"Everything all right, Harry?" Dumbledore asked as Harry stared at the cup trying to isolate the fleeting sensation.

"Um, what?" Harry responded, rather dazed at his reaction, "oh, yes, I'm fine, thank you. That was just a little intense."

The headmaster's response was his usual benevolent smile and Harry had no doubt his entire performance had been catalogued for posterity. It was then that he remembered that the calming field he was sure had been in place before did not appear to have been working all day.

"Did you remove the calming charm that was on the room?" he asked curiously.

"Yes, Harry," the headmaster replied, "I felt it necessary to assist with your transition to here, however, I am a strong believer in not allowing oneself to become reliant on artificial means of support."

Harry had not expected quite such a straightforward answer, but he could not ignore the logic of it. Nodding slowly in agreement he glanced at the goblet one more time as he went over what he had been feeling as he had drunk the blood.

"Would you mind terribly if I joined you for dinner, My Boy?" Dumbledore asked politely. "I believe there are some things we need to discus and if you are willing, now would seem an appropriate time."

Harry was in two minds as to whether he really wanted to have this conversation, but he knew which the sensible, adult answer was. Reluctantly he nodded. He sat down at the desk just as Dobby reappeared and then, in an instant, there was a table between him and the headmaster, covered in food.

"Thank you, Dobby," Dumbledore said cheerfully, before Harry recovered from his surprise, "you have outdone yourself. Please carry our thanks to the kitchen elves."

The house elf disappeared with a huge smile. It was all Harry could do not to stare at the table. Even at the school feasts he didn't think he had seen so much food crammed into one place.

"I think I should have been more specific," he said rather lamely.

"Perhaps it would be a good idea to eat while it's hot," the headmaster suggested with a smile and handed Harry a plate.

The blood had settled in Harry's stomach nicely and he was quite surprised to find that he did, in fact, feel hungry in a very human way now. He was beginning to suspect that the headmaster knew exactly what he was about, and he really didn't feel like second guessing his mentor.

Accepting the plate, he decided that Dumbledore could test him all he liked; nothing he could do would stop it, so he might as well just let it happen. Knowing that he was being watched, he ignored the headmaster for a while and set about deciding what he could and could not eat from the incredible spread in front of him.

In the end, he sat back with a nice helping of some sort of stew, some green beans, and a large helping of carrots, while Dumbledore had chosen an eclectic mix of shepherds pie, sprouts and a large stick of celery he was using instead of a fork, chewing the end off when he felt like it. They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes and Harry felt himself starting to relax, despite his anxiety.

"Well, Harry," Dumbledore said eventually as he reached for a second stick of celery, "I think perhaps we should consider you continuing your lessons, we wouldn't want you to fall too far behind."

That confused the magic out of Harry and pushed all thoughts of eating from his mind, he froze, mid bite.

"Um, how?" he asked. "I can't leave here, and I don't have a wand."

"Ah, yes," the headmaster replied, fishing in his pocket in a superb impression of a forgetful old man, which Harry knew for a fact he most definitely was not, "I believe this is yours."

With a flourish Dumbledore held out Harry's wand. All Harry could do was stare at it as if it might bite. So many reasons for him not to take it jumped into his head that they clashed with the part of him that was completely delighted, immobilizing him into total inaction.

"Where did you find it?" he eventually managed to ask, delaying the moment when he would have to reach out and accept it back.

It was such a powerful thing to give a wizard a wand. Harry knew he was dangerous enough as it was, without giving him another weapon. The wand was like part of him, had been since he was eleven, but he was no longer sure how large a piece of him was fit to accept it.

"Tom had it hidden in the chamber where he died," Dumbledore explained patiently; "under his chair to be precise. It was warded, but I retrieved it before the Aurors arrived."

It did not surprise him that the headmaster had had his wand all the time, but it did surprise him that he was being given it back. He had had no expectations of being allowed to be a real wizard any time soon, if ever.

"I'm not safe," he said in little more than a whisper, although it caused him great pain to try and refuse the return.

Harry stared at his wand but refused to reach out.

"Your magic has changed, Harry," Dumbledore said kindly, "and the longer you are without your wand, the more difficult it will be for you to take it back. I know you are afraid of yourself, My Boy, you have much which challenges your control, but I am sure you will come through this. With the support of those of us fortunate enough to look upon you as family, you will return to us. Maybe not quite the same, but never-the-less, whole."

The faith of an old wizard could seem to some such an insignificant thing, but it took Harry's breath away. With a shaking hand he placed his plate back on the table and slowly reached out to take back his wand.

It was like putting on a warm glove as his fingers curled around the wooden shaft and he felt energy shoot up his arm. There was no pain or electric shock with the wand rejecting him, just the comfortable feeling of finding a part of himself that he had lost, and a half laugh, half sob erupted from his mouth before he could stop it. So many things had changed. He was so different he was not sure anyone would understand, but this, this was still his and he did not know whether to laugh or cry.

"It is a hard thing to lose a wand," the headmaster said with sagely dignity, "but it is such a beautiful thing to find one again."

"Thank you," was all Harry could find to say as he cradled the wand to him, almost as if it was a child.

They did not speak for a long time as Harry lost himself in the moment. Eventually he looked up and over at the desk; there was one more thing he needed to do. With a swish and a flick, he pointed the wand at one of the smaller books.

