Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Chapter 12: Untimely Reunions

Sirius winced as he saw Harry crash headlong into the nearby wall. I think I overdid it a little. His Godson slumped against the stone, sliding down until he was lying prone in front of the wall. His nose appeared to be broken, and was bleeding freely. He also had a cut on his forehead.

Sirius had never been good with Healing spells, but he didn’t want Harry dripping blood the entire way out of the castle. He was fairly certain that only three people knew about the hidden cave underneath the eastern part of the lake into the lower dungeons. He’d gotten lost more than once. What I would do for the Marauder’s Map…but that bloody squib took it…

“Episkey,” he cast, crossing his fingers as he did so. His little-used Healing skills were up to the job, and with a flicker of blue light, his Godson’s nose healed and reset itself. The difficult task completed, he quickly healed the gash on Harry’s forehead.

Now, he just needed to find a way out. He’d managed to get close to the lake and the hidden tunnel by using his dog form. He had no doubt Daphne would have told the Aurors what to look for, but the Dementors were blind, and probably didn’t know what a dog felt like…or perhaps the proper word was tasted like.

He picked his Godson up off the ground. The boy was rather heavy, though Sirius guessed it was more because of his atrophied muscles than Harry’s weight. The kid was in fine physical condition. Better than James at this age, that’s for sure. Even if James was pretty slim, he didn’t do much in the way of unnecessary movement. Got him in trouble a bit when his Quidditch skills slipped.

Refocusing, Sirius tried to formulate a plan; he needed to move fast. Undoubtedly, the Halloween Feast was coming to an end, and all the little Slytherins would be coming down to get ready for bed. And Snivellus with them…

Sirius began to run deeper into the dungeons, trying to retrace his steps. As a dog, he could use his sense of smell and hearing to seek out humans, and thus, find a way out of the maze-like Lower Dungeons. Sirius stopped, looking around frantically.

He never saw who was waiting for him, hiding in the shadows like the bat he was. All he saw was the ever-lengthening sliver of white light out of the corner of his eye. His reflexes, built up in the years of ferocious combat in the First War, had not been completely dulled by years in Azkaban. He ducked, fighting the urge to dive to the floor, and tried to shift Harry’s weight so that he could get his wand up and defend himself from the unseen attacker.

“Drop the boy,” a hated, silky voice said from the shadows. “Now.”

“Always the coward, aren’t you, Snivellus? Come out and fight like a man!” Sirius yelled, his heart racing as he tried to maintain his composure. He had to keep moving, turning around with jerky movements as he sought to prevent his arch nemesis from getting behind him.

“Perhaps, Black. Yet, I survived the same number of battles as you did. Perhaps more.”

“As a Death Eater, yes,” Sirius spat back.

“What exactly is that supposed to mean? No matter…Drop the boy, Black,” Snape’s disembodied voice repeated, a cold rage burning beneath the words.

“He’s my Godson, Snivellus, I’m taking him away!”

“So you claim, Black. At least I never betrayed those I loved. I’m sure it would kill Potter to hear than you betrayed them.”

“I didn’t!” Sirius protested loudly. “Stupefy!” The red jet of his Stunning Spell flew out into the darkness, and sparks flew where it contacted the wall.

“Pathetic, Black,” Snape said softly, his voice now seeming to come from behind. Sirius spun around, thrusting his wand forward. Suddenly, from behind him, he felt danger, and dropped the floor just in time to avoid another deadly spell, one that came in at an angle. A Slashing Curse.

For the first time in a while, Sirius was happy to have been born a Black. While few Seers came out of that family, a number of them had also been born with the ability to sense danger. Sirius was one of them. So was Bellatrix, a fact that may have been the key to her success. She was not one to hang back, but one to attack viciously, hurling Cruciatus Curses to incapacitate her foes and killing them slowly when she had enough time.

As he dove, Harry’s body slipped out of his hands, and Sirius almost landed on top of him. Realizing he had no chance while still carrying the boy, Sirius got back up, aiming in the direction that the spell had come from. “Still using Dark Magic, Snivellus?”

“Oh, yes, Black,” Snape said with relish. “Just like your Godson.”

“You’re lying, Snivellus. That’s what slimy Slytherins like you do!” Sirius said, a hint of desperation entering his voice.

“From a certain point of view, that’s accurate. We are far better than you give us credit for, and lying is certainly one of our tools. Potter is improving, steadily. He’s a sharp one, Black, a credit to my House.”

“SHUT UP!” Sirius screamed. “DISCERPO!” A massive Severing Curse lanced out of his wand, but hit nothing but air before it cut a groove into the opposite wall. Sirius was shocked that he’d used a Dark curse so easily. That bloody bastard! He’s laughing!

Snape was indeed laughing. The strange acoustics of the dungeon made it sound as if his voice was everywhere at once. Though it was possible Snivellus was using a spell to create that effect, Sirius still felt a bead of sweat drip down his neck, and he wiped at his wet brow. “You ready to fight yet, Snivellus?”

“Of course not, Black, I’m just waiting for the show to start. You may be able to evade the Dementors in dog form, but they are probably pounding at the gates to get at you now. As much as I would love to finish you myself, I am a patient man. Leave the boy, Black, and you might live…for now…”

“Never!” Sirius barked. “I’ll never abandon James’s son to you!”

“Noble sentiments, Black…ah, is that the sound of students I hear? You have precious little time, Black. Flee. You should be grateful; Dressler will certainly not show you such mercy.”

“Mercy? You just want to see me Kissed!”

