Harry Potter and the Soul of the Hero

Harry Potter and the Soul of the Hero

Chapter 6 - We All Dream

Hope is the pillar that holds up the
world. Hope is the dream of a waking man.

~~Elder

Lord Voldemort did not need to breathe anymore - he was less, and in some cases more, than human. The power inside of him, the seething, writhing, awesome power, kept him alive, if there was such a thing for the monster anymore.

The Dark Lord thought back to the day he had nearly defeated his mortal enemy, Harry Potter, the day he had been defeated instead - and had been reborn, yet again, as a god. Hours of thought he had given it, and still he failed to understand how the magic had been transferred from Potter and into him.

It had latched onto his already extraordinary amount of power, latched on and had begun to grow at an unbelievable rate. He could shatter this world now. Voldemort supposed Potter possessed the same power and that his had grown as well, they were linked on more than one level after all - and that could be the key.

Frost had developed on the walls of his chamber in Slytherin Fortress - frost formed wherever he walked, flames flickered out and died, and the very air seemed to darken. That always made him smile and his eyes shine with fire.

Before the Dark Lord, kneeling in submission, was the so-called King of the Vampires. Lord Masorn, a monster who had lived for millennia and led his kind into hiding, into cowardice and now, it seemed, destruction at the hands of a man called the Darkslayer.

Masorn's chest still burned with the glowing serpent and skull, the Dark Mark, as did the chests of his followers. Voldemort had learnt little of what had happened in the Carpathian Mountains, but he had his suspicions as to the identity of this 'Darkslayer'. Only one other possessed the power to do what Masorn claimed....

Still, the Darkslayer had destroyed half of the vampires that could have been his, more than half - only fifteen hundred remained for his service now, the rest burnt to death along with their mountain home. Voldemort suppressed the surge of anger he felt, but the air turned frigid anyway.

"You kept this from me, Masorn?" the Dark Lord hissed, his words holding their own sort of compulsion, making it impossible to deny answering.

"My lord," Masorn replied, gritting his teeth. He had probably never been made to call anyone lord in thousands of years. "The Darkslayer is a prophecy of the vampires, of Darkness itself - we did not--"

"He is Harry Potter, is he not?" Voldemort cut in calmly, a goblet of smoke appearing in his skeletal hand. "Do not lie to your master."

Masorn's yellow and red eyes bulged and he grimaced, swallowing his words. Instead he said, "He is... my lord. Your enemy is my enemy."

"How... interesting...." Voldemort mused. This was interesting, especially because of the prophecy he had discovered in the demon text, which was older than Masorn himself. It had said, quite satisfyingly, that the Darkslayer would be defeated. Of course there were many interpretations of the word, but in the end it spelled good news.

Demons from the Beginning...
Sealed for Eternity and barred from Existence
Freed against the Darkslayer once in time,
again by his greatest enemy in another.

Commanded by he who frees them, the demons
live in the space between universes - and are
always thirsty for blood.

The Darkslayer fought them once, in time,
and would do so again - so says the Prophecy.
All souls will be forfeit in their second coming,
and the Darkslayer will be defeated.

It was interesting - even as a rough translation. Accurate enough, the Dark Lord knew. Harry Potter had apparently been very busy in the two months since their duel, if the birth of a god could be called that.

Freed against him once, and then again by his greatest enemy. Voldemort counted himself as the boy's greatest enemy - he had to, with their own prophecy stating that neither of them could live while the other did.

Fought them once in time, Voldemort mused, as Masorn spouted everything he knew about the boy. All souls will be forfeit in their second coming, and the Darkslayer will be defeated.

It could not get much clearer than that. These demons... once Voldemort opened the way, would be commanded to destroy this world, so he could remake it. It was perfect, his plans could not fail this time - prophecy said so. And prophecy could not be changed, it was the Hand of Fate.

Still, Voldemort had always erred on the side of caution, as it were. Harry Potter had thwarted him in the past - he was the key, a pivotal part of the Light. He would have to die, and would.

"My lord," Masorn whispered. "I took some of the Dark-- of Harry Potter's hair, my lord. I thought... if he should come into his strength, or escape us, I could summon the storm demon - with your leave, my lord."

"Storm demon...." Voldemort said. "Yes, but I will do it, Masorn. It is wise this world learns that I am still here."

An ancient magic, not used for millennia, but well within Voldemort's power range now. To summon the very elements against Potter will certainly keep him busy and distracted from other, more sensitive, plans... like the forging of a Demon Gate into the space between worlds.

Voldemort laughed and Masorn quailed. It was too late - too late now to hope for a saviour.

*~*~*~*

We came close, you and I, to something great at the Ways of Twilight, Harry spoke to Ethan in his mind. He stood in the shower at Grimmauld Place and the warm water streaming down his body helped loosen all the aches and pains in his joints.

