2 | the life and lies of albus dumbledore
𝟷 𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝟷𝟿𝟿𝟽
HERMIONE DID NOT know where to begin, but it did not matter at the moment, when something large and silver came falling through the canopy over the dance floor. Graceful and gleaming, the lynx landed lightly in the middle of the astonished dancers. Heads turned as those nearest it froze absurdly in mid-dance. Then the Patronus mouth opened wide and it spoke in the loud, deep slow in the voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt:
"The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."
Everything seemed fuzzy and slow. Harry and Hermione jumped to their feet and drew their wands. Many people were only realising that something strange had happened, heads were still turning toward the silver cat as it vanished. Silence spread outward in cold ripples from the place where the Patronus had landed. Then somebody screamed.
Harry and Hermione threw themselves into the panicking crowd. Guests were sprinting into all directions, many were disapparating as the protective enchantments around the Burrow had broken.
"Ron!" Hermione cried, glancing around the area for the redhead boy. "Ron, where are you?!"
As they pushed their way across the dance floor, Hermione saw cloaked and masked figures appearing in the crowd; then she saw Lupin and Tonks, their wands raised and heard both of them shout, "Protego!", a cry that was echoed in all sides—
"Ron! Ron!" Hermione called then, half sobbing as she and Harry were buffered with terrified guests. Harry seized her hand to make sure they weren't separated as a streak of light whizzed over their heads, whether a protective charm or something more sinister, she didn't know.
And then Ron was there. He caught hold of Hermione's free arm and Hermione turned on the spot. Sight and sound were extinguished as darkness fell upon her. All she could feel were Harry and Ron's hands as they were squeezed through space and time, away from the Burrow, away from the descending Death Eaters and perhaps away from Voldemort himself.
As her feet landed on solid ground, she became aware that they were surrounded by people, cars honking here and there, lights blaring around them.
"Where are we?" asked Ron.
"Tottenham Court Road," answered Hermione. "Walk, just walk, we need to find somewhere we can change. You've brought your bags?"
"Yes," Harry and Ron answered, still catching their breath from the sudden attack and apparation.
They half walked and half ran up the wide dark street thronged with late-night revellers and lined with closed shops, stars twinkling above them. A double-decker bus rumbled by and a group of merry pub-goers ogled them as they passed; Harry and Ron were still wearing their dress robes. Ron's cheeks went red when a young woman burst into raucous giggles at the sight of him.
"Here. This will do," Hermione said, leading them down a side street, then into a shelter of a shadowy alleyway.
Harry pulled out his shrunken bag from his pockets and lifted the charm to turn it back into its normal size. He pulled out his pair of jeans, his sweatshirt, some maroon socks and then finally the silvery Invisibility Cloak. Ron and Hermione did the same and changed. Harry then threw the cloak around his shoulders and pulled it over his head, vanishing from sight.
"The others—everybody at the wedding—"
"We can't worry about that now," whispered Hermione as she pulled down her shirt. "It's you they're after, Harry, and we'll just put everyone in even more danger by going back."
"She's right," said Ron, who seemed to know that Harry was about to argue, even if he could not see his face. "Most of the Order was there, they'll look after everyone."
There was a quiet pause before, "Yeah," Harry said somewhere in the dark.
"Come on, I think we ought to keep moving," said Hermione.
They moved back up the side street and onto the main road again, where a group of men on the opposite side was singing and weaving across the pavement.
"Just as a matter of interest, why Tottenham Court Road?" Ron asked her.
"I've no idea, it just popped into my head but I'm sure we're safer out in the Muggle world. It's not where they'll expect us to be."
"True," Ron agreed. "But don't you feel a bit-exposed?"
"Where else is there?" asked Hermione, cringing as the men on the other side of the road started wolf-whistling at her. "We can hardly book rooms at the Leaky Cauldron, can we? And Grimmauld Place is out if Snape can get in there. I suppose we could try my parents' home, though I think there's a chance they might check there—Oh! I wish they would shut up."
"All right, darling?" the drunkest of the men on the other pavement was yelling. "Fancy a drink? Ditch ginger there and come and have a pint!"
"Let's sit down somewhere," Hermione said hastily as Ron opened his mouth to shout back across the road. "Look, this will do, in here!"
It was a small and shabby all-night cafe. A light layer of grease lay on all the Formica-topped tables, but it was at least empty. Harry slipped into the booth first and Ron sat next to him, opposite Hermione, who had her back to the entrance and did not like it. She glanced over her shoulder so frequently, she appeared to have a twitch.
