"Thanks for coming, Harry."
It took Harry a second to adjust to his new setting. He stroked Fawke's beautiful plumage and whispered a heartfelt 'thanks'. He loved that bird. Although he could fly on Cuddles, flame travel would be an awesome ability to have on call. Not that he'd choose Fawkes over Cuddles. His little dragon had more than proven her worth.
"Your note said it had some urgency and Fawkes kept nudging my arm when I was aiming my spells."
Dumbledore gave him a warm smile as Fawkes returned to his perch. "He's a remarkable companion," the headmaster said, gazing at his familiar, affection in his eyes. "But, alas, discussing Fawkes is not why I had called you here."
Harry took the offered chair and sat down, across the desk from the headmaster. "No, it isn't."
"Would you like anything?" Dumbledore asked, gesturing at the candies on his desk. "Or, perhaps, some tea?"
After surveying the options, Harry opted to decline, preferring to only have some tea.
Once the tea had been served, Harry casually played with his tea bag and continued doing so until Dumbledore spoke.
Clearing his throat, he began the meeting. "There are times where you look back on your life and contemplate the decisions you made," Dumbledore said, his tired blue eyes looking at Harry. "Or you did not make."
Harry picked up his mug and tested the temperature. The liquid was almost scalding and so he held it in front of him, gently blowing on it.
"You are aware I set up your training with your professors?"
Lowering the teacup, Harry set it back on the desk. "I am," he said before folding his hands in his lap.
Dumbledore gave a barely perceptible nod. "What you wouldn't be aware of, is that many of the techniques that I created have only been taught to Minerva," he said, his voice light and airy. "And, now, to you."
It was customary for proprietary spells to stay within a family or only to be taught to apprentices. He'd already known that Flitwick had deemed him an apprentice but this…
Harry bit his bottom lip and slowly nodded. "Flitwick has only taught myself, and Fleur a little…"
Taking a sip of his tea, Dumbledore reached below Hary's line of sight. He brought his hand back up and left a small worn leather-bound book on the desk. "This is for you," he said, giving him an encouraging smile as he gestured for Harry to take it.
Warily, Harry reached for it and took a hold of it before turning it over. If this was what he thought it was, this would be everything but having an article printed in the news that he was an apprentice of Dumbledore as well, even if unofficial.
"In that book, I've kept a journal with my thoughts on magic," he said, looking at Harry with an odd mixture of pride and sadness. "I'd like it for you to have it."
Looking back and forth, between the book and Albus, Harry didn't know what to say, how to react. "I-," he said, before shaking his head. "I-" He shook his head again, not being able to comprehend what this was.
Putting thoughts on being a pupil of Dumbledore's out of his mind, he brought the book up and flipped through the pages. It wasn't a small book, it was magically enhanced and looked to be endlessly filled with words, studies of magic.
"I have written in there since I was a teen," he said, giving Harry a strained smile. "I had thought to destroy it but… this year, you've grown into a fine young man. I feared you were following Tom's path."
With his nostrils flaring, Harry couldn't help but react to the comment. "We talked about that in the Hospital Wing before," he said, pausing as he rubbed his temples.
A sudden soft clink made Harry look up.
"I'm happy to hear you've remembered," he said, smiling congenially. "Alas, looking back, I see now, that you have always had that innate goodness within you. It is a power few have ever possessed."
Harry heard the words but his attention was on the trinket that had been dropped on the desk- a cracked ring with an unblemished black stone set into it.
Extending his magical senses and not feeling any residual magic in the ring itself, he reached forward. But as his hand got closer, there was something odd, ancient, about the stone. However, it was the echoes of vile, abhorrent magic in the ring that caused him to clench his fist and pull it back.
"H-horcrux?" he said, a shiver running down his spine.
The headmaster's lips thinned as he nodded gravely. "No longer," he said, picking up the rings, his hand a blackened mess.
Harry's jaw lowered of its own volition as he stared at the hand. Whatever was wrong with his hand couldn't be good. Magical medicine could repair grievous physical wounds. For him to still have a blackened hand, there must be something terribly wrong with it, magically.
"Hubris is a terrible thing, my boy," he said, taking his glasses off and rubbing his tired eyes. "I retrieved the ring on my own, you see."
Harry kept looking at Dumbledore's hand. It was sick, wrong, and almost looked as though it had been frozen in ice for thousands of years before being discovered.
"Oh, it wasn't the wards, it wasn't the spells, the defences nor the traps," he said, his wand in hand. "It was a foolish dream, the wayward hopes of a foolish old man with too much hubris to ask for assistance."
Harry surveyed the man before him. He seemed tired, having an air of fatalism around him. As Harry wondered about the melancholy, Fawkes flapped his wings and glided into the man's lap, signing a hauntingly beautiful lament.