You're talking about the door that said Destiny, aren't you? Ethan whispered, his voice clear in Harry's head. There was truth behind that door... the Truth.

The purpose for Existence, the reason for everything. I feared it.

Harry felt Ethan shivered. You were right too. Some truths are not meant even for you.

I feel as if I should have done something about the poison eating away at that door - I fear we all may pay for it now.

Ethan was silent for a long moment and Harry turned off the taps, stepping out of the shower. You... if it was meant for you, then one day you'll be back there - it seems unavoidable that something will drag you back into this power struggle over Existence. The War for Creation.

Harry growled. That is not my war!

You started it! Ethan replied. Intentionally or not you were the catalyst. Will you just turn your back to an existence-wide conflict?

Stop pushing me - from now on my duty is here, to this world, and only here. I'm going to get dressed, go down to breakfast, and spend the day with my friends. Nothing more - I won't be pulled back into that other nightmare.

Ron and Hermione were sitting hand in hand at the breakfast table when he went downstairs. Ginny had to go to Hogwarts today, for her Potions OWL. Remus and Mrs. Weasley were at one end of the table, and Tonks was at the other. All of them smiled and waved him over when he entered the kitchen, hair still damp and sticking up every which way.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Tonks said as he took a seat. "Didn't think you'd ever rise."

Remus sat smiling at him and Mrs Weasley began filling a plate that had appeared before him with scrambled eggs, toast and pouring apple juice into a glass. The place had been set for him.

Harry yawned. "It's been awhile since I slept in such a comfy bed," he said without thinking. "Didn't want to get out of it."

"Where have you been these last two months, Harry?" Ron asked. "Besides... besides the vampire thing."

"Ron," Mrs Weasley said quickly, "Harry won't want to talk about that."

"It's okay," Harry said and smiled at his best friend. "I don't remember much except waking up in that mountain... and then it exploding." It was a lie, Ron and Hermione could tell it was a lie, and that, of course, was what Harry wanted. What he really said was, I don't want to say anything in front of the Order.

"There, you see," Mrs Weasley said, piling more eggs onto his plate. She had paled. "Nothing to talk about - best to just put it behind you, Harry."

Harry understood how she felt - he was, if silently, a good judge of character and human emotion. He had seen a wide array of it across existence and it just made sense. Mrs Weasley didn't want to talk about it, because she considered him as one of her sons - or near enough - and what mother wanted their child to suffer? He could never tell her what had really happened. But if he told anyone... it may get back around. Full circle again.

Putting some scrambled egg between two slices of wholemeal bread, Harry started to fill in the blanks of the last two months. "So, what've you done with the DA?" he asked. "I hear good things."

Hermione beamed and Ron smiled. "Just like you wanted Harry - we've made it a real force, guardians of Hogwarts. There are patrols and practice sessions - I think everyone passed their defence exams this year - Ron and I did, anyway. It'll all be there for when you come back to Hogwarts."

Harry smiled and ate his breakfast slowly. Come back to Hogwarts.... he didn't know. On the one hand he wanted to - just to be with his friends, and on the other he did have a job to do in this war, and couldn't do that if he was considered a student still at school. He needed respect and could see no other way to get it than through fear, a display of power.

No, he told himself. Stop thinking about war! You're done for now.

"What do you want to do today, Harry?" Hermione asked, pushing away her empty breakfast plate. "I know we can't leave headquarters but that doesn't mean there isn't--"

"Why can't we leave this house?" he asked, knowing full well the answer. He directed his question towards Remus, which wasn't very fair but then he didn't want to be manipulated again. He was beyond that, beyond fear and the need for protection.

"Harry," Remus began slowly. He looked a lot better now that he was cured, younger even. His hair was no longer grey, his eyes no longer haunted, and he carried himself taller. "It is simply not possible for you to leave the safety of the wards. We just got you back... we don't want to lose you again."

"I'll be having words with Dumbledore about this," Harry stated after a moment had gone by in silence. "I assume he wants to talk to me?"

"He'll be here this evening," Tonks piped in. "You've been throwing surprises at us since you woke up two days ago, kid. He wants to know what happened."

Everyone at the table watched the slow grin spread across Harry's face. It didn't reach his eyes. "Does he now...." they heard him whisper. "He may find out more than he cares to know."

Silence followed this until Hermione and Ron stood up. "Come on, Harry. Let's go see Buckbeak."

Harry tapped his plate with his fork and then nodded. He grabbed an apple for the trip and then followed his friends out of the kitchen and through the hall towards the stairs. "I wonder how they got that awful picture off the wall," Hermione said in passing, and Harry hid his grin.

Up the stairs in the highest room in the house, Buckbeak's room, sunlight filtered in through the window and the hippogriff sat lazing in it by the dusty old bed. No sooner had they sat down, Hermione in the only chair by the window, Ron on the bed and Harry on an old trunk he pulled across the floor, than the questions came.

