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It was hard to describe the depth and variety of emotions raging through Harry's head in the period after having read Skeeter's letter and before his scheduled meeting with the headmaster.
The phrase artificial insemination kept running through his head alongside a very poignant question.
Why?
His existence had always been a mystery, his conception seemingly being the point at which this world diverged from the one he'd read about.
However, this new information changed everything.
He'd simply assumed previously that some drunk older Slytherin Death Eater wannabes had picked a wrong turn and had stumbled upon his mother. A crime of… coincidence.
However, if making Lily Evans pregnant had always been the goal, that cemented the divergence point even further. It disgusted him to think about it, but to carry the… genetic material… with oneself indicated a precise selection of targets and a clear desire for… something.
It just didn't add up, however. Why exactly would the presumably Slytherin students want a muggleborn to carry a child of theirs?
Although, to be fair, for all he knew, considering that they'd never found the perpetrators, the perpetrators could have been other muggleborns doing some sick experiments or high on some weird drug.
It was this lack of knowledge as much as anything else that fueled his rage.
Others were privileged enough to know, if not always, the identity of their parents, at least the situation in which they were conceived. A one-night stand. A married couple. In Vitro Fertilisation.
Him? He didn't know anything and, from how things were looking, wouldn't know anything for a long time.
After all, in addition to not knowing who his father was, he also didn't even know the where, when, and why.
He'd never thought about it in his previous life, having known the identity of his father, his mother, and his grandparents. He'd even had access to a family tree, for fuck's sake.
It was only after having been reborn that he understood how much this lack of knowledge about one's heritage could make one suffer. It felt like he was missing half of the puzzle pieces to understand the core components from which his identity had been formed.
He was left feeling adrift in a large, threatening world, wondering if he wanted to find more information. A legitimate question when he considered how each new discovery made him feel. For his mental health, maybe he had to let it go.
But he couldn't.
Suffice it to say he wandered the halls of Hogwarts in a daze, not at all ready for the upcoming conversation with Dumbledore, who would once again try to find parallels to his erstwhile student who had gone on to become a Dark Lord.
Dumbledore hadn't had the time for many things ever since Harry had given the information packet last year. The fact that he made time for the third-year student and his minor achievement of getting into the top 16 of the duelling tournament indicated a disproportionate level of interest in Harry's personality and his development.
Unfortunately, it was simply something that Harry, as the weaker person, had to deal with.
If only it was so simple as to say, 'No, headmaster, I don't want to meet with you to discuss these matters.'
In the end, what exactly did Harry have to gain from meetings? More scrutiny?
Last time, he had gotten an accelerated entry into the Arithmancy program, which he was grateful for… But what did it truly matter if he would have taken the class at some point anyway?
This time, he would likely ask for another thing, but at the end of the day, it wasn't that consequential.
Not going, however, would draw even more scrutiny. Harry was getting the message that he had to go if he wanted to prove that he had nothing to hide.
He arrived in front of the gargoyle guarding the headmaster's office, in front of those spiralling stairs, still confused and not truly knowing what this conversation would be about.
"Cockroach clusters," he said dejectedly. He didn't know if that was an actual sweet; he sincerely hoped it wasn't. Cockroaches were by far one of the most disgusting animals in existence.
The gargoyle shifted to the left with a creaking sound of stone, opening up the pathway.
Harry sighed and stepped onto the stairs, letting the elevator-like mechanism take him up.
He wondered how impressive this was to the Hogwarts students who had never been in the muggle world and had thus never seen elevators.
Compared to some of the stuff in skyscrapers, this thing was basically a shabby carriage pulled by a donkey.
Arriving in front of the door to the headmaster's office, Harry reluctantly knocked and mentally groaned when he heard a prompt to "come inside".
The door opened, and he beheld an office that looked much the same as the one he had seen a year and a half ago.
Gadgets, trinkets and books. Harry's eyes briefly paused at the addition of one new object that had not been there previously.
What was the headmaster's game?
"Sit, Mr Evans, sit," the headmaster tiredly urged from behind his large, overstacked desk. There were more odd artefacts on it than most wizards likely possessed in their houses, and more paperwork than artefacts.
"Is that Hufflepuff's cup?" Harry wondered aloud, fearing that if he didn't address the artefact that he clearly recognised, he could out himself as the provider of the information packet rather than simply a curious student who knew his history. "It looks remarkably similar to the one depicted in the fresco in our common room. The one where Helga Hufflepuff uses it to make an infinite amount of antidote for the plague."
