you raise me up || harry potter

chapter 27

Caught off guard by the sudden change in subject, Harry blinked. "What? Oh, yes, sir."

"As I understand, Minister Fudge has informed you that your aunt is safe."

"Oh," Harry said, swallowing. "Er—yes, he has."

"No harm done," Dumbledore said.

No love lost, either, Harry thought, but didn't say this out loud. "Okay," he said. 

Dumbledore didn't say anything to that frankly strange response, but instead continued, "I would have hoped your time with unfortunate run-ins with the Ministry would have come to an end, but alas, I was wrong."

Harry's eyes shot up in worry, but Dumbledore didn't look or sound like he was chastising Harry. Rather, a little smile crinkled his eyes as his mustache quivered a little. "A little penchant for breaking the rules, I see," he said. "Just like another Potter I once knew."

Something inside Harry's heart constricted. "My dad?" he asked breathlessly.

Dumbledore winked. "Quite the prankster, he was."

Harry wished Dumbledore could stay, sit in the old armchairs and eat lemon drops as he told Harry about his parents, but he stood up all too soon. "Until tomorrow, Harry," he said. "Three o'clock."

Harry nodded, and watched Dumbledore go up in a flash of green flames.

Dinner was a particularly awkward affair.

Snape appeared to be in a foul mood. Harry could not for the life of him figure out why, but didn't dare talk to him about it—for all he knew, Snape was mad at him. The thought of it made him inexplicably nervous. He hadn't messed up too badly so far, if you didn't count the plate, and Snape had seemed pretty alright with it, if you could ever call the man "alright."

The rough way he pushed back his chair grated on Harry's nerves. Well, Harry thought as Snape walked away, at least tomorrow Harry would stay out of his way for a couple hours.

♢

A little penchant for breaking the rules, I see, Dumbledore had said. Just like another Potter I once knew.

Not like an Evans he once knew. For all Dumbledore lectured him, he didn't seem to see much of Lily in Potter, either.

Snape set down a vial of armadillo bile violently onto his table, almost uncaring of whether the liquid sloshed over the sides. Even after all these years, James Potter was Dumbledore's golden angel, his little saint. No matter that he and his stupid crew almost got Snape killed and Snape's legacy in Harry Potter's eyes will forever be "Indebted to my father." 

Never. Snape never has and never will be indebted to James Potter. 

He wasn't even indebted to Lily. He would never again be held by any bonds so strong again. Not to debt, not to servitude whether that be to Voldemort or Dumbledore, not to love. 

Especially not love. 

♢

When Harry arrived at St. Mungo's, the first thing he registered was the various odd maladies (which he preferred not to lay eyes on longer than necessary), and the loudness. 

"It gets crowded during the summer," Dumbledore said. He was in a disguise as a rather average, middle-aged man, although the twinkling blue eyes were still there—it was better than both of them causing a ruckus in public. "I'd imagine it's because children are out of school and therefore more likely to cause their parents a fair bit of trouble with their magic."