"So," Ron said quickly. "What really happened after you stepped into that thing back in March?"

"We know you're hiding something, Harry," Hermione jumped in. "But you can tell us."

Harry smiled sadly and rested his chin on his calloused and slightly blistered palm. It was an after effect of wielding such awesome amounts of power. It burnt his palms. "It's a long story, and I'm not sure if I should tell it."

Hermione and Ron exchanged troubled looks. "Why?" Ron asked.

Harry sighed. "Because I lived it once, I'm not sure I could face it again. I don't want to remember, but I have to otherwise some very bad things will happen."

"You're not making much sense, Harry," Hermione whispered.

Harry's eyes glazed over as he looked out at the clear blue sky through the thin window. He saw through the sky though, through what his eyes saw and fell into memory. "Do you... do you believe there's a God?" he said before thinking.

His two friends exchanged that troubled glance again. "Where did that question come from, mate?" Ron asked.

Harry shook his head. "I'll have to tell Dumbledore, I think, if only to get the freedom I need to...." He trailed away and blinked, thinking back to Ron's question. "Just something I've thought about more than once over the last two mon.... since I've been gone. Never mind."

You're scaring them, Ethan whispered.

"Well, what could be so hard to tell us, Harry?" Hermione stressed, sunlight shining through her bushy hair.

"It's not so much telling you...." Harry began, frowning. "But... I think I'd have to show you, if you're to believe it."

Hermione blinked. "You mean in a pensieve?"

Yesterday you weren't even sure if you should tell them, Ethan said. What has changed?

Harry shrugged and looked down at his palms with a sigh. For so long he had known what to do, what he had to do, how to do it and the cost if he failed. Now though... he was rudderless. He had a new life to lead, at least one more war to fight, and a truth that his friends deserved to know. It answered so many fundamental questions about life, whilst raising thousands more and showing, even for just a glimpse, the size of Existence.

"A pensieve...." Harry whispered. "Yes, that'll work."

Ron coughed and looked nervous for a moment. Harry just raised an eyebrow. "We've... em... got something to tell you as well, mate."

Harry listened as Ron and Hermione relayed the dreams - nightmares - they had had of him whilst he had been a prisoner of the vampires. Ginny as well, apparently. They had dreamed of him, for some reason, and Ron had even been bruised similar to him. What could it mean? Why was everything always so goddamn cryptic and difficult?

When they were done, Harry nodded. "Another piece to a puzzle I thought I'd finished...." he sighed, holding his head in his hands.

"Harry," Hermione said, trying to bring the conversation out of troubled waters, "why aren't you wearing your glasses?"

Harry chuckled. "I don't need them anymore," he smiled. "My eyesight is fine without them now. Just one of those things I'll throw in the pensieve."

So, you're telling them then... are they ready?

"Oh," Hermione replied, obviously trying to figure it out then and there. "Well, are you going to tell us how you managed to find a cure for lycanthropy?"

"In time," Harry said, trying to convince himself to go through with this - to buy a pensieve. "I ask that you're patient with me, because it will take some time."

I can't put one hundred years in there, just key events and odd happenings... it'll still take weeks.

"You sound a lot... older... than when you left," Ron commented.

I feel a lot older. "We all grow up from time to time, Ron," was all he said.

Later that day, Hermione sat reading in the large Black family library, whilst Ron and Harry played chess on a nearby table. It was an old chessboard, the pieces dignified and noble - something she would expect to see in this house.

Only just reading the book, Hermione stared over the top of it at Harry, and the new way he held himself, the way he spoke, the looks he gave. She was sure, even though she was trying her hardest to be sneaky about it, that he knew she was watching him. It was just a feeling, but he neither confirmed it nor looked her way more than once, and when he did it was just to smile.

There was something profoundly different about him, and that was more than just a feeling. Hermione knew it - could see it in his eyes when he glanced at the chessboard. He was thinking at least a dozen moves ahead, she knew, and Ron was hard pressed to keep up with him. As it stood, both of them had only taken three pieces and they had been playing for an hour.

What could have happened in just two months to change him so? she wondered. He was older, a lot older and more mature it seemed. He always seemed to be ready for... for an attack. Unaware that she was shaking her head, Hermione tried to read her book without thinking about what could have happened to someone she considered one of her closest friends. Someone she loved.

"Good move," Ron grumbled, and intercepted Harry's bishop with a pawn - sacrificing the little guy.

"Thank you," Harry replied calmly, taking the pawn. His face was impassive, seemingly indifferent. You wouldn't think they had been playing this game on such a level that it may have confounded even a chess master.

"When did you get so good at this?" Ron asked.

Harry blinked, and recalled the years he had played against a shadow in his mind, in his dreams. We all dream. A being he had never learnt the identity of, but suspected it to be a Destroyer, or something similarly dark. They had played chess, and Harry couldn't remember ever winning against it. Ron, on the other hand, he had never beaten Ron either... but Harry, really for the first time, recognised just what a great strategist Ron was.

