Dumbledore closed his eyes. Harry had no idea what he was thinking, but he doubted it was pleasant. Dumbledore shook his head, still not looking at them.
"If you knew what I know about the power of forgiveness," he whispered. "Of love."
"And if you knew what we do about the power of vengeance," Father murmured. He pulled his left arm back under the table and reached for a flask on his belt, which Harry knew contained one of the potions that the Healers had told him to drink so that he would be at his strongest when the time came to grow the new arm. "This meeting was simply to deliver the news that Black was receiving a trial, then? You could have done that by letter, Dumbledore."
Harry nodded despite himself. Dumbledore's eyes opened and saw him.
"Is there really no trace left of the generous, giving boy I once knew?" Dumbledore whispered.
Harry had no idea what to say to that, and it didn't matter if he did. Mother stood up, sweeping a fold of her robe around Harry so that he felt as if he was looking out at the world through a blanket. "It is not for you to say such things to our son, Headmaster," she said. "Perhaps we will see you in the Wizengamot on the day Sirius Black is tried for kidnapping."
Harry stood up and went with her. He kind of wanted to look back at Dumbledore, but it seemed that his parents had been right. Dumbledore had asked to meet with Harry, over news that he could easily have written down, because he wanted to ask him silly questions and try to trick him back into being Harry Potter.
Or into being…what?
Harry didn't have any idea that didn't have to do with the prophecy. And that didn't please him.
...
"Do I have to?"
"We would like you to remain in this warded room for a few hours, Mr. Malfoy," the Healer in front of him said. She was the same red-haired woman who had attended Father when he was getting his arm regrown. Harry knew now that her name was Healer Percival. "I know that you had a strong reaction next time, and while we don't anticipate the return of your father's arm bringing back the Dark Mark, it's better to be safe than sorry."
In the end, Harry nodded stiffly and stepped behind the warded wall into the middle of the waiting ritual circle. It was a small one, but made of what looked like pure silver, at least to Harry's untutored eyes. The minute he walked into it, there was a small snapping sound and brilliant white flames rose from the circle.
"You did not tell me that would happen!" snapped Mother, on the other side of the fire and looking unhappy about it.
"I did not anticipate that it would." Healer Percival was staring at Harry with wide grey eyes. They narrowed a second later. "Tell me, Mr. Malfoy, have you ever had prophetic dreams? The sensation of hearing or seeing something far away from you? Feeling emotions that are not your own?"
"Where are these questions leading?" Mother demanded.
"In a direction that I did not think to investigate, and that might explain the connection between the Dark Mark and the scar on your son's forehead," Healer Percival said. That at least made Mother look a little calmer, Harry noticed. He wished it did the same for him. Healer Percival smiled gently at Harry. "Did you ever have any of those?"
"I've had a few dreams about—well, I don't really know," Harry said hesitantly. "I see green light and hear laughter, and then it goes dark. And once I dreamed a huge snake was coming towards someone, about to bite him. But I don't remember them well enough to know if they're prophetic."
Healer Percival sucked in a deep breath, glanced at Mother, and then turned back to Harry. "I would like to speak with you after the surgery to restore your father's arm, Mr. Malfoy."
Harry nodded. If they could find out something that would let him solve the puzzle of what was going on with the scar, then he would answer any questions she had.
Healer Percival checked her golden watch, started, and hurried out of the room. Harry hoped he hadn't made her late for the ritual that would heal Father. That was still, and always, the most important thing.
Mother came up to the edge of the white flames and stared at him through them. Harry swallowed. "Why are they here?" he asked.
"The circle keeps out Dark Arts influences," Mother whispered. "They hoped that it might protect you even if there is a connection between the Mark and your scar and the Mark reappears. But the flames would not be there—" She hesitated.
"Please tell me." Harry's voice was smaller than he liked, but he was sick of adults keeping things from him, the way that Dumbledore had with the prophecy.
Mother nodded, hard. "The flames only appear when the circle needs to keep a Dark Arts influence caged."
Harry sat down with a thump. Mother reached out to touch him, but of course her fingers had to stop short of the fire.
"Can you just stay with me and keep me company?" Harry whispered. He knew she probably would have anyway, since she wasn't allowed back in the ritual room where Father was being worked on, but he had to ask.
"Of course, Henry."
Mother's eyes were wet with tears. Harry wrapped his arms around his knees and tried not to think.
....
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