The majestic bird eyed Harry as his trilling came to a close. Fawkes wasn't always easy to read but this time he was certain of what he felt coming from the bird.
Sadness. Sincerity. Patience. Peace. Resolution. Radiance.
It was all of those things at once, a mix of melodic notes and the feeling of the most intense magic he had ever felt from the bird.
"You're familiar with the story of The Three Brothers? You've understood the nature of your cloak?" Dumbledore asked, sitting straighter, his voice having regained its soft commanding nature.
Looking at Fawkes and having received a calming trill, Harry gave a minute nod, not daring to acknowledge it aloud.
The headmaster began stroking the bird with his blackened hand. "When I was a young man, I had a need to prove myself," he said before closing his eyes, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. "My brother and I were both talented, even now Aberforth may still have more natural ability than I."
Harry tilted his head in consideration. "If he's more talented, then why is he running Hog's Head Inn?"
As if his words had been amusing, Albus chuckled. "Abe was always a people's person, a family man," he said, a fond smile on his face. "He's always preferred to be around people than to have his wand in hand, practising magic, a book in hand, studying the very nature of magic."
Sensing there was more the man wanted to say, Harry picked up his tea, sat back in his chair and brought his foot up onto his opposing knee. Taking a sip, he listened as Albus continued.
"I'm sure there will be nasty stories told of me, once I've passed," he said, seemingly not bothered by this. "The truth is, our differences drove us apart early in life. And, as I continued to excel beyond all my peers, it pushed me to study more. Isolating myself further."
Nodding, Harry thought back to his year. Isolation and study, he almost let out a chuckle. That was exactly what he'd done.
"My sister, Ariana, wanted nothing more than to play with her big brother," he said, turning his chin to look away from Harry, lost in a wistful thought. "I couldn't see it then… but, she adored me. Me, the successful one. The one she wanted to emulate." As he said the last few words he shut his eyes and lowered his head.
After taking another sip of his tea, Harry broke the silence. "I've only heard a little about her, sir," he said, treading carefully.
"She was such a beautiful girl…" he said, taking a shuddering breath. "As a Headmaster, I've seen decades worth of students. At first, it is so easy to value the brightest, the ones who remind you of yourself."
A determined focus returned to Albus' eyes as he locked eyes with Harry. "But Ariana wasn't going to be a great academic, she wasn't going to be a peerless talent with the wand," he said, a warm look on his face as he continued to pat Fawkes. "She had a heart for people, one that knew nothing but kindness, gentleness, and love."
He turned his eyes up to Harry and gave him a warm smile. "You remind me of her, at times. Not in personality but that innate goodness, that drive and will to help others."
Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm not the same naive teen I was at the start of this year," Harry said, his eyes dropping down to Fawkes.
"You've grown, more than I could have ever imagined," he said, raising his cup to him, his eyes twinkling. "Alas, we're already sidetracked. I had meant to discuss the connection between the ring horcrux, my wand, and your cloak."
Snapping his eyes back to the ring, Harry couldn't help but scrutinize it further. There was nothing remarkable about the ring itself, aside from it being older, garish, and a destroyed former horcrux.
The only item that appeared to not be damaged was the centrepiece, the black stone.
Stone.
"A wand, stone and cloak?" Harry asked, looking at the wand Dumbledore had placed on the table in front of him. "The Three Brothers?"
"There are three things that must be relayed before I pass on to my next great adventure," he said, his tone soft, calm, as if he was at peace with his demise. "Severus was to assist and lead you to this knowledge but I fear he may no longer be among the living."
Harry's eyebrows rose, almost reaching his hairline. "Snape's dead?"
Nodding gravely, the headmaster kept running his hands along the length of his familiar. Fawkes warbled and then let out a piercing series of notes, of lament and haunting beauty.
"Y-you're sure he was on our side?" Harry said with trepidation. He wasn't going to be spending time grieving the professor that did his best to make his life hell.
Dumbledore held up his hand. "Three things, Harry," he said. "Three things."
Bowing his head, Harry gritted his teeth. He'd never understood Dumbledore's blind faith in Snape.
"First, if you have your cloak tucked away with you, then we have three of the Deathly Hallows in the same room," he said, smiling congenially as he pointed at the stone and wand. "In my youth, I had dreamed of this moment and had been caught up in it, momentarily, slipping on the ring before I could help myself."
With his heart pounding in this chest, Harry was having a hard time comprehending this. Was Dumbledore dying, offering these to him?
The Master of Death
The words rang through his head. What did it even mean?
"The second thing," Dumbledore said before clearing his throat, "is that I expect Tom called for Severus to help him regain a body. With him having not yet returned, I fear Severus' true allegiance has been discovered."
Sighing, Harry bit his lip but remained silent otherwise.
"And finally, I wanted to cover something no soul alive today knows in full," he said, garnering Harry's full attention. "Apart from me, that is."