He had spent a century in and planning war, and yet he was hard pressed to beat Ron. Another thing he had learnt on his quest, he supposed it could be called a quest, was that some peoples minds were just set up to understand things better than others. Ron understood chess, could plan dozens of moves ahead - and rarely, if ever, lost.

But you're thinking how to use him, aren't you? Ethan whispered in a small corner of his mind. Already, how to use him in the war that is coming.

Maybe he is supposed to play a part - we don't just share nightmares for nothing. Perhaps he was made for war, as I was.

And Hermione and Ginny. What parts will they play? You have your strategist... what's left? How can you be sure you won't kill them this time?

"I just think about my move more now," Harry answered Ron and Ethan. "Look at it from all angles."

"Well, you're good," Ron nodded. "But good enough for my sister?" he threw the question out of nowhere. Expecting Harry to jump or at least look startled, he did not expect the insufferable calm and seeming indifference on his best friend's face.

"I love her, Ron," Harry said simply. "At least... I remember loving her, we may have to start again."

"What?" Ron began. "No, never mind. I didn't mean the question as it sounded Harry. Ginny... Ginny's free to make her own choices."

It seems you aren't the only one who has grown up, Ethan commented.

"And I don't think, mate," Ron said as though every word was like having a tooth pulled. "That she could've chosen better than you, Harry. If it has to be someone, I'm glad it's you. Please, please just keep her out of trouble."

The last came out like a plea, a cry for understanding and Hermione sighed and moved over to sit next to Ron, linking her hand in his and leaning her head against his shoulder. She glanced at Harry once and was met with that unfaltering, emotionless face. It made her shudder. If he had been impossibly strong before, it was as if something had hardened him into unbreakable iron now. She shuddered and wondered what had happened to him.

"There is a war coming, Ron," Harry said, taking a move on the chess board. Knight to block castle and move into check. "We'll all have our parts to play. Perhaps those closer to me more than others... but I...."

Here Hermione saw him falter at least, his face now showing pain and indecision. "Go on," she urged.

Harry sighed, and what he said next shook Ron and Hermione to their very core. The way he said it, without hesitation or lack of honesty. The truth, pure and simple, that he fully believed he could do it if it came to that.... He said,

"I'd burn this world using my soul as the fire if it kept her from harm, Ron. I would - and if Voldemort knew that then this war would be over, because I wouldn't even hesitate. I can, and would, tear apart heaven and hell, reality itself, to keep her safe."

Neither Ron nor Hermione doubted him... neither would ever bet against him doing exactly that. What had happened to him?

*~*~*~*

Harry sat before the fire in the living room of the Order of the Phoenix headquarters, a roll of parchment resting open on his knee whilst he wrote carefully across the page. He had learnt a lot at the Ways of Twilight - a lot - and he felt that it was best he wrote down what he could remember. Least of all there was the weapons technology.

The flames of the fire danced in his eyes as he scribbled furiously now, unrolling the parchment as he went. He didn't see the parchment, he saw through it as his mind recalled all the technology, the knowledge, he had gained. Bits were incomplete, would need more thought, but he took down the key points.

Before he realised it, he had begun planning the war in his head again. It was something he tried to avoid, for a week at least, but it just wasn't... in his programming to avoid conflict. He had survived for a century by staying one step ahead of his enemies at every moment he could, and it was hard to break the habits of a lifetime.

I'll need the Aurors, he thought, thinking and writing. They'll have to give me command without question. They won't, but I'll make them see reason. Voldemort will have his Death Eaters, uncertain how many, plus dark creatures - have to assume the worst until I know more - vampires, most likely.

"Harry!" someone called through from the kitchen. "Dinner in five minutes."

It was Ron, but Harry only just took in what he said, nodding as if Ron could see and still writing and thinking. He had smudged some of his words in his haste.

He always has an escape plan - always, Ethan whispered and Harry nodded again. That he knew.

Perhaps blend Muggle weaponry with magic again, like back in the beginning. Voldemort won't do that, maybe, no- he won't.

Can you be sure? Ethan asked. He may, if he pulls it from your mind or learns that you intend to. You always used to say that any liability in command destroyed an army - well you're the liability this time, except you can't back down. What do you do here, hero?

Harry shook his head and realised he had run out of parchment. That had been a seven foot scroll. No matter, there would be plenty more. His ink pot was dry as well. There was more upstairs in his old trunk that Ron had brought from Hogwarts.

Harry waved his hand over the parchment and the ink dried instantly. He rolled it up, folded it in half, and slipped it into his jeans pocket. There were secrets and powers on that page that humanity, on this world, had not yet discovered. It was before its time, taken from a source out of this world and Harry knew for some of it they weren't ready.

But it was what he had to work with and he would use and take advantage of all his options to see his enemies destroyed.

