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HP467- Is That So?
🕑 Added 2025-07-14 22:15:48 +0000 UTCFollowing days rolled by without fuss. Classes settled into a predictable rhythm. Hogwarts seemed determined to gossip about Harry’s duel in the Ministry like it was the latest season of Witch Weekly. It wasn’t until Saturday morning, halfway through breakfast, that an owl swooped in with a plain envelope bearing the Hogwarts crest. Harry caught it one-handed, breaking the seal.
By the time Harry reached the gargoyle guarding the spiral stairs, it didn’t even bother asking for a password. The stone shifted aside smoothly, and he stepped onto the moving staircase without pause.
The door to the office opened with a faint creak.
“Ah, Harry,” Dumbledore said from behind his desk, hands folded neatly atop a stack of parchment. He looked almost absurdly calm, as if the man hadn’t nearly undone months of preparation during the Ministry fiasco.
“Headmaster,” Harry greeted lightly, petting Fawkes before settling into the chair opposite, crossing one leg over the other. “This won’t take long, will it? I’ve got plans later.”
Dumbledore gave a faint smile. “I will endeavour to be brief.”
“Appreciated.”
For a moment, the old man studied him, those piercing blue eyes doing their usual dance of I know more than you think. Harry met the gaze evenly, utterly unbothered.
“I wanted to speak regarding the Ministry,” Dumbledore began. “It seems I owe you an apology.”
Harry’s brows twitched upwards. “Do you?”
The headmaster inclined his head slightly. “I did not anticipate my arrival would disrupt the wards so thoroughly. In hindsight, I should have exercised greater caution.”
“An understatement,” Harry said lightly. “You handed Tom the gap he needed. If you were aiming for a dramatic entrance, you nailed it.”
Dumbledore didn’t flinch at the jab. “I understand your frustration.”
“Do you?” Harry asked, tilting his head. “Because from where I’m standing, it looked rather convenient. You turn up, break the lockdown, and Voldemort strolls out like he owns the place. Forgive me if I don’t chalk that up to bad luck.”
The old man sighed, leaning back in his chair. “You believe I intended for him to escape?”
Harry didn’t answer straightaway. He took his time, scanning the shelves of whirring instruments and fluttering papers as though they were far more interesting than the conversation.
“I think,” Harry said at last, his tone calm but edged, “that you’re very good at making things look like accidents when they aren’t.”
Dumbledore’s fingers drummed softly against the desk. “I assure you, Harry, I have no desire to see Tom Riddle free to wreak havoc.”
“Yet he is,” Harry said, voice still light. “Funny how that works.”
Silence settled over the room for a moment, broken only by the faint ticking of one of the Headmaster’s brass contraptions.
“Harry,” Dumbledore said finally, “whatever you may believe, I remain committed to ensuring Voldemort’s defeat.”
Harry’s lips curved faintly, though his eyes stayed cool. “Oh, I don’t doubt it. Just that, I know you want it to be on your terms.”
Dumbledore folded his hands atop the desk, the flicker of a smile brushing his face as though Harry’s words amused him. “And what terms might those be, Harry?”
“The ones where you get to steer every move, every outcome, so it all lines up neatly with your little vision of how things should end.” Harry leaned back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other. “The problem is, you’ve got the wrong lead actor for that performance.”
The Headmaster’s gaze didn’t waver, but there was a slight shift in his posture. “I have no desire to force your hand.”
Harry chuckled faintly, leaning back in his chair as if the weight of what he was about to say barely registered. “You see, I’ve got a rather different opinion on that one, Headmaster. It is a long story, so forgive me if I eat into your precious time.”
Dumbledore didn’t flinch. He simply gave the faintest of nods and gestured for Harry to continue.
“Well then, let’s take it chronologically, shall we?” Harry said, his tone light, almost conversational. “You heard the prophecy first. Aside from the Seer, you were the only one who knew it in full... apart from the little eavesdropper who scurried off to Voldemort with a snippet. After that, you arranged three raids with two pregnant women at the time, ensuring they opposed Voldemort three times. Because, of course, you’d worked out who fit the prophecy, hadn’t you?”
