cursed-and-chosen

[cursed-and-chosen]

Falling Through Time

regretismyconstantcompanion​:

The grin the boy offered Albus made him look even younger than he was, making the thought of Harry standing up to Gellert seem even more absurd. But he laughed softly, quite taken with Harrys assessment of the situation and him insisting that he was going to ‘protect’ him from Gellert if he was too much of a 'git’. He appreciated the sentiment greatly, even if he knew he wasn’t going to need protecting from Gellert anytime soon. He was quite capable of taking care of himself, but it had been a long time since anyone had been prepared to jump in and defend him. “Thank you Harry, I’ll keep that in mind.” Albus had forgotten that Harry had slept through the final part of Gellerts visit so naturally he was confused. He glanced over at Remaclus, moving over to give him a gentle stroke along his feathers and look as if to say 'be nice’. He had no doubt the crow was loyal to Gellert, for the man demanded no less from anyone that he surrounded himself with - even creatures. “Gellert left him here so that we could easily continue communication when necessary. In the event things are going badly here, we can send Remaclus without a letter and Gellert will come.” Albus assured Harry, offering the crow a treat from his pocket. Fawkes ruffled his feathers, clearly displeased at the thought of being leftout. “Anyone would think you were starving.” Albus’ voice held great affection as he gave Fawkes a treat too and a gentle scratch along his head before he turned back to Harry. “Gellert is going to help us, Harry. I realise that you don’t have any reason to trust him, given the future you have come from.” This was a very complicated situation and he could understand why Harry held the opinion of Gellert that he did. “But the man you knew of in your time, he isn’t the same man that Gellert is now. You knew a version of him that perhaps never really existed, at least not the way he was portrayed.” He moved to be closer where Harry was, leaning against the desk again as Harry continued his meal. “I know that you don’t trust him but I do. He didn’t need to come here but he did. I believe that he does want to help us, help you. I know that I’m asking a great deal of you Harry but I need you to trust me where Gellert is concerned.”

“You do that, too, where I’m from –  ask a great of me, that is,” Harry remarked wryly. “I trust you as a person, I always have, but… Sorry, but you don’t know what the future you knew, so I can’t pretend it’s the same situation. You’re so quick to trust that man, when people put you on a Chocolate Frog card for defeating him. They listed that before any of your other accomplishments ‘cause it was more important you ended that threat for good. Even though Voldemort was already around and murdering people.”

And it was his conviction that, just because people were now fearing a different Dark Lord, the countless deaths Grindelwald must have caused, couldn’t simply be forgotten about – or worse: treated as something trivial.

“You say he wants to help, but who can guarantee he doesn’t only want to stop you from defeating him? I’ve already traveled back in time once – long story, but in our third year, my friend and I saved my godfather and a hippogriff.”

His voice cracked at the word ‘godfather’ as he inadvertently replayed Sirius’ death in his mind with haunted eyes. What actual use had he been to him in his third year, when he couldn’t save him again only two years later?

“Anyways, look. When we changed history, we wanted to save lives, do what was right. We weren’t doing it for ourselves. But Grindelwald? I’m sure he knows you defeated him where I’m from. And he doesn’t like that – granted, who in their right mind would? I bet Voldemort, too, would do things differently if he knew where he screwed up and how to do better. Still doesn’t change his nature! It doesn’t change that he’s a Dark wizard and a murderer. How can you pretend Grindelwald is any different from him? And that crow?”

Harry saw red at the realization that Albus had, in fact, named the crow in Grindelwald’s absence – just as he had said he would, and just like that, he once more succumbed to his fiery temper.

“Did it ever occur to you he’s just using that crow to spy on us? Are you really that blind to everything else just because he’s snogging you?!” The words burst out with caustic venom, making Harry flinch at the sound of his own voice and nauseating guilt creep into his every bone. His chest heaved, and when he willed his eyes to rest on this younger Dumbledore’s, the gaze they held was in equal parts contrite and beseeching.

“Just… look. I need you to help me, if I’m supposed to trust you,” he amended. “Help me get where you’re coming from and take me seriously when I’m warning you. I’m sorry I got loud. But you’ve got to try to put yourself in my shoes too for a bit.”

[cursed-and-chosen]

Under the Mistletoe

@regretismyconstantcompanion, continued from here: X

Albus found himself already reaching for Harry to prevent him from pulling away so quickly. He found it quite endearing, how flushed the boy became almost immediately as embarrassment clearly took over. "There is no need to apologise Harry, nor rush off." He was holding his upper arms, drawing him closer as he gazed down at him. Such a pretty thing he was. It was a wonder he could ever take his eyes off him. One hand released his upper arm and rested upon Harrys chin to tilt his face upward so he could see him. Was he blushing at bumping into him or perhaps the mistletoe that hung over their heads. Perhaps he they had been given this opportunity. "Merry Christmas Harry." Albus' tone was soft before he leaned in and brushed a gentle kiss against his lips.

Harry just knew that he had to be staring at Albus like a deer in the headlights upon being caught before he could make his escape.

(The irony wasn’t lost on him, given his parents’ Patronus forms as well as his own. What a family they would’ve made, though he doubted Lily and James Potter had ever behaved that awkwardly around the one they fancied – around each other. Hopefully, there was still a way for him to learn what they could never teach him.)

The pathetic almost-squawk escaping him when Dumbledore grasped his chin and made him face him had Harry hoping in vain for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

‘Get a grip, Harry! You’re 20. You’re an adult!’

Why was it, then, that this younger, handsome Dumbledore made him feel like a boy again?

His heart stuttered in his chest when, against his wildest expectations, Dumbledore kissed him on the lips, leaving him slack-jawed and besotted.

“Si-Sir?”

And suddenly, he chuckled wryly. “I’ve got to be dreaming, right? I mean, why else would you-?”

[cursed-and-chosen]

Blue Butterfly

@middaysandmidnights, continued from here: X

Sebastian hovered over Harry, grinning down at the so-called Chosen One, sharp teeth glinting in the streetlights. "How many times do I have to remind you," he sighed, almost lovingly, "that your silly magic stick doesn't work on me?" He nosed at Harry's jaw, scraping his teeth over the skin. He rolled his weight back, hands still braced by Harry's ribs as he used his teeth to pull Harry's shirt up. If he wanted, he could pull the knife from its holster on his thigh and start ripping the worn gray cloth. Almost tenderly, he pressed a kiss to the wizard's exposed stomach.

Sebastian was faster than his every spell, not merely defending himself by dodging, but mercilessly picking his way through openings Harry possessed no awareness of.

His agility and strength were staggering – inhuman.

Harry had been woefully naive in assuming that he could possibly compensate for that with luck, desperation, with reckless bravery.

(And yet, had he not wished for this outcome? Sought an excuse to feel in the only manner still available to him? Even a pointless death struck him as preferable to a lifetime of numbness and grief.)

When his breath was knocked out of his lungs and he was pinned against the hard concrete floor like a doomed butterfly, Harry felt alive.

Eyes blown wide, he wanted to goad Sebastian into prolonging the sensation, into letting him try and fail again and again, but Sebastian’s next actions and the reminder of his proximity elicited a startled gasp from him instead.

Fear and arousal vied on his features when Sebastian kissed the tender skin of his abdomen.

His heart threatened to burst inside his rib-cage as it called out to the man who was in equal parts his predator and his savior.

