Unofficial Portkey Archive

Last Son of Krypton

A Harry Potter/ Superman/Smallville/ crossover/fusion/whatever

By Dragonlord

Author's notes:

1/To those smart readers out there, a game. I have purposely put some references to other shows in the fic. It's up to you to find them... You know the drill; Gotta catch them all!

2/ For the Kryptonian background I have decided to make a fusion between several sources, mainly the post-Crisis Superman, the first Superman movie, the Animates Series and, of course, the Smallville show that is the main reason why I have started this fic. In other words this version of Superman will be vastly different from those sources but having elements of all. This said, any contribution to the back ground, especially old Krypton, Jor-El, Kem-L and the House of El is more than welcome.

3/ As you may notice this chapter is split in two. Next part should be ready for next week.

4/ This goes for to the people at the Portkey Chat, meaning (author takes a big breath): Bristar, Max, Aurora, Darkstar, Hallie, Misstake, Babygrrl, Thelvyn, Sky is Blue, XxKkAnGxX, Ryoko Blue, Heaven, Lady Slytherin, Countess (aka 714), Hermione QoH, Amber, Evil Hermione, Tuxedo Kamen, Mola and all the others.

To all of you, thank you for those wonderful days and nights of friendship and laughter that will never be forgotten.

YOU ARE THE BEST!!

And of course special thanks to Nappa and Dauphin that made this possible. From the heart, thank you both!

This said on with the show!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the sole property of J.K.Rowling. Superman is born out of the minds of Joe Shuster and Jerry Spiegel and all rights are recognized, so if you want to sue me go ahead! Lose your time. Otherwise C&C welcome! (and don't forget to review ^_^)

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Chapter two: Summer of discoveries

Part 1.1

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"Normal? Normal! I would give anything to be normal!"

Clark Kent, Smallville

The sun's light streamed through the hand-carved windows of Assim's home.

He was an old man, a very old man whose skin had been perpetually darkened by the exposure to the life-giving star.

Old skin - dry and wrinkled like the bark of an old tree. Hair and beard white - nearly yellow with the grace of time. Dark tired eyes that had seen their share of tragic events in this land forgotten by the gods a long time ago.

A land forgotten by the race of men, none of them remaining willingly in this corner of the world.

But not Assim. He had chosen freely to remain, even when everything else had turned to dust and joined the sand of the desert, carried by an uncaring wind.

There was no bitterness in that decision. It was simply the way his life had passed, unfolding with the coming and going of the days.

Still, years ago he could have done so, moved out of this cursed place, but now age failed him.

Too old to search for a new place for himself. Too old to really care. He had lost everything to the many wars waged for the possession of the liquid of life, the so very precious water. Wars that had spilled red blood upon scorching ground.

The blood of his family for instance, while he had survived bearing the suffering that such events brought to his heart.

When that had happened, when he had awakened with his body screaming in pain from the bullet wound that had nearly cut the thread of his life, the emotional pain that came from looking at his slaughtered family had almost succeeded where the weapons of men had failed.

Wars had chased the few men and women that remained still in this forgotten land away and the very wars led those waging them away from what was now a wasteland.

Wars had come and gone, while the sun's heat descended violently against the dry land like a merciless hammer, pitting itself against a cold so intense that through the night the only sound crossing the landscape was of those stones that split open from the inside, due to the action of those two opposed but mighty forces

So Assim continued living there, as well as he could, living on the mountainside in a man-made cave where he passed his days in meditation and searching his mind for the keys of the mysteries of the world, of the ways of men and gods.

His home was bare to the most basic of elements. Stone walls, stone bed, stone kitchen... a single hole in this rising rib of the earth that sufficed to cater to his needs, his body not needing much at this point of his life.

He needed little, after all, to guard what had been entrusted to him by his father, as his father had been by Assim's grandfather.

It was a task that began from events that no one recalled anymore - a task that had been entrusted to Assim's family since the dawn of time, or so said his father when Assim was still a young boy, sitting upon the knees of that beloved figure, gazing attentively into those two dark eyes that burned with warmth and some personal wisdom.

Each time that Assim looked at it, at the object he guarded, he could feel a sort of comfort fill him. And when he touched it, the sensation felt like all the good memories of his life had come back to him, soothing his aching soul.

Like when he had first looked upon his wife, or when he had held his first child in his arms... moments of incredible joy and perfect simplicity, of righteousness. Hundreds of those moments of happiness coursing through him, sometimes making tears of contentment flow down his wrinkled cheeks.

When he had been a child and his father had let him touch it, he would feel the same way. When he had asked his father why it was so, his father would smile mysteriously and tell him that it was the gods who embraced him, all that was good and worthwhile in this world and those beyond.

Assim soon found that it was a comforting thought, and a truth as valid as any other explanation.

The old man always kept it in the same place, hanging from the wall, in a special niche carved in the living stone. There it rested, but even so it always seemed to glow softly and hum slightly when he was near it, as if answering to his presence... what Assim believed to be greetings from the artifact.

Each time Assim looked at it he was amazed by the skill that had been used in its crafting.

A perfect disc, barely a foot in diameter.

It wasn't made of stone or of metal, but it had the smooth touch of both when they have been handles by the hands of master crafters, its surface unblemished by the pass of time, intact and seemingly indestructible by physical violence.

Its edge was black, dark flames reaching towards the center but barely crossing an inch from the border. The flames contained strange designs and unknown signs that could be found on both sides of the disc. Still the most interesting part was the center of it, the space that started from the point where the flames ended to its very center.

