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That... Was a lot to take in. But it also explained a lot. And as long as these Horcruxes were out there, Voldemort would keep coming back to haunt them. Harry's traitorous mind was quick to imagine the worst possibility, however. While they were on earth, the artefacts could be found and destroyed. But if Voldemort ever managed to send one into space...
They talked for a while about what they would do and how Harry could help with the search. They agreed that they would continue to explore Voldemort's past, looking for clues, and once Dumbledore managed to track down another Horcrux, they would go retrieve it together.
"... I fear, however, that the hour is drawing late, and we could both gain from some rest. We can continue our talk during our next lesson."
As he got up and ready to leave, a thought came to Harry's tired mind. One that had nagged at him those last few weeks. He stilled as he picked up the now empty box before he gave an apprehensive look to Dumbledore.
"Professor? I've thought a bit about that memory of the orphanage you showed me the last time and... I can't help but think that the way you used magic on the director and to intimidate Riddle was just plain wrong. The scale isn't the same but it's the same thing the ministry or the Death Eaters do, playing with muggles and bullying people into compliance."
Since the day Hagrid had burst into his life and showed him the wonders of magic, he had seen amazing, beautiful things. Even today, while they used it around the ship, it never failed to surprise him. It certainly had its darker aspects, a perversion of nature's gifts, but he knew that it wasn't what magic was at its core.
He had expected Dumbledore to look shocked or at least a bit angry at the accusation. For the man to take offence to being compared to what he fought against his whole life.
Instead, the headmaster gave a deep sigh, looking at his empty hands.
"Yes, I can see how it can seem like that. I never claimed to be perfect Harry, no matter what others say about me. I am but a silly old man who made as many mistakes in his life as the next man. And my approach to the young Tom was no doubt one of the greatest among them. I did not try to understand him or his reasons. I thought I could give him a little scare, to put him back on the right track. I failed spectacularly, permanently marring his opinion of me and helping to create the worst disaster of our time. When I understood my error, it was already too late to fix it. The damage had been done."
Dumbledore looked up at Harry.
"Instead of suspicions and punishments, I should have guided him with forgiveness and kindness. I was not as empathetic as I should have been, battling as I was with the rise of Grindelwald and my own ego. I would like to think that I have changed for the better since then, however, I cannot stop wishing that I had acted differently."
"Great minds have spent their lives pondering how things could have been different if some events had happened differently, though I will leave those musings to the historians. Could Tom have grown to not become Lord Voldemort? Perhaps. Would the world be a better place or would something worse have happened? No one knows. I personally prefer to spend my time trying to improve what I can instead of pondering questions without answers. It is only by working on improving the present that we may build a brighter future."
"If there is one thing you learn tonight, Harry, please make it this one: Fighting with hate and anger instead of empathy and understanding will only lead you to grief."
In the early hours of the next day, the castle slowly came to life as students and teachers enjoyed the peace and warmth it provided them on a Sunday morning before the start of another week of scholarly pursuits.
Detached from this peaceful dawn, a lone figure watched the sun rise above the mist-covered forbidden forest from one of the balconies, holding on tight to the stone railing with the vigour of rage and desperation.
The only sound one could hear was that of tears falling to the stones below him.
At his feet lay the crumpled remains of a special edition of the daily prophet. The front page was almost entirely reserved for a picture of the smouldering ruins of what must have been a great manor surrounded by beautiful gardens.
Below it, the headline announced the death of Augusta Longbottom and Amelia Bones.
The sound of his shoes hitting the metal floor was Neville's only companion through the deserted corridors in the late hours of the night. The last of his tears had been shed hours ago, leaving him with nothing to distract himself from all too familiar thoughts.
As he felt his ruminations slip once again into darker territories, he reached for the nearest control panel, opening a door. Behind it was one of the many observation decks, furnished with a rug and a couple of sofas on which two of his crew mates talked in hushed voices. At the soft hiss of the opening door, they turned toward him in surprise... and there it was again.
The pity in eyes that wouldn't even meet his own.
Don't forgot powerstone
Thank you
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If you want to read ahead by 10 chapters from her you can visit my Patre-on.
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