His jaw lowered and then snapped shut. What did he even say to all of this? Mythical magical artefacts, Voldemort returning or has already returned, Dumbledore sounding like he was going to be dying soon, and now some secret knowledge…
So lost in thought was he that Harry failed to notice the headmaster had stood up. It wasn't until he was gingerly walking towards a closed cabinet that his head turned.
"There is a memory you'll need to see," he said, pouring the contents of a vial he had pulled from his pocket into the basin.
Harry stood up and headed over, almost as if he was in a trance, and entered the memory. Coming out of it he didn't even recall walking back to his chair. He was suddenly sitting in it and thinking over the words.
The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord… mark him as his equal… power the Dark Lord knows not… die at the hand of the other.
The words turned and churned in his head. And yet, while his mind was trying to riddle out the prophetic words, a wave of deep resenting anger burned within him. It made his blood boil and set him on edge.
"You've known this whole time and you did nothing ?!" Harry said, not noticing he'd stood up again. He slammed his hands on the desk. "You let me rot at the Dursley's for years! Summer after summer!"
Harry stared at him furiously, leaning over the desk, breathing heavily. "Well," he snarled, "what do you have to say for yourself?"
Whatever response he was expecting, it wasn't for Fawkes to hop up onto the desk and peck him in the forehead. Rubbing the spot that was sure to bruise, Harry glared at the phoenix.
But just as he was going to turn his anger onto him, Fawkes opened his mouth and began to trill. The power of his melodic notes was astounding.
All his anger, his frustration, were diffused.
In the face of such magical music, he couldn't even remain irritated.
Sitting back, he lost himself in the trilling. Beauty. Peace. Serenity.
How long Fawkes went on for, he couldn't say. Just that once the majestic magical creature finished, he lowered his head and allowed Harry to scratch his head.
"I can't account for all my actions, Harry," Dumbledore said, tear tracts were visible on his face. "Mrs Figg was to have watched and alerted me of anything worrisome but-"
"Stop," Harry said, cutting him off. He stared at Fawkes, regulated his breathing and then nodded his head. "You're dying, sir?" It felt like he was gurgling acid to speak respectfully but now was not the time to let his emotions best him.
"I'm setting my affairs in order," he said, his eyes shut as he spoke. "Severus may have been more knowledgeable. But, by the time the exact curse was identified, there was only so much Poppy and Filius could do. I will move onto what comes next, before Hogwarts is out for summer."
Harry's hand rose and covered the lower part of his face. He rubbed it back and forth not sure how to respond.
"I'm sorry, sir," he said, after a moment, failing to come up with anything impactful, meaningful
Dumbledore lowered his chin, shaking his head. "No, my boy, it is I who is sorry," he said, his words sounding mournful. "I'm giving you everything that could help. My techniques, my knowledge… my wand. All in the belief that you'll need them to clean up the mess I could not."
After using his hand to wipe his face, he looked back up at Harry. "Tom will be coming for you; he knows the first half of the prophecy," he said before picking up his cup with his shaky hand. "And he won't rest until he pays you back for the blows you've dealt him."
Fighting the impulse to freeze up, Harry took a sip of his tea, doing everything to keep his face neutral. "I don't know what you mean?" Harry said, after swallowing his drink. "Do you mean the financial work or the political manoeuvring?"
As if amused, Dumbledore's eyes twinkled and the corners of his mouth tightened. "All magic leaves a trace," he said, his voice not admonishing at all. "Few could sense such things but there is no doubt you deprived Tom of his closest followers and the dementors."
Picking up the cracked ring, the headmaster removed the black stone and cleared his throat. "Just as Filius has taught you, reach out with your senses and I'm sure you'll feel the echo of magic in the ring," he said, holding it out for Harry to take.
"As you continue to harness your ability, you will continue to become more precise," he said, a warmth in his eyes as he leaned forward. "You start with basic feelings, and, as you practice, learn, you'll be able to refine it, even being able to discern whether an item has known magic in its past or not."
Harry clutched the ring in his finger and shut his eyes. Reaching out, he could feel the depravity of what had been done to it, it overwhelmed his senses. But, he searched on, trying to push through the murkiness.
As if he'd dove through a gelatinous layer of much, he reached another layer, one that was old, withered, decayed. To Harry, it felt as though his senses were digging in a graveyard, there was nought but death and decay here.
Withdrawing his focus, he shivered, the lingering effect from the magic that had left its mark on the ring affecting him. "Under the horcrux, it felt like death, decay, cold and withered."
The smile on Dumbledore's face grew. "Remarkable," he said, beaming. "Truly remarkable. Filius had said you were advanced but I wouldn't have guessed this far. And what you'll find, is all magic leaves a mark and you can learn to differentiate a particular person's magic from others."
Dropping the ring on the desk, Harry turned his eyes upon the man, though he remained silent.