Darting up the stairs, Harry entered his room and glanced at the empty portrait of Phineas Nigellus briefly before heading to the trunk at the foot of his bed. He undid the latches trying to remember the last time he had, and flipped open the lid.

The first thing that caught his eye, there on the top of his neatly folded robes, was a glittering silver dagger, etched with runes up the blade and shining in the light. Harry frowned before remembering what it was, and he felt Ethan gasp in his mind.

Harry picked it up and flicked it around his fingers expertly, the razor sharp blade skimming the hairs on his hand as he flipped it over his knuckles and from hand to hand. He had had a lot of spare time around many campfires in forgotten worlds to learn this skill and he was now quite adept at it.

Harry didn't blink as the knife jumped from hand to hand, his eyes were closed and he did it all on the sensations in the air, the utter confidence he felt holding this weapon. It became a blur in his hands, but after a moment he caught it and turned around, opening his eyes.

"You made a promise to the other me, the saner me, the Ethan that is part of me," Ethan whispered, standing in the centre of the room. Harry watched his not-real eyes dart from the knife to his eyes.

"That I'd kill your father. That I would 'send the devil back to hell'." He was amazed that he still remembered the exact words, but then again most of his normal memories were clearer, perhaps because they happened in this world - where he belonged.

"I had a dagger similar to that once," Ethan whispered harshly, and Harry knew this was the second Ethan, the one that had been evil once upon a time. "My... the Dark Lord gave it to me, said it had belonged to Salazar Slytherin, and with it he had scarred Godric Gryffindor - nearly cutting off half the man's face."

Harry blinked. "Was it this dagger?" he asked, and after a moment Ethan nodded.

"I remember the runes upon the blade...."

Harry sighed. "Strange," he said. "The Ethan I knew, the part of you that was always good, said he bought it in America, at a Wizarding market."

Ethan shrugged and looked tired. "Perhaps I- he did? I wouldn't know. Maybe I'm always supposed to have that dagger, for some reason. You know that stranger things have happened."

Harry looked down to the blade and then turned to his trunk and put it back on top of the pile. He thought back, trying to remember why he had come up here in the first place, and then grabbed some fresh ink and parchment when he did.

It's time for dinner, Ethan said. He sounded distant, tired, cold, fed up... time was getting to them all. He deserved rest, and Harry silently promised he would work on getting his soul fragment out of his mind.

"Harry," Ginny smiled and wrapped her arms around him when he entered the kitchen. He hugged her back slowly, as if remembering how to. "Did you have a good day?"

Harry chuckled. "The best I can remember in... months...." Years. Decades. "How'd your exam go?"

Ginny shrugged. "It was a lot easier with the OWL professors and without Snape," she said. "I think I at least scraped an 'Acceptable'.

"I'm sure you did well," he said, letting her go and moving over to the table, which was laden with hot, delicious smelling food. "This looks great, Mrs. Weasley."

It did look good. Hot meats and potatoes, green vegetables and gravy, crispy breads and soup. His stomach nearly leapt at the food. This was the first real meal he had had in years, beyond what he could hunt to kill on the old worlds, or pay for in the more advanced ones.

There was only Mrs. Weasley, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and himself at the table, but this looked as if it could feed a dozen. Harry intended to put as much away as he could. At least that was the plan, before another face entered the room, walking in from the living room.

"Harry," Professor Dumbledore said, "I believe it is time we spoke. Can you come with me to the living room."

Harry's anger was lit almost instantly. He didn't even ask! He demanded and expected to be obeyed. He pointedly sat down at the table, staring unblinking at the old Headmaster. The chatter fell silent and Hermione looked at him warningly.

"I'm having dinner, sir," he began, trying not to grind his teeth, "with my friends. It has been some time since I last had the opportunity to do this. We'll talk later, perhaps. I'm sure Mrs. Weasley won't object to you joining us."

Mrs Weasley didn't. "Of course not, Albus, there is enough to go around and more besides," she said quickly, obviously trying to smooth over the tension. "Please sit down."

Dumbledore and Harry looked at each other for a long moment, and there was power in their gaze. Eventually Dumbledore looked away - first, Ron noted - and saw that Harry had expected no less. Something about Harry just demanded obedience now... it was terrifying at times.

Silently now, everyone filled their plates. Hermione made idle conversation with Mrs. Weasley on one side of the table, whilst Ron spoke to Dumbledore about the Quidditch next year, and whether or not it would go ahead. That left Harry and Ginny, seated next to one another... just really enjoying each other's company and their proximity.

Little had been more important to Harry over the years than moments like these that he had scoured more than one universe for. After all, what did great men really dream of, if not the simple lives that could never be theirs, were always beyond them - this was as close as he had ever come.

"Does everyone know I'm back?" he asked Ginny, cutting his steak in half and then half again.

"I think they suspect but no one has come right out and said it," she replied after a moment of thought. "The Daily Prophet pounced on the rumours that you were at the Ministry the other night, but most seem to think you dead anyway... so it wasn't overly believed."