After a minute or two, Ron said, "You know, we're not far from the Leaky Cauldron here, it's only in Charing Cross—"
"Ron, we can't," snapped Hermione.
"Not to stay there, but to find out what's going on!"
"We already know what's going on! Voldemort's taken over the Ministry, what else do we need to know?"
"Okay, okay...it's just an idea."
They relapsed into a prickly silence. The gum-chewing waitress shuffled over and Hermione ordered two cappuccinos: as Harry was still under the Invisibility cloak, it would look odd to order him one. A pair of burly workmen entered the cafe and squeezed into the next booth. Hermione dropped her voice to a whisper.
"I say we find a quiet place to disapparate and head for the countryside—once we're there, we can proceed for our first task."
"Which one? Going back in time?" asked Ron, sipping the foamy, greyish coffee. "God, that's revolting!"
The waitress heard and shot Ron a nasty look as she shuffled off to take the new customers' orders. The larger of the two workmen, who was blond and quite huge, waved her away. She stared, affronted.
"Obviously, Ronald. I think that—'' Hermione never got to finish what she was about to say when all of a sudden Ron had lunged across the table and pushed her sideways onto her bench. Hermione looked up to see the tiled wall behind Ron's head had shattered. Harry, who was still invisible, yelled out, "Stupefy!"
The great, blond Death Eater was hit in the face by a jet of red light; he slumped sideways, unconscious. His companion, unable to see who had cast the spell, fired another at Ron; shining black ropes flew from his wand-tip and bound Ron head to foot—the waitress screamed and ran for the door—Harry sent another Stunning spell at the Death Eater with the twisted face who had tied up Ron, but the spell missed, it rebounded on the window and hit the waitress, who collapsed in front of the door.
"Expulso!" bellowed the Death Eater and the table behind which Harry was standing blew up, the force of the explosion slammed him into the wall and the cloak slipped off him.
"Petrificus Totalus!" Hermione shouted, standing to her full height as her spell hit the Death Eater square on the chest. He fell backwards like a statue to land with the crunching thud on the mess of broken china, table and coffee. Harry and Ron stared at her from where they were.
She approached Ron and muttered, "Diffindo." The ropes around Ron fell away. Ron got up and shook his arm to regain feeling in them again. Harry picked up his cloak and wand, which had rolled away and climbed over all the debris.
"Lock the door," he said, "get the lights."
He looked down at the unconscious Death Eater as Hermione locked the door and rolled down the shutters while Ron took out the lights with his Deluminator, plunging the cafe into darkness.
"This one's name is Rowle," Harry said. "He was on the Astronomy Tower the night Snape killed Dumbledore."
"This is Dolohov," Ron said with contempt in his voice as he rolled him over with his foot. For a moment, Hermione froze. Dolohov. Antonin Dolohov, the man behind the ugly purple scar between her breasts and down to her left hip—the scar that almost took her life had she not been quick enough to silence him. She stared down at the man who gave her the scar as his eyes shifted in fear between all three of them. Ron continued on, his face hard. "I recognised him from the wanted posters. So what're we gonna do with you, eh? Kill us if it's turned around, wouldn't you?"
"We kill them, they'll know we're here," reasoned Harry.
"Suppose it's him that did Mad-Eye. How would you feel then?"
Hermione's heart was pounding wildly against her ribcage. She felt her anger building up, her magic crackling and for a moment, she wanted to agree with Ron—that yes...yes we should kill him but then Harry spoke up.
"It's better we wipe their memories."
"You're the boss," said Ron, turning to Hermione who was still staring at Dolohov. "Hermione?"
Hermione raised her eyes to meet Ron's as he wiped a trickle of blood from her cheek.
"You're the best with spells."
Shakily, she moved forward and raised her wand. She could see the panic in the Death Eater's eyes as he watched her point her wand at him. She took a deep, calming breath and then whispered, "Obliviate."
Dolohov's eyes went unfocused and dreamy.
"That settles it then," Harry said. "We go back in time now. No time to lose."
They began cleaning up the cafe after altering the waitress and the other Death Eater's memories. Harry threw on his cloak as Hermione unlocked the door and Ron clicked on his Deluminator to release the cafe's lights. They left the cafe hastily and rushed into a dark, cold and empty alleyway.
