Dark Lords are not born

After leaving the meeting with the unfamiliar young man, who was now their former Harry, Hermione couldn't decide whether she felt more confused or hurt. How could he accuse her of not being his friend? She had liked Ron from the very beginning, and Ron was always with Harry, so it was impossible not to be friends with Harry. After all, it was Harry who had been with Ron when he came to save her from the troll. For Ron's sake, she was even willing to put up with Lavender Brown, let alone being friends with Harry. Moreover, Harry was supposed to save the world from Voldemort—how could he have done that without her? He didn't even like reading books—all he ever thought about was Quidditch.

And Professor Dumbledore had been very approving of her friendship with Harry. He was with McGonagall when she handed Hermione the Time-Turner and had said many kind words about her friendship with the Boy Who Lived. He hadn't hinted in the slightest that Harry needed constant supervision, but Hermione had always been quick to catch on and realized that no one would give her such a rare artifact from the Department of Mysteries just because she was a top student. She did her best—she couldn't not report the mysterious broomstick sent to Harry. After all, if something had happened to the Boy Who Lived because of that broomstick, it would have been her who failed the trust of the adults. So why was he so upset with her now? She had only been looking out for him…

With such thoughts, Hermione arrived at Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, where Ron was waiting for her. Her upcoming conversation with former Harry was no secret to the Weasley family. At first, Ron had been indifferent, but after catching Ginny's indignant exclamation that their former friend was now a heartthrob worth five hundred Galleons, he became jealous and decided to keep an eye on things. He wasn't allowed to join the negotiations, having unsuccessfully argued with the goblins, so he finally told Hermione he would wait for her at the café.

When she sat down next to Ron, he was halfway through his fourth portion of ice cream. Three bowls stood empty, and another, full one, was pushed toward her.

"So, how did it go?" he asked impatiently.

"Can you imagine, Ron?" Hermione's voice trembled with hurt. "He said we were never his friends!"

"What do you mean we weren't?!" Ron immediately got worked up, unwavering in his belief that he had been the main figure in their friendship with the Boy Who Lived. "From first year, I was the one teaching that dolt how to live! Mum drilled it into my ears even before school that I'd be studying with the Boy Who Lived, that he knew nothing about our world and might not even get sorted into Gryffindor! Ginny was so jealous, and Fred and George teased me all summer! If it weren't for me, he would have ended up in the wrong house, making friends with the wrong people! Malfoy was just a bit late back then!"

"Can you believe he called me a Mudblood?" Hermione added.

Ron stumbled over his words but only for a moment.

"What else did you expect from that half-baked Death Eater? They never shut up about how you're You-Know-What," he snickered at his own joke.

Hermione glanced at Ron and decided that he hadn't meant to offend her. Ron never meant to offend, though he always managed to. She stirred her ice cream with her spoon but didn't eat any.

"I let Dumbledore down, Ron," she said sadly, staring at the table. "I failed."

"Oh, come on, what could you have done?" Ron waved it off. "He's the son of a Death Eater, they're all like that. Dumbledore sent you to see it for yourself. This Harry was suspicious even back in Hogwarts."

Hermione thought for a moment and agreed.

"That scar affected him. And he learned potions from a Death Eater's book—I told him, but he wouldn't listen," deep down she believed that if anyone studied better than her, it was unfair and unacceptable. "And robbing Gringotts—that was his idea, not mine."

"Yeah, who knows what that scarred him with…" Ron mumbled.

"And he had a Horcrux in his head," Hermione's analytical mind kicked in. "That locket was a Horcrux too, and look how it affected you, even though you wore it for just a little while. Imagine what a Horcrux in your head could do to Harry…"

Ron looked worriedly at his clever girlfriend.

"He could easily become the next Dark Lord, Hermione," he voiced the thought she hadn't dared to say aloud.

"What do we do?"

"What do you mean, what? We tell Dumbledore, of course."

As soon as they returned to the Burrow, the former right and left hands of the Boy Who Lived composed an urgent letter to Dumbledore. The old man Apparated to them immediately upon receiving it—either he was very worried or simply bored at home. After listening to their complaints—Ron being far more vocal than Hermione, despite not being present at the conversation—Dumbledore sighed and said that the fame Harry had lost had completely ruined his character and that there was little to be done for now, though it was too soon to call him a Dark Lord. After all, everyone deserves a second chance.

Hermione obediently nodded. Her efforts were not seen as a failure, and she was grateful to her mentor. Ron, however, remained convinced that certain cocky upstarts didn't deserve even a first chance, but Dumbledore's authority was too great for him to argue with the former headmaster. When they were alone, Ron vented his frustration to Hermione, declaring that this Death Eater brat needed to be exposed. While Ron grumbled resentfully, Hermione took his words seriously and confirmed that, yes, Travers needed to be brought into the light, because a guy who didn't value their friendship could be nothing but a hardened villain. To reassure her fiancé, she promised to take care of it and devise a plan to expose Travers as soon as she brought her parents back from Australia.

Dumbledore, meanwhile, having confirmed that his fish had well and truly slipped off the hook, would have gladly made the former Harry into a Dark Lord, but that required at least some justification. Besides, the old man was now certain that if the boy was provoked, he would not stay silent and might expose his former allies to the global wizarding community. All that remained was to hope that Travers would slip up somehow, at which point they could push him down and perhaps even frame it as offering help, like with Riddle.

