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Professor Dumbledore got to his feet. The hall fell silent. Harry shifted in his seat, his scar still smarting slightly every time he happened to glance at Professor Snape.
“Before we end for tonight, a few brief announcements. First years should be aware that the Forbidden Forest is strictly forbidden, and that no magic should be used in corridors between classes. Those interested in applying for Qudditch should contact Madam Hooch, and the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”
Harry laughed, but he was one of the few that did. One of the professors did as well, however, letting out what seemed like a small chuckle in relation to a private joke.
“Finally, it is with great sadness I acknowledge the departing of Professor Cuthbert Binns, who has decided to go into that undiscovered country of which no one ever comes back from. However, it is with great delight that I introduce our new History of Magic teacher, Professor-”
“Master, if you don’t mind,” said the professor who Harry had seen laughing. In many ways he seemed similar to Dumbledore: the same aged look betrayed by the youthful twinkle in the eye, the same pleasant demeanour that seemed to hide a razor-sharp intelligence. Both men even had beards, even if this new professor kept his in a rather neat goatee.
“Master,” Dumbledore concluded without hesitation. The applause seemed enthusiastic from Harry’s perspective, though later he learned that it was more from relief than anything else. The Master looked at Harry and smiled warmly. Harry didn’t know why, but he couldn’t wait for class.
“Excuse me, Mr Potter?” the Master said at the end of a particularly exciting lesson, where they’d gotten a chance to see in detail just how goblins were punished by wizards during the rebellion. “Might I trouble you for a moment?”
“What is it, professor?” Harry asked, as he hovered over the Master’s desk.
“Master, if you don’t mind,” said the Master kindly. “I didn’t graduate to be referred to simply as a ‘professor’ now, did I?”
“Sorry, sir,” Harry said automatically. “Master,” he added, catching the older man’s eye.
“I hope you’ll forgive me for this societal transgression,” he said, pulling out a beautifully wrapped box. “I am likely to be engaged in other matters on Christmas, so permit me the traditional gift giving now.”
“Thanks, sir,” Harry said cautiously, holding the heavy present in his hands as if it was a bomb of sorts.
“Go on, open it,” the Master said. “It won’t bite. What do you think this is, Herbology?” He let out his signature laugh, a laugh filled with warmth and kindness that put Harry at ease.
Harry gently unwrapped the present, revealing a pristine photo album. His brow furrowed as he flipped open the first page to see...
In some ways it wasn’t shocking, after all, he’d been told he looked a lot like his father. But seeing the actual man in photograph form before him, it just... And her eyes. There was no mistaking that either.
“I... I...” stammered Harry.
“No need to say thank you,” said the Master kindly, placing a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I know how hard this time of year can be for orphans like you, and when I asked around for some photographs, well, people couldn’t hand them over fast enough.”
“Thank you,” said Harry. It didn’t feel like that was enough, not really. But the Master seemed to understand, letting out another laugh and telling Harry to run along. Harry didn’t need telling twice, darting back to the common room and straight into his bed, as he got to see more of the people he’d never thought he’d see again.
“So – back again, Mr Potter?”
Harry felt as though his insides turned to ice. He looked behind him. Sitting on one of the desks by the wall was none other than the Master. Harry must have walked straight past him, so desperate to get to the mirror he hadn’t noticed him.
“I – I didn’t see you, sir.”
“I would hope not,” the Master said. “That would rather negate my ability to turn invisible.” Harry was relieved to see that he was smiling.
“Do you know what this mirror is?” the Master asked, coming to stand with Harry next to the mirror.
“It shows us...” Harry paused, thinking carefully about it. “It shows me what I want?” he guessed. He felt he could trust the Master, that he would never be put down for saying what others deemed were ‘silly’ answers.
“Very good my boy,” the Master said warmly. “The Mirror of Erised, or the Mirror of Desire, shows you exactly what you want to see. It’s powerful magic.”
“I see...” Harry said, turning back to see his entire family. “And I suppose you’re going to say that I shouldn’t spend so long staring at this?”
The Master let out another one of his trademark laughs of warmth and humour.
“Goodness me no, my boy,” he said, clapping a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “No, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to want something. Nor is there anything wrong with doing anything to try and achieve it. Only the very foolish try to deny their truest desires, and only the very strong have the courage to try and obtain them.”