Harry took his cloak off after making sure they weren't being followed as Hermione pulled out the Time-Turner from beneath her shirt and placed the golden chain around their necks. Peering at both of her best friends' faces, Hermione turned the Time-Turner 53 times—a year for each turn. As the contraption turns, a golden glow basks from the sand inside the tiny glass of the turner. Looking ahead and never back, the golden trio were sent off to the past and consequently, their future.
///\\\
It was blurry and suddenly it stopped. Hermione opened her eyes and looked around them. It was nearing sunset, the golden basks of the sun flittering through the trees like the one from the sands of her turner as she slid the chain off Harry and Ron's necks and back down under her shirt. They had arrived at a small clearing surrounded by tall trees and at their left, she could see the outlines of buildings she recognised.
"Hogsmeade," said Ron.
"Let's move," Harry told them as he strolled towards Hogsmeade Village. Upon approaching, they can only spot a few light sources coming from certain shops.
"Where're we going?" asked Ron as they followed Harry. "Any idea how we can get inside of Hogwarts?"
"Honeydukes' cellar," Harry replied, "it's the fastest way".
Hermione stopped on her tracks and looked down at a damp scattered piece of the Daily Prophet. She leaned down and narrowed her eyes to focus on the current date at the edge of the paper.
31 August 1944.
Hermione let out a sigh of relief and stood back up.
"What is it?" Ron asked.
"Term starts tomorrow," she answered.
Harry's brows disappeared behind his fringe. "Brilliant."
Hermione cast a Notice-Me-Not charm at themselves and hustled across the street toward Honeydukes. Once they arrived at the quiet and empty looking shop, Hermione wasted no time by quickly casting 'Alohomora', unlocking the door. The door clicked and Hermione pushed it open. The bell above the door tinkled and they froze at once. However the shop remained quiet and dark.
They hurried over the threshold and closed the door behind them, the bell tinkling once more. Harry pulled out the Marauder's Map from his bag and they went into the cellar. They each cast 'Lumos' and white light came out from the tip of their wands. They then went into the tunnel as Harry watched their names drifted closer and closer to Hogwarts.
They moved on comfortably and quietly, unafraid of other company attacking them in the depths of the dark tunnel. Perhaps it was no more than a dangerous plan, but Hermione knew it was essential that she needed to be in Tom Riddle's inner circle to get information of his weakness and horcruxes. That was indeed the idea they had planned for months before going back in time—that Hermione would be the one to be infiltrating Riddle's secret society. Harry and Ron would be gaining other information about Riddle and his followers from whatever house they'll be sorted into.
And though it may seem impossible, Hermione hoped whatever little tricks she'd come up with would do the trick of gaining Riddle's interest enough for him to invite her into his circle. Nevertheless, hope would not get her far knowing very well that she would have to be very appealing in every manner to him for him to even look at her, talk to her—consider her. She would have to be cunning and work her way around his ability to detect lies. For a girl who had completed all her assignments, tasks and challenges successfully in the past, this one would truly be an uphill battle.
She was pulled out of her thoughts when they came upon the exit of the one-eyed witch tunnel. They steadily mounted their feet and pulled themselves out of the small tunnel—Hermione first and then the boys. As the golden trio's feet set foot on the familiar floors of Hogwarts, the reality of what they are doing finally sunk in and they cannot help but say out loud:
"This is mental," said Harry.
"Completely, utterly, without question," agreed Hermione.
"The world's gone mental," added Ron. "C'mon. We got to find Dumbledore first."
"Right, then perhaps to the Room of Requirement to rest," Hermione suggested. Dumbledore had specifically told them they needed to find his younger self immediately to inform him of their arrival and mission. Hermione turned to Harry. "Harry, the map?"
Harry glanced down at the map and searched for the man in the old man's current office, but there was no Dumbledore. He searched the Headmaster's office and still no sign of the old wizard. As the trio kept their eyes open and alert on the map, somehow they were unable to notice the quiet footsteps from behind them coming their way
"Look! That's him innit?" Ron said, pointing to the name 'Albus Dumbledore' on the map. "But, we're here," he frowned when he saw their names close to the old wizard. As Ron did this, a voice spoke up.
A very familiar voice.
"Can I help you?"
They froze, then slowly turned around.
"Morgana's tits..." Ron's mouth fell open.
Hermione's fingers touched her parted lips.
"Dumbledore," Harry said, his voice so low, Hermione thought it was the wind.
There, at the end of the hall they were standing—a younger version of Albus Dumbledore with dark auburn hair instead of the white silvery hair back in their time. His beard still ridiculously long, and his fashion sense clearly had not changed in the last fifty-years. Young Dumbledore looked extremely wary to see three unfamiliar teenagers in the dawn of darkness wearing very strange clothing.
