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For the next three hours, the Unspeakables and Albus Dumbledore watched the entire memory, with a few Unspeakables even taking note of facts. Occasionally, Dumbledore would pause the memory at key moments, and replay a particular portion over and over until he got what he was searching for, and then it would play on. Meanwhile the healers kept Agent Flux… or Tonks, given that there was no difference now — under complete observations, actively legilimizing her time and again, to check if her psychic architecture was showing any activity from the secret's revelation without Potter's active consent.
"No sign of psychic breakdown," a healer evaluated. "Still, it might be better to keep her under complete observation for a week, just to be sure."
"That isn't an option, Helena," said Dumbledore. "I'm afraid Auror Tonks needs to be in touch with Harry Potter." The man frowned heavily as he uttered the Boy-Who-Lived's name. "If she is unavailable, it might cause suspicion. It is unlikely that Narcissa Black and Anastasia Greengrass would betray him, in which case, I imagine the full suspicion would fall on Auror Tonks."
"You think… I'll be attacked?" asked Tonks.
"Not by Harry Potter, I imagine," said Dumbledore, conjuring a plush seat next to her, and sitting on it. "From what I have seen, he is fiercely protective of those who fought the good fight against Voldemort, and that includes you. The raw emotion he displayed was not faked, that much I can ascertain, at least from this memory. And as much as it pains me, Miss Jones and Lady Vance might be less forgiving, but even they would not attempt to kill you. And Amelia Bones is a woman of an unbreakable moral code. They would attempt to obliviate you, perhaps even restrain you in some private custody. But not kill."
"But Narcissa Black would."
Dumbledore stayed silent.
"You are unusually tolerant about a war-crazy time-traveller that intends to wreck the nation apart, Albus," said Croaker. "A contrast compared to someone that supposedly led the boy around like a… how did he put it? A pig raised for slaughter. I have to ask, Albus, just how much of that is potentially true?"
The Headmaster of Hogwarts closed his eyes. "More than I would like to believe, I'm afraid."
"So you did lead him like a —"
"I certainly did not want to sacrifice Harry Potter!" thundered Albus Dumbledore. "Certainly not for the Greater Good! I have seen countries razed down to the ground because of the Greater Good. But yes, whatever Harry Potter claimed to have happened in this memory, is definitely in the list of possibilities. It feels like… a version of Me went out of his way to make several erroneous judgements and then acted upon them with the zeal we share. And while I can excuse some of it given that it is an alternate universe, and an alternate version of myself, there are certain parts that I find extremely troubling."
"Like what?" Tonks asked.
Dumbledore raised his wand, and quickly cast a complex privacy charm, concealing himself, Croaker and Tonks inside it.
Then he met her eyes.
"My mother Kendra was Cassandra Trelawney's first cousin. And while she was no Seer, she was blessed with a unique precognitive ability, one that allowed her to manipulate probabilities, to a very small extent. My brother Aberforth never manifested it, and my sister…."
He trailed off for a moment, looking out of the window at the dark night outside. "My own ability with it is slightly stronger than my mother's. It allows me to have very precise hunches about things. I might not know what lies around the next bend, or the right moment to strike or retreat, but occasionally, my instincts demand that certain things must be done, certain actions be taken, even if those actions or things might not make any sense at any given moment. But somehow, those actions always, always end up with outcomes like I predict them."
That… was trippy, Tonks decided. Being a walking-breathing self-altering being was a spectacular thing, but what did that matter when you were dealing with someone that always knew to make the right moves? In fact, the more she thought about it, the more sense it made. Dumbledore had allowed 'Auror Tonks' to stay flustered and be ensnared in the whirlwind that was Harry Potter. At one point, she was even so addicted to the idea of being loved and fucked by Harry Potter that she had pleasured herself for nights on end.
It had been… distracting.
He had allowed Harry Potter to make moves of his own, and never interfered in anything, even when Potter used Lucius Malfoy's plot to gain significant power for himself and his little coven. And yet, he just happened to summon Tonks, prepare her with magical enchantments, and set her up to spy on Potter for this one meeting.
How much of that was his foresight, and how much, the influence of his prophetic condition? Unless, both things were the same?
"Unfortunately, like all impressive powers, the faults that lie within it are equally impressive," said Dumbledore. "My precognition is not monitored by any moral codes, nor does it grant me any degree of omniscience. If my understanding of a situation is flawed, I'm afraid it leads me down a spiral path of even greater flaws, while granting me the desired outcome."
"And you believe this is what happened in his time?"
The elder wizard nodded.
