Harry hummed softly as he walked through the stone halls of Hogwarts, hands in his pockets and a thoughtful look etched across his face. Everything was coming together, each step forward carefully falling perfectly into place.
He made his way toward the teachers' offices, a folded piece of slightly crinkled parchment tucked securely in his robe pocket. Earlier in the week, he had sent a letter to Arthur Weasley.
He hadn't been entirely sure the man would come, but he had made sure to make it sound urgent. After all, Arthur was a busy man, juggling his demanding Ministry duties, his beloved Muggle artifacts, and the endless chaos of his large, boisterous family.
But Ron's father was a kind soul, inherently compassionate and always willing to help, and Harry knew he wouldn't ignore a plea for help, especially one seconded by Ron himself. With Ron's additional letter, it all looked legit, a simple request from a worried friend.
Harry didn't hold any animosity toward Arthur. Quite the opposite, he admired the man's integrity, his genuine kindness, and his unwavering moral compass in a world often devoid of such qualities.
But the harsh reality was that Arthur's survival in the original timeline had been thanks to Harry's mental link with Voldemort, warning of the impending attack. That crucial connection was now gone, severed by Harry's transformation into a Campione.
The snake, Nagini, may still strike. And Harry wasn't about to leave Mr. Weasley's fate to chance, not when he could subtly nudge events to ensure his survival.
As he rounded the last corner toward the office corridor, he slowed, his enhanced senses picking up on voices through the door of McGonagall's office, Professor McGonagall, Arthur Weasley, and to Harry's mild annoyance… Dumbledore.
His eyes narrowed imperceptibly.
'Why is Dumbledore here?' Harry mused, a flicker of irritation crossing his features. Shouldn't he be drowning in the fallout over Umbridge's death? That old man has a way of being everywhere he isn't wanted, always inserting himself into situations he has no business being in, hoping to pull the strings from the shadows.
Pushing the door open with a soft click, Harry stepped in, a calm, innocent smile masking his irritation, his mental shields firmly in place.
"Good afternoon," he greeted, nodding to each of them in turn, his voice polite, respectful. "Mr. Weasley. Professor McGonagall. Headmaster."
Arthur, a look of genuine relief and warmth on his face, stood immediately and extended a hand warmly. "Harry! My boy, good to see you. We were just discussing your letter." His smile was broad, his relief palpable, clearly happy to see Harry, especially having heard of his vanishing act and subsequent return.
McGonagall gave him her usual sharp, assessing nod, which was softened by a rare, almost imperceptible smile, her eyes holding a hint of lingering concern that quickly faded into her customary sternness.
Dumbledore simply watched with those infuriatingly twinkling blue eyes, his expression unreadable, a benign mask Harry saw right through, recognizing the calculated curiosity beneath.
"I hope I'm not interrupting anything important," Harry said smoothly, his eyes flicking pointedly to the Headmaster, feigning a touch of surprise. "I was just surprised to see you here, sir. I thought you'd be busy dealing with the… unfortunate demise of Professor Umbridge, and the ongoing investigation into her death on school grounds."
He put on his most innocent, confused expression, as if genuinely concerned for Dumbledore's workload, though a faint, almost invisible flicker of amusement danced in his eyes.
Dumbledore sighed, a carefully theatrical sound, clasping his hands behind his back, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Indeed, Harry, my boy. However, much has already come to light regarding that rather… unpleasant incident, and the Ministry has, thankfully, concluded their more disruptive inquiries."
He glanced meaningfully at Arthur and McGonagall, a subtle signal that the official version of events was the one to be presented, then back to Harry. "It appears that the centaurs from the deeper parts of the Forbidden Forest were involved. And, from the testimony we've gathered from various sources, it seems Professor Umbridge entered their territory and… provoked them, ultimately attacking them first."
Harry raised a brow in mock curiosity, a perfectly feigned look of shock on his face. "She attacked them? Why would she do that? She seemed so… fond of controlling creatures, not attacking them outright. One would think her bureaucratic mind would prefer endless paperwork to open confrontation with wild beings." He bit back a genuine laugh, the irony almost overwhelming.