[cursed-and-chosen]

The Tainted Martyr

regretismyconstantcompanion​:

Albus continued to hold him tightly, still stroking his hair until he finally felt his shaking ease. Harry’s desperation could prove to be useful to him but for tonight, the boy was in no state to do much of anything. He would need to be cleaned up and healed, with perhaps a light meal before he could rest. “I could never hate you Harry, I’m sure of that. I don’t think I’ve ever hated anyone in my life and certainly don’t anticipate starting with you.” Albus knew that wasn’t true, but then the boy didn’t need to know that. He couldn’t imagine Harry would be in this reality long enough to become aware of his immense hatred toward the Ministries and those they commanded. He didn’t need to know of the Muggles he despised, who had town apart his family and left him with no-one. “What I need you to do for tonight, it let me look after you.” Albus carefully directed him over to a chair in the corner beside a work bench that was in organised chaos. There was piles of books and scribbled notes everywhere. A spilled ink pot in the corner had leaked onto one of the many quills scattered there. Most were brown and white feathers, although two levitated beside the small cauldron that was bubbling away. One was a deep pink, the other a rich red and gold that shimmered in the candlelight. Bottles lined the shelves above the bench, a mixture of potions and ingredients from all around the world. “Hmm now let me take a look at you.” Albus ran his eyes over Harry now that he was in much better light. The cut above his forehead was still bleeding and would need tending to, although it was the blood staining Harrys lips that captured his attention. He found himself reaching out, brushing his index finger against the droplets and smeared them across the boys lower lip. It shouldn’t look quite as becoming as it did against his pale skin and Albus found himself staring before he came to his senses and took a step back to gather himself.

In that moment, Harry wanted so desperately to melt into Dumbledore’s embrace and pretend that nothing mattered beyond those steady arms, those graceful hands caressing him with such extraordinary tenderness that his eyes pricked with further tears, and he was unable to keep them at bay until there were no more tears left for him to shed.

His eyes fluttering closed once more, Harry focused on the slow rise and fall of Dumbledore’s chest against his features, and it didn’t take long for the world surrounding them to fade into blissful nothingness.

He couldn’t hold back a small sob of relief when Dumbledore reassured him that he didn’t hate him, that it was unlikely he ever would.

More than anything, he wanted to believe him.

In fact, it was as though every remaining ounce of his sanity depended on it, for he had already lost everything else he had ever trusted in his life.

Before Harry was able to utter a weak protest at least to appease his conscience when Dumbledore revealed his intentions for him, Dumbledore was already steering him towards a chair and gently pushing him into it, and stripped of his ability to safely navigate his new surroundings while walking backwards, Harry allowed himself to be guided like a docile puppet.

Dazed and weary, Harry wondered whether Dumbledore had vanished his tongue or cast another powerful spell upon him so as to silence his daft rambling.

Only when Dumbledore proceeded to fix him with his intense blue eyes and brushed his finger along the curve of his bottom lip did it occur to Harry that he must have stopped breathing.

“Si-Sir?” he stammered out, gasping as he felt his cheeks heat up once more, as he realized that he was trembling like a leaf in the wind.

Trying in vain to swallow the heavy lump in his throat, Harry instantly berated himself for having allowed his mind to wander in all the wrong places.

How stupid could he have been to feel like he was anything but a student to Dumbledore, anything but a boy barely of age to this younger Dumbledore who hadn’t even known him for a single day at that point?

And up until that day, he had never once regarded Dumbledore as anything but a wise mentor figure, a man he loved like an older family member.

Was he suffering a concussion he was only growing aware of?

Perhaps that explained why he was struggling to form a coherent sentence now.

His heart, however, was still hammering in his chest with the ferocity of a thunderstorm, as though it had made it its goal to expose him as a pathetic idiot and an even more pathetic liar.

[cursed-and-chosen]

Of Hollow Victories

regretismyconstantcompanion​:

Albus felt frozen as Harry sobbed almost uncontrollably before him as his heart broke all over again for the boy he loved as a son. How could he ever have expected things to end any other way in a world where Harry survived? It was a victory for everyone else and yet, it took it’s toll on the victor. Unfortunately this was something Albus had far too much experience in.

He gasped when Harry touched him, for he had not anticipated he would have a corporal form. He wasn’t quite a ghost but he was more than a mere memory too.

“Oh my dear boy. I’m not going anywhere Harry.” He instantly reached for the boys hand and held it firmly in his grasp. “I’d never want to leave you.”

That much was entirely true, even if he had made the choice to do just that. In the middle of a war, one where he had made too many mistakes including the one that would eventually go onto cost him his life. Perhaps he could have been saved, perhaps he couldn’t have. He would never know for certain.

He had wondered often if Gellert might have been capable to conjuring up something to undo the dark magic but he’d never quite had the gall to approach Nurmengard to ask. Instead, he had paced in his office, night after night, devising a plan that would move the efforts of the war forward. His own murder. He hadn’t feared death but he had feared leaving the ones he cared about behind. One in particular.

“I’d have died to protect you Harry, to spare you, if I thought that would have been enough.” His death had bought them time and ensured Snape was completely trusted by Tom and those closest to him. It hadn’t been the thing to win the war but it had brought them all several steps closer.

“I wanted to tell you but I couldn’t. I couldn’t place that burden on your shoulders, when I’d already put so much upon you.” Albus knew just what it felt like, to be brought to your knees with the agonising weight of the world upon your shoulders.

The vehement compulsion to please and justify himself around the people he loved was a trait Harry neither questioned nor pondered upon.

It was as natural for him as it was to breathe, hence he yielded to it in most situations without a second thought.

Even before he had learned to utilize words to communicate his needs, emotions, and thoughts and ceased to rely on incoherent babbling, he had already understood on an unconscious level that his aunt and uncle had never regarded him as anything but an undesirable burden.

Although he remembered nothing from his infant days, not even the blissful time he had been granted with his loving parents, the very first lesson the Dursleys had taught him, on the other hand, was firmly rooted in his core: A freak like him had to earn every sliver of affection and kindness he desired, and when he did so, he was never truly entitled to it. And despite being smaller in stature than most of his peers, he was somehow still managing to take up too much space.

Having already closed his eyes and braced himself for a painful fall as well as an even more painful rejection, Harry sobbed in relief when Dumbledore took a firm yet gentle hold of his hand instead.

Whatever false bravado he may have been relying on to downplay his fears and insecurities in the presence of those he had vowed to protect was far beyond his reach, now that his powerful mentor was offering him the apologies and reassurances he hadn’t dared to imagine in his wildest dreams.

“I wish you’d have told me sooner, sir,” Harry choked out, and unable to maintain any façade of strength, he was but a broken boy, lost and terrified of rejection. “I wish you’d told me what you thought of me, how I could’ve made you stay. I thought I knew you, that I’d finally earned your trust. But then, you had Snape kill you, and nothing’s been right ever since! They were all saying different things about you, arguing with me. With each other. In the end, I was just like them, wasn’t I? I never understood a single important thing about you. I can’t even see you clearly now.”

The laugh escaping his throat was a wretched, broken sound.

“Of course, you never trusted me; you’d have been an idiot if you had.”

It had to be his fault, too, that Dumbledore’s features had yet to become discernible for him.

