Thank you so much to all of my reviewers! I’ve never gotten as many reviews for a chapter as I have for the previous one, and I’ve gotten so many good responses it makes me guilty that this update took so long. Japan is a lot busier than I thought it would be, and it’s so much fun. Time really flies. I will do my best to get at least one chapter out each month, but I can’t make any definite promises.

In response to the Vanishing Cabinet, I included it because as far as I remember there was really no indication when it first appeared in Hogwarts. It was broken before the twins stuffed the Slytherin into it, which was where Malfoy got his idea in the first place, and thinking about it I assumed that the twins used the RoR to unknowingly get it to appear. It didn’t make sense to me that a broken Vanishing Cabinet was simply lying around the halls of Hogwarts. Then again, it’s been a rather long while since I read any of the books, so I could be mistaken.

I want to swim away but don't know how
Sometimes it feels just like I'm falling in the ocean
Let the waves up take me down
Let the hurricane set in motion... yeah
Let the rain of what I feel right now...come down
Let the rain come down
-Blue October, “Into the Ocean”

Harry frowned, pausing with the towel around his waist when he heard the restless sounds and frightened moans coming from Albus’ bedroom through the closed bathroom door. He was just about to enter and wake the other wizard when the sounds stopped abruptly, a sure sign that Albus had jolted awake.

Harry sighed and returned to dressing. It had been like this for over a week now. If Albus wasn’t awake before Harry, a previously unusual occurrence, he was thrashing and groaning in his sleep. So far he had managed to wake himself before Harry could set foot in his bedroom, but that didn’t prevent him from worrying. Harry wasn’t sure that his presence would help anyway. At least, Harry thought wistfully, Albus had Fawkes. His only friend seemed almost to be drawing away from him. He didn’t seek out Harry’s company as often, and when the auburn-haired wizard did speak with him, he was becoming somewhat reserved. The time-traveler was a little hurt by this, and had been cursing his choice in pubs six ways from Sunday.

What on earth had Aberforth said to Albus?

He quickly exited the bathroom, knowing that Albus would likely want to at least splash some cold water on his face, and wouldn’t want a witness to his nightmares. Merlin knew, Harry had permanent silencing charms around his bed.

He finished his morning ablutions and settled down to read a Defense journal while he waited for Albus. As they lived together, it stood to reason that they would walk down to breakfast together.

“Good morning, Harry,” Albus greeted, attempting a cheerful smile.

Harry knew him much too well to be fooled. He could see the weariness in the blue eyes that had recently ceased to twinkle like crystals in the sunlight. “Good morning,” he replied.

They walked down to the Great Hall in awkward silence. “How are the classes going?” Albus asked at last.

Harry grasped onto this topic and smiled as he thought of the students he assisted and tutored. “Wonderful,” he enthused. “All of the first years can now cast both Expelliarmus and Protego. The Shield Charms aren’t powerful enough to stop the more than second year spells, of course, but it will at least slow down a lot of the more aggressive spells and that’s better than nothing. I’m glad I managed to talk Galatea into adjusting the curriculum a bit.”

Albus’ smile was a bit more genuine. He genuinely cared for his students, and was glad to see that Harry was fitting in so well. “What of Miss Patrick’s situation?”

“I’m taking Emilia back through the basics, trying to retrain her to loosen the hold on her wand a bit and adjust some of the sloppier movements, but a lot of her trouble is in her lack of confidence and her rather strong instinct to avoid Defense spells.”

Albus nodded. “She is intelligent, but the practical portion of her Defense lessons continues to elude her. Galatea did what she could, but with so many students none of us has been able to find enough time to give Miss Patrick all of the help she needs, and no one knows just why she has problems. She is not exactly forthcoming. It was a good thing for us when you appeared, Harry.”

