The Darkening of Your Soul

Chapter 22

“Headmaster,” Snape said while Harry desperately tried to control his rising anger. That silly book Barty had given Tom would come in handy right about now. “You cannot seriously suggest a first-year student cursed the Messrs. Weasley with a class 2 dark curse.”

Dumbledore was the picture of a man full of regret to have to reach these conclusions. “Mr Potter may not have cast the curse himself, but he could very well have asked an older student to do it for him.”

“Albus,” Madam Pomfrey fumed, planting her fists on her hips as she glared at the headmaster. “Mr Potter has not left the hospital wing. He’s barely left his bed to use the bathroom. And the only visitors he’s had have been other first-years.”

Dumbledore shook his head sadly while he gave the others a look that clearly communicated he knew something they didn’t. “So it is merely a coincidence that the Messrs. Weasley are cursed right after Mr Potter wakes up?”

“Yes,” McGonagall snapped, surprising Harry with the amount of venom in her voice. “Anyone could have sent that curse. Since the letters were destroyed by some self-destruction charm we have no physical evidence. Likely the curse came from outside of Hogwarts, from some well-meaning witch or wizard deciding to avenge Mr Potter. Even though you’ve kept it out of the Prophet, by now every student has written about it to their families and the whole wizarding world has heard about it.”

McGonagall had no idea how close to the truth she got, but Harry had enough of the whole argument. Dumbledore had zero proof Harry had anything to do with it because Harry hadn’t cast it. He knew who did, but that was it. Harry briefly remembered he was trying to play the part of a student still malleable to the headmaster’s manipulations, but his anger at these unfounded accusations, merely because of Dumbledore’s prejudice against anything Slytherin, overrode his common sense.

“I died!” Harry all but yelled at Dumbledore, who raised his bushy eyebrows in surprise. “Those boys cracked my skull open like an egg and I died.” Harry inhaled a deep breath and continued, speaking quieter. “I saw my mum and dad. They told me it wasn’t my time yet and that they were proud of me. Well, my dad seemed a bit shocked by me being in Slytherin but my mum told me it didn’t matter at all.”

Snape swallowed audibly while McGonagall had a hand pressed over her mouth. Pomfrey looked like she wanted to give him a hug.

“Mr Potter,” Dumbledore started, but Harry spoke right over what else Dumbledore wanted to say.

“I didn’t curse those boys or had someone else do it on my behalf. But I wish I had!” Harry glared at Dumbledore, despising the man more than he’d ever despised Voldemort. “They killed me and they deserve punishment. I’d like to believe my life is worth more than twenty points. Each. It’s no wonder no one in our House likes you.” And with that, Harry yanked the curtains around his bed closed with a flick of his wand. He threw himself back against the mattress, instantly regretting his outburst, but he couldn’t help it. Dumbledore and his manipulations had gotten him killed in his previous life when Harry had done everything Dumbledore wanted him to do, had been supportive of Dumbledore even in the face of prosecution by the Ministry, and had loved the old headmaster like a mentor, a grandfather even.

And all that time, Dumbledore had merely used him. He’d never cared for Harry. He couldn’t, because Harry’s soul was intertwined with Tom Riddle’s, and Dumbledore had loathed Tom Riddle since the moment he’d met him.

No one disturbed him further and Pomfrey all but kicked the others out of her infirmary, muttering about patients needing rest.