A Reflection of Himself

Harry closed his eyes, trying to keep the burning of tears from taking hold. From across the desk, Dumbledore watched Harry wordlessly, allowing the boy a few moments to compose himself. Finally, Harry looked up and glared at the old man.

"How- how could you?" he growled, his teeth clenched.

"How could I what, Harry?" Dumbledore asked passively.

"How could you do that to Sirius? Why didn't you let him take me? Maybe then he wouldn't have gone after Peter Pettigrew... maybe then he wouldn't have gone to Azkaban... and maybe he would have been free and therefore never had to have been locked up in his house and eventually gone behind the veil." Harry felt his insides churning violently, and for the first time in a long time, he felt like he wanted to attack Dumbledore. He was enraged, as upset at Dumbledore as he had been at the end of his fifth year, wanting to blame Dumbledore for the reason his life was so miserable.

Dumbledore gazed on silently, knowing full well that Harry was not finished with his growing tirade. Standing up and balling his fists, Harry began pacing the room. "You made me spend the first eleven years of my life with the Dursleys, when I could have spent them with Sirius! Didn't you know I was going to be unhappy? And Sirius... you treated him the same way! You told me that your first concern was keeping us 'safe,' as you put it, but what about our happiness? I don't care if being at the Dursleys' offered me protection or whatever... Look what happened there! Voldemort eventually found a way to break through that! He also found a way to break through the wards on Grimmauld Place! All the places you thought were supposed to keep us safe wound up failing, so why bother at all?!"

"Harry," Dumbledore said gently, as if he were very tired. "Please sit down. You are working yourself up unnecessarily."

"I don't care!" Harry yelled.

"Yes, you do," Dumbledore urged. "I understand your anger, Harry. You have every right to be angry - angry at me, angry at Voldemort, angry at the world. As for the time right after you defeated Voldemort, I had to take extra precautions. I thought Sirius had been the Secret Keeper, but it was difficult to know who to trust. I believe that even Sirius had told you that he questioned the loyalties of his good friend Remus Lupin at the time."

"It's... it's just so bloody unfair," Harry mumbled, feeling the original rage begin to vanish. He unclenched his fists and slumped his shoulders. He couldn't stay angry that long anymore, no, for he was not the child he had once been, who allowed his feelings to control him.

"You're absolutely right, Harry. That's why you should be so mad - it is completely unfair, but fair is hardly the way of the world. You, more than anyone, should know that. Haven't I already told you that, if I could, I would have taken your burden upon myself? I am an old man, Harry, who has lived long and seen much, and in your short life, I think you have seen much of what I have. In a way, that makes you wise beyond your years."

Harry took his seat again and laughed once, bitterly. "Wise?" he inquired, darkly amused. "I don't feel very wise. I feel like I've been living my life in circles, encircling a big lie - that's what I feel like. I feel like we've been been going about our lives as if nothing has happened, and we're just supposed to wait for Voldemort to come knocking at our door, and we'll be totally unprepared. If the places we once thought were safe no longer are so, then it's only a matter of time before Hogwarts is no longer safe... You, Professor, have already told me that. So, why are we just sitting here like a bunch of idiots waiting to be slaughtered?"

"It is true, Harry, that Hogwarts is not the safehaven we once knew it to be, but it is still safer than most places. While I feel that my life's energy is slowly draining, I am doing all that I can to ensure the protection of each and every one of the students within this school. What you need to do now, Harry, is focus extra hard on your strengths and, most importantly, on your true source of power. I have told you again and again that only you know what that power is, and you will need that very power to defeat Voldemort."

All Harry could do was sigh, feeling defeated once again in Dumbledore's presence. He left the office, wondering if it had truly been necessary for him to see those horrific memories.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, and that night, Harry slept fitfully, tossing and turning in his sleep, dreaming about losing more people he loved. When he woke up the next morning, he rubbed at his eyes, trying to remove the cobwebs from his brain. Putting on his glasses, he glanced across the room a little way to find Ron staring back at him.

"What?" Harry asked, aghast.

"Good morning to you, too, mate," Ron replied sullenly.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled. "Morning and all that. I'm not really in the mood, Ron."

Harry began making his way toward the door, in hopes of taking a shower before heading down to the Great Hall for breakfast. Ron followed him.

"In the mood for what?" Ron persisted.

Harry sighed exasperatedly, turned, and glared at Ron. "I'm going to take a shower," he said pointedly. "Unless you're planning on doing likewise, please just leave me alone right now, all right, Ron?"

