"The Only One He Ever Feared"

[hedwigs-bane.livejournal.com]

Author: hedwigs_bane  
Beta:  weetziecat, who interrupted her hiatus to do me a favour!  Thanks, Cat!!
Pairing: None
Rating: G
Word Count: 3,378
Warnings: Sequel Alert:  It's actually a sequel to my piece for weasley_fest called "What's Another Weasley More Or Less?".  It can also be found HERE at Misfits.  There's also an allusion to a couple of my 100 Word drabbles, but I'm not saying which ones.  I will tell you, though, that they were for the "Gold" prompt at harryron100...

A.N.:  Well of course I stole the title!  Geez, I steal everything else from JKR, it just seems logical, doesn't it?

The Only One He Ever Feared

 

          “ALBUS DUMBLEDORE!  I WILL BE AT YOUR OFFICE DOOR AT ONE O’CLOCK TODAY, AND YOU HAD BEST BE THERE, OR ELSE I’LL… I’LL… WELL, NEVER MIND WHAT I’LL DO.  YOU JUST BE THERE!”

 

          Dumbledore watched as the Howler burst into flames in the grate, reducing itself to ashes in a matter of seconds.  He was glad he’d had the foresight to cast it into the fireplace as soon as it had stopped shouting, saving the surface of his desk from being scorched.

 

          “Of all the unmitigated gall!” a disapproving voice spoke from one of the many portraits lining the Headmaster’s office walls.  “Speaking to you as if…”

 

          “Yes, thank you, Phineas,” Dumbledore said quietly to the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black, a former Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  “In this case, however, I’m inclined to overlook the affront.”

 

          Walking back to his desk chair, Dumbledore fell into it heavily, placed his elbows on the desk, and rested his forehead on his fingertips.  Breathing a sigh from the depths of his soul, he considered the implications of the announcement he’d just heard.

 

          There were very few people on earth who would presume to send him a Howler, and fewer still who would actually include a demand such as this one had contained.  Normally, in an admittedly passive-aggressive display, Dumbledore would have made it a point to be anywhere but in his office at one o’clock that day, just to make it clear to the correspondent that he was not some functionary to be ordered about.

 

          Chuckling in spite of himself, he remembered one such incident involving the Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge, a mere day after he had achieved his high office.  No doubt feeling a bit imperious, he had sent a similar demand to the Hogwarts Headmaster, though he’d at least had the good grace to send a simple parchment as opposed to a Howler.  Dumbledore, who’d had nothing particular to do that afternoon, had nevertheless made it a point to be out of the country, leaving a note to that effect magically stuck to the wall next to the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to his study.  By all reports Fudge had been livid, but from that day forward, he was always less demanding when requesting a meeting with Dumbledore, and normally did so far in advance.

 

          In this case, however, the Headmaster knew he would make himself available, and would even ensure that the gargoyle would already be standing aside to admit his uninvited guest.  Trying to prevent this particular interview would be like trying to hold back the tide.  Dumbledore didn’t like to think of the consequences of delaying the discussion, knowing that, like an unopened Howler, things would only be worse if he didn’t face the matter as soon as possible.

 

          He smiled sardonically as he wondered what people would say about his trepidation over the meeting.  Though he had long ago sloughed off the need or desire for self-promotion, he nevertheless knew that he was considered one of the most powerful wizards in Britain, if not the most powerful.  Still, here he was weighing strategies in his mind, considering how best to gain the upper hand from the onset, knowing the attack would be both fast and vehement.  He realized immediately that to respond in kind would hardly be conducive to a favourable outcome.  In the end, Dumbledore decided that he would try to disarm his adversary with charm, friendliness and familiarity, an approach which had met with varying degrees of success in the past.

 

          Checking his watch, Dumbledore saw that he had a little over an hour before the appointment, and set about addressing his other correspondence delivered by that morning’s owls, and mentally preparing himself for what the afternoon might bring.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

          “Molly!  Such a pleasure to see you.  May I offer you a cup of tea?”

 

          “Never mind the tea, Albus,” Molly Weasley said in the tone of a true matriarch.  “We have to talk about Harry.”

 

          “Harry?” Dumbledore asked, only half surprised.  Still, to buy himself an extra second in which to think, he added, “Harry Potter?”

 

          “No, Prince Harry!”  Molly Weasley snapped back sarcastically.  “Of course Harry Potter!  Who else?”

 

          “I see,” Dumbledore said.  “Well, if it’s to be Harry, then perhaps we should have a seat so we can both be comfortable.”  He waved toward the armchairs in front of the fireplace, but Molly ignored the gesture and stomped to the chair in front of Dumbledore’s desk, dropping into it in a most determined way.  With a sigh, Dumbledore walked around his desk and sat down.  “Now, what about Harry?”