“Ah…pity, you’ve discovered my master plan. I might curse you into the hell that you deserve, but I have no wish to damage Dressler’s precious ward. Or to invoke the ire of the Headmaster. Flee, Black. Flee like the spineless mongrel you are.”

Sirius was raging. He wanted to find Snivellus and beat his head into the stone walls until the floor was slick with his blood and brains…what am I doing? He asked himself, shocked by his line of thinking. He hated Snivellus, but he was thinking like…like a Dark Wizard. Bloody bastard has poisoned my thoughts…but I can’t leave Harry!

The sounds of laughter and conversation grew louder. But they won’t come this far into the dungeons. “You are running out of time, Black. Expecto Patronum!”

A silvery-white bat flew out of the darkness, flashing back through the dungeons. Sirius knew that it would reach Dumbledore in seconds. He had to leave.

Another flash of light, this time a red spell tinged with blue. An Entrail-Expelling Curse. Sirius dived out of the way. “I’m sorry, Harry,” he whispered.

And with the next flash of the still-hidden Snape’s wand, Sirius transformed…

And fled.

What she hadn’t been expecting was for a disoriented looking Harry to be following her Head of House as they approached the group of students. Snape was walking quickly, his strides long and determined. His eyes blazed with rage, and his expression was furious. Ginny gasped and ran over to him. Blaise followed, looking concerned. “What are you doing down here, Harry?” he asked, looking him over. “What happened to you?”

“Sirius Black is what happened to him,” Snape said sharply. “Potter assures me that he is physically well, but I will make sure of that. Come,” he ordered to the confused-looking Boy-Who-Lived. Harry followed docilely. The way he was walking, Ginny was beginning to wonder if he had a concussion or something like that.

“What happened to Black?” Ginny asked, her eyes still on her friend.

“He fled like the coward he is,” Snape answered. “Now move!”

Ginny jumped out of the way, and Blaise stepped back, allowing them passage. “And both of you, get into your dormitory. Potter will live, and you’ll see him in the morning, no doubt,” Snape said in an irritated voice. “Go!”

Ginny didn’t have to be told twice, and quickly said, “Ambition leads to power.” The hidden door slid open, and she stepped inside. Blaise followed. But Ginny stopped to take one last glimpse at Harry and he and Snape disappeared, heading for the entrance to the dungeons. How do you keep getting yourself into these things, Harry? Hermione is going to have kittens!

Daphne Dressler burst through the oak doors into Dumbledore’s office, abruptly interrupting the meeting that was currently being held. She didn’t care, not at all. All she cared about was that her ward had nearly died twice in the space of two weeks. Hagrid wasn’t the brightest pumpkin in the patch, and she suspected something else had contributed to Harry’s mauling…but this?

“Give me a reason,Albus,” she said, stopping in front of his desk, ignoring the stares of the Hogwarts Staff. The only ones absent were Trelawny, who spent most of her time in the Divination Tower, and Filch, who was likely overseeing whatever measures Dumbledore had put in place. Minerva made an indignant noise, but Daphne ignored them. She had warned Dumbledore that if he were unable to protect Harry from harm, she would take him out ofHogwarts. In the past, Dumbledore’s failure could be excused…she could hardly blame him for failing to detect something that she had missed completely. But she had had enough. Harry was in the Hospital Wing again, this time nursing a concussion, having been attacked by Sirius Black in dungeons. It frightened her that no one had thought that sending Harry back alone was a bad idea.

“Have you ever heard of knocking, Dressler?” Snape asked silkily. “I believe you have interrupted something.”

“Shut it,” she snapped angrily. She didn’t have time for his taunting. “How could you let this happen?” she demanded.

Dumbledore raised his hands. “Please, calm yourself, Daphne,” he coaxed. “Let us discuss this like civilized human beings. You have a right to be upset-“

“Upset?” Daphne snarled, her magic bursting free and permeating the room. She managed to keep her anger tied down…for the moment. Had it been Snape instead of Dumbledore in front of her, it might have been different.

“Daphne, please!” Minerva begged. “Calm yourself; you aren’t doing Harry any good.”

“How else am I supposed to get throughto you, Albus?” Daphne demanded. “You have ignored all of my previous warnings. Harry has faced down death far too many times, and it’s been under your watch!”

“I will not deny that I have made mistakes,” Dumbledore said. “But I agree with Minerva. I will speak with you now, but I must insist you speak to me calmly and rationally. The last time you spoke when you were this emotional, you made a dreadful mistake.”

Daphne winced at the memory of the Vow of Vengeance. It was rather underhanded of Dumbledore to use that memory, but it was effective. “Fine,” she bit out.

“The rest of you are excused. Be vigilant, and calm the students’ fears. We will survive this…Severus, please stay behind so that you may clarify the situation. You as well, Minerva.”

“I’m staying too,” a voice said. Daphne turned to see Remus getting out of his chair, starting towards her.

“Remus…”

“No, Albus,” Remus insisted. “I must be included in this conversation.”

Albus sighed tiredly. “Very well,” he said. “Daphne?”

Daphne took a deep breath. “As soon as Madam Pomfrey clears him, I’m taking him home. I’ll give him the education he needs there.”

“No!” Remus suddenly yelled. “You can’t do that!”

“Remus!” Minerva chastised him. “Control yourself!”

Remus glared at her. “I won’t let you,” he insisted.

