MetaFic

His dreams bothered him at times, though his dormitory mates had long since become accustomed to it. He would be travelling through mists and clouds, sometimes walking across the ground, sometimes flying, and there were voices – faint voices, crying out, crying for him to save them, or crying for his damnation because he had killed them. He tried to set it aside, but sometimes it was hard, which made it difficult to get going in the morning. Thankfully, they were rarely more than once a week, and the right people had learned to recognise the signs long ago.

He was looking forward to the wedding after leaving school at the end of the month. Tonks had finally forced Remus to make an honest woman out of her, not that the writing had been less than clear for the past three years. Hogwarts’ first and only lycanthropic DADA teacher had also been the one to break the rumoured curse upon the position, staying in the job since the second term of Harry’s first year. Harry wondered what random girlfriend Sirius would bring to the event, but regardless, he knew fun would be had by all.

Harry looked up at the sky and enjoyed the clear blue that spread across the horizon, signifying one of those rare summer days in Scotland with nary a cloud in sight. He could faintly see Ron flying about the Quidditch Pitch from here, savouring his last days as Head Boy and Quidditch Captain. Harry was happy for his friend, recently selected as a reserve player for the Cannons, but was happier he was not going there to play. Maybe Ron could turn the team around, but Harry doubted it. Hermione had offered to help Ron plan strategies for the team, but he honestly thought she had no hope for it either.

“Feeling all right, Harry?” Dumbledore’s voice cut through his thoughts as they walked along the edge of the lake. “It’s not the dreams again, is it?”

“Not really, sir.” Harry smiled at the headmaster, secure in their friendship. The man even came around during holidays and summer breaks, spending time with Harry and his motley family at Number Twelve. “Just thinking about everything that’s changing in a week or so.”

“Relax, Harry,” Dumbledore said with a fatherly pat on the shoulder. “Don’t listen to the people who think I’m grooming you to be my successor. I want you to live your life and to do what you want. You’ve earned it, lad. Some day, should you want to come back here once you’ve had a bit of experience in this world, we’ll talk about it.”

Harry laughed softly. “Thanks, I think,” he said after a moment. “It’s not that, really. I just feel like . . . like sometimes, there’s something I’m supposed to be doing, you know? There’s some battle to be fought, or some big event coming.”

Dumbledore said nothing as they walked around the lake, and Harry enjoyed the solitude with him. It was clear that the headmaster was old, but Harry liked to think his virtual grandfather would be there forever, immortal in a fashion.

“Harry, I do not know when next we will have a chance to talk like this, so I would like to tell you something.” Harry nodded when Dumbledore made eye contact, saying without words that this was serious. “There may come a time when things look bleak, when there are Dark powers gathering. If that happens, you must come back here and talk to the Sorting Hat.”

Harry was so surprised that he stopped. “Talk to the Sorting Hat?”

Dumbledore smiled, but the expression failed to reach his eyes. “Yes, I know it sounds like another barmy request from an old man, but I am most serious.”

“Err, all right, sir,” Harry said, unsure what to make of the request. “I’ll do that, but I hope I don’t have to.”

“As do I, Harry, as do I.” Dumbledore began walking again, so Harry joined him.

“Sir, is there something you know that I don’t, something about the future?” Harry was unable to shake a certainty that Dumbledore was trying to hint at something, but this was the first time he had ever noticed it.

“The future is never fixed, Harry, you should know that. Many things we do can change the outcomes once seen, and all I ask is that you remember my request.” There was a hint of humour in the headmaster’s voice as he changed the topic. “And how does your personal life look today, Harry?”

“Better, sir,” Harry said with a chuckle. “She’s not threatening to hex me after that prank, so she must truly love me.”

“You think that she feels that way, or you think that you do?”

Harry shrugged. “I’d hate to think it’s otherwise, really. We’ve talked off and on about what happens next. Next year will be hard, but we’ll certainly stay together. Still, we both also need to decide what we want to do with our lives individually before we can decide how we’re going to manage being together farther down the road.”

“Most wise, Harry, most wise.” Dumbledore remained silent as they continued on, before speaking again as they reached the half-way point around the lake. Dumbledore gestured back to the castle, and Harry stopped to stand beside him, shoulder to shoulder. “It’s a beautiful sight, isn’t it, Harry?”

“I’ve always thought of it as home, sir,” Harry said softly.

“Yes. I feel the same.” They continued to look at the castle, and Harry enjoyed the dual image between the reflection in the quiescent lake and the castle itself. “I’m glad you feel that way, Harry. As long as people feel that, I have hope that Hogwarts will always be here.”

Harry laughed lightly. “Of course it will, sir. Where else will I send my children? It’s not like I’ll even have a choice. She would hex me into next year if I suggested Beauxbatons.”

Dumbledore chucked softly. “Indeed, Harry, indeed.” As he started walking again, Harry resumed his place at his side.

“I was wondering, Headmaster, how well the . . . Ministry is taking to our use of Malfoy Manor?”

Dumbledore, Harry thought, giggled briefly. When he looked more closely, all he could see was Dumbledore watching him with those eyes twinkling like mad. “I think it’s safe to say, Harry, that they have no say in the matter. But, just between you and me, they could have heard the screaming from some members all the way inside the deepest vaults at Gringotts.”

Harry chuckled lightly as they continued their path back toward the castle. “I suppose an in-depth study of the evidence contradicting every pureblood claim would grate against some people. Not to mention the museum dedicated to famous Muggle and magical inventors and their works, regardless of blood.”

Dumbledore clapped Harry lightly on the shoulder, sliding his hand around and pulling Harry into a one-armed hug. “Harry, my boy, I can’t tell you how proud I am of what you and your godfather have done, have been doing. The changes are far too late for many, but the future generations . . . I have great hope for the future, Harry, and it’s all because of you. You’ve changed so much for so many.”

Harry smiled up at the man he had spent so many hours and years chatting with, learning magic from, and ultimately, growing up under the wisdom of. “Thanks, sir. I’ll do my best.”

“Ah, I know you will, Harry.”

Harry heard someone calling his name, and as he looked up, he had to laugh at the person running toward them. She never let him be alone for long, and he liked it that way. He looked forward to their future together, in whatever direction their careers took them.

He was happy to hold his arms out in open invitation, just watching her long, vibrant red hair fly as she joined him.