Harry Potter and the Will to Live

Chapter Three: Dumbledore's Journey

Harry Potter and the Will to Live

He spent about an hour in the library checking out books in Dark Magic. He nearly gave himself a heart attack when he sneaked into the Out of Bounds section and nicked three books on the Dark Arts. He banished them under his bed just in time to get out and look innocent, although he had the inkling idea that Mack was watching him more carefully. There was no way to prove it, he thought furtively, digging through the Defense Against the Dark Arts shelf for a book on mental intrusions.

When he came to find a worn brown leather-bound book, he hesitated. Flipping through the first few pages, he stopped and sat down.

The Warimere Curse is something I created a year or two back. I don't want to sound arrogant or something, but it's good. My father is Grindlewad, or Roberto Sheneiza, as I know him. Nobody at Hogwarts knows my real heritage. It's a secret I keep between my best friend, John, and the Headmaster. Peitross is an idiot, really, but he can come in handy. I already have him wrapped around my pinky. If your reading this, then I assume you are either doing a research report on mental intrusions or you really need help. If its the latter, than this book is for you. In all honesty, this shouldn't be stored in a school library, but I fear that if I send it out into the real world that people will use it to hurt people.

The bond between my father and I is strong and, in a very realistic way, superficial. I have never met him, but I have his power, and I dream of him, of what he is doing to the world. I have recently read of young Albus Dumbledore doing something to protect his wife and child. I feel bad. He's a great Auror and is being forced to send his family away for their safety. I have written to him about my dreams. It's the least I can do to actually help the war.

My instructions are to use this spell wisely, and use care, because it may be considered a blessing to others, but I myself have found it troublesome and rather like a curse. But, after all, my entire life is a curse. If you think the sacrifice is well placed upon yourself then put your wand to your head and repeat "Merifocus Ulyssus Connectitorus".

You'll be able to remember the dreams you have, or visions if you're a visionary or psychic. It won't be that much of a help, but you'll be able to remember easily, and see your dreams with a clarification that's rather astounding.

Thoughtful, Harry placed it back behind the other books. He didn't need that. Didn't he already have all those blessings? If he asked himself, he thought he had enough of those. He slipped a few books into his bag from the Transfiguration and Potions section, then called out to Mack.

"Mack! I'm done here, do you want-Dumbledore!" he gasped, dropping his bags as he came face-to-face with his professor. His heart beating and his head reeling, he grasped the edge of a shelf for support.

"Are you okay, dear boy?" the old man asked worriedly.

Harry nodded. Mack dashed around the other bookshelf, pale. She put a hand on Harry's shoulder, then grinned when he pushed it off and went to pick up his books moodily. He glared at her when she made a face to the Headmaster.

"I saw that, Mack!"

She giggled. "Well," she said slowly, "if you don't want to be made fun of, don't look as if the end of the world has come. Surely Albus hasn't come bearing bad news."

Dumbledore laughed. Harry was always amazed when he heard such a bolstering laugh come from a tall old man with a long beard that nearly went to his knees. But, then again, the Headmaster was like that, surprising you every time you turned to look at him.

"I was wondering, Harry, if you'd mind spending some time up in my office with me? Fawkes and Hedwig are getting along frightfully well."

Harry stood abruptly. "She got to you already?"

He smiled. "You have some owl, Harry. You must treat her well for her to fly that fast and relentlessly."

He shrugged.

"How was the U. S., Albus?" she asked in undertones. Someone who Harry thought looked like Trelawny slipped into the room.

"Very well, thank you. How are your cousins?"

Mack beamed. "They're doing exceptionally well. Phil's in his last year at school and Mel just stared. Marc is taking good care of them from what I'm told."

"Why don't you go to your quarters?" Dumbledore told her, taking her hand. "I left you some bath bubbles I know you'll just adore. Take a long bath and leave young Harry here in my care."