Daphne met his eyes. What she saw alarmed her. Remus’s eyes were naturally blue, flashing anger only when the wolf was aroused. His eyes flashed amber. It didn’t have to be the full moon that aroused the wolf; it could be strong emotions; anger or fear, for example…or certain instincts…

“No!” she snarled, her eyes narrowing in fury. “He is not your cub, Lupin,” she snapped. “You have no right to him! You abandoned him!”

“SILENCE!” Dumbledore commanded, his blue eyes icy. Daphne could feel the flow of his magic as it rippled out from him, calming everyone in the room and forcing them to pay attention. Finally, after a long moment, he spoke. “I will not have responsible adults such as yourselves screaming at one another like a pair of misbehaving children. You were friends once, and you have the same purpose at heart. We will discuss this in a civilized manner, or we will not discuss it at all. Do you understand?” Dumbledore asked. His eyes lingered on Snape for a moment longer, obviously warning him about antagonizing either one of them.

Daphne took a deep breath. “He’s my ward,” she said softly, but with a hard edge. “I have custody of him, and as he is not yet of age, I make the decisions for him…and I have judged that he is not safe for him to remain at Hogwarts.”

“Have you given a thought to the fact that Harry might want to stay here?” Remus demanded. “He’s happy here, at least, as happy as he can be…I don’t know, it’s difficult to explain. But he has friends here.”

Daphne met his eyes with her own hardened gaze. “I am not proposing to permanently remove him, Remus,” she said calmly, but with the same hard edge. “I am proposing to educate him privately until Sirius Black is apprehended and/or Kissed. He is the immediate danger. I do not blame Albus for the injuries he suffered because of an animal; nor can I reasonably expect Hagrid to have predicted what happened. But I find the fact that Black was able to get Harry alone and far away from help disturbing, to say the least.” In reality, everything she had said was true. But there was quite a bit she had not said.

Remus studied her, as if trying to find some part of her that he recognized. “You’ve changed, Daphne,” he said quietly.

Snape cut in. “I do not believe that this is the proper time for you two to catch up on old times. Dressler, what are you planning to do?”

“I told you,” she replied with no small amount of irritation in her voice. “I intend to remove Harry from Hogwarts.”

“Daphne,” Minerva entreated, “think about this for a moment. If Black is after Harry, how does whether he stays at Hogwarts affect his safety?”

“Because I can’t protect him here,” Daphne said quietly, her voice sharp enough to cut stone. “I will cut Black to ribbons if he attempts to penetrate the security of Dressler Manor. And the Dementors will catch him eventually, animagus or not.”

Minerva frowned. “Animagus?”

Dumbledore nodded. “I suppose you didn’t hear.” He smiled ruefully, something that seemed completely out of place in the grave circumstances. “We had three unregistered animagi running around the grounds about twenty some-odd years ago. Misters Black, Potter, and Pettigrew.”

Minerva was taken aback for a moment, but she frowned as concerns about Black’s ability to evade capture took precedence over pride in her favorite student, the late James Potter. “Dementors cannot find animagi because their emotions while transformed differ from those of a human, correct?”

“Exactly,” Daphne confirmed. She turned to Snape. “Do you know how Black got in the castle?”

Snape shook his head, and then suddenly glared sharply at Lupin. The werewolf sighed. “I think I may know,” he said quietly. “If I remember correctly, Sir-Black and James mentioned finding a tunnel that led from a cave near the shore of the lake into the lower dungeons. I’ve never seen it myself.”

“Undoubtedly,” Snape was heard to mutter. Daphne ignored him.

“Well, than we find the entrance and ward it,” she said. She stared at Dumbledore. “There is one way that I’ll let him stay,” she said. “You will allow me to stay with him in the castle.”

“Daphne, you know the rules-”

“I’ve given you two options, no more,” Daphne said. “Make your choice. I don’t even have to stay in the castle, though I’d prefer to. I’d stay in Hogsmeade, if necessary. But with access to the Floo network in the school, obviously.”

“Headmaster,” Snape interjected. “I find it highly irregular and unwise to give Potter such preferential treatment. And keep in mind that the boy is in my house. I don’t want to deal with reports of Dressler threatening anyone that so much as glares at Potter.”

“You won’t have to,” Dumbledore said. “Correct, Daphne?” The weight of his gaze was crushing, but Daphne stayed strong.

“Within reason,” she replied. “If a student attacks-”

“Under no circumstances,” Dumbledore interrupted her. “It is one thing to keep a watchful eye out and to be able to reach him quickly. It is another to be in a position to intimidate students. I encourage my pupils to rely on themselves, not on family name and status.” Snape coughed loudly. “…in Slytherin, that does not often work. But the point is still valid. Even if Harry does not intend to bully others, your presence as his constant bodyguard will be a problem.”

Daphne took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Dumbledore had a point, no matter how much she hated to admit it. Her name brought with it memories of terror in the minds of Death Eaters. For their children? Or just children familiar with her…exploits…?

“I understand your concern, Albus,” she said slowly. “But if you’re going to convince me to allow him to stay, and I know he wants to,” she said, glaring pointedly at Remus as she spoke, “then I need to have the ability to be at his side. I also need assurances that he will never be alone. His friends will suffice most of the time; they are capable of at least getting help. But they aren’t trained well enough to defeat Black, or even fight him off. I need assurances that someone who can will be there in time.”

“Is that all you ask? Why not ask Albus to chop down a tree with a herring?” Snape muttered darkly. Dumbledore gave him a reproving glance.

“I will do all in my power to insure that that happens, Daphne,” he said firmly. “I will allow you to stay in Hogsmeade if it will help your sense of mind.”