Dumbledore’s expression didn’t shift, but Harry caught the slightest flicker in those blue eyes. He pressed on.
“Sounds a bit ludicrous at first, doesn’t it? But I’ve had the pleasure of watching one of my father’s memories. A little gem he left behind. It is dated just before June. He and Frank Longbottom wanted to join a raid, but you forbade them, citing their impending fatherhood. Responsible, that. Odd, though... Bertram Bones didn’t get the same luxury, even though his wife was pregnant too. Only difference being, Hannah Bones was a month behind my mum.” Harry’s tone sharpened slightly, though his face remained calm. “And then Bertram Bones goes on that raid and conveniently dies, leaving poor Mrs Bones a widow. How unfortunate, right? Especially since that raid made his third opposition to Voldemort. Tidy little prophecy box checked.”
Dumbledore said nothing, his fingers resting lightly on the desk as though waiting for an opening.
Harry tilted his head, his faint smile not wavering. “Then there is my father’s Invisibility Cloak. Taken right before Voldemort raids to kill them, hasn't it? Funny, if they had it, maybe things could’ve turned out differently. But no, a certain Professor wanted to ‘study’ it at the time.”
“Harry...” Dumbledore began, but Harry raised a hand lazily to cut him off.
“And let’s not forget the Fidelius Charm. Always struck me as odd why the Secret Keeper couldn’t be you... or even my father himself. No, it had to be Sirius, who leapt into battles like a rabid dog, pun intended, or the rat. Of course, the rat was the obvious liability, but you let it stand. Curious thing about Fidelius, Headmaster... when the Secret Keeper dies, everyone who knows the secret becomes Keeper. You knew that. So why gamble on Sirius or Pettigrew at all?”
The faintest crease appeared between Dumbledore’s brows, but Harry wasn’t finished.
“Let’s skip forward a few months, shall we? Pettigrew sells out my parents. They are dead. I survive thanks to my mother’s sacrifice. And where do I end up? With the Dursleys. Brilliant plan, that.” Harry’s tone was calm, almost amused, though his eyes were sharp. “While the magical world hails me as the second coming of Merlin, I grow up locked in a cupboard, working like a slave, never even knowing magic existed. I thought my parents were drunken wasters. That is what Vernon told me. And I believed it.”
Harry leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “Do you know how many times my arms were broken before I turned eleven, Headmaster? How many times I was sent bleeding into that cupboard? How many nights I went to sleep starving? Even water was a privilege. And you left me there.”
Dumbledore’s mouth opened slightly, but Harry didn’t give him the chance.
“Was the plan to make me humble? Shape me into the perfect little hero... grateful enough to crawl out of that house and fall on my wand for your greater good? Was that the idea? Because if it was, congratulations. You almost managed it.”
The room was silent, save for the faint ticking of the odd brass instruments littered about.
Harry straightened up again, brushing an invisible speck of dust from his sleeve. “And thank you ever so much for leaving a squib to watch over me. Arabella Figg’s lovely, but really... what was she going to do? Throw stale biscuits at Death Eaters if they came calling?”
Dumbledore’s voice was calm, but softer now. “Harry, I believed the protections of your mother’s blood would keep you safe...”
Harry gave a short laugh, shaking his head. “Safe? I suppose you are right. No Death Eater ever laid a finger on me, but Vernon Dursley made sure I learned the value of keeping quiet and out of sight. You know, I used to think magic would solve everything once I got here. Turns out it just made the games more complicated.”
The old man said nothing, simply folding his hands on the desk, the picture of serene composure.
Harry leaned back once more, his expression cool. “So let’s not pretend this was about my safety. It was about control. You wanted a weapon... one that wouldn’t question orders.”
The Headmaster’s blue eyes didn’t waver, but there was a faint tightness around them now, like cracks in a polished mask.
Harry’s voice dropped slightly, the faintest trace of amusement curling at the edges. “You failed on that count, by the way.”
