Roll the Tape Back (One-Shot)

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"Talking"

"Thoughts"

Line Break

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore smiled softly as his surroundings disappeared into a soft white light. He closed his eyes, but he could not help but feel a tremor of fear in his heart at the thought of that next Great Adventure. Not of the adventure itself, that honestly seemed fun, but the thought of meeting his parents once more; the fear that the first thing he would see in their eyes would be shame over his failure to his family. Of course, he hummed derisively, with all his sins and failures in life, he might not end anywhere near his parents; perhaps, he bitterly mused, his only company would be Gellert.

But no matter, he huffed with an air of finality. No need of such thoughts, what will be, will be. For once, he would not have to try and twists things to his favor, and he was relieved for that.

The brightness reached a crescendo, and he could feel his body begin to warm, as though he were sitting beside a fireplace.

And then he grew warmer, and warmer.

He eyes darted open, widening as his surroundings were no longer a calming white, but a fierce, angry red. Fire, he realized.

But despite all that, his thoughts remained calm. "I suppose this means the Muggles were correct," he chuckled to himself, letting the flames consume him.

It was only when he heard a familiar, high-pitched trill that he realized something was truly wrong.

Line Break

Albus yelped, something he had not done since he was a boy, and he fell from his stationary position.

Thankfully, he did not fall flat on his back; dead he may be, he still had some semblance of dignity. Instead, he found himself stumbling back on stone, only stopping as when he reached a wall.

He blinked, bleary-eyed as dark spots danced across his vision.

He heard the tell-tale sound of wings flapping against the air, and a flash of red feathers from the corner of his eyes.

Groggily, he turned his head, "F-Fawkes?" he croaked, throat dry and raw, almost unused.

His phoenix cooed lowly, leaning forward to rub his beak against Albus's shoulder.

Reflexively, Albus brought his hand up to stroke Fawkes's back. "Fawkes, old friend," he rasped, trying and failing to wet his throat, "Wh—"

"Do us a favor," a male voice, weathered and strong, suddenly interrupted, "quench your parched throat."

Alarmed, Albus whirled around, only to curse lightly, the sudden movement further agitating his eyes and head.

"Ah, you shouldn't have done that," the voice said amusedly, "Though I suppose I bear some of the blame…A few steps to your left is a well, along with a bucket."

Albus, noting the fact that Fawkes was oddly calm in spite of the circumstances, did as the voice said. After retrieving water in the bucket, he leaned down, taking long, greedy gulps.

Now, Albus leaned against the well, long, low pants passing through his lips.

"Are you well?" the voice asked kindly. Albus nodded, and then the voice continued, "All right then, now I believe we can talk."

"Yes," Albus replied, turning towards the voice, "I would very much like some answers sir…" Albus froze as, instead of a man, he was face-to-face with a portrait framed by torchlight.

But not just any portrait, no. The man in this portrait was someone anyone, Wizard or Muggle, would recognize. A deep blue, almost purple cloak covered his body, but his bald head was unobstructed. Although, bald may have been a misnomer, for a long, white beard travelled from the bottom of lips to the middle of his chest. His lips were drawn up in a small, mischievous smirk, and his dark eyes glittered with amusement.

Albus gulped, audibly, "M-Merlin?"

The man in the portrait nodded, "The very same. Now, who are you?"

Albus, momentarily pushing aside that he was in front of a portrait of Merlin—and not one of those recreations made for chocolate frog cards, but a genuine article, of which he'd thought were all destroyed or lost—stood straighter, squaring his shoulder, "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Order of Merlin First Class, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederate of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy," he intoned.

Merlin blanched, "Long list. I only recognize two of those titles, and was that five names?"

Albus coughed, feeling oddly self-conscious, but only replied with, "Where are we?" he looked around, the stench, darkness and stones belied that fact that they were in a cave, but nothing beyond that.

"Oh," Merlin hummed, "Want to leave already; am I that boring?"

Albus felt his cheeks warm, "I merely did not expect my next Adventure to begin in a dark cave," he muttered bashfully.

Merlin's eyes twinkled, "Next Adventure…are you referring to the afterlife? Because if so," he snorted, "I've got some news for you."

Albus's eyes widened (comically, if Merlin's chuckle was any indication), "I-I am alive?!"

"Yes."

"Im-Impossible!" Albus replied disbelievingly.

"And yet, here you are."

A light lit up in Albus's mind, and he quickly turned to Fawkes. At his accusatory stare, the bird drew in on itself, ducking his head.

Albus frowned, sighing as he gently stroked Fawkes's head, "Oh Fawkes, what have you done?"

"Saved you, I'd suppose."

Albus shook his head, "You should not have done that," he whispered soothingly at his dearest friend.

Merlin snorted, "Did you tell him that?"

Albus laughed sadly, "I thought I did."

Merlin clapped his hands, "Well, there you have it. You should have been sterner. Make sure you are next time you plan on dying, otherwise you'll just go through all this again."

Albus then turned to Melrin, "What do you mean? And for that matter, where are we?" He paused, "…When are we?"

Merlin smiled softly, "With respect to each question: I've been through this five times myself. We are in Gringott's vault 919; one of the deepest vaults the bank has to offer. And I can't answer your last question, not a lot of interaction with the outside world."

"Five times?" Dumbledore repeated, incredulous.

