of weaving some of his magic into the words, giving them an underlying hint of command and authority that very few people were able to resist. "I would appreciate if you would be so kind as to explain what happened after you left King's Cross, as well as everything that transpired over the remainder of your summer."
"No."
"Harry--"
"No."
"I don--"
"I will not repeat myself again, old man," Harry cut him off with a raised hand. His voice carried with it the same kind of underlying magic that Dumbledore himself had just been using, only laced through with an aura of chilling defiance and resentment that the headmaster felt as acutely as a physical slap to the face. "No - I will not explain what happened. Not now."
"Then when?" asked Dumbledore, more than a little flustered at having his own tactic turned against him.
Harry snorted, as though the answer were obvious. The lenses of his glasses flashed as he tilted his head down so that his piercing green eyes could peer over the rims. There was no magic this time, but his voice still held an arctic chill. "When I feel it is safe for me to trust you again."
This was something Dumbledore had been dreading, perhaps more than anything. He knew that sometimes Harry gave his trust blindly (particularly when he was younger) but losing that trust so abruptly was akin to yet another physical blow. At this rate he would not be surprised to wake the next morning covered in bruises. This was proving to be an exceptionally painful conversation, even more so than the last - though for different reasons.
That meeting, immediately after Sirius' death, had been an emotionally painful and trying experience. Harry had taken the revelations he had learned that night badly. So badly that Dumbledore had done what he had promised not to do - distance himself even further from the boy he considered a son. He had only wanted to give Harry the time and space he needed to grieve, knowing that he would need such distance before they could attempt to repair the damage that had been dealt to their relationship.
Harry's birthday, when he had been brought from Privet Drive to Grimmauld Place, had been the time when he planned to sit down and try to talk to the younger wizard. Unfortunately he had taken Harry's apparent indifference (which he only now knew the reason for) as an indication that the boy was not yet ready, and thus he had put it off - hoping that by the time school started Harry would be ready to talk.
Now it seemed that Harry would never be ready, or willing, to talk to him.
"You don't trust me?"
"Not in the slightest," Harry replied immediately, without hesitation. He looked around the office one more time before clapping his hands together and turning on a heel towards the door. As he walked away, the black sphere trailing closely behind him, he called over his shoulder, "If that's all, I'll be off."
"There are things I still need to tell you, Harry," Dumbledore called out just as Harry reached the door.
Harry paused and half turned, presenting his profile. The motion seemed foreboding somehow, and his eyes glinted coldly. "There's nothing you can tell me that I haven't already found out, or worked out, for myself."
"I wouldn't be so sure of that, Harry."
"Oh really?"
Hearing the way Harry said that, Dumbledore knew he was in trouble. There was a grim certainty, a sureness about his stance as he turned away from the door. As he began to stalk --that was how Dumbledore's mind described it-- back towards the headmaster's desk he wondered why he had not left well enough alone and kept his mouth shut.
"What d'you still have to tell me then? Hmm?" asked Harry with a biting sarcasm that actually made Dumbledore wince. "What little, yet important, titbits have you been keeping to yourself?"
Dumbledore was searching for something to say, anything to say really, when Harry began to smile almost ferally. The cold fire in his green eyes suddenly became anything but cold, now blazing with a barely restrained fury that left Dumbledore rooted in place and unable to break his eyes away from Harry's gaze.
"That the connection between Voldemort and myself is only as strong as it is because he decided to use my blood to resurrect himself?" asked Harry, having now reached the desk. He set both hands, clenched into fists, on the desk top and leaned forward. His smile was not a pleasant sight as he continued. "That this year's Defence professor, Smythe-White, is also a qualified Healer from St. Mungo's that you hired to evaluate my mental state? That you've told the teachers to handle me with kid gloves?"
Dumbledore went into shock upon hearing this. Nobody, outside of a few select members of staff --namely the heads of the four houses-- knew what Harry had just revealed. It was impossible for Harry to know that the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor had been hired primarily in hope of helping Harry work his way through his grief. That he was a qualified Auror field medic had only secured his position.
But how could Harry know this? He had not, to Dumbledore's knowledge, come into contact with any of the professors during the summer...
