Death is but the Next Great Adventure

Winter Storm

The atmosphere fractured under the weight of his rage. Violence dripped from his livid viridian eyes and petrichor burned on his tongue. He felt the phantom shifting of scales against his skin and the ache of fangs in his gums. In his mind's eye he was a beast of nightmarish proportions, his anger turning him into a wild thing. The compressed burning star at his core melted the surrounding snow in licks of magic and fury as he approached the unassuming cottage home. Harry knew that the former headmaster was well aware of his arrival and could apparate away in a blink, but the man stayed put. Even as his front door burst open and was nearly torn off its hinges.

Harry found him in his living room, sat in a plush armchair with only the light of the fireplace to bathe him in a soft glow. Said flames burned higher as he neared and took on a tint of acid green, unbeknownst to the younger man.

"How dare you!" Harry bellowed and finally, finally the old man met his gaze.

"I know you're upset, dear boy, but I did what I thought best in order to save you children from any more pain under that woman. This way she can't hide." Dumbledore tried to placate him with a soft gentle voice, but it was a mere raindrop on a forest fire.

"'Save us'? You have ruined our plans and violated the privacy and consent of every child plastered across those accursed pages. They trusted me! And now because I'd convinced them to give testimonies that they never wanted anyone to hear, they will forever be chained to such violence and pity. You think the Ministry won't retaliate? Do you really believe that Fudge will allow his undersecretary to be convicted of such atrocities when He was the one to vouch for her in the first place? No. No he'll pull all the strings he has and make this all disappear. And then the victims will be slandered and torn apart in the papers." He held the old man's gaze fiercely, daring him to look away. "You've singlehandedly ruined their—our lives and taken away any chance we may have had for justice, for recompence."

A muddy wash of understanding and regret seeped into his wizened face as Harry spoke. Dumbledore looked down and away, not saying anything as the young man's eyes burned a hole through him. He probably realized that his belated apologies would only make things worse, make Harry angrier. Harry spun around and dragged his fingers through his hair, his erratic emotions breaking his control and turning his magic into fireworks, popping a bottle of whiskey on the coffee table, throwing the overhead light in swinging arches, cracking the glass in picture frames and setting a dry houseplant on fire in the corner.

"Harry . . ." Dumbledore tried warily, standing from his chair as the old floorboards under them trembled. Harry whirled around with a glare that could split marble.

"Don't." his chest heaved and he pointed at the older man to emphasize every word he would speak. "You've done enough damage as it is. Just stay out of this. Stay away from Hogwarts and the Ministry. If I see your face again, if I so much as read your name in another paper, I'll come back and put an end to you. Matter of fact, you'd be wise to pack your things and quietly disappear before I change my mind in letting you go." Harry was barely hanging onto himself as it was, he didn't know if his threats were empty, but he truly never wanted to see the man before him again. At least not for a very long time. Dumbledore's mouth closed as whatever he was going to say was cut down by Harry's fearsome words.

"Perhaps that would be for the best. . ." Dumbledore quietly acquiesced. "I'm sorry my boy, truly. It's time for this ignorant old man to stop meddling where he shouldn't." A ghost of a smile twitched at the corner of his thin mouth but it was gone just as fast.

Harry turned on the spot and apparated without really thinking of where his distressed mind would take him. The moment a gust of winter air hit his flushed angry cheeks, his legs buckled and he dropped onto frozen forest floor at the edge of the tree line. He could see the shadowed manor through the trees, the yellow glow of a single window watched him like a great golden eye, beckoning. He gripped the rough bark of the tree beside as an ache bloomed in his chest. The whispers in his mind urging him to pass the wards before him and seek the support of his Tom. He felt lost and out of control, falling and flying, whirling in endless circles as the crutch of control he had held onto so fiercely crumbled under his hands. He had never realized how unstable his hold had been on his life until one little gust of air had sent his house of cards cascading down.