McGonagall, though still stiff and clearly displeased by the whole affair, picked up the explanation, her tone crisp and factual, as if recounting a report.
"That was indeed the testimony given, Mr. Potter, corroborated by certain… observations. At first, the Minister, in his usual obstinacy, dismissed it as mere hearsay, a convenient excuse to avoid public scrutiny. But when her office was meticulously searched for any clues regarding her disappearance, they found multiple cursed quills—blood quills, Mr Potter. Horrific artifacts of dark magic, forbidden by Ministry decree. And several students, brave young souls who had endured her detentions, stepped forward, confirming that she used them repeatedly, carving words into their hands, forcing them to write lines in their own blood."
Arthur grimaced, a look of disgust and outrage on his face. "That's monstrous, Minerva. Utterly barbaric. Such practices have no place in a school, or anywhere in our society."
"Indeed, Arthur," McGonagall agreed grimly, her lips thinning. "With that amount of damning evidence, Minister Fudge, for all his bluster, didn't want to risk a public scandal, a full-blown revolt from outraged parents when they found out their children were being tortured in detention by a Ministry appointee. So, he quietly declared her death a tragic accident, attributed to a rogue forest encounter, and closed the case, hoping to bury the entire affair as quickly as possible."
Harry gave a mental shrug, a silent, amused thought. Guess even death didn't make her important enough to defend from scandal. 'Hn. Well, that's convenient for me. Her demise served a dual purpose, removing a tyrannical presence and creating a useful distraction.'
He had to admit, he hadn't cared for the chaos her death would cause among the pure-blood elite, and didn't give a damn about the political fallout, but oh well, it worked out in his favor. He hid his surprise well, keeping his expression perfectly neutral.
Dumbledore cleared his throat, his gaze sweeping over them all, a faint, almost imperceptible air of concern in his usually serene demeanor, though Harry detected a subtle shift in his aura, a hint of his weakened state. "When I learned Arthur was coming, and that you'd called for him, Harry, I confess I was… worried. Given the recent… unpleasantness, I thought perhaps I might assist, should the matter prove serious, and save Mr. Weasley an unnecessary journey."
'Translation?' Harry thought, a cynical internal chuckle, recognizing the familiar manipulation. 'Why didn't you tell me first? Why did you go to Arthur instead of your wise, all-knowing Headmaster? I need to know everything, to be in control of all information. You should have come to me first, boy.
Harry offered his most innocent, apologetic, mocking smile, yet a picture of respectful deference. "Oh, Headmaster, I noticed you've not been looking well recently, sir. You've been rather pale, and I thought you might be overworked. I didn't want to trouble you with anything serious, especially with all the… recent events and the ongoing Ministry inquiries. I assumed you were already quite burdened and needed rest, not more problems."
This comment, precisely calculated, did exactly what he wanted. Both Arthur and McGonagall turned sharply toward Dumbledore with immediate concern etched across their faces, their eyes questioning.
"Albus, are you unwell?" McGonagall asked, narrowing her eyes, her usual sternness replaced by genuine worry. "You have been pale lately, and I've seen you favoring your left hand. I thought it was stress from recent events, but is it something more serious?"
Dumbledore brushed it off with a grandfatherly chuckle, waving a dismissive hand, a practiced performance. "No, no, my dear Minerva. Merely age, a few sleepless nights, that's all. Nothing that a good night's rest and a few lemon drops cannot cure." He then, smoothly, imperceptibly, redirected the conversation back to Harry, his eyes twinkling once more. "Now, Harry, you wrote Arthur a rather urgent letter, I understand. May I ask what the matter is that required his personal attention and presence here?"
Harry could have changed the subject again, pushed harder, or spun another elaborate tale to deflect Dumbledore's probing, but it wasn't really needed.
He sighed dramatically, a subtle hint of reluctance, and looked down for a moment, gathering his thoughts with practiced sincerity, then back up, his eyes wide and seemingly troubled.
"I had another dream. About Voldemort."
