Albus Dumbledore & Sheep Pens
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore is a lot of things.
He is the Headmaster of Hogwarts. He is the defeater of Gellert Grindelwald. He is the most powerful wizard alive.
He is also an old, senile fool.
It starts and ends with Harry Potter.
"Hogwarts is no place to raise a child," he told Madame Pomfrey, all those years ago. "It is better that he be raised with his living relatives. Petunia has always been--"
"Cruel, Albus, she's always been cruel," she'd protested, huffing herself up. "You didn't know Lily like I did. Petunia has never taken to magic well. Is that any place to keep a magical child?"
He had sighed and fought more but eventually, he relented. There is an ulterior motive here, though, from the way she avoids his eyes and rights like she has never fought for any other child before. Harry is different to her. Special.
So Albus Dumbledore calls the child into his office one day, Harry age six then, and decides to figure out what is it that makes him so special.
"Lemon drop?" he offers. Harry takes it silently but doesn't eat it.
"Why am I here, sir?"
Albus shook his head. "Don't call me sir, my boy. Makes me feel old. Albus is fine."
"What am I here, Albus?"
He supposed that sounded worse. "I was wondering how you were settling into the castle."
"Fine," Harry says. "Haven't really left the Hospital Wing, though."
Albus thinks that that is no place to keep a magical child but he has never been the best judge of that, now has he? So he keeps his mouth shut and nods and pours them both a cup of tea. When Harry sips it Albus meets his eyes.
He searches his mind but he is met with a wall of wands, clawing at him. It is odd. It is denial.
Albus Dumbledore has never been denied by someone so young.
Albus Dumbledore talks lightly and conversationally with the child until he gets up to leave but his smile is from then on forced and Harry can obviously tell because his becomes forced, too.
Albus Dumbledore decides that Harry Potter is not special but dangerous. He hears years later of him threatening teachers and students alike and then of those threatens being fulfilled and thinks that Harry Potter is dangerous but that 'danger' is not a synonym to 'evil.'
In fact, he sees himself in him. Violent to achieve his means -- his greater good is so similar to Albus's own that when Snape comes to him after a detention with the boy, screaming that Harry must be removed form the school immediately, Albus Dumbledore cannot say yes.
"You are letting a wolf stay in the sheep's pen," Snape threatens.
Albus thinks of himself and how his love for Gellert had never really gone away, only surpassed by his love for the Right Thing in the end, and that the sheep's pen has been infiltrated for a long time now. "Hardly, Severus," Albus says. "His familiar hair upsets you, I'm aware, but if I may suggest looking into his eyes--"
"This is not about hair, Albus!" Snape shouts, pacing.
... It has been quite some time since Snape has been so unnerved. "Then what is it about, Snape?" Albus asks, softer.
"He is his father."
"I did not know you were so prone to grudge holding--"
"Listen!" Snape snaps. "Listen, will you? Or has your old age finally gone to your head?"
Albus's eyes twinkle with mirth. "Alright, Severus. I am listening."
"The seventh year incident. Do you remember it?"
Albus has seen a lot of 'seventh year incidents' and most are ridiculous enough to make a grown man cackle, but if he is referring to what Albus thinks he is, then... Then there is not much to laugh about. "Are you referring to yours, Severus?"
"Yes," Snape hisses. "James Potter took--"
"I know," Albus says softly.
Snape deflates. "And Harry Potter took--"
"I see," says Albus. He thinks for a moment. "It could be coincidental," Albus says, not really believing so.
Snape does not dignify that with a response. "Will you remove him, Albus?" he asks again.
"I will need to consult with my Seer." And so consult he does.
Trelawney is an odd character in regards to the Potters, which is to say she is entirely neutral. She told Albus the day before he arrived that Harry Potter would be visiting soon. "Best make him a warm bed, Albus," she had told him. "He'll need it."
Albus Dumbledore approaches her again, questions on the tip of his tongue but with no need to voice them. When he opens her voice door, she grabs him by the arm and drags him into the office. "He is not like you," she starts off with and Albus itches to say that he never said he was but they both know that would be stupid, so he nods for her to continue.
