Chapter Text
Harry sat on a bench beside Dumbledore in this strange clean and train-less version of King’s Cross. The strange tortured creature that was Voldemort’s soul made soft, pitiful whimpers under a distant bench. Harry and the former headmaster paid it no mind.
The minutes ticked away. Although, it may have only been seconds. It was hard to know in this timeless expanse.
Harry tried to take in all the old wizard had told him of Voldemort, Horcruxes, and Hallows. There was so much to understand. This great man was not perfect. Harry knew that. It was one of his harder learned lessons over the last year. But something the headmaster said did not sit right with the teen.
“Sir,” Harry asked after another moment.
“What is it, you darling boy,” Dumbledore asked joyfully.
“You said you wanted to shine, you wanted glory.” Harry began.
“Yes,” Dumbledore agreed. “I wanted to prove I was the greatest wizard of my age.”
“But weren’t you doing that already?” Harry asked. “When I took my O.W.L.s one of the examiners said during your N.E.W.T.s you did things with your wand that they had never seen before.”
“That was a very generous statement of them to make. I was young and impatient, Harry. I just wanted somebody to notice me then and right then. I wanted power. It was in that effort that my desire for the Hallows manifested.” Dumbledore explained.
Harry could not understand this. “But,” he said.
Dumbledore held up a hand to stop the teen. “Harry, since your return to our world you have been famous. Everyone expected great things from you since what happened when you were just a baby. I had to prove myself. I wanted to escape the ties to my disgraced father, my sick sister, and wayward brother.”
“But I was young and proud. I had not yet learned the notice I should crave was not from the outside world, but that of my family, those who loved me. It was not until the loss of Ariana and the fight with my brother I realized how much I had truly lost.”
The man closely watched the teenager’s face for looks for disgust, betrayal, or something else.
“Do not pity me, Harry. I was a fool and I lived with the lesson my loss gave me for the rest of my life. It taught me something that Voldemort could never understand. Not that he would ever wish to learn it. Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living and above all, those who live without love.”
“I don’t pity you,” Harry told him softly.
“Thank you,” Dumbledore said sincerely.
Harry considered this for a moment. “You think I should go back?” He asked again.
“I think,” said Dumbledore, that if you choose to return there is a chance that he may be finished for good. I cannot promise it. But know this, Harry, that you have less to fear from returning than he does.”
Harry nodded and sighed. Leaving this place would not be nearly as hard as walking into the forest had been, but it was warm and light and peaceful here, he knew that he was heading back to pain and the fear of more loss.
“If I don’t go back, will people only remember me as the “Boy-Who-Lived”? I defeated Voldemort once and left the final job to somebody else.” Harry asked.
“Yes, you are probably right,” Dumbledore confirmed.
“So, if I go back I can make people notice there is more to me?”
“Harry, there is more to life than attention, what people think of you.”
“I know that, sir.” Harry reassured the old man.
Dumbledore smiled a soft sad smile. “Of course you do, my boy. For you are a better man than I. I have said it before and will say it again.”
“I don’t want to be the noticed,” Harry explained. “I want to be able to live my life as ‘Just Harry’. Will I always be the ‘Great Harry Potter’, ‘the Boy-Who-Lived’?”
“Harry, you want to be noticed,” Dumbledore corrected. “You desire for people to see you for what you do. You wish them to see you for you, not simply your mother’s terrific sacrifice. It is understandable.”
“Will it happen?” Harry asked.
“It is practically impossible to tell the future.” Dumbledore reminded him. “But I feel that your connection with the fate with that of Voldemort will always be a part of your existence.”
“Then maybe I don’t want to go back.” Harry said. “I can leave it somebody else to finish him off. I’m tired of being the great savior. Let somebody else do it now.”
“Harry,” Dumbledore protested. “Should countless other suffer because you do want people to think of your parents and their sacrifice when they see you, my boy? Is that fair?”
“No,” Harry conceded, “But I’m still not sure I want to go back.”
“Perhaps I am not the person you should be talking to then,” Dumbledore said.
Harry looked at him puzzled.
“There are others that wish to speak with you.” The old man said.
“Oh,” Harry was a bit surprised by this.
“They may be better at helping you decide if you wish to move on to return and finish Voldemort off.”
“Are you sure they’ll want to see me?”
“It is more a question if you wish to speak to them.”
“And what if I don’t?”
“Then perhaps you should only listen. Even those we do not like can teach us a great deal.” Dumbledore remarked.
This statement puzzled Harry. Who would want to come and talk to him that he did not like? What could they need to say to him in this odd timeless space. Would it really help him make up his mind of whether to return to the world of the living or to move onward?
Dumbledore rose and Harry stood up with him.
“Sit child,” Dumbledore instructed. Harry did as he was told.
“The others will be here in their own time. I will say goodbye for now, no matter which you choose.” Dumbledore walked off into the mist.