Chapter 57: Save it, old man!
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"Professor Dumbledore wants to see you, sir," said the nervous-looking boy. Harry gave him an icy glare and the boy scampered from the library. Harry turned back to Daphne.
"Another time, Daphne," he said with a well-faked smile, getting to his feet. Anger boiled in his gut, but it would do no good to kill his spy before they were even his spy.
It had been two days since the incident with Hermione, and he was starting to think that maybe - just maybe - she was smart enough not to report it.
But that most likely was not the case. Hermione seemed to be obsessed with authority, even at the risk of her life.
The meeting might've had nothing to do with her, but what were the odds? Dumbledore had nothing to talk to him about - other than this, of course.
'What revenge would you suggest?' Harry asked as he scaled a staircase.
Loki hummed in thought. 'We can't do anything too overt; Dumbledore will suspect that it's us. Maybe we should mess with her head, like we did with Rita Skeeter?'
'Any other ideas?'
'Hire some muggles to kill her family,' Loki casually suggested. 'Pay them enough so that they'll make it look like a failed robbery, or something of the sort.
If you do the latter, do it over Christmas break when she'll be there too. You'll need to hire some slightly more capable people, but a gun will beat a schoolgirl witch any day.'
'Or maybe do both,' Harry said. 'Give her nightmares about her parents dying for a few weeks, and then have them actually die.' He snorted in laughter.
'And then she'll think that she has epic seer abilities, and will set out to do good with them, all while we provide her with more visions.'
Loki cackled. 'Of course! And she'll go on a series of epic quests, guided by her mentor Dumbledore to use the powers of love and friendship that will eventually lead to her defeating us and avenging her parents!'
'I've detected a flaw in our otherwise perfect plan,' Harry said. 'You can't use the power of friendship if you don't have any friends.'
With a sad sigh, Loki said, 'I suppose that means that, in the end, she will fall before our might.'
'What a sad end that would be to our oh-so-unlovable hero… I guess we shouldn't do that.' Harry was now approaching Dumbledore's gargoyle.
'We must bide our time, and strike when she least expects it.' An idea suddenly struck him. 'I know! If fake my death, and then haunt her from beyond the grave!'
'We probably shouldn't put that much effort into our revenge - unless we get a bad punishment, of course.'
'I'll make sure we don't.' As Harry approached the gargoyle, it moved aside without any request. 'No one can resist my mountains of charismatic charm.'
As expected, Dumbledore sat behind his desk among mounds of books and unrecognisable objects. Harry made his way over and sat down without invitation.
"Please sit, Mr Potter," Dumbledore deadpanned. "I assume you know why you're here?" he said in an exact repetition of what he had said the previous two times Harry had been called into his office.
Harry smiled sweetly. "I'm not quite sure, Professor. As far as I'm aware, I haven't broken any rules - unless, of course, you once again intend to chastise me for defending myself."
Dumbledore's expression was unreadable, completely still and tranquil. "Do you believe breaking someone's wrist in response to a harmless attack is self-defense?"
Harry shrugged. "It was her hand, not her wrist. And it was not on purpose, otherwise I would not have healed her."
"Not on purpose?" Dumbledore asked, his tone incredulous. "How do you accidentally break someone's hand?"
"Oh, I don't know." Harry stroked his chin, his expression turning hostile. "Perhaps it's an instinct burned into my being as a result of spending my childhood with every person who ever tried to hit me having the intention of ending my life. Or perhaps it's induced by the paranoia that I have to have, lest one of the Voldemort supporters you insist upon teaching decides to attack me." Harry leaned forward, resting his elbow upon the desk.
"It sounds to me, as though both of those problems are your fault, rather than mine."
Dumbledore remained calm, and Harry decided he was now more akin to a storm's eye than any other description. So he continued, "How many times have you failed, Dumbledore? First as a guardian, and now as a teacher." No discernable change occurred within Dumbledore, but the air seemed to charge with energy.
"Something tells me this isn't the first time, either."
The air grew thicker with magic, a suffocating tension that was almost tangible to one of Harry's senses. Naturally, Harry decided that the best thing to do was to further provoke Dumbledore.
"How many more will die before you realise just how much of what happens is your fault?" Harry cocked his head to the side.
"I bet Lord Voldemort went to school here, and that you had a hand in making him what he became. Children have suffered because of you; children have died because of you."
A glass upon table suddenly shattered, sending fragments of glass flying across the room. Harry's hand shot up to cover his face and let out a cry of pain as blood leaked from between his fingers. He was instantly on his feet and a moment later, Dumbledore was too.
"What the hell?!" Harry yelled, his hand going to his wand.
"I'm so sorry-"
"Save it, old man," spat Harry. "If you can't control your magic, how the hell do you expect to control a school!"
With that, he stormed from the office, and Dumbledore made no move to stop him. Harry made his way down the corridor looking furious.
It was only when he rounded the corner did he allow himself to relax and the thin cut across his cheek to heal.
He hadn't been sure that would work, but it had, and would hopefully prevent Dumbledore from bothering him for a while further.
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