Six more parts after this. Hope y'all are staying safe and well!

~Multi-Faceted~

XII: Bedroom

Parseltongue did not give its non-serpentine speakers the ability to unhinge their jaws, or else Harry's outward reaction would have matched the stunned buzzing in his head.

"Do you like it?" Dumbledore asked, with the faintest hint of apprehension in his normally-calm voice. "I did my best to adhere to your tastes. And I will admit that Dobby's assistance was invaluable."

Harry was too distracted to answer. His eyes roved over the bright golden walls, the magnificent four-poster bed with scarlet curtains, and the handsome dresser lingering in the corner. He took in the photographs standing on every surface, including that dresser: a collection of his past and present loved ones smiling and waving at him. There was his prized Firebolt in the corner, and the Quidditch cleaning supplies kit next to it that he'd been gifted years ago. There were new wizard's robes visible from the open closet door, and clean Muggle trainers, and a mountain of sweets piled on a circular table by the bed...

"Harry?"

"I... love it." He was staring at the pale gold carpet. His voice was rougher than he liked, but it matched how he felt at the moment: scraped raw, left open to examination, seen, though (for the first time) not in a bad way. "You and Dobby... did all this for me?"

"Of course we did." Dumbledore's eyes were still fixed on him, though he sounded more relaxed. "And we were happy to do it. Giving you a private space of your own is the very least we could do for you."

Harry stepped forward carefully, looking left and right at all the extra gifts and trinkets he hadn't been able to see from the doorway. Past the gently-swaying curtains of the bed (his bed!) stood a tall window, half-open to catch the breeze. When he poked his head outside to explore, he could see tiny colorful dots in the distance: people in the village, Muggles and witches and wizards all going about their business, oblivious to the boy in the tower watching them from miles away.

"Careful, dear boy. A fall from this height would be devastating."

"Fawkes wouldn't catch me?" Harry asked idly. He didn't really think the phoenix was at anyone's beck and call, even the headmaster's, but he hoped he might have enough goodwill shored up with him to merit a save.

"I have no doubt he would come to your rescue in an instant. But perhaps we could refrain from making it necessary on your first day in your new home?"

Harry almost laughed—but Dumbledore's words sank in at that moment, and he felt his cheeks flush and his throat close around the sound.

"My... new home?"

Dumbledore crossed the room in three strides, joining him by the window. Without the slightest hint of hesitation, he lifted one hand and laid it squarely on Harry's shoulder, gesturing to everything around them with the other.

"This was never meant to be your sanctuary for a single summer only, Harry. What is the Muggle saying in Spanish... mi casa, su casa? I would like you to consider yourself a part of my family. You are not a guest; this is your home."

The affirmation was gentle but firm, and it made Harry's eyes sting. He tried to turn away to rub at his face, get himself under control, but Dumbledore's hand held him still. There would be no hiding what he felt here, not after everything else that had happened.

"Professor..."

"Yes, Harry?"

He exhaled noisily, and gestured at everything too, though more helplessly than the older man had. "Thanks. I mean... thank you. And Dobby. For the room, and..."

"Harry, there is no need to thank us. This is your right."

"Still. Thank you."

He turned then and stepped into the headmaster's personal space, throwing his arms around him. Hiding his face in the long, flowing robes. Trying with all his might to show how grateful he was to be thought of, included, cared for.

He felt Dumbledore startle, but not for more than a few seconds; the next thing he felt was Dumbledore's hand passing carefully over his head, trying in vain to flatten his hair. Or perhaps it was just a show of affection, since the feeling didn't stop.

"...You are quite welcome."

In fact, the feeling didn't stop for a long time.