"I have been around a lot of magic but none so potent and distinguishable as the investigation into the Second Task," he said, raising an eyebrow. "There are many types of fire; however, I have only once been around a fire that had a tint of basilisk venom to it."
Harry could feel his palms were no longer dry and he wiped them on his pants.
Stroking his familiar again, Dumbledore let his words hang for a moment. "I held sway in the Wizengamot then," seeing Harry's look of confusion, he clarified. "When all the trials went on. And I wanted a cessation of hostilities. To not punish the darker families too harshly, lest they resent the victors and rise up against them."
Harry's fists were clenched. "Are you telling me that you let some of them get off?" he said with incredulity.
Raising his hand, he nodded. "You were not around for the war that led to Grindelwald's uprising," he said, his voice taking on a lecture like quality. "Those defeated were made to bear the cost of the entire conflict. And when they had a yoke too heavy to bear, forced upon them, they chafed under it, watering the seeds of resentment."
Shaking his head, he unclenched his hands before they balled up once more. "You kept Crouch from being the Minister," he said, putting the pieces together. " Nobody knew his son was a Death Eater. Only Karkaroff blurting it out in front of the entire Wizengamot curtailed his hardline supporters, Horace told me about it."
Dumbledore nodded. "A deal was made with Igor and he ended Crouch's political career," he said, not even trying to skirt around it. "And it was my mess that you cleaned up. For if you weren't able to raid Azkaban, Tom would have been able to. And so I covered for you, for Ivan."
He could feel his blood pressure dropping. "C-covered for me?"
"I'm less than pleased with your tactics but the next war ends with Tom or starts anew with your death," he said, sounding all too confident of his decision and all too calm about Harry's possible death. "I held him back in the last war and now it will rest on you, all too quickly."
Within the confines of his mind, he'd thought Dumbledore or Fawkes would show up and help Harry deliver the killing blow. But that wouldn't be the case now. It fell squarely on his shoulders to deliver the final blow, to ensure Voldemort didn't prevail.
The odd thing was that he knew it, his magic knew it. There was a confrontation nearing that was inevitable, prophesied even.
While Harry had been thinking, Dumbledore had taken hold of his wand and held it out toward Harry, handle facing him. "The truth is, Grindelwald used this wand in his rise to power and I have safeguarded it since," he said, gesturing for Harry to take it.
Reaching his hand out, he tentatively took hold of the wand. As he did so, he felt his magic connect with the wand. Golden sparks flew out of it and continued to do so, filling the room.
Dumbledore wiped his soot-covered glasses. "I had wondered if I could pass ownership, or if it required less savoury means of transferring ownership."
"Yeah," Harry said marvelling at the wand's reaction to him.
Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Now, let me explain what I believe is the capability of the wand," he said, placing his glasses back on his nose. "My belief is that it amplifies your magic."
Harry leaned forward with interest. "It increases the power of your spells?" That would be wonderful.
Humming for a moment, Dumbledore stroked his beard with his good hand. "In a way, it would, yes," he said, his eyes unfocused, in thought. "Let me tell you of my duel with Gellert."
Harry nodded, eager to hear of a titanic event.
"Magic is made up of components, four to be specific," he said, his eyes shining lively. "And it is my understanding, that the wand amplifies your true intent. Not necessarily the intent you mean to imbue your magic with."
Harry quirked his head to the side. "There's a difference between true intent and the intent you have when casting a spell?"
"There is indeed, my boy, there is indeed."
Taking a moment, Harry considered that line of thought. His understanding was that you push your intent into the spell. But, when casting spells did you have an unconscious intent you put into spells too?
"Gellert outclassed me," Dumbledore said, not sounding the least bit upset. "He'd been leading the conflict for years and I'd been here, marking, teaching transfiguration. I was no match for him."
With jaw lowered, Harry stared in disbelief at the man. "B-but you won, everyone knows that."
Dumbledore chuckled. "That was the nature of the wand at work," he said, nodding. "Gellert and I were lovers. We broke up because he wanted to dominate the world and I wanted what I've always sought: to learn about the mysteries of magic and push its boundaries."
Blinking, Harry couldn't help but think this revelation put a different perspective on things. How much of what he'd done, in politics, in conflicts, was coloured by his reluctance to get involved, to do more than pursue his passion. And he briefly wondered about the truth of rituals and love that Apolline had brought up.
But, he'd acted and solidified relationships before completing the rituals. However, would Harry have the other issues that plagued the man? If a Dark Lord cropped up in the next number of decades, would he be expected to jump in and solve it? Would the ICW and Ministry ever let him be? Would he always be toiling in the political and economic worlds, even if he wanted out?
He ran a hand through his hair. At least with Daphne, Fleur and Natalia, he had three sharp minds and able-bodied women to share the load with. Hell, Daphne would probably relish in the business and political side.