In that inner space a large symbol could be seen, its ebony black color a contrast to the curves and lines of gleaming cobalt blue and ruby red that could be found behind it on a second plane. Even if those signs, lines and symbols had any meaning or some secret purpose, Assim simply ignored it despite what it could be.

He only knew that it was an object that needed to be protected at all costs - what sometimes bothered him. He had no ill illusion that he could protect it…he knew he couldn't. He was too weak for that, an old man waiting for death to finally come to him.

Still sometimes when he held the disc, visions would come to him. Some, he knew as a man knows his own name, where from the future, his future.

Others, the most common, of far away lands were a mystery to him. He would see men and women doing things that he couldn't understand but supposed that they held some importance. Still, if those visions were of the past, of the present or concerning the future it was impossible for him to know.

Lately when Assim touched the disc a single vision would come to him. During the last three weeks it had been the same and he knew that what he was looking at would happen, no matter what. He knew he should be feeling something other than resignation, but strangely it wasn't the case.

Some sadness... yes, there was some of that. Of course. But at the same time there was a feeling of anticipation, as though what was about to happen would give him something that he had sought without knowing - really knowing.

A measure of peace.

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It was a morning like any other and Assim was kneeling as he prayed, his back turned to the door and windows through which the light of the sun came, carrier of the usual heat.

Assim had his eyes closed, as ever in those moments when he prayed to the few gods he knew and still believed in.

Then suddenly, Assim knew that he was no longer alone. He didn't need the knowledge the visions gave him to know that. After decades of solitude such intrusion was easily noticed.

With unearthly calm, Assim rose, dusted the front of his trousers and turned to face the intruder.

He was tall and male - that much, Assim could tell from his form and overall shape, but he was clothed entirely in black robes, the hood pulled up to hide the features of the man.

One thing aroused Assim's interest. The man seemed to radiate cold, as though the sun shunned him. The sun and anything that came in contact with him, that was, and it wasn't hard to believe that this being was repudiated by anything that was natural. Even the very air seemed to recoil from that frame, sickened by the contact.

"I have come for the Seal, old man."

Assim sighed and nodded. But even so he remained there, between the stranger and the softly glowing disc.

"You dare to oppose me?" asked the voice, cold and full of contempt.

"I do not. This has been the mission of my line and yet I know that nothing I can say or do will steer you from your path."

The voice, coming from the unfathomable deeps of the hood, snickered.

"A fool's errand, old man. The Seal is mine."

Assim sadly shook his head. "You call me a fool but you are an even greater one. Claiming the Seal with violence leads only to destruction. That much, I know."

The tall man laughed, a sound that seemed the very opposite to what laughter should be; a negation of joy born out of innocent happiness; that was the only kind of laughter this aberration could give.

"You know nothing, old man. You and your line of pathetic worms have guarded it without really knowing what it was - maggots guarding a key by some obscure twist of fate. Even your touch soils its very essence," Then he started to move. "And your blood will wash that filth away."

Assim saw how the man produced a dagger, its slender blade gleaming coldly as the light of the sun reflected off it.

He did nothing to defend himself. He didn't move when the man raised it high in the air; did nothing as the blade flashed and bit into his flesh, sinking easily into it, parting wrinkled skin, feeble muscles and thin bones in its path, the dagger sinking to the hilt in his body. And yet he remained silent even when the blood hit his mouth and drenched his killer's robes and hand with it.

Silently, Assim fell backwards, death already claiming him softly and gently. He wasn't even aware of his body hitting the ground of his home. But he did see the robed man move aside as he advanced, sidestepping past his body, no longer thinking about him as he moved to claim the legacy of Assim's forefathers.

The last image to reach Assim's eyes, as life slowly left his mortal body, was the bloodied hands of the aberration taking the Seal, his own blood soiling it. For one last moment the old man could feel the sadness that came from the softly glowing disc, as if it knew the tragic fate of its guardian.

For one last irrational moment of his life, the dying man had wanted to comfort it, to tell his old companion that everything was right at last.

But then, to him, to Assim ibn Kassem, born two hundred and sixty-four years ago in a desolated land, those things lost his interest as the dreamless sleep of death finally claimed him.

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Far away,

Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry

Paintings of past headmasters, men and women of all ages and appearances, spoke among themselves about the latest gossip going around the paintings while others were engrossed in books dealing with some obscure (and generally useless) facet of magic.

On each wall a bookshelf could be found, filled till it almost burst with dusty tomes that, as every book in this thousand-year-old school did, dealt with magic or the world that used it. They were dusty as few knew of their existence and even fewer sought the knowledge that could be found on those yellowing pages.

Along with the books, various gadgets and other rare items were on display, each making a noise of its own as the magically-powered mechanics moved from side to side, up and down, in and out and so on as they had since the day Albus Dumbledore had taken his position as Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

To some, all those strange items were but a faint reflection of their owner's personality. Many would call it eccentric, while others would see them as another sign that something wasn't right with the old wizard's mind, not withstanding the fact that he was considered by many one of the world's more powerful magic users.

On the upper level of the room, where the desk of the headmaster was situated, one could find a fireplace. The strange thing was, throughout the year, even in summer, a fire burned in it, its flames dancing gently and giving off part of the heat that made the room so welcoming, another facet that could be attributed to its current owner.

To further the surprise, a gold-and crimson-feathered phoenix could be found perched on a golden stand beside the desk, what in itself was a sign of the more than declared light side of its owner. Said phoenix was softly humming tunes which spread through the room - sounds that would have filled anyone hearing them with happiness, courage and sheer well-being as if warm sweet honey had been infused into the very corners of the listener.