"That you left me entirely alone during the summer," continued Harry, his voice laden with accusation, "leaving me to work on my Occlumency by myself, leaving me open to months of Voldemort's attacks, because you thought I needed 'breathing room'?"
Appalled, horrified, dismayed, Dumbledore listened to Harry's burning litany of things that should have been secret with increasing distress. How did he know these things? That he knew of his blood-connection to Voldemort was not too surprising. After all, it would not be difficult for a boy of Harry's intelligence to deduce such a fact.
His knowledge of Smythe-White's true purpose at Hogwarts was a mystery, true, but anyone with sufficient resources and persistence would have been able to access the public records at St. Mungo's and the Ministry and learn the new professor's occupation.
Knowing what Dumbledore had been thinking, planning, however, was something on an entirely new level. The few minutes before this tirade began had shown that Harry's Occlumency was such that even Dumbledore could not divine his innermost thoughts. Hell, for that matter Dumbledore had been entirely unable to perceive Harry's outermost thoughts - the young man's mind was so tightly shielded that any master of Occlumency would be jealous, or at least appreciative.
Now it seemed that Harry had progressed from Occlumency to the next level, Legimency, with such skill that he was able to peer into Dumbledore's mind without difficulty. Indeed, apparently without the headmaster even being aware that he was being probed. Dumbledore did not know if he should to be proud or nervous.
"That you have every intention of asking me to remain at the Dursleys next summer, even though the blood magic that supposedly protects me will not be as effective because I'll be of age?"
Calm; Dumbledore tried to remain calm. It was not easy, especially as Harry continued to reveal things he was not supposed to know yet. Worst of all, everything he had said so far was not only true, but also happened to be those facts that were most assured not to leave Harry in a good mood after hearing them.
"That you're going to convince McGonagall not to teach me how to become an Animagus because you feel it will be too dangerous?" Harry stepped back from the desk and crossed his arms again as he continued to pin the headmaster in place with his burning glare. "Because you don't want me 'gallivanting around without supervision'?"
Dumbledore was beginning to think that Harry had managed somehow to surpass even Legimency and become a true mind reader. It was outrageous, supposedly impossible, but considering the way Harry seemed to be reading him like an open book... no, Dumbledore did not want to even consider the possibility.
"That you've requested all the school portraits keep an eye on me and my activities? Even going so far as to hang some in the Gryffindor common room and the sixth-year boys' dormitory?"
By now Dumbledore was actually starting to feel physically ill, nauseous, as Harry continued to lay bare one plan after another. What more could he possibly know? Everything?
Harry turned to present his profile once again, looking at Dumbledore through slitted eyes and a cold expression that even Professor Snape would have been hard pressed to match. He hissed his next words, laced with barely suppressed fury. "That Lucius Malfoy and the Death Eaters we captured at the Department of Mysteries have already escaped from Azkaban, but the Ministry is keeping quiet about it - still pretending everything's just fine and dandy?"
It took every single year of Dumbledore's experience, nay, every single day, perhaps even the hours of experience, to keep himself from doing the sensible thing. Run off screaming. The shock he was feeling at this moment was possibly the greatest he had ever encountered, certainly the greatest in recent memory. It took all of his skills to keep it from showing, lest it ruin his hard-won, long-held reputation of being utterly unflappable.
"Have I left anything out?"
"H-how...?" he struggled to find words to express himself.
"How do I know all that?" asked Harry, finishing the question for him. Dumbledore nodded dumbly, which caused Harry to smirk and reply, "All things considered, do you honestly expect me to tell you?"
Dumbledore slumped in defeat. "N-no... no, I suppose not."
He looked up to see Harry smirking triumphantly at him, the kind of expression that one wore after successfully pulling an egotistical twit down a couple of pegs. Sadly, this time it seemed that Dumbledore was the twit. He had promised, just two months ago - and in this very room, that he would not keep any more secrets where Harry was involved. Apparently the worth of his promises was deteriorating as rapidly as his control over the situation.
"I'm sorry I tried to keep these things from you, Harry."
"No, you're not," Harry immediately retorted. "You're not sorry you kept all that from me. You're only sorry that I found out."
Dumbledore hung his head shamefully. "I stand corrected."
"You're sitting," noted Harry, completely without humour. "No wonder the situation we're in is as bad as it is - you can't even keep the most basic and obvious facts straight. In that regard, you're almost as bad as that idiot Fudge was."