[cursed-and-chosen]

Falling Through Time

regretismyconstantcompanion​:

Albus gave a soft smile at Harrys clear display affection and loyalty toward him. He hadn’t expected that, although it certainly made sense from the glimpse he had been given into the boys time.

Albus had never been someone that was particular open, with anyone. Few ever had the opportunity to see behind the facade he put onto the outside world. His brother, although they hadn’t been close in decades now. Gellert, who had come and gone from his life in the cruellest of ways. Had Harry seen the real him, in the future that he was from? It was obvious that their relationship was far deeper then merely teacher and pupil. Had Harry become like the child he had always wanted but knew he could never have?

He mused over Harrys words silently, wondering if he was indeed correct. Of course Gellert would have been watching, ensuring there was no open hostility toward his correspondence. Had he really believed that there would be? They hadn’t spoken for so long, he couldn’t exactly blame Gellert for being wary. The last time they’d met, their wands had been drawn after all.

“There is no need to feel guilt for speaking your mind, Harry.” Albus had grown up being taught how important it was to keep secrets. While it had become a way of life for him now, he wasn’t sure it was the best way to live. It was just the only way he knew how to anymore.

“Gellert and I have a very, long and complicated history. You’re correct, we have not written for quite some time and unfortunately the last time we saw one another, we parted on poor terms.” Not that Albus had had any choice in their parting. He would have done anything to prevent it from occurring but Gellert had run from him in the Hollow and never returned.

Albus laughed at Harrys assessment, amused at the thought of the boy calling Gellert a git to his face. He couldn’t entirely disagree with him, for although his husband wasn’t a coward, he could be described as a git for abandoning him without so much as a note.

“Yes, he might just a hint of a git. Although I don’t recommend you inform him of that fact. He isn’t always as friendly as he was when you met him.” Albus knew Gellert wouldn’t harm the boy, not for something like childish name calling. It wasn’t lost on him that they’d both shared the thought of killing Harry, to protect their own timeline and the world around them.

Harry nodded solemnly at that, suppressing the urge to pry for more details about Dumbledore’s exact relationship with Grindelwald, along with the reason they had parted on bad terms and never contacted one another again until that day.

While he didn’t know how to comfort a wizard as strong and wise and secretive as Dumbledore and he had never been adapt at providing such companionship in the first place, it seemed terrible to him to give up as easily this time.

Having still worried his lower lip between his teeth, Harry lifted his gaze from his hands in immediate response to Dumbledore’s melodious and infectious laughter.

His features lit up in their entirety as found himself laughing along with his mentor until his sides were sore.

Although Harry did indeed feel vindicated to hear Dumbledore agree with his assessment of Gellert Grindelwald, the sheer relief to see Dumbledore like this effortlessly outshone the other, not so noble sentiments Dumbledore would surely disapprove of.

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir,” Harry replied, then added boldly, “Reckon I should warn you, though., that I haven’t got the best track record at being nice and civil around dark wizards. So, all I can promise you is to make an effort at least. But only if he’s not being a git to you again.”

The grin Harry proceeded to flash Dumbledore at that was cheeky and boyish, almost.

He was too horrible a liar to feign emotions other than confidence in tense situations. And yet, the moment he now shared with this younger Dumbledore was anything but tense. For the first time since his arrival in the past, Harry’s heart was light as a feather and full of hope.

As he dug into his meal, careful not to be noisy as he ate or get any crumbs of food all over the bed Dumbledore had transfigured for him, it was all but easy to forget about the various threats lurking outside that cozy room, about the grim circumstances of his accidental time-travel.

He didn’t even notice that the scrutinizing eyes of the crow had been following his every movement from the moment Harry had described his master as a ‘git’ and ‘coward’.

It wasn’t until the crow ruffled his shiny, jet-black feathers and produced a sound perplexingly similar to that of a human clearing their throat that did Harry look up from his plate at last and shoot a nasty glare back at Grindelwald’s vicious familiar.

“What’s that crow still doing here?” Harry blurted out, only now realizing that he must have slept through a good part of Grindelwald’s ‘visit’.

Curious by nature, he found himself itching to know on what terms Dumbledore and Grindelwald had parted this time.

[cursed-and-chosen]

The Tainted Martyr

regretismyconstantcompanion​:​:

Albus could feel the gut wrenching sobs that were tearing through Harrys body and the crack in his voice as he forced the words out, clearly needing to express his own pain and guilt. How long had it been since he had been permitted to show such emotion to anyone? Had the Dumbledore of his world been the only one to ever see the boy in this state? There was no joy in being a martyr and certainly there was no thanks from anyone either.

“My dear boy. I was not expecting anything from you. I'am not the same Dumbledore that you knew.” While he did want to bring comfort to the Harry, he was aware that he could not replace his counterpart. He already suspected that they were vastly different, if only for the fact that he never would have entrusted a child with such an important and dangerous task of defeating a dark wizard. Harry might not be quite a child now but he certainly had been years earlier.

“Surviving is not a failure Harry and you should never apologise for it. Sometimes it’s the last defence we have and the last stand we can take.” Albus himself had come close to dying many times, mostly by his own hand. He could understand only too well, longing for a death he felt might never arrive. It was a peaceful thought, where the torment and nightmares might finally come to an end. Perhaps one day but today wasn’t that day for him and he was going to make sure that it wasn’t for Harry either. “There is little honourable in dying while the fight rages on.”

“I can say with great certainty that even if you had died according to any plan my counterpart might have devised, there was still no guarantee that this Voldemort would be dead or anyone could have been saved.” Albus held him close, still stroking his hair in the hope of easing the tremors through his body. “That’s not how life works. You could have died and Voldemort still lived. In my experience dark wizards are very slow to die.”

“Do you truly believe that the Dumbledore of your world wouldn’t have offered you comfort if he was given the opportunity?” Albus couldn’t believe that, that his counterpart could have been so cold to the boy currently sobbing in his arms. If Harry was this fond of that Dumbledore, then he was sure the feelings were mutual, even if he had been prepared to sacrifice the boy. Casualties were an unfortunate outcome of war, not everyone could be saved every time. Perhaps this boy should have died but he doubted that would have been been the ’magic cure’ Harry here was clearly assuming it would have been.

“I dare say that there is a reason that you’re still alive and while I don’t want to presume too much, perhaps you were meant to come here and find me.” Albus didn’t believe in fate, he rather focused on creating ones own destiny. But he couldn’t ignore the dreams that had been plaguing him for so long, which is why he created the portkey across universes in the first place.

Harry gasped. His eyes were wide and haunted, his parted lips stained with crimson droplets of the blood he had drawn moments before.

The pounding of his head was merciless and only added to his struggle to process Dumbledore’s words, to determine whether he could accept them as the truth when it would be so easy, so comforting to let them wash away the guilt threatening to suffocate him without granting him the relief of a swift and painless death.

He winced at the unambiguous clarification that the Dumbledore before him and his mentor weren’t one and the same, at his deplorable failure to convince himself that he didn’t need Dumbledore to be right despite how undeserving he was of such comfort.

And yet, was it not equally cruel of him to question Dumbledore’s assessment of his counterpart by not-entirely-indirectly accusing him of a harshness he had never once directed at him during the six years Harry had been granted with him?

Despite having been the only wizard Voldemort had truly feared, the Dumbledore Harry had known had always been so quick to discourage his admirers from placing him on a pedestal and offer words of reassurance and guidance to those who needed them.