Beyond them, he had Patrice and Horace to advise and handle things on his behalf. Whereas Dumbledore? Who did he have? Who could he trust implicitly?
"The truth is, Gellert would have killed me, many times over, if the Elder Wand hadn't been the one in his grasp," the headmaster said, his unblinking blue eyes piercing Harry. "Gellert loved me, he didn't want to see me come to harm. That is why I was able to subdue him, that is why he lost."
Turning the wand over in his hands, Harry couldn't help but worry about using it. If he faced Riddle, did he truly intend to kill him?
"Facing off against Tom," Dumbledore said, continuing on, unheeded by Harry's internal thoughts. "I could never defeat him. Not because I didn't intend to but because I don't have it within me to kill. And just as Gellert's spells couldn't kill me, I never went at him with lethal force as alerting him to this would be… disastrous."
Harry sat there, stone-faced, taking a moment to think that through. "Why couldn't you just use your normal wand?" he asked, his eyebrows knit together. "Why didn't Gellert?"
Letting out a sigh, Dumbledore stroked his beard. "Just as Gellert outclassed me, so does Tom," he said, pulling out a wand Harry hadn't seen before. "The best I could do was to force Tom to end raids, protect the lives of others, and organize a resistance against him."
This was making a whole lot more sense now. There had always been conflicting reports. Dumbledore had a reputation for being a great dueller but Gellert had been the better of the two, at a younger age. Then, with the revelations about the Elder Wand, the way conflicts would go… Dumbledore shows up, duels Voldemort to a standstill but is 'too soft-hearted' to kill his former student.
They couldn't have won. Always being on the defensive, having your members picked off and the Ministry paralyzed by moles and double-agents. What a nightmare it would have been.
"And that's all I need to know about the wand?"
Dumbledore nodded.
"Then the prophecy?" Harry said, scratching the side of his head. "What do you think it means? It's obvious neither of us can get on with our lives while the other is still around. But the ' power he knows not' ? I'm not sure what it could be… we both learned from Salazar Slytherin."
"Love," he replied, smiling gaily. "It was what protected you the first time, and I believe it is your love for others that will push you to win. For as bright as Tom is, he has never felt the love of others, nor given his own out to others."
Harry wrinkled his nose at that, hoping it was something contained in Dumbledore's journal. Was he supposed to give him a hug that put Molly's to shame, literally crushing the life out of him?
There was a twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes as he began to speak again. "It is not love for your enemy but love and affection for those closest to you," he said, smiling knowingly. "You'll do anything to protect Fleur, Natalia, and Daphne."
"Yes."
"I may not be right, it could be something else," he said before finishing his tea. "But you are prepared for the Third Task?"
After sighing, Harry nodded, it was a question he was being asked a lot.
"I don't expect an auror training course under a Fidelius Charm will be too onerous," he said. With the recent attacks, the organizing committee wasn't willing to chance it, especially not the Ministry.
There would be no security breaches and the first person to reach the end would win.
"I have no doubt you'll win," Dumbledore said, dipping his head. "Just as I believe you'll be the defeat of Tom."
Harry searched his eyes, looking for any lack of sincerity. "I hope so, sir, I hope so."
Apparating right to the door, Harry opened the doorknob and made his way in.
"Harry!" Horace's voice called out to him from another room. "Come in, come in!"
A smile graced his lips and he headed into the sitting room, where the two of them usually met together.
As he entered the room, Harry saw Horace had a glass of brandy in hand, the mostly full bottle beside him.
"Come, come," he said before gesturing to the armchair opposite him. "Sit, sit."
Nodding, Harry moved forward and his hand moved to the side table, a bottle of butterbeer already open, awaiting him.
"Doing well, Harry?" Horace asked, raising an eyebrow.
Finishing the sip he was in the middle of taking, Harry answered. "Yeah, though my chat with Dumbledore was rather… enlightening."
Horace raised an eyebrow before a dark look flashed across his face. "We'll get to Albus, my boy," he said, a smile back plastered on his face. "How are things with Fleur?"
Harry put his drink down on the side table as he leaned back into the plush chair. "She's doing well," he said shifting his weight to lean on his arm. "Back visiting her family tonight and preparing for the Third Task with Patrice."
"Oho!" Horace said, his voice booming out. "Not going to cause you trouble, competing, is it?"
Shrugging, Harry grasped his drink bottle. "Neither of us likes to lose but she'll get over it," he said, a cheeky grin forming on his lips.
Horace grabbed his belly as he laughed boisterously. "I'd say you're over-confident but I bet quite the sum on you," he said, chuckling some more. "It'd make me quite the hypocrite."
Harry rolled his eyes, "Is that even legal?"
Horace scoffed, "Of course it is," he said, eyebrow knitting together. "Barely any rules to it. They even have you versus the field, you're that heavy a favourite."