"Your meddling will hurt him," she says. "It has already hurt so many others."
Albus would wonder who she was referring to if images of Tom Riddle, who has cloaked the darkness within him because Albus recognized it (rather, Trelawney did and Albus decided to let him know) and has not rejected it, like Albus had hoped to achieve, but instead made him a harder opponent to defeat one day: an opponent that does not seem like an opponent at all. Albus could've introduced him tot he wizarding world sooner because of Trelawney's predictions. Could've shone him the good in it as well as the evil and shown him that Muggles, really, are just the same, and that power is only as useful as the wielder is sane, could've, could've, could've.
But he did not. He let Tom rot in a world of Muggles hoping that they would be kind, that they could prevent an anti-Muggle ideology to envelope him, but that failed, too, and when Trelawney tells him this, it is already too late to change it.
Whatever Tom does is Albus Dumbledore's fault, he thinks. It always will be.
But now he has a second chance. He has an opportunity to make the right choice -- and that, this time, is to make no choice at all -- and even though his knowledge is limited, working off the fact that Harry Potter is not and will not be like him (in a good way, Trelawney?) and that interfering will make things worse, Albus Dumbledore knows he cannot handle more blood on his hands, already stained red head to toe and hating himself and his circumstances for it.
Albus Dumbledore makes a promise then: This one, he will sit out.
•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•
Harry Potter sits in the Hufflepuff common room the evening of his Affair of Honor. He is tired. (They all are; one does not leave Hagrid's detentions without at least feeling a little weary.) But more than tired, he is elated.
Spread about the common room is his friends. The presence of so many different House members would be upsetting to any other common room, but not here. Here, everyone is infected with a little bit of Harry's House unity. His melting pot is allowed to spend the night without much question.
Currently they are resting. Hermione and Ron sit tangled in an armchair, holding hands even when asleep. Harry lies with his head in Blaise's lap, Blaise's fingers entwined in his hair, and with his legs twisted with Neville's. Tom Riddle sits on a separate chair, all alone. Harry offered to join him but Tom turned red -- and is that not such a pretty color? -- and said no. "I'm sure Zabini and Longbottom would like you over there." Harry could not argue with that. It was true after all.
His friends have been asleep for hours now, but, though Harry is beyond exhausted, he has no plans on joining them. He keeps glancing at his hand, where the words written earlier still stand out.
The power he has is special. Whether or not he is special is a concern to him, and will take priority later, but not now. (What the fuck am I?) For now, he separates himself from his lovers and kisses them both on the temple, thinking fondly, I would love to marry them both one day. If I live long enough to. (And that last thought -- it feels wrong. Why wouldn't he live to adulthood? Harry shakes his head.
He really is tired.)
Harry stares at Tom a moment before deciding fuck it and kissing him on the temple, too. He loves his friends and might be growing to love Tom -- but that's a train of thought for another day. Harry leaves the Hufflepuff dorms with Fred and George's map in hands, eyes locked onto the Great Lake, a place to be alone.
He's got work to do.
•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•
Albus Dumbledore breaks his promise two years after he made it, the morning after Harry Potter's Affair of Honor.
Harry sits in the chair across from Dumbledore's, feeling slightly uncomfortable. He doesn't recognize the place, but he knows he's been here before. He also knows he probably isn't here for tea (or, well, just for tea) because... Well. Albus Dumbledore has never liked him.
"Evening, sir," says Harry.
Albus doesn't correct him this time. "Lemon drop?" he offers.
"No thank you," says Harry.
Albus pops one into his mouth. "Can I ask you what you were trying to accomplish with your 'duel' -- or 'Affair,' as you refer to it -- yesterday?"
I'm called in here for this? Albus, you really are boring. "Listen, sir, I've already had House points taken, and I've got 2 months detentions, and all the professors agreed that I--"
"I'm not asking to punish you," Albus says, chuckling.
"Then why are you asking?"
