Note: You may have come across this story before; I am not copying it. The account Lightningwolf325 is my old account that is no longer in use. I am transferring all of my old stories to this account. Please do not report this as a copy. Also, I have not edited it at all since the original post so this is not a good example of my current writing.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any related characters, places, or ideas.

Disclaimer II: Furthermore, the letter used at the beginning of this oneshot (as well as anything else written in bold) is the sole property of Joanne Kathleen Rowling and her various publishers.

Gellert –

Your point about wizard dominance being FOR THE MUGGLES' OWN GOOD – this, I think, is the crucial point. Yes, we have been given power and, yes, that power gives us the right to rule, but it also gives us responsibilities over the ruled. We must stress this point, it will be the foundation stone upon which we build. Where we are opposed, as we surely will be, this must be the basis of all our counter-arguments. We seize control FOR THE GREATER GOOD. And from this it follows that where we meet resistance, we must use only the force that is necessary and no more. (This was your mistake at Durmstrang! But I do not complain, because if you had not been expelled, we would never have met.)

Albus

The young Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore sighed as he carefully inked the triangular sign of the Deathly Hallows in the place of the first letter of his name. It was a sign that was very familiar to him—his plans with Gellert centered around the (supposedly mythical) objects. But they knew better; while it was very unlikely that they had been crafted by Death himself, he and Gellert knew that the Elder Wand, Resurrection Stone, and Cloak of Invisibility existed.

He laid down his eagle-feather quill and leaned back in his chair. What he wrote in his letter was true; if Gellert had never been expelled, they wouldn't have met, and for this he was very grateful. It was nice to finally have someone on-par with his intelligence level to talk to—Aberforth had never put much stock in the values of theoretical study, and Ariana, of course, couldn't study magic at all. His mother, when she was alive, had always far too busy taking care of his siblings to engage him in any intellectual pursuits. So Albus was left alone with his books, taking care of Ariana and Aberforth, until Gellert had moved to Godric's Hollow.

And what a pair they were. Albus didn't consider himself an arrogant man—no matter what others said—but he knew that he and Gellert Grindelwald were destined to change the world. He just didn't know how much.

Their planning was amazing, innovative, and awe inspiring. It would shake the wizarding world when it was finally released, but he knew it would be for the better. Muggles needed the protection wizards could give them—needed to be ruled over by the obviously superior race. It wasn't that he held Muggles in low esteem, no—he just knew that the natural order of things had been disrupted and needed to be restored.

Take his sister, for instance; had wizards been in control and magic out in the open, that unfortunate event that drove her mad and subsequently had their father carted off to Azkaban on charges of using magic against Muggles would have never happened. Rather, the boys who had spied on and later attacked her would have previously known about magic and would have known better than to do anything to poor little Ariana. She would have grown into a fabulous witch and Percival wouldn't have been arrested.

Oh yes, he and Gellert would do wonders together. He had often pondered his feelings toward the other boy, wondering if it was purely brotherly love that allowed them to bond so well, but he quickly drove those thoughts from his mind. It wouldn't do for the wizarding world to believe him to be like that—they were prejudiced enough as it was, and if he were to be one of their rulers he couldn't have them against him. Besides, there was no way Gellert could like him like that…

. . .

Albus couldn't believe it. Ariana was dead. And one of them had killed her.

He hadn't expected Aberforth to confront them about their plans—he had little more of an inkling that his brother had even known about them, much less disapproved. Well, he had known that Aberforth didn't very much appreciate his attitude toward him and Ariana, but really nothing could be done; his and Gellert's plans needed to proceed.

But then Ariana had come out; she was upset that her brothers were arguing. And then Gellert had drawn his wand…

Inside, he was completely numb. He had barely registered Aberforth's threats that he mustn't attend the funeral, that Ariana's death was entirely his fault. But Gellert…how could he?

So he found himself at the funeral, just as any respectable older brother should be. But the guilt inside was tearing him apart—he wasn't a respectable older brother. He was a failure.