"As horrifying as Harry Potter's intentions are, I truly cannot blame him for acting out as a result of what transpired in his time, any more than I can blame my other self for pushing him through those particular circumstances. Mind you, I am very much in opposition to what he intends to cause, but I cannot, in all honesty, blame him for thinking that way."
"Then… you believe that he has truly travelled through Time? That everything he said is… I mean, it might happen?"
"Might, might not," said Dumbledore, caressing his beard softly. "His was a different world than ours. I would go out on a limb and say that things were…. Simpler, for lack of a better word, in his reality. For instance, consider the event when Cornelius Fudge appointed Dolores Umbridge as the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, and I… I somehow, allowed that woman to torture students using a Blood Quill of all things, simply to avoid confrontations with the Ministry."
"Oh, I don't know Professor," said Tonks casually. "You did choose to ignore Potter's warnings when he informed you of Lucius Malfoy's plans to cause trouble at the World Cup."
Even Croaker was looking at him speculatively.
"It was… necessary," said the elder wizard softly. "Though in hindsight, his words do make sense. As does something else."
He pulled out two memory-strands from his temples, and inserted them into the pensive.
These are two of my memories of my encounters with Harry Potter recently. You might find something incredibly interesting in these."
Tonks joined the other two into the pensieve memory. The venue was, unsurprisingly perhaps, Hogwarts. An unused classroom, littered with destroyed remains of chairs, tables and cupboards. Harry Potter was standing there, with his wand lying on the floor, looking utterly defiant and yet lost at the same time. A far-throw from the confident politician she had just visited.
"This is my memory of Harry Potter, just a day before the term finished," said Dumbledore.
"I'm just trying to do something I'm naturally good at before my time goes out."
The memory-Dumbledore frowned.
"I'm afraid you have me at a loss, Harry."
"Tell me professor, say you wake up one morning, and find yourself transported into your favourite story."
Tonks narrowed her eyes. Favourite story?
"My favourite story…"
"You wake up. Maybe even as a character you like. Or dislike. Doesn't matter. There's an almost guaranteed fact that you are never getting out. So what do you do? You know the story, and you know how things end. So do you try to make the best of it, despite knowing very well what happens in the end? Or do you laugh at the stupidity of it all, and just do whatever the hell you want?"
Memory-Harry picked up his wand from the floor.
"Because that's what I feel, Professor. Professor Trelawney said the Dark Lord will rise again. So whether I fight him, or run away and save my life, it doesn't matter. No matter what I do, he will rise again. And he'll come for me. You know he will. So what does it matter? When everything is prior ordained through prophecy?"
Prophecy. Both she and Croaker mouthed at the same time.
"Just keep watching," said Dumbledore.
Memory-Harry chuckled. It had no mirth in it.
"Except this isn't a story, and yet, I'm aware of how things end. The Dark Lord will rise once again, and he'll be more powerful than ever. And I, like an idiot, let his servant go free. If it were just my fault, I'd understand. But if it's prophesied, then that means– that means that I don't even have free will. That my successes and my failures only exist because someone up there wanted it to happen, and nothing I say or do will change that."
Tonks could actually taste the bitterness in his voice. It was the same as the one he displayed through his words earlier during the meeting.
"And if that is indeed the case, then am I really to blame for whatever wrong I do? Is Voldemort? If all our actions are the product of some higher force, making us do things– then are we even responsible for our own actions? Should I instead not… hate this higher force that decided it was necessary for my parents to die just so Wizarding Britain could get a Boy-Who-Lived?"
"And STOP!" said Dumbledore firmly, giving Tonks a deep look. "It's time we look at the other memory."
With a flick of his wand, the setting changed, and this time, it was inside Harry Potter's apartment. Excelsior.
"This is right after Harry informed me of the dream. Where he saw Voldemort planning something with Lucius. He displayed extreme hostility against the Order and accused me of multiple things back then, but we only need to focus on one specific thing."
"Is it really a good idea to study just one selective part of the memory, Albus?" asked Croaker. "We might be missing the necessary context."
"Feel free to watch the entire thing later at your leisure, Wilbert," said Dumbledore. "But for now, we need to focus on the essential bit."
He twisted his wand, and the memory began to speed through the entire scene until it paused at one particular point.
"Professor Dumbledore, you are a Legilimens, are you not?"
"I am."
"I was wondering…" said Memory-Harry slowly. Cautiously. "If you could help me extract that dream. It would give us knowledge into Voldemort's mind."