“But to bring my family back,” said Harry. “Surely that’s impossible?”
“Not all things are impossible,” said the Master. “Not in a realm of magic. Never forget your desire to be with them, Harry. Always keep that in mind, have that drive your every decision. Wanting to be with your family is not a bad thing.”
“You’re right,” said Harry, glad to know that what he was doing wasn’t wrong. “So can I stay? For a little while longer?”
“For a little while longer,” the Master agreed. “But soon the mirror will be in its new home. Don’t worry, you’ll see it again sooner or later.”
“What do you see, Master?” Harry hadn’t meant to ask the question, but it sort of slipped out.
The Master said nothing for a moment, looking at the mirror with a craving seen only on men starved to the brink of death. The twinkle in his eye seemed to disappear, his face growing cold and harsh as he lapped in whatever seemed to be before him.
“Oh?” the Master said, seeming to snap out of it. “Oh, just socks. People insist on giving me books every Christmas, but you can’t go wrong with a pair of socks.”
“And now they think I’m the heir of Slytherin!” Harry concluded, sitting down in his chair in a huff. The Master sat patiently, letting the boy’s anger ebb from him. They had come incredibly close after the incident in June, where Harry revealed to him the terrors he had facing Qurriell and Voldemort, and how Dumbledore was disappointed that Harry hadn’t retrieved the stone from the mirror. Despite it being months later Harry still felt the sting from the lecture, of having Dumbledore telling him that he should let go of his family, and that not getting the stone was a moral failing of his.
“That’s people for you, my boy,” the Master said gently. “When they get scared, when they lose control, they immediately find someone, anyone to blame. In this case they’ve decided that you are the culprit, the lens of which all their fear will be focused on.”
“Well it’s not fair!” Harry cried, before quickly lowering his voice in embarrassment. This was the first time he’d been invited into the Master’s office, and he rather liked the place. There were two chairs, the Master’s desk, and a strange cupboard in the corner that seemed to hum slightly.
“Sorry,” he squeaked.
“Don’t be sorry,” the Master said quickly, moving to sit next to the boy. “Never be sorry for having to put up with those idiots and fools around you. It is a heavy burden we few special people have to carry.”
“What should I do?” Harry asked, as he tried to keep his temper under control.
“Ignore them,” suggested the Master. “Shun them. Turn your back on them, the same way they turned their back on you. Listen to me, Mr Potter, no matter how much good you do they’ll always be willing to stab you in the back the moment they find they have no control. In any crisis they’ll blame you. Don’t give them the satisfaction of reacting. Become an island, to protect yourself.”
“Are you sure, Master?”
“Harry, I only have your best interests at heart. You can trust me. I’ll always be here for you.”
“Ron and Hermione are fighting again,” said Harry, sipping the tea that the Master had prepared for this occasion. It’d been almost a year since the Chamber of Secrets incident, and yet Harry still found his life was unendingly difficult. It was with solace that he got to spend his time with the Master, while the rest of the student body were visiting Hogsemede.
He hadn’t meant to come to the Master on that first weekend, he just happened to gravitate to the office, and was only mildly surprised that the Master had already set up a wonderful tea for two. It was only after much prodding that the Master admitted that he had already heard about how Harry wasn’t allowed to leave school grounds, and pre-emptively set all of it up to keep the boy company.
In some ways Harry was almost glad he stopped visiting Hogsemede after finding out the truth about Sirius Black, as the Master seemed to understand his anger and let him express it.
“Is it over Scrabbers?” the Master asked, grabbing another pumpkin pastry and dunking it in his tea.
“Well it looks like Crookshanks ate Scrabbers,” said Harry. “And now the two won’t speak to each other.”
“I’m sure they’ll work things out eventually,” the Master said. “Or not. As I said last year Harry, do not concern yourself with the thoughts and feelings of others.”
“But they’re my friends,” Harry said.
“For now, yes,” said the Master. “But I wouldn’t put it past them to turn on you, mark my words. But anyway, you were asking about Sirius Black? I heard from Professor Lupin that your boggart changed recently.”
Harry said nothing, starring at the light-brown tea swirling around in his teacup.
“You should be afraid of him,” the Master said softly. “A man like that, willing to take out an entire street... You should be careful with him, Harry. He is a master manipulator, he’ll say anything to save his skin. Promise me you won’t believe a word he says to you.”
