Harry gawked at the bizarre man before him, his eyes wide, his throat dry and tight. He perfunctorily reached up and touched his forehead. He felt woozy. He’d misheard, of course. Except that the bar man’s next words told him otherwise.
“Of course, Albus wasn’t even fully certain that he’d succeeded at removing the soul from you until he received news that the Dark Lord was able to fully return, using your blood. Would have never worked, had it not been taken out all those years prior.”
Harry glanced up, questioning with his eyes, for his voice was nowhere to be found.
“He needed the blood of the one who had originally defeated him, and if his Horcrux had still been lurking in there-” He motioned towards Harry’s chest and then finished, “-your blood would not have been entirely your own.”
Harry recalled the triumphant dance of Dumbledore’s eyes when he had been told about the events in the graveyard. “It…? I…?” He coughed, choking on his parched tongue.
Aberforth watched him in interest for a moment, and then removed a dirty scrap of paper from his cloak. “What else, what else…?” he muttered to himself. Then, “Ah, yes! So, in conclusion, this is why many of the Dark Lord’s own skills were transferred to you. Very dangerous gifts. But, of course, they were probably the very reason that only you were able to defeat him.” The man broke off and studied Harry for a moment. “How did you do it, anyway?”
Harry didn’t know what to say. He felt contaminated and… abominable. A piece of Voldemort’s soul had been floating around inside of him. He clutched at his stomach, thinking he might be sick.
“Merlin’s beard, boy! All right there?”
“So the… the scar… it’s from the Horcrux being removed? Not from the curse?” Harry envisioned the deep crack in Gryffindor’s ring, the way that the locket had shattered…
“Spot on!” chimed Aberforth brightly. “Remarkable, isn’t it?”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me this before now?” asked Harry, and though his insides were roaring, his voice emerged pathetic and quiet.
“It was thought that the information might impair your judgment.”
There was steam coming out of his ears; he just knew it. “No one tells me my own bloody secrets!”
“Don’t berate the messenger,” responded the man tranquilly.
“So why tell me now?” he wanted to know.
Aberforth shrugged. “My brother “ Albus, you know “ intended to tell you these things, in whatever time table he had chosen, but with his unfortunate death, he passed the duty on to me. Had to make notes, remember everything he wanted me to say and whatnot.” He waved the scrap of parchment.
“What else is there?” came Harry’s weary reaction.
“I think we’ve hit all the key points,” said the man, running a finger down the list. “Yes, yes, that should do it.”
Harry let his head fall dejectedly into his arms, which he’d crossed upon the table.
“I’ll leave them with you. The notes.”
Harry didn’t respond.
“You need appeasing. I’ll fetch someone.”
At this, Aberforth was gone.
There were so many thoughts scampering through Harry’s mind that he was unable to hold onto any single one of them. His stomach gurgled in revulsion. His head undulated. Nothing was clear. Except that he had turned out to be more ill-fated than he’d ever known.
Just over a week had passed since Harry’s visit from Professor Dumbledore’s peculiar brother. Sirius, Ron, and Hermione had all been stunned by the revelation of the true origin of Harry’s scar. That is, when he’d finally managed to tell them, many hours after the bar man had departed from Grimmauld Place. Now, though, it was starting to sink in.
There had been a ceremony held for Charlie and Mrs. Weasley before the students had been sent back to Hogwarts. It had been nothing short of emotional torture. Harry had spent the entire service with thoughts of sorrow and overwhelming guilt chasing each other around in his mind. The eulogy had been touching, but there were many things that didn’t get said.
Days later, and Ron was still withdrawn. Harry had become quite preoccupied himself. Hermione had gotten fed up with both of them and spent her time revising in the library. Getting back into a rhythm at Hogwarts had come very easily to all of the returning students. A festive mood wafted through the hallways, and voices rang out clear with sounds of triumph. But Harry was hounded wherever he went. People wanted pictures and autographs, so Harry had taken to wearing the Invisibility Cloak for privacy. A more impressive hero had never been seen in the history of the school, Professor Flitwick had told him on their first day back. Harry had merely sighed in reply.
He sighed aloud now, as well. He had been nauseous ever since he’d found out about his scar, and nothing, so far, had been able to relieve it. He put a hand to his stomach as the twisting staircase elevated him.
He’d been using the phoenix key to enter the Headmistress’s office every single day, hoping to catch Professor Dumbledore in his frame. Up to this point, he had been unsuccessful. However, on this day, when he opened the heavy, oak door, a jovial voice welcomed him.
“Ah, here’s our hero!”
“You know I hate that word.”
“Yes, I do,” smiled the portrait. “That does not make it any less appropriate, however.”
“You’ve been kept informed then?” asked Harry, seating himself in the chair opposite the large desk.
“Indeed. Congratulations are in order, I believe.”
Harry shrugged resentfully.