But that day Fawkes' ethereal music couldn't penetrate the boredom the tedious task of paperwork that claimed Dumbledore every year brought to the old wizard's mind.

Had it been up to him, Albus would have gladly exchanged his discovery about the twelve uses of dragon's blood for a way to be free of paperwork... truly a curse for both the magical and muggle worlds.

The headmaster was still pondering how to get out of the fix he was now in (again), when a knock made Albus look up from his desk where at least half a dozen files were open and pages and parchments lay scattered upon the large desk.

Putting the quill back in the ink bottle, Dumbledore spoke, his voice clear and strong.

"Come in."

The door opened and Harry Potter entered the room.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Harry asked, the tone of his voice even - yet Dumbledore knew that the boy was intrigued by his summons to the headmaster's sanctum.

Smiling slightly, the old wizard gestured for Harry to sit in the chair in front of his desk. The young man complied immediately, his small frame sinking into the huge chair that made even the most mature wizard feel somewhat childlike.

Albus took the time to observe Harry attentively.

At fifteen years old, Harry was small for his age (even some of the younger students were taller than him), and if that wasn't enough he was rather skinny and offered an image of being, at best, underfed even though the food provided at Hogwarts was enough to keep any student from that state of health.

His hair was still the same mass of untamed locks, wild black hair that seemed to have been styled during a Quidditch match, looking as though it had never met a brush. His skin was pale - not something too unusual in good old Britain but still...

Round glasses, the same year after year, looked battered and ready to break despite the restorative effects of the reparo charm and could barely hide his gleaming green eyes, that day by day seemed to shine more and more.

And of course the ever present scar that under the light that streamed through the windows appeared in all its glory, the jagged line seeming to give off a light of its own.

And if one looked at his aura...

Thanks the Heavens that it was a rare skill.

"Sir? You wanted to see me? If it's about the OWLs..."

Sighing, Dumbledore shook his head

"Nothing about that, dear boy... the reason I asked Minerva to tell you to meet me is because a certain situation, which has presented itself, concerns you directly. Nothing too serious, I assure you but that puts me and the Ministry at odds in some way..."

Then he smiled. "Nothing new, I'm afraid." Pause. "Still it is something that will lead to you making an important decision."

Dumbledore lay back in his own chair, his eyes never wavering from Harry's face, taking in all his expressions. "You see, Harry, a few days ago I got a letter from your legal guardians, the Dursleys. They communicated to whomever was responsible for you within the wizarding world that they refused adamantly to let you return to their house for the summer and, as things stand right now, for the next two years until your legal adulthood. In short they cut all links with you and your mother."

From his slack jaw and wide eyes Dumbledore knew that this bit of news had taken the teenager totally by surprise.

"What? But... I'm... well…I'm confused about this, sir. It's kind of unexpected even if the Dursleys have all my life made what they thought of me very clear."

Harry paused, searching for the right words. This was so unexpected that it had taken him by surprise - perhaps even shock.

"Despite the fact that we didn't get along, I felt that they would always be there. Or at least as long as I'm underage. I always told myself that I didn't care about them, that I would be better off without them in my life but they are, or were, part of my family. And now... I don't know what to think or feel."

Dumbledore nodded wisely, stroking his silvery white beard. "Perfectly understandable, Harry. Still this leaves us in a delicate situation. A situation that I must now describe to you."

Harry nodded, signaling for the older wizard to continue.

"As you know, ancient magic has been summoned to your protection as long as you lived with those who shared the same blood with you, namely your aunt and your cousin. This demanded special measures to be taken by the Ministry in the times that followed Voldemort's first downfall. Back then, Bartemius Crouch Senior, along with many others, knew that your safety was paramount to anything else."

Dumbledore stopped, his eyes alight with a strange glow and suddenly Harry's mind wandered back a year ago when he had stumbled across the headmaster's Pensieve. The old wizard had showed him how it worked - when he had too many thoughts in his head, he removed them with his wand before sending them into the magical object.

Now he had the same expression on his face, his eyes reflecting those hidden thoughts and memories. Memories that Harry couldn't even begin to imagine.

Dumbledore's voice returned and Harry had the impression of a hidden bitterness in it. "At that time we had the full support of the Ministry. Now the situation has changed and not all of it is good. Even with the rise of the Dark Arts across the globe and almost daily Death Eater attacks, Fudge refuses to acknowledge Voldemort's return. This put us in a situation that is very dangerous, as the Ministry refuses to find some ways to protect you until the time you are of age as they insist there is nothing to worry about."

"As such they are pressuring me for a solution to your lack of guardians. If I can't find a way to protect you without their help they will place you into a foster home where they expect you to be taken care of. Already some wizards have volunteered for that position and of those, the one that has the best chance of becoming your guardian through wizarding laws is Lucius Mafoy."

Harry's eyes bulged as his face paled even more.

"But that would be like giving me to Voldemort himself!"

Dumbledore nodded. "We both know that. But to Fudge it makes sense. Not only does he refuse to even admit that Voldemort is back, he sees this as an opportunity to not only be in Lucius's good graces but also as a way to smooth things over by giving your custody to a wizard who despite his notorious past as a follower of Voldemort is now, and I quote our dear minister here - "

Clearing his voice, Dumbledore started reading from one of the many pages upon the desk, his voice denuded of emotion but his blue eyes seemed made entirely of ice as the words spilled from his mouth.

