Cinders and Scars

Part I

Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling, voiding that of original content and characters.

Epilogue:

Swan Song

I've fought all my inner wars and I'm a champion for once. Your whispers bleed through me and honestly, it haunts It haunts me in my silent slumber and my sweet arising. All that you're saying is genuine and surprising. I will remain strong and vigilant through it all. I'm frozen inside with unbearable appall, resilience and zealousness shields me from the dark forces. Won't you save me from the sorrow that courses inside me - so my fretful soul is set free like a hundred horses? *

- JW Earnings, My Demons

Dumbledore's office was silent.

Harry rubbed nervously at the bandages along his arm. His body had been cut and bruised by an enchanted rope from the Mirror room, giving the impression that Harry had least attempted to fight off the Dark Lord.

The Headmaster's office was a very large and haphazardly decorated room, filled with the sounds of odd ticks and chimes. A great number of magical instruments whirred on the long shelves, occasionally emitting little puffs of smoke. The walls were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were resting in their frames.

A sudden, pain-filled croak came from behind him. Standing on a golden perch was a decrepit-looking bird, his feathers the color of mottled autumn leaves. The creature stared balefully at Harry, clicking it's beak weakly.

"Harry?" Came a soft voice. Harry looked up at Dumbledore, the man's bright eyes shielded by hooded eyelids. The Headmaster was dressed in an eyesore of a robe- fabric the exact color of a ripe persimmon. "Would you care for a lemon drop? Or a spot of tea, perhaps?"

Harry, too nervous to be anything but polite, allowed his hands to be filled with a warm cup of tea. He breathed in the earthy scent, letting it calm him. "Thank you, sir," he said quietly, taking a sip. "It's delicious."

The headmaster plastered on a genial smile. "Why, thank you, my boy! It's of my own brew, and I've added in a bit of a - let's say, relaxant. You've been through quite the ordeal, child."

Somehow, that phrase seemed familiar. He'd been through quite a good many ordeals in his short life, he was becoming a bit numb to them.

"I guess. Is that what I'm here to talk about? Quirrell and Vol - You-Know-Who, I mean?"

The man shook his head. "Do not be afraid to say his name, child. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself."

Oh, Harry wasn't too terribly afraid of the Dark Lord. After seeing him complacent and so utterly human, the wizard's bravado wasn't nearly as effective on the boy any longer. It had been amusing to lead Quirrell - well, the body of Quirrell, at least - into the Hufflepuff dorms, force him to squeeze through the barrel entrance and awkwardly wait in the commons while Harry procured the Stone. Just a bit of fun to make up for all the pain Voldemort had caused Harry that past year.

"Many thanks, Potter," Voldemort had smiled at him, eyes glinting cruelly. "We will meet again. Stupefy!"

Harry didn't remember much after that.

He was found hours later in Quirrell's office, bound and tied, his scar bleeding viciously.

Alarms had apparently been triggered when Quirrell had reached the Mirror of Erised, and Dumbledore returned just in time to witness Voldemort apparating from the front gates of the school - not without a few parting words, of course.

The declaration of Harry Potter is mine! had shaken Dumbledore to his core. Unable to track the immortal Dark Lord, Dumbledore quickly called for a search of their little Hufflepuff Savior.

Well, he'd been found, and the morning had been a whirlwind of activity. He was quickly loosing his patience with the headmaster.

"Sir, why am I here? I've already explained to you, to the Aurors, to the press - everyone, it seems - what happened. I'm fine, the Stone was never there to begin with, Voldemort has once more been thwarted - "

White hair sprang wildly as Dumbledore shook his head. "No, Harry, he has not. He is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking for another body to share. Yet not being truly alive, he cannot be killed. He left Quirrell to die; he shows just as little mercy to his followers as his enemies."

"What happened to Professor Quirrell?" Harry asked, frowning. "I know that Voldemort had - latched onto him, was living on the back of his skull, really. But somehow, he was able to take full control - "

"This was very dark magic, indeed, Harry," the headmaster said sternly. "I believe remaining attached to Voldemort was slowly driving Quirrell into irreversible insanity. And the shorter his tether was to rationality, the easier Voldemort was able to retain control. Like many before him, enthralled by grandiose visions and ambition, he was taken in by Voldemort's assertion of power and was unable to resist succumbing. By relinquishing a part of himself to Voldemort's control, Quirrell lost apart of himself. He was dying, to say the least. I can only hope that once Voldemort vacates that body, he will give Quirinus the proper burial he deserves."