Hermione was quick to act, immediately going through her bag, trying to find the letter older Dumbledore had given her. "We do not wish to alarm you, sir but we have something for you." Hermione thrusted a brown letter with the Hogwarts crest on it. Dumbledore stared the letter suspiciously as though it contained a curse that would kill him if he touched it.
"Please, Professor," pleaded Hermione.
Dumbledore reluctantly took the letter after gazing warily at them and opened it. His bushy brows shot up and the trio knew he had recognised his own handwriting as he read the letter. He frowned when he read the contents inside the piece of parchment before his eyes suddenly twinkled behind his half-moon spectacles and they felt a sudden relief. After a minute or two, Dumbledore finally finished the letter and folded it back. He then held out the letter in his hand. The letter hovered in the mid-air when suddenly a small fire erupted, burning the letter. Hermione, Harry and Ron watched as the flames danced before their eyes as it soon turned into nothing more than ash. Dumbledore vanished the evidence with a flick of his wrist.
Dumbledore was quiet for a while, seeming to choose his words carefully. "I will ask you just this once. Never mention your task to anyone in this time—even if you deem them as trustworthy."
"Of course sir," said Hermione, nodding along with Harry and Ron.
"Well then," Dumbledore said and then he smiled warmly. "I shall inform Headmaster Dippet of your arrival later—in the meantime, follow me to your quarters for the night." With a clap of his hands, he led them around the corridor and through the halls of Hogwarts.
///\\\
𝟷 𝚜𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟷𝟿𝟺𝟺
If Hermione were to describe the current Headmaster of Hogwarts in one word, it would be cheeky. Letting out a breath, Hermione tried to recall if the Headmaster that resided in the portrait back in their time was this much talkative. Almost bald and somewhat a feeble man, Dippet had not stopped talking of how it had been such an honour to let the children of Dumbledore's friends stay in Hogwarts a day early.
Dumbledore had gone back for them first thing in the morning to accompany them to meet the Headmaster. He told them that they were the children of his friends who had gone to Beauxbatons Academy of Magic but because of Grindelwald's uprising, they decided to move to Britain and went to Hogwarts to finish their Seventh Year.
"It is a wise decision to flee French immediately—what with Grindelwald causing a ruckus there..." Dippet said suddenly and then his eyes went to Hermione, his face turning sad. "And my deepest condolences to you Miss Granger. I heard that you've lost your father during the...flight."
Hermione's throat tightened and then she smiled sadly, convincingly. "Thank you, sir. Grindelwald had him executed because he refused to join him."
"A tragic loss indeed." Dippet nodded. "I was aware that he was a descendent of Hector Dagworth-Granger? The famous potioneer?"
"Yes. He is his great uncle."
Dippet raised a brow. "And you, his great great niece."
Hermione's smile was brittle. "I do not wish to alarm you, Professor but my great great uncle has no knowledge of my existence. He and my great great grandfather are estranged—went on their separate ways during their early adulthood. I am no where as extraordinary as Hector in the art of brewing potions."
The Headmaster sat straighter in his throne-like chair, a grave look on his ageing face. "That's quite a lie, Miss Granger."
"Sir?" Hermione frowned, her heart rate suddenly increased thinking perhaps she had been caught. Harry and Ron too started to fidget that they kept on glancing at Dumbledore who stood near the desk. However, Dumbledore remained calm merely watching them but Hermione caught the twinkle in his eyes at the last minute as Dippet suddenly spoke again.
"Quite a lie indeed." But then he brightened, smiling with far too many teeth. His hands went to ruffle the stacks of parchment on the desk. "No where as extraordinary as the Hector Dagworth-Granger? Hmm...I think your records proved you wrong, Miss Granger." Dippet started to read the parchment in his hand. "It says here that you've received ten O's and one E, giving you a total of eleven O.W.L.s. Now, does that sound like 'no where as extraordinary' to you?"
Hermione did not answer. Dippet shifted his eyes to Harry and Ron.
"Boys?"
"Outstanding," said Harry. "Brilliant."
"Amazing," agreed Ron. "We wouldn't be able to pass if it weren't for her."
Dippet grinned. "That settles it then, Albus?"
Dumbledore nodded. "Then on to the sorting?"
"Sorting? Oh, Albus...they can be sorted with the first years or are you forgetting that today the students will be coming back for a new year?"