 

          “What about him?  What about him?  The same thing that’s been about him since you left him with those hateful Muggles!”

 

          “Now, Molly,” Dumbledore said, ignoring the curious syntax and trying his best not to sound patronizing, “I think you already know my feelings on that matter.”

 

          “That was before last night!”  Molly countered, as if Dumbledore should be fully aware of what had occurred the previous evening.  Not receiving the look of comprehension she seemed to be expecting, however, she went on, “I assume you know, at least, that Harry is staying with us right now?”

 

          “Yes,” Dumbledore nodded.  “I have been made aware of that.  I understand Arthur’s excellent car received a field test a few nights after Harry’s twelfth birthday.”

 

          Molly flushed at the mention of the flying Ford Anglia, but she was not deterred.  “Yes, he’s been with us more than a fortnight now, and until last night everything’s been lovely.  I’ve done my best to make sure he gets plenty to eat, and that he knows he’s welcome in our home anytime.”

 

          “I’m sure you have,” Dumbledore smiled.  “Your hospitality is legendary, my dear Molly.”

 

          “Don’t you ‘my dear Molly’ me!”  Mrs. Weasley snapped peevishly.  “After what you’ve allowed to go on, feeding and caring for Harry is the very least I can do!”

 

          “Forgive me, Molly,” Dumbledore said, feeling confused and just the slightest bit angry himself.  “What exactly have I allowed to go on?  What’s happened to upset you so?”

 

          Molly stared at Dumbledore as if he was being intentionally daft.  After a moment, however, her expression became more pensive, as if she was becoming aware of the fact that Dumbledore could hardly know what she was talking about.

 

          “Last night after dinner,” she began, “Harry got up to help clear the table.  He’s always so eager to help around the house, you know.  Anyway, he got a bit… over-eager, I suppose.  He tried to carry too many plates at once and ended up dropping them all.”

 

          “Oh dear,” Dumbledore said, unable to think of anything else to say.

 

          “I told him right away that it was nothing to worry about,” Molly continued.  “But, Albus, if you had seen the terror in that boy’s eyes, it would have broken your heart!”  Molly reached into a pocket of her robes and drew out a handkerchief with which she dabbed her eyes.

 

          “It’s all right, Molly,” Dumbledore said consolingly in an attempt to help her continue the story.  He felt certain that this could not be the entire purpose of Molly’s visit.  “And what happened next?”

 

          “Well,” Molly said with a sniffle, “then Arthur got up and went to Harry.  He only meant to put a hand on his shoulder, to console him, you know.  But Harry threw up his arms and covered his face, as if Arthur was… as if he was going to… hit him!”  With this, Molly broke down completely, her sobs echoing off the stone walls.  Dumbledore looked up to see a couple of the former Headmistresses also dabbing their oil-painted eyes.

 

          “But surely, Molly,” Dumbledore said comfortingly, “Harry knows that Arthur would never strike him.”

 

          “That’s not the point!” Molly said loudly through her tears, looking back up to glare at Dumbledore.  “Of course he knows Arthur wouldn’t hit him!  But he’s used to being hit, isn’t he?  Those awful Dursley people beat the boy, Dumbledore!  And what’s more, you know they do!”

 

          Molly’s words and glare filled Dumbledore with an unwelcome, though familiar, sense of guilt.  Yes, he’d had his suspicions concerning the sort of abuse Harry suffered at the hands of his aunt and uncle and, at times, his cousin.  Arabella Figg, a Squib who resided in Little Whinging, and who, on Dumbledore’s request, kept a close watch on Harry, had informed Dumbledore each time she had seen a bruise or a blackened eye on The Boy Who Lived.

 

          “I’ve suspected that Harry’s life on Privet Drive might be difficult,” Dumbledore said by way of a confession.  “I knew it would not be easy for him when I left him in the Dursleys’ care.”

 

          “CARE?” Molly shouted as she jumped to her feet.  “You call what those horrible Muggles do to him care?  They beat him, they barely feed him, and did you know they used to lock him in a cupboard?  A cupboard, Dumbledore!  House-elves are treated better than he’s ever been in that prison you’ve condemned him to!”  Sobs overtook her again and she fell back into her chair, covering her face with her handkerchief.  Through her tears she barely managed to whimper, “I don’t know how you could be so heartless.”

 

          Molly Weasley’s words stung Dumbledore to his heart.  It was true that he had forced himself to overlook the Dursleys’ misuse of Harry in favour of the greater good, knowing as he did that Harry must return to that house each summer, as miserable as he might be there.  While he saw the necessity of it, however, he could also see how, from Molly perspective, it could only be construed as cruelty.

