Fleur De Lis Chapter 23.

Content Warnings: Teasing.

“How is she?”

“She is awake.”

Harry smirked and pulled the curtain aside to reveal Fleur propped up on three pillows with an open book on her lap. Her bed had been pulled to the closest window and she was happily basking in the sunlight. 

“Ask her yourself,” Harry said.

Fleur flipped a page before turning to smile at a sheepish Hermione. 

“Come on.” Fleur wiggled her fingers. She patted the bed and scooched over to one side. “I could do with some company. I’ve had no one but Harry for a week and I need a break.”

“Getting rid of Harry? Are you in the market for a girlfriend?”

“That bad? What’s she done now?” Fleur asked, raising an eyebrow. “Do you want me to kick Harry out?”

“No, he knows,” Hermione sighed and climbed into bed. “Gabby is convinced I’m going to die any minute. She thinks Voldemort is going to storm the castle and hunt me down so I can’t be left alone for a single minute. She set Fred’s hair on fire because he tried to prank me last night.”

“Having a mother hen for a partner is exhausting.” Fleur patted Hermione’s shoulder. “If it makes you feel any better, you’re not the only one looking for a change. Even Madame Pomfrey finds Harry’s worrying to be excessive. She had to remind Harry I had two hands,” Fleur wriggled her fingers at Harry who simply scowled at her teasing, “and was perfectly capable of using a spoon to drink my soup.”

“I give you my love and devotion and I can’t believe this is what I get in return,” Harry grumbled. He still leaned in when Fleur beckoned, his pout transforming into a smile when their lips met. “This is a much better reward.”

His attempt to deepen the kiss was cut short by Hermione’s sharp jab to his side. He yelped and pulled away from Fleur, glaring at his best friend as he rubbed his flank. 

“Kiss in your own time, Potter, she’s mine for the next hour.”

“Oh, mon amour,” Fleur giggled. “Come. There’s enough space on this bed for all of us.”

Harry climbed into the bed and stumbled over Hermione and her to get to the other side. He squeezed in the tiny space between her and the wall and placed an arm protectively over her waist. His head on her shoulder, he leaned up and kissed her jaw. Hermione placed her hand on Harry’s arm and snuggled Fleur from the other side, leaving her squished between the two friends. 

“I could get used to this,” Fleur hummed. Her eyes fluttered shut and she surrendered to the warmth enveloping her. For once, she would not dream of malice-filled blood-red eyes and the screech of an enraged monster. Before sleep could take her, however, Harry leaned up again and kissed her softly. 

“Don’t fall asleep before it’s time to take your medicine. Half an hour, that’s all,” he murmured against her lips.

Fleur reluctantly opened her eyes.

“Yes, mother,” she leaned up and deepened the kiss, ignoring Hermione’s amused snort, “I’ll be a good girl and take my medicine but what do I get in return?”

Harry’s tongue swiped across her lips and was readily granted access. She wanted, no needed, him. His touch was the only thing that kept the nightmares at bay. The song she had sung was of great sorrow and potent magic, and it had affected her just as much as the accursed group in the graveyard. Her heart was heavy with the knowledge of the coming war and the loss of life that would surely accompany it. Like every other Veela, she was a creature of emotions, of heart over mind. 

“What do you want?”

“We cuddle like we did last night,” Fleur murmured as she pulled away for air.

“If we’re caught Madame Pomfrey will murder us!”

“And how exactly did you two cuddle last night?” Hermione raised an eyebrow and poked Harry’s shoulder. “Potter, what’ve you been doing in the Hospital Wing?”

“How come I’m the only one who’s being blamed? It takes two to tango!”

“It was your idea, mon amour.” Fleur placed a finger on Harry’s lips and waited until he stopped grumbling to pull him onto her shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her closer, drawing an annoyed huff from Hermione. 

“Stop hogging her, Potter.”

“Cuddle your own girlfriend, Granger.”

“Where is she?” Fleur asked, turning so her back pushed against Harry’s chest. She smiled and reached out to take Hermione’s hand, patting it gently. “You need to talk to her. Veelas are creatures of strong emotions and she’s had no idea what loving someone meant before she met you. She doesn’t even know she’s overreacting and won’t unless you tell her.”

“You’re a Veela and you don’t act like her. Harry’s the first time you’ve loved someone too, right?”

