Harry asked, Dumbledore Answered

There was a conversation between Dumbledore and Harry at the end of Book One, 'Philosopher's Stone.' If that conversation had taken a different course, then so many things might have been different. A more clever Harry, a more evil Dumbledore.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belongs to J. K. Rowling. In addition, the first part of this chapter is a direct quote from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.

Chapter 1:

The following portion, in italics, is a direct quote from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.

"Sir, there are some other things I would like to know, if you can tell me… things I want to know the truth about….."

"The truth." Dumbledore sighed. "It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution. However, I will answer your questions unless I have a very good reason not to, in which case I beg you'll forgive me. I shall not, of course, lie."

"Well... Voldemort said that he only killed my mother because she tried to stop him killing me. But why would he want to kill me in the first place?"

Dumbledore sighed very deeply this time.

"Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know, one day... put it from your mind for now, Harry. When you are older... I know you hate to hear this... When you are ready, you will know."

'When you are ready, you will know.' Yeah, sure, Harry thought. He didn't argue, but asked, "But why couldn't Quirrell touch me?"

"Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn't realise that love as powerful as your mother's leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign... to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever. It is in your very skin. Quirrell, full of hatred, greed and ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for this reason. It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good."

Harry stared at the old man, and then decisively shook his head. "She cannot have loved me. If she loved me, she would not have named the Dursleys as my guardians."

Dumbledore wrinkled his brow, "They are your only relatives, Harry. Of course they are the ones to look after you."

"They make me do too much work, they don't give me enough to eat, and I get belted - a lot. They hate me. If my mother cared about me, she would have named someone else to look after me."

Dumbledore put on a false smile, "Are you sure you are not exaggerating, my dear boy?"

"I asked to go to an orphanage instead, and got thrashed for it. When I went to the police and asked to go to an orphanage, they talked to my uncle, I was looked after for just one night by someone else, and then I was taken back and thrashed. The police didn't believe me, I don't know why."

Dumbledore studied him, looking very concerned. He said finally, in a gentle voice, "I will look into it. Meantime, I believe that Madam Pomfrey wants to check you over, probably very thoroughly if I know our nurse."

Aside from a routine check of all the children at his primary school, Harry had never seen a health professional. He was acutely shy, especially when he realised that if he really had been unconscious for three days, he would have wet the bed, if not worse. He'd been sick… Maybe she wouldn't punish.

Nurse Pomfrey was firm and bossy. Harry was almost silent. She didn't ask about his medical history, just did a few magical scans with her wand, asked him how he felt, ignored his answer that he was fine and ready to leave, ordered him to take a potion, and warned him that she had ways of making stubborn children do as she said.

Harry eyed her, eyed the foul looking potion, and complied. If he really was famous, as they all said, he guessed she wasn't planning on poisoning him. Within five minutes of taking the potion, he was very deeply asleep.

Meantime, Dumbledore was in his office, staring absent-mindedly at one of his attractive silver instruments. It didn't actually do anything, but looked properly mysterious. Keeping up the persona of a vast wisdom and knowledge took some effort sometimes.

Harry Potter had taken him by surprise. He knew perfectly well that the boy was mistreated. There were no physical scars. The instructions carefully instilled in the mind of Vernon Dursley ensured that he would take care to leave no permanent physical scars. At the same time, he was to continually push the message that the boy was worthless. The intent was to ensure not only his loyalty to the benign figure who rescued him from his home, but to have him sufficiently humble that he would be willing to sacrifice his life when it came time. A very low self-esteem was an inevitable consequence of long term abuse.

Dumbledore sighed. The child had had fifteen months with loving parents. That could have had something to do with the boy having the nerve to complain. And then there had been the effect of the adulation he received as the 'Boy-Who-Lived,' even if it had been cut short in recent weeks by the ferocious loss of points that McGonagall had hit him with, along with his friends. And now he had defeated Quirrell and with him, the spirit of Voldemort. At least he had been in time to ensure the child thought it had nearly killed himself as well, only rescued in the nick of time by the headmaster.