“What I want is for Harry to wear that ring,” Daphne said softly. “But he’s sick of relying on me…at least that’s what he said.”

“Perhaps I could talk to him?” Remus asked. “I assume you are referring to a ring that burns when the wearer of the counterpart is in danger.”

“I am,” Daphne confirmed. “Harry won’t listen. He’s sick of me breathing down his neck,” she said in a downcast voice.

“And what, exactly, do you call bursting into a private meeting and demanding to be allowed to withdraw him from the school?” Snape asked, this time in an audible voice.

Daphne didn’t really have an answer for that. “I’d still like to stay in the castle.”

“I’m sure you would, Daphne, but I cannot allow that. If Harry wears the ring, you can be here as fast as if you lived in Hogsmeade. I will give you free access to my fireplace, if that is what you want,” Dumbledore offered.

Daphne knew that was the best she’d get. She wouldn’t be able to continue her work and training in Hogsmeade anyway. And if Scrimgeour ever got back to her on her job request, it might be more difficult to travel back and forth. “Fine. I give up,” she said, defeated. Her eyes came back to life. “But I will withdraw Harry, protection or not, if he is attacked again. I’m doing this as a favor to both him and you. If I had my way, I’d be his private tutor behind the walls of Dressler Manor.”

There was silence for a long moment. Snape snorted derisively and turned towards the wall in disgust. Minerva cleared her throat. “It appears we are done, then.”

“Not quite,” Remus spoke up. “Daphne, I want to speak to you. Alone,” he said, placing special emphasis on the word. Daphne nodded curtly in reply.

“Very well,” Albus said. “Return to your students, and keep me informed. Remus, tomorrow we must search for this passage and seal it.”

“It might be easier if we still had the Marauder’s Map,” Remus admitted. “Though I don’t remember ever seeing that tunnel there before.”

“The Marauder’s…?”

“I will explain later, Minerva,” Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. “I’m afraid I don’t know what became of that fine object. A pity; it was quite a feat of charmwork.” Daphne had to agree with that assessment. The final feature, the ability to track every person in the castle, hadn’t been created until their Seventh Year, when Lily, already going out with James, had given in to his insistent requests that she use her talent with Charms to help them. She had, despite Daphne’s loud objections.

Snape looked murderous, but did not say a word before spinning on his heel and marching out of the office, headed for the dungeons. Daphne beckoned Remus out of the office, and her old friend followed, looking weary and tired. “Let’s speak in my office,” he suggested, walking down the hallway to it and unlocking the door. “Pardon the mess,” he added ruefully.

Daphne merely nodded in reply. Remus offered her a seat, but she didn’t take it. Remus remained standing as well. “Well, I suppose we needed to have this conversation sooner or later,” Remus admitted, shrugging his shoulders. “This seems as good a time as any. It’s been a long time.”

“Twelve years,” Daphne replied. “Well…almost.”

Remus sighed. “Would you please be seated?” he asked. Daphne gave in and Summoned a chair so that it was in front of his desk. She took a seat slowly, and Remus did the same. They stared at each other for several seconds, neither one daring to speak. They both had things they’d rather leave unsaid, but knew that was impossible.

Remus cracked first. “I suppose I should begin. At least you were there for him.”

Daphne nodded. She might have told him that it was all right, but that would be a lie. If she hadn’t been there, she could have lived with Remus raising Harry. But the man had fled months before. “Why?” she asked. “Why did you leave?”

Remus sighed, and his eyes were full of old pain. “I had an argument with James,” he said, his voice dead and heavy. “He accused me of being the spy that had betrayed the Order, and was leaking secrets.”

“It was because you were a werewolf,” Daphne said. It was not a question.

Remus nodded. “Yes, it was, as much as he didn’t want to admit it.” He sighed, sounding ashamed. “I lost my temper, yelled at him, and then made the mistake of thinking about hurting his family in revenge…it was just a glance up the stairs, but I knew what it meant as well as he did.”

Daphne didn’t flinch. She’d expected far worse. “Go on.”

Remus sighed again. “And…that was it. I left that night, spent some time in France, found out what happened to Lily and James and…Peter,” he said, though it was clear he’d meant to say something else. Even now, Peter was just the unimportant tag-along. Daphne had always felt slightly sympathetic, but she couldn’t feel sorry for him when he chose to feed James’s ego. There were others that could have accepted him, but he chose those with the most power and influence. “I mourned a bit,” he continued, “then ended up in Cairo. I spent twelve years there, trying to find steady work. It wasn’t easy.”

Daphne nodded. Even though the Anti-Werewolf laws had been softened so that werewolves could own homes, businesses, and work for pay, they still were distrusted and feared by many. Werewolves were also not allowed to have children without a brutally impersonal procedure where the pregnant wife would be examined to see if the baby she carried had Lycanthropy. The disease was rarely inherited, but if it were, the babies would be taken from the parents and raised in a Ministry institution. There, it was said, they were abused, belittled, and mistreated for something they couldn’t control. Eventually, they might be returned to their parents, but ironically, most of them went feral and ended up being executed for biting others. The practice was, in Daphne’s mind, both barbaric and idiotic at the same time. It was rarely implemented, but the fear alone kept many werewolves from marrying or having children.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I just…let it all go…I forgot about everything I’d left behind, I mean…I still remembered everything, but I just tried to keep it out of my mind…do you understand?”

Daphne nodded. She’d tried…and failed to do the same.

Remus glared at her. “I shouldn’t be doing all of the talking, Daphne,” he said firmly. “You have as much to answer for as I do, perhaps more.”