She ruffled his hair again, then laughed when he pushed it away. He was in a bad mood again and hated it when people touched him like that. He kept his head down and followed Dumbledore down the corridor to his office.

He didn't want to talk to him. The thought came out of nowhere and surprised Harry so much that he paused for a minute to catch his breath.

"Harry?"

"Coming," he said quietly and hurried to catch up.

He didn't blame Dumbledore, did he? Harry pondered it as he threw his bag into the corner of the room and hurried over to Fawkes' cage where Hedwig was cuddling his neck. When Harry came within an inch of touching her, she looked up at him and hooted.

"Hey, girl. How are you?"

He had to bend forward a little to get face-to-face with her.

"Thank you," he said, reaching into his pocket for a treat. He hadn't been expecting her this early, but had put a few in his robes for when she came back. He fed them to her slowly, enjoying the quiet and serenity he got from being close to Fawkes.

"Harry." Dumbledore's voice made him straighten but not leave his place near the birds. He gave Fawkes' head a swift pat, relishing in the warmth that went straight from contact to his head. He hadn't realized just how sore he was, or how it felt to be normal again. When he was close to this phoenix, he felt human again. Even better, he felt hope again. That wasn't something he was used to carrying around.

"Did you find anything that'll work in America?" he asked. Hopefully he'd have his emotions controlled by the time Dumbledore finished talking about his journey.

"Ah. Well, if you want to know all about it you might want to sit down. It's quite a long story."

Harry sat reluctantly. He'd never spoke of it aloud, but traveling had always interested him. Going someplace different than what you were used to, seeing something that you'd only probably see once in your entire life. Just going somewhere other than where he was right now.

"I left three weeks ago and Apparated over the Atlantic. It's harder and rarely done, but I had enough strength and energy to do so. I have a distant relative, a Muggle, who lives in Florida, a state in the south of the United States. I visited him and read the magic scrolls that were found in ancient sea vessels. Understand, Harry, that magic from the past is the strongest. Back then we wizards had more power, we were more pureblood. Which also unfortunately means that the caster must have enough magic to cast the entire spell. I found several useful ones, but ones that have nothing to do with you or Voldemort."

"So Florida was a waste?" Harry asked curiously.

"No, not at all, I got to bond with my third cousin and found spells that will be able to protect the Ministry and Hogwarts from attack. They're easy enough for the Sixth and Seventh Years to learn them this year. Needless to say I think you'll find them quite interesting."

"Where'd you go after that, Professor?"

"Ah." The Headmaster opened a metal tin and took out a lemon drop. He offered one to Harry, then continued with a smile when he refused. "The Americas are a stunning place. You'll have to visit them when you get older. I enjoyed it immensely. They speak English, but their accent is amusing to say the least. They have slang words, just like us, but they're way more...crude, I think, would be the word. They're rough around the edges when it comes to manners. In fact, children there are more personal with adults then they are here. It was a nice change, but I'm glad to be home."

"I also have a pureblood witch that is one of my Aunt's that I visited in Montana. I was surprised. Underground schools, Quidditch matches, recreation centers. And magical museums. I had certification and friends in high places so I was able to look up a few spells that have become illegal and hidden over the centuries. I found one that you could do. I'll teach it to you when the time comes, but until then you'll have to be focused on studying Occlumency."

"I'm not working with Snape," Harry said flatly.

Dumbledore gave a particularly sad sigh. "Yes, I realize that, although I wish the two of you would forgive and forget-"

"Never," he snarled viciously.

They sat in silence for several moments, each wondering what was next. Then Dumbledore took the initiative.

"So you've met Mackenzie. Do you think she'd make a good Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?"

"Mack? A professor?" He would have laughed if he hadn't noticed the old man was serious. "Oh, wow...well, I guess she might. Isn't she an Unspeakable?"

"Yes. That's why I thought she might like the position. She's in between jobs and has asked to stay with you."