“I promise,” Harry said.
“Look at me,” the Master said with a surprising amount of force. Harry couldn’t help but stare deeply into the Master’s eyes.
“You will not believe a word that Sirius Black says,” the Master said calmly and slowly. “You will not trust him at all. He is your enemy, and you must battle him at all costs. I am the Master, and you will obey me.”
“Yes Master,” Harry said, almost in a trance, before snapping awake. “Yes sir,” he said, drinking his tea.
“Anyway, let’s talk about lighter topics,” said the Master. “That Firebolt still working out for you? I got an earful from the other teachers, but, well, you needed something to play Qudditch with.”
“I’m just glad you came clean,” admitted Harry. “Hermione was going to give it to Professor McGonagall and have her strip it down. I might have missed a game because of it.”
“We can’t afford to lose this country’s best seeker like that now, can we,” the Master said jovially. “I do look forward to the next game. But I’m afraid I have to call it a day Harry.”
Harry got up, somewhat reluctantly, to return to his common room. No doubt his friends would be raving about how amazing their trip was, but Harry was glad for moments such as these.
“And don’t forget, Mr Potter,” the Master said, as Harry left. “Don’t listen to him. Not one word!”
The Master’s office was becoming more and more familiar as the weeks wore on. He found himself avoiding the Gryffindor common room, to get away from Ron, and the rest of the school as well to get rid of Draco and his schemes. It was a refuge, a much needed break from the insanity that was his life.
“I told you that Ron would turn on you,” the Master said, as he marked some essays before him. “That boy was always the jealous sort.”
“I know, I know,” admitted Harry. “But-”
“Uh-nah-nah no buts, Mr Potter,” said the Master. “A simple acknowledgement of my correct foresight is all that is needed.”
“But I don’t know what to do now,” Harry said. “Ron was one of my last friends, and without him...” It had been difficult since June, the day where Sirius Black had constructed an elaborate yet absurd story to showcase his innocence, only to fortunately lose his soul once the Dementer managed to kiss him. Dumbledore was shocked to see Harry’s hatred for his godfather, almost expecting Harry to have been taken in by the pack of lies. Harry started to wonder if the Headmaster of the school actually cared for him, or if Harry was just some pawn that was acting like a queen, going wherever he wanted.
“Remember what I said about being an island, Mr Potter?” the Master reminded. “There’s only one person you can trust in this world, and that’s yourself.”
“And you too, sir,” said Harry.
“And me too, of course,” the Master replied warmly. “But you must always put yourself first, and focus solely on your own safety. To that end...” He put away the piles of parchment and looked at Harry, the twinkle flittering in his eyes.
“How do we solve that dragon problem?”
“I don’t know,” admitted Harry.
“Well as I told you, your goal will be to grab the egg,” said the Master. “And I have been teaching you the summoning charm for a reason, my boy. Why do you think I’ve done that?”
“So I can summon my broom and grab the egg that way?” Harry knew he upset the Master, he saw the brief look of annoyance cross the man’s face, before it returned to gentle politeness.
“No, my boy,” he said with a chuckle that was almost warm. “You use it on the egg.”
“But won’t there be spells in place to stop me from doing that?”
“You leave it to me. You just cast the spell on the egg, and you won’t have to put yourself in any danger. You trust me now, don’t you?”
“You’re the only one I do trust.”
“Good, good. Now, run along and practice. And remember, Harry. Be an island. Trust no one but yourself!”
Cedric was dead. Harry still hadn’t quite processed that. Nor had he processed his Defense the Dark Arts teacher secretly being a Death Eater. He thought that monster Lupin was bad, the way he’d almost killed Harry if not for Snape taking a serious risk at halting the beast. Twice now he’d found teachers he thought he could trust, and twice now...
And Cedric was dead. The young boy, only a few years older, he had so much to live for.
“I know it hurts,” the Master said soothingly, comforting the hurt teenager. “The loss of an innocent life such as this stings so greatly. But you must learn from this, Mr Potter.”
“Learn what?” Harry said bitterly.
“Close your heart. Lock it away. Let no one else in. Let no one else hurt you. The Dark Lord has returned, and he will try to get at you through the ones you love. Deny him the opportunity, give him no way of attacking.”
“So to protect my friends,” Harry said, “I must...”