Harry wanted – needed – to voice another reason he deserved to suffer for his mistakes, but upon being pulled into an embrace so tight and warm and reassuring, he no longer had the strength to maintain the noble convictions he so often used to justify his existence.

“I’ll do anything you need me to do,” he blurted out, “Anything to make your theories true. I just... Idon’t want you to hate me. I couldn’t bear it if you did.”

Although his voice was muffled by the soft fabric of Dumbledore’s attire, the desperation he was driven by was just as easy to detect.”

[cursed-and-chosen]

Of Hollow Victories

regretismyconstantcompanion​:

Albus didn’t know how much time had passed since he had last seen Harry at Kings Cross station. Days, months, years. Time held no meaning here. There was no mornings and no evenings. No clocks. No timetables or ringing of a school bell or planned speeches to announce the coming or ending of another school term. There was nothing to suggest that days were passing and yet Albus knew they must be. He had had little company since then. He had briefly met with some of the fallen in the Battle of Hogwarts. Remus and Tonks, Fred Weasley. Colin Creevy. Unlike Harry’s imagined station, they had each brought him to different rooms of Hogwarts. Fred had chosen the Great Hall. Remus and Tonks had shown him the Grand Staircase. Colin had seen the Gryffindor Dorm Room. His heart had broken for them all as he helped them cross over into the arms of friends and family that had been waiting for them. He had failed each and every one of them and so many others too. He should have protected them. He should have been the one standing between Voldemort and his beloved Hogwarts and all of those inside. He would always fear he had taken the cowards way out, abandoning those he cared for the most. But the battle had been won. Voldemort was dead and Harry lived. That had brought a smile to Albus’ face for the first time for as long as he could remember. Harry was the closest thing he had ever had to the child he had so desperately longed for. Severus had accused him of raising the boy for slaughter. Perhaps he had, just as the God so many Muggles prayed, so that the entire world could be saved. As much as Albus would have done anything to protect Harry and did - even giving his own life in his final attempt - how could he sacrifice the entire world for one boy, no matter how much he loved him? As much as he desperately wanted to be selfish, just once in his life, how could he when the entire world hung in the balance? But Harry had lived and he hoped to Merlin that he would live in a long and happy life now, with perhaps a family of his own. Albus secretly hoped the boy would return to Hogwarts, perhaps become a member of the faculty after graduation. The castle was home to so many of them, even in death they saw the school as their safe haven. Perhaps that was why he roamed the hallways of an empty Hogwarts, his own limbo where he was unable to move on from. He didn’t understand why he now saw himself as a much younger man, in his thirties or early forties. He had managed to create his own quarters, similar of those he had had in life. They were quite, discerningly so. But it was home, at last for now. He missed his beloved Fawkes but he was grateful his Phoenix still lived. Dumbledore. Why didn’t you teach me before you left me behind? “Harry?” Albus was on his feet immediately, searching for the voice. His stomach dropped. No! Surely not. Harry could not be lost, not with Voldemort gone. The room was filling with a strange thick white mist and Albus fought his way through, trying to find him. “Harry? Harry?” Albus felt panicked, running down the hallway in a blind panic. He could almost feel the boys pain and distress. What had happened? “Harry!” The hallway melted away and suddenly he was standing beside the Black Lake, feeling slightly wobbly on his feet. Why was he here? He glanced back over his shoulder, seeing Hogwarts in the distance. But it wasn’t his Hogwarts. There were new towers, new buildings and fences. Where was he? He turned back to look at the Black Lake, wondering if he had finally been allowed to leave his solitary limbo when a gasp fell from his lips as he saw who was sitting by the edge. “Harry?” he whispered, tears welling in his eyes.

For a moment, Harry was tempted to believe that time had halted in its relentless forward march in an act of compassion for a young wizard who was lost and tired to the bones. And as a human figure emerged from the blinding light, even the small ripples on the lake’s surface seemed as though they had been frozen mid-motion, and Harry heard neither the wind nor his own rapid heartbeat.

He couldn’t trust himself not to do something selfish and reckless if his mother was the one he had inadvertently summoned from her final resting place, not when the siren song beckoning him to join her and the others already waiting for him on the other side was ever-present in his dreams and his reality.

If he swam away from the shore, far enough for his limbs to grow heavy and useless, the creatures dwelling in the Black Lake’s depth would surely drag him beneath the surface and foil any efforts on his part to obey his conscience as he had done for the majority of his life.

How long would it take for him to drown and free himself of the pain of surviving?

Would Ron and Hermione resent him as he had resented Dumbledore?

Trying to blink away his tears in vain, Harry braced himself for the agony of walking away from the happiness that only existed in his memories and dreams these days. He couldn’t abandon the two people who had been at his side from the beginning until the end, who were at the very center of so many memories he regarded as sacred.

And yet, as Harry picked up on that soothing, familiar voice, the sob that escaped him was one of anguish as much as it was one of relief.

“You wouldn’t encourage me to let the creatures living here drown me,” he blurted out, now forced to remove his glasses to wipe at the tears that wouldn’t ebb. “You’re the only one who wouldn’t let me do that, the only one I’d actually listen to. I thought I accidentally summoned my mum! I couldn’t ... I couldn’t have brought myself to say goodbye to her.”

Hugging his knees closer to him, Harry was frustrated and utterly distraught to notice that, no matter how much he squinted and rubbed at his fogged glasses, his former mentor’s body and features were still blurred, as though Dumbledore had yet to fully materialize before him.

Would he leave him behind again without giving him the words of wisdom and reassurance Harry so desperately needed?

Climbing to his feet, he reached for Dumbledore even though he was certain that his hand would pass through him and he would fall to the ground once more.

“Don’t leave me, please!” he pleaded. “Not yet!”

[cursed-and-chosen]

The Tainted Martyr

regretismyconstantcompanion​:

Albus could barely take his eyes off Harry, watching the reactions to his touch. The soft fluttering of his eyelids, the soft gasp and whines falling from his lips. He was quite a pretty thing, beneath the blood and dirt. He had lovely eyes, quite expressive. He almost regretted interrupting the moment that had been settling between them.

However the boys next words made him take pause. Hogwarts had fallen? It was hard to imagine such a long standing institution, the centre of the UK’s Wizarding World falling and to a dark wizard. Surely there must have been someone capable of stopping him? Of course, the Albus of their world was dead and apparently had left a group of children in charge. Had he really been the only one keeping the dark lord and his followers from gaining the power they were clearly so desperately seeking? If so, why had he ever allowed himself to be killed?

The boy was a Horcrux? That was certainly a problem. If he maintained his connection with this Voldemort, it could lead this dark wizard to their world. They would not be ready for such an attack and it could put everything, everyone at risk. He briefly considered if it might be best to kill the boy before him, before his connection to Voldemort could put anyone else at risk. It would certainly be easy enough, his wand was within reach and even if it wasn’t, it would be easy enough to snap his neck. Harry wouldn’t even have time to realise what was happening before it was too late. But he quickly decided against that. He knew his counterpart would likely be displeased if he killed his chosen martyr. Besides, he still needed information from him and as a Horcrux, he could certainly still be useful to him. If Voldemort did find his way here, he would deal with him.