Dumbledore smiled. "Of course not, Armando. Then with the First Years they shall be sorted."
Dippet then waved off the golden trio, letting them know they were dismissed. "Once again my dears, my condolences to all three of you for the friends and family you have lost while fighting Grindelwald and his men." Hermione, Harry and Ron nodded. As they were about to close the door to the Headmaster's study, they heard Dippet sighed. "This cannot go on any longer, Albus. You know you are the only one who can stop him."
There was a pause, then...
"I'm trying, Armando. I'm trying my best."
Ron closed the door behind him.
"He was friends with Grindelwald before, did you know?"
Hermione and Harry stared at Ron, their eyes widened.
"What?"
"How'd you know?"
Ron shook his head. "C'mon. I've got something to show you."
The golden trio descended the staircase and left the corridor for their quarters for the time being. The silence during their walk back stretched for what felt like an eternity, corridor after corridor until they turned around a corner. There was a portrait of an old wizard, hanging on the wall. He was sleeping, snoring loudly that they could see the drool coming from the corner of his mouth. Harry coughed loudly and the old man startled, nearly falling from his chair.
"What?" he wheezed out.
"Unicorn," said Harry.
The old man scoffed and the portrait swung open revealing a living room that looked almost similar to the Gryffindor Common Room. However, instead of sofas and armchairs, there were three beds on the far end wall. Ron approached the bed in the middle and snatched an ugly brown bag that laid near the foot of the bed.
"I promise I was going to show you this after the wedding but..." he rummaged through the bag and pulled out a pristine copy of The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore. "...we got distracted."
Hermione gasped. "Ron...where did you get this?"
"I was trying to find mum so I went looking in her room but found this sitting on the bed. I reckoned it was Aunt Muriel who gave it to her." Ron shrugged. "I haven't got the time to read it yet."
Harry took the book from Ron's gangly fingers. Its spine was stiff; clearly hadn't been opened before. He riffled through the pages, looking for photographs and then he came across one at once—a much younger looking Dumbledore than the one they've encountered in this time—and his handsome companion, roaring with laughter at some forgotten joke. Harry dropped his eyes to the caption.
Albus Dumbledore, shortly after
his mother's death,
with his friend, Gellert Grindelwald.
Harry gaped at the last words for several long moments as Hermione hovered over his shoulder to look; she too gasped, covering her mouth with her hands. Grindelwald. His friend, Grindelwald. Harry looked at Ron who was still contemplating the name as though he could not believe his eyes.
"I know," said Ron. "It's mental."
Ignoring the remainder of the photographs, Harry searched the pages around them for a recurrence of that fatal name. He soon discovered it and read greedily, but became lost: It was necessary to go further back to make sense of it all, and eventually he found himself at the start of a chapter entitled "The Greater Good." Together, they all started to read. They read for a moment longer before they came across a letter from Dumbledore to Grindelwald:
Gellert—
Your point about Wizard dominance being FOR THE MUGGLES' OWN GOOD—this, I think, is the crucial point. Yes, we have been given power and yes, that power gives us the right to rule, but it also gives us responsibilities over the ruled. We must stress this point, it will be the foundation stone upon which we build. Where we are opposed, as we surely will be, this must be the basis of all our counterarguments. We seize control FOR THE GREATER GOOD. And from this it follows that where we meet resistance, we must use only the force that is necessary and no more. (This was your mistake at Durmstrang! But I do not complain, because if you had not been expelled, we would never have met.)
Albus
They continued on reading on what seemed like a proof to Dumbledore's dream of overthrowing the Statute of Secrecy and establishing Wizard rule over Muggle, how he was too busy plotting his rise to power rather than mourning for his mother and caring for his sister. They read on how barely two months into their friendship, Dumbledore and Grindelwald had parted ways and never to see again, and how his sister, Ariana's death had been the cause of the drift.
On the last paragraph, they read:
Neither Dumbledore nor Grindelwald ever seemed to have refer to this brief boyhood friendship in later life. However, there can be no doubt that Dumbledore delayed, for some five years of turmoil, fatalities, and disappearances, his attack upon Gellert Grindelwald. Was it lingering affection for the man or fear of exposure as his once best friend that caused Dumbledore to hesitate? Was it only reluctantly that Dumbledore set out to capture the man he was once so delighted he had met?
And how did the mysterious Ariana die? Was she the inadvertent victim of some Dark rite? Did she stumble across something she ought not to have done, as the two young men sat practicing for their attempt at glory and domination? Is it possible that Ariana Dumbledore was the first person to die "for the greater good"?