"With me? But I-" Understanding made his face go red with furious indignation. "I don't need her. She sure as hell hasn't done anything for me that everyone else hasn't. It's not like she needs to be here. I can take care of myself."

He took a deep breath and crossed his arms. He knew he was having a fit and being a spoiled brat, but he didn't care. He didn't want Mack hanging around if she didn't want to. Its not like she was going to save his life or anything.

"I'd appreciate you not swearing like that. Talking like that is a nasty habit you don't want to have when school starts. Or now, considering your spending a lot of time with the staff. I know you've been having a hard time-"

"You don't know anything about me." Harry spoke quietly, furiously. "You may know what some of it is like since you beat Grindlewad and all, but otherwise, you know nothing. You don't collapse or have scar pains or feel spasms of pain that make you think of suicide so much that you think your going mental. Or do you? Well," he asked insistently, "do you?"

"No."

The portrait of Phineas Nigellus whispered to someone. Harry swiveled around to look at him.

"Shut up, Phineas!"

The tall, gangly man glared at him, but his mouth was twisted upright with amusement.

"Harry, your letting your temper get the best of you again."

"Oh, well," he said slowly, as if Dumbledore was a young child who had trouble hearing.

Harry noticed he'd gone too far a little too late. Knowing it was too late to backpedal, he watched Dumbledore's eyes deepen, the twinkle that had lessened incredibly over the period of time vanished completely.

"You have your right to throwing temper tantrums, Mr. Potter, but you do not however have the right to talk to me as if I am an ignorant little child. I know you are having trouble. I do not need to be in your shoes to know that nor care about you. I have made mistakes, and its yours right to hold a grudge against me, but I am trying my best and-"

"I'm sorry!" Harry shouted. "Merlin, please, just stop scolding me, I'm sorry!"

He shoved a hand through his hair and let his head lean back against the headrest of his chair. His head was aching to be sent down.

"Are you okay Harry?"

He lowered his eyes to the point of meeting the Headmaster's and snorted. "No, Professor Dumbledore, I am most definitely not okay."

"I'm proud of you for admitting that," he told him with a small, grave smile.

Slowly, Harry felt the shame recede until he could get comfortable sitting in this office. He'd been in here enough times to get used to the decor and the smell. He knew the man sitting before him more than he knew half of his classmates. So why was it that he felt so inadequate, so small and helpless and just like a spoiled little brat?

"My head hurts," he muttered, rubbing it subconsciously.

"Will you be okay, or will one of your...?" he searched for a word.

"Seizure?" Harry suggested with a small, self-deprecating smile. "And no, it's just sore. So I'm guessing you don't have some strong, smelly potion that'll make it all go away?"

"Sorry, Harry."

Harry laughed. "Ah, oh well. I'll live."

"Mrs. Weasley has mentioned that you haven't written to them yet."

He shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I only left a few days ago. Nothing much has happened."

"I'm surprised that you haven't written to Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley about Mack. She's an extraordinary woman, if I do say so myself. I think you all will benefit having her as a professor."

"I'm surprised she can stand to see Snape's-Professor Snape's," he corrected at Dumbledore's stern gaze, "face. If I have something to grudge him for, then she has a reason to kill. Figuratively, Professor," he said with a chuckle. "I'm only kidding."

All humor gone, he looked down at his hands. "Sir?"

"I'm listening."

"Have I changed?" He looked up, his eyes darkened by uncertainty and inner turmoil. "Have I become a bad person? I can't hold my temper, I'm yelling at my friends and swearing, I'm being disrespectful, I'm hurting people..."

"Your adjusting," he said simply. "Sirius' death caused you to re-evaluate yourself and your life. Sometimes, you and I, we shrivel up and keep to ourselves so we can stay sane. It is a defense mechanism, a rebellion that I found particularly revolting at your age. The answer to that is no, Harry."

"Then why can't I stop? Why can't I just stop?"