"S'not like it means much," Harry said, his upper lip curling. "I just want it done."
Holding up his glass, Horace gave him a toast. "Hear, hear," he said before taking a generous gulp of his brandy. "How is Daphne doing? Cyrus' loss is…"
Harry nodded tightly, twice. "Natalia and Fleur have helped and I've done what I can," he said, using his palm to rub his forehead. "I think she's doing pretty well."
"She's staying with you, at the new place?" Horace asked and after receiving Harry's affirmation he followed it up, "You enjoying living there?"
Shrugging, Harry took a sip as he debated how to answer. "Never really had a home before… but it's nice and the girls all seem to like it," he said, looking at his mentor.
"Natalia's staying with you too, right?"
"Yeah."
"Things alright with her family?" he asked, his face twisting in a frown. "The plan went off without a hitch?"
Rubbing the back of his neck, Harry sighed. "Less than pleased over our quick union but not actually following through with the Potter and Delacour investments softened the blow," he said before shaking his head and adding, "and there's no chance Daphne relents."
Reaching over, Horace placed a hand on his shoulder. "You've done well," he said, giving him a reassuring smile. "They'll be a handful to deal with for years to come but they're useful. And now that you've shown them they have much to lose, they'll respect you more."
Harry raked his fingers through his hair. "I hope so," he said before swallowing more of his drink. "Ivan should have known I wouldn't take being kept out of the loop well."
Horace nodded before clapping his hands together. "But, enough of them," he said, before grabbing hold of his drink again. "How's Natalia?"
Smiling brightly, Harry told Horace about the last rehearsal but gave him the unfortunate news that she wouldn't actually be performing. While Voldemort was still at large, it was too great of a risk.
"It's disappointing but understandable," Horace said, his chin lowering. "I'll get to see her perform eventually."
Harry let out a breath, it was disappointing to him as well. He'd seen her practice quite a few times but Natalia was devastated by it.
"She'll have a long successful career and you can sit in a private box with me for them all," Harry said dipping his chin and raising his glass. "Once this is all over."
Horace took a drink along with Harry. "Did Albus provide some help towards that?" he said after swallowing.
Shutting his eyes for a couple of seconds, he let out a breath. "He's dying," Harry said, sinking into his chair, resting the side of his chin upon his hand. "He'll see the end of the tournament if he's lucky."
Showing no surprise, Horace merely nodded. "I know," he said.
Harry raised an eyebrow at that, it wasn't something he should have passed on.
"He wanted to tell you himself," he said, lowering his head. "As flawed as he's been, Albus was, is, a great man."
Harry felt his lips pinch together but he didn't respond. Instead, he pulled out the new wand he'd acquired, holding it up for Horace to see.
Horace's eyes widened as he let out a small gasp. "Albus gave you his wand?" he said as he leaned forward.
"Not Dumbledore's wand," he said with a small shake of his head. "The Elder Wand, the wand he took from Grindelwald."
If it wasn't such a tense, important moment, Harry would have laughed. Horace's was gaping like a fish, his wide eyes locked onto the wand. Even as he opened and closed his mouth, he had no words.
Twirling the wand in his hands, he summoned an ornate pocket watch out of his pants. He passed it to the man. "This was my first conjuration with it, I've made it permanent afterwards, so long as you keep the runes powered," he said, watching as Horace took in the details.
On the front face of the silver watch was a lily. But not just any lily. It was red and almost seemed to pop out of the surface of the metal; it moved and swayed as if it was in a field.
Tracing the lily with his finger, Horace looked at Harry and he could see tears welling in the corners of the man's eyes. Upon opening the watch, he looked on the inside and saw the level of detail he'd put into it.
The hands of the clock were white lilies with the background being a picture of Lily and Horace, one he'd always kept prominently displayed. While the inside of the cover was one taken not long ago.
With shaking hands, Horace held onto it and let tears fall down his face.
"This-" he said, trying to say something before he brought his hand up to cover a sob escaping his lips. "This is…"
Leaning over, Harry put his hand on Horace's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "I know," Harry said before pulling out a matching pocket watch. "I loved it so much I made a second for myself."
Horace nodded and then wiped the tears from his face. After doing so, he slipped it into his robe and affixed it. "I'll cherish this, my boy," he said, looking down at it before putting it away. "I'll cherish it more than you know, dear boy."
Harry doubted he was supposed to hear the final part but he was glad he did. Horace hadn't quite taken on a father figure role but grandfather wasn't out of the question. Their weekly potion lessons were always a highlight of his week.
"So what have you figured out about the wand's capabilities?"
Harry shrugged, a sly grin on his lips. "So far it does as he told me," he said, pausing for effect. Only once Horace rolled his eyes did he continue. "It amplifies each pillar of magic."