Daphne met his eyes. “I regret a great many things, Remus,” she said softly. “But I can’t dwell upon my past. I don’t regret what I have become, only the way that I was forged.”

Remus threw his hands up. “I’ve been here for barely two months, Daphne, and I’ve already found out that no matter how much you don’t want to dwell on your past, you don’t have a choice. It follows you, Daphne. You have blood on your hands, and you can’t just-”

“You dare to judge me?” Daphne demanded. “Do you think I don’t remember the face of every man or woman I’ve ever cut down, every Death Eater that I tortured, every single victim of the war that I saw as they suffered? Do you believe I could just forget that?”

“Of course not!” Remus yelled, his eyes flashing amber once more. “Have I accused you of being heartless! NO! I’ve accused you of being too content and confident that you’ve left it all behind you! No wonder Harry is the way he is!”

Daphne stopped, her eyes narrowing to razor-thin slits. “And what, my dear friend Remus, was that supposed to mean?”

Remus lost his temper again, violently clearing his desk with the sweep of his hand. Neither one of them paid the slightest attention to the sounds of shattering glass and ceramic. Their eyes bored into one another’s, fighting for dominance. Daphne struggled to keep her magic under control. She was furious with the werewolf at the moment, but that didn’t mean she wanted him dead. But he was testing her patience with every insinuation that she had failed Harry as a mother. What right does he, a pathetic coward, have to question how I raised him? He knows nothing!

“You know exactly what I’m talking about!” Remus cried, pointing an accusing finger at her as one would a wand. “I can’t see a bloody hint of James or Lily in him! He’s manipulative, underhanded, and far too mature for his age! He acts like a soldier half of the time! He’s not supposed to shake off these threats to his life as if…as if they are some bloody detention, or something like that! He’s supposed to be fearful! He’s supposed to seek out his elders, not mock them! For Merlin’s sake, Daphne, he knew what I was! And he still pushed me to tell him personally, as if taking some perverted pleasure from forcing my deepest secret from me! I see hope in him yet, but even after I offered to spend time with him, he has ignored me, treated me like McGonagall or someone like that!” He panted, exhausted from his rant. Daphne didn’t flinch.

“He is who he is, Remus,” she hissed. “I admit that I have made several horrible errors in the past year. I failed to protect him from Riddle. I completely lost it in the Chamber, forgetting where I was and what I was doing, so focused I was on vengeance. But I raised him right, Remus. I have prepared him, and he has accepted what lies before him.”

“Prepared him for what?” Remus demanded. “For battle? He’s thirteen bloody years old! He’s not supposed to be thinking about these things! He’s supposed to be thinking about brooms and Quidditch and girls, not Dark Magic!”

Daphne winced, ever so slightly; but her eyes hardened. “Yes, he should,” she agreed. “But unfortunately, Harry is not like most teenage wizards. He has responsibilities, Remus, responsibilities that you can’t even imagine.”

Remus scoffed. “Try me?”

Daphne shook her head. “I cannot,” she explained.

Remus growled at her. “Then how do I know that you are even telling the truth?” he demanded. “How do I know you aren’t just making something up to make yourself feel better? What could Harry possibly be expected to do at his age? Tell me, Daphne. What is he supposed to be able to do?”

Daphne closed her eyes. She knew that if Remus pushed her much farther, she’d probably scream the contents of the Prophecy. Remus’s Lycanthropy made it difficult to impossible to penetrate his mind, but she didn’t trust him. “Leave it, Remus. He is who he is. He is Slytherin, and he is a credit to that House. He is intelligent, motivated, and quick thinking. He isn’t cruel or crude, though he sometimes makes misjudgments. I highly doubt that he cares that you are a werewolf.”

Remus stared at her for a long moment, and Daphne could almost feel the shame that overtook him. “You’re right,” he said finally. “I’m still just…shocked. I didn’t expect him to be like this. He reminds me all too much of Snape at times.”

Daphne’s eyes flared, and she could tell that Remus knew he’d gone too far. “He is nothing like that Death Eater,” she bit out. “Just because you, James, Black, and Pettigrew liked to associate Snape with every Slytherin you ever met, with the possible exception of my…husband, that doesn’t mean your immature judgments were in any way accurate.”

“I know that, Daphne,” Remus said quietly. “I have a lot to be ashamed of, for the way we behaved. It was one thing to be practical jokers, but what we did to Snape and other hapless students was far beyond the level of acceptable behavior. And while I rarely participated in it, I did nothing to stop it.”

“At least you can admit that,” Daphne said, running a hand through her hair tiredly. She stood up. “We’ve spoken enough,” she said firmly. “If you still have problems, speak with me personally…but not tonight.”

“Fine,” Remus said stiffly. His expression softened. “I’m sorry for how much of an arse I’ve been. I’m just worried about him…and you.”

Daphne stared at her friend in disbelief. “Me?” she asked incredulously. “You’re worried about me?”

“You’ve changed so much, Daphne,” he said quietly. “Perhaps you’ve been like this the entire time, and I’ve just failed to notice. But you’ve lost something along the way. You aren’t the curious, intelligent, hard-working, and easily-amused girl you once were.”

Daphne stared at him in disbelief. “That,” she said, “is obvious. I don’t know if I was ever as you described, but I know that whatever part of me that was died a long time ago. My love of life, you’d probably describe it as? My desire to live a long and content existence?” She took in a deep breath, fighting back the horrors of her past, which by their very presence threatened to overwhelm her. “Gone,” she said.