"You'll learn Harry. I'll teach you myself. But at the moment you look exhausted. Why don't you go lie down?"

"I think I will."

He stood then fell in a heap in the floor. Dumbledore was beside him instantly, gripping his tensed shoulders.

"Or I'll just stay...right here," he said through clenched teeth. He yanked his feet to his chest and hid his face in them. He wished he could tell him to remove his arms from his shoulders, but he felt so cold and miserable and in so much pain that he didn't have the will to make himself believe that he wanted them off. So he sat, stopping every and all movement, as his head blew up to the size of the room with flames and imploded. Dumbledore was murmuring to him quietly. Harry could vaguely see him chanting something. The pain lessened to the point of bearable. Harry relaxed and used his wrists to keep him in an upright position. He didn't meet Dumbledore's eyes.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he muttered, scrubbing furiously at his scar with his left hand. He was sweating and his skin felt hot, burned almost, to the touch. "Yeah, I'm okay. What did you do?" he asked, reluctantly grateful.

"A calming spell. Was that-?"

"Yes. I better get to the Hospital Wing and tell Mack," he said quietly, finally meeting the Headmaster's eyes. They were grim and full of sympathy, but for once Harry didn't mind somebody feeling sorry for him. It was okay to have somebody help him up and escort him somewhere, his hand guiding him by the elbow because his legs still felt like jelly. He realized if he closed his eyes he didn't feel the shame, the inadequacy, the incapability.

"What happened? Harry!"

Mack dashed across the room and pulled his arm around her shoulders. Harry let her, although he had a feeling he'd have been able to stand on his own by then. She set him against the headboard of his bed, brushing back the hair on his forehead.

"God, you're burning up! Does this always happen after a seizure?" she asked uneasily.

Harry himself wasn't sure why he was still feeling so overheated. Normally he'd have been fine by now.

"No, this is a first. Dumbledore did something during them that helped lessen the pain. Could that have done something?"

Mack looked quickly at Dumbledore, her face showing nothing but bafflement. "I don't know. I really don't know, Harry, Albus. It might have. Whoever is doing this might have made you sick because someone was doing something to interrupt it."

"Whoever is doing this is a sadistic bastard," he muttered seriously.

He was surprised to see Mack nod agreeably and Dumbledore stay silent. He was doing that a lot lately. Nearly as much as Harry himself was. Too bad he didn't have anyone nagging him if anything was wrong every five minutes.

His stomach rolled and pitched. "Mack, I think I'm getting sick or something."

"Your head?" she assumed instantly.

Harry lunged to his feet and dashed into the bathroom. He could hear even as he dove for the toiletry Mack tell Dumbledore, "We need to find who or what is doing this before it does something else besides making him sick. There's no way he can go to school in this condition. If one of the Death Eater's children saw him during a seizure...Its too dangerous to have him that vulnerable and you know it."

"I won't have him out of my sight, Mackenzie. He's moving around too much and at least Hogwarts is giving his mind something to cling to or else he'd have been much worse. He needs to have some stability in his life."

"Stability? You think sitting at a table, with Snape assuming he's lying and everyone staring at him as if he's about to fall dead any moment, stability? He needs his friends."

"School starts in a week. He'll see them then. I believe he'd prefer to have some time to himself and get better before he has to make public appearances. He's not weak, Mack, he can handle anything and everyone who stares at him. Yes, I am worried about some of the Death Eater offspring but I'm writing letters to Mr. and Miss. Ron and Ginny, and Miss Granger. They won't leave him alone, they barely ever have."

"Are you sure they're trustworthy?"

"We can never be sure, but as much as possible. I can't see any out of all three gaining anything from becoming dark. They were all raised well with strong morals."

"Are you positive he can't come with me to France? I have the degrees to home school him and teach him-"

"He's not leaving Hogwarts, Mack, or me. That is the bottom line. I won't have him leaving and getting killed. He means too much to me."