Harry grinned. "Tonks told me that someone wrote a book about me. I think I'd like to read that."

"We all gave interviews for it," Ginny said with her own smile. "It was really Dumbledore's idea, to help keep hope alive, he said, and it did help. Auror recruits have never been higher."

"It is an accurate, unbiased account, Harry," Dumbledore said from across the table. "It did really help."

Harry shrugged. "I'm sure it did.... no matter." With a thought he levitated the jug of cool lemonade across the table, keeping eye contact with Dumbledore, and poured some into his large glass, before setting it back down. No one mentioned the thought magic, if it had indeed been that.

The mash potatoes with gravy really were good, and alongside the steak, it was this that Harry enjoyed the most. For a time conversation stretched over safe, normal topics from the exam results to the warm weather they had been having, and away from dangerous waters like the enigma that Harry had become.

Eventually, and after he had emptied his plate, Harry dropped a few words around the table lightly, but they had the desired effect. "I was thinking of going into Diagon Alley tomorrow," he said calmly. "Do you want to go, guys?" He directed his question towards Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. "We can get some ice cream and I can take care of a few other matters."

Everyone made a show of not looking at Dumbledore, who was studying Harry intently behind his half moon spectacles. His eyes held no twinkle and more than a shade of... of what? Disappointment. No, he would not be fooled by the old man. It was all a manipulation, a calculated attempt to sway him. Well, there were things inside of Harry now that he could never suspect.

"It is time to talk, Harry," Dumbledore finally said. "Follow me."

Without waiting for a reply, Dumbledore stood, thanked Mrs Weasley for dinner, and then swept out of the room towards the seating room through the oak door. Harry sighed, tapped his fork on the plate in thought for a moment and then stood.

Ginny heard him mumble, as he exited the kitchen, "No longer... I'll end this my way...."

Dumbledore stood impressively shadowed against the flickering flames of the fire, looking his age and staring almost without thought into the orange and red warmth. Harry moved just to the side of an armchair, about ten feet from the Headmaster and the fire. They stood in silence for a long moment, both aware of each other, both lost in thought and power.

"Why do you push the bounds of safety I weave for you, Harry?" Dumbledore whispered into the fire. "You know why you have to live."

Harry didn't sit down, although he wanted to. He had to stay on the same level as his old headmaster, had to be seen as an equal - if he could manage it with Dumbledore he could manage it with anyone.

"I know why you think I have to live," Harry replied, staring at the man's back. "To destroy Riddle, end a war, save the world. But if that was all I had to live for I wouldn't want it. What good am I to this world, which you've spent a life time saving, if I hide away from the darkness, if I cower from the threat? How can that inspire hope?"

"History won't remember that if you live to destroy Tom, destroy Voldemort!" Dumbledore exclaimed, turning around. He almost flinched under Harry's unerring stare.

"I don't give a damn what history remembers about me! And how many will die in the mean time?" he asked heatedly. He had seen it a thousand times before, madmen killing innocents to get at him - to destroy their greatest threat. He would not hide, not now not ever again.

"There are always casualties, Harry, always. I would have thought you knew that by now."

Harry simmered. "Don't you turn this around to me like that," he whispered. "Don't you dare! There will be dead, there are always dead, but more if I hide, if I don't take the offensive."

"Leave the plans for war to those who have lived through one, Harry," Dumbledore said and Harry saw he was losing his temper. "You are in no position to take any offensive."

"I'm not your pawn," Harry replied, his voice still a deadly whisper. He realised he was grasping the chair arm tightly and could feel the strain in the wood. Magic had seeped into his palm and threatened to explode. He calmly let it go. "And I can disappear whenever I wish. You cannot keep me here, and I won't stay if you continue with your manipulations."

Dumbledore went from angry to sad in a heartbeat. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Harry. I never thought you would abandon us."

Harry laughed mirthlessly and turned away, glancing at the old walls with their ornaments and portraits. "I would only be abandoning you and your 'safety'," he scoffed. "The same safety that has nearly gotten me killed more than half a dozen times over the last few years. When will you realise that this isn't your war anymore, it is mine?"

Dumbledore looked as if he had physically struck him but Harry felt no remorse. Some things needed to be said, needed to be done. If it hurt, it hurt. Nothing was perfect, this least of all.

"How many have died for your manipulations?" Harry continued. "In your game? On your chessboard? How many friends, allies, family members?" He was almost shouting. "You and I live lonely lives, Dumbledore, lonely lives with no hope on the horizon save that of another battle. We are battle lords, I suppose, you and I. But it is time to step aside, and give command of this war to me."

That was a slip of other-world knowledge. He had been named a battle lord on a world that had been engaged in a millennia old war against darkness, against evil. It had been a dark world, most were, but he had freed it. They had named him battle lord, the world's highest honour. He still carried it with pride, he supposed. War was who he was; he took from it what he could.

