Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Him Again	By : Apocalypticat Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 1312 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
Harry�s arms acted as an anchor. There was something about the insistent beating of the heart in the warm chest that steadied Albus. He was still reeling, his barely controlled tears having only just ceased, but here at last was some sort of familiarity in amongst the chaos. He could remember a time in which he had held Harry in his arms and looked down to see the newly cut scar. There was the distant idea that once the shock had subside, he would be able to appreciate the irony of being the one who was held.

Only five minutes had passed since he had stopped being passed around to various Weasley family members and cooed at by Hermione. The looming faces, expressions wavering between joy and anxiety, seemed like a vision taken from another reality. Impossible, impossible, impossible. How could this be? How could this be? Seeing that small pink hand that was somehow attached to him�Time had reversed and accelerated at the same time. A baby Albus held by an adult Harry.

Harry!

His soul shuddered with relief. Harry. Alive. Older. Married. All those things he�d feared that Harry would fail to be. There was his face, up above him. It was a strong, worn face, the eyes piercing and intelligent, surrounded by a mane of black hair�

I�m Harry. I�m your daddy.

The words sounded inside his brain. He stared up at Harry, mind stalling again with the shock. Daddy? Was that true? Was he really�? Had he really been reborn as� ?

Reborn. An explanation that was no explanation at all. Reincarnation was not an idea he had disputed; the intellectual concept was not surprising, especially when Fawkes would regularly demonstrate it right in front of him. The theory of its application to human beings was plausible. Yet there was a definite difference between sitting in his office and finding something plausible and actually experiencing it, especially when it was as the son of one of his own students. Surely he wasn�t supposed to remember�?

A mental Fudge suddenly intruded, shouting at a pointless Ministry meeting. �Get to the point!�

A criticism that could well be applied to Fudge himself, but the memory jolted him. Something had to be done. He would speak to Harry, and then some sort of plan of action could be made, though he had no idea what� He opened his mouth.

�Harry.�

Or, at least, that was what he�d intended to say. What came out was:

�Haoorrrr.�

Albus felt himself blinking in mild surprise and indignation. That strange, high-pitched gurgle couldn�t possibly be him, could it? He scrutinised Harry�s face hopefully, but the man merely grinned and brushed one of Albus�s cheeks lightly with a finger. The contact made him lose track of his thoughts�it was amazing, how sensitive his face was to that one touch! So gentle, so soft� Looking up he saw the protective glint in Harry�s eyes�and he felt odd; nobody had looked at him like that for over a century. Everything was so strange; he was the one who protected, not the one who was protected.

That thought gave him an odd, guiltily pleasurable feeling. His responsibilities had all fallen away from him. Right now, he was a helpless child, utterly dependent on others to be responsible. And yet�

He should be dead. The curse had undoubtedly killed him; it made absolutely no sense for him to be alive now. Harry had grown up and moved on. He certainly did not want his former headmaster for a son. Albus was intruding on a future he had no right to be in. It was a sombre concept, and he realised that he just had to inform Harry of this, so that�

So that what? If he did somehow manage to get the idea across to Harry, what then? What could possibly be done? There was no known spell or incantation, no discovered potion that could rectify the problem. The problem itself was unprecedented, indescribable in the terms of magic. The closest definition of what had happened was some sort of a transfiguration, and over sixty years of expertise in the area yielded nothing to him; there was no obscure account in a banned book or a vague reference in an encyclopaedia. What would be the result of such a situation? Poor Harry and Ginny would have lost the chance of having an ordinary son and nothing could be done about it. Albus closed his eyes as another revelation hit him.

He was too old, too tired, too ancient to his soul. There was no desire to go through life all over again�especially not when this extra span on Earth that had, for some reason, been given to him, would undoubtedly mean seeing the decline of his young Gryffindors and the deaths of his friends and colleagues. Painfully, his mind turned to Minerva�and then he forced it away again; that particular concept was too much to be thought upon right now. He had been terrified enough�during the Second War�at the idea of Harry being cut down in his teens by some cruel twist of fate. In a perfect world, he could have been certain of Harry outliving him�but events had seemingly conspired to make this happy event ever more unlikely. Weariness gripped him.

What was left to achieve, and how many battles were there to fight? He had watched the rise of three Dark Lords, had seen four wars sweep the blood of young men into the ground, had founded the Order as the lone survivor of his school contemporaries. He was no cynic or fatalist; life was enjoyable�but he had met Voldemort as a man in patient contemplation of the coming long rest. The world was for the rise of the new, not the stretched continuance of the old.

