Angel Laughter: Year Five

Prophesy at Hogwarts

The soft cushion of the chairs in the headmaster's office irritate Harry's skin. Silence except for the tick-tick-tick-clir of countless tools that decorate the room rubs his nerves raw. His hands are balled to fists that rest on his tights to make sure he doesn't take them to swing at the headmaster.

In this moment Harry hates him with the passion of a bonfire. Even better, he can't tell how much of those emotions are his and how much is a leftover or a bleed-over from Voldemort.

The headmaster looks sad and tired behind his half-moon glasses. Sorry. Harry doesn't want him to be sorry. Harry wanted him to do something or, if he couldn't, tell Harry what he could do. Occlumency might have seemed a bit more important to learn if Harry had known that Voldemort could possess him.

Harry might have known better than to run head first into the trap if he had known that there was a prophecy that only he or Voldemort could lift. If he had known why the dreams he's been having weren't an accident at all.

Because Harry had been told nothing he'd given that damn prophecy to Voldemort without even a blink, he'd been made to attack the headmaster from behind, he'd almost been made to kill Sirius.

"No Harry," Professor Dumbledore says, shaking his head, a glimmer of something almost like pride in his eyes. "You defeated him and he won't try again. Tom is brilliant in many ways, but the one thing he has always lacked is an understanding – ability to feel even – of emotions. He fears what he can't understand, and it burns him quite literally, as you know. Especially love, the strongest emotion of all. You remember, I'm sure, what happened in your first year. What happened last year. Your mother's love left him unable to touch you. Just the same, the love you feel he cannot bear. Powerful emotions, soft emotions – Harry, he understands nothing other than hate. And even that..."

Harry picks at a his sleeve, trying to think past the roar in his head. "...I pitied him."

The headmaster's tone softens. "Yes, Harry. The person who brought so much harm to you and those around you, you pitied. You pitied him from a place of compassion and understanding, the sort of emotion that is natural for every person to feel. You felt for him, you his worst enemy, because you saw what a pitiable creature he was despite all the power he amassed and despite all the evil things he has done to you." There is sadness and pity in the professor's expression as he continues with a quiet, "that was something he could not bear."

Harry swallows past the thick lump in his throat. It might be rage, it might be something else, but Harry had rather it be rage. It's easier to deal with. "But that didn't stop him at all! He still got what he wanted! I gave him what he wanted! He tired to make me kill Sirius and I pitied him! I don't want to pity him! I want him gone!" The words tear out of him, hateful and angry. There's not a speck of that compassion in sight.

Voldemort, through Harry, had tried to kill someone, the man in front of him and the only adult in Harry's life who from the beginning loved him unconditionally, and Harry hadn't even noticed until it was too late.

What if he tries again? What if next time it's someone who isn't scrubbed to raw instinct as much as Sirius? What if next time it won't be someone who conveniently has a phoenix watching their back? What if next time Sirius can't tell? What if it's Ron or Hermione?

"I want him dead!"

Harry's exclamation is powerful, as truth so often is, and hangs between him and the headmaster like a challenge. Like a dare.

With a deep sigh, Professor Dumbledore takes off his glasses, using an embroidered handkerchief to clean the lenses. "I believe you, Harry. And I don't blame you." He replies deeply. "Who could, after all Tom has done? I dare say you are not the only one to want it, and want it badly." Lenses gleaming, the crack they had acquired in the duel against Voldemort gone, the headmaster slides them back onto his crooked nose. Even so simple an action appears difficult and tired. "Such is the state of our society. Yet, you are young still, Harry." Over the rim of his glasses the wizened, old man gazes at him, worn and grieved. "You should have never been exposed to him, never should have suffered enough at his hands that you, still a child, a brave and innocent one at that, can't help wanting another person to die. This is our failure. The staff of this school and I personally owe you an apology, Harry. I cannot ask that you forgive us, but perhaps consider it if only for your own sake."

Harry sways, his anger disappeared, gone like an explosion disappears. Not having noticed when he jumped up, he sits back down, gaze skirting the professor's desk before returning to the headmaster's face. He eyes it. "What is..." he licks his lips. "What is going to happen now? That Voldemort has that prophesy? What was it even..."

Looking severe, Professor Dumbledore steeples his finger. "Nothing good I suspect. Obtaining it has been his ambition for years now, ever since his incomplete knowledge led him to find his doom when he tried to kill you."

Involuntarily, Harry's fingers flex. "...that sounds like you know what it says."

The headmaster's eyes twinkle. "Indeed I do. Much to Tom's vexation, I expect, since I was the one this prophesy was given to."

Harry tries not to let his stare narrow, but something must come across, because Professor Dumbledore sighs once more, resigned. "Even if you don't ask, Harry, I indented to tell you now. Since Tom has succeeded," Harry's gut twists in guilt, "there is no reason to keep it from you anymore. Come here." As the office morphs to reveal a pensive, Harry finds his feet carrying him forward, curiosity winning over the imminent sense of finality.