"Fine, fine," Ron replied defensively. He watched Harry's retreating back and glanced back into the dormitory room. Neville was sitting on his bed, studying Herbology.

"What's with him?" Ron asked, truly vexed.

Looking up from his book, Neville said, "You didn't hear it?"

His brow creased, Ron replied, "No. Hear what?"

"All night," Neville began. "All night, Harry was tossing in his bed. I think he was having nightmares or something. It kept me awake most of the night. I'm surprised you didn't hear it."

Ron suppressed a grin at the reason why he hadn't heard Harry's restlessness. "I sleep like a rock," Ron explained, but then he frowned. "I wonder why he was having nightmares. That'd explain why he was so moody just now."

Neville shrugged, as did Ron. Ron proceeded to change into his clothes for the day and went down to the common room, where he found Hermione and Ginny waiting. He gave Hermione a quick kiss, to which Ginny pretended not to notice.

"Let's go," Ron said.

"Shouldn't we wait for Harry?" Hermione questioned.

"He's... uh, not in a very good mood this morning," Ron answered awkwardly.

"Why? Did he say?" Ginny inquired, growing concerned.

"No, he didn't, but Neville told me Harry didn't sleep well last night."

"Maybe he just didn't want to return to school," Hermione murmured, not really convincing herself or anyone.

Ron shrugged.

Ginny said, "Well, I'm gonna wait up for him for a little while. Maybe I can talk to him."

Hermione and Ron nodded and left the common room. Ginny kept her eyes on the stairs, occasionally glancing at the clock on the mantle of the fireplace. The next five minutes seemed to take an eternity to pass, but then, just as she was about to give up and leave, she saw Harry coming down the steps. His hair was still wet, and his clothes were wrinkled and appeared like they had been thrown of haphazardly. His eyes were downcast, and his shoulders were slumped.

He didn't even notice her as he made his way across the common room, but when he almost bumped into her, Ginny said his name.

"Harry."

He started for a second, then regained his composure and looked her in the eyes. "Ginny, what are you doing here?"

The question stung more than she would have liked. She wasn't sure if he had intended such an effect, but nonetheless, the bluntness of his words hurt. There was no "good morning" or "hello." No, a simple question, asking why she was standing here was what he said in way of greeting.

"Shouldn't it be obvious, Harry?" Ginny retorted, a bit annoyed in her hurt. "Ron told me, okay? I just wanted to see if you were all right," she said, her voice softening.

Harry kept his eyes on hers for a moment, and in his green eyes, Ginny saw so many emotions, she couldn't name that all. Above all, though, she thought she saw a small child crying out in desperation, perhaps to his mother. She was not his mother, but hadn't Harry once told her how much she reminded him of Lily?

"I..." he hesitated. "I had a talk with Dumbledore yesterday in his office, and he showed me some things in his Pensieve."

Ginny waited for him to elaborate, but when he didn't, she prodded gently, "And?"

"He wanted me to see some of his memories from the first war," he explained, not wanting to go into any details, believing that, if he did, it would be like reliving everything he had been forced to witness yesterday.

"Oh. Well..." Ginny shifted awkwardly, knowing that this was a touchy subject, and decided not to press the matter further... for now.

Harry changed the subject. "Can we go to breakfast now? I'm rather starving."

Ginny smiled weakly, nodded, and followed Harry out the portal and to the Great Hall.

Much of the day passed like all days Harry spent as a student: the boring, mundane existence of attending classes, doing homework, and the like. When he returned to his room that night, Harry thought about what Dumbledore had said regarding using his strengths. He removed his glasses as he climbed into bed, and pulling the covers up to his chin, he lay on his bed, with his arms bent behind his head, staring at the top of his canopy bed.

What are my strengths, anyway? He keeps telling me that I have the power inside me to ultimately defeat Voldemort. If that's true, then why do I feel so bloody helpless? I feel like I'll lose everyone around me... unless I somehow keep them away or remove myself from them.

Filling his mind with self-doubt, Harry felt like a child again, vulnerable and weak. He even questioned his placement into Gryffindor, wondering if he was truly the brave hero he had been made out to be.

But I didn't even do anything! Why's the credit given to me for defeating Voldemort, when it was my mum who did it? Wasn't it her sacrifice that both protected me and annihilated him? Maybe... I need to...

Harry was having a difficult time finishing that thought. He was only seventeen years old, for Merlin's sake. When would he finally be free to live his life as he pleased? Only after Voldemort was gone, but now, Harry was wondering if he would even be there for that time. He thought about his promise he had made to Ginny, telling her that he felt he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her... if he survived.

