Albus Dumbledore had never
been gladder to reach the sanctuary of his office.
Although the world was
celebrating wildly, although stars and fireworks exploded outside his office,
although students whooped and cheered in the corridors, he had never felt worse
in his life.
The defeat of
Voldemort was, indeed, a reason for celebration. Unfortunately, the people who
most deserved to be celebrating couldn’t.
Because
they, Lily and James Potter, were dead…
Because
the prophecy had spoken…
Because a baby’s fate
had been sealed.
The room seemed dead,
empty. Everyone who should have been there wasn’t. Albus knew that it wouldn’t
do to dwell on the past. Even so, he let himself have a few moments to reflect
on Lily, and in turn, James.
The girl really was a stunning seventeen year
old. Her long scarlet hair tumbled down her shoulders, framing her small face.
Her porcelain skin had turned a faint red, and her eyes were dangerously close
to flashing angrily.
“But you can’t
make Potter Head Boy, sir. He hasn’t even been a Prefect! Why
him of all people?”
“Because James has the qualities needed to be
Head Boy. James is brave. James is clever. And, most of all, James is a
leader.”
The boy was staring at him intently, studying
him. “But why sir? Why not Remus? I’ve caused enough trouble!”
His ebony hair stuck up at an odd angle from
running his fingers through it. The silver badge fastened to his robes caught
the light and gleamed.
“Because you have the qualities needed to be
Head Boy. You are brave. You are clever. And, most of all, you are a leader.”
Two pairs of eyes, one hazel, one emerald,
stared at him.
“Potter?”
“Me?”
“Yes... Trust me on this.”
And they did.
Three months later
Lily agreed to a date with James. One year later, they were wed. One year and exactly
nine months later they were parents.
Two years and exactly
nine months later they were dead.
Seventeen years and
six months later they were sitting in his office.
It was impossible to
understand how much like James Harry looked. Or how his eyes flashed exactly
like Lily’s. It was impossible, if you had known them, to not have to bite your
tongue to stop calling Harry, James. But it was especially hard when Harry sat
in his office
He destroyed the
office, letting his temper get to him, a trait which ran through all
generations of either side of his family. His questioned Dumbledore, like Lily,
he shouted at him, like James. But he didn’t cry.
Lily and James did. As did Frank and Alice
Longbottom.
Hands clasped, tears
fell from two pairs of eyes. James was distraught, Lily was broken. Their baby,
their happy, squealing baby playing with Fawkes and
clapping at enchanted spoons in the corner was cursed. He was doomed.
They had expected so
much of him.
Harry, on the other
hand, didn’t think or expect much of himself.
And Dumbledore stared
at the boy. Lily’s soul, James’ body. Both living inside their son.
And all of a sudden
such a terrible ache filled Albus. Not since the day of Voldemort’s defeat,
almost fifteen years ago, had he yearned for Lily and James so much.
Harry was calmer now;
processing the information he had just been given. Albus sat back in his chair,
thinking. It would have been so much easier if Sirius was still here. Then again,
Sirius would never have let him near the prophecy. Strangely protective,
Sirius, for such an irresponsible person.
“Really Sir, it was only a bit of fun. I didn’t
mean for it to catch on fire. Who would have thought inflammable and flammable
meant the same thing? And it’s not as if it’s going to stop Professor Binns
anyway. He came back, didn’t he?
Wide, innocent eyes, flashing mischievously.
Locks of black hair fell gracefully into his eyes. His mouth turned up into the
half grin he was so famous for.
And Harry, just
sitting there, taking the knowledge that he was cursed in. Arms limp at his
side, his forehead was creased, and his face pale. Albus could hear the sounds
of students going to breakfast and knew he would have to make an announcement soon.
He knew he had papers to sign, Aurors to contact and an Order to run, but
nothing mattered more at that point than Harry Potter.
How the boy would
deal, Albus didn’t know. He knew the boy was strong, but everyone had a limit,
a line not to be crossed. In the space of a year Harry had been possessed,
resented by schoolfrinds and lost the closest thing
to a parent he would ever have. Albus wished he knew what to do, what to say.
“I feel I owe you
another explanation, Harry. You may, perhaps have wondered,” he whispered, “why
I never chose you as Prefect. I must confess… that I rather thought… you had
enough responsibility to be going on with.”
Harry Potter looked up
at him, meeting his eyes for the first time in months. His shock was instantly
replaced by a spark in his eyes. A spark that was strong and steadfast. And
although it disappeared almost immediately, it told Albus that Harry would be
alright.
A tear rolled down his
cheek. A proud tear.
James had never looked
at him like that, nor Lily. Harry Potter was stronger than both of his parents
put together.
And Harry Potter would
win.
Because he had to.
Because he didn’t have
a choice.