 

          His habitual practice of keeping secrets was as much to blame as anything.  He tried his best to reveal as little as possible even to those whom he trusted the most.  He’d never fully explained to Molly, or to her husband for that matter, his insistence that Harry must live in Little Whinging.  Still, he’d always thought it better to confide in very few people, and thus protect Harry from Voldemort and his agents.

 

          Seeing Molly in such pain, however, made Dumbledore realize that he’d been unfair to her and Arthur.  He should have known it the previous year as he watched the friendship between Harry and Ron Weasley grow and strengthen through adversities and triumphs.  He should have known that, through Ron, Harry would get a taste of what a loving family actually was, and thus know what he’d been robbed of when he was just a year old.  It was true that he hadn’t foreseen Harry’s rescue by the three youngest Weasley boys, but he should have known that he’d one day spend time at the Burrow, and that Molly and Arthur’s parental instincts would embrace Harry as much as their own children.  His thoughts were confirmed by Molly’s next words.

 

          “I won’t let him go back there, Albus.”  It wasn’t a question or a demand.  It was, in fact, spoken so clearly and declaratively that no one would have known that Molly had been crying a second before.  “I will take him off the Hogwarts Express myself in June, and I hope those awful people show up to collect him so that I can give them a piece of my mind!”

 

          Dumbledore felt unequal to Molly’s determination, and feared that if she carried out her plan, he would be unable to prevent it.  It had nothing to do with magical power.  It was sheer force of will, and he knew few with a will as strong as Molly Weasley, especially when it was fueled by her maternal nature.  In this matter he could not simply overrule her.  Instead he would have to win her over to his point of view, and to do that he would have to tell her the truth.  There was no guarantee that she would accept his explanation, but it was all Dumbledore had to give.

 

          And so he spoke.  He told her of the ancient and powerful magic that had saved Harry when Voldemort had tried to kill him as an infant.  He told her how he had called upon that magic, extending it so that it would protect Harry as long as he lived wherever his mother’s blood dwelt.  Though the boy knew nothing of love at the Dursleys, he nevertheless was protected by the loving sacrifice of his mother, and it was the greatest protection Dumbledore could provide.

 

          When he finished, Dumbledore looked up from his folded hands to which he had been speaking to see Molly looking back at him.  She appeared to be much less angry and much more thoughtful than she’d been earlier.

 

          “Surely,” Molly said after a protracted silence, “there must be another way.”

 

          “None as effective or complete, I’m afraid,” Dumbledore shook his head sadly.  “I’m not a cruel man, Molly.  I would hardly subject young Harry to the misery he’s known at the Dursleys if I didn’t believe it absolutely necessary to keep him alive.  I’ll admit the night Lily and James died I panicked a bit.  Naturally I presumed that their child had perished with them, though I had reason to suspect otherwise.  When I received word from Hagrid that he had found Harry alive and relatively well, I moved as quickly as I could to ensure he would remain safe.  In my haste I failed to consider the cost of that safety.  Nevertheless, the charm has held, and will continue to hold until Harry comes of age.”

 

          “So you really believe that He Who Must Not Be Named is still alive, and that he wants to kill Harry?” Molly asked quietly, as if afraid she already knew the answer.

 

          “That Voldemort is alive I have no doubt,” Dumbledore nodded gravely.  “If your son hadn’t so bravely sacrificed his own safety last year, he might very well have met the Dark Lord himself.”

 

          “But why would he want to kill Harry?” Molly pleaded more than inquired.  “He’s just a child!  What threat could he possibly be to Vol – to You Know Who?”

 

          “I’m afraid I can’t enlighten you on that point,” Dumbledore said in the least revealing way he could think of.  He’d never told anyone of the prophecy spoken to him by Sybill Trelawney, which Voldemort himself had gone some way towards fulfilling by trying to kill the son of Lily and James Potter, leaving him with the lightening bolt scar on his forehead.  “I can only tell you that I feel certain Voldemort still perceives Harry as a threat, and will continue to try to eliminate that threat.”

 

          “Can’t you at least talk to them, then?” Molly asked.  “Can’t you warn them that if they carry on the way they have been you’ll… you’ll…”

 

          “You want me to threaten the Dursleys?” Dumbledore asked.  “What do you think that would accomplish?  We can’t keep Harry under constant surveillance inside their home.  What if my threat were to engender even more anger and resentment?  Don’t you think they might take that anger out on Harry, making his life even less tolerable?”

 

          Behind Molly’s eyes, Dumbledore could almost see further arguments forming and collapsing, until finally her face betrayed resignation.  Dumbledore found himself disappointed.  Though he hadn’t really expected it, he’d actually harboured a hope that perhaps Molly could offer him an alternative he hadn’t considered, one that could liberate Harry Potter from the misery of life on Privet Drive.  Her defeated expression, however, dashed that hope once and for all.