Harry, my boy. It�s me.

He tried to imagine Harry�s reaction. His mind blanked; it was impossible.

�Harry. It�s me, Albus Dumbledore,� he tried again.

�Haaoorr. Iieee, aaahhbuu duuuddd.�

�That baby doesn�t half gurgle funny,� he heard Ron�s voice say.

�Better gurgling than screaming,� said Ginny, wisely.

#

Minerva kicked the duvet round and turned over yet again. Above her, the darkness of the four-poster hangings served as a background for her thoughts, which were busy chasing each other in circles. Trying to lie still and not seek a warmth that had long left that bed, she forced herself to go over the meeting with the school governors for the twentieth time. She concentrated on the rise and fall of one governor�s voice as he questioned her about the cost of various extra-curricular activities inside Hogwarts. She remembered how one, a droopy-looking woman with soulful eyes, had pressed a cup of tea into her hand as if she couldn�t possibly survive without it. She deliberately recalled the feel of the cup in her hands, and how the warmth of the liquid inside radiated outwards into her bones.

Night, Minerva knew, was a dangerous time. The mind was prone to chewing over things. Whilst attempting to sleep, the brain worried at itself, pulling up memories. Night time was Minerva�s least favourite time of day�perhaps because it wasn�t day.

The bed didn�t help. She had tried, after getting the position of Headmistress, to remain in her old rooms and force the new Transfiguration teacher to sleep in the Head�s rooms, but she had gotten such odd looks and questions which could not be coherently answered that she had given up. She still hadn�t got over the feeling of being in someone else�s bed.

Yes, she thought, that was what made her toss and turn. Simple displacement of habit. Her Animagus was a cat�a creature of habit�so of course it would take longer than usual to get used to new �territory.� That was it. There were no extra dimensions to it at all.

Going over the day�s events tended to help. If she could keep on concentrating until she dropped off, then hopefully there wouldn�t be any� unwelcome thoughts. Self discipline was the key.

Quidditch does indeed consume a lot of resources, she recalled admitting to the governors. She focussed on the way one of the governors kept on fiddling with the skin in between his fingers. But it encourages the spirit of friendly competition in amongst the students. Even now, the angry bubbling of self-righteous indignation settled in her chest. What kind of idiot would even consider halting Quidditch matches?

Indeed, came the governor�s languid voice in her head. And the clubs?

Gobstones, chess, her inner voice began to echo. And other clubs related to specific subjects.

Wasn�t there another? came that question. That question. Oh no�but she couldn�t stop herself remembering�

Dumbledore�s Army.

Her hands clenched at her pillow as she moved to lie on her front. Coldness shot down her body. His name! She�d said�and thought�His name! Mistake.

An official club now?

Indeed. I believe I told you so last year, Robert. Now excuse me, I have to�

Run, she thought bitterly. Run back to her school to sit by the lake and drown in self-pity. Idiots! Why had they made her answer that question�?

�Headmistress?�

The whisper had her sitting up in bed, wand seized from the bedside table. Fumbling for her glasses, she pushed them on and looked wildly around, drawing back the curtains with desperate force.

�Begging your pardon, Headmistress��

She caught site of the picture of grazing deer on the wall opposite. The deer had fled to one side of the picture, the other side having been invaded by a frail-looking, elderly wizard: one Armando Dippet. She scowled at him and he quailed before her glare.

�My apologies, Headmistress�I agree, this is most improper��

�What?� she snapped, too exhausted to even pretend some semblance of politeness.

�Ah� Well, you see, my dear-�

�What?� repeated Minerva harshly. She felt an irrational anger�the phrase �my dear� was not Armando�s phrase; oh no, he was merely copying from someone else�

Dippet twiddled his thumbs nervously. �His�uh�portrait�um, it�s, well, gone.�

�What do you mean?� she demanded. �What portrait?�

�Dumbledore�s portrait. The frame�s still there but��

Minerva was out of bed so fast that Dippet was left talking to empty space. Heart beating madly, she dashed out of the bedroom, seizing the tartan dressing gown hanging on the door as she did, and into the small hallway, hand already outstretched for the door-handle. Her mind was whirling. Gone�gone? His picture gone? But did that�oh could that mean�? Was he awake� had he�?

The concealed door swung open, the tapestry hiding it mercilessly torn aside. The office was darkened, but the portraits were all awake and buzzing with excitement. Bright, curious eyes watched her as she turned to face the desk�and the empty frame beyond.