"It would be better for him. My cousins would love him and enjoy having another male around. Etienne would probably worship him for getting him away from so many females."

"No, Mackenzie. I'm sorry, but that's final. I am his temporary guardian and he's doing what I want him to for the moment. When he turns seventeen, he can do what he wants and I can only give small advice. He won't have any excuse to listen to me. Until then, however, he is still underage and therefore under my care."

He could just see Mack slumping on the bed, looking resigned as she so rarely did. She had wanted him to come live with her in France? He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Of coarse, he would have hated to be taken away from Ron and Hermione and Ginny and the other Weasleys, but...Sometimes he just needed to get away. Harry would have to talk to Dumbledore about maybe going to France with her during Christmas Break. Who knew, maybe he'd like this Etienne character. And he'd be able to forget about ole' England for a little bit.

He doubted that he'd be able to do so though. Like Dumbledore had said, he was his guardian and Harry only had an opinion, if even that.

* * * * * *

He wrote Ron and Hermione a letter. And he'd added Ginny's name to the letterhead because he thought they were becoming to be good friends. It wouldn't hurt, even if they weren't, if it would put a smile on her face. He wrote mainly about Mackenzie, finding that an easy middle place. Dumbledore and Mack had nearly smothered him with lectures about being cautious and leery about what he wrote down. Mack was still iffy about trusting them.

"Mack, I've known them more than I've known you. If I can trust you, which I'm still not certain I can," he added thoughtfully, " then you can meet the Weasleys and see for yourself whether or not they're trustworthy."

She'd stayed silent, brooding over it.

Other than that and reading, he didn't do much. It was as boring and useless as staying back at the Dursleys. Although nobody mentioned it, they were all getting pissed off of with the lack of progress. Harry puzzled over the lessening of his seizures while he was still recovering from his fever a week later. He admitted, although it was only to himself, that it had been worse not having them and waiting for one, then having several a day. Harry was getting apprehensive about what was going on.

And he didn't have the strength to lose to hope that it was over. His life just didn't do that. It strangled him, then loosened for a bit, before shriveling up and blocking his breath. He wondered if Fate was worse than Fate was, or Destiny, or whatever in the world Trelawny had talked about it.

Throwing a pebble into the lake outside of Hogwarts, he watched the ripples expand and spread. When he threw a second one right afterward, he was entranced by the way the two circles mixed and meshed. His joy of being outside would be short lived, he knew. Everyone in the castle was probably frantic looking for him. The thought of them all looking for him brought a grimness to his eyes and smile, made him look and older than he really was. He refused to feel guilty about making them worry if he wanted to get a little fresh air. He tossed another pebble in. If they locked him up like they'd been doing a lot the last few years, they had to get used to him sneaking off like this.

He wondered what Remus was doing, with Sirius gone and all. And the full moon coming along at a rapid pace. He made a mental note to ask Dumbledore what he would be doing in preparation.

"You little git!"

Sighing, he kissed his privacy good-bye and turned to watch Mack storm across the lawn with the devil in her eye. When she was within arms reach, she cuffed is ear hard enough to have him yelping in surprise.

"Mack!" he hissed, glowering at her as she plopped down and twirled her wand around thrice times. Harry was suspicious enough to wonder if that gesture somehow alerted Dumbledore and the staff that she'd found him. Knowing Mack...it probably did.

"You know-"

"I'm not supposed to wander anywhere along, especially out on the lawn." Meeting her eyes and tossing in another pebble, he nearly trembled with the unfairness of it. "I might get snatched up into old Voldie's greedy little hands."

The bitterness struck a cord and had the angry flush dying from her cheeks. She reached out to his shoulder, then frowned when he recoiled.

"Harry," she said quietly, "I-"

"Don't apologize." The fact that she would-it was just so typically Mackenzie Snape-made his fury all the more righteous, in his eyes. "Just shut up and give me a few more minutes."