“I'am sorry that my counterpart left you and your friends in such a position.” No doubt all of his friends were all the same age, little more than children when they had been sent on a mission that clearly was well beyond their capability. Not that he would be so unkind to point that out. It was obvious just how much this boy was lost and feeling a deep-seated guilt for what he viewed as failures. “You were right to let Hogwarts fall and protect yourselves. People are always far more valuable than any buildings or institutions. They can always be rebuilt. We cannot replace people.” Albus stroke Harrys hair gently, wondering what the Albus of the other world might do to comfort him. “I have no doubt that the Albus of your world would have wanted you alive and safe, first and foremost.”

As he forced himself to look Dumbledore in the eyes and accept any punishment, figurative or literal, Dumbledore deemed suitable after Harry had failed his counterpart as well as all the other people who had ever placed their trust in him, he wondered how it would feel to have his selfish fears turn into reality the very instant Dumbledore verbalized his disappointment and disapproval.

Would it be a relief, like ripping off a band-aid and recognizing that the pain he feared was worse than the actual pain such actions resulted in, or would it be like having his heart yanked out of his chest and going mad from the sheer agony of it?

Deep down, you know that you deserve to be punished. Don't you, Mr Potter?

Umbridge had been right. Although he had despised her with every fiber of his being, his experiences over the years had eroded any doubts he may have had about the accuracy of her assessment.

Would she have predicted that the gentle reassurances Dumbledore was so swift to offer would torment him as much as the harsh scolding he deserved?

Had he not reacted as quickly and bitten down on his bottom lip sharply enough to draw blood,  he would have been powerless to contain the plethora of anguished sounds building up in his throat.

“I- I know I don’t deserve this.” He forced himself to speak despite the tremors in his voice. “You being kind to me, comforting me even though I failed. The Professor Dumbledore I knew- he needed me to die, so everyone else would live. He needed Voldemort to kill me with his own magic.”

Before, Harry had resented Dumbledore for planning his death as meticulously as he had prepared his own, for treating him like a pawn despite how kind he had been to Harry for so many years.

Now, he despised himself for being so blind to the compassion Dumbledore had been showing him by shielding him from the crushing burden of crafting such plans all by himself.

Overcome by the poignancy of the truth he had been running from for so long especially as Dumbledore caressed him with such tenderness, Harry choked out, “Because I’m still alive, they’re all dead. Because I couldn’t get him to kill me, they all died for nothing. I’m sorry, sir... I’m-I’m so sorry I didn’t die. It’s the only thing you were expecting from me.”

[cursed-and-chosen]

Of Hollow Victories

@regretismyconstantcompanion

With every additional day after he had returned to Hogwarts to complete the final year of his studies, Harry James Potter found it more and more difficult to hold back the numerous acerbic remarks demanding to be verbalized and to remain steadfast in the face of the sinister thoughts and impulses festering in his core.

Most of the students had suffered greatly during the bleak days of Voldemort’s tyranny and too many people had died in the Battle of Hogwarts alone.

And yet, despite the sympathy and compassion his bleeding heart still held for all of them, Harry couldn’t stomach being around them as they tried to make themselves believe that everything was fine, now that the Chosen One had emerged triumphant.

Did even a single one of them care how this was making him feel? Did it ever occur to them that he had never offered to carry the crushing weight of those illusions on his weary back?

Would they blame him if he shattered and their delicate castle of glass collapsed along with him?

Giving each small stone in his path a spiteful kick as he marched towards the Black Lake and away from the crowded castle, Harry wondered how much time he was being granted until he had to go back to the others and stop being selfish.

Deep down, he knew that they deserved a savior better than him, someone capable of giving them what they needed. It was why he resented himself for being selfish and weak just like he resented everyone else.

How had Dumbledore managed to be strong and composed for so many years? Why hadn’t he taught him before he had left him behind?

Bitter tears pricked Harry’s eyes as it occurred to him how lost he was, how there was no one left who could possibly understand the nature of his turmoil.

He only realized that his right hand must have moved on its own volition upon feeling something cool and solid in his palm, hence when he withdrew his hand from his pocket and gazed at the Resurrection Stone, the frown now marring his face was one of genuine bemusement.

Hadn’t he lost the Stone somewhere in the forest?

A startled gasp escaped Harry’s lips when suddenly, the ancient artifact began to emit a faint glow.

[cursed-and-chosen]

Falling Through Time

regretismyconstantcompanion​:

“It was a tragedy to lose Myrtle.” It would have been a tragedy to lose any student but Albus’ stomach churned at the memory. He could still picture her body when she’d been discovered. It had brought flashbacks of Arianas body on the living room floor.

Myrtle had been a sweet girl, relatively quite unless she felt like being dramatic. He had enjoyed having her in his classes. He wondered if other students would die in their reality, although he knew he would do everything he could to protect any student who might be at risk as well.

Expelling Tom wasn’t the answer. It was best that the boy remain here so that he could keep an eye on him. Harry had mentioned he was the only one who could keep Tom in check while he had still been at Hogwarts, which was reassuring at least. If he had Gellert with him and Harry who could provide them with some further information, it might just be enough to stop Riddle from the path of total destruction of himself and who knew who else he might take down with him.

Albus was taken back by the question about Gellert. So few people knew about his relationship with Gellert - no one really except Aberforth whom he rarely spoke to anymore - so he hadn’t been ready for such an invasive query. Not that he could entirely blame the boy, given what he had witnessed only shortly after arriving here. He silently and gently admonished Gellert for kissing him in front of their time traveller, although he couldn’t have honestly said he minded.

Did he love Gellert? Of course, he had never stopped loving him since they’d met that summer despite all the years they had spent apart. The vows he had spoken remained true, at least they did for him. He had never once considered breaking them, even though the loneliness was almost unbearable at times. But he knew that he was Gellerts and Gellerts alone, even if they were perhaps destined never to truly be together again.

Albus had long wondered if love was his own strength or weakness. He always felt like he loved too much, when others emotions seemed to pale in comparison. Perhaps his love was poisonous. He’d never loved without causing harm and he’d lost everyone he had ever truly cared about. His parents. Ariana. Aberforth. Gellert. His actions that night had cost him the three people he loved more than anything, all in one foul swoop. He was no fit person to love anyone. Had his love and care for the boy before him in the future also turned poisonous?

“No, Gellert is not using my love for him against me.” Albus was touched by the boys concern and he couldn’t help but wonder more about his older self and the friendship he had with the boy before him. “He and I haven’t seen each other for quite sometime before today. If anything, I would think my love for Gellert is more likely to keep him away.” The last sentence was more in musing to himself. He knew Gellert viewed emotional entanglements as a risk, a potential distraction from his goals. How long would it be before Gellert left him behind once more?

In a way, Dumbledore’s pensive response was worse than the justified scolding Harry had been expecting with such certainty.

Unlike before, the words struck him as truthful enough despite the elusiveness characteristic both for the Dumbledore and the wizard before him still being present. For the first time, he wondered whether some of the things Dumbledore wasn’t telling him were simply too painful for him to even put into words, and his heart ached at how quick Dumbledore was to dismiss his own love with no semblance of mercy, at how lonely and sad he seemed despite his calm demeanor.

Had Harry hurt him by reminding him of an excruciating heartbreak neither his friends’ nor his own admittedly sparse romantic experiences could possibly compare to?