Harry ducked his head at the praise and soldiered on. “It’s unfortunate that she has six years of habit to overcome, but we’re getting somewhere with how she wields a wand anyway. I had a friend who started out as clumsy and rather inept because of his lack of self-confidence, and he grew into a powerful and skilled wizard, so I think I can help with the confidence issues. What I’m worried about is her shielding technique. Since she seems so adept at Transfiguration, I’ve had her practice casting the appropriate spells as quickly as she’s able, and varying the objects. I’ve found pieces of marble or some type of stone to be best at blocking spells up to and including Avada Kedavra. If her first instinct is to avoid using DADA, then by Merlin I’m going to find some way for her to defend herself.”

Albus agreed in a distant tone of voice, and Harry abruptly fell silent as they entered the Great Hall. Seeing that the Transfiguration Master wasn’t in the mood to speak with him, he chose instead to take one of the empty seats near the Charms professor. It insured that he could spend the meal brooding rather than being pulled reluctantly into conversation with one of his colleagues.

Albus sighed regretfully at Harry’s departure. He had honestly been trying to act as he usually did around his companion and object of his affections, but whenever he succeeded, the memory of Aberforth’s words intruded upon him. And Harry persisted in being different. Unique. Which Albus loved him for, but it made it difficult to overlook things. Unlike the rest of the professors, he wasn’t focusing on preparing the students for tests. He was preparing them for real life. He was making sure that they could survive an attack. His heart almost stopped as a thought occurred to him. Did Harry see the war extending fully into the UK?

It wasn’t right or fair. His brother hadn’t even spoken to Harry, didn’t know him like Albus did. He knew only the superficial things that he had picked up from the gossip in his pub. Albus knew Harry, knew what kind of person he was, and he was nothing like Gellert. But in the face of his brother’s condemnation – you’re repeating your mistakes – his certainties wavered. He had refused to listen to Aberforth all those years ago, and look at what had happened. Was Albus simply going to brush him off again?

But he has never even spoken to Harry, Albus reminded himself.

The nightmares didn’t help, either. Again and again Ariana died, sometimes it by Gellert’s wand, and sometimes by his own. Once it was Harry who had done the deed, and he had required Fawkes’ reassurances before his hysteria was calmed.

Deep down Albus believed himself a coward. It was why he chose to stay close to the school rather than track down Gellert. It was why he never sought out his brother. It was why he had never told Harry that he loved him. He knew that Harry would likely never realize that Albus was attracted to him unless he simply told the other man. He suspected Harry’s relatives had quite a bit to do with Harry’s obliviousness in certain matters, and there were times he was almost glad the powerful young wizard wouldn’t tell him anything about who they were or where they lived, because he had a feeling he might kill them for what they had done.

The usual stream of owls interrupted his thoughts, and he relieved the post owl of its burden. ‘British and French Elite Auror Battalion Slaughtered,’ screamed the Daily Prophet headline. Oh, Gellert, Albus lamented not for the first time, his appetite suddenly vanishing. What have you done now? And he wondered once again if he would be able to intervene. To end the war or die trying.

Harry is powerful enough to stop him, said a traitorous voice at the back of his mind, and he was utterly horrified with himself. The thought of Harry facing the monster that his old friend and lover had become… His heart clenched at the thought of putting the younger wizard in the path of that tyrant.

No. He might someday have to confront Gellert before he managed to take over Europe entirely – he felt it was his responsibility – but Harry wouldn’t be anywhere near him when that happened. Albus wouldn’t allow it.

The next time Harry had a night off, he headed for a butterbeer at the Hog’s Head while Albus was preoccupied with paperwork. He had no plans to speak with the younger Dumbledore – he didn’t want to get involved at all with what could be an explosive situation – but it was quieter than the Three Broomsticks, no one would ask questions, and he wasn’t really in the mood to interact with anyone.

The Wizarding Wireless was playing quietly behind the bar, and he listened to updates on the war effort while he sipped his butterbeer with his back deliberately against a wall and a good view of the room. Hagrid had been right about the shady clientele of the pub, Harry acknowledged as the list of the dead finished, and the voice began announcing the success of a recent campaign somewhere in or near Bulgaria. His knowledge of geography, like history, was a bit sketchy. He thought he saw a hag in a dark corner, and the group of three playing dice mostly kept their hoods up. There was even someone with some sort of scarf wrapped around their head, showing only a pair of beady eyes, and another with a veil. There were plenty of others who, like Harry, dressed in normal robes, though.