“Yes. You get better at controlling yourself as you get older. Gabrielle isn’t the only one who wants to stash the person they love in a secure castle on an island in the middle of nowhere until Voldemort is apprehended,” Fleur smiled sadly. “I can’t sleep unless Harry is with me. I search for his presence whenever he’s out of sight. My heart races every time he leaves me and doesn’t stop until he’s by my side again.”

“Let’s run away to an island, you, me, Gabby, and Mione. I hear the Carribeans are nice and warm,” Harry whispered. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and lazily peppered her creamy skin with kisses. “I’m quite done with that man and his stupid quest to ruin my life.”

“If I thought he wouldn’t find us, I’d say yes in a heartbeat.” Fleur looked at Hermione, bright blue eyes silently begging against an intervention. She needed this. “If we want happiness, we have to fight for it.”

“You sound like Dumbledore.”

“Do I?”

“He said something very similar at last night’s feast,” Hermione said softly. “He couldn’t do more than allude to what is coming because Fudge was in attendance but his speech was clear to anyone who listened to it with an open mind.”

“Fudge still has his head in the sand?”

“He does,” Harry sighed. “He’s refused to investigate further. Access to Crouch Senior is now restricted. He used executive powers to subject Crouch Junior to the dementor’s kiss. He will not listen to reason.”

“Professor Dumbledore will figure out a way,” Hermione said.

“I hope so,” Harry said darkly. “He doesn’t seem himself either. Did you notice how tired he seemed last night?”

“Speaking of Professor Dumbledore, isn’t it time for you to go meet him?” Fleur interjected. “Why does he want to meet you?”

“I have no idea. I suppose I’ll find out in half an hour.” Harry propped himself on an elbow. “I have some time before I have to go. He asked me to come to his office at six.”

“Three people on a bed?!”

The unexpected rebuke caused all of them to jump away from each other. Hermione slipped out of bed and landed on the stone floor with a soft ‘ow!’

Harry hit his head on the windowsill and looked up at the disapproving visage of Madame Pomfrey with a sheepish smile, his hand caressing the hit spot. 

“We’re sorry-”

“No apologies, Mister Potter. Out,” Madame Pomfrey said firmly. “You can hog the beds in your dormitories all you want but you will not do so in the Hospital Wing.”

Harry clambered over Fleur and jumped off the bed. He reached out and grasped  Hermione’s arm, helping her to her feet before turning to the stern nurse.

“It won’t happen again.”

“You are correct. It is time for you and Miss Granger to leave. Miss Delacour needs to take her medicine and go to bed.”

“But-”

“She is being discharged tomorrow. I’m sure you can survive a night without her.”

Harry looked like he was about to argue but a gentle push from the nurse propelled him and Hermione to the door. He turned to look at Fleur and she gave him a reassuring smile even though she felt anything but calm at the prospect of spending a night without him.

There was nothing to be done. Madame Pomfrey didn’t seem in the mood to budge. Within minutes Harry and Hermione had been ushered out of the Hospital Wing. The nurse shut the door and locked it for good measure before going to the cabinet to begin preparing Fleur’s medicine.

Fleur had no idea how Harry would fare without her but Madame Pomfrey was wrong. She didn’t think she’d survive without him. 

The nightmares would return and with them would come now-familiar red eyes filled with malice.

                                                                                  ---

Harry found himself making for Dumbledore’s office after a quick goodbye to his best friend. His appointment with the Headmaster was close enough that it felt pointless to do anything else. So he aimlessly wandered the fifth floor, chatting up familiar portraits for bits and pieces of gossip for a good fifteen minutes before he walked over to the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore’s office.

“Lemon sorbet.”

“Welcome, Mister Potter,” the gargoyle rasped. Its stony eyes remained fixed on Harry as he walked past it and hopped onto the revolving staircase. It was the first time the stone statue had spoken, and Harry didn’t know whether that was a good sign or a bad one. Everything was changing.

He let the staircase deposit him in front of the closed door of Professor Dumbledore’s office. He raised his fist, hesitating for a brief second before rapping his knuckles on the polished oak. 

“Enter,” came the tired response from the other side of the door. 

The office was unchanged. Portraits of past Headmasters and Headmistresses still lined the walls. They were all fast asleep except for a man with dark hair and shrewd eyes. 

“Is this the solution to all our problems? I can’t believe he’ll inherit my family’s legacy, the little titch. The Dark Lord can squash him with his thumb.”