Harry highly doubted it. The Dark Lord didn't seem terribly considerate in that way. "There was nothing I could do to stop him? Stop Quirrell, or stop Voldemort?"

"You delayed his return to power, and that certainly is something - and if he is delayed again, and again, why, he may never return to power."

Harry was silent. "I suppose you expect me to be the one to delay him, again and again?"

Dumbledore smiled. "You've done a fine job of it so far, my boy," he gave a heady sigh. "However, there are some things I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know, one day - just put it from your mind for now, Harry. When you are older - I know you hate to hear this, most children do - but when you are ready, you will know."

Fond of keeping secrets from you, isn't he? the inner voice sneered, much more vocal than it once was.

"Sir, about this summer - "

"Oh, yes. The more pertinent future. I believe you're referring to your rather 'up-in-the-air' guardianship?"

Harry arched a brow. "I know that Hagrid, somehow, managed to get my papers from Mother Magdalena, at the orphanage. I - I spent the rest of the summer, and the winter holidays, with Draco's family, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy -"

Dumbledore nodded gravely "Yes. My teachers report you have become increasingly close with the boy."

"Well - yes." Harry said slowly, green eyes narrowed in suspicion. "He's become a good friend of mine."

Dumbledore's eyes had gained it's twinkle as he leaned forward, voice consoling. "I'm sure you've noticed, Harry, that some of your fellow peers have been raised to uphold some . . . less than fair views. Many wizarding families are considered traditionalists, with their pureblood supremacy and crude opinions on muggleborns and non-magic folk in general. If I recall, another good friend of yours is Hermione Granger - some have noted that Mister Malfoy and his cohorts have been antagonistic towards her, despite their mutual friendship with you.

"As a half-blood, raised in a Muggle community - you must feel unsafe, surrounded by such bias?" Dumbledore asked, grandfatherly concern etched across his wrinkled features. "Draco's father and mother are trained adults and can be leagues more dangerous than a schoolboy."

Harry was thinking very, very quickly. "Are you asking, sir," he started. "If I feel threatened by the Malfoys, simply because of my lack of magical background? A predicament, I might add, that you are solely responsible for? Why - why do you even care?"

Dumbledore blinked at the non sequitur, his face coloring pink. "Harry," he said gently. "I care very much about your safety, Harry, just as any other student. I'm sure that if you feel threatened, I could place you with another wizarding family - the Weasleys, perhaps. You've studied with their youngest son, I believe, in the past few weeks - "

"Why the sudden concern with my well-being?" Harry asked suddenly. "You left me with an unloving family for seven years, without a single word, and then when they died . . . I was sent to an orphanage! Where were you then? Why was I left alone?" He'd begun trembling, his scar burning lightly with the force of these emotions.

Dumbledore was holding his composure well. "Harry . . . you must understand that you are a very important figure in wizarding history. Your safety has always been of utmost importance to me - I placed you with your relatives for your safety, separate from the Wizarding world for your health and protection. Famous before you can walk and talk! Dark wizards pining to . . . to, well, severely hurt you, at least. It was done for your own good, my boy, can't you see this? Leaving you at the orphanage was, admittedly, rather cruel - but you had just suffered a tragedy, I was unsure that uprooting you so early would be wise - "

Harry stood, lips pressed together to keep from spouting profanities at the meddling old wizard. "You had no right to decide such things for me! Because of your stupid decisions, I was placed into an abusive home, with Muggles who spared no ill word towards me. I hated it there, I wanted to kill myself just so I could be with my parents and away from my Aunt and Uncle! But instead - " you killed them.

The boy clammed up, shoving a fist into his mouth. "I finally find a home, with people who care about me . . . and you try to tear everything away from me. I don't - "

"Sit down, Mr. Potter!" The portraits were scolding, up in arms to protect the old coot. "This is no way to speak to your headmaster!"