Remus frowned, looking at her as if he thought she was joking. “But Daphne, surely you must-”

“I died a long time ago, Remus,” she said softly. “Daphne O’Connor died when her heart was ripped out, her friends and family murdered and her mind shattered by grief and rage. The girl is nothing more than an old dream, a fading memory. What is left is two women: the Grey Maiden, Dark Auror, and the loving, fanatically protective surrogate mother of the Boy-Who-Lived. That is who I am, Remus. I live for vengeance and out of love for Harry. If he were to die…I couldn’t go on. I’d simply drop dead, my body finally catching up to my blackened and twisted soul. It is over for me, Remus. It is only a matter of time.”

Remus stared at her in total disbelief. It felt strange to speak of herself in the third person, but she also knew that everything she said was the absolute truth. It had taken months of soul-searching, years of atonement, before she had come to the awful conclusion that she was already dead. All that was left was a shadow, a haunted apparition driven by two opposing desires. She had never told this to Harry, of course. But Remus needed to hear it. She had a feeling Dumbledore already knew she felt this way, and she was certain that Andromeda did as well. Andy has always read me better than anyone. Even Lily couldn’t see into the depths of my soul, as she seemed capable of doing.

“I don’t know what to say,” Remus said lamely. “I never pegged you as one to give up…”

Daphne refused to be baited. “Save the challenges for someone who will listen, Remus. I made peace with this long ago. It is time for you to accept it.”

“I cannot,” Remus protested. “I won’t let you think like that. For Harry’s sake, if for nothing else.”

Daphne laughed lightly. “If you tell him what I just told you, I will kill you. I will not allow you to jeopardize his happiness to settle your own feelings of inadequacy.”

With that, she got up, spun around, and strode out of the room.

Remus remained there for several minutes, trying to comprehend what she had told him. It seemed like a massive contradiction; a last gasp attempt to explain something that could not be explained. But the conviction with which she said it left no doubt that she believed every word.

Remus didn’t know what to do. He wanted to scream and cry at the same time. To weep for his friend and to curse her for doing this to all three of them.

But he could not.

While only a small number of Slytherins had seen him as he was led out of the dungeons, the news that Harry had been attacked spread remarkably quickly. Snape had also seen fit to announce that it had been Black that had penetrated the defenses of the castle. Now, the students were both frightened and madly curious. No matter how many times Harry either refused to speak with them, ignored them, or told them in excruciating detail exactly how little he’d actually seen, pests like Colin Creevy were the bane of his existence.

Still, they had moved on, as Harry had been forced to do all too often in the last three years. He was still alive, he was perfectly healthy, and that was all he needed. Still, he was relieved when the long awaited owl from Dumbledore finally arrived during breakfast.

Currently, Harry sat on a chair facing the venerable Headmaster. The situation this time was quite different then their last meeting. Not only had Harry been under the influence of Dumbledore’s former pupil, Tom Riddle, but the meeting had been initiated by Dumbledore as a way of finding out more about the Boy-Who-Lived. This time, it was Harry who was looking for the answers. Hermione’s frantic worries about what Dumbledore might say were still ringing in his ears. She was terrified by her new found ability, which seemed to manifest itself only when she used fire-related spells. Her normally harmless Ignition Spell now created something resembling a Muggle blowtorch. They hadn’t even tried her Burning Hex since she’d nearly killed Harry twice.

Dumbledore stared over at him, towering over him even while seated. His blue eyes twinkled with curiosity between his half-moon glasses. Harry still couldn’t decide if the strange twinkle was something created by magic or a physical ability. He’d never seen a Demiguise; they were extraordinarily rare, hunted because their priceless coats were weaved into the same kind of Invisibility Cloak that James Potter had inherited from his father, and that Harry now had tucked neatly into the pocket of his robes. “You wanted to see me, Harry?” he asked, betraying nothing of the fact that he’d probably been expecting this meeting, given everything that had happened. He had no doubt that Dumbledore had detected Hermione’s flares of wild magic, and he probably already knew the reason that the Hippogriff had attacked him.

“I did, sir,” Harry replied politely. “I have a number of questions I’d like to see answered. I believe that you are the one most likely to know the answers.”

“I will do what I can,” the Headmaster replied. “What is it that you wish to ask?”

Harry met his gaze. “You know what I want to ask,” he said. It was not a question, but a statement that he had no desire to play the man’s games. One of Dumbledore’s greatest assets was his ability to act as if he knew far less than he did. Harry was wise enough to not be fooled.

Dumbledore shrugged. “Perhaps. I believe you wish to discuss Miss Granger’s unexpected abilities. And your own, for that matter.”

Harry nodded. “Have you ever seen anything like it before? She’s always been a bit powerful and skilled for her age, but I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Dumbledore nodded. “It is rare, but not unheard of, for witches and wizards to specialize in certain areas. There are, of course, different levels of specialization. Some have slightly more power; others can cast certain types of spells with greater speed or ease. There are some, a few per generation, who demonstrate a facility with certain types of spells that vastly exceeds the normal adult witch or wizard. I know of only two cases. One, of course, is Lord Voldemort. Never before has a wizard so easily wielded the Unforgivables, all three of the them. His proclivity is for Dark Magic in general, and an Avada Kedavra is an Avada Kedavra, regardless of the wizard, but his Cruciatus is the most vicious I have ever seen…well, that is a matter of debate...”