"Oh yes," Merlin nodded, "My own phoenix, Ayden, is a stubborn Pidgeon. Wouldn't let me go until I died of natural causes—even though pneumonia is perfectly natural!"

A soft trill caught Albus's ear, redirecting his attention beneath the portrait, to a small red bird shaking soot off it. The tiny thing craned its head up, squawking once more at Merlin.

"Oh, come off it, you know I'm right."

Albus blinked, "Wait, how did this happen?"

Merlin huffed, "It's how a phoenix brings their human friends back to life. Takes two of them, so that one of them can withstand the punishment I'd wager. Pretty stupid of them if you ask me"

Ayden chirped.

Merlin snorted, "It doesn't matter what your reasons were."

A squawk.

Merlin guffawed, "So that's supposed to make it okay?"

Albus smiled softly at the scene before him, but then hardened his features as he recalled the rest of Merlin's information. "Gringott's?" he softly interrupted.

Merlin tore away from his argument, nodding swiftly, "Yes, one of my descendants, a fine young woman by the name of Amelia, placed me here near the end of her life. I'm the only true portrait commissioned of the original Merlin, and here I remain until I am needed. At least, that was the plan."

Albus frowned, "What happened?"

Merlin shrugged, "What else? Our line died off, around the time those colonies split off. No one checks in because Amelia signed some blood-oath with the Goblins; something about a dragon. Anyway, aside from Ayden, no one knows I'm down here. Well, the Goblins know," Merlin's eyes darkened in grim amusement, "But for all their faults, they would never appropriate a vault's contents for themselves."

Albus cocked a brow, "…What now then? How might I leave this place? I'd rather not have to explain to the Goblins how I ended up down here."

Merlin gestured, "You have a phoenix, do you not?"

Albus acquiesced his point. "…You're sure you have no idea when this is?"

Merlin sighed, stroking his beard, "Well, whenever we are, it's after Fawkes bonded with you. And through the wondrous joys of magic, you'll find that you've been—oh to put this—placed in the body that exists in this point in time. Again, I have no idea how to explain this; makes my head hurt."

Albus sucked in a breath, "You mean…I've been brought back to…to change the future?"

Merlin scoffed, waving a hand, "Nothing so altruistic; you've been brought back to keep you, and only you, from dying. I assure, whatever you do for the greater good of the world will be wholly accidental as far as Fawkes is concerned."

Albus scowled, but his face softened as Fawkes bumped his head against his hand, "The 'Greater Good'," he said with scorn, scratching Fawkes chin.

"Hmm? Nothing to change about the future then?"

Albus shook his head, averting his gaze "No, in fact, depending on when we are, there might be a great many things that can be changed. But I doubt I'm the man to do it."

Merlin sucked in a breath, "Ah, I know that look. Don't trust yourself, do you?"

Albus lifted his head, nodding his head slowly.

Merlin's eyes lost a bit of their shine, and he looked down to the floor, "I wish I had that mentality the first few times around. Might not have mucked everything up so badly."

Albus would have said something, but Merlin pressed on, "No, I don't want to talk about it. Besides, you are here now, no use crying over it."

Albus asked, "Then what am I to do?"

Merlin shrugged, "Whatever you want, I suppose. You can change the future, or you can let it all play out as it originally had."

Albus thought on the second option; it was the safest. After all, everything worked out in the end—at least, it seemed to, given Harry's state when they last met.

But what if he did interfere?

He looked down at his body, specifically his facial hair-unfortunately, he was wearing one of his favorite nightgowns, and he'd kept it in such spectacular condition since he first got it after leaving Hogwarts that it wouldn't give any indication of age.

He tugged at the beard hanging off his face, noting the gray spattered across his auburn hair. If he'd gone back far enough, before Voldemort, before the prophecy…but what about all those that were born because of Voldemort's rise? Sure, more people may live, but would that justify snuffing out all those potential lives, their struggles, deeds and accomplishments?

Albus let his hand fall to his side, "I…I don't know what to do."

"Well," Merlin began, "I can't help you with that. The only thing I can recommend is going to your home, sleep on it."

Albus nodded numbly, turning to Fawkes, who nodded eagerly, spreading his wings.

Albus looked back to Merlin, "Good sir, if I may ask—"

"You'd like to meet me again?" Merlin gently interrupted.

Albus nodded sheepishly.

Merlin shrugged, "Sure. Just don't tell anyone I'm here. The last thing I need it crowds of people clamoring for my 'wisdom'. I rather like the solitude."

Albus inclined his head respectfully. He stepped closer to Fawkes, "Well, old friend, take us home, wherever that may be."

Fawkes trilled loudly, soothingly, and fire started to spark from his wings, growing bigger and bigger, until, in a flash of golden flames, the two disappeared.

After the light died down, Ayden cooed softly.

"Yes," Merlin replied, "Things will certainly become interesting. Hope he doesn't go mad and kill himself."

A/N: I've seen a lot of HP time-travel stories in my time a fanfiction enthusiast, but I've never seen any involving Dumbledore (in a positive/non-bashing light, at any rate). I am not going to continue this story; my interest in Harry Potter is casual by choice—if I dig too deep I will explode from plot-holes involving historical…issues; one of the reasons I tend to avoid series that are supposed to exist in the real world, but with secret magic societies. Regardless, my hope is that someone more knowledgeable and determined than I might see this story and decide to pick up the concept.