There was a long, uncomfortable silence in which Dumbledore regarded his hands - which he held in his lap. He wanted to look up, to gaze into Harry's eyes, for there was something about the way Harry had said that... or something the young wizard had said... He had a feeling Harry had just, inadvertently, revealed something but Dumbledore could not put his finger on what.
"Actually that reminds me," said Harry, suddenly speaking up. He immediately caught Dumbledore's attention with the way his voice was several octaves lower, with a distinct chill. His next words shocked the headmaster almost more than everything else that had been said. "I want you to remove Minister Fudge from office."
"Harry?"
Dumbledore stared incredulously at him and saw that he was deadly earnest.
"You heard me properly, old man," Harry told him. "I want Fudge out. I'll give you until Halloween."
"Even if I were inclined to do so, Harry, I very much doubt that I could," countered Dumbledore with a shake of his head. He had heard many things in his long life, but had never encountered a request, no, an order, such as this. "Ousting the Minister of Magic from his post in only two months? Impossible."
"You'd better. Or I'll remove him myself."
There was something about the way Harry said that which caused a shiver of alarm to race up the headmaster's spine.
"Forgive me, Harry, but it sounds as if..." he trailed off as he saw the dark glint in Harry's eyes which seemed to confirm his suspicions. He gaped stupidly for a second before exclaiming, "Dear Lord, Harry, you're talking about murder!"
"I have no intention of murdering him," replied Harry blandly. Dumbledore had just enough time to heave a sigh of relief when Harry delivered the killing stroke. "I am, however, perfectly willing to assassinate him if need be."
Suffice to say Dumbledore's relief evaporated faster than a snowball in hell. He was suddenly and appallingly aware of just how out of control everything suddenly seemed to be spinning. He knew, for years now, that Harry had little appreciation for the Minister of Magic. Truth be told, even he considered the man to be little more than a bumbling idiot - albeit a bumbling idiot with an unfortunate amount of political clout.
In fact this wasn't the first time Dumbledore had considered removing Fudge from his position and installing someone better suited for the job in his place. Never, however, had he been presented with the idea of getting rid of Fudge on such a very permanent basis. The thought that it was Harry suggesting this left him with a queasy stomach and a strong urge to start gibbering.
He was brought out of his musings, which must have taken longer than he thought they had, when Harry finally took up his earlier offer and sank into the plush chair opposite him. The hovering black ball drifted down with him, continuing to slowly circle around him.
"Professor," he spoke softly, for the first time sounding less than openly hostile to the headmaster, "d'you know the phrase, 'a casualty of war'?"
Somewhat surprised by this question, which had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Sadly, yes,"
"Do you agree with it?" asked Harry, looking at Dumbledore's face as though searching for something he desperately wanted to find. "Do you agree that sometimes it just can't be helped? That people we care for will die?"
"Yes, though I wish it were otherwise." Dumbledore looked curiously at Harry, seeing how he had suddenly transformed back into the boy he had know two months ago, and wondered what had brought upon this change. He started to speak, "Harry--"
"If you believed one person was more important in the fight against Voldemort than another," Harry cut him off, leaning forward in his seat and asking intently, "would you sacrifice that other to protect the first? Would you accept their death as 'a casualty'? Would you?"
"Harry, if this is about Siri--"
"This has nothing to do with Sirius."
Dumbledore was very surprised by this admission. He had felt certain that Sirius, or more accurately Sirius' death, was the root of Harry's current difficulties. To learn that Harry did not consider this so, and was apparently talking about something else, proved once again this night that the headmaster was no longer in the loop when it came to Harry Potter.
"Sirius died because he chose to come after me. It was his decision," stated Harry, his voice as calm and collected as it had ever been. There was, perhaps, the faintest trace of pain to be heard - but it was deeply buried. Harry sighed tiredly and sank back into the chair. "I accept that."
This presented Dumbledore with something of a quandary. On the one hand he was pleased that Harry had seemingly worked his way through his grief and had come to terms with his godfather's death. On the other hand, however, it meant that Dumbledore had no idea whatsoever of where Harry was coming from with regards this discussion.