But now what? If he simply ignored the complaints, the boy might lose faith in him, which would be disastrous. He needed him to accept his leadership without question. The issue had to be addressed.

Dumbledore spent a lot of time in thought that evening. He was the child's guardian, though he had had to influence his parents to name him so. He was experienced in the mind arts. He would never have gained all of his various titles if he'd had had to rely on his own merit. The subtle art of Mind Magic, never a wand in sight. It was why he invariably wore elaborate robes with long, flowing sleeves - the sleeves nicely concealed his wand. And so the Potters had 'known' that the wise and kindly man would assuredly act in the child's best interests.

But Dumbledore thought only of his own interests. The old man was offended by Tom Riddle - the self-styled Lord Voldemort. He was offended that there was another wizard in the world regarded as of equal or greater power as himself. He had no intention of risking his own life to defeat him. It was why he'd needed a tool, a weapon, and that was why he'd chosen a child with a great deal of inherent power. Not many wizards could feel inherent power, but he could. And then he had invented the prophecy to fit.

But he hadn't expected Voldemort to hear of the prophecy until he was ready. He hadn't expected him to find the Potters, and he certainly hadn't expected Voldemort to be somehow defeated when he tried to kill the child. Not killed, though. When he'd arrived at the scene, Lily, James and Voldemort's bodies were all there, but there was also the black wraith that was Voldemort hissing at him from a corner of the room. That was when he'd vanished the body, to make sure he could not return to it, and then used a spell to banish the spirit, three attempts before it flew at him, quite aggressively, and then vanished. Not gone forever, he was sure of that. Harry Potter would have to face him again, and this time, maybe Voldemort would be properly killed.

And afterwards… If the boy survived, he might then have to address the problem of another wizard with too much power. Such wizards tended to attract followers, most of the followers not quite knowing why they idolised the one. Dumbledore doubted that there were more than a very few with his acute sense for inherent power. Wizards with too much power were dangerous, apt to become arrogant, as Riddle had. Their own power made them feel as if they could do no wrong.

At last, the old man sighed and stirred himself. He'd best make sure that the nurse hadn't seen any evidence of abuse on the boy. As long as there were no scars, he could dismiss any complaints he might make to anyone else. And maybe he should mention something to Minerva. He might easily try Minerva when he told him he had to return - for his own safety, of course.

Dumbledore put on his concerned grandfather face when he went to see Harry again later that day. There was a pile of gifts and cards on his bedside table, which he noted with a benign smile on his face and a cold glint in his eye. The boy was getting far too much admiration. At least the nurse hadn't allowed him any visits from his friends. He wanted to talk to him first.

He sat himself down on the bed, asked smilingly if he could try a Bertie Bott's bean, shook his head sadly when he did, and claimed that it tasted of boot polish, pleased when the boy responded with a nervous smile.

He then eyed the boy, making him squirm a little, before asking how much he knew about Voldemort's crimes.

Harry answered quietly, "Not much, sir. Only that he killed my parents."

"Ah, yes, they were so very brave. You have a lot to live up to, Harry."

"Yes sir."

"Voldemort. He is a monster, Harry. And he's still alive. He will come back, sooner or later. We will try and delay that day, but we cannot delay it forever."

"He can't do much as a spirit though, can he, sir?"

"You would be surprised how much he can do as a spirit. Even if he were as helpless as you would like to think, there are his followers." Dumbledore looked very sad, "I'd like to protect you - as a child should be protected, but you have the right to know..."

By the time that the headmaster had described the ways of Death Eaters, the tortures, the callous efficiency, and their ruthless cruelty, Harry was feeling as if his insides had turned to jelly. Dumbledore was pleased at the effect of his lecture. He'd become a little carried away. He'd never heard of anyone being slowly stripped of their skin for a dark ritual for instance, and that idea of the Death Eaters kneeling before their master and crawling to kiss the hem of dirty robes… Riddle would never be seen in dirty robes. He had a taste for luxury. And why would proud, pure-blood wizards serve someone who demanded they kneel before him? But he didn't appear to have laid it on too thick, not from the boy's face, now looking a little green.