Harry didn’t notice when a deep, accented voice was broadcast over the Wireless, until two words penetrated his thoughtful daze. He jerked upright as Grindelwald spoke passionately about the, “Greater Good.” He had never heard Grindelwald speak before, but through Headmaster Dumbledore, that phrase affected him like a slap to the face. It was the excuse for most of the bad things in his life, he thought darkly. But not this time. Not if he could help it. Grindelwald would be defeated, and Harry would make sure that Albus would never be as alone as his former mentor.

As the speech was broadcast to the Wizarding World, the mood in the pub grew tense, a maelstrom of drunken emotions. Thankfully, the message was short, imploring fellow bigots to oppress innocent Muggles in an effort to gain a false sense of superiority or some such. That was how Harry translated the honeyed words in any case. Grindelwald was a very persuasive and charismatic speaker, he grudgingly admitted. As was Hitler, if he remembered his primary school lessons correctly. Merlin, it was bloody fucking awful luck that those two like-minded, charismatic individuals happened to rise to power at the same general time in the same general place. And now he was living through it.

He laughed, low and without humor, before noticing Aberforth making his way to Harry’s corner with a new drink as an excuse. He saw the stiffness of the younger Dumbledore’s expression, the darkness in his eyes, and he knew that whatever the bartender had to say to him, it was not going to be fun.

“Hello,” Harry greeted him politely. He hadn’t the faintest idea what the other wanted to say, and it was always best to be cautious.

“So you’re Harry, huh?” Aberforth said roughly.

“Yes.” Thankfully he had the presence of mind not to continue and mention Aberforth’s relation to Albus. Not when the brothers were at each other’s throats within moments of being left alone.

“Well,” he growled, slamming the glass down on the table. The noise was lost in the general hubbub of the pub. “I’ve got somethin’ to say to you, and I’m only sayin’ this once. I don’t trust you one whit, and damned if I’ll let the past repeat itself. You dick about with me, there’ll be consequences. And for Merlin’s sake, if you’re fucking with Albus, or just fucking Albus, if anyone winds up dead I will kill you.”

Harry choked on hearing the last sentence and spent several undignified moments sputtering and coughing, trying desperately to breathe as Aberforth waited impatiently for his response. Being from the 90’s, the curses weren’t near as shocking to him as they were to many from the current time period, but the implication certainly did.

“I have absolutely no intention of hurting or killing anyone,” he said seriously, breathing finally under control, and he gazed directly into Aberforth’s familiar eyes. “And I do genuinely care for your brother and my colleagues and students at Hogwarts. I am no murderer.”

“Hmph.” Clearly, Abe was not prepared to believe him, but he wouldn’t push it further. “You just remember what I said,” he warned one last time.

Harry tilted his head to the side. “You really do care about your brother in spite of everything. At least a little. You wouldn’t go to the trouble otherwise.”

Aberforth raised a bushy eyebrow. “He told you then? That does surprise me.”

Harry nodded. “He told me.”

“Don’t go thinking I forgive that arrogant arse, ‘cause I don’t. Not even close. Just look what’s going on in the world now.”

Harry watched him return to the bar. No, Abe didn’t forgive Albus for Gellert and Ariana, and he might never do so – he was so bitter – but that didn’t mean he didn’t care at least a bit. Harry wouldn’t interfere with such a personal and potentially explosive family matter, though. Not with a ten-foot pole.

But that still didn’t tell him what on earth Aberforth had said to so badly affect his brother.

Neither of them were quite sure how the fight had started. All they knew was that the tension had just been too much to bear any long and some small thing – probably Harry dodging another question – had been blown out of proportion.

“Why won’t you tell me anything,” Albus demanded.

“I do!” protested Harry.

“You dance around the subject of your school, the war, your past, your mysterious knowledge of Hogwarts and myself. For Merlin’s sake, you refuse to even tell me your surname. Do you trust me so little?”

Albus’ words struck Harry like a physical blow, and for the moment he sought refuge in anger. “You are the only one I ever told about what my relatives did to me,” he said coldly.