Harry peered intently at Dumbledore, clearly focusing everything he had on the headmaster, and asked, "What I'm asking is; would you leave someone to die, or worse, if you thought that attempting to rescue them would be too great a risk?"
It was not an easy question to answer. It was not an easy situation to resolve, either. During Voldemort's first rise to power, there had been several unfortunate incidents where Dumbledore had faced such a decision. Even before then, during the days of Grindelwald, he had been forced to make that choice more than once.
Now, as before, he gave the answer he had to.
"For the good of the whole - yes."
Not a single muscle in Harry's face moved. His expression did not change, or so much as even flicker, yet in that moment, Dumbledore knew that he had given the wrong answer.
"Then we have nothing further to talk about," Harry announced calmly. Too calmly. He rose from his seat opposite Dumbledore and gave him a polite nod of the head. "Good night."
It was tempting to speak and try to stop him from leaving, but Dumbledore had the feeling that this discussion was over. Harry was no longer willing to talk to him at the moment and would not continue regardless of anything that might be said to him. Indeed, the final words of the night were spoken with Harry not even bothering to turn around to face the headmaster. He paused at the door, one hand on the doorknob, and spoke in the same, soft, deadly voice he had used earlier.
"Remember, old man," he warned. "Either you get rid of Fudge, or I will."
***
"Ron, will you please either sit down or slow down, but for Merlin’s sake will you at the very least calm down?"
Hermione had never seen Neville looking quite so frustrated, but she had to admit that Ron's furious pacing, back and forth the Gryffindor common room, was beginning to grate on her nerves as well. Of the four students remaining downstairs, the rest having made a tacit agreement to go up to their dormitories early, Ron was certainly the most active. Neville, Ginny and Hermione were sitting relatively peacefully by the fireplace - though they were all slightly anxious as they waited for Harry to return from his meeting with Dumbledore.
"I am calm!" he snapped, not pausing in his pacing.
"Calm down some more then!"
Ron rounded on them all, sending a withering glare in Neville's direction before exploding, "Dammit! Aren't any of you even a little worried?! Something's wrong with Harry!!"
"We're all concerned, Ron," Hermione interceded, "but get frustrated like this isn't going to help."
"I'M NOT FRUSTRATED!!" he all but roared, his voice doubtless reaching every corner of the tower. He stomped up to the three of them. "YOU NEVER LISTEN TO ANYTHING I SAY!"
"Don't worry about it," Ginny said dryly, "nobody does."
"You really need to stop getting so worked up about things, Ron," said Neville, after Ron sputtered for several seconds over Ginny's offhand dismissal. "It's not good for you."
Hermione nodded in agreement. "Remember how temperamental Harry was last year?"
"He made Ron seem like a paragon of patience," Ginny needled.
"At least that was better than acting like some kind of abdominal snowman - like he's been the whole Summer," groused Ron, finally giving up his pacing and throwing himself down into the seat the others had saved for him.
Hermione considered correcting him for a moment. The abdominal snowman indeed. She dismissed the idea, knowing that doing so would only rekindle his agitation. Ron's temper had been on a short leash for months now, ever since recovering from the injures incurred at the Ministry by those brain tentacle creatures. The Healer from St. Mungo's that had been overseeing his recovery had warned that something like this might happen - a side-effect of Ron's disrupted brain chemistry. He was on medication for the condition, taking a small potion every three days, but the results were varied and the last batch had not been very effective in curtailing his temper.
In a way, she thought herself lucky. Her own injury from the disastrous battle at the Department of Mysteries was inconvenient, yes, but did not affect Hermione as a person. Her mind was still her own. She too was taking potions; a mild one every two days and one particular vile concoction every other week. Despite its obnoxious taste, and even worse aftertaste, it worked well enough and she hardly ever felt any pain in her chest these days. There was an occasional twinge, not unlike a combination of heartburn and being out of breath, but only when she exerted herself.
"Actually, I don't think that was Harry," she said, trying to divert the conversation to a safer course.
"You may be right," agreed Ginny thoughtfully.
"It can't be! No way some... thing... could trick us like that for an entire month!" Ron immediately protested.
Neville looked at the three of them in confusion and asked, "What are you talking about?"
Hermione knew that he and Luna were the only ones of the Ministry Crew that had not had any contact with Harry over the course of the holidays. "You know how Harry was acting on the train?"