"I doubt that is the wisest or the safest thing to do, Harry," said Memory-Dumbledore. "Dreams are crafted by the subconscious, and tampering with them with legilimency is an intricate and dangerous thing to even contemplate. If you make the slightest error, you could very well be damaging your mind."
"So you're saying I should just let go?"
The sudden shift in his posture had Tonks go alert. She knew this behaviour. It was the same displayed by her mentor Mad-Eye when talking about Death-Eaters.
"I have other means of gaining information about his activities, Harry. I cannot, in good faith, bring you harm while doing that."
"But sir, surely this is a pressing concern. You told me that on the night Voldemort tried to kill me, he left a part of himself in me—" Tonks noted the way Memory-Dumbledore stiffened. "You told me he gave me powers, a future and this scar. That I can speak Parseltongue because Voldemort can speak Parseltongue. And now I have this ability to control Necromancy through this scar. What if — what if Voldemort is trying to make me like him?"
"Harry, having an ability does not make you evil."
"That's bullshit!" Memory-Harry slammed the table between them in indignation. "I've felt that power, professor. It's cold, alien and wrong. I felt like I was growing detached from the entire world, from life itself. It was trying to control me, to corrupt me. Whatever is in this scar, it's evil, and if you don't do something about it…. I will."
"What… will you do?"
"It's like you say, Sir. Do what is right, not what is easy. I have access to the Black townhouse. The Blacks have one of the largest libraries when it comes to the Dark Arts. I'm sure I'll find something there. And even if I don't find anything about how to get rid of this scar, I'll find some way to control this power. I refuse to let Hermione, or anyone else suffer if it acts out again, regardless of how unsafe it might be for me."
"Well, he is committed, if nothing else," said Croaker softly. "I can respect that dedication."
"I do not disagree with your sentiments, Harry. But I cannot stress on how dangerous it can be, for you. And yet, you have raised excellent points. Allow me some time to sleep on it, and I will get back to you. The Quidditch World Cup is later this week, and I hear Arthur has gotten tickets for you. How about we resume this talk once you reach Hogwarts?"
"You're deflecting again, sir. Every year I ask you why He's after me, and every year you shut me up with non-answers. How long? Why don't you just tell me why he's so obsessed with killing me? Why did he try to kill a baby on Halloween 1981? Why did I survive? How did I survive? And what by Merlin, is in this freaking scar?"
"Uh, Professor," said Tonks, pausing the memory. "If he has travelled back in Time, then he already knows it all. This was just… a way for him to get you to change your ways."
"No," Dumbledore breathed. "It was his way of confirming that I am just like the Albus Dumbledore of his reality."
"I know you will not accept my decision, but regardless, I will stick to it, Harry. Give me some time. You have given me a lot to think about. But I promise the next time we have a talk, we will talk in detail about the scar, and what we can or cannot do about your dreams."
"So you'll just let it go? Voldemort mentioned something to do with the Quidditch World Cup. What if he's planning something? What if people die?"
"Harry. The Quidditch World Cup is an international event. The Ministry of Magic has called in every single Auror, Hit-Wizard and Trainee to maintain control."
"The same Ministry that let my godfather rot in prison while Pettigrew roams free? You're talking about the same Ministry whose Head takes his cues from Lucius Malfoy! The same Ministry that arrested Hagrid instead of finding the Chamber of Secrets because it needed to be seen doing something."
Even Tonks was taken aback by the sheer vitriol in his tone.
"Listen to me, Harry," said memory-Dumbledore quietly. "I understand that you want to act. And believe me, I know what it is like. I was in your shoes, subtle and quick to anger. I too was annoyed by the indecision and slowness of the Ministry, and the magical world, and wanted to take a radical approach to things. And it shattered my life. It lost me everyone I cared for."
He exhaled. "When that happened, I promised myself something. I promised myself that I would live my life on my own terms. That I knew the difference between right and wrong, and that I would not cross the line. I wouldn't allow myself to become like…"
"Like whom, Grindelwald?"
Memory-Dumbledore pursed his lips.
"...Yes."
"You're not like Grindelwald, Professor. I've read all about the last war. Grindelwald was a man of action. You, a man of procrastination."
"He's attempting to make you angry," noted Croaker.
"And he almost succeeded," said Dumbledore slowly.
Tonks agreed. She could sense the sudden surge of magic from the man, before his phoenix let out a soulful trill.
"You are a strong wizard, Harry. Just like me, you feel it. The allure of power. In your own words, you know how wrong the power of Necromancy is, and yet, you state that you will not hesitate to learn to tame it, despite knowing how dangerous it is. But these are treacherous waters, Harry. If you try to navigate them, you shall lose yourself."