Although the older wizard hesitated noticeably, he was too far gone to stop. “Conditional trust is not trust. What more must I do for you to trust me, Harry?”

Harry’s face was almost white at this point. “Damn it, Albus, it’s not you! I can’t! I can’t be that person again! I can’t be the hero, and I can’t be reminded, and I’m fucking terrified of being identified by the wrong people!” Before either of them could say something unforgivable he wheeled around and stormed out of their quarters.

Albus sank down onto the couch. Fawkes crooned gently and fluttered over to comfort his bonded wizard. It was only when he reached out to pet the phoenix that Albus noticed his hands were shaking.

Harry, meanwhile, rushed to the Room of Requirement. He needed away from everyone, and he especially needed to be away from Albus. Luckily it was near curfew, and so there were no students around to see him in such a state. He didn’t remember what he requested when he paced before the empty wall, but what he received was something like an obstacle course.

Perfect, Harry thought grimly. There was nothing like physical exertion and destroying things to work off his anger and frustration.

An hour later he collapsed on an armchair, sweaty, exhausted, and almost in tears. He couldn’t blame Albus for his own lack of planning. Albus had been uncommonly generous and welcoming. He had given him so much, and Harry had given back so little, like the freeloader the Dursleys had always accused him of being.

The problem was, Harry had never expected to become close to anyone in the past. He had never expected to be even somewhat well-known, and he had certainly never expected to befriend anyone he had known well in the future. His entire focus had been Voldemort, and he had been almost certain he would die bringing the Dark Lord down with him. After all, Voldemort had been after him his entire life, and he had always been more experienced and intelligent than Harry, and possibly stronger magically. It had been only a matter of time before the Dark Lord killed him.

And then, inexplicably, to have won and kept his life, to have been taken in by Albus Dumbledore who had become so much more than the Harry’s past/future mentor. He had been forced to figure out a way to integrate into the society, and still somehow remain ‘just Harry’ to everyone, Albus in particular.

He wanted to give a last name to Albus. But he couldn’t lie to him, particularly when the other wizard could see right through him. He didn’t deserve that, and Harry knew that he wasn’t a good enough actor to remember to respond to an alias. But he wasn’t ready for the Potter name to come from Albus’ lips, either. He might have adjusted well enough, but he didn’t think he could yet stand to be called Potter in the halls of Hogwarts. In any case, after withholding his last name for so many months, any name he gave would be scrutinized and regarded with curiosity or suspicion. The idea of the Ministry or another untrustworthy group discovering that he was a time traveler scared him shitless. He had seen how immoral and corrupt the governing body had become even before Voldemort took it over.

Responding to Harry’s subconscious need, the Room changed the armchair into a bed, allowing Harry to curl into a miserable ball and seek the refuge of sleep. Just before he drifted off, he wondered sleepily why he had reacted so strongly to the fight with Albus. Even when Ron had abandoned him…briefly…he hadn’t…

The next few days were tense for the pair. Harry had yet to return to his rooms, choosing instead to sleep in the Room of Requirement, and they avoided interacting with each other in the hallways and at meals. They were subtle enough that none of the students caught on, but their colleagues eyed them worriedly. They two of them usually got along so well, often seeking the other out during breaks or mealtimes, that it was jarring to see the two so at odds.

Galatea spent the most time with Harry these days, and she almost wished the two would yell at each other or do something to get things out in the open, rather than continue with this damaging silence. She saw how his face, never far from skin and bones to begin with, grew gaunt, and dark shadows appeared beneath his eyes. His bright green eyes that everyone secretly agreed were probably Harry’s best feature were dull and tired these days. Every smile seemed forced, and at this point even a few of Harry’s students noticed.

“You alright, Pr’fessor Harry?” Amy, a small first year Hufflepuff, asked worriedly after several tense moments of working herself up to the question.

Harry looked up from where he had been pointing out the mistakes in her homework and forced a tired smile. “I’m fine. Just been having trouble sleeping, is all.”