Albus shrugs. "Curiosity." I want to know what makes you tick. I know you are dangerous and not evil and not like me, but what else? Harry, what are your plans? I have no intention of interfering. But I am a meddlesome old man. I would like to know. "Indulge me, will you?"
Harry stares at him. Then he huffs. "Okay," he says, crossing his arms over his chest. "What was the question again?" You just said it, didn't you? But I can't remember it. What... what is wrong with me?
Albus is patient enough. "What is it you were trying to accomplish with yesterday's -- admittedly rather dangerous -- stunt?"
"You mean what did I accomplish," Harry corrects. "The trying's over. I did it."
"If you see it that way, Harry."
"It was stated in the terms."
"What was?"
"What I was 'trying to accomplish.'" Harry makes air quotes, rolling his eyes. "In short, they're no longer able to say Muggles are inferior. And they can't say the word Mudblood."
"And," says Dumbledore, a twinkle in his eye, "if they did anyway?"
Harry smiles. "I suppose that's between them and Magic."
"Suggesting rather violent ends, wouldn't you agree?"
"I suppose," Harry says again.
"And do you think that's right?" Are you like me?
"I wasn't aware I was called in to discuss morality, sir," Harry says coldly. A non-answer that's as good as an answer.
"To fight violence with violence," Dumbledore says. "Does it not stoop them to their level?"
Something in Harry snaps. "It's retribution, sir. Like killing the people who murdered my mother would be; fucking right."
How are you not like me? It is like looking in a mirror. "Language, Harry. I must ask; what is next? You have stopped almost three dozen students from saying a slur and voicing their opinion. What next?"
Harry eyes Dumbledore over the top of his teacup. "Why do you care?" Defensive; bordering on paranoid. He is worried Dumbledore is a part of the party he's fighting.
Ludicrous. But wolf recognizes wolf, he suppose. "You risked your life, you must know."
"I keep getting reminded."
"I was just wondering why -- why, in the long run, was this all worth it?"
"Every second more I spend with you makes me ask myself that."
Dumbledore ignores the slight, saying nothing. Harry eventually sets his cup down, sighing.
"You really want to know?" he asks, hesitant.
"That is why I asked."
"I'm going to destroy the wizarding world as we know it." He grins. Dumbledore's eyes shoot up. Destroy? I did not take you as an anarchist. Then again, nothing about you exactly screams pacifism. "Merlin's really made his mark, you know. Impressive, for someone as dead as he. He shaped the Ministry, religion, the lines between Muggle and wizards. To be honest, I'm quite sick of it."
"So you want to get your hands on it instead," Dumbledore assumes.
"Something like that."
"Why you, my boy, in particular? Your mother and father--"
Harry's face scrunches up at the mention of James.
Dumbledore puts his hands up; letting it go. "Why make yourself the head of the revolution? There are many more--"
"More capable wizards?" Harry finishes bitterly.
"Something like that," Dumbledore says.
Harry, to his surprise, laughs. "Yeah. You're right about that. I'm not exceedingly capable--" Harry thinks of his hands holding magic, pure magic, and believes this not to be entirely true "--But I am the coolest. That's got to count for something."
Dumbledore looks like he knows Harry's lying but he says nothing. He's not a beacon of truth, either. Let the boy have his secrets.
They have nothing to do with me, anyway.
None of this does.
If you do great good or great evil in the future, I will react like everyone else. I will shrug my shoulders; say That's wonderful or That's too bad and wonder who will be the one to fix or disrupt it because it won't be me.
This one, I will sit out. I'm not sure why I called you in here with this in mind.
But I am a curious old man, if no longer meddlesome.
"You may leave now, Harry. Do try not to bother Professor Snape too much, will you?"
Harry stands to leave, straightening his robes. "He won't have to deal with me much longer. Tell Snape to suck it up."
Dumbledore watches his retreating figure and thinks that could mean one of two things. Harry is planning not to take Potions after his fifth year -- a legal maneuver, respected, and honestly understandable -- or... He is planning on no longer attending Hogwarts after his fifth year. In place of what, Harry? In place of what?
Well, thinks Dumbledore. At least it has nothing to do with me.