The Headmaster was still staring at Harry, a strange look in those ancient eyes.
"
"I have another question for that young man," said the Headmaster. "It is something I have long wondered to myself, yet been unable to comprehend.
Harry stared at the Headmaster in surprise.
"How would
"
Harry stared down at his hands. The truth was that Harry hadn't read up on the Dark Lord yet, and right now he hadn't the tiniest clue. And somehow that didn't seem like an answer the Headmaster wanted to hear. "Too many Dark rituals, maybe? In the beginning he thought he'd do just one, but it sacrificed part of his good side, and that made him less reluctant to perform other Dark rituals, so he did more and more rituals in a positive feedback cycle until he ended up as a tremendously powerful monster -"
"No!" Now the Headmaster's voice was agonized. "I can't believe that, Harry! There has to be something more to it than just that!"
"Have you
And none of that, obviously, was what the Headmaster wanted to hear.
The old wizard was still looking at Harry from over a fiddly thing like a frozen puff of smoke, a painful desperation in those ancient, waiting eyes.
Well, sounding wise wasn't difficult. It was a lot easier than being intelligent, actually, since you didn't have to say anything surprising or come up with any new insights. You just let your brain's pattern-matching software complete the cliche, using whatever Deep Wisdom you'd stored previously.
"Headmaster," Harry said solemnly, "I would rather not define myself by my enemies."
Somehow, even in the midst of all the whirring and ticking, there was a kind of silence.
That had come out a bit more Deeply Wise than Harry had intended.
"You may be very wise, Harry..." the Headmaster said slowly. "I do wish... that I could have been defined by my friends." The pain in his voice had grown deeper.
Harry's mind searched hastily for something else Deeply Wise to say that would soften the unintended force of the blow -
"Or perhaps," Harry said more softly, "it is the foe that makes the Gryffindor, as it is the friend that makes the Hufflepuff, and the ambition that makes the Slytherin. I do know that it is always, in every generation, the puzzle that makes the scientist."
"It is a dreadful fate to which you condemn my House, Harry," said the Headmaster. The pain was still in his voice. "For now that you remark on it, I do think that I was very much made by my enemies."
Harry stared at his own hands, where they lay in his lap. Maybe he should just shut up while he was ahead.
"But you
"And you, Harry," said the Headmaster, "you name yourself a
"You don't like science?" said Harry a little wearily. He'd hoped Dumbledore would be fonder of Muggle things.
"I suppose it is useful to those without wands," said Dumbledore, frowning. "But it seems a strange thing by which to define yourself. Is science as important as love? As kindness? As friendship? Is it science that makes you fond of Minerva McGonagall? Is it science that makes you care for Hermione Granger? Will it be science to which you turn, when you try to kindle warmth in Draco Malfoy's heart?"