"Power, intent, creativity, and willpower," Horace named them. "What has it done for your spell casting?"
"Not what I'd hoped," Harry said, picking up his drink again.
"Still can't get your fire to Cuddle's level?"
Harry ran his hand through his hair. "No," he said, exhaling heavily. "But it's helped across the board at everything else."
Eyeing him carefully, Horace took a sip of brandy. "Is there more to it?"
"Yeah," Harry said, giving him a half-smile. "Dumbledore warned me about the amplifying intent. According to him, Grindelwald couldn't actually hurt him because his true intent stemmed from them being lovers."
Horace pursed his lips and looked off in thought. "Dumbledore has always hidden that fight away…" he said, rubbing his chin with his forefinger and thumb. "Perhaps we know why now."
Shifting in his seat, Harry folded his hands together. "I've thought on what my true intent is, toward Riddle," he said, gazing into the fireplace. "I've taken after my mother… just doing whatever it takes to survive."
As he watched the flickering flames, Harry considered his next words carefully. "I know he killed my parents but I didn't know them," he said, not daring to look away from the fire. "I can kill… But I'd rather be left alone… I just want to live a life of my choosing."
When Harry felt Horace's hand on his shoulder again, he finally tore his eyes away from the fire.
"There's nothing wrong with surviving, or being confident in your hatred of Riddle," he said, managing to smile and look serious at once. "But I think you've moved on from merely surviving, my boy."
Harry searched the man's eyes, finding nothing but warmth and sincerity there.
"You love Fleur, don't you?"
"Of course," Harry said, answering without delay.
"Natalia?"
Harry nodded, "Without a doubt."
"And Daphne?"
Harry felt his eyebrows knit together for a moment. "I'm not sure it's quite there yet… But if it isn't it yet, it will be, I think."
Grinning, Horace clapped his hands together. "Then, my boy, it's quite simple," he said, looking rather pleased with himself. "You need to realize the same thing your mother had."
Harry's jaw tensed. "What did she realize?"
"That surviving is a means to an end," he said, still sporting a large smile. "And you, my boy, have three times as many reasons as she did."
Comprehension dawned on Harry and he rubbed the back of his neck. "I have three wives and she had one husband."
Clapping him on the shoulder, Horace dipped his chin. "Surviving was important but living took priority," he said, raising both his eyebrows. "What you need to realize is that surviving isn't enough anymore, for you. Living is."
He stood up and went to refill his glass. Turning, after finishing, he looked at Harry again. "Not put it together yet?"
Harry shook his head. He'd been thinking on Horace's words but hadn't quite put it all together.
"Would you be happy just surviving with one of them dead," he asked poignantly, causing Harry's heart to clench in his chest. "Or, Merlin forbid, lost all of them, myself, and the Delacour family?"
With fists clenched, Harry shook his head.
"What you've yet to realize is that surviving isn't enough anymore," he said, smiling at him once more. "Living with your loved ones is. Living a long happy life, popping out some babies, exploring the world, delving into the mysteries of magic, and enjoying the fruits of your hard work, that's what you're living for now, that's your true intent."
Shutting his eyes, Harry centred himself and worked to control his elevated breathing.
It was quite the thought. He'd been so focused on doing his best to survive that he hadn't really considered that merely doing it wasn't enough anymore. Losing Cyrus hadn't fully hit him yet. Even though it had been a number of weeks, the man could just be on a long vacation.
Not gone.
Missing the rest of his life.
It really was too bad the stone was a fake. As far as Dumbledore could tell, it didn't call back the spirit of the dead person. Instead, it took what you knew and understood of the person and turned them into a spectre, a sickly distortion of the person.
If there was anything special about owning all three, then Harry was entirely unaware of what it could be. There was no major difference in his magic. From all that he could tell, they were just powerful artefacts from centuries past.
"You have the world to live for," Horace said, withdrawing an unsealed envelope from his pocket. "Your grandfather would agree, it seems. I wouldn't have read it if I knew what it was, but I believe you should read it."
Harry took a hold of the envelope and went to open it but Horace put his fingers on his hand and kept him from opening it.
"Read it later, my boy," he said, giving him a strained smile. "There's a few more things to go through."
Harry nodded, tucked the envelope in his pocket and then finished his drink. While Horace was getting him another, he thought of all the topics they had to cover still. Economics, politics, news, press, education and, definitely not least of all, Voldemort.
Dear James
There comes a time in every man's life where he sits down and scratches out onto parchment a letter he hopes will end up burnt to ashes, never having seen the light of day. However, given the state of the Wizarding World, prudent precaution begets wishful thinking.
If you have not already figured it out, my son, this is a letter I am writing out in case something happens to us before our time comes to a natural ending.
As I sit here, quill in hand, I am failing to come up with words. What do you tell your seventeen-year-old son? What do you try to impart with a few measly sentences that you have not already done while you raised a child?