When he tossed the next stone in, it went further and ended up landing with a loud splash that mirrored his emotions. He was sick of life, sick of every damn thing and everyone in it.

"Did you know Sirius?" he asked suddenly, needing to talk about something that had once been a comfort to him.

When she spoke her voice was quiet, barely audible. "No. I didn't Sirius."

"He was great," Harry said honestly. "Only adult I pretty much ever trusted. He'd have done everything for me; he did do everything for me. I could talk to him, but the last year before...before he died, he got so restless and bitter that he started going away. Not literally. Sirius would never walk away from his responsibilities. Which was part of the problem. Snape pretty much shoved the fact that he couldn't do anything up in his face. Snape has always been a bastard to me. More than anyone else, he's always resented me. 'Cause my father and Sirius, I s'pose."

Mack looked down silently. Even if she hadn't thought it better to stay silent, she wouldn't know what to say to ease that type of pain. That kind of grief that reached the bones and couldn't be shaken off.

"He's made my life hell," he said with the bitter fury he'd held since he was eleven. "Absolute hell, and just because my last name's Potter. I know what he went through. I snuck into his Pensieve and watched my own father make his life hell. He won't make me ashamed anymore of my family. My father was a kid, and things like that happen, don't they?"

He rolled on before she could shake her head. "I mean, come on, he didn't-still doesn't- know me at all. He didn't know Sirius. He had no idea what he'd been through. I've seen my parents' pictures and saw him back then. Handsome enough I guess, young, full of jokes and laughter. When I met him he was all sober and-and haunted, but he was more to me than my own Uncle was, more than my father had the chance to be. I hate being alone."

He looked at Mack again, eyes blazing with her, daring her to contradict him. He seemed surprised, but satisfied, that she stayed silent and let him rant.

"I have friends; people from school, from my dorm. But I don't trust them, can't respect them. They believed some stupid articles and thought I was crazy. They gave up on me, laughed at me and talked behind my back. Even Ron and Hermione talk about me behind my back. They don't trust me enough to take care of myself. I may not care, Mack, what happens to me, but I wouldn't let myself deteriorate like that."

The fire seemed to drip out of his system, leaving only the miserly. He let his cheek fall onto his kneecaps and watched the water. It was one of the few things that could calm him even as it reminded him of the future.

"I think of killing myself sometimes." He heard her gasp and tried to swallow past the painful lump in his throat. It was hard to admit it, but she was good at letting him rant, and even when she was angry, she listened, she considered. Maybe it was because she cared about him and not the Boy-Who-Lived. "I don't know if it's me or just the seizures, but I think of it a lot. A knife against the wrist, the Avada Kedavra. Everything just hurts, Mack," he said quietly. "I want it to go away. I can hardly hold a conversation with my own friends. People I've been with since First Year. We've been through everything together. Misery, pain, loss. I know they're grieving in their own way over Sirius, but it still seems as if they aren't enough. I'm beginning to think they'd be better off without me. Then I remember I can't die without letting Voldemort gain a reign on the Wizarding World. Oh, it would start with England. Nobody help because it was just England, but Voldemort would be greedy. For some odd reason people follow him thinking he can fix their life and give them things they can't provide for themselves. Soon it would be the whole world. I can't die, Mack. Even by accident, I can't, just can't, die. The fact that the Fates and everyone want to demand something from me that should come natural and is out of my hands is so frustrating."

"I can't imagine myself battling Voldemort, having him corner me and his wand pressed against my throat, and dying doing my best feeling the blame and guilt of failing everyone. I dream about it." His voice was horrified at the last, ending the dull monotony he'd pulled themselves both into.

When she put her hand on his bony shoulder, he didn't shrug it off. Didn't have the energy to. He figured it didn't matter, considering he couldn't feel it pressed there anyways.

"If you died, Harry, there are a great many of us who would understand, and grieve. If you were to just give up, take your own life, we wouldn't be upset because we had to fight a hopeless fight against Voldemort, it would be because we lost a valuable, honorable person, someone a lot of people would die for."