The chapter ended here and Harry looked up. Hermione had reached the bottom of the page before him. She tugged the book out of Harry's hands, looking a little alarmed by his expression and closed it without looking at it, as though hiding something indecent.
"Harry—"
But he shook his head. Hermione knew then that some inner certainty had crashed down inside him; it was exactly as she felt when she had obliviated her parents. Harry had trusted Dumbledore, believed him the embodiment of goodness and wisdom.
"Harry...mate," whispered Ron, trying to touch his arm.
"Harry," Hermione pleaded. "Listen to me. It—it doesn't make very nice reading—"
"Yeah, you could say that—"
"—but don't forget, Harry, this is Rita Skeeter writing."
"You did read that letter to Grindelwald, didn't you?"
"Yes, I-I did." She hesitated, looking upset. "I think that's the worst bit. I know Bathilda thought it was all just talk, but 'For the Greater Good' became Grindelwald's slogan, his justification for all the atrocities he committed later. And...from that...it looks like Dumbledore gave him the idea. They say 'For the Greater Good' was even carved over the entrance to Nurmengard."
"What's Nurmengard?" asked Ron.
"The prison Grindelwald had built to hold his opponents. He ended up in there himself, once Dumbledore had caught him. Anyway, it's—it's an awful thought that Dumbledore's ideas helped Grindelwald rise to power. But on the other hand, even Rita can't pretend that they knew each other for more than a few months one summer when they were both really young, and—"
"I thought you'd say that," said Harry, looking as though he was doing his best to keep his anger from lashing out. "I thought you'd say 'They were young.' They were the same age as we are now. And here we are, risking our lives to fight the Dark Arts, and there he was, in a huddle with his new best friend, plotting their rise to power over the Muggles."
Hermione knew his temper would not remain in check much longer because Harry had stood up and walked, trying to work some of it off.
"She's not trying to defend what Dumbledore wrote," said Ron. "All that 'right to rule' rubbish, it's 'Magic Is Might' all over again. But mate...you had to understand, his mother had just died, he was stuck alone in the house—"
"Alone? He wasn't alone! He had his brother and sister for company, his Squib sister he was keeping locked up—"
"I don't believe it," said Hermione. She stood up too. "Whatever was wrong with that girl, I don't think she was a Squib. The Dumbledore we knew would never, ever have allowed—"
"The Dumbledore we thought we knew didn't want to conquer Muggles by force!" Harry shouted, his voice echoing in their small living room.
"He changed, Harry, he changed! It's as simple as that! Maybe he did believe these things when he was seventeen, but the whole of the rest of his life was devoted to fighting the Dark Arts! Dumbledore was the one who stopped Grindelwald, the one who always voted for Muggle protection and Muggle-born rights, who fought Voldemort from the start, and who died trying to bring him down!"
Rita's book lay on the floor between them, so that the face of Albus Dumbledore smiled dolefully at the trio.
"Harry, I'm sorry, but I think the real reason you're so angry is that Dumbledore never told you any of this himself."
"Maybe I am!" Harry bellowed, and he flung his arms over his head, hardly knowing whether he was trying to hold in his anger or protect himself from the weight of his own disillusionment. "Look what he asked from me, Hermione! Risk your life, Harry! And again! And again! And don't expect me to explain everything, just trust me blindly, trust that I know what I'm doing, trust me even though I don't trust you! Never the whole truth! Never!"
There were tears in his eyes that Hermione's heart broke. "Look at where we are, Hermione. Look at what he asked from us! From you...from Ron...sending us fifty years to the past to find Riddle's fucking weakness! Fifty years, Hermione! Our parents weren't even born yet!"
His voice cracked with the strain, Hermione and Ron stood looking at Harry in the light of the fire burning in the fireplace.
"He loved you," Hermione whispered, her throat felt tight. "I know he loved you."
Harry dropped his arms.
"I don't know who he loved, Hermione, but it was never me. This isn't love, the mess he's left me in—left us in. He shared a damn sight more of what he was really thinking with Gellert Grindelwald than he ever shared with me."
Harry went and sat down on his bed on the far side of the room, leaving Hermione and Ron staring after him. A moment later, he laid down, all the while making no noise. Hermione hesitated, but recognised the dismissal. She picked up the book and then walked back past him to her own bed, but as she did so, she brushed the top of his head lightly with her hand.
He closed his eyes at her touch, and hated himself for wishing that what she said was true: that Dumbledore had really cared.