Dumbledore clicked his tongue in disapproval and said, “What seems to be the problem, Harry?”
He glanced up. “Why did you send your brother to spill all of that stuff on me? It was… horrible.”
“Ah, Aberforth was never very tactful…”
“Why didn’t you do it?”
“I thought, conceivably, that an equitable party delivering the information might make it a bit less… taxing.”
“Well, it didn’t!” grumbled Harry.
“Perhaps it gave you some time to ponder things, to decide which questions needed to be asked of me?” suggested the portrait.
He considered this. Dumbledore was eerily perceptive, as always. There was a long list of questions bouncing about in Harry’s brain. And a long list of things to tell the portrait, as well.
“We got Sirius back,” he said with a grin.
“Did you?” asked Dumbledore, and then thoughtfully, “A Timeturner?”
Harry shook his head.
“An Impetro charm?”
“A what?”
“Ah, must have been an exchange then.”
“Yes,” confirmed Harry. “We traded Wormtail.”
“Oh, dear, such a shame,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head.
Harry choked, “A shame?”
“That silver hand could have proven to be very valuable. And Miss Granger - she was able to obtain the information regarding such dark magic?”
“Luci,” Harry corrected him.
“She was always a resourceful girl… And how is Luci? I understand that she’ll be relocating here. Something to do with you, I presume?”
“She does have a brother here, as well, you know,” disputed Harry.
The portrait gave him a knowing smile.
“Yes,” he admitted, his face flushing.
Dumbledore chuckled. “And a very nice pairing indeed.”
“Not many would agree,” Harry groused.
“Ah, well, love conquers most everything, as you’ve undoubtedly discovered in your recent experience with Lord Voldemort.”
“The odds of it happening twice…” began Harry uncertainly. “He tried to kill me again, and it backfired, again, I guess, because he died and I didn’t. He kept saying, ‘Her eyes,’ and it felt like… like… Well, it bloody hurt.”
“Your mother’s eyes,” nodded Dumbledore.
“Did he… see her or something?”
“The Horcrux that was removed from you, it was created with your mother’s murder. That piece of soul had as much of her in it as it did Voldemort.”
Suddenly, the unclean sensation that Harry had been carrying around these last few days lifted briefly. The soul had partly been his mother’s… He smiled softly at the thought.
“Just as you received qualities from Voldemort “ the ability to speak Parseltongue, the curse of seeing into his mind “ so did you receive qualities from your mother “ the selflessness to sacrifice yourself for those you love, and those altruistic eyes.”
“Sir, if you knew, all those years ago, that Voldemort was making Horcruxes, why didn’t you start looking for them then?”
“Last year, I informed you that no Wizard had ever split his soul into more than two parts. Until you brought me Riddle’s diary, I assumed the same of Lord Voldemort. He had attempted it once, with you, and I had believed that that had been the end of it. I was confounded when it came to my attention that he’d split his soul many more times, that he’d claimed to have gone further than anyone ever had towards immortality. That’s when I realized that there must be many more Horcruxes, and that we had to find them all, to destroy them all. I hinted at Nagini because, due to my experience with you, I knew that a Horcrux could be housed within a living being. A lucky guess, perhaps.”
“More than lucky,” nodded Harry. “Why didn’t you tell me from the beginning about my scar? And if you say ‘for your own good,’ I’m walking out of the room.”
Dumbledore’s mouth curled slightly, and he seemed to be thinking up a better answer for Harry’s question. At last, he replied, “It is very traumatizing to hear that one’s body has been occupied by their greatest enemy. I debated giving you this information in your fifth year, when you began to experience Lord Voldemort’s consciousness. However, I talked myself out of it, fearing that the knowledge would make you forget who you are. You were already terrified that your anger and your sinister visions were turning you towards the darker side of magic. I knew that this was not true, of course, but did not want to give you any more reason to doubt your magnificent strengths, your capacity to love, your ability to make the right decisions. I believe that not telling you was essential to your defeating Voldemort. Also, at the time, there was still quite a bit that I didn’t know about the remaining Horcruxes, and I wanted to present a comprehensive outline for you. This is what I did in your sixth year, but for the same reasons, I refrained from telling you about your scar.”
Harry had been listening attentively, but now he sighed and complained, “So, basically, you’re saying you did it for my own good?”
“Precisely,” said the portrait.
He probably should have been angry, but Harry only felt tired and drained. Questions continued to jab at the walls of his mind, however, so he said, “I still don’t understand why you let Snape kill you.”
“Did Severus tell you that?”
“Luci did. You sacrificed your life to protect Malfoy?! Why?”
“I sacrificed my life to protect you,” countered Dumbledore.
Harry raised his eyebrows.