"I cannot do that, Harry," Dumbledore said, simply the truth as he saw it. "But you have grown since I last saw you two months ago... tell me, how much has changed since you last saw me?"

Harry fought the urge to suck in his breath sharply. That could have a double meaning, a different interpretation. Was it possible Dumbledore knew more than he let on? Could he somehow have reasoned it all out? No, but it may not be long before he did. He wasn't named the most powerful wizard in this world for nothing.

"Nothing has changed," Harry said. "You're still trying to manipulate me, still doing what you think is best. I'll tell you now it isn't, and that there is no way for you to keep me out of this war."

"There are ways," Dumbledore replied, not a hint of a threat in his voice or eyes but it was implied.

Harry sighed. "Between you and Voldemort...." he said, trailing away. "You know something, old man, I can trust Voldemort more than I can trust you."

For the first time since entering the sitting room, Harry became aware of the stony silence emanating from the kitchen. It seemed the whole house was listening to the two of them. Harry ignored it, continued,

"I know where I stand with Voldemort, I understand what he wants. He wants me dead, nothing more and nothing less. He told me so more than once. You, on the other hand, manipulate from the shadows, pull strings attached to people I've never met or friends I have to keep me 'safe'. You have no right, not anymore - if you ever had - I won't allow it any longer."

"Everything I do, every step I take," Dumbledore said, "is calculated for peace - for an end to this war. You feel slighted, Harry? Well I am sorry, but life is not fair, not for any of us."

You're getting nowhere, Ethan sighed. Absolutely nowhere. He won't give up this war to you.

"This is my war, my fight," Harry whispered, infusing power into his voice until the room seemed to shake. It was a trick of intimidation he had learnt years ago. "I won't have you making mistakes - there is no room for any, not anymore. Voldemort is stronger than you can imagine... and I'm his equal. Step aside...."

Dumbledore's shadow behind the fire seemed to tower over the room, blocking out the light, as for the man's face... well, let's just say Harry had seen calmer thunderstorms.

"You are a child, Harry," he said. "Despite all you have done you are still a child, and a child is what the world will see."

Harry growled. "Yet old enough to die facing Voldemort, Dumbledore, should it happen. You want to use me, nothing more, and I won't allow it - I won't."

"What happened to you, Harry?" Dumbledore strained. "When did--"

"When did I grow a backbone?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrows and trying very hard to keep his face locked in that indifferent calm. I've defeated fears you've never even dreamt of Albus Dumbledore. Things that can destroy a man with a glance....

Dumbledore ignored him and continued on heedless. "We should discuss what happened in the Carpathian Mountains." There was a hint of suggestion in that, as if he expected Harry to confess to something.

Harry smiled with satisfaction at the memory of the vampire stronghold going up in flames, reducing it to ash or less. He had enjoyed that inferno. "I... remembered," he told Dumbledore, which explained it all really.

"Remembered what?"

Harry blinked. "Everything. But that is not important - not in the least anymore. I'm tired, Dumbledore, I'm tired of the game... of your control."

Dumbledore softened, and the two men as one sat down in opposite chairs, the leather creaking under their weight. There was no shame in admitting he was tired, that it was all becoming just too much... that he wanted it to end.

"Duty," the old Headmaster began slowly, "duty can get heavy, Harry, but you have the strength to bear it - you must."

Harry nodded, after a moment, he nodded. "I'm ready to be seen," he told Dumbledore. "I'm ready to fight the one war I need to... I can't do that if you're against me. We should work together, at the least, to see this end."

Albus Dumbledore was, Harry supposed, the one man the world had known for decades as the leader of the light, protector of the masses. A powerful wizard fighting on the right side. Would Harry one day replace him in that image? He was well on his way if it were so, but there were pacts, promises, blood to stop that....

"You have learnt more than I think you are going to tell me," Dumbledore sighed, looking down to his linked hands resting in his lap. "So I will ask you now, Harry, as someone who cares for you, please remain in this house."

Harry stared in disbelief at the man for a long, awkward moment. "Did you...." he said dangerously. "Did you even listen to a word I said? I'm no longer hiding. Never again, Dumbledore. The sooner you understand that the sooner we can present a united front against Voldemort. I don't want fight you, or the Ministry, over the coming months, but I will. I'll do anything to see this war end!"

"Then I ask you to trust me," Dumbledore stressed. Both of them had realised that neither was going to budge an inch at this point. Harry knew it, had seen it before....

Trust, Ethan laughed harshly. Trust no one, not even yourself.

There is so much I have to do, Harry replied. So much to do... I need to trust someone, I can't do it alone.

Trust your friends then, not Dumbledore. Leave, ask them to come, take this war away from the old man. You're not short of a few galleons, or estates - live for yourself.