Harry knew exactly what Dumbledore was referring to. While it wasn’t exactly something that one could interview a Death Eater and determine, many Death Eaters claimed that the only thing worse than being placed under the Cruciatus by Lord Voldemort was being tortured by the Grey Maiden. The difference being, of course, that Voldemort needed his servants sane. Daphne had no such inhibitions. It was frightening, in a way, to understand that the woman who had been so good to him, raising him with all the care and love that a boy could ever want, treating him as she would her own son, could be compared in that way to the fallen Dark Lord. But then again, he knew the agony that she could inflict. Her awesome power had been turned against him in the worst of ways. Perhaps it is a question of the power of the memories that Daphne can draw…but the Cruciatus cannot be used with righteous anger; only a deep desire to cause pain can allow its use…but does what happened to Daphne somehow excuse her for what she did to other human beings, as horrible as they may have been..?

He didn’t know the answer. He suspected that he never would.

“Perhaps I was tactless,” Dumbledore admitted. “I had not meant to remind you of such painful memories. I merely wished to illustrate a point. There is another example of specialized wizards and witches. Your very own Transfiguration teacher, Professor McGonagall, is the most skilled Transfiguration Mistresses in almost one hundred years. While her power had ebbed with age, her abilities remain fearsome.”

“So,” Harry concluded, frowning, “you are saying that Hermione could eventually develop a level of mastery of fire-related spell, which, mind you, include some of the foulest Dark Magic, such as the Incineration Curse, that could rival Voldemort’s control of the Unforgivables and Professor McGonagall’s Transfiguration skill?”

“Potentially, yes,” Dumbledore says. “I have heard of cases where such a thing has happened to Muggleborn witches, but this type is almost unheard of, if my readings of her power were accurate. I’m sure you know, but due to the late start they have in their magical education, few Muggleborns advance to a level of magical skill equal to the average pureblood?”

Harry nodded. Hermione had viciously attacked that statistic when he’d found it in his reading. She’d been outraged that such a conclusion was drawn without taking into account the shock of a Muggleborn child entering a strange and unfamiliar world. “So what does this mean for her?”

Dumbledore paused, deep in thought. “She, of course, must learn to control her power just as you must. Unfortunately, she cannot have her gifts sealed away until it is safe because they aren’t purely power that can be separated from rest. They are a proclivity.”

Harry nodded. “So she should begin training with you as soon as she can?”

Dumbledore shook his head. “No, she should begin training with Minerva as soon as she can. As I recall, Professor McGonagall had quite a time when she began spontaneously Transfiguring objects, living and inanimate. By a mere thought, she could perform immensely complex magic. She will be able to help Miss Granger cope with her abilities.”

Harry nodded. The idea made sense, given what he’d discovered, and while he and McGonagall still didn’t get along that well, a relic of his first year, Hermione was probably the Transfiguration Professor’s favorite student since his father. And he knew that Hermione loved the woman’s classes for their detail and clarity. But, of course, Hermione was only half of the reason he’d come. “And what about me? That Hippogriff didn’t maul me because I didn’t smell good.”

Dumbledore nodded slowly. “I suspected as much,” he said with a smile. “I must admit, I’ve never seen such a strong reaction, though I frightened my fair share of magical creatures in my youth. Like you, I was the most powerful wizard of my generation, albeit for different reasons.”

Harry nodded, though inside, his heart was pounding. History revealed few who were, in their primes, a match for the power, intelligence, and capabilities of Albus Dumbledore. The man was a living legend, his name and his exploits known all over the Wizarding world, far beyond the borders of the insular British Magical Community. He’d been compared to Merlin on more than one occasion, and had often convinced skeptics that those judgments might not have been exaggerations. The very thought that he might be in that class stunned him, something that some might find inexplicable when one considered what he’d already done. But he knew better than that. I came here with conservative goals, he thought, I wanted to achieve what others could achieve on my own merits, yet the Sorting Hat saw through those childish wishes. It saw the ambition, the drive to be the very best I can be, to achieve as much power and influence as I can, to restore the Potter name to the ranks of great wizarding families…the thought that I might actually be able to achieve all of that is just…

He couldn’t think of a word. With his power sealed away, and Daphne’s instructions to hide it as best he could, he rarely pondered what it meant. He knew he was powerful, possessing magical abilities far beyond many of the greatest adult wizards…more powerful than Daphne, he thought. Somehow, that reality was even more awe-inspiring. She did much for me, and I spent my entire childhood worshiping her, learning from her. I have benefited, just as I have suffered for seeking to emulate her behavior. But all of that aside, it seems to defy belief that I might some day eclipse the Grey Maiden…on my own…

He glanced up, and suddenly felt his face warm. Dumbledore was staring at him, a bemused smile on his face. “Ah, Delusions of Grandeur,” he said, speaking the words as if they were a title for the most wonderful thing on Earth. “I know what you are thinking, Harry, for once, long ago, the same thoughts ran through my head. I saw myself doing things that no one thought possible…sadly, many of them turned out to be correct. You possess power, Harry, but I caution you, not against the urge to exercise that power, but to embrace the arrogant belief that you are indestructible.” He smiled, and this time, it was genuine happiness. “Fortunately, by the very fact that you were embarrassed by your thoughts, I conclude that you have the perspective and rationality needed to avoid such thoughts.”

He paused, his tone turning from hopeful to regretful. “I daresay, at the risk of bringing your guardian’s vengeance down upon me, that you near-death experiences have taught you a valuable lesson. Not that I would ask anyone else to live them; they are also quite damaging in their own right, and no child such as yourself should be forced to undergo such ordeals, but they have taught you something, I believe.”