“Not that I didn’t do it partially for Draco,” the portrait went on, “for his life is valuable, but there was a far greater purpose. It was imperative to guard Severus Snape’s reputation as a Death Eater. By no other means could we ever hope to overpower Lord Voldemort. Keeping Severus inside of the Dark Lord’s circle could very well guarantee your victory. I sacrificed my life so that you would have a better chance at conquering Lord Voldemort and keeping the Wizarding World safe.”
“You had to die in order to accomplish that?”
“It was the most difficult decision that I had ever made, and this is quite a statement, when one considers these things. You were very dear to me, Harry, and I am unashamed to say that I loved you very much. I assumed that my death would hurt you deeply, but I knew that it would fuel your hatred for Professor Snape, which would contribute greatly to your success. It was necessary to ensure his cover as a Death Eater.”
Tears stung at Harry’s eyes, and there were many things that he wanted to say. But instead, he just said, “It seems like there could have been a better solution, Professor.”
“You doubted me greatly, I see.”
“No,” seethed Harry, “I trusted you completely and you abandoned me!”
Dumbledore hung his head. “It is one of my few regrets “ leaving you alone and broken. But I do believe that it was the correct choice.”
Harry shook his head and sucked in a frustrated breath. “But you could have so easily defeated Snape, while still protecting his cover.”
“Had I done that, Draco would have made an attempt on my life, and I did not want that to transpire. The boy has been raised by a heartless man, a man who injected him with his own values. However, I do not believe that Draco is like his father. He is not a Death Eater. He is merely confused and weak. It was important to protect him from stepping into a future that he was not choosing for himself.”
“Malfoy is as heartless and evil as his father! He’s done… terrible things!”
“Try to understand, Harry,” the portrait carried on, “that Draco does not know who he is. Unlike you, he was given great attention, groomed to follow in his family’s traditions, never allowed to make his own decisions. He became a bully, a cruel person who took his pain out on others. You have always had a strong sense of self, Harry, but those who lack this are easily coerced into becoming people that they are not.”
Harry clenched his jaw. “You were always too trusting, too forgiving, always seeing good in people when there wasn’t any.”
Dumbledore tilted his head in a questioning fashion, because Harry’s tone was not accusatory.
“But you were right about Snape, sir. I could have never defeated Voldemort without him.” His pride on the cutting room floor, Harry averted his eyes. “And… it’s… possible that you’re right about Malfoy too.”
“I appreciate your renewed faith in my judgment,” said the portrait. “Though I doubt it is entirely my doing.”
“Luci’s the same way. She sees both sides to everything, gives people the benefit of a doubt. It’s gotten her into trouble, and it’s gotten you into trouble, but I have to admire a quality that I don’t have, I guess.”
“And she admires you greatly, as well.”
Harry’s eyes darted up in surprise.
“The most unusual visits I’ve had from her,” continued Dumbledore. “She is not the same girl who came here against her will all those months ago. And you are not the same boy either.”
Harry shrugged.
“An uncomfortable subject, perhaps?”
“No, just a new one.”
The portrait smiled in understanding. “Anything else on your mind, Harry?”
Harry reflected upon the last year for a few moments. Finally, he asked, “My Aunt Petunia “ is she a witch?”
“Ah, Petunia. Desperately wanted to be one, but alas. She spent her life supremely jealous of your mother, wanting nothing more than to possess magical powers of her own, wondering why Lily was chosen and she was not.” He paused. “Eventually, she came to the conclusion that it was better to ignore magic altogether, to push it from her mind, to pretend it did not exist at all. She became bitter and disillusioned. But I believe, Harry, that she loves her sister’s son; it is simply that you remind her of what she can never be, so she treats you with cruelty in order to protect herself.”
“Is that really an excuse?” said Harry acerbically.
“Surely not!” the portrait exclaimed. “It is merely an explanation. Just as there is no excuse for the way that you have been treated by Severus and Draco, there is no excuse for the way that you have been treated by the Dursleys. But, there is always an explanation. When you regard the perspectives of others, you will understand those people, and in turn, you will understand yourself more deeply, as well. None of us is identical, and that makes for an exhilarating adventure alongside your fellow man, or woman, if you like.”
Harry nodded in consensus.
“Well, I do believe that you are missing your Transfiguration class, Harry.”
“This was more important.”
“Unquestionably, but I would like to see you pass your N.E.W.T.s when the term has expired. Are you still considering further study to pursue becoming an Auror?”
“Yes, sir,” Harry replied. “I have a feeling I’ll be wanting an exciting career, now that all of this is over.”
“And Mr. Weasley? Miss Granger? What plans have they?”
“Ron wants to be an Auror too. Not sure about Hermione. Do they have professional book readers?” asked Harry wittily.
The portrait chuckled. “You are fortunate to have rescued her from that troll, thereby winning her friendship.”
“Don’t I know it!” Harry agreed.
“Please give them my salutations, and not too long between visits, I hope?”
Harry got to his feet. “I’ll come again soon.”
“Splendid! Good day, Harry.”
“Good day, sir.”