That brought immediate, chilling silence to the office. Arthur looked visibly shaken, his face paling slightly, his hand unconsciously going to his chest. McGonagall's lips pressed into a thin, grim line, her gaze hardening. Dumbledore's expression turned utterly unreadable, every trace of twinkling benevolence vanishing, replaced by a deep, calculating stillness, his focus now entirely on Harry.
"I saw him… send his snake to the Ministry," Harry began, his voice low. "He believed someone was guarding something incredibly important, something he wanted desperately. He sent the snake to kill that person and retrieve it. And from what I saw… from the details in the dream… I thought it might be Mr. Weasley."
Harry's gaze locked onto Arthur, implying immense concern, then flicked to Dumbledore, a silent challenge in his eyes. "So I had to warn him. I had to make sure he knew the danger."
Arthur looked profoundly disturbed, a shiver running through him, his eyes wide with dawning horror. McGonagall looked between them, her brow furrowed, a silent alarm in her gaze.
"And what exactly is being guarded at the Ministry, Headmaster?" Harry asked, his eyes locking onto Dumbledore's, probing, demanding.
The Headmaster hesitated, a long, drawn-out pause as he weighed his words, his options, his mask of benignity slipping for a moment. "My boy, I appreciate your concern, truly. But what's being guarded is not your burden to carry. It's a matter of the Order, a matter for adults, for those with the experience and wisdom to handle such… delicate information. Focus on your studies. We thank you for the warning, and Mr. Weasley will, of course, take precautions to ensure his safety."
Harry frowned, allowing a flicker of genuine frustration to show, mimicking the reactions of a normal, bewildered teenager. "So I'm supposed to keep having these dreams, these terrifying visions of Voldemort's plans, and be told nothing? To be kept in the dark while you all make vague plans around me, while my friends are put in danger? Why can't I know what's there?"
Dumbledore sighed, a long-suffering sound, and gave that same patronizing look Harry had come to loathe, a gaze that suggested Harry was a child who couldn't comprehend the complexities of the adult world, a pawn to be protected and guided. "It's for your own protection, Harry. Knowledge can be a dangerous burden for one so young. And these dreams… they are indeed concerning. They suggest your mind is vulnerable. Perhaps it is time we reconsidered your Occlumency lessons."
Harry snapped, his voice sharp, losing all pretense of politeness, a flash of genuine anger in his eyes. "I'm not taking Occlumency lessons with Snape. Not from him. Not from anyone!"
This wasn't the first time the man had mentioned this, and Harry had flat out told him no then, too. He seemed to keep trying to bring it up whenever they spoke.
Dumbledore looked genuinely pained, his eyes clouded with what Harry knew was calculated sympathy, a performance for Arthur and Minerva. "Harry, please, for your own good, for the safety of your own mind—"
"You can't force me, Headmaster," Harry said flatly, his voice cold, unwavering, asserting his will with the quiet authority of a Campione. "I am not your pawn, and I will not be ordered around. My mind is my own, and I will not allow anyone to violate it. Least of all Snape of all people"
The air turned thick with tension, palpable and suffocating. McGonagall and Arthur exchanged worried looks but remained silent, unwilling to intervene in such a charged exchange between the Boy-Who-Lived and the Headmaster. After a long, strained pause, Harry stood straighter, his point delivered.
"Well, I've said what I came to say. Mr. Weasley, Professor." He nodded respectfully to them both, a subtle gesture of polite dismissal to Dumbledore. "Headmaster." He gave Dumbledore one last, piercing look that promised future defiance and challenged his authority, then turned and exited the room, closing the door gently behind him, leaving them in stunned silence.
Several hours later, Arthur Weasley was seen leaving Hogwarts through the main gates, bidding a rather strained farewell to staff and students alike as he prepared to return to the Ministry. His stride was calm, his demeanor outwardly composed.
Far away, a hooded figure, their form almost indistinguishable from the shadows, followed Arthur's retreating form until he vanished from view beyond the castle gates.
The figure watched the man leave before deciding that it was time to leave. It had a message to deliver to its master.
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