"One of our magical world's most revered citizens, who works for the greater good of our society, donating huge amounts of money to charitable organizations worldwide, a natural-born leader who, through his actions, gives us a better lifestyle. Personally I feel that we could not ask for a better role model for our young friend who, I must say again, has not got the best track record for a citizen with such fame like his."

"Shall I continue?"

Harry waved off Dumbledore's offer, all the while looking ready to tear something apart.

"I'm going to be sick" was the only thing that he said but his green eyes burned with an inner fire that the old wizard found in some way comforting. That was the way Harry had taken challenges ever since his terrible ordeal during his fourth year of schooling, looking as if he was ready to shake the pillars of the world.

Chuckling and eyes twinkling, Dumbledore continued. "I share your feelings, Harry, but this is not the moment to go on a rampage. As with many things we have to make the best of it. This situation has forced us to act. The Dursleys' decision may be unexpected and it may give us some problems, but we have lost nothing. Instead I will have to put in motion some of the dispositions I prepared once, when I left you more than fourteen years ago on the Dursleys' porch."

"You see, dear Minerva told me it was a mistake leaving you in the Dursleys' care many years ago. However, even if I regret that you grew up without love, I could never regret the way you are now, or how those years shaped you to be the young man that I know would have made your parents very proud."

"Returning to the matters at hand, back then, I took some time to come up with some alternatives in case something like this happened. As it didn't, you continued living with your aunt and uncle, none the wiser of it."

Harry swallowed. "But, sir, with all due respect, didn't you find it strange that I asked time and time again to go and spend summers with Ron's family? Why did you keep forcing me to live with people who hate anything that is not what they think it should be? Who hate me only because I am a wizard?"

Dumbledore looked thoughtful for a moment before answering bluntly.

"Because I preferred to see you unhappy rather than see you dead, Harry. Voldemort may have found his demise when the Killing Curse backfired, but even so he had fanatically faithful followers, Death Eaters who would have done anything to be able to kill you in the mad hope that they could return their master back from whatever state he was in."

"Think about the Longbottoms, Harry, it is true that they were tortured by the Lestranges and other Death Eaters as they searched for a way to find Voldemort and bring him back to power... But it was after they searched for you. Unable to bypass the magic that could only be summoned through the blood link you had with your aunt they started to search for their Dark Lord, knowing that someone of his might couldn't be defeated that easily."

For a moment Harry remained silent before speaking and Dumbledore knew that Harry was blaming himself.

"I wasn't aware of that, professor. Sorry."

Dumbledore waved his hand, dismissing Harry's excuse, but his face was grave, the usual twinkle missing from his eyes.

"I know, and I apologize for being too blunt. But you must understand that generally I have a reason behind doing something... even when it pains me to do so."

The old wizard sighed and suddenly the twinkle in his eyes was back. Clearing his throat, Dumbledore continued. "But the present situation demands for me to use those measures. It is quite simple, but if not for that lacking quality. The most simple option would be to find you a new home amongst your fellow classmates here at Hogwarts."

"The situation demands for a magical family or, if not possible, one with strong ties to you. If it was possible, I would entrust your security to Sirius or Remus but, for obvious reasons, that is not possible even if it would have been perfect. That option being closed to us, I would have requested for the Ministry to let you stay with the Weasleys or if it wasn't possible, at your friend Hermione's home."

Harry's eyes shone with mad hope which made Dumbledore sigh ruefully.

"Sadly, both alternatives have but scant chance of being accepted by our dear Minister Fudge. For starters, Lucius will point out Arthur's economic situation that, as sad as it sounds, is barely enough to sustain his own family. As for the Grangers, it is even worse as he would express his outrage at the Boy Who Lived himself being taken in by a Muggle family. I am sure you know the Ministry's stand on issues of blood."

Silently Harry nodded, clearly not pleased.

"In short, if I present your friends families as options to your guardianship, Lucius will find a way to bypass that and would soon be elected as your legal guardian with the blessings of the Ministry. Without a doubt the other pureblooded families under Voldemort's command will support him."

"Then what can we do?" asked Harry in a voice that reminded the older wizard of the eleven-year-old kid who had just faced Voldemort for the first time; lost but willing to go on.

Dumbledore smiled.

"Well, that depends... would you fancy some tropical vacations, Harry?"

Harry blinked. "Uh? Excuse me, professor - I don't get you."

Dumbledore laughed.

"It's quite easy, dear boy. I'm going on a sabbatical this summer far from Hogwarts and the staff has already agreed to take me far away from here by force if need be. So I have three full months in some still unknown place in the tropics. White sand, clear water, glorious sunsets... what I am asking you is if you would like to share that time with me."

"But what does that have to do with what we were talking about before, Professor?"

"It's rather simple, Harry. I'm willing to propose that the Ministry shift your custody to me and introduce you to the Dumbledore clan registry, thus becoming related to me by magical law. As you may not know, my family is rather old by wizarding standards and, pardon me if I sound boastful, is better seen than Lucius's with a blood that has been always pure even if we as a whole scoff at the division."

"With immediate effect, your introduction into my family would officially make me your legal guardian, at least until we are able to clear Sirius's name... but until then you will stay with me during the summers and have a home at my ancestral house."

Suddenly Dumbledore looked unsure, as though he had discovered a flaw to his plan.

"That is unless you are against this solution. It is your choice, but know that even if you don't accept it, it may be asked of you to remain here at Hogwarts for the next two summers... after that we shall see, but once you have reached your legal age and graduated from here, remember that you will always be welcome, if not at this school, then at my own home."

Harry was in a daze, not believing what the headmaster was offering him.