"Uh huh," he nodded. His eyes lit up with comprehension, faster than she would have expected. "So you think that was some sort of impostor?"
"No, I don't."
Ron looked at her incredulously. "But you just said that wasn't Harry!"
"And it wasn't, but I don't think it was an impostor," she told him. She shifted back into her chair and explained, "I think it was a decoy."
"A decoy?" repeated Ron, dumbly.
"I get it," said Ginny. "Something to keep us occupied, so we wouldn't realize he wasn't actually there."
"And we fell for it. Hook, line and sinker," Hermione finished ruefully. She shook her head in disbelief at their gullibility, "It wasn't even that good, but we just chalked it up to him being moody again; depressed over Sirius' death. Gods we were so blind to the obvious."
Ginny nodded in understanding. "It looked like Harry, it sounded like Harry, so we thought it was Harry."
Neville considered all this and tried to sum it up. "So the real Harry was the one that came later? Through that ball thing?"
"Probably."
"How can you be sure?" asked Ron. He gingerly rubbed his jaw, which was swollen and starting to turn a fetching shade of purple. "He hit me!"
Ginny rolled her eyes. "If I were Harry I'd have hit you more than once over the years."
Ron looked at her suspiciously and asked, "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Don't worry about it, Ron," Hermione soothed, sending a warning glance to Ginny - silently asking her not to provoke her brother for the time being. She had a feeling their imminent discussion with Harry was going to be lively enough without Ron's temper getting in the way. "It's not important right now."
"Why would Harry do that?" Neville asked, drawing their attention back to topic at hand.
"What? Hit Ron?" asked Ginny, slightly confused.
Neville shook his head before elaborating. "No, I mean, why would he leave and not tell us? Why go to all the trouble of making a decoy in the first place? I can understand him wanting to keep the Death Eaters off his trail, but the rest of us? At the very least I'd expect him to tell Ron and Hermione what he had planned."
"Exactly!" cried Ron, abruptly rising to his feet. To their dismay he immediately resumed his restless pacing, this time waving his arms around in agitation. "That's what I'm worried about! Maybe he's been cursed. If he were under Imperious or something, that'd explain why he's acting so... so..."
"Out of character?" supplied Ginny helpfully.
"Exactly!"
"I don't know if I agree with that," said Hermione. Seeing her three friends looking at her questioningly, she went into further detail, trying to explain her reasoning of Harry's behaviour. "Harry's fiercely independent at times. Not surprising, if you consider his upbringing. He grew up having nobody to rely on except himself. Not only that, but you all know how much he hates sharing his problems. He probably didn't tell us because he didn't want to bother us."
Ron objected loudly at this. "That's ridiculous! He knows he can tell us anything!
"You mean like last year?" asked Ginny, wryly reminding everyone of the distressing events that had led up to the incident at the Ministry of Magic.
"That's different!" Ron protested, but not as firmly as before.
The creak of the Fat Lady's portrait swing open to admit the person they had been waiting for brought any further discussion to an abrupt halt. Harry stepped into the common room, his brow slightly furrowed in what Hermione recognised as a mixture of worry and serious contemplation. He stopped when he looked up and noticed the state Ron was in.
"I'm not even going to ask."
"Probably a good thing," agreed Ginny amiably.
"Eh?" Ron looked between them in confusion.
"Nothing, Ron," said Neville, before adding with no small amount of exasperation, "Now will you please sit down again?"
Harry watched with a tinge of amusement in his eyes as Ron, grumbling under his breath, returned to his seat and dropped unceremoniously into it. Hermione, whose own eyes had not strayed from Harry since his entrance, counter pointed this action by rising from her chair, drawing Harry's attention to her before she spoke.
"Are you alright Harry?" she asked, concern in her voice. The troubled expression he had been wearing upon entering was gone, though not because his troubles had left. She restrained herself from immediately asking after him, almost desperate to find out what was going on, and instead remarked on his appearance. "You look a little... off."
Without responding Harry strode purposefully over to where Hermione was standing and engulfed her in a tight hug, much like the one he had greeted her with in the Great Hall shortly after his arrival. He held her close for a long moment, his breath warm and ticklish against the nape of her neck. Finally he released her, everything about him screaming a reluctance to do so, stepped back to regard her and the other three.