"Then help me and I won't."
"I'm not an expert in necromancy, Harry. But what I do know is that nothing good ever came out of it. Some things are more valuable than power, Harry."
"Yes, like those people who might die if we don't take timely action."
Tonks and Croaker exchanged sharp looks.
"Take the high road if you want to, Professor. Choose to walk away from this opportunity to delve into Voldemort's mind and help me control this power. Call it your principles, call it doing the right thing, as you're so fond of. But after all that, when the people lie dead, people that could have been saved if we acted on this information… every one of those lives will be on your head."
Tonks flinched.
"You're the greatest wizard in Britain, Professor," Memory-Harry was pleading now. "And I like to think that I'm no slouch either. I might not have your knowledge or your control, but I have power. We both know it. I don't know why I was given this scar, and why I have access to Voldemort's knowledge, but if I turn aside this power — power that only I can take up — then I abandon my commitment to protect those I love. People that are not strong enough to do it themselves."
"It isn't your responsibility, Harry —"
"Is that what you told yourself when Grindelwald was massacring thousands while you were teaching in the safety of Hogwarts halls?"
Memory-Dumbledore flinched, and for once, just stared at Memory-Harry.
"I'm not you, Professor. I am not going to walk away, and give myself excuses about right and wrong just to make me feel better about it. That's an act of a coward, and I am not one."
"No Harry. That you are not. But if you open that door, you might not be able to close it again."
"I will. When the darkness was pouring into me, I tried to defend myself, but clearly, I was weak. But I won't always be. If you won't, I will ask Madam Bones. If she denies, then someone else. Someone, somewhere will agree with me and teach me Occlumency. Teach me to gain control of my mind just in case the darkness tries to engulf me again."
"I believe we have reached an impasse, Harry," said memory-Dumbledore at last. He pushed the chair back and readied himself to leave. "I cannot, in good faith, condemn you to a future of darkness, and you clearly have strong feelings on the subject. My advice is that you develop a neutral perspective to things, choose the pragmatic approach instead of going ahead with your emotions. We will talk about this after the term begins."
"I suppose we will, sir."
A flick of his wand, and Tonks was back in her room, with a despondent Dumbledore and a silent Croaker, throwing speculative glances at the former.
"I'll admit this," said Croaker. "The boy gave you enough chances to work with him. And when you refused, he acted in a manner compliant with what he's experienced in his own time. I have to ask, Albus, exactly why did you pay no heed to his words?"
"I did," said Albus. "I made inquiries, and I found that Lucius was away from Britain for quite some time. I concluded that if Lucius was the one that was serving Voldemort, then chances of anything happening at the Quidditch World Cup were low. That man has spent way too long working his way up the political hierarchy to give it all up in a suicidal mission. It is a role that he is quite unsuited for."
"And yet, he enabled a genocide so traumatic that not even the Dark Lord, even at the height of his power, had ever accomplished," Croaker pointed out.
"Again," sighed Dumbledore. "I am not omniscient, and when I make mistakes, it tends to be worse than most."
"You know what else I noticed?" asked Croaker. "Potter said he would not abandon his commitment to those he loved. Those that couldn't protect themselves."
He looked at Tonks.
She took a backstep. "Uh… you can't possibly —"
"We have seen that he has displayed a great degree of attention on you," said Croaker. "He offered you a place to stay in his building the first time you met him, did he not? Your friend Miss Jones has also attempted to manipulate you into joining him, and your other self almost was. Even now, he let you in on his deepest, darkest secrets. You have to note that there is a serious degree of trust that Harry Potter is showing towards you."
"You cannot possibly mean —"
"That he has feelings for you?" asked Croaker. "Of that, I cannot be certain. However,I did note the amount of work he has done on you — a rookie auror. Metamorph or otherwise, I don't believe he is truly after your skills. A man of his power, wealth and connections has enough ways to gain intelligence without needing a metamorph."
He turned to Dumbledore. "All three memories point out one single fact: Potter is quite skilled at triggering strong emotional responses in his target audience, just by alluding to things instead of saying them out loud. It is an excellent bait, no doubt, but I also sense the mind of someone that hoards secrets with the same grip as a swordsman does with his blade. Just like you."
"You mean to say he learnt from the best," murmured Dumbledore sadly.
"What do you want me to do, Professor?" Tonks asked. "I don't think Potter would be willing to divulge any further information, not without subjecting me to even greater and more stringent oaths. And this time, I won't have a second mind to hide behind. If Potter's charms get to me then…."