On the wall hung an ornate golden frame. It was heavily patterned (though Minerva could have drawn every elegant swirl in her sleep as they were all engraved on her brain) and the words �Albus Dumbledore� were inscribed on the bottom. Yet where a snoring figure usually sat, there was nothing. Instead, there was just the purple chair the painted Him had dozed in and the small painted window showing a view of the Forbidden Forest. The subject of the picture was conspicuously absent.

Minerva felt herself go cold again. Seeing that empty scene� It was almost as bad as the feeling she had had when she had walked into the office after His death, and seen the empty chair and cluttered desk, on which lay the last paper He�d been working at� It enforced His absence.

Then hope rose in her again. Had He finally woken up and gone for a stroll around the castle? Did that mean she could finally talk to Him�?

�What happened?� she asked, without turning round.

A cacophony of voices broke out.

�Well, I woke up to see him gone��

�Didn�t see him wake up��

��Nobody did��

��And Armando went and got you as soon as we realised��

�I say,� wheezed Dippet as he arrived back in his picture. �Isn�t this exciting? I do believe he�s woken up and gone for a stroll��

�I hope so,� announced the fat, red-faced wizard who had once spoken to Harry. �He shall make things interesting again. I look forward to a good old chin-wag with the fellow��

Phineas Nigellus sniffed. �Perhaps he�ll bring some dignity back into the proceedings,� he drawled. �I can�t say we saw eye to eye when he was alive but��

�We will have to search the castle,� cut across Minerva sharply. �Armando, if you go and check the first floor and Phineas, if you take the second��

�What?� said Dippet, blinking. �Now?�

Minerva glared at him. �Yes!�

�But, my dear, there�s no rush��

��When I first woke up, I recall wanting some quiet time to myself��

��He�ll be back soon; there are only a few interesting portraits worth visiting in this irritating place��

Minerva�s glare switched to Phineas. She opened her mouth to demand to know why the portraits weren�t following orders when Phineas spoke again, in his lazy, sarcastic voice.

�What�s the hurry, anyway? Dumbledore�s obviously taken his time already�seven years. Personally, I don�t think there�s any excuse for staying asleep for that long�shows an appalling laziness in my opinion��

�Well,� said Minerva weakly. �He�ll probably want to catch up on events��

�Can�t he be told in the morning?�

�That man�s been trying our patience for seven years; he deserves to be kept waiting��

Minerva sighed and turned away. With that, the Headmistress exited the office, lit wand held aloft. Her exhaustion had been swept away by hope. If it took all night, she would find His portrait herself and speak to Him.

#

Harry Potter looked down at his son nestled in Ginny�s arms, now sleeping peacefully, and felt a frown crease his brow. The queue for the fireplace and Floo network was long, so it gave him time to think. The jubilation at the idea of taking his son home was lifting to reveal worrying undertones.

Not for the first, second, or even third time, Harry thought of the incident earlier that afternoon with some anxiety. The way his son had cried like that� It had been disturbing, to say the least. Still, the child had seemed perfectly all right afterwards, gurgling oddly at him whenever he held it.

�We shall have to think of a good name,� Ginny said softly to him, still glowing in that warm, maternal way.

He smiled. �Yes� any ideas?�

�Sirius?� Ginny suggested tentatively. �James?�

Harry swallowed and shook his head. �Not James.� That ghost had to be laid to rest. �As for Sirius�perhaps a middle name?� He didn�t want to think of the Veil chamber whenever he thought of his son.

Ginny nodded and was silent. A thought came into Harry�s head.

�How about� Brian?� he said hesitantly.

Ginny smiled. �Yes, that�s a nice name�� She paused; he knew his face must look odd. �Harry, does that name mean something to you?�

He nodded stiffly. Blue eyes surveyed him in his memory.

�All right, then.� She looked down at the baby. �Brian.�

#

Dawn found Minerva slumped in the seat in His office, head in her hands. His snoring had been replaced by her short, gasping breaths as she swallowed back tears. Intensely grateful that all the other portraits were either absent or deeply asleep, she gazed at the polished wood below her through blurred sight. Every part of her body ached�her legs, her arms, and her back�but none more so than the livid, pulsing wound of grief inside.

Her eyes heated themselves in their sockets, the pressure building up behind them. Where?! Where was He? She had walked around the whole castle no less than five times, peering at each and every single picture, but nowhere was He was be seen.

It was like losing Him all over again.
- 2
- 3
- 4
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Him Again