Harry heart was pounding in his chest, green eyes burning. Dumbledore's gaze was fixed on Harry's, seeing how the boy's eyes welled with tear. Dumbledore finally spoke. "I . . . I sincerely apologize, Harry. I am so very sorry for the pain I've caused. There is a reason for everything, I promise. You are simply . . . not ready to hear them."

The boy took in a shaky breath. This fool is no longer worth your time.

"I - I need to go, professor," Harry said, straightening his shoulders. "It's almost dinner time, and - if it's alright with you," he scowled lightly. "I'd really like to spend it with my friends."

Dumbledore lifted a hand, face grave. "Of course, Harry," he sighed. "Once again - "

He didn't want to hear it. "Good evening, sir," Harry cut him off, leaving the room without another word.

The headmaster simply sat by himself for a long few minutes, lifting a wrinkled hand to pet Fawkes' head. "It seems you are ready to be reborn, my dear," he said quietly, leaning forward to watch. With a ruffle of wings and a relieved chirp, the bird burst into orange flames, a wave of heat cascading over Dumbledore's cheeks. A shower of ash cascaded onto the tray. Seconds later, a tiny, wrinkled head poked out with a squeak.

Dumbledore smiled sadly.

Harry made his way down to the end-of-year feast alone that night. It was decorated in the Ravenclaw colors of blue and bronze to celebrate their winning the house cup. A huge banner showing the Ravenclaw eagle covered the wall behind the High Table.

When Harry walked in there was a sudden hush, and then everybody started talking loudly at once. He slipped into a seat between Wayne and Zacharias, head held high. Fortunately, Dumbledore arrived moments later. The babble died away.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore declared loudly, wand at his throat. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were. You have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts," a smattering of laughter echoed through the hall.

"Now, as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and thirty points; in third, Hufflepuff, with four hundred exactly; Slytherin has four hundred and twenty-six and Ravenclaw, four hundred and thirty - one." A great cheer broke out from the Ravenclaw table.

The Slytherins glowered moodily. The older students were glaring at Draco, as if blaming him for their loss. Which, while not wrong, was a bit unfair. Draco just sighed.

"Yes, Yes, well done, Ravenclaw," said Dumbledore. "However, recent events must be taken into account." The room went very still. The Ravenclaws' smiles faded a little.

"Ahem," Dumbledore coughed. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out. To Harry Potter." The room went deadly quiet. "For pure nerve, cunning and determination, I award Hufflepuff house sixty points."

The din was deafening. Those who could add up while yelling themselves hoarse knew that Hufflepuff now had four-hundred and sixty points. Someone standing outside the Great Hall might well have thought some sort of explosion had taken place, so loud was the noise that erupted from the usually demure Hufflepuff table.

Draco stood up before his sulking year-mates to clap as Harry disappeared under a pile of people hugging him.

"Which means," The headmaster called over the applause. "We need a little change of decoration. Congratulations to Hufflepuff House for gaining the House Cup!" He clapped his hands. In an instant, the navy hangings became a lovely honey and the bronze became black; the huge Ravenclaw bird vanished and a strong honey-badger took its place. Professor Sprout was in tears.

When he sat down, the man met Harry's bright gaze, inclining his goblet to the boy.

Bloody man sure knows how to put on a display,Voldemort spoke in his mind.

Harry, his body trembling from unknown emotions, simply raised his face to the bewitched sky and forced a smile.

* 'Et tu, Brute?' - Julius Caesar

Notes:

Significance:

A swan song is described as being an artist's last piece of work, or the finale to a show.

The Latin sentence translates into Julius Caesar's last words as he is - literally - stabbed in the back by a friend. 'Even you, Brute?'. Harry is now a traitor, to both himself and to his allies. He isn't quite sure what to do with himself, but unable to go back on his decisions, he will simply have to live with the life he's wrought.

Theme of Poem: Vigilance

End Notes:

Thank you everyone who managed to make it to the end! Apologies for any spelling or grammatical errors. This is partway beta'd by the delightful Archive of Our Own user, 'wrathfulgoddess', so any inconsistencies are entirely my fault. I also got a bit lazy with my 'significance' and 'reasonings', so if you having any questions, I'm always available to talk.

I'd love to take any comments or critique, and if this gets good reception, I wouldn't mind writing a part two.