As he struggled to find the appropriate words, along with a way for him to make up for his insensitive behavior, guilt and sorrow vied on Harry’s features, his thoughts transparent to anyone looking at him for long enough.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Harry finally said, “I shouldn’t have pried.”

Having attempted in vain to swallow the heavy lump obstructing his throat, he proceeded to instead chew on his bottom lip. It was probably a horrible idea to do the exact opposite of dropping the topic of Grindelwald in its entirety, but it seemed significantly crueler to him not to object to Dumbledore’s assessment.

“Sir- err,” he stammered. “Tell me to stop talking if this is too much, but I think you’re wrong. About Grindelwald minding your love for him, that is. I think he was watching you while you were reading that letter. Probably to find out how you’d react. You didn’t see each other for a long time, right? If you  also didn’t exchange owls, crows or whatever other birds he could’ve used, then maybe he only showed himself because of your reaction. I‘d never seen you like that before, sir, not even in the time I’m from. Grindelwald’s a real git and coward for keeping quiet about that – for letting you be so unfair to yourself.”

[cursed-and-chosen]

The Tainted Martyr

regretismyconstantcompanion​:

Albus watched the boy closely as he dabbed at his eyes. It was clear exhaustion was winning, although he silently noted many other emotions pass across his features. He would suggest the boy - Harry - rest in due course, although he wanted to get a few answers from him before he did. Harry Potter. He briefly wondering if there was any relation to Henry Potter, who was currently serving in the Wizengamot. He had also been a Gryffindor at Hogwarts. Interesting. He decided to keep that to himself for now, no doubt he would have a chance to ask him later. "Well Harry Potter, I’m Albus, although you already know that. And you’re speaking to a fellow Gryffindor, which you likely already know as well.” He was mildly displeased that the boy before him knew more about him than he knew about the boy but he would rectify that soon enough. He didn’t appreciate feeling like he was on the back foot. He ran his eyes over him once more, noting the blood that was still trickling down Harrys forehead and cheek. It looked like a nasty gash that would need tending to before infection set in. He reached out, gently stroking the heated skin there as the blood smeared across his fingers. “You have been through the wars, haven’t you?” Albus’ tone was soft as he looked into Harrys eyes. “I’ll need to tend to the wound before too long, with the way its bleeding.” Albus wandessly floated over a pitcher of water along with a glass and filled it before he floated it to Harry, having little doubt that he would need it. He briefly wondered if he should have offered something stronger, given the state the boy was in. Perhaps later. “Here, have a drink first before you tell me why you had to leave Hogwarts.”

A tired smile flashed across Harry’s features as the younger Dumbledore before him displaying a sense of humor and wit identical to those characteristic for the Dumbledore Harry knew.

The realization brought him comfort, even more so since this Dumbledore, too, had yet to accuse him of lying or overreacting like most of the other adults in his life, and he had yet to use Harry’s young age as an excuse to underestimate him.

The fact that he was willing to hear him out despite how incomprehensible his claims must have sounded even to Dumbledore, too, evoked distant memories of the day Hermione and him had used a time-turner to save Sirius and Buckbeak at the end of their third year – a feat they had been able to accomplish only because Dumbledore had believed them and so readily shared his invaluable expertise whereas the other adults present had brushed off their words as the confused rambling of two frightened children.

Dumbledore had always seen and treated them as individuals rather than a group of adolescents – defined by their lack of maturity and utterly indistinct from one another –  and that had made them all grow fiercely loyal to him and regard him as a wise, dependable leader.

Lost in his memories of a happier past, Harry couldn’t have been more powerless in the face of the sheer impact of Dumbledore’s caress. With his eyes fluttering closed on their own accord and a wistful sigh escaping his parted lips, the sparse remains of his composure vanished into thin air, and Harry neither had the will-power nor strength to at least downplay how much he craved the soothing touch of a person he could trust and be weak around.

Had had pretended to be strong for far too long, and his loved ones had paid the devastating price of using his empty words as an anchor.

Before he could reach for Dumbledore’s hand and hold it in place, however, Dumbledore was already retracting it, and Harry blushed at the soft whine Dumbledore’s actions elicited from him, at  the raw need in his voice.

Clearing his throat and sheepishly averting his gaze, Harry accepted the glass of water and emptied it with a few large gulps.

“Thanks, sir,” he muttered, only barely resisting the urge to duck his head like a schoolboy caught misbehaving.

As Dumbledore’s implied question sank in, he sobered, and his grim reality came crashing down on him once more like ice-cold waves.

Had his features been flushed mere moments before, his complexion now resembled that of the corpses he had buried mere days in the past.

“My friends and I,” he began quietly, “we had to stop going to Hogwarts before our seventh year. You’d died only months before, and things got worse rapidly after that. We tried to find and destroy the remaining horcruxes of the dark wizard we were fighting. We thought you’d have wanted us to finish what you’d started. But then, when there was only one more horcrux left, your spy told me that his last horcrux was me. I tried to trick Voldemort – our enemy – into killing me, so he’d be mortal again, but somehow, he could tell. All our plans fell apart after that, and we couldn’t protect Hogwarts for much longer either.”

Harry wondered whether the Dumbledore before him detested him now that he knew how much he had failed the older Dumbledore.

Although he feared his rejection, he wouldn’t blame him for regarding him with disappointment and disgust from that moment.

[cursed-and-chosen]

The Tainted Martyr

regretismyconstantcompanion​:

Albus made no attempt to push the boy away. He was still shaking, sobbing into his shoulder and he silently allowed the open showing of emotion, even if it was something that he personally found extremely discomforting.

Still, he rubbed the boys back gently in calming circles, holding back the tirade of questions he had for him. He’d never be able to answer with the way he was still sniffling, almost gasping for air. Wherever had his Portkey spell plucked this boy him? Clearly it was as dark and dismal as his dreams had been showing him.

He had been fighting a dark wizard with this boy? Why? He must be incredibly powerful if he had chosen him to help him. Interesting. And Hogwarts! He knew it! That’s why he had been seeing the castle in his dreams. He would have known those hallways anywhere. In the boys world, he was the Headmaster! That thought amused him, for he never would have seriously considered undertaking such a position. Although Dippet had asked a few times if he would be interested in teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts, Albus had always been quick to refuse and …..wait. He sacrificed himself? He was dead? Well that was most unsatisfactory.

“Well, I can’t imagine if I was determined to do something that you could have done much to stop me. I’m quite stubborn once I’ve made up my mind.” Albus shrugged slightly as he removed a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to him before he gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You didn’t tell me your name.”

Harry couldn't recall the last time he had cried as he was crying in that moment — freely and with no semblance of shame and moderation — and when Dumbledore began to comfort him with soothing touches instead of pushing him away, he powerlessly succumbed to the urge to close his eyes and pretend that he was safe, that Dumbledore would protect him as well as every single one of his loved ones and shield them from further pain by undoing Harry's failures and mistakes.

Regardless of the doubts that had been gnawing at him after the publication of Rita Skeeter's book and his conversations with Aberforth Dumbledore, the steady beating of his mentor's heart, and the warmth emanating from his skin that was no longer brittle and ashen like ancient parchment eradicated Harry's ability itself to question Dumbledore's strength and wisdom.

Even Voldemort had been scared of him from his student years, and none of Rita Skeeter's claims about an immoral friendship with dark wizard had prevented Dumbledore from defeating Gellert Grindelwald nor from reminding Voldemort of the reasons every ounce of his fear of him was justified during their battle at the Ministry.