"Now I know it is an important decision to make, so if you wish to, I can leave you here alone for a short period of time while I speak with some of the heads of houses about this year's examination results..."

Still, Harry had yet to say or do something but what the old wizard had told him was almost too much for him to deal with.

It wasn't only the offer of becoming a member of Dumbledore's family. With those few words the old wizard had made some of Harry's most desired wishes a reality. But even beyond that, it was the fact that he would be able to remain in Hogwarts for the summer whether he accepted or did not accept Dumbledore's offer...

Being able to remain at Hogwarts, at his real home, for the summer, away from the scorn and the Dursleys' psychological abuse, away from the privation they enjoyed inflicting upon him, was his greatest desire since he first realized that he wasn't staying at the place he belonged, five years ago on the train back to King's Cross, when he had gazed back at Hogwarts which was closing for the summer.

"Is everything alright, Harry?" asked Dumbledore, his old gentle voice reaching him even through his memories of his first year at the school of wizardry.

Said Gryffindor student was jolted from his deep thought as a blush spread upon his cheeks.

"NO!" Then realizing that he had shouted at the current Headmaster (which was reason enough for some of the past Headmasters in the walls to shake their heads at him in disapproval) he shook his head before speaking again. "Ah. No... I'm sorry, Professor, but yes, I'm alright..."

"I'm happy to hear that..." began Dumbledore before being cut off by a now ecstatic fifth-year.

"And it will be an honor, sir," Harry said quickly. "If you want me, then I'm more than happy to remain under your custody and be a part of your family. I've no need to take time to think that over."

"Good!" Dumbledore smiled, his blue eyes twinkling with joy. "Then once classes end we will start planning our little trip. I'm sure that Miss Granger will be more than willing to help us out with this little task." He paused his expression still merry. "That is, if the staff hadn't arranged it all by now. Even so I'm sure we could use miss Granger's help. Don't you think so Harry?"

Harry nodded even if his gesture was slightly hesitant, something which Dumbledore picked up immediately, a concerned expression appearing on his wrinkled face.

"Is there a problem between you and miss Granger, Harry?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer before pausing, blinking and shutting his mouth again. Still it only took Dumbledore one look at Harry's eyes for this one defenses to crumble down. As things were, Harry suspected that the old wizard already knew about it.

Back in first year he had told Ron and Hermione that he believed that Dumbledore knew most of what happened within Hogwarts's walls. Now, four years later, he knew that wasn't true but it was damned near the truth as long as it didn't concern Voldemort directly.

The question was, how much of the truth did Dumbledore know?

"If you don't mind, sir, I'd rather not talk about that."

Dumbledore's eyes clouded more, probably in concern, Harry guessed.

The younger wizard sighed.

"It's nothing... important, Professor, and there's not a thing that you or anyone else can do."

The old wizard sighed, his eyes looking suddenly old and terribly sad. Abruptly, Harry simply realized that Dumbledore knew what was going on. And yet what he said was true: no one could do anything about that.

For a moment the only sound that filled the air was of the fire in the hearth of the room, of the burning wood that crackled from time to time. Both wizards were deep in thought and even Fawkes was silent, no longer humming his enchanted notes. Finally Harry looked up at the headmaster.

"If that's all, may I return to the common room?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Of course, Harry. But keep in mind that I may summon you to arrange some of the details of our trip and, as sad as it sounds, paperwork that the ministry may request. Still, until then you may go."

He paused as if considering before speaking softly, knowing that Harry, who was already half way to the door may not hear him.

"Have faith, Harry."

The boy gave no indication that he had heard the old sage as he closed the door behind him and Dumbledore once again sighed, wondering when life would give a break to the young wizard...

Something unlikely in all accounts.

Harry's life was about to change dramatically once again, as if things weren't already complicated to him with his two friends' relationship.

As if that wasn't enough Dumbledore could only think about what he had seen in Harry's aura with divided feelings.

On one hand he was thrilled that the seal of the Avada Kedavra was breaking at last but the unfathomable changes that would happen after it finally broke would risk erecting more and more barriers between Harry and those he loved.

That was without bringing in the truth about Harry, the same truth he had asked for after his encounter with Voldemort in the entire debacle concerning the Philosopher's Stone in first year.

The truth…

It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution.

How true, he thought. How very true.

"Things are never easy..." he muttered, looking at his companion who nodded, before returning to his work, an eagle-feather quill in his hand, the scratching noise mingling with the sound of the fire and Fawkes' soft tunes.

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"You're what?" Ron Weasley exclaimed just as Harry finished speaking.

Harry winced, his eyes darting around to see if someone had noticed Ron's outburst.

Thankfully, for once in the entire year no one paid attention to the younger male Weasley, as everybody was still discussing the final exams that had come to an end but a couple of days ago. Soon the grades would be announced and the anxiety that was the natural aftermath to such a brutal period of time was overshadowing everything else.

There were but two people not really bothered about the OWLs in the whole Hogwarts fifth year - Hermione Granger and Harry Potter.

Hermione's lack of worry about the results was due, in all simplicity, to the knowledge that she had aced her tests.

She had gone through the hellish week of examinations with ease and had worked well under the strain, feeling in her element, sure of her answers, of her movements as she used her wand to cast spells, charms and hexes. The only thing that was left to know was if she would pulverize the previous record of the most number of OWLs that Lily Evans and Tom Riddle had established years ago.

For Harry it was quite different.

Anything he did was overshadowed by the knowledge that Voldemort wanted his head on a pike and would not rest until he had managed that. The Boy Who Lived had been a thorn in the Dark Lord's side for far too long and needed to be removed as painfully as possible.

