Chapter 57: The Headmaster’s Chamber
Disclaimer:
Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
I own nothing but the original characters I make.
"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 57: The Headmaster's Chamber
The week had barely ended when Harry received the first summons from the Headmaster.
A small, silver owl had appeared at the Ravenclaw table during Saturday's breakfast, dropping a folded parchment into his lap before flying off.
Harry noticed that it had no name written on the outside, so he didn't know who the sender was. But he would find out soon enough.
The handwriting was elegant, and unmistakably familiar.
"Mr. Potter,
Please report to my office at seven o'clock this evening. We have much to talk about. And do remember that these meetings are mandatory. Do not be late.
The password for the gargoyle is Sherbet Lemon.
Albus Dumbledore."
Harry stared at the note, his stomach tightening.
He had known this was coming, because Dumbledore had already mentioned the weekly sessions during their first conversation, but the reality of it felt different. He was going to be alone with the Headmaster, in his office, for an hour.
He was sure that most students at Hogwarts would be thrilled about the prospect. After all, Albus Dumbledore was one of the most famous wizards in the entire world and likely the most important person in the entire country, not to mention Hogwarts.
But Harry couldn't feel that way...
'Why does that make me so nervous?' he wondered. 'He's been nothing but kind to me. He gave me the photograph of my parents. He's trying to help me.'
By all rights, he should have been expelled for setting the school on fire, even if he didn't remember doing so.
Instead, he had been granted another chance. He should be grateful for it, but...
But the fear lingered, a cold knot in his chest that refused to go away.
<><><>
That evening, Harry climbed the spiral staircase to the Headmaster's office.
The stone gargoyle stepped aside at the password, Sherbet Lemon, and the stairs carried him upward.
A large oak door loomed before him, and Harry raised his hand to knock.
"Come in, Mister Potter," Dumbledore's voice called from within.
Harry pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The office was exactly as he remembered it from his visit last year.
It was cluttered, warm, filled with whirring silver instruments and the portraits of former headmasters.
The smell of lemon and old parchment hung in the air.
Dumbledore sat behind his massive claw-footed desk, his white beard flowing down his chest, and the robes he was wearing now were of a pure white color that gave him an almost ethereal look.
He smiled gently as Harry entered, his blue eyes twinkling under his half-moon glasses.
"Ah, Mister Potter. Please, take a seat. Get comfortable. No need to be nervous." He gestured to the familiar wooden chair opposite him.
"Thank you, Sir."
Dumbledore nodded. "These sessions are merely for your own benefit. To make sure that you are doing well and dont any further into any more trouble in the future. Because I would hate to see such a promising young man ruining his future."
"Ehm...I see." Harry sank into the chair.
"I trust you are settling into Ravenclaw?. Has Miss Granger been helpful?"
Harry sat with his hands clasped in his lap. "Yes, sir. Ravenclaw is... different. But I'm getting used to it."
"Different can be a good thing," Dumbledore said, his voice warm. "Change is how we grow. How we become the people we are meant to be."
He reached into a small bowl on his desk and pulled out a lemon drop. "Would you like one? I find they help calm the nerves."
Harry hesitated for only a moment. "Thank you, sir."
He took the lemon drop and placed it on his tongue. The taste was sweet and sharp, and for a moment, he felt a wave of warmth wash over him. The fear in his chest seemed to loosen, just a little.
Dumbledore smiled, watching him closely. "Now, Harry, I want to ask you some questions. They may seem personal, but I assure you, they are all part of helping you heal."
Harry nodded, his tongue still tingling from the lemon drop. "I understand, sir."
The questions began.
"How are you sleeping, Harry? Any nightmares?"
Harry thought for a moment. "I've been having strange dreams," he admitted. "I don't remember them clearly, but I wake up feeling... unsettled."
Dumbledore nodded, his expression sympathetic. "That is normal, given what you've been through. Your mind is trying to process the trauma. The dreams will fade in time."
Harry felt a flicker of relief. 'He understands. He's trying to help me.'
"And your old friends?" Dumbledore continued. "Mister Malfoy and Mister Crabbe? Do you still think about them?"
Harry's brow furrowed. "I... yes. They are my friends. I miss them."
Dumbledore's eyes seemed to bore into him, deep and penetrating. "Do you truly miss them, Harry? Or do you miss the idea of them? Think carefully."
Harry tried to hold onto the memory of Draco and Crabbe...their faces, their voices, their laughter. But the images were blurry, fading like watercolours in the rain.
"I... I don't know," he admitted. "Maybe..."
"It's okay, my boy," Dumbledore reassured him. "Wanting to have friends is a normal thing for a boy of your age. You will be making new ones soon enough."
Harry blinked, trying to remember why he had felt so close to Draco, Crabbe and... wasn't there someone else?.
"Harry...may I call you Harry?" Dumbledore asked.
"Y-yes, that's fine."
"Excellent." Dumbledore continue. " In any case. I can assure you that those boys were not good influences on you. They led you down a dangerous path." He paused, his voice softening. "Perhaps it is best if you let them go. Focus on your studies, as we told you. Focus on your new house, and on becoming the person your parents would have wanted you to be. You will eventually make new friends."