Upon hearing Dumbledore speak to him with mischievous confidence, Harry couldn't prevent a sound from escaping him that was a sob and an amused chuckle in equal parts.

 "You're definitely right about that, sir," Harry was happy to concede, accepting Dumbledore's handkerchief and drying his eyes, and exhaustion, relief, and unconditional affection were vying on his features. 

"Errr, my name's Harry Potter," he then introduced himself at last, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. "I was a Gryffindor before I had to leave Hogwarts."

[cursed-and-chosen]

The Tainted Martyr

regretismyconstantcompanion​:

Albus knew he should have gone to bed hours ago but there was something that was calling him here tonight. He had been working on this for months, almost a year now and he just knew that he was somehow reaching a precipice. Perhaps tonight would be the night that he finally made a break through. It had started as dreams. Glimpses of a world that was much like his own but different. It was like gazing into a broken mirror with shards distorting the image. At first he had simply thought these were nightmares, different to the ones he was used to certainly but just as unwelcome. But then they had started to haunt him in his waking hours too. Visions of a world, a darker world. He’d never been able to make out faces, they’d always been shrouded in heavy mist but he’d seen a snake and skulls in clouds. And screaming. There was always screaming. He knew he hadn’t suddenly become a Seer. No, he was seeing glances into another world. He’d become sure of it. Another timeline that perhaps ran parallel to their own in some fashion. He knew others would likely think he had gone mad, which is why he had been keeping these experiments completely to himself. Not that there was anyone he could bring himself to truly trust with something so delicate. So he had started to work on Portkeys, sure that if there was an alternative universe, there must also be a way to travel or at the very least communicate with them. He didn’t want to travel to this other world, too many things he could go wrong. No, he needed to find a way for someone from there to come to him. They would be much more disposable if he couldn’t send them back after all. Most recently, he had seen mirror images of a building, rather a castle that he knew intimately. Hogwarts. A different Hogwarts, but he would know those corridors anywhere. So that was where he had set up the Portkeys. Dozens of them, creating a corridor using magic that was capable of fragmenting time. Spells of his own invention, using magic from time turners as their base. Albus glanced at the clock beside him. He had been hovering over these portkeys for hours and he wondered if he had been wrong. That perhaps tonight wasn’t different to any other night and he would be better to get some sleep and start again in the morning. But then suddenly, the boot started to shake and Albus’ eyes widened, wand immediately in hand. “I knew it. I knew it.” he announced to the empty room. There was a flash of light and suddenly a boy appeared on the floor of his workroom, sprawled on the floor and looking half dead with blood splattered across his face. Silence settled in the room and he took a step closer, wondering if he had accidentally killed his young time traveller, if that’s indeed what he was. Disappointing as that would be, unfortunately experiments did result in causalities and he doubted he would lose much sleep over it. However Albus was absolutely stunned as the boy scrambled to his feet, caught somewhere between joy and hysteria as he threw himself into Albus’ arms. The force made him take a step back but he caught him, more out of surprise than genuine want. Whatever he had been expecting, it hadn’t been this even despite the darkness he had seen. But with how the boy was sobbing, even Albus couldn’t bring himself to push the boy away just yet. “Who in Merlins Beard are you?” He glanced down at the dark mop of curls, feeling how the boy was shaking as he continued to sob.

Harry paid no mind to any possible consequences as he clung to this younger Dumbledore like a drowning man would cling to the single raft capable of sparing him from a slow and excruciating death, sobbing into his robes like a helpless child.

And perhaps, he had always been just that – a powerless child pretending to be stronger and more knowledgeable for the sole purpose of maintaining the illusion of hope the other survivors of Voldemort’s relentless assault so desperately required.

Had Harry been aware of this deception? Of how all it would ever be capable of was to delay the inevitable?

The blood trickling down his face felt like acid and pus, a tangible reminder of his unforgivable mistakes.

When it occurred to him at last to question Dumbledore’s presence, he wondered whether he had died, whether he was to atone for his failures and his sins in Purgatory, the frightful place the Dursleys had often told him about so as to punish him for existing.

But why was Dumbledore there as well? Had the potion he had drunk in the cave doomed him to the same fate?

Harry tensed, dread creeping up inside him, and had it not been for Dumbledore’s question, his thoughts would have spiraled further beyond his control.

“You- err, you don’t yet know me, sir,” he stammered, wincing at the hoarseness of his voice, “but I know you. An older you. I haven’t got a clue where I am, but where I’m from, you were my Headmaster at Hogwarts. We were fighting a dark wizard together, and you sacrificed yourself. I’m sorry-” he broke off, unable to keep another sob from escaping him. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop you. I’m sorry I couldn’t finish what you started.”

[cursed-and-chosen]

Falling Through Time

regretismyconstantcompanion​:

Albus listened silently as Harry blurted out everything that he had clearly been keeping bottled up. He was sure his heart broke, thinking not only of the poor Hufflepuff boy who had died - Cedric - so unnecessarily but of all the obvious pain and trauma Harry himself was feeling. He had always known that Tom Riddle was a threat. Somehow he had sensed it upon meeting him that very first day in the orphanage. His concerns had only grown the longer he had taught and watched him. He knew it was Tom that had unlocked the Chamber of Secrets but he had never been able to prove his suspicions. But even will all of his concerns, he never would have suspected that he would be capable of such horrific crimes and murder - of children no less. He could hear the tremor in Harry’s voice and he knew if he chose to speak now, there would be a matching one. They had to do something. They couldn’t allow the future to play out as Harry had lived it and yet, changing the past - his own reality - could have significant consequences. He could result in Harry never even being born and who knew what else it might change? “Tom has always had kept an obsession with death and his own mortality. It’s something that has concerned me for awhile, but unfortunately I haven’t been able to prove for suspicions. Even if I could, I’m not entirely sure that expulsion from Hogwarts alone is going to help the future as you’ve described it.” Albus knew reporting the boy to the Ministry was useless. Even if they banned him from using magic, that wasn’t going to stop Tom. No, they needed a powerful force to stop him and he wondered if he and Gellert would be enough or if they’d need something else too. His mind drifted briefly to Gellert. He almost hated how he was already missing him. They’d been apart for so long and Albus wondered just how long he might be gifted with Gellert in his life once more. He wasn’t confident their reunion was permanent but perhaps love might be enough to bring them back together. “Love is one of the greatest gifts we have Harry but it also has a way of making us weak and vulnerable and sometimes more powerful than we ever thought possible. And I don’t just mean magically.” He mused. “Tom wouldn’t want to ever admit having any weaknesses and he would view any emotion he couldn’t control as just that - a weakness.”

Harry listened to Dumbledore’s words with rapt attention, once again finding comfort in the wisdom of the greatest wizard he had ever met.

Dumbledore’s impeccable assessment of the situation at hand served as a further reminder to Harry of how Dumbledore alone had recognized Tom Riddle as the culprit behind the Petrification of innocent Muggle-borns as well as Myrtle Warren’s murder whereas everyone else, Hogwarts’s previous Headmaster included, had been blinded by Tom Riddle’s charm.

He took a couple of slow breaths, no longer struggling to relax quite as much.

But then, Dumbledore voiced his thoughts on love, and Harry stared at him in complete bafflement.