Dumbledore didn’t reply straightaway. His fingers tapped once against the desk before stilling. “You are very perceptive, Harry,” he said finally, his tone steady. “Perhaps more so than I gave you credit for.”
Harry let out a sharp laugh. “Is this you admitting, then?”
Dumbledore exhaled heavily, shoulders sinking like an old man who carried the entire world’s mistakes on his shoulders. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Harry.”
Harry shook his head, still wearing that small, amused smile. “You know I mastered Occlumency, don’t you? I assume you realised that when you tried to break into my mind the first day I stepped into this school.”
That earned him the slightest flicker in Dumbledore’s eyes... barely there, but Harry caught it all the same.
“Oh, yes,” Harry said casually, his grin widening just enough. “Even then, I could feel who was trying to dig around in my head. Funny thing, Occlumency... not only does it keep people out, but it also lets you sort through every memory like filing cabinets.”
He tapped a finger against the side of his head, eyes on the Headmaster. “You know, maybe it is because Voldemort’s soul was jammed in my skull like a bad tenant, but I can recall those early days quite clearly. The day he killed my parents. The screaming. The flash of green. It is all there.”
Dumbledore’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
“But later,” Harry went on, tone light as if they were discussing the weather, “when I went through everything carefully...cataloguing, indexing, I found another memory. One I didn’t even know I had. Right outside the Dursleys’ house. You and Deputy Headmistress McGonagall were standing there with Hagrid arriving with me, speaking.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed, though his smile never faltered. “She asked if you could do anything about the scar. Do you remember your words, Headmaster? You said, ‘Even if I could, I wouldn’t. Scars can come in useful.’”
The silence that followed was thick enough to chew through.
Dumbledore’s fingers curled loosely over the desk as though he was trying not to grip the wood too tightly. “That was...”
“...a moment of honesty, wasn’t it?” Harry cut in smoothly, voice calm, almost teasing. “No speeches about love conquering all or noble sacrifices. Just practical Albus, weighing up whether to fix something or let it linger because it might make me more valuable later.”
“I did what I thought was right,” Dumbledore said quietly.
Harry snorted. “You always do, don’t you? That’s the thing with you... you’ve convinced yourself every move you make is for the greater good. Even if it means dropping a baby on a doorstep in the dead of night and walking away.”
Dumbledore’s lips thinned, but he didn’t speak.
Harry leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “You know the best part? I think you actually believed you were helping me. Maybe you thought suffering builds character or something equally poetic. But I will give you this... without you, I might not have become who I am. So congratulations.”
He leaned back again, tapping his wand idly against his thigh. “Tell me, did you ever consider telling me the truth? Or was that always Plan Z... after I would marched to my death like a good little soldier?”
Dumbledore’s blue eyes held his, unflinching. “I wanted to spare you that knowledge. It was not a burden for a child to carry.”
Harry let out another laugh, louder this time. “Spare me? You really do love that line, don’t you? Here is a thought, maybe I wasn’t a child when you dropped me with people who hated magic. Maybe I wasn’t a child when I learned to duck frying pans and make myself invisible so Vernon wouldn’t have an excuse to belt me.”
Dumbledore closed his eyes briefly, his breath a slow exhale.
“But don’t worry, Headmaster,” Harry said lightly, standing and brushing off imaginary lint from his sleeve. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I’ve got it all figured out now. You wanted a saviour. Someone who wouldn’t question your plans, someone humble and desperate enough to die at the right moment. That’s why you built me up and broke me down.”
Dumbledore opened his mouth, but Harry raised a hand, cutting him off before he could speak.
“I am not angry, Professor,” Harry said with a faint smirk. “You tried your game, and you lost. That is all.”
He turned toward the door, pausing to glance back. “The difference between us, Dumbledore, is simple. You wanted Voldemort gone so the world would thank you. I want him gone so he can’t stand in my way. We are not the same.”
Dumbledore didn’t let up. “Is that so, Albus Riddle?”
