A/N:
Hey all, surprised? Yeah, so, I got bored, figured, what the hell, and decided to go ahead and write a chapter just for the hell of it. What's it been, like 2-3 months?
Well whatever, anyways, enjoy, and don't forget to review; if the reviews weren't there this fic would've been discontinued a LONG time ago!
*****
"Uhh…er…well the thing is…um…yeah," Harry responded, looking sheepish. Hermione's icy glare seemed to penetrate his skin and freeze his very heart; not that he would ever admit that to anybody.
"I'm waiting!" Hermione said impatiently, clucking her tongue and tapping one toe on the ground. For being a young bookworm, weighing at most 110 pounds and not a hair taller than 5'6" (though her hair probably made her look even taller than she really was), Hermione could be very intimidating.
By now a myriad of students had filled the hall, glancing anxiously from Malfoy's crumpled form on the floor to Harry, who was mouthing wordlessly like a goldfish out of water.
Due to the swarm of students, Professor McGonogall had found her way into the hall, gasping at the sight of the pretty-boy ferret moaning and groaning inside a broom closet - but not for the same reasons most students did so.
As the aging Transfiguration Professor fussed over the injured Malfoy (Harry thought she did a pretty good job of actually pretending that she cared) a light cough behind him made Harry aware of the Headmaster's presence.
"Perhaps we should be heading to my office, Harry. You may tell me all about what has just occurred when we arrive."
Without waiting for an answer - mainly because anything outside of a positive response was not going to be accepted - the old man turned with a whisp of his cloak and lead the way to the esteemed Headmaster's office.
Three corridors, two flights of stairs, and a stone gargoyle later Harry was sitting in a conjured chair across from the man he had admired his entire wizarding life.
"So Harry, what transpired you to attack Mr. Malfoy in the Charms corridor today?"
"I didn't attack him!" Harry defended, "he attacked me; I only used a shielding charm and it rebounded on him! I can't be reprimanded for defending myself can I?"
"Is that so?" Dumbledore asked, quirking an eyebrow. "Let me see your wand then,"
Harry did as he was told, handing the wand over to the headmaster. Dumbledore studied it for a moment before performing a few quick charms, his face changing from happiness to surprise to disappointment.
The old wizard handed Harry his wand. "Now Harry, obviously, yes, you were only defending yourself, but now I must ask; where did you learn the spell that you used? I will assume you are aware that it was a dark curse, yes?"
Harry nodded; Dumbledore sighed.
"So Harry, let me be the detective, as they say. This summer you became aware of a riddle prophesizing your imminent battle with the dark lord. You knew you needed to begin training. As you trained, you realized that the spells you were being taught could only go so far; therefore, you decided to dabble into the dark arts, because they are what Voldemort is most adept at, and you believe that by knowing what one is fighting against, one can defend oneself to greater effect."
Harry, realizing that Dumbledore had probably known this would happen all along, wasn't all to surprised. He only offered a nod in response.
Dumbledore sighed again, pulling off his glasses to clench the brim of his nose before returning them to his face.
"Very well Harry, you hold your own fate in your own hands. I may not condone your actions entirely, but there is no way I believe that I could stop you from practicing these arts."
Now Harry was surprised, unable to utter a word, he nodded, something he seemed to be doing a lot of lately.
Dumbledore raised an arm towards the office door. "You should best be on your way then, Harry. Be careful; the dark arts are not something to be messed with easily; you must think of the consequences that your actions could bring to those around you, as well as yourself."
Harry began to walk to the door, stopping only when Dumbledore's voice invaded his ears again. "I once taught a boy much like you Harry; extremely talented, orphaned, and loyal to his friends. He was a prefect, a model student and child. He was fascinated by the dark arts; he did not use them at a young age, but he studied them, learned the specifics, until he realized something. He could use the dark arts, but use them for good; and that would make it just. So in his second year he secretly practiced them, used them sparingly, until he grew to be the school's expert on them. He never cursed a student, nor harmed one; nobody thought him able. But he continued using the arts; just as you are, and eventually he changed Harry; He became Lord Voldemort."
*****
Harry was mulling over what Dumbledore had said to him all the way back to Gryffindor Tower, where Hermione was certain to confront him. He knew the professor was right, he could tell that he was changing, he just didn't know what it was until now.
If he were to destroy the dark lord with dark arts, a new lord would be born; the said lord being himself. He couldn't allow that to happen, he cared to much for those around him.
Finally he reached the common room, muttering the password to the fat lady and entering, not at all surprised to see the entire Gryffindor portion of the DA waiting for him.
Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Harry stopped her with a raised hand. "Don't worry about it guys, I know what I did and I've thought about it; I don't need you to tell me what is right." Harry got a gleam in his eyes that could be described as nothing less than angelic. "Lord Voldemort will go down, but I'm not going to beat him at his own game, I'll beat him at mine."
*****
A/N:
Yeah, I know, extremely short, right? Oh well, too bad, it's just not much fun writing this anymore, you guys are the ones keeping the story alive, not me. Review enough and keep my ego high, and hopefully I'll be able to fulfill your wishes and actually complete this story.
Until then…
Later Player