Harry knew it as well as he knew how to fly on a broom. He could even say that few knew Voldemort better than he did, and it would not be a lie, for the scar that resided on his forehead was a daily reminder of the link that united them.

In such a situation, the terror of any typical student was but a minor detail in the tapestry of Harry's life. He had no parents to make proud with his marks. Sirius, the only one who was most likely to serve in that aspect was of the same point of view, survival putting to shame the importance the OWLs had in his mind.

The anxiety that reigned over the whole student body didn't touch him - couldn't touch him.

How could it?

It was nothing compared to the feeling he had had when preparing to face Voldemort alone in first year, or knowing that he had almost no possibility of winning against the basilisk in his second year. What was a post exam period compared to the danger of facing a hundred Dementors ready to suck his soul out of his body? What was a grade worth when he had dueled against a reborn Voldemort, knowing that death was but a heartbeat away, that scant chance of survival already impossible for his fellow student?

No exams; OWLs or NEWTs, were significant enough to be worthy of his anxiety.

Ron and Hermione... well that was something else.

Right now Harry couldn't figure out why Ron was reacting with such disbelief expressed in one sentence, in a single look of blazing... what? Anger? And, he could be wrong of course, but some measure of jealousy?

Good God, he hoped not!

But he knew Ron Weasley well enough to know that it had been there, even if it was only for a split second.

Hermione, who had been seated beside Ron, as it was expected, had missed the glimmer in Ron's eyes when Harry had told them about how he would be spending his summer with Dumbledore instead of with the Dursleys and the offer from the old wizard to be his legal guardian until he was of age.

Still she felt the veiled anger that shook Ron and placing a hand upon his shoulder, spoke.

"Ron, what's the matter? You should be happy that Harry is at least free of his relatives."

Ron's hand rose to cover hers, turning and smiling, as he nodded.

"You're right. Still, living with Dumbledore? That's wicked, Harry!" Harry found himself returning Ron's grin.

He nodded before biting into a piece of pumpkin pie. "I know... and to think that I could have ended up living with Malfoy."

Ron nodded back as he swallowed some of the juice in his goblet. "Horrible. Fudge wanting to put you under Lucius's 'care'…I tell you that man is daft! He should be removed from his position - that's for sure."

That elicited a sigh from the female part of the trio, along with an annoyed glare. "Honestly, don't you two get bored of talking about that? As long as You-Know-Who doesn't do anything, Fudge will not be removed. You two have been talking about that since the beginning of the year!"

That comment earned her a glare from Ron. "Come on, Hermione! How can you say that? That git almost gave Harry into You-Know-Who's grasp! He's a bloody menace!"

Harry swallowed nervously as soon as he saw the telltale signs of Hermione's temper appearing.

"But it didn't happen!" he blurted out, sighing inwardly as he saw the eyes of his two best friends returning to him, their shouting match forgotten.

For now.

Hastily, he elaborated, anxious to pull their attention to him and not the confrontation. "What I mean is, it's kinda weird that Voldemort used a trick like that. He must have known that it wouldn't work."

"I don't know, Harry," said Hermione tentatively, her brown eyes showing she was deep in thought. "Maybe it wasn't You-Know-Who who prepared that plan. It could have been Lucius Malfoy who tried it. After all, any Death Eater who gives you to the Dark Lord will gain his favor, right?"

Harry sighed, his mind wandering back to the times he had faced Voldemort, searching for any information that could help. He turned up nothing that could help.

Looking back at his best friends, he spoke, his voice low so as to not draw the attention of the other Gryffindors. "It may be that. Some of what you say... is true. But I don't think so. In the third task he wanted to be the one to make me suffer. He forbade Malfoy, Nott and the others from doing anything until things went crazy."

"Went crazy?" snorted Ron as he attacked another pie at hand. "The whole night was straight from Trelawney's mind, I tell you. I don't know, Harry, but from what Dad, Bill and Charlie say, You-Know-Who is more subtle than that. At least when he wants to be. All this stuff with Malfoy sounds too blunt to be from someone as cunning as he is. It's as you said, it was too bloody obvious that it wouldn't work."

Harry nodded, what Ron said made sense... another thing that had changed in his friend.

The summer after the tragic events of fourth year had agreed with Ron. He had had a massive growth spurt - no doubt from eating so much. He was paradoxically still thin despite the huge quantities of food he devoured and the exercise he did while at the Burrow had helped to tone up his growing muscles.

Days working in the garden of the Weasley's home at Ottery Saint Catchpole, de-gnoming the lawn and with more than his fair share of Quidditch matches between the Weasley boys (not forgetting Ginny) gathered at the Burrow and the numerous acquaintances who came to visit had had a good effect on the lanky youth.

The tanned complexion he had gained working under the sun, the golden freckles and the flame red hair had turned his fair share of heads of the female part of the Hogwarts students.

But it wasn't only his body and voice that had changed in the summer and the rest of the year at Hogwarts. There was a sense of maturity that hadn't been there before, that actually made him look more adult... when his fiery temper didn't get the better out of him. When that happened (generally during shouting matches with Hermione) any illusion of maturity was shattered.

Apart from his entrance into the Gryffindor Quidditch team as the keeper, his later appointment as the co-captain along with Alicia Spinnet had helped to erase most of his insecurities.

Ron excelled in tactics, without a doubt a skill developed through countless hours of Wizard's Chess (and the muggle variety. Once Ron confessed to Harry his preference for it, something related to the tact and lack of shouting from his pieces). That analytical skill, when used on the strategies of the Quidditch team granted the team an almost endless string of victories, to the great joy of Professor McGonagall and displeasure of Professor Snape.