In any case, making the former Harry a Dark Lord would be risky for Dumbledore himself, because then the story of the Chosen One's substitution would come to light, and everyone knew it was he, Dumbledore, who had been the boy's spiritual mentor. He had managed to convince the British public that the orphaned Riddle had turned into a Dark Lord at the age of eleven purely out of inherent wickedness, but they might not buy it a second time. Sure, most people would believe it, as they were lazy-minded, but there would always be those few who loved to gossip, like Rita Skeeter, and then the stupidity of the masses would turn against him. Now, if only Travers got involved with someone who could fit the role of a Dark Lord…

Dumbledore once again thought of Sirius. If before he had feared that the boy's godfather might have too much influence on him, now it would be quite convenient. Perhaps the boy would convince Sirius that the Light had treated them both poorly, and they would both rush off in search of justice, making all sorts of foolish mistakes. Then the former Boy Who Lived's turn to the dark side could be blamed on the bad influence of the elder Black, a pure-blood scion from a dark family, and Dumbledore would have a ready-made Dark Lord with his first follower.

Sirius had been acting out of hand lately. After the tragedy with James, he refused to listen to reason, as if it wasn't Dumbledore who had orchestrated his rehabilitation in society, spending whole days at St. Mungo's under a disguise with his friend. Unfortunately, at St. Mungo's, as in the Ministry, they never monitored visitors for Polyjuice Potion.

An owl sent to Sirius with a request for a meeting returned to Dumbledore with a message telling him to get lost. The old man shook his head sadly and went to St. Mungo's to visit James, hoping to knock some sense into Black through his best friend.

Sirius, in the guise of one of the Potters' Muggle neighbors, was already there with Prongs. His trademark sneer of contempt, which he wore regardless of his disguise, greeted Dumbledore as he entered. Initially, the old man had intended to handle James alone, but this was even better—he had managed with the pair before, and he would manage again.

"Jamie, Siri, my dear boys, how wonderful it is to see you!" he exclaimed from the doorway, spreading his arms in greeting.

Potter responded in kind, while Black limited himself to a curt nod.

"Prongs, I'm truly moved by how our esteemed mentor has missed you!" Sirius said to James with mock drama. "Look, it's barely been a year, and he's finally come to visit!"

What tactless people these Blacks are! Couldn't they have kept quiet about the fact that this was his first time coming here and politely welcomed him? Dumbledore was extremely busy; he was thinking for the whole country, pondering global issues. After all, he was a statesman, unlike some others who couldn't see beyond their own noses or the petty grievances of their friends. They should appreciate that he actually found time to visit the injured Potter.

"I've been very busy, my dear ones," he accompanied his words with a reproachful look. "You know how many problems we have because our former Boy-Who-Lived actually survived."

"Dumbledore," Black said, without adding "mister," making it sound like a lord addressing a servant, "I'll tell you what our problems are. The first problem is James' illness, and you haven't lifted a finger to do anything about it. The second problem is Lily, who hasn't shown her face here under the pretext of having to care for little Harry. I'm not stupid—I know who set James up with that bitch. And the third problem is my rehabilitation. I spent twelve years in Azkaban for nothing because of you, and I still can't openly visit my friend. If it weren't for me, who would visit him? Your Snape?"

"Sirius, my boy, you can't speak like that," Dumbledore's tone grew more reproachful. "You can't think only of yourself. You must think of the greater good and never forget that there are people far more in need of help than you are."

"This is the part where I'm supposed to shed a tear, Prongs," Black brazenly addressed James, ignoring the elder's poignant words and nodding towards him as if he were an outsider. "Dumbledore," he said with the same arrogance, "until I hear exactly who is in such dire need, you may as well stop talking. You always forget that one big common good consists of many small, personal, and concrete ones."

Luckily, Dumbledore had just such an answer ready today.

"Of course, my dear boy!" he perked up, pleased. "Our former Harry is now completely thrown off track, lonely, unhappy, and suffering. The boy needs help, friendly support, and you, Sirius, after your own tough life experiences, should understand this better than anyone. The boy needs care, he needs comfort, and as his former godfather, you're still not a stranger to him. Talk to him, open your heart—if not you, then who?"

Dumbledore's voice trembled, and a single tear glistened in his sincere eyes as he looked at Sirius.

"What are you implying, Dumbledore?" Black's cold, skeptical tone made it clear that the elder's eloquence had been in vain. "Are you saying I should take care of that kid again? Do I look like a babysitter to you?"

"I thought you cared about the boy..." Dumbledore sighed sorrowfully. "Here's a small, concrete good that you can do."

Black regarded the embodiment of grief for all the world's unfortunate souls with ironic amusement for a moment.

"I'll do it," he said harshly, "but only after something is done for me. I've already given too much to your greater good and gotten too little in return. When I'm once again a respected citizen, when society takes care of my friend, then I'll think about the greater good. But for now, excuse me, I'm too busy with my own concerns."

"How callous you are, my boy..."

"Try spending time in Azkaban like I did—and don't forget to bring back the Dementors. Then I'll see how you come out of there."

James didn't join the conversation, but it was clear he fully agreed with his friend. It must have been the fact that no one visited him here except Black—Black must have filled his ears. Dumbledore bitterly realized that these two had developed immunity to his moralizing speeches.

"I'm truly sorry, boys..." He sighed heavily, turned around, and began to leave the ward. That Black was getting out of hand. Right now—a swift owl to the Auror Office, and they'd take him on the spot, nice and warm...

"Hey, Dumbledore!" The elder stopped and turned toward the smirking Black. "If they take me to the Aurors, the whole world will hear about your fraudulent judgments and your baby-switching scheme. I'll insist on being interrogated with Veritaserum—Kingsley will do it, you know Kingsley. He's a responsible Minister and runs the country even from here, from St. Mungo's. And if you manage to hoodwink him, I've already taken measures and will contact the International Confederation of Wizards. I'm not the naïve kid you threw into Azkaban for nothing sixteen years ago."

Dumbledore had to abandon his plan to hand Black over to the Aurors immediately. What cunning, shameless people! How could anyone build a common good with them?