She frowned, but didn’t push it further. Later he heard her telling her friends, “He says he’s fine,” in tones of disbelief and winced. These days he wasn’t even fooling eleven-year-olds, it seemed. At least the older years weren’t comfortable enough or concerned enough to start questioning his health. Or perhaps they had heard his excuses through the Hogwarts grapevine.

Albus’ health wasn’t being asked after, but then he was a powerful and awe-inspiring figure. He had also thought of using glamours.

“I’m fine, Tippy, really,” Harry protested with a tired smile as he attempted to fend off the concerned house elf. He had been taking his meals in the kitchen when he remembered to eat, and had spent quite some time acquainting himself with the other house elves and conversing with Tippy when he had the chance.

“Great Master Harry, sir, is looking so tired, Tippy worries, sir,” she said, gazing at him with large eyes and ears hanging low. “Good Wizard Professor Harry should sleep.”

“I do sleep,” Harry said only somewhat truthfully. “And you know you can just call me Harry,” he added automatically.

“If kind Harry, sir will not eat, Tippy will at least get him to eat,” the little house elf says determinedly, and begins to bustle around the kitchen, ordering about some of her fellow elves.

Merlin, he wasn’t fooling house elves either. He really was pathetic.

“Just send it to the Come and Go Room,” Harry said at last, admitting defeat. He kept a false smile on his face until he exited the kitchens. The hallway was dark and empty. He slid down the wall, pressing the heels of his hands to his closed eyes. He just wanted to go home. To go back to Albus and forget the whole fight had happened, to sleep the night through without screaming his throat raw.

It was upon this scene that Albus stumbled.

He had seen the way Harry was almost beginning to waste away, and he knew that it was because of the nightmares. He had had his own fair share of nightmares in the nights since the fight. His pride had kept him from seeking the other out until Harry’s skin grew pale, and the shadows under his eyes grew more prominent. It had frightened him to see how the argument had affected the younger wizard, and he refused to allow his pride to affect Harry’s health. Albus hadn’t been entirely in the wrong, but he knew he could have handled things better.

He stayed up late into the night, waiting, hoping Harry would return. He looked up every few minutes during mealtimes in the Great Hall, wishing Harry would enter, wondering if he was eating. It had taken this loneliness and regret to snap him from the daze his brother’s words had caused. Albus regretted ever listening to Aberforth in the first place. What did he know about Harry? Abe hadn’t lived with him, taken care of him, confided in him and been confided in in turn.

Albus had wandered the castle the night before, questioning the portraits and searching every available set of rooms for Harry, but not even Headmaster Dippet knew where the assistant professor had chosen to sleep. He would apologize, make whatever promises Harry demanded, if only the younger wizard would come back. If only he would stop putting on a rather heartbreaking façade of normalcy against his suffering, if only he would stop suffering.

He had been on his way to the kitchens for a cup of hot cocoa to drink while he thought about other places Harry could have holed up in, when he saw the man in question sitting on the floor with his head buried in his arms.

“Harry?” he said in surprise.

Harry jumped. He ought to have been more aware of his surroundings, particularly with some of the looks he had been getting from Riddle’s former gang and the increasingly vicious pranks he had foiled. “Albus?” he questioned a little thickly.

“Come, Harry,” the older wizard said after a moment of silence. He reached down and helped him to his feet, and Harry let him, leaned on him because he was so tired and Albus was here, solid and warm and safe. “Let’s get you to bed, hm? You look exhausted.”

Harry didn’t speak, simply allowed Albus to do what he wanted and only sighed a little when Fawkes flashed into existence above him and trilled happily. In very little time, Albus had guided him to their shared quarters and into his bed. Harry vaguely registered a hand on his forehead, brushing his hair out of his eyes, and then that familiar, comforting presence was withdrawing.

“Wait,” Harry said without thinking, reaching out to capture a sleeve. “Stay with me. Please.” He was so desperate for a peaceful sleep, and Albus’ presence had given that to him before.

Albus paused for a long moment, and Harry thought perhaps he would refuse. But then he nodded and acquiesced to his request, sliding on top of the covers and turning on his side to face him.

“Go to sleep Harry,” he said gently. “We’ll talk in the morning.”