As the worst teacher of divination rises in a watery shape, Harry knows that this is what it's all been for, that this is why – why everything. For such a stupid reason -

.

"It's not a stupid reason!" Hermione whispers fiercely across the breakfast table as they sit nearly alone in the bright morning hours in a hall to avoid the castle's population that, rather than being filled with people believing Harry to be mad, now look at him like he's their savior. "It foretells his death, you know. That's huge!"

"Well, his or Harry's," interjects Ron, mouth filled with pancakes.

"Ron," hisses Hermione with sharp reproach.

Ron only shrugs in response, which is a significant change from his position last night (when they argued about the topic in place of sleep) before Harry pointed out, as he does now to Hermione, "there's nothing that makes me different from everyone else. If anyone is going to try to kill him, they will either do it or be killed by him. Same as me."

"Yes! But this prophecy says that you can succeed, Harry. In something that no one else, not even Dumbledore, has," insists Hermione.

Harry butters his toast. "And so he wants me dead. Like he's wanted me dead for basically all my life. It's stupid, Hermione," he stresses, as though if he repeats it enough the rest of the world might believe it too. "I want him dead because he wanted me dead because someone claimed that someone who could've been me had a chance at killing him. What sort of prophesy is that!"

"Well yes, it's a self-fulfilling one. But, Harry. That doesn't mean it's not true. Not anymore," Hermione points out, expression souring. "That's the thing with divination, isn't it. It's a senseless, purposeless subject that creates trouble where none has to be."

Biting into his breakfast to disguise how Harry wants to girt his teeth, he nonetheless has to curl his other hand into a fist to prevent it from smashing plates to bits to calm the helpless anger he feels about this. Because that's the thing, isn't it. Harry hasn't taken Divination seriously once in his life, only picked the subject because Ron did and first impressions haven't helped. And now it turns out that Harry's parents are dead because of a claim a woman made in a shady pub, Harry's life is a mess because of something that had no basis in reality until Voldemort decided to make it so. Entirely opposed to his own intentions even!

Just because Harry could have grown up to want him dead (which he does!) and could have had slightly bigger odds than usual. That's it! Not even that Harry will, or that he has a fifty percent chance, or ten or something. Just the mere possibility spoken out loud was enough to send the greatest dark wizard of the century hunting down a baby. It's not like Voldemort knew before this prophesy that there was no one able to kill him. It's not like it foretells that Harry is the only one who can. It just says that either him or Harry will die. That's the same situation every anti-dark wizard finds himself in. Harry cannot understand why that was worth making a prophesy about?

Harry might be able to kill him. Just as equally it's foretold that Harry could end up the one dead.

It must be senseless and stupid, because if it's not, then that means that Voldemort fears Harry of all people. It means that Harry is expected to become someone like Dumbledore, someone more than Dumbledore - someone so dangerous that he had to be killed as a baby.

Harry doesn't feel like such a person.

When he thinks of danger he thinks of white-hair, smooth voice, of cold knives hidden behind silver eyes. That is someone to fear, not Harry.

"Voldemort is a coward," he says in reply to Hermione, venomously staring down at his plate. "A damn coward who went to kill a baby because of the mere mention that his life is isn't endless. Everyone, anyone could have killed him, and instead he went to kill a baby because he overheard someone saying that that baby would grow up to be like everyone else. That's such a stupid reason."

If his voice cracked then Hermione is kind enough not to mention it. Harry can all but feel her and Ron trade meaningful glances.

"...yeah, I guess it is a stupid reason," agrees Hermione quietly.

.

The exams done and over with, Harry sits outside by the lake in the shadow of a tree, shielding him, and most importantly, the mirror in his hands, from curious eyes.

"You'll probably be called to testify, you know," Sirius is saying, watching him carefully, but still unable to suppress the new light in his eyes that makes him look five years younger.

Murmuring "I know" is, while an adequate reply all on its own, apparently not enough for Sirius, who's brow furrows in concern.

"You don't have to, if you don't want to. You're still a minor and the Ministry is trying to salvage what they can – dragging Harry Potter into a courthouse when he doesn't want to more effort than they can afford to spend now." Sirius reminds him while continuing to eye Harry carefully.

Harry sighs, tries to smile and look somewhere other than Sirius chin. "I know. It's not that. I don't mind. Hermione says your case was never treated right, so that it's in your favor if its reopened, but that on the other hand the Ministry will have to admit to another mistake on their part. One that will shake everyone's belief in the Ministry at a time where they are already shaken badly. Especially since it's been fourteen years, almost fifteen. To make an amendment now -" too late Harry cuts himself off, mild horror tasting foul at the back of his tongue for taking what is Sirius' hope and chance at becoming a free man and listing all the reasons why it's not going to happen anytime soon. As though Sirius isn't aware of it better than him, as if Sirius needs to be discouraged at all, when finally he has something other to look forward to than that horrible childhood home of his.