“Hush, Phineas,” Dumbledore said wearily. He laced his fingers together and rested his chin on them, his bright blue eyes following Harry’s journey across the office. “Harry is stronger than you know.”

“I lost. In the graveyard. Phi… uh, Professor Phineas is right. If you hadn’t come, I’d have died.”

Harry didn’t know why he felt the need to point it out but it was the truth. He’d failed. He had been at Voldemort’s mercy and only the man’s ego and desire to grandstand had saved him. 

“You’ve faced Voldemort before. You’ve bested him every time,” Dumbledore pointed out softly. “You must believe in yourself, Harry. You are destined for great things.”

“That’s what Ollivander told me. The day I got my wand.” Harry’s hand pushed into his pocket, his fingers curling around his wand. “He said Voldemort had done great things and so would I.”

“I’ve known Ollivander for a long time. A very long time indeed,” Dumbledore murmured. He raised a hand and absentmindedly stroked Fawkes’ head. The fiery bird trilled and leaned into the touch. “He has rarely been wrong when it comes to magic.”

“I don’t think I like being associated with Voldemort, Professor. He made it sound like we are tied together by fate or something.”

“You’re perceptive, Harry,” Dumbledore sighed. “That is exactly the case. For better or for worse, your fates are entangled and have been since that fateful night. That is why Voldemort risked what meagre power he had to have you delivered to that graveyard.”

“So Ollivander was right?” Harry clutched his wand tighter. His nails dug into the polished wood, tiny splinters breaking off and piercing his skin. “I’m destined to be like him?”

“Nothing is certain. But there are many ways to be connected, Harry,” Dumbledore smiled. “Fire and water share a connection, for one is fated to oppose the other.” 

“I don’t think I want to oppose him for the rest of my life, either, Professor.” Harry paused. “Fleur and I have been talking. We’d like a normal life. I can’t leave her but I can’t stay with her if I have to fight Voldemort for the rest of my life.”

“He seems to have a predilection for cheating death, doesn’t he? Again and again and again. No matter what, he comes back.” Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Strange, wouldn’t you say?”

“Maybe he has clones,” Harry joked.

“Clones? What are those?”

“Uh, they’re a muggle thing.” Harry frowned, trying to figure out how best to explain the concept to the aged Headmaster. He thought back to the movie he had watched with the Weasley siblings in the Muggle village close to the Burrow, trying to remember how they had described the entities. “Well, not really a thing. They don’t exist but we can do a lot of things that Muggles can’t, right? Muggles have stories about these creatures that are copies of someone else. They’re grown like a plant. Even if you kill one, there are other copies and the original to keep going. Maybe he found a way to create clones with magic?”

“Impossible. Even if one found a way to grow flesh, they would have no soul. The creatures created would be mindless beasts just like Inferi. No magic can create or duplicate a soul,” Dumbledore said. He fell into a contemplative silence, stroking his beard as he hummed. So deep in thought was he, that he didn’t even notice Harry get up to pet the baby phoenix on the perch next to his chair. “A soul cannot be copied or created. But it can be harmed. Damaged. Split!”

Dumbledore turned to Harry, fire blazing in his normally serene eyes. 

“It can be split, Harry! It can be damaged and twisted beyond recognition through means so heinous that they should not be spoken out loud.”

“So… he can create clones?” Harry asked. He gently stroked Fawkes’ tiny plumage and the bird trilled happily.

“In a manner of speaking. I cannot tell you much more because this is the extent of my knowledge. There are things I must do, Harry.” Dumbledore pushed his chair away from the desk and jumped to his feet as if suddenly possessed by otherworldly energy. “Things we must do, I suppose. If you would care to join me?”

“Me?”

“Yes,” Dumbledore hesitated. “It is unwise, perhaps. My primary concern is for your safety and happiness. You should be allowed to enjoy the joys of youth without this spectre hanging over your head.”

“It’s already there.” 

Dumbledore nodded gravely. He pulled out a round, brown treat from a cookie jar on his desk and fed it to Fawkes. 

“You are correct. You will have fleeting moments of happiness but you cannot live the life you dream of as long as he walks this Earth. He is relentless in his pursuit for he believes you hold the key to his destruction.”

“Why? Why me? I don’t go seeking him out, he always finds me!” Harry resisted the urge to find the closest thing and fling it at the wall. “I never asked for any of this.”