Harry nodded, the words sinking into him like roots into soil. "You're right, sir. I should focus on my studies. They were... they were a bad influence."
He didn't know why he said it. The words felt true, even though a small part of him screamed that they weren't.
But the lemon drop had left a warm, pleasant feeling in his chest, and Dumbledore's voice was so kind, so reassuring.
"Good boy," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. "I knew you would understand."
The meeting continued.
Dumbledore asked about Harry's dreams, his fears, his hopes for the future.
He probed gently into Harry's memories, asking about his childhood, his time at the orphanage. Harry answered honestly, his mind growing fuzzier with each passing moment.
"Do you remember the fire, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, his voice soft. "The one on the third floor?"
Harry frowned, trying to recall. "I... I remember flashes. The Heat, the smoke. Someone calling my name."
"Who was calling your name?"
Harry shook his head, the memory slipping away. "I don't remember. It's just... a voice. The voice of a woman, but I can't understand the words she is saying, just my name."
Dumbledore nodded, his expression appearing more grave. "That is to be expected. The trauma was severe. Your mind has blocked out the worst of it."
He leaned forward, his eyes locking onto Harry's. "But there is something else, isn't there? Something you're not telling me. About your aunt, perhaps?. Are you having any issues with Miss Figg?. Is she not treating you well?"
Harry's brow furrowed. "My aunt? No, She's... she's fine. She's the same as always."
Dumbledore's eyes seemed to bore into him, searching, probing. "And what about your scar, Harry? Does it ever trouble you? A throb, perhaps? An itch?"
Harry touched his forehead instinctively. The scar was faint, barely visible, but it had been there for as long as he could remember. "It doesn't hurt," he said slowly. "But sometimes... sometimes I feel like it's watching me. Like something is pressing against it."
Dumbledore's expression did not change, but something flickered in his eyes...something cold and calculating. "That is the magic, Harry. The wound was caused by dark magic. It is not unusual for it to feel... active. But I can help you with that too."
He reached out and placed a hand on Harry's forehead, his fingers brushing against the scar. Harry felt a strange tingle, a warmth that spread through his skull.
"Just relax," Dumbledore murmured. "This will only take a moment."
Harry's eyes grew heavy, his thoughts were slowing down to a crawl. The warmth spread through his mind, smoothing over the rough edges, filling in the gaps.
"There," Dumbledore said, pulling his hand away. "Does that feel better?"
Harry blinked, his mind clearer than it had been in weeks. "Yes," he said, his voice distant. "Thank you, sir."
Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling. "You are welcome, my boy. Now, I think that is enough for today. You may go. Remember, Harry...I am always here for you. If you ever feel confused, or troubled, or if your scar troubles you... you must come to me immediately."
Harry nodded, rising from his chair. "I will, sir. Thank you."
When Harry left the office an hour later, he felt better than he had in weeks.
The fog in his head had lifted, and his thoughts were clear and calm. He walked back to the Ravenclaw common room with a lightness in his step, a smile on his face.
'Dumbledore is a good man,' he thought. 'He's kind and wise. He only wants to help me.'
He thought of Draco and Crabbe, and felt a faint pang of irritation. They had been bad influences, hadn't they? They had led him down a dangerous path. It was better that he stayed away from them.
He barely noticed that his memories of them had grown fainter, that their faces were now little more than vague shapes. He barely noticed that the name "Pansy" had slipped from his mind entirely.
He felt happy. He felt free.
And he didn't question why.
<><><>
The next day, Harry was walking through the corridors when Draco and Crabbe appeared before him.
They emerged from a side passage with urgent expressions on their faces.
Draco's grey eyes were filled with worry, and Crabbe looked extremely tense.
"Harry, we finally found you alone," Draco said, his voice low. "We need to talk about something important."
Harry stopped, his brow furrowing. "What about?"
Draco glanced around, making sure no one was listening. "About what's happening to you. About Dumbledore, and-"
"I'm fine," Harry interrupted Draco with a tone of annoyance. "The Headmaster has been helping me. He's been very kind."
Draco stared at him, his expression began to shift from worry to disbelief. "Harry, you don't understand. He's manipulating you. He's-"
"He's a good man!" Harry snapped, his voice cold. "And you're a bad influence. The Headmaster told me that much, and I think he is right."
Draco's face went pale. "Harry, listen to me. You gave me something for safekeeping. I think it was something very important, and that you should-"
"I don't remember giving you anything," Harry said, his voice rising. "And I don't want it back. I don't want anything to do with you anymore."
He held out his hand, pushing Draco away. "Just leave me alone, please. Both of you."
Draco opened his mouth to argue, but Crabbe placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. His dark eyes were sad, resigned.
"Come on, Draco," Crabbe said quietly. "He's not himself. He doesn't know what he's saying."
Draco's jaw tightened, and he looked at Harry one last time. "We'll find a way to help you, Harry. We won't give up."
He turned and walked away, Crabbe following close behind.
Harry stood in the corridor, watching them go. A faint pang of guilt tugged at his chest, but he pushed it aside.
'They were a bad influence,' he reminded himself. 'The Headmaster said so. He knows what's best for me.'
He turned and walked in the opposite direction, his steps light and carefree.
But somewhere, deep in the recesses of his mind, a small voice whispered that something was very, very wrong.
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