The reaction seemed correct, as Dumbledore looked up, surprised, as if he hadn't planned the whole thing and waved his hand to make the simple golden cup disappear.
Harry noted before it was gone that it wasn't looking destroyed in any shape or form. Likely not the Horcrux, then?
The headmaster's blue eyes, framed behind half-lunar-shaped glasses, twinkled at him. "Simply a replica, I had thought to have found the original. Whispers had come to me, and I was eager to retrieve one of Hogwarts' treasures, which had been lost almost 50 years ago. Unfortunately, it was simply a very thorough fake."
Harry slowly nodded as he sat down, wondering if the old man had sprung the same trap on Quirrel. If the professor had reacted to the presence of the cup, then he would have likely given away that he knew something about Voldemort's Horcruxes. That was very incriminating knowledge to possess.
It seemed that despite the seemingly calm relationship between the hidden dark lord and the headmaster, they were playing mind games beyond Harry's meagre comprehension.
"You asked to see me, headmaster?" Harry asked, rather than dwelling on such thoughts.
"It is not often that I get to see a student twice, not for any misdeeds or unfortunate news, but for contributions to the school," the headmaster joked.
Harry crossed his arms. "Well, I'm happy to disappoint expectations then. However, saying that losing my third match at a duelling tournament for kids is a contribution is taking it a bit far."
The headmaster's blue eyes twinkled at the perceived humbleness. "I imagine it depends on the perspective of the person looking. I will admit that creating the spell you did two years ago was much more impressive. However, I think we both know that being studious as you are and participating in international competitions in the name of the school is more of a boon than a loss for its reputation."
Harry nodded. "I think we can speak of contributions when I actually managed to win the thing," he said.
"That would certainly be something to see, wouldn't it?" Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "What do you think about your chances and skills?" he asked. "Flitwick was kind enough to share a memory of your matches, and I was quite surprised to see how far you've come."
The student tilted his head thoughtfully. "I would think that my achievements would be, if anything, predictable, considering that I'm being taught by a former champion of the sport," he replied vaguely.
The headmaster spread out his hands in a What can you do gesture. "If only the accomplishments of the student could be so easily determined by the accomplishments of the teacher," he said. "Why, I'd have to take hundreds of students simply on a perfunctory basis just to see them all succeed by mere association."
Harry hummed thoughtfully, returning to the implied question that had been stated previously. "I am still a rather green participant who has mostly mastered some of the basics. I imagine that it is only in a few years that I will actually represent a challenge."
"You deflected that disarming charm quite beautifully with your free hand for someone whose skills are only on the rudimentary level," Dumbledore dug, causing Harry to cross his arms and frown.
"If there is one spell worth knowing wandlessly, it is finite," he said. "I'm sure you can do it as well, headmaster," he said, unwilling to believe that a man of such magical prowess could not cast even the most rudimentary of wandless magic.
Dumbledore blinked at that insinuation before slowly nodding. "Perhaps, although most usually find that the wand is an easier path to greatness."
"Greatness?" Harry questioned. "Is there anything particularly great about being able to simply do magic? It is rather the contents of what one does with it, rather than the skill one uses to achieve it, that determines greatness."
"Would you not say that your wish to participate in the duelling circuit has something to do with greatness? How does that fit with the ideal world of peace and harmony you told me of when I found you looking at the mirror?" Dumbledore asked, implying that Harry had been caught doing something he shouldn't have done to force a more honest answer.
However, Dumbledore would be sorely disappointed if he was looking for anything incriminating. Perhaps Harry had started duelling with some misconception that it would help him protect himself better.
However, by now, that was simply a side benefit. "Duelling is fun, as is winning," he said with a shrug. He quite frankly didn't know if he would continue if he ever started disliking it. Maybe for the sake of completionism, until he won.
"I imagine you perhaps have a similar attitude towards it that I did to Transfiguration when I was your age," the headmaster mused.
Harry blinked, looking at the old man with the almost comically long grey beard. "I can't imagine you as a child my age, but I guess such is the case for all adults," he joked.
"I'll have you know I was quite a spry young man," Dumbledore retorted with a fake bluster. "But enough about the duelling. What sorts of magic have you been interested in lately?" he asked.