Another thing that had helped in Ron's growth was the fact that, to the surprise of everyone, he had been named the other Gryffindor prefect.

No one could really explain the reasons behind that decision as McGonagall remained liplocked. Most had expected Harry to be the one named, but McGonagall maintained her policy of silence on the matter. On the other hand, Harry was relieved that he had not been chosen. If that made Ron happier (and Harry knew that it did) then all the better... There were less possible sources of jealousy for Ron.

Still with changes and all, it was the same Ron, the same boy who looked with disgust at his homework, cursed Professor Snape each time they had double potions with the Slytherins, idolized the Chudley Cannons with a passion and loathed the name of Draco Malfoy.

Looking at his other best friend, Harry sighed, not without a dose of envy.

Hermione too had changed, and also it was all for the better.

As she had not been allowed to go to Bulgaria to visit Viktor Krum in the summer after their fourth year, to compensate for it, her parents had taken her for a tour of the Mediterranean parts of Europe; Spain, Italy, Greece and Turkey before moving on to France and Germany.

The trip had turned her skin a rich golden from long hours of sunbathing on the beaches of those countries. Healthy food, healthy exercise and hours under the sun had helped with the maturing of her body. Each day Hermione became more like the woman she would be in time, surprising more than one with her physical changes.

And him?

Harry had to resist the urge to sigh again as there had been no change in his body since fourth year.

No growth, no increased height, no change in his already broken voice. It was as though his body was in stasis - fourteen forever. He remained skinny, bony, endowed with only a slight bit of muscle that hid a considerable strength borne out of his own Quidditch training.

Compared to his friends, he was like a child trapped between blossoming teenagers and that was another source for joking and taunting, mainly from Draco Malfoy (and his brainless goons, Crabbe and Goyle) who having also begun his first stages of puberty towered above him, looking smug with all his pureblooded "I'm-the-best-and-the-rest-of-the-world-is-crap" attitude.

Harry wouldn't have minded those changes in his two friends if not for a single crucial detail.

Somewhere between the end of his fourth year and the beginning of the fifth Ron and Hermione had become an item. When the news had reached him, in one of those rare letters that got to him during that dreadful summer when he had had to pull himself together, his mind had been numb for a couple of hours, his body working in automation to a point that even the Dursleys - who usually ignored him - noticed it.

In those endless summer days, after he had learned about it, Harry had often wondered if there would be some change in the relationship between the three of them with this new development.

A part of him told him that it wouldn't be that way, that he should be happy that his best friends had finally overcome their differences and had begun something that should make him happy by being their friend and sharing their joy...

But as Harry soon discovered, once he had returned to the familiar Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters, things didn't turn out as he had expected them to.

He had moved to the platform, passing through the barrier in the brick wall. He had started moving through the crowd, not finding his friends even after searching for a good quarter of an hour. It was when desperation was starting to settle in, when he had started thinking that something must have happened to them which had made them late that he had found them.

Found them making out carelessly, not caring about anything and anyone else... him for example.

Their greetings had been forced, their minds clearly somewhere else, almost as if he had been a stranger.

Suddenly Harry felt more alone and colder than when he had faced Voldemort in the duel, surrounded by a good dozen of Death Eaters - when all hope had been lost.

And just as suddenly as that impression had come to his mind, it was gone and the trio reunited even if his lack of physical growth had made Harry the butt of many harmless jokes, particularly from Ron and Ginny, who, too, was taller than he was.

Still even through the laughter and hugs a small part of Harry kept thinking about what had happened and prayed that it would not happen again.

His prayers weren't answered.

All throughout the year the situation that had taken place in the platform repeated itself, Hermione forsaking him time after time in favor of Ron and vice versa. Harry was left more than once speechless, in doubt about what to say or do, beyond offering his understanding as it was expected of him for being their friend, sorry looks coming from his Gryffindor fellow students.

One day after detention with Filch for something or another Harry's sadness shifted to anger.

It was well past midterm when it happened.

They had agreed to meet after Harry was done with his detention to study for a test on Potions courtesy of Snape, who had demonstrated sadism to the point of being a form of art that year. Harry had come to the library, bone-weary but ready to give his all because of Hermione's nagging the previous night about how important the test was... only to find it empty, with no sign of his best friends anywhere.

Slightly concerned, Harry started to search the huge Hogwarts library, before Madam Prince asked him to leave.

On a whim Harry asked her if she had seen Hermione. Not surprisingly, the head librarian told him that indeed she had seen her, only to ask her to get out of the library because she was disturbing the other students with Ron and her kissing away.

"Quite steamy, it was," were her shocking words.

Harry had just stood there, not really knowing what to feel or to think. Instincts screaming at him, he blasted his way towards the Gryffindor common room, not even pausing to give the password to the Fat Lady who nevertheless opened the door to let him in, her shocked expression barely registered by his senses as he entered the tower.

And once he was in, his worst suspicions were proven true.

Because there, kissing as though there was no tomorrow were Ron and Hermione. She was sitting in his lap, arms around his neck while his were around her waist, occupying one of the comfortable love seats in the common room.

Looking at them, knowing that they had forgotten him without second consideration made the blood in his veins freeze over, before turning into molten metal, his anger igniting like raging hellfire.

All attention was on him. Fred, George, Ginny, Neville, Lavender... from the seventh years to the newly arrived first years - they were all focused on him, faces pale, the fear thick in the room, almost as tangible as the heat from the hearth's fire.