The headmaster looked at him seriously, and said in a kind, grave voice, "You have to know, to be prepared. It is why I have treated you as an adult. In a perfect world, no child would know of such atrocities. But Voldemort sees you as an enemy, and that is because of a prophecy that names you so." He repeated the prophecy in a solemn voice, the prophecy he had, himself, devised, and said "And that is why he wanted to kill you. Not your parents, but the boy who was named as the one who could defeat him."

Harry stared at him miserably. Dumbledore went on. "It is not just Voldemort, but his followers who will not hesitate to give you to him. They would like you to suffer a painful death, my child. It is my task to see you safe, and this is why you must stay at your home. Your mother made a great sacrifice for you, Harry. Your mother's love lives on where her blood lives through her sister, Petunia. While you live with your mother's sister, her blood can protect you. Voldemort cannot reach you at your aunt's home. Anywhere else, you are not safe. Even here at Hogwarts, you are not as safe as with your relatives. In Summer, almost alone here, you would not be safe at all. Harry, dear boy, you have shown you have courage. I will talk to your relatives, though I suggest you do not annoy them by referring to that talk. You will be treated better, and even if your uncle is ill-tempered on occasion, surely that is better than being tortured to death by Voldemort or by one of his numerous and devoted followers."

Harry said, in a low voice, "He doesn't hurt me very much, mostly. But I wish they'd let me have more to eat. I'm still the smallest in our year, boy or girl. I think it's because they won't let me have enough to eat."

Dumbledore hesitated a moment before saying, "Nonsense, Harry. Neither of your parents were any bigger at your age, and don't forget you're also the youngest in your year, or almost. The nurse would have instantly detected signs of malnutrition if they had been present. I really think you are exaggerating."

Harry looked up at the old face, then back down at the bedding. Exaggerating? Sometimes, if he displeased them, he'd be locked up without food for days at a time. Maybe the old man was lying. Maybe all that talk of Death Eater torture was only talk. Adults lied. He knew that. But what if it was true? He didn't want his skin stripped off him, bit by bit, or his insides pulled out. He shuddered. That was awful. How could anyone do that to someone? He guessed he'd ask his friends. They might know if Voldemort used to torture people.

But he was not permitted to leave that day, finding himself very sleepy. 'Magical Exhaustion,' the nurse told him when he asked, and handed him yet another potion. He spent yet more days, lonely as he was not permitted visitors, though McGonagall did come once, and give him his exam results. He was surprised that he'd passed all subjects, especially when he remembered that he'd been distracted by the frequent pains in his scar at the time, not to mention that he was afraid that Voldemort would reappear any minute. He was still taking potions, and he still slept a great deal of the time.

By the time he was finally allowed out of the Hospital Wing, it was the evening before school ended for the year. His friends were sympathetic, and Hermione said, "Magical Exhaustion, Madam Pomfrey said, and that's why you were here so long and we were not allowed to visit."

Harry said, "Thanks, though. You sent me cards and sweets and things. It was nice."

"We were wrong, you know that. We were lucky not to be punished, not even points taken. The headmaster said that our fright was punishment enough."

Harry said, puzzled, "But we saved the stone from being taken by Voldemort. We did a good thing."

"What do you mean, and don't say his name. It was Quirrell wasn't it? And it was only because the headmaster arrived in time that it was saved. He saved your life, as well. He told us."

Harry explained, "Voldemort was possessing Quirrell. His face was actually hidden under the turban. Quirrell showed me. On the back of Quirrell's head, was the face of Voldemort."

Ron stared and then gave a crack of laughter, while Hermione looked worried, "I thought you were better now."

Harry bit his lip and looked away. He knew what he'd seen, but it was obvious that he was not going to be believed.

Ron said quickly, "We have to be ready tomorrow straight after breakfast. I'll help you pack if you like."

"Thanks, Ron."

Ron grinned in anticipation, "The Leaving Feast in an hour."

"Slytherin will win the House Cup. They're miles ahead."

xxx