After all, Dumbledore’s older self had never described love as anything but a strength, a potent force capable of vanquishing even powerful dark wizards like Voldemort.

Had his feelings been different in his youth? Was it only a matter of time until they would morph into those of the Dumbledore from Harry’s time?

More importantly, was the love Dumbledore so clearly held for Gellert Grindelwald a weakness or was it capable of becoming his strength as well?

Lost in his struggle to determine whether he needed to ensure that this Dumbledore would draw the same conclusions as his future self, Harry gave an abrupt start at the loud growling of his stomach reminding him of how famished he truly was.

“Sorry, sir,” he said sheepishly, ducking his head in shame. “I- err- can I eat while we discuss what we know about Voldemort?”

The savory smell of the dishes Dumbledore had compiled for him made his mouth water, to the point it was nothing short of torturous to refrain from gorging himself on the decadent meal still hovering close.

Even so, he forced himself to return his focus to their conversation, and added, “You’re probably right that it’s a bad idea to just expel Tom Riddle. In the future, you’re the only one who could ever keep him in check. You kept a close eye on him as his Professor, and I reckon that’s the only reason he didn’t do worse in his student days. Also, it’s obvious that he loved Hogwarts a great deal. He was really upset when Professor Dippet told him Hogwarts might get closed for good after he killed Myrtle Warren.”

And he couldn’t refrain from blurting out, “It was you who told me love’s the strongest magic that exists when I was a first-year. You never said it could also be a weakness, though. What makes you think that now? Do you love Grindelwald? Is he using that against you?”

Fearing that he had just trampled on every single one of Dumbledore’s boundaries, Harry couldn’t bring himself to meet his gaze.

[cursed-and-chosen]

The Tainted Martyr

@regretismyconstantcompanion

Adrenaline was burning in his veins when Harry took a firm hold of the hidden Portkey that would transport him to the next safe house, away from the periculous skirmish that had almost cost him his life.

Even now, Bellatrix Lestrange’s triumphant laughter reverberated in his ears along with his own clamoring heartbeat, and wherever he looked, his surroundings were dyed in a vibrant shade of crimson as a rivulet of blood trickled down his forehead and into his eyes.

Had not been for the numbness still shielding him from the full impact of the injuries he had sustained, then surely, the incessant pulsing of the incision atop his lightning bolt scar would have long brought him to his knees.

Hogwarts had fallen despite the Order’s valiant efforts, and with their final stronghold against Voldemort having been reduced to dilapidated ruins, victory seemed unattainable.

And Harry’s devastating failure had stripped him of any right to remain in the company of the surviving members of a crushed resistance.

It only occurred to him that his knees must have given in at some point during his fast travel when his eyes fluttered open and he found himself gazing at the high ceiling of an unfamiliar room.

Wanting nothing more than to join his fallen friends and comrades, Harry made no effort to examine his surroundings to determine whether he was truly safe and instead lay perfectly still on the cold marble floor.

The emptiness in his chest was threatening to suffocate him and Harry had grown tired of fighting for a life he neither wanted nor deserved.

For that reason, when he registered a flicker of movement at the corner of his vision, Harry didn’t reach for the wand that would never be his and instead willed his shaking arms to rest at his sides in a display of surrender.

But then, a familiar soothing scent entered his nostrils and his head made an involuntary jerk towards its source.

A choked sob escaped his lips as he drank in the features of his mentor, and despite the uncanny youthfulness of Albus Dumbledore’s appearance and his own better judgment, Harry scrambled to his feet and wrapped his arms around the specter before him and allowed his tears to fall freely.

[cursed-and-chosen]

Falling Through Time

regretismyconstantcompanion​:

“I think that makes two of us.” Albus nodded slightly, realising that they both were struggling to understand quite where the other was coming from. Harry had all the knowledge of a future that Albus knew little about while Albus had plenty of information about his own hidden past that perhaps Harry might find helpful to discover a little about. Yes, what did make Gellert so different to the dark wizard that Harry feared so much. Not that he could blame him. Tom Riddle could be quite terrifying when he chose to be and he could only imagine he had become worse as the decades progressed. From the little that Harry had told him, it was clear that Tom was an even bigger threat than he himself had ever imagined. He silently wondered about his future self and his relationship to Harry. No doubt he had wanted to protect the boy, he still had that instinct right now. Where was his future self? Why hadn’t he prevented Harry from travelling here or was his older self scrambling now to find a way to bring him back? He wondered if Harry was just another student to him in the future but he couldn’t quite imagine that. Not given the circumstances that he knew so far. If his future counterpart was anything like he himself was today, he would have wanted to take him under his wing. He had always wanted a child of his own, not that he would ever admit that to anyone. Such a thing wasn’t on the cards for him and he had long accepted that. Students weren’t a substitute for children of your own. “Perhaps we should both try and start at the beginning once more.” Albus suggested, turning to pour himself a fresh cup of tea. He wandlessly floated the teapot over and poured two cups. “Why don’t you tell me more about Tom… Voldemort? Then perhaps I can allay your fears and concerns about Gellert.” He handed him the mug of tea.

Harry released a pent-up breath, his shoulders slouching once more ever-so-slightly. Having already braced himself for Dumbledore’s disappointment, Harry automatically lowered his guard at the complete absence of it in Dumbledore’s words of reassurance.

“Thanks, sir,” Harry mumbled, accepting the mug of tea and further relaxing at the soothing fragrance entering his nostrils. “The Professor Dumbledore of the time I’m from,“ Harry blurted out, ”he always offered me sweets and tea too during stressful discussions. It’s always been easier to have those with him than with my other Professors.”

It was the reason he had always been more honest, more vulnerable around Dumbledore, the reason he admired and trusted him more than any of the other adults at Hogwarts, though it would have been embarrassing to reveal all that as well to a Dumbledore who barely knew him.

He took a few sips from his mug, remembering his conversations with Dumbledore’s older self without being mindful of the fondness and nostalgia now written across his features.

“Voldemort’s selfish and cruel,” Harry finally explained as per Dumbledore’s request. “He’s murdered so many people just because he wants more power and to live forever. When he killed Cedric, err, when he killed the boy from Hufflepuff who was with me when Voldemort returned, he called him a ‘spare’ before he did it. Cedric didn’t even know who he was or what was going on, so Voldemort didn’t even have a real reason for killing him. But he did. Just because Cedric was there too.”

Harry’s green eyes flashed with righteous anger and grief as he so vividly recalled their battle in the graveyard, and all color drained from Harry’s cheeks.

“Even Voldemort’s Death Eaters – well, most of them – are scared of him,” he continued quietly, hoping the tremor in his voice wasn’t as obvious as he feared it was, “but they’re former Slytherins and Pure-Bloods, so of course they’ve been following him anyway. In the year I’m from, you’d already figured out he doesn’t understand love. And that he can’t love either. He’s probably realized love can be a big risk to his plans by now, but that seems to be all he’s learned about love.”

By the time he was telling Dumbledore about Voldemort’s inability to love in such a detailed manner, Harry’s cheeks had taken on a subtle pink tint and he was unable to conceal his embarrassment. 

Before, he had never faced such difficulties, even less so in any conversations with the Dumbledore of his time, yet after the affectionate displays he had witnessed between this younger Dumbledore and Grindelwald, the intimacy between them, Harry could no longer think of love as something quite as abstract in Dumbledore’s presence.