At the sight of Sirius's sunken expression guilt twists his stomach, like it always does lately, so much that Harry wonders if he is ever going to be free of it again. After a moment of stretched, awful silence between them Sirius volunteers, "Moony said something similar," in a subdued, almost dead tone. "But he also said that they might have to anyway, Harry." Harry perks up and can even manage to hold Sirius' eyes for a couple of seconds. "If they're acknowledging that Voldemort is back, it means they have to look into Death Eaters. If the rat appears on a list of names when he should be dead is going to cause questions. And if they try to keep up the hunt for me, it's going to cost resources they don't have. Dumbledore managed to get Amelia Bones to re-open it, but there's no telling when she'll be able to get around to it." He sighs, worn and so, so exhausted. "I suppose it depends on how the new minister is going to take point. Where his priorities lie."

Harry swallows tightly. "Do we know who it's gonna be?"

"Most likely Rufus Scrimgeour. Head of the Auror Department. He's...competent. Knows how to deal with Dark Wizards," Sirius allows, mouth twisting, no doubt thinking that that competence could be turned against him, so Harry summarizes, "but no idea what he's going to think about you."

"Just so." Sirius' mouth twists unexpectedly, becoming a sharp upwards grin. "But hey, it's better odds than I had before." Better than the odds of a condemned man, yes, yet not at all what Sirius deserves. Then again, what does it even matter what anyone deserves because Baby-Harry can't possibly have done anything to deserve an attempt on his life, and even if Harry hasn't been a paragon of virtue in his life, he's done nothing to deserve what everyone throws at him.

(Except, maybe -)

Sirius cuts into his thoughts, tone blunt. "Somehow I'm not convinced that that's what's been bothering you. For one, you look like my case is already a foregone, bad conclusion. For another you've been able to look me in the eyes exactly three times over the course of this conversation – I counted. So what's really going on? I promise there's nothing you could have done that I haven't done more explosively."

If it's meant to be a joke, it falls flat rather spectacularly as Harry, who's almost dropped the mirror from flinching at being called out, can't even properly process the attempt. Once his grip is solid again, Harry just stares, tongue unwilling to move for platitudes and he can feel his expression betray him anyway.

Skeptically, Sirius rises an eyebrow. After a long moment, he ventures, "Is this about what happened at the Ministry?"

Harry looks away before he can stop himself in the most obvious tell he's ever given, prompting a voice in the back of his head to sneer at him at his pathetic display, demanding to know how he's planning on ever facing Professor Allen again, or even Malfoy, if he can't keep himself under control enough to not give himself away.

Sirius blows out an audible breath, not that Harry sees. "Thought so. Listen. I know Allen is not the most trust worthy character, and what he did wasn't exactly praiseworthy, especially in front of his students, but in that moment, as an Order member, moreover as your teacher, he'd had to keep you guys safe. His methods were dubious, yeah, but he was ill equipped to deal with the situation. Better a few Death Eaters disfigured than students permanently harmed. And that's the general consent, not just my opinion. They'll take that into consideration at his hearing."

At first it doesn't sink in why Sirius is talking about Professor Allen and when it finally clicks, he looks incredulously at the image of Sirius reflected on the mirror, wondering just how Sirius came to the conclusion that Harry - who broke him out of a cell, almost played blast-the-rat with him, and watched Voldemort put himself back together out of an unholy mix of blood, hands, cadavers and who knows what else before being treated like a show-pony with a (almost) gruesome end – is having trouble dealing with Professor Allen's pets chewing on Death Eaters like a dog on bones, as though that would actually make the top three of (only) Professor Allen specific horrible memories.

"...that's not it?" Sirius concludes, bafflement encroaching on his voice as he correctly reads Harry's reaction. "Then...oh, come on, you're not seriously bothered by the possession thing anymore, are you?"

"I almost killed you!" Harry snaps, again before he can stop himself, again giving himself away. "I almost – can you not - just treat it like it's okay?! Because it's not! Do you have any idea what it's like? What if I'd -"

"But you didn't," Sirius interrupts him curtly. "You didn't, Harry. And not only did you not, you then proceeded to kick Voldemort's ass in your head. So thoroughly that he had to run away with his tail between his legs or risk getting captured. And you're right, I don't know what it's like almost killing someone I care about. I just know what it's like being responsible for the death of my brother in all but blood."

"That wasn't your fault -" Harry tires to protest, but Sirius isn't finished yet.

"And Harry, if those two experiences are anything at all alike, then I know one thing. You want to know what?"

Mutely, Harry nods.