“I know.” Dumbledore reached out and grasped Harry’s shoulder, the lines on his face more pronounced than usual in his sadness. “You’ve suffered so much in your short life, Harry. Some of which I am to blame for. There is no absolution for my part in this and if I could take your burden on myself I would do so in a heartbeat.”

“But there isn’t,” Harry said sadly. He didn’t have to be a genius to see that. “This is mine to bear. I have to beat him.”

“One day, aye.” Dumbledore’s bushy white beard twitched. “Long into the future, when you are ready. Until then you shall leave the fighting to me.”

“What if he comes back?”

“We shall ensure that he does not.”

“Can we do that?” 

“Certainly.” Dumbledore smiled. “Now that I know what to look for, it is possible.”

“What are you looking for?” Harry asked. He knew his joke had triggered an epiphany but the Headmaster had said there was no way for Voldemort to create clones. How then, was the wizard cheating Death? Did damaging a soul make it impossible to destroy? The more he talked to Dumbledore, the less sure he felt that everything he knew was true.

“Are you up for a little trip, Harry?” Dumbledore deflected. 

“Uh-” Harry glanced at the clock on the wall behind the Headmaster. He had promised Ron and Hermione he’d catch up with them over dinner but he was sure they’d understand. What was more disquieting was the purple blanket slowly creeping across the sky. “At night, professor?”

“I would not ask unless it was a matter of great urgency. We must act before Voldemort does.”

“Where are we going?”

Harry followed Dumbledore out of his office. The Headmaster stayed silent until they had descended the tower, walked down the hallway, and over to the staircases. They hopped onto one that would carry them directly to the Atrium. 

“The graveyard, Harry,” Dumbledore said softly. His eyes, unusually alert, darted around to check their surroundings. “This is something that is best talked about away from prying ears. Do you understand?”

“Yes, professor,” Harry said. He didn’t see the need for secrecy. “How will we get there?”

“We’ll apparate. I have studied the charm placed on the Triwizard Cup in great detail and I know where we have to go.” Dumbledore hopped off the staircase and practically ran towards the open iron doors of the castle. The Great Hall was lively but there was nobody in the Atrium to accost them. Harry suspected Dumbledore preferred it that way. 

“Why do you want to go there?” Harry asked, running up to catch up with Dumbledore in the castle courtyard. He noticed the Weasley twins and Angelina playing with a quaffle in the distance and tacked himself to Dumbledore’s side to avoid being noticed by them. “What if he’s still there?”

“Oh, he won’t slum it in a graveyard now that his followers have returned to him,” Dumbledore said unconcernedly. “You must understand this about Tom, Harry. He has a great sense of his own worth.”

“You mean he’s full of himself.”

Dumbledore’s beard twitched. “A little self-confidence can go a long way, Harry. But not as much as him, no. Luckily for us, he will be ensconced in the warmth and comfort of a proper manor.”

“Then what do you expect to find there?”

“I do not know,” Dumbledore answered cheerfully. “Such is the nature of discovery. We must dig before we unearth something.”

“It was his father’s graveyard. Voldemort used one of his bones in that spell.”

Dumbledore was spry for an old man. Harry had to jog to keep up with the Headmaster’s strides. Before they knew it, they were at the wall that formed the boundary for the enchantments around Hogwarts. 

“A vile spell, Harry. But it was a small price to pay for someone whose soul is twisted beyond recognition.” Dumbledore held out his left arm. “Grab it tightly. I have gotten into the bad habit of relying on Fawkes to take me places.”

Harry linked his arm with Dumbledore’s. Within seconds he felt a familiar tug behind his navel and then he was weightless, hurtling through the immaterium of the void. They landed on soft, wet soil and Harry immediately doubled over, the croissant and tea he had shared with Fleur making their way up his throat. He wheezed and stayed as he was for a few seconds, waiting for the dizziness to disappear before he wiped the vomit from his lips and straightened. 

“I apologize,” Dumbledore murmured. He winced at Harry’s green face and twirled his wand. “All better,” he said with a nod at Harry’s clean sleeve. “I’m rusty. Perhaps I should apparate more.”

“I’m sure it’s easier to travel with Fawkes’ help,” Harry rasped.

“Infinitely.”

Dumbledore carefully walked in between the rows of unkempt graves. The granite headstones were covered in moss, condemning the names of the dead to obscurity. Long weeds and small shrubs covered the graves. 