"Trust gets people killed," Harry told Dumbledore. "I'm sorry we couldn't come to an agreement, sir, I truly am. We both want the same thing... but you're not willing to do what is necessary to get it."

Harry stood up and Dumbledore was on his feet an instant later. Both knew that Harry had Apparated through the wards on this house once already, and he wouldn't put it past Dumbledore to increase or change them to keep him in. Tentatively, Harry reached out with his magical sense, gaining an impression of the wards and barriers... they felt the same as they had done the other night.... but....

There was a new one, subtly hidden behind a row of other safety screens. A tracking ward, unless Harry missed his guess, that would mark when and where he Apparated to, if he should. He smiled coldly at Dumbledore.

"Trust," he said once, shaking his head. "We've made grave choices tonight, Professor, grave choices... whether you know it or not. I'm going to stand on my own... I learnt to do so long ago. We'll pay hell before the end... but it has to be. I'm sorry...."

As his last words died away, Harry wasn't sure who he was apologising too... humanity, perhaps, for the war that was about to decimate the planet.

*~*~*~*

The next few days flew by idly for Harry, and he took full advantage of his well earned rest for the first time in decades. He never left the house, but it was of his own choice - let Dumbledore think what he would - but he wanted to spend time with his friends, to catch up, and have... well, have fun.

The four of them - Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny - spent their days lounging around the house. They played games, talked, sat in the sun, and did not much more. For Harry every minute was special, every second he tried to remember, to force the terrible memories away and replace them with these good ones.

Of course, Dumbledore had an Order member or two around the house at all times, making sure he wasn't ready to sneak off or anything. Not that he wanted to, but the old man was vastly skilled at manipulation. Usually it was Remus, or Tonks, even one of the Weasley siblings inducted into the Order - people Harry cared about, and who cared about him. It was sly, underhanded, it was Dumbledore.

Though the majority of his time was spent with his friends, either doing nothing or just enjoying one another's company, Harry knew he had to keep on top of things war-wise. Time was short, time was always short, but Harry didn't think that he had ever played against so short of a deadline as this one could turn out to be.

He had faced Allarius, whom he had shared equal power with - but that demon had been insane, overconfident, pure evil. Voldemort was those things as well, but he and Harry were a lot closer. Anything could happen with the power they could wield, and Harry would not see this world damaged beyond repair, as so many had been before the Ways of Twilight....

As well as play games, Harry practiced duelling with Ron - who had turned seventeen in March after he had disappeared. The only one of his friends at headquarters legally allowed to do magic outside of Hogwarts. Harry could use magic, as they couldn't track it without a wand, but Hermione wouldn't be seventeen until September. He had thought about asking Dumbledore for help with that, but decided against it - he would do it himself.

Ron was a skilled dueller and would be against a Death Eater, perhaps. He was a bit too confident, as Harry had learnt in the empty room they used for practice. Slow on the draw as well, but there was potential - he would be a good Auror one day.

Hermione and Ginny usually watched these practice sessions, in which Harry rarely used any magic at all, but disarmed Ron without it with ease. Hermione was a source of knowledge for curses and incantations to learn. Harry struggled to remember curses and hexes when he hadn't used them in so long - one of the reasons he didn't use magic.

Also, whenever he had a spare moment alone, Harry wrote down more of his special... knowledge... onto parchment. He had filled seven or so eight foot scrolls with everything he could remember and there was plenty more to come. He kept the scrolls in his trunk, which he sealed with magic so strong that nothing, save Voldemort, could open it in this world. There was information on those scrolls that could.... well, it was just best to keep it safely locked away.

The Daily Prophet and other newspapers were running stories about him almost every other day -from proof he was dead to proof he had been sighted in the Ministry to proof he was in hiding. The Muggle newspapers, which Hermione had delivered from her parents, also ran stories that involved him in some way. Most notably, the destruction of a certain mountain that the Muggles had deemed 'odd'.

He would set them all straight soon.

He and Ginny, when they were alone, never went much beyond talking now. There was an... awkwardness... between them, after a fashion. War and time had split them apart before their relationship had had a real chance to take off, and now that he was back... well it was hard, as if starting from scratch all over again. But they did start, holding hands, talking quietly in corners, and even the occasional kiss on the cheek, and that was what was important. They did start. It was enough for now.

It would have to be.

Sunday night, six days after he had awoken in this house, Harry lay in his bed with his hands behind his head, gazing out of the window at the stars and crescent moon. Ron was snoring over on the other bed but Harry was only aware of it on the edge of his mind - his thoughts were else where.

On matters of war and death.

Harry recalled those words well in the darkness, the words of Death himself. He had to fight against death just a little longer, a little longer to see this world free... but he did not want to die. Harry did not know whether he had a choice anymore in that matter... Death had taken something from him, marked him... perhaps it was only a matter of time now. He would do all he could before death.

But I have so many enemies, he sighed, clouds obscuring the thin moon. And so little time....

*~*~*~*