 

          “I know it isn’t fair,” Dumbledore conceded conciliatorily.  “And you were quite right to bring your concerns to me.  Believe me, I share them.”

 

          “That hardly helps Harry, though, does it?” Molly asked, a note of anger returning to her voice.

 

          “Perhaps not,” Dumbledore nodded.  “But I must believe the welcome he’s received in your home is a comfort to him.  He couldn’t have done better than to befriend Ronald, and so gain access to the loving home you and Arthur have worked so hard to build for your own children.  I’m not at all certain it’s my place to do so, but I thank you both for extending to Harry your admirable and inimitable brand of hospitality.”

 

          Molly snorted derisively at this.  “In our house, what’s another boy, more or less?  Compared to the rest of them, we hardly know he’s there, he’s so quite and reserved.”

 

          “Yes, I’m sure it seems quite natural to you,” Dumbledore smiled.  “But to Harry it’s invaluable to actually feel welcome in a home when all he’s ever known is resentful tolerance.  I’m sure he’s grateful.”

 

          “Oh, I know he is,” Molly smiled in turn.  “A bit too grateful, in fact.”

 

          “I beg your pardon?”

 

          “Well, we’re all going to Diagon Alley tomorrow to buy everyone’s school supplies,” Molly explained.  “I was worried about… well, I wanted to be sure we could afford…”  Molly paused, looking embarrassed, but she pressed on.  “Anyway, I sent Arthur to Gringotts today to see how much we had in our vault.  He came home and took Harry aside so they could speak privately.  Later he told me that Harry had transferred gold from his vault to ours.”  Molly’s eyes began to well again.  “He’s such a sweet boy,” she sniffed.  “Of course, Arthur told Harry that it was quite kind of him, but inappropriate, and that we couldn’t accept his generosity.”

 

          “Extraordinary,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head.  “Despite everything, Harry is already a remarkably thoughtful boy.  I’m sure his interaction with you and your family can only make him more so.  Would I be correct in assuming it was Ronald who instigated Harry’s rescue from Little Whinging?”

 

          Molly bowed her head.  “Yes, and I’m sorry about that.  The boys can be so impetuous…”

 

          “There’s no need for apologies,” Dumbledore chuckled.  “Quite the contrary, I’m quite pleased with the circumstances, and with your sons’ ingenuity!  Oh, to be young again; to be able to act on impulse without all those annoying qualms that we develop in later years.”

 

          “Well, I assure you all three of them will have qualms the next time they even dream about doing anything so daft,” Molly chuckled.  “Still, I can’t fault them.  If I’d known what was going on, I might have flown the car there myself!”

 

          “And at least for the rest of this summer, Harry is in a place where he’s welcome and well fed,” Dumbledore smiled broadly.

 

          “Then he can stay with us?” Molly asked quickly.

 

          “Of course!” Dumbledore assured her.  “I think we can assure his safety for this last week before he returns to school.  There’d be no reason to send him back to Surrey now.”

 

          “Good,” Molly nodded.  “He still needs a bit more fattening up, bless him.  Besides, he’s a good influence on Ron.  It’s good for him to hear someone saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ for a change.”

 

          With that, Molly thanked Dumbledore for his time, and bade him farewell.  At his insistence, Molly used the study’s fireplace to Floo back to the Burrow.  Dumbledore watched her vanish in a flash of green flame and then sat in one of the armchairs set before the fireplace.

 

          The meeting had gone as well as, and even better than, he had hoped.  He realized now that it might have been foolish not to have divulged certain things to Molly and Arthur, especially the circumstances that required Harry to spend his summers with his resentful relatives.  From the time Harry had befriended Ronald Weasley, Dumbledore had known it would only be a matter of time before Molly became aware of what Harry’s live on Privet Drive was like, and that he would then have to face Molly’s lioness-like wrath. 

 

          Still, even if she despised the circumstances, Molly had accepted Dumbledore’s explanation, for which he was truly grateful.  Despite the terrors he had seen in his lifetime, and the coming struggle he knew to be inevitable, being at odds with Molly Weasley had been one of his greatest concerns.  Dark Lords and dark magic he could face, but Molly Weasley, in all her maternal fury, was truly the only one he ever feared.

Comments

[hedwigs-bane.livejournal.com]

Thanks so much for that! I'm glad you enjoyed the way I drew Dumbledore and Molly here.

Yes, I'd hate to get in Molly's way when she's being a protective mother. Bella Lastrange learned that lesson, didn't she?

:-)