She stood, firmly grasped Harry by the hind arm and helped him reluctantly to his feet. Together they walked back to Hogwarts in silence. Thoughtful, Mack wondered if Harry was more like Sirius than he thought.

Especially when it came to the haunted and hunted part.

* * * * * *

The image came to him during a seizure in the middle of the night. One second he was staring at the ceiling, and the next he was on the floor, convulsing. He hadn't been able to go to sleep because tomorrow he would be smuggled into a secret room in St. Mungos. Harry had signed the papers, along with Mack and Dumbledore that evening in the Headmaster's office. They'd eaten, just the three of them, in respectful silence. It had comforted him and worried him at the same time, how they'd spent near five hours in each other's company and had said less than two sentences each. For Harry, that was normal, but for Mack and Dumbledore, it was a rare and slightly disturbing thing. He had been allowed six people to come and, on his desperate orders and pleas, to watch. He figured maybe they'd understand going through the process themselves. They would feel his emotions, but not the pain. They would have potions that would calm the body and let them feel it without the pain and convulsing.

Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Mack, Remus, and Dumbledore. He had absolutely refused letting Mr. and Mrs. Weasley witness any of it. He expected them to be hurt, being forgotten while Mack, barely knowing him for a full week, got to be there for him. He had written a letter that he hoped would aptly explain his reasons. The fear of letting them share this thing, this monstrosity he'd had to himself for a few months seemed cruel. There was a perverse part of him that wanted to keep it to himself and keep them away, but he knew he would be as angry and as bitter as Snape if he kept pushing everybody away.

And as alone as him, too.

He figured it was best to keep it to the younger ones, his friends, excluding Remus and Dumbledore. He didn't know what Mack was to be considered, but he'd invited her merely because of her devotion to him and Dumbledore. Loyalty was something he'd thought he'd cling to. He didn't know how messed up he'd be afterwards, which had caused him a few bad moments before the seizure started. He didn't want Ron to see him crying. He'd invited Remus purely out of selfishness. No matter how much shame it caused him, he thought that having someone as close to Sirius as he had been would some how bring him comfort.

But all that left his mind when it started, this thing he would come to call as an image.

It was of a man with golden brown eyes, like chocolate melted by the sun on a harsh summer morning. His black hair fell to his shoulders in three waves. There was no hint of a gray hair anywhere. Harry vaguely estimated his age as mid-thirties, early forties. He wasn't old, wasn't charming. He was merely staring; his mouth curled up in disgust. The guy was the image of a Celtic warrior, all-broad shoulders and tanned skin. But Harry, having stared evil in the eye in more than one occasion, recognized the glint of it in those golden orbs. It boiled and swirled there, barely detectable, but Harry's instincts were enough to have him believing it.

And remembering it.

As he gasped in air, fought away the dark cold claws that could drag him under if he let them, he cried out. In terror, disbelief, whatever Mack interpreted. He didn't care. All that mattered, from the instant his eyes snapped open, was getting back his control and alerting Dumbledore.

He was grateful to see the Headmaster kneeled over him. He was on the floor between his and Mack's cots, his head nursed on his thighs. She had a thin, strong arm around his heaving chest and another over his sweaty forehead. He could tell his sweaty because he could feel his bang sticking to it. The air felt so cool against it suddenly, like a breeze blowing through an open window in the middle of spring.

"Harry?" Her voice was terrified, unbelievably small. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes." He reached out for Dumbledore's wrinkled hands. There was age here, he mused. And strength. "We have another Riddle," he gasped. "Another Riddle on our hands," he repeated.

And then he wept, because he believed in hereditary more than any religion he'd ever heard of. You'd have to when you saw your father whenever you looked into the mirror at yourself. And he believed that anyone who had the blood of Tom Riddle in their veins, had the opportunity to be just as destructive.

* * * * * *