“Keep them at a distance, yes. Never let them get close. It is a sacrifice you must make, for the greater good.”
“Does that include you?” Harry ventured.
“I am the exception,” the Master said. “Don’t worry about me, Harry. The Dark Lord won’t be able to get to me. You can put all your trust in me. I am the Master, after all.”
Harry nodded, glad that the older man was there. Glad that, if nothing else, he had someone to turn to.
“How was the funeral?” the Master asked. Harry glared at him, but the Master took it all in his stride. The boy glared at everyone, nowadays.
“I don’t think they’d ever forgive me if they knew the truth,” he said at last. “Why did you tell me to stay silent? Why couldn’t I go to Dumbledore with this?”
“If Dumbledore knew you had a connection with Voldemort what would he have done? Probably locked you away, like your Aunt and Uncle. Made sure you couldn’t do anything to upset his plan. Maybe even eliminate you, if it came down to it.”
“He wouldn’t,” Harry said, but he couldn’t find himself being convinced by this.
“Do you think that man truly cares for you?” the Master asked. “When has he ever shown you any love, any warmth? When have you ever been anything but a chess piece to him?”
Harry bit his lip. He wanted to scream out ‘no’, deny the accusations, and yet...
“But Ron-” Harry began.
“He has lost his father, much the same way you lost yours. There is no denying that fact. But I wouldn’t try to comfort him. He must learn to be an island, much the same way you have learned to do the same.”
“But his dad died because of me!”
“His dad died because of Dumbledore! Because of a headmaster willing to put others into danger where he dare not go! Mister Weasley shouldn’t have been there, he should have been at home, with his family. Dumbledore used him, and look what happened. If you try to comfort Ron now, Dumbledore will use that to get into your head and control you. As hard as it is Harry, you must make sure you stay an island to yourself.”
Harry wanted to scream some more, but he found himself running out of energy. He stared at the Master, who stared back at him, the twinkle in his eyes seeming to calm Harry down. The young boy took a deep breath, calming himself down.
“Go back to your dorm,” said the Master. “Speak of this to no one. One day this will all make sense. Trust me.”
“Thank you, Master.”
“That’s alright, Mr Potter. I shall see you when term starts again.”
“You did a fine performance Harry,” the Master said. They were in the office for, as Harry was aware, the last time in his life. He took one last look around at the desk, the chairs, the strange humming cupboard in the corner.
“I learned from the best,” he replied, grinning at the old professor. He’d done well, crying on command when Snape had gotten rid of the meddlesome old fool, looking devastated at Dumbledore’s funeral, really played the part well. Truthfully Dumbledore had little left to teach Harry, and with the man gone Harry could focus on the real mission.
“You have the two-way mirror?”
“Yeah.” Harry brushed his jacket pocket instinctively, the mirror still hanging there.
“I’ll keep in touch when I can during your hunt,” the Master said. “I have to be more careful now, what with Snape watching, but I’ll try to pass on any information I can find. I’ve left some camping supplies in my bag, feel free to use them. Stay hidden, stay safe, await my commands.”
Harry nodded, taking one last look around.
“We will see each other again,” said the Master. “And I’ve taught you everything you need. Remember, the Unforgivable curses are a tool like any other. Don’t be afraid to use them if need-be.”
“Of course,” Harry said pragmatically. He’d practised the Killing Curse enough times on various animals that it was almost second nature. The Master had been correct when he’d argued that the only useful curse was the one that went through all shields and ended the duel there.
“Good luck Harry,” the Master said, holding out his hand. “I know you can do this. I believe in you.”
Harry shook it, knowing that if he ever saw this man again, it meant that one way or another the war would be done.
Harry awoke, or at least was aware that he was a conscious being, in a strange white... place, for want of a better word. An infinite void of nothingness, for all he could see.
He heard something faintly in the distance, the sound of some strange murmur. Cautiously he approached to find... something. It was small, and hateful. He knew he should comfort it, but he couldn’t.
“You cannot help it.”
Harry spun round. The Master was walking towards him in his pristine suit, a warm smile on his face.
“Mr Potter,” he said, beckoning towards Harry. “Let us sit.”
Harry found himself led to a chair that was all so familiar. The Master sat at another, behind a beautiful desk. Harry recognized that desk. There was only one place this could be.
“Excuse me, Master,” Harry said cautiously. “But why are we in your office?”