"Wingardium Leviosa," he said, and the spell launched from the tip of his wand.

The book bounced off the ceiling.

"Oh hell," Harry said quite distinctly.

"Indeed," Dumbledore said in his usual pleasant tone, "perhaps it would be fortuitous to regulate the power behind the spell just a little more."

Harry gave Dumbledore a look for that comment.

It occurred to him then that Voldemort could have had no concept of what he was going to create. If the Dark Lord had known that Harry's wizarding power would increase so significantly, he would have been a fool to allow it to happen. Even insane dark wizards knew that you didn't create something more powerful than yourself.

After that, they made it to pudding without further incident, chatting about inane things like the last house Quidditch match between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, and the state of the East Tower after having been hit by a class worth of freezing charms when Professor Flitwick had taken his third year lesson outside. It was all really quite pleasant, which was why Harry's defences were low when Dumbledore decided to become serious again.

"About your friends, Harry."

He dropped the apple he had just picked up as the headmaster spoke.

Hermione, Ron, Neville and the rest were a subject he had been attempting not to think about. He didn't know what they knew, and he definitely didn't want to have to consider how they would react. As far as he was concerned it was better for all parties if they stayed as far away as possible and dissociated themselves with him.

"What about them?" he asked, trying to keep his voice cold and emotionless.

"They wish to see you," Dumbledore said sympathetically, but in a tone that suggested to Harry he felt this was very important. "They have been most anxious since your abduction. Mr Weasley insisted on leaving the hospital wing before he was fully recovered in order that he could be with Miss Granger waiting for news of you."

"Ron was hurt?" guilt welled up in Harry as he realised he had been so wrapped up in his own problems that he had no idea what had happened to his friends.

He had asked Dumbledore if they were all right when they had spoken at Malfoy Manor, but he had gone no further with his enquiries. Ron had been with him during the attack. It was really blindingly obvious that his best friend could have been hurt. For a moment he felt a little resentful that Dumbledore had not told him everything at their first meeting, but logic quickly informed him that he had been in no state of mind to deal with the details at that point.

"He was assaulted by a rather nasty blasting hex," the headmaster replied. "The wall which stopped his progress was, I believe his exact words were 'bloody hard', and he sustained some nasty bruising and several broken bones. Madame Pomfrey patched him up in her usual proficient fashion, and I believe he has only one bandage remaining to show for his war wounds. Miss Granger has been making a suitable fuss of him."

Harry could just imagine. Hermione was incredibly practical, but when it came to her friends being hurt, she had been known to go over the top. It didn't happen often, but Hermione could actually be quite motherly when she set her mind to it.

"Have you told them?" It was the question that was really praying on his mind. "Do they know what Voldemort did to me?"

"I rather believe they should be made aware of the truth," the Dumbledore said, "however, I refrained from explaining the situation until such time as I could consult you in the matter. I am of the opinion that telling them sooner rather than later will be the most advantageous to you as well as them. They are aware you are recovering from Voldemort's attentions, but they are unaware of the consequences of Tom's machinations."

Sitting back in the chair Harry stared at the table. Rationally he knew that he could not hide forever, people were going to find out the truth, but knowing this did not stop him being afraid. Being afraid made him tense, and being tense disrupted his control, and that let his baser instincts to the surface.

Swiping viciously at the table he sent one bowl flying and stormed to his feet, turning away from Dumbledore and the headmaster's logic, as anger won over sense. His desire to destroy something was almost overpowering, but he walked away, trying to bring back the relative calm that the Occlumency usually helped him find. Why did everything have to be so hard?

"I don't want them to know," he said as all the terrible possibilities flooded into his mind, "I don't want anyone to ever know."

Lashing out with claws and supernatural strength he took a chunk out of one of the bed posts. The pain of the impact was so much easier to deal with than the pain he felt in his heart. Fascinated he watched as the mess of splinters slowly reformed as if organically growing back. It helped to bring his raging thoughts under control.

"What we want and what we are required to endure are unfortunately, often quite dissimilar," Dumbledore said, obviously in great white sage mode.

The cynical part of Harry wanted to tell the headmaster where to stick his wisdom, but he managed to curb that impulse.

"At least they won't want to see me anymore," he said coldly, "once they know what I am."

Dumbledore appeared disappointed by that statement.

"I believe you do your friends a great disservice with those words, Harry," the headmaster responded. "They care for you very deeply, and it will take more than that to frighten them away. I suggest you do not try and find out where that point may be."

Harry sneered at the old man over his shoulder; he was in no mood to play word games.

"Perhaps it is time for me to leave you in peace," Dumbledore suggested. "Do I have your permission to enlighten Mr Weasley and Miss Granger of your condition, and maybe Mr Longbottom as well?"

That was the scale the broke the dragon's wing and Harry snapped; the simple gentility of the headmaster's question enraged him.

"Tell the whole bloody world for all I care," he yelled, taking another swipe at the bed post. "Let them point and stare, they've done it to me my whole life. Just don't let them in here, never let them in here with me."

Harry did not watch Dumbledore leave, but he felt him go, and a soon as he knew he was alone he let go completely. The room filled with sound as the bedpost literally exploded.