“I have been humbled,” Harry said, the words sounding strange on his tongue. “I have been inches from death, yet I do not believe that I survived because of skill or power. I lived by sheer good fortune.”

Dumbledore gazed at him, his expression serious. “Forgive me for my concern, but I must impress upon you something extraordinarily important. And keep in mind that I care for you just as I cared for your parents; you are far more to me than a weapon or a tool with which to reach my goals. Indeed, the odds are that if you survive, it will be your face that appears on the Chocolate Frog Cards…I must make a request, however, that even following my passing, they continued to make them. They have ceased in the past to commemorate the deaths of great wizards. I cannot have them do the same for me. It is sad, Harry, that we so often allow political correctness to get in the way of logic.”

Despite himself, Harry laughed. Dumbledore smiled at him. “Another tip: Never forget that you are a human, and that you have needs. Always remember: A laugh can be as powerful as the most vicious of spells.”

Harry nodded. “I’ll do well to remember that,” he said softly. He wasn’t sure he understood it at the moment, but something told him that, eventually, he’d believe it was the most precious advice anyone had ever given to him.

Dumbledore frowned slightly at him. “Harry, I would appreciate if you didn’t look at me as if I have all the answers. I assure you that I do not. I make errors of judgment often, but one of the luxuries of long-past fame is that the small ones tend to be ignored…of course, one of the curses of fame is that the larger ones tend to be front-page news.”

Harry smiled slightly. He was well aware of that.

“While it may be true that I am one of the few that can understand you in this sense, do not make the mistake of placing me up on a pedestal,” Dumbledore continued.

“I understand, sir,” Harry said. “But I did have other things I wished to speak about…”

Dumbledore shook his head as if to clear it. “Forgive me, I was rambling. An unfortunate effect of my advanced years…you wish to discuss the possible ramifications of your power, and how to avoid having it exposed.”

“And how to avoid further injury to myself,” Harry admitted. “I’ve seen too much of the Hospital Wing this year.”

“Indeed, I believe Poppy is considering reserving a bed for you,” Dumbledore remarked. “As for your question, I agree with your belief that the Hippogriff attacked you because it was alarmed by the power it saw.”

“It’s not just that,” Harry admitted. He met Dumbledore’s eyes. “I think that it was frightened not just by my power, but that so much of my magic is laced with the essence of Tom Riddle.”

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully for a moment. “An excellent theory, and one that I had not yet considered. And one that, based upon my knowledge, is very likely true…would you mind if I examined your magical core? I might find some answers to some troubling questions.”

Harry shrugged. Truth be told, he still didn’t like the idea of someone entering his mind. But he saw little harm in it, and he wanted those answers as well. “I don’t have a problem with it,” he said.

Dumbledore nodded. “Good. Please relax your defenses, Harry, to make this as quick and painless as possible.”

Harry did, consciously pulling down the still-porous defenses that he had been constructed in his sessions with Snape. The man never complemented him openly, but still seemed pleased by the progress that he had made. Harry was also getting better at stomaching the memories that Snape often went for, his most damaging, frightening and painful. But Harry had determined that, despite all appearances and conventional wisdom of what Snape thought of Potters, the man took no pleasure in watching Daphne torture him. He did it because he had to, and Harry could live with that.

Daphne had asked him about it constantly, searching for any claim she could make that Snape was mentally abusing her ward, but Harry gave her nothing. There was nothing to give. It didn’t mean that he liked Snape, far from it. The man still struck him as cold, ruthless, manipulative, and Dark. But unlike his father and guardian, he had found a kind of grudging respect for his abilities and intelligence. Snape expected no more, and probably desired nothing more.

He felt Dumbledore’s presence enter his mind, but instead of going for the nexus of memories that Snape often sifted through, he dove deeper, racing for the center of Harry magic. He found it, and Harry inhaled sharply. It was like being prodded with a finger located deep inside his gut, somewhere where there shouldn’t technically be any room for an extra organ or structure. It made sense that the Magical Core should be located in the center of his body, but it was a very uncomfortable feeling.

Dumbledore blinked, and the connection was broken. His face was a mask of disgust, something he hid in less than a second. Nonetheless, Harry felt himself blush in embarrassment and shame. He blinked, trying to shake off the almost childish insecurities and emotions. “It is not your fault, Harry,” Dumbledore said with strong conviction. “But as we feared, you were correct. Your magic is stained with his Darkness. It is hardly irreversible; I know a number of ways to remove the taint; but it will make taming it all the more difficult.”

Harry nodded, trying to fight back the bile that threatened to rise in his throat.

“I shall need to think on this,” the Headmaster said, “to consult my vast stores of knowledge, and perhaps to consult a few friends…without naming you, of course. For know, keep control of your emotions. Fight back the urge to stretch out, to do what should be beyond you. It may be that I will need to train you personally, but we will determine that if and when the time comes. For now, enjoy your youth, Harry. Do not allow this to weigh upon your mind.” He smiled, almost sadly. “You have wonderful and loyal friends, Harry, and the seeds of friendship with many others. Do not allow them to go to waste.”

Harry thought of Ginny and Hermione, and how both of them were uncomfortable with his mature his thoughts were at times. “I will, sir.”

Dumbledore nodded, and Harry rose. “Thank you,” Harry said honestly. Far from being consumed by his new knowledge or fearful of Riddle’s taint, he was glad to be rid of a great deal of the uncertainty that had been weighing upon him.

“I will always be here for you, Harry,” Dumbledore said, the twinkle in the man’s blue eyes returning with full intensity.

With a small nod, Harry turned and left.