“Tom Riddle,” Dumbledore murmured, walking over to a magnificent marble headstone, the only one not covered with moss. He noticed Harry’s wince at the sight of the statue that stood behind it and gently grasped his shoulder. “If this is too difficult-”

“I’m fine,” Harry said firmly. He kicked the upturned dirt surrounding the grave. “It sounded like he hated his father.”

“He does, Harry.”

“Why?”

“In Voldemort’s eyes, his father committed the greatest sin. He was a Muggle, a nobody who polluted the bloodline of Salazar Slytherin when he married Voldemort’s mother. It is something else that ties the two of you together. You are both running from who you are.”

“I’m not.” Harry frowned at Dumbledore’s indulgent smile. “I’m not!”

“You are stronger than you think you are, Harry, and infinitely more capable. The strength you hide shall surprise you one day,” Dumbledore murmured. He knelt to study the grave. “There is a slight taint of dark magic here but this is an ordinary grave in all aspects. Come, Harry.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the village,” Dumbledore nodded to the sea of lights in the distance, “We must know why Voldemort chose to stay here all year.”

“It was convenient?” Harry waved his arms. Who would have thought to search for Voldemort in a Muggle graveyard? “He could stay hidden here until he had his body back and could summon his followers.”

“Why here? He knows that I know his real name. This place would have required minimal effort on my part to find.”

“The bone?” Harry asked as they exited the graveyard and walked down the dirt path that led to the village. “He needed the bone.”

“The bone he could acquire and store until he laid his hands on you. I know the ritual, one does not need freshly extracted ingredients. No, I suspect he was here because this place lent him strength. There is something in the air.” Dumbledore looked around warily. “It is not his presence. But there is evil lingering in the woods around us.”

He tugged Harry’s arm to stop him as they approached the outskirts of the village.

“Be careful what you speak of and to whom, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “Loose tongues can risk lives.”

“How about I leave the talking to you?”

“Not a bad idea.” Dumbledore buried his hand in his cloak as they walked down the main street of the village. His wand pocketed, he adopted a cheery demeanour and led Harry into a busy cafe. He walked over to the barista who greeted them with a tired smile. “Hello there. Could I and my grandson have a hot chocolate, please?”

Harry looked up at Dumbledore in surprise, only to receive a warning glance in return. 

“Is that all?” the barista asked.

“Could you perhaps tell us where the Riddles live?”

“The Riddles? What’d you want with them?”

“My grandson is a distant relative.”

“I thought they were all dead. Nobody lives up there in that manor except for old man Frank and he’s off his rocker.” The barista disappeared behind the counter for a few minutes and reappeared with two takeaway cups. “Here ya go. It’s up the big hill. Right at the top, can’t miss it. Be careful though, Frank might try to blow ya head off.”

“The best lie is a half-truth, Harry. Stick to them if you must utter untruths,” Dumbledore murmured, passing one of the cups to Harry. “Drink. It will soothe your throat.”

“I’m distantly related to the Riddles? Surely that’s not a half-truth.”

“It is. You are distantly related to them through Voldemort,” Dumbledore responded with a chuckle. 

“Not sure I like that thought.”

“You see, Harry, you have as much claim to Salazar Slytherin’s legacy as Voldemort does. Familial lines can be twisted and bent to serve anyone’s purpose,” Dumbledore chuckled. “It’s all a little silly. A dozen great families claim to be descended from Merlin and why, not a single one of them is technically lying!”

Harry nodded thoughtfully. The Pureblood obsession with blood seemed just as silly as Marge and her obsession with thoroughbred dogs. 

“At the end of the day, it is deeds that count, Harry. Nobody knows the identity of Merlin’s parents. He is remembered for his actions, not his lineage.”

“Why do they care about blood so much, then?”

“Because it is in the nature of petty men to care about petty things, Harry. Ah!” Dumbledore studied the signpost at the beginning of the road winding up the only hill visible for miles. “Here it is. Be on your guard. Wand at the ready and do not hesitate to defend yourself.”

“Who is Frank?” Harry asked warily. “A Death Eater?”

“No.” Dumbledore’s wand reappeared in their hand as they trekked up the mountain. “The gardener. Tom has tried very hard to hide his past but his disregard of the Muggles was his undoing. I chanced across an article a long time ago. It described the death of the Riddle family at the dinner table and implicated the gardener. He was ultimately acquitted because there was no evidence.”

“Magic?”

