Chapter 53: Staircase

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Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.

"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

And Harry, with many other traumatized first years, left, dazed to high heavens, for his common room.

Albus Dumbledore was a man defined by his mistakes. His sister's death, his brother's estrangement, his fight with Gellert Grindelwald, and of course, Tom Riddle.

On this fateful night, he was wondering if he'd have to add Harry Potter to the list now.

Over the decades, Albus had developed the habit of scanning through the first year children's' minds at the welcoming feast.

While he knew that what he was doing was sketchy at best and downright criminal at worst, he felt that the risk of prosecution and the slight against his own morality was worth protecting the world from another psychopathic murderer.

So, he identified and marked dark wizards in the school itself, using that information later to hopefully guide them out of the path of becoming a dark wizard, and failing which, use their identities in protecting of innocents.

Yet that little habit was also the reason behind his greatest weakness.

Pragmatic people liked to call Albus naive and unnecessarily forgiving to the point of being foolish when they would see him arguing to protect the Death Eaters from the Kiss or the Death sentence.

"A dead dark wizard is a killer and murderer less!" they would scream at him. And to a certain degree, after the end of the last war when he had seen Sirius Black betray his closest friend, Albus found himself agreeing with them.

But how could he sentence them to death!

How could he stare them in their eyes, the very eyes that held nothing but innocence and dreams when they walked through the doors of the Great Hall when they turned eleven, and order the Dementors to get their souls sucked out!

He couldn't. And he knew that his inability to shake the images of the murderers and rapists as innocent children from his mind was one of the biggest liabilities to the light side.

His thoughts were conflicted as when he sensed his Deputy about to knock on his door.

"Come in, Minerva."

"What is this about Albus? You know I have the class with first years first thing tomorrow." Minerva seemed a bit frazzled, her slippers and fur gown evidence of her hurry in coming to his office on his call.

"I've come across something disturbing during my scans in the feast. It's… troubling."

Minerva's lips pursed. She had never approved of his actions. In a clipped voice, she spoke, "What is it?"

"It's about Mr. Potter," he paused and took a deep breath. What he was about to say was not to be said lightly. "His mind has shields. Shields well beyond anyone three times his age could ever have."

"What are you implying Albus?"

Her tone was worried, Albus noted. Minerva had shown unprecedented concern over the boy ever since she had returned, ripping into Albus after she returned from her trip to Diagon Alley to help him buy his supplies. She hadn't held back, and Albus hadn't dared contradict her promise of getting the boy out of that place.

Suspecting what he did now, he wasn't sure he even wanted the boy to go to Privet Drive, a place he couldn't keep a watchful eye on him. With a sigh, he placed his suspicions on the table, "I suspect that night the killing curse did more than kill the dark lord and give Harry a scar."

Minerva was quick to catch on, "You suspect he's possessed. By You-Know-Who."

"I do."

"But you do know that such shields can also be a side effect of serious physical and mental trauma," Her voice was accusing, and Albus knew that she was referring to the time he had not done anything about Severus Snape's home life despite knowing of his father's routine abuse, forcing him to turn to the other powerful wizard that did offer to help him.

And now, the faded dark mark on his potions master's hand forever remained yet another reminder of Albus's devastatingly powerful mistakes.

"I know. But still…"

Minerva stood up. "Well, I doubt it, Albus. I studied with Tom Riddle in Hogwarts. If there is one thing you and I know about him, it's that he is incapable of any emotions except rage. Harry… is…"

"Still Minerva, keep an eye on him will you?" He said, tiredly massaging his forehead.

Minerva sighed. "I will. But Albus, don't treat him like a pariah like you did with Riddle just because you suspect he is dark. Doing that only pushed Riddle more to the other side. Do yourself a favor and don't make the same mistake with Harry."

With that one last warning, Minerva walked out the office. Albus gently took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. So Harry was either dark, or he was abused so badly that he physically and mentally cut himself off from the pain of his past.

Either way, it was another devastating mistake on his own head. He sighed, before emptying a vial of a calming draught into his mouth.

Harry sat on his four-poster bed as sleep continuously evaded him. The Ravenclaw dorm beds had curtains, which with the word Duro could turn solid and wouldn't open for anybody except its user.

They also had a built-in silencing charm that muffled all outside sounds. You had to keep your alarm in your bed in case you fell asleep with the silencing charm on, but it was a small price to pay for the privacy it afforded.

The Prefect had led them to the Ravenclaw Common Room, which was located on the west side of Hogwarts at the top of a spiral staircase, presumably on the fifth floor, and had a door without a doorknob or keyhole, but a bronze knocker in the shape of an eagle.

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