"Just tired, Hermione, that's all," he told her with a sigh. Truth be told, he did look tired as he ran a hand through his hair, mussing it even further. He shook his head and sighed again, "Dealing with the old man..."
"You mean Dumbledore?" asked Neville.
"Mmmm," was the only confirmation Harry gave, save for a brief flash of something in his eyes.
"I gather your meeting didn't go well," Hermione prompted.
"It went okay," Harry admitted, sinking into the vacant chair near the fireplace that they had saved for him. He leaned against the backrest and closed his eyes. "We were both still alive at the end of it."
"So," began Ron, drawing his wand from the folds of his robes and waving it in Harry's general direction, "are you going start explaining, or do I have to hex you?"
Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes, but only just. How Ron expected to intimidate Harry by waving his wand around, particularly when Harry's eyes were shut, she did not know. Besides which, even if his eyes were open and he could see Ron's gesture, it was doubtful Harry would have even blinked. Ron may have scored an Outstanding in his Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L., but that was mostly because of Harry's tutoring in the D.A. over the course of the year. Ron trying to threaten Harry with magic was akin to a lion cub challenging the leader of the pride.
There was also a spark of annoyed anger at her friend. If they had learned anything the previous year, it was that Harry did not react well to being pressured into a situation. Not to mention the fact that he had presented them all with a totally different aspect of himself upon his appearance earlier. Somehow Hermione had the feeling that this Harry, the one who nobody had seen in two months, would not take kindly to being threatened. With luck he would view Ron's attempt to do so with some form of humour, and not retaliate.
"After so many years, Ron, would it kill you to try and use some tact?" asked an exasperated Ginny.
"Yes."
"Gods, you wouldn't believe how much I've missed all of you," laughed Harry, surprising them all. He chuckled softly and murmured, more to himself than them, but they still heard. "I'd almost forgotten..."
"Are you sure you're alright, Harry?" she asked, worried.
"Don't worry, Hermione, I'm doing just fine."
"You sure?"
"Well, I must confess, I'm not entirely sure exactly what I'm doing... yet," he admitted, reaching behind his head with one hand to scratch at the back of his neck in what looked like mild embarrassment, "but I think I'm doing a passable job of it."
Neville looked at him oddly. "Well that didn't make any sense."
"Does it ever?" Harry muttered.
"Harry..." growled Ron, but trailed off as Harry held up a staying hand.
"I'll explain everything, or almost everything, later," he told them. "In the Room of Requirements, after dinner tomorrow."
Ron was not entirely satisfied and persisted. "Why then? Why not now?"
"For one thing, Luna's not here. If anyone deserves to hear an explanation, it's her," Harry explained patiently. He stared into the fire for a moment and muttered to himself again. "After all, she the one that got me into this mess."
"What's Luna, of all people, got to do with this?" asked Ginny, puzzled.
"Everything."
Harry continued to stare into the fire as Hermione and the others exchanged puzzled looks. After several moments, in which nobody could decide on anything to say, Harry seemed to shake himself free of his thoughts and turned to face them, a wry grin on his lips.
"Or she will at any rate," he said, managing to confuse them even more. His grin grew into a mischievous smile as he added, sounding almost gleeful about the fact, "The other reason I want to hold off explanations is because we have double Potions first thing tomorrow morning and there's no way I'm going to stay up late and risk missing it."
This was something so out of character, Harry actually eager for Potions, that Hermione began to worry. From the looks on their faces, Ron, Neville and Ginny were equally alarmed by Harry's statement, looking as if they expected the apocalypse to begin at any moment.
"Are you trying to scare us, Harry?" asked Neville. "Because, if you are, you're doing a really good job."
"It's nothing like that, Nev," replied Harry, waving aside their worries. He leaned forward in his chair, the lenses of his new glasses flashing in the firelight as he moved. He propped his elbows on the armrests and held his hands up, just beneath his chin, with the fingers interlinked. The flickering light of the fire gave a slightly sinister look to his face as he spoke. "It's just that now is the time for Snape and me to put aside our differences. Time to forget our old feud..."
Harry's lips twisted into an evil smile. A purely evil smile.
"And start a new one."
TBC...