“It seems as much,” Dumbledore nodded grimly. “No marks on the body, no signs of struggle. Three healthy adults just dropped dead.”

“The killing curse.” Harry’s hand closed around his wand and he pulled it out. The temperature seemed to drop suddenly and Harry could have sworn the fog rolling around their ankles hadn’t been present the last time he’d looked at the ground. 

“We don’t have to fear Frank. In all likelihood, he’s already dead,” Dumbledore said sadly. They approached the rusted wrought iron doors and he gave them an experimental tap with his wand. Nothing happened and he waved his wand again, unlocking the doors. The hinges creaked loudly as the shut doors swung inward. “No, we must be wary of the traps that Voldemort has set and of the creatures that guard whatever he’d hiding here.”

Harry didn’t want to, but he felt he had to point out the flaw in Dumbledore’s theory.

“Why would he hide anything important in the house of the man he hated?”

“Why stay here?” Dumbledore retorted gently. “We cannot understand his mind. His reasoning is his own. This place is important to him.” 

Dead, withered leaves crunched under their feet as the two warily made their way to the front door. Dumbledore tapped the rotten wood with his wand and when there was no reaction to his murmured spell, unlocked it. 

Dumbledore disappeared into the house and Harry followed him, keeping his eyes peeled for traps and dark creatures. The house remained silent. The only sound came from the creaking of floorboards under their feet. Harry paused to study the faded portraits that hung on the walls and when he turned, Dumbledore had disappeared.

“Someone has called this place home recently.”

Harry followed Dumbledore’s voice. It led him to the living room and he found the Headmaster with his back to him, hunched over something.

“Frank?”

“No, Harry,” Dumbledore said gravely. “An old man would have no use for a crib.” He straightened and poked the mass of scales at the foot of the crib. “Nor would he shed his skin like a snake. Voldemort lived here over the past year.”

“You were right.” Harry ignored his heart thumping around in his chest and wheeled about wildly, seeing threats in every shadow. A gentle hand on his shoulder steeled his nerves. 

“There is nothing here, Harry.” Dumbledore sighed and pocketed his wand. “I was wrong.”

“How do you know? We haven’t explored the entire house. There might be something upstairs.”

“No traps. No wards. There is nothing of value here. Whatever was, is long gone.” Dumbledore walked out of the room and sighed heavily. “I apologize for dragging you away from the warmth of the castle on a futile quest, Harry.”

“That’s alright. I learnt a few things.”

“How to lie?” Dumbledore chuckled. “I hope that is not all you learn during your time with me.”

Harry simply smirked and let the matter lie. He shifted his attention back to Voldemort’s family as they walked by the Riddle portraits once more. Why had he chosen to call this place home? Why come to the house of the father you loathed when you’re at your weakest? Was there a different reason?

Harry looked around the hallway but could not find a single female portrait. Voldemort’s mother wasn’t on the walls. There was no indication of her presence in the house. Had Voldemort’s father been like Dean’s, leaving when the existence of magic was revealed to him?

“Professor?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“What about his mother?”

“Hmm?” Dumbledore’s hand stayed on the door handle but he stilled. He turned to Harry, his blue eyes silently urging him to elaborate further. 

“You said Voldemort hated his father because he was a muggle. What about his mother? He had to have loved her because she was descended from Slytherin. And she probably lived close by.”

“No, he disliked her because he thought she was weak and a disgrace. But… but… the house. Where she grew up, that was probably part of Salazar Slytherin’s holdings!” Dumbledore flung the door open and marched out of the house. “Now that is an important place.”

“Is that where we’re going now?” Harry asked, running after Dumbledore.

“No. We are going back to Hogwarts. I do not know where the house is, but I shall find out.”

“Can I come with you?”

Dumbledore stopped dead in his tracks and whirled around to Harry, studying him silently. Harry waited for his Headmaster to speak with growing discomfort and just as he was about to reconsider his request, Dumbledore spoke.

“Yes,” the Headmaster said and continued walking.

Notes:

The last week was an important road to recovery for me. I returned to Discord (join it using the link in the pinned post!) and started talking to my readers again. I wrote every single day, even if it was a few lines. We are so back (fingers crossed) friends. The thing that I really wanted when I first read the story was more Dumbledore and Harry interactions. I wanted him to feel like a mentor, flaws and all. He can still be secretive and cautious, but he also displays some of that legendary wisdom and this feels like the perfect story for it.