"It's that it won't happen again." Sirius' tone softens, and Harry manages to fix his eyes on him and keep them there. "Am I wrong?"

Mutely, Harry shakes his head.

He knows how to beat Voldemort now if he ever tries again. Better; he knows how to stop him from trying, and there is nothing that will change this crippling advantage Harry has unless Voldemort suddenly manages to develop a conscience. The thought almost makes him smile, which he doesn't feel like doing yet, so he changes the subject. "What are you going to do with Kreacher?"

If there was one thing guaranteed to drop Sirus mood, it was that, visibly drawing black clouds over him. "Locked him in his closet for now. If it were up to me, I'd be happy to leave him there to rot, that filthy little..." he breaks off swearing. "Your Professor Allen suggested erasing his memories and then sending him on his way – if only I could; using human magic on other creatures can have unpredictable results and we can't risk it."

His first experience with house-elfs being Dobby, Harry is generally predisposed to like them, Kreacher's general dislike of him aside, but Harry is not sure he can manage to even summon a single drop of sympathy for this one. If only for humanitarian reasons he should, and he might work on that in the future, but for now the creature that so willingly ran to Bellatrix Lestrange to hatch a plot that would kill ideally Harry and or Sirius, well. It's good to know he's kept inside very precise boundaries.

"Did Professor Allen suggest seeking out Lockhart?" Harry asks him, deeply suspicious of the teacher's motives – after all, even if he doesn't intend harm, he might intend amusement, and Lockhart was a favorite of his.

"The phony? Yeah, he did, as if he didn't know perfectly well what became of him." Sirius snorts, half irritated, half appreciating a mischievous spirit, as if Professor Allen would be satisfied with pranks. "But he may have actually been serious, because he said that he used to know someone specializing in memory spells."

That is unexpected. Harry doesn't know how to take that, considering that Professor Allen is never helpful just because. "What happened to them?"

Sirius shrugs. "Didn't say. Only that he's still busy with the mess they left behind. Promised he's almost done dealing with it, though, since Dumbledore wants him to leave school less frequently."

"Doesn't Dumbledore care that there's enough evidence for a hearing?" Harry asks him, trying to guess as what the headmaster might be thinking. "What're they even accusing him of?"

"Murder. Multiple cases." Sirius shrugs again, unconcerned as if that didn't matter while Harry's stomach sinks in an instinctive reaction that he doesn't truly understand but causes a chill to run down his spine. "It's just politics, Harry. They're just humoring the Vatican because they seem to insist for some reason that Allen is guilty."

Biting the inside of his cheek, Harry tries to loosen his muscles, only succeeding mildly as he recalls the confrontation between Professor Allen and Umbridge and, most importantly, the content, then considers Sirius attitude, who hates murders, towards it. "How do you know it really wasn't him. I mean, that Exorcist Allen Walker or something? He had some special abilities, didn't he?"

Sirius's looks at him surprised, eyebrows rising even as his mouth twitches towards something pleased. "You know about that?"

"Umbridge said something during his inspection and, well. Hermione." Harry shrugs, all that he needs to say on that topic fully and truly conveyed with a single name.

"Ah, Hermione. Of course." Sirius nods in earnest understanding as only two people closely acquainted with Hermione can, thanks to the summer Hermione spend locked up in Sirius house. "But don't worry. After all Albus already went through enough teachers, so he, and by extension everyone, is sure. Besides, if I could stand as witness I'd have to go. He was doing some research with me during some the time-frame. At Grimmauld Place. And for more than an hour, so there's not even the factor of polyjuice if he had drank anything at the time. So yeah, Harry. We're sure."

Exhaling deeply, tension leaves him, almost making him want to slump against the tree at his back. There are thoughts running through the back of his head at high speed, however Harry is anything but sure he wants to poke at them for their meaning; things like why is he relieved, what does he think about Professor Allen and murder in the same sentence, and why is he afraid of looking at those question more closely. "At least Professor Dumbledore won't have to look for two teachers for next year," he tries to joke, wanting to distract both himself and Sirius, before the latter can notice anything off about Harry's reaction, the matter of Professor Allen and the contradicting mystery he presents not something he wants to talk about with Sirius.

Barking a laugh, Sirius agrees, and together they poke fun at Umbridge'S rather spectacular failure at keeping her position for more than a year, speculate about who might try next, and just generally enjoy the chance to talk without being pressed for time for once. Harry wishes, with an intensity and yearning that even surprises him, that they could do this more often, and knows with shocking certainty that he would do a lot to make it so. Cedric died last year, more than one schoolmate almost died this year, and it is only now that the war is picking up in truth again. How long will what Harry has last?

AN: The end of Year Five.

Next will come another interlude, though I don't have time-frame on when that will be uploaded.

Please leave your thoughts and impressions on this Year on the way out.

TBC