Harry tssked. "Nothing easy, unfortunately. Professor Flitwick has me working on an enchantment. I've been trying to get a self-cleaning broom for my aunt for Christmas as practice for that," he revealed, getting a smile in return. "Otherwise," Harry continued, "I've been teaching a friend of mine the Patronus charm, which reminds me that I still haven't figured out how to make the thing speak. It's bothering me that I can't find the book on it anywhere in the library," he admitted, hinting at the fact that the headmaster might elucidate him.
Dumbledore nodded wisely, running a hand through his beard. "I'm unsurprised that you couldn't find anything. After all, it was me who developed the variation, and I only taught it to a select few people."
Harry was surprised, but it made sense when he thought about it. Flitwick was a Charms master and should have very much known the variation if it existed publicly. Harry vaguely remembered from the books that it had mostly been Order members who'd used it. Maybe it had been Dumbledore's answer to Voldemort's clown-to-clown dark mark communication.
"You must have taught the person who'd informed Professor Potter of the werewolf attack last year, then," Harry said. They must have either been an order member, or the spell variation had leaked at some point. However, it was not like the leak mattered; most dark wizards couldn't cast a Patronus to save their lives, literally.
Dumbledore slowly nodded, seemingly finally understanding why Harry even knew of the message variation.
"Perhaps as an incentive to continue representing Hogwarts on the international stage, I should reveal the secret of the message variation. Not that it's such a secret anymore," the old man said.
"I was also thinking perhaps of acquiring a pensieve, I've read about them, and the thought of learning from other people's experiences is oddly poetic when one considers that we stand on the shoulders of giants regardless of what we do," Harry said.
"A pensieve is a very rare magical artefact," Dumbledore warned. "Most who desire one are, in fact, forced to make one themselves."
Harry sighed at the implied rejection. "I imagine then that I will have to ask again when I do win the duelling tournament and have mastered enchantment to a sufficient level," he said challengingly.
Dumbledore's eyes glinted, and he sat up straighter in his chair. He had been partially lounging until now. "I would be very interested to see how you'd go about doing that," the man said slowly." If you attempt to challenge it this year, I'll be very curious to see some people's reactions if you succeed."
Harry wondered if Dumbledore would actually be petty enough to visit Numengard to tell Grindelwald to his face that someone had matched his record, before internally shaking his head. No way would the man be that childish, right?
"As for the patronus variation. Would you want to have the pleasure of discovering yourself or for me to give you a hint?" the headmaster asked.
Harry huffed. "I'm quite done with spell creation. Why bother if I can learn from others? I'd appreciate a hint; I've been breaking my head on it for too long."
"I see," Dumbledore replied, tapping a finger to his chin. "As for the hint, perhaps you should keep in mind that a large part of happiness is sharing it with others. Thus, one's ability to communicate is an integral part of the emotion. Speaking to a spirit guardian might not seem to make so much sense. However, when one creates them with the intention of sharing that happiness with someone else, it can sometimes happen that a message is delivered alongside the emotion," the man said cryptically.
Harry nodded slowly. "I'll try to keep that in mind, headmaster."
"Do that, Mr. Evans. Perhaps if you figure it out, you would be so kind as to send me a message," the old man said with a small smile. "As for our time together, I am afraid it is running out. But I am excited to be apprised of your progress, whispered as it is into my ear by different professors. Do work hard; perhaps we'll see about that pensieve in two to three years. You're likely to be more impatient than me at your young age, so I imagine the wait will be more torturous for you than for me," he joked.
Harry rolled his eyes as he stood up. "Thank you for the talk and the hint, headmaster. I guess I'm properly motivated now to surprise some people," he said cryptically.
"How is arithmancy going?" the headmaster asked as Harry started leaving.
"I'll finish it with an Exceeds Expectations and drop the subject. I can self-study after my graduation."
"I see; I imagine that you are likely lacking in time considering to focus on it now that you're taking three extracurricular classes rather than two as suggested. Unfortunately, with the current state of the ministry, creating more time was not really something so easily accomplished," the old man said as a parting remark.
Harry quickly deciphered the message as he left. "Goodbye, headmaster." The door shut behind them.
So, the ministry currently didn't feel like giving him the advantage of a time-turner. That was good to know. At least he could stop trying in good conscience then.
As for the pensieve? He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He had just discussed with Flitwick that he would likely win in two years. Waiting for two years wasn't that long, right?
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AN: Got an idea why no adults in the potterverse use the time turner, have to see if I can implement a mention at some point. Support me on Patreon!