Maybe I need to sacrifice myself, too.

Was dying so bad, really? He would finally see his parents again, but not Sirius. Sirius was in another realm, but not the afterlife, apparently.

Harry eventually fell asleep that night, but again, his sleep was not sound. By the morning, Ron was even more concerned than he had been the day before.

"You didn't sound too good last night, mate," he said to Harry, hoping his friend wouldn't take offense. "Even I heard you."

Harry scowled, wishing that he could have his own room at times like this. What ever happened to privacy?

"I knew I shoulda cast a silencing charm around my bed," Harry groaned, rubbing at his aching head.

"Getting a headache?" Ron asked.

"Yeah," Harry mumbled. "Don't worry about it, though, okay?"

"But I'm supposed to worry, Harry," Ron insisted. "All your friends are. If we didn't care, we wouldn't worry."

"I know," Harry gave in. "Look, I appreciate your concern; I really do, but you all have lives to live."

"As do you, mate."

"Maybe not for much longer," Harry couldn't help muttering as he stared at the floor.

Ron had heard him and was now really worried about what he was hearing. Gently shaking his friend, Ron said, hoping he sounded at least somewhat reassuring, "Hey, look... Don't talk like that. You're gonna make it through this. You've got your friends... the Order... We won't let that monster do anything bad to you."

Harry was unnerved by the seriousness of Ron's tone. Very rarely did Ron ever speak in such a way.

"But that's what I'm worried about, Ron!" Harry exclaimed. "You think I'm just worried about my own back? No! I don't want to see any more people get hurt or worse, killed, on account of me!"

Ron stepped back, speechless.

"Just forget about it," Harry suddenly said. "Let's go to breakfast." Although he said that, he wasn't very hungry.

Somehow, Harry made it through another gruelling day. After dinner, he went to the library, hoping to escape the looks of concern his friends kept directing his way. Knowing that Hermione might be in the library, he hid out in a section that he thought she most likely wouldn't go. It was the section that housed the yearbooks and other certain records of Hogwarts and its staff and students over the years. Harry didn't even sit at a table. Instead, he perched himself on the wide sill of one of the windows overlooking the lake.

Gazing out the window, he saw that the lake was frozen entirely, and darkness had settled over the earth a couple hours ago. The whiteness of the snow was the only thing illuminated by the moon. Harry thought about going outside, even though most would think him out of his mind, but outside, he felt like he could escape from the confines of his small world within Hogwarts.

Turning his attention to the shelves upon shelves of yearbooks, Harry scanned the volumes, taking note of the years. When he came to 1976-1977, he realized that would have been his father's final year at Hogwarts. He stood and went over to the shelf, carefully removing the book, sneezing at the dust its removal released into the air. Apparently, these books had not been touched in quite some time.

Harry took the yearbook back to the window sill and settled down to look through its pages. In the front were the staff, many of whom were still the same as now. They had not changed overly much, especially Dumbledore. Next came the seventh years, divided by house, listed alphabetically within each category. The first house listed, of course, was Gryffindor.

Harry first came to "Black, Sirius" and gazed down at his godfather's picture. He looked just slightly older than he did in the portrait of him that he spoke through. Like all wizard photographs, this one was enchanted to move. Sirius smiled and winked at him, ever the attractive girl-magnet he had once been. Next, Harry came to "Evans, Lily." She smiled sweetly and sincerely, looking beautiful and innocent. Remus Lupin's picture was somewhat shy, and he smiled a little, but he seemed like he would rather not be the center of attention. Peter Pettigrew's picture had a paranoid look about him, his eyes dashing quickly back and forth, a nervous smile sometimes on his face. Finally, Harry reached "Potter, James." James was smiling smugly and occasionally messed up his hair. He did look every bit as arrogant as he had in Snape's memory.

Harry frowned. He wished he could pull his parents right out of their pictures, but he knew what he was looking at was nothing but a picture, just like all the other photos he had of them.

Then, remembering that Snape was also in the same class, Harry turned to the section labelled "Slytherin." Snape was not smiling at all. In fact, he was frowned, clearly not amused that he was being photographed. He looked toward Harry suspiciously, and Harry was unnerved by how true-to-life that look of distrust was. Harry closed the yearbook, sighed, and returned it to its place.

He knew he could look at all the pictures he wanted and see all the memories he desired, but nothing would ever change the events that had come to pass. Death was irreversible. Magic was incapable of changing death.