I have never been elegant with words. Never been the affectionate father that conveys how much I love you with hugs. I have never been particularly good at emotional discussions and anything of that nature. That was your mother's calling.
What I have been, or hope to have been, is a man who is defined by my actions.
I have stood against tyranny, even when it was not my battle to fight, not even my country's war.
I have stood for the rights of others, for those who had no voice, no wealth and needed to be heard.
I have stood for family. Loving your mother wholeheartedly and never straying from her, even in mind.
I have stood and raised you to be the best of men. A Potter.
Perhaps that is what I should be imparting. Not the lessons you have learned from me. Not the reflecting you can do based on my actions and the moral positions I have taken.
No, what I should pass along, to you, my son, is what it means to be a Potter.
You have grown marvellously as you have reached your majority. Juvenility has its place; however, as you mature into a man, you must put aside childish things and step up, grow, to be a man.
Potters fight injustice:
Our world will never be perfect. Throughout the centuries, Potters have always understood there always has been and always will be injustice. The powerful that prey on the weak. The businessman that cheats their workers, abuses them, exploits them.
Potters cannot become aware of them and just sit it out. There is something inside every one of us, something that pushes, drives, and forces us to the front lines. To confront injustice when it rears its ugly head; kicking it, subduing it, or ending it by whatever means are required, when it's necessary.
Potters love fiercely:
In case you are not aware by the time you are reading this, Lily used an intermediary to set up a contract with our family. We did not put any pressure on you, nor tell you about it. You were sweet on the lass, and your mother thought it best to allow you an opportunity to court her without knowing about the contract.
You may feel some resentment for the contract but Potters love fiercely. Once you have had your shot with her, you are never going to give her up. And, son, we already approved of her, before signing.
But, let me explain this quickly. We love with all of our being - our hearts, souls, minds and magics. We cannot withhold a part of ourselves. So, son, if you have not yet realised it, you love Lily Evans. You may doubt yourself, especially if you are reading this, but there was no other for me other than your mother. Politics tried to prevent it but nothing was going to stop me from pursuing her.
Potters protect family:
There is nothing more important than family. I would not debate throwing my life away to protect yours, your bride-to-be's, or your mother's. We protect our own more than even a nesting dragon protects her eggs. Woe to those who come after our family. Whether through might of arms, guile, or out-thinking those that would dare lay harm to our blood, we will prevail. It may cost us dearly but those who come to end our line will find a foe they wished they had not crossed.
Our family has been hunted. People have sought to take our legacy away from us and we have never succumbed, nor will we. Potter blood is potent, strong, virile. The last one might be quite odd as your mother and I were only to have one child but let me tell you. Study our family history. When the Potter line is dwindling, it is willed by magic. Potters protect, Potters endure.
Potters are blessed:
If you think I am playing trickery on you, my son, you are wholly mistaken. Magic has a will of its own. We have a role to play, a place in the magical world that is required, necessary. It has always been our belief that magic has blessed us. We are magically strong, always have been, and have used this blessing to protect, to right wrongs, and never to persecute.
We have been given a gift and it is our responsibility to ensure we use it for the right purposes. Perhaps this is a tall tale passed down from father to son, generation after generation. It is possible, though I do not believe it.
The cloak I have gifted you is not a regular invisibility cloak. Its full history I am unaware of. What I have not yet disclosed to you is that it is a family heirloom from antiquity. Whence it came to us, I am unable to trace. However, since it can be remembered, it is passed from father to heir. From me, to you, James Potter.
Only those of our blood can make full use of it. It hides the entirety of your magic, keeping it from detection. Much of my fame and infamy in the war can be attributed to it. I could sneak through wards, I could walk right into the enemy bases. What you have, my son, is an item many would die for, not knowing it only works for those of our blood.
Your wife will not be able to make full use of it. For her, it will be a normal, if not exceptional, invisibility cloak. But, for you, for your blood, it is a tool upon which wars can be won and lost. A tool that can be misused for the greatest of evils.
But fear not, for you are a Potter.
This letter has already carried on for too long.
I love you, my son. You may not be aware of how proud we are of you. You will grow into a fine man. For, as a Potter, how could you not?
Live well, my son. Live long. Protect the downtrodden. Look out for the innocent and never be afraid to stand up for what is just, right and true.
Live not for fame or fortune. For true wealth is the love of your friends and family. True wealth comes from looking at yourself in the mirror and being proud of how hard you have worked, the actions you have taken, and the kind of man you have become.
Stand in the mirror, James, and be proud. You are the Head Boy. You will marry that dashing red-head and make her the happiest woman alive. Fight the good fight, my son. Be proud of your bravery, your daring, your courage.
I have no doubt you will grow into a great man because, in my eyes, in your mother's eyes, you already are.
Your loving father, Charlus Potter.