Pretty Kitty (completed)

Chapter 42

Harry had been whisked away to Dumbledore's office seconds later, thoroughly shaken up.

He'd been left in the office on his own as Dumbledore remained at the Ministry to discuss the going-on's that almost the entirety of the staff had seen, alerted by security guards at their own homes, no doubt. At the very least, Fudge could no longer deny the existence of Voldemort.

Harry stared numbly at Fawkes from his seat in front of Albus' large desk. Fawkes was trilling soothingly, but it wasn't being acknowledged. Harry couldn't feel or see anything, glazed green eyes looking but not seeing, mind completely shut down.

If Voldemort had waited a while to possess him, he would have found that moment to be absolutely perfect. Harry wouldn't have put up a fight. He wouldn't have even noticed. Maybe it would have killed him.

The fire flared green, and out stepped the Headmaster, who looked around his old, much missed office for a moment with satisfaction – it was rare to find such feelings in the days of war, and he had to savour each and every moment of happiness.

He then turned to Harry, mood darkening when he saw the broken, pale face, half covered in blood that had leaked from his open scar. The lightning-bolt cut had scabbed over, and would soon turn back to its scar-like state, such was the darkness of curse magic.

Harry slowly turned to Dumbledore, desperation creeping into his eyes – the first emotion he'd felt since entering the office. That haunted look, set in a face covered in blood, the look older than Harry's sixteen years, Dumbledore felt a chill creep up his spine.

Not for the first time, he felt remorse almost cripple him, and he had to keep from staggering. He wished Voldemort had never existed, had never targeted Harry. He wished he hadn't put Harry with the Dursleys, he wished he'd never believed Sirius guilty, and he wished Harry hadn't seen the things he'd seen.

He wished.

Dumbledore moved to sit in his chair behind his desk, still soft, if slightly dusty. Obviously, the house elves had been too scared to clean much, even though they'd been allowed in. He wondered how the school had fared without him, feeling remorse for leaving the students in the clutches of Umbridge.

But he doubted she'd hurt them – she was a Ministry official.

"Harry," Dumbledore started. Harry's head jerked up. The desperate look still hung about his eyes. Dumbledore resisted reaching out to stroke the boy's cheeks. He looked so forlorn – even his cat ears were drooping as if the last of their life had been sucked out of them.

"I believe there have been many misunderstandings surrounding tonight's events," he continued, boring deep into Harry's eyes as the events that had transpired flashed in the boy's mind. He tackled each one as he saw them. "Mr and Mr Weasley were both relatively safe, and have never been captured by Voldemort. He, unfortunately, discovered the connection you two share through your scar, the one that allowed you to see through his eyes. Or rather, through Nagini's eyes."

Harry remembered. He'd thought he'd been possessed. But he's been wrong – real possession was much worse.

"He exploited you, using information he'd gathered from Mr Malfoy." Dumbledore saw the scowl on Harry's face at the mention of Malfoy – apparently, he'd always been lingering in the corner, unnoticed. "Mr Malfoy told me all this in a letter – he apparently didn't realise the extent of Voldemort's machinations. Do not be angry at him, he's far more naive than you.

"Voldemort tricked you through a dream, knowing your love and protection over your friends and, more importantly, Fred and George. As such, you didn't hesitate in following your vision to the Department of Ministries."