A fear that only increased when a palpable sheen of power surrounded Harry. The fear nearly turned to panic when the walls started to shake and all the crystal in the tower (and, as it was discovered later in most of Hogwarts) exploded violently.

That was enough to pull Ron and Hermione out of their little world as they quickly untangled themselves to find everyone in the room looking at Harry whose eyes shone like stars. It wasn't hard to realize that Harry was seriously pissed off, any consideration about his size forgotten when the very air seemed to crackle with power, nor when he moved towards his room, black robes billowing with an unseen wind, leaving a quarter of the Hogwarts population stunned and maybe for the first time realizing just why Voldemort feared Harry.

Once Harry was out of the room and everything seemed to have returned to normality (despite a strong scent of ozone emanating from where Harry had been standing) the whole group turned towards the blushing couple, eyes accusing them.

It was soon discovered that Harry wasn't in any part of the Gryffindor tower and after a short search by those courageous enough (a rather limited group) proved impossible to be found.

The only thing that they were sure of was that Harry didn't sleep in the boy's dormitories that night.

By the next morning all the witnesses to the little exchange expected the trio's friendship to be over and broken beyond repair by the actions of both Ron and Hermione.

Surprisingly enough, the next morning Harry was back to his usual self, as if nothing had happened, forcing the other two parts of the trio to behave as if nothing was wrong even if it was clear that the couple was walking on eggshells around Harry, looking for the right occasion to excuse themselves.

The occasion never presented itself.

To Harry that pseudo-fight was a turning point with things returning to normality even if Ron and Hermione still acted like a couple.

Most of the time.

When they weren't fighting, that was.

That was something that Harry honestly couldn't understand, no matter how hard he thought about it.

Ron and Hermione, despite the show of affection that was thought proper of a couple kept shouting at each other more often than not, disagreeing on most topics and from time to time being really nasty and mean towards each other.

Sans the time Harry had lost his temper, he had been clearly trying to support his friends in this, (which explained why the whole of Gryffindor had taken his side in the midterm accident) playing the role of peacemaker even when anyone else would have snapped under the pressure of an almost constant act of balancing words with emotions, all the while trying to sound impartial, not really favoring one or the other.

Not that he was particularly successful when he did put himself between the verbal crossfire.

Still, his duty as their friend compelled him to try his best. Harry had to try to reconcile them, if not to prevent himself from being used as a shouting board after the actual fight was over and done with...Somehow, the situation always repeated itself.

And yet, once he was done comforting Hermione or calming down Ron's temper, a single question came to his mind, time and time again

Why are they doing this?

It was as though they were the only ones who didn't realize that it was a relationship doomed from the first fight. Harry hoped, both for their sanity and his own, that they realized it before any real damage was done.

Now the year was coming to an end and so far things remained as they had been the entire year, as if his two best friends were trapped within a rut of imagined love and bickering, with some peaceful moments in between.

Blinking, now back to the present, Harry looked at Ron. He had asked something that he had missed in his daze.

"What?" he asked back, blushing slightly from his embarrassment.

Ron sighed. "You've been out of it for the last five minutes, mate. Where are you going to spend your vacations? Mom wanted you to come to the Burrow with us but with Dumbledore adopting you..."

Harry blinked. "Now that you mention it, Dumbledore didn't say much about that. Something about the tropics, I think. Knowing him, it could be anywhere."

Hermione smiled. "Taking in account that you have never been out of Britain I'm sure that Dumbledore has something special planned."

Harry nodded, still doubtful. "Probably." He paused before giving his two friends an impish smile. "Once I tried imagining how Dumbledore spent his summers from Hogwarts…Probably sitting on a beach somewhere rubbing oil onto his crooked nose…"

Ron and Hermione laughed, Harry joining them quickly. When she stopped laughing, Hermione looked at Harry warmly. "It's quite ironic, isn't it? I wonder what the Dursleys thought would happen to you when they disowned you. Nothing like this, I'm sure."

Ron laughed again. "Yeah, that's right! I'm sure they'll be disappointed to know that they've done you a favor."

Harry smiled. He was about to answer Ron when a familiar sound drew his attention and that of all those present in the Great Hall.

Owl post had arrived, birds flying everywhere, parcels and letters landing here and there, for example, Hermione's copy of the Daily Prophet which she snatched quickly from the air before it fell into her milk.

"You should think about being a seeker, Hermione," teased Harry after he had checked the crowd of birds for any moving white dot and found none.

"Hush!" she said as she unfolded the parchment and quickly skimmed the headlines.

Suddenly her eyes widened. "Holy crickets!" she gasped before literally devouring the text she was reading. You could tell that by the speed her eyes moved across the paper.

Exchanging a curious glance, Ron and Harry leaned towards her. "What?"

"Look at this!" and with those words she shoved the newspaper to Ron who glanced at it for a moment before snorting and handing it to Harry. He took it and, after smoothing it over, started reading.

The New Gringotts Tower:

A Reality, or a Dream?

By Otto Fireplump

Daily Prophet Special Courier

The wizarding community of the city of London is awed by the new project of the magi-architects hired by the goblin-operated bank of Gringotts - to design and direct the expansion of the Diagon Alley branch of the magical world's oldest financial institution.

The project, already accepted by the ruling council of goblins of said millennia-old organization, will be the greatest change in the design of Diagon Alley since the times of the actual building of the bank. Such change will, without a doubt, change the way wizards and witches perceive our famous alley where Britain's oldest and most-visited stores such as O