“Is that where we are?” the Master said, amused. “I must say, that is rather touching.”
“But we’re not in your office, are we.”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“Am I...” Harry didn’t want to finish the sentence, not confront what had happened.
“What’s the last thing you remember?”
“I dropped the invisibility cloak and Resurrection Stone, appeared before Voldemort, cast the Killing Curse at him... And then I was here.” He looked around, the room becoming more solid. “There was a green light,” he added, as it started to come back to him.
“You have most of the details correct,” said the Master. “You did indeed cast the Killing Curse successfully, killing Voldemort. He likewise managed to cast it on you. You’ll also be pleased to hear that your friend Neville managed to kill Nagini as well, when a certain wizard caused it to appear before him.”
“You did that?” Harry asked. “You helped Neville kill Nagini before I confronted Voldemort?”
“Well we had to make sure he was dead,” said the Master. “How else was I going to get the Elder Wand from him?”
“Am I dead too?”
“Hm? Oh, no, you’re not dead.”
Harry let out a sigh of relief, only to catch the Master’s eyes. The twinkle was gone from them entirely.
“You can never die, my boy,” the Master continued. “Or live, either. No, as a horocrux you’re now forever stuck between this realm and the next. Like a ghost, but without the ability to walk through walls.”
“But-” began Harry. He sprinted for the door, trying to get it open. No matter what he did it remained shut, the Master’s laugh echoing behind him.
“I must say, you chose an interesting prison,” the Master said. “I’m almost flattered.”
“But I can’t stay here,” said Harry. “My friends.”
“What friends?” the Master replied coldly. “Harry Potter doesn’t have any friends. I made sure of that.”
“I... what?”
“I know you won’t believe me, boy, but this was me being kind. I knew you’d end up here, so I tried to train you to detatch yourself from others to make it less painful.”
“You... knew?”
“Oh my dear child I knew how all this was going to go from the start. You are just a fictional character, an idea brought forth by a two-bit writer who happened to get lucky. You don’t really exist, not as far as I’m concerned.”
“I don’t... exist?”
“Well, you do, in this Land of Fiction. Then again, all fiction exists here. But, you see, you were just a means to an end. What I’m really after is those Deathly Hallows, which are now all conveniently in the same place. I couldn’t be bothered doing the runaround myself to get them, so thanks for doing that for me. The Time Lords are sure to find some use for them during the Time War.”
“Time Lords? Time War?”
“Oh don’t worry yourself,” the Master said, waving a hand dismissively, his warm and cuddly demeanour completely vanishing. “None of this matters. Just be happy to know that when I leave here I will be able to take what I need and be on my way. I’ll give your best to the others, I’m sure they’ll make a martyr out of you.”
“No, don’t go!” Harry cried, as the Master made his way to the strange cupboard. “Please, I don’t want to be alone.”
“You’re not alone you stupid child,” the Master sneered. “You have him to keep you company.” The Master gestured to the... thing, which had seemed to teleport itself into sitting in Harry’s chair. “I’m sure you’ll have a lot of fun with that. I taught you well, didn’t I? I’m fairly certain it won’t die, so you don’t have to worry about being gentle.”
Harry suddenly realized the wand was in his hand, and he swung to aim it at the Master, only to see the man vanish into his strange cupboard. To Harry’s amazement the cupboard seemed to fade away, making a strange wheezing noise as it did.
The thing, in all its grotesque, burbled and looked at Harry pitifully. Harry felt the rage boil up inside of him, before screaming ‘CRUCIO!’, watching the thing swell painfully in size. He screamed it again, and again, and again, as the thing continued to cry out in agony. Harry felt the tears streak down his face as he cast spell after spell, unleashing seventeen years of trauma in one go.
The Master watched it all unfold in the TARDIS, Deathly Hallows in hand. While ‘time’ was a somewhat meaningless concept in this instance, he was surprised to see the boy was still going.
“You think he’d be grateful for all I taught him,” sniffed the Master, before turning to the items in his hands. As expected, while incredibly powerful within their own universe, they’d be totally useless when taken out. He threw them into the bin without a second though, annoyed at how much time he’d wasted in this endeavour.
“Ah well,” he said, as he let himself calm down a bit. “Let’s see in one ring has more luck.”
He let the TARDIS depart as the Boy Who Lived continued to do so... forever.