"And yet," said Dumbledore, looking utterly grave and every bit his age. "There are questions. How did he gain the powers of an Incubus, something that has been long lost from this world? How did he turn back time? How does he enchant these important and powerful women, and just how much of that is motivated by the demon within him? These are important questions that need answered, and you, my dear, are indeed the best option we have to further decipher his mystery."
"That's a terrible idea," Croaker spat. "You're vouching for letting one of my best voluntarily walk into the lair of someone that, apart from having all sorts of unexplained powers, also knows her in the future? Preposterous! I say we let the Unspeakable teams grab the boy and let the SI unit have their way with him. Perhaps we could even offer him a choice between graciously volunteering and being thrown through the Veil?"
Dumbledore glowered at Croaker. "We are not doing anything to Harry Potter, time-traveller or not. I don't believe I need to educate you on the Department of Mysteries Charter, Wilbert. No matter what Harry claims, no matter the mistakes my other self might have inflicted upon him, I am not him. We do not tangle with Prophecies. Ever."
"He's not our Harry Potter. For all we know, the prophecy might not even apply to him anymore."
"I truly wish that was true, Wilbert," said Dumbledore. "But it isn't. Perhaps our Harry Potter was indeed subjected to the Dementor's Kiss alongwith Sirius Black. If that has happened, then I have truly and inevitably failed him, albeit in an entirely different way. Perhaps the time-travelling soul was able to inhabit the soulless body at that particular point. Or perhaps, the real Harry Potter simply merged with his alternate form. The possibilities are… well, diverse. Whatever his history, he is our Harry Potter. That and… there is one more thing."
Both Tonks and Croaker looked at him curiously.
"The Prophecy that has marked Harry Potter claimed that he would have a power the Dark Lord knows not. I have often claimed that Love is that power, for it was his mother Lily's love that prevented Voldemort from killing him. That he has gained the powers of, and I'm not sure how — an Incubus, is quite telling. The incubi of old were lust given form, but their followers loved them and treated them like gods. And at the same time, his raw hatred for Voldemort, for the current system, and for me, arises from his failure to save those he loved. It's an interesting inversion — that Voldemort chose the path of Death, while Harry Potter is evolving on the path of Love."
"You are forgetting one thing, Albus," said Croaker. "He is also capable of performing Necromancy. The boy has both stated and demonstrated that he is able to tap into Voldemort's—"
"He has," said Dumbledore, interrupting the man. "But you forget the other bit of the Prophecy."
"And the Dark Lord will mark him as an Equal," Tonks repeated. Harry had, almost carelessly enough, repeated the Prophecy verbatim before all of them. She didn't know if he was simply that overconfident of his control over his information, or Emmeline's skill to ensure the vow couldn't be circumvented, or if he simply didn't care.
"Yes," said Dumbledore softly. "His equal."
"A fellow necromancer," she concluded. "Harry Potter would be born with a power the Dark Lord knows not, while the Dark Lord would ensure he became his Equal."
"There are parallels," said Dumbledore. "Both are halfbloods. Raised by muggles. Parselmouths. Powerful in their own right. Voldemort, through his ability to instil fear in others, and Harry, because of his mother's protection and his Incubus powers. Both wield phoenix wands, whose feathers came from Fawkes. Both have gathered a group of powerful individuals with plans to infiltrate the Ministry and are absolutely ruthless, amoral and precise with how they want to go about doing it. And while Voldemort himself has gained immortality through Necromancy, Harry might just show us what an Incubus is truly capable of."
"He might have already shown it," said Croaker.
"He what?" demanded Tonks and Dumbledore.
"I did not bring this under consideration earlier, but in the light of recent events, I think I might have underestimated the situation," said Croaker. "There is something that you might not have known. Lily Potter, originally Evans, was hired as an Arcanist for the Department of Mysteries, in the Hall of Prophecies, also known as the Chamber of Destiny."
Tonks blinked. "Lily Potter was… an Unspeakable?"
"She was," said Croaker, and Dumbledore nodded too.
"The fact is," Croaker went on. "Ever since the middle of June, there has been a strange force operating in our world. The Unspeakables operating in the Hall of Prophecy have claimed that several prophecies have gone blank, meaning that the foretold future, which is indeed set in stone, is now altering itself. And this phenomenon has only drastically increased from the moment Harry Potter shifted to his house in London. It seems to me that the more people he interacts with, the more… associations he develops with his Incubus powers, the more he is unwittingly affecting Destiny in unknown and unpredictable ways."
Tonks snorted. "You're telling me that Potter is what… seducing his way to alter Destiny?"
Croaker did not laugh.
"...Fuck."