Albus didn't really blame Aberforth for being angry. But his image…his carefully constructed reputation…he couldn't let it fall apart. He was important. He was brilliant. He was still a fantastic mind, even if his judgments on family weren't the best. The wizarding world would still need him, sometime in the future. Even if their plans wouldn't be carried out—shouldn'tbe carried out—he would still be an important figure. And Gellert was still out there…

Truly, that was the only reason he fought back when Aberforth broke his nose.

. . .

Transfiguration Professor Albus Dumbledore watched carefully from his place in the shadows. This boy worried him; he was charming, a good student, a handsome boy. But there was something off.

When he had first met Tom Marvolo Riddle he had been displeased to find that the amazing amount of control the boy had was used to torture the other children in the orphanage. The boy was incredible, no doubt, but the darkness inside him was troublesome at the least.

Tom had quickly charmed the majority of the teachers, but Dumbledore hadn't been fooled; he had seen the cold, calculating looks that overtook the child's handsome features when he thought no one was looking. His mind jumped to a book he had read on Muggle psychology—sociopaths were charming and charismatic, able to twist people around their fingers but unable to feel empathy or grasp the difference between right and wrong.

But he shook the thought from his head. Tom was just a boy—perhaps he simply needed time to adapt. He had lived in an orphanage his entire life, after all. But he would watch closely; something about that boy just didn't sit well with him…

. . .

"And what will you give me in return, Severus?" he asked, feeling only the slightest guilt at the harsh manner in which he was treating the man. The man who would sacrifice an innocent child for the safety of his lost love…

"In—in return?" Albus waited patiently. He knew that Severus wouldn't refuse—not when the life of Lily Evans, as she would always be to the Potions Master, was at risk."Anything."

"Very well," Albus murmured.

"Wh-what do you want?" Severus asked, looking relieved, scared, and angry all at once. It was to be expected, for a man in his situation, no matter how good of a mask he could put up.

Albus paused. "I need a spy," he said finally, slowly. "You are in Voldemort's—" he ignored Severus' flinch, for once allowing the man to slide by, "—ranks already, are you not? You reported to him." He ignored this flinch as well. "You are well-practiced in Occlumency. Go to him as a double agent."

"And what of my sudden gain of your trust?" Severus asked, face only a degree paler than usual. "Won't he be suspicious?"

"You can come up with something," he replied dismissively before apparating away.

. . .

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…born to those who have thrice defied him…born as the seventh month dies…and the Dark Lord shall mark him as his equal, but he shall have power the Dark Lord knows not…and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord shall be born as the seventh month dies…"

Those haunting words rang in the ears of the Hogwarts Headmaster as he lay the small bundle on the doorstep. It was very nearly winter, but it was imperative that young Harry Potter was taken in by his aunt and uncle—something that might not happen if he confronted the guardians-to-be directly.

He wanted Harry to grow up loved, but a faint whisper in the back of his mind told him it would be otherwise. He pushed the thought away; surely Petunia's jealousy wouldn't extend to her nephew, would it? And even if there were remnants of the childhood envy, surely she would be able to push them away for the sake of a child.

'Or not,' the voice reminded him. 'He could end up like Tom.'

'Enough,' he scolded himself as he bid farewell to Hagrid and Minerva. They would see; in ten years, all would be well.

. . .

Albus stared down at the ring. Finally, after all this time…

'No,' he told himself firmly. But it was right there—his dream, the answer to the problem he had been victim of for far too long.

It would be perfect—he could talk to them again. Ariana, his mother, his father, Lily, James, Sirius. He could tell them all how sorry he was, he could finally set things right, after all those years of guilt and months of depression. He just had to slip on the ring. The Resurrection Stone…

Yes. He would do it. He would beg for their forgiveness, just as he should. But as the ring, Deathly Hallows symbol flickering in the dim light, slid onto his withered finger, his world exploded into pain.

'I should have known,' was his last coherent thought before he stumbled from the old shack. But he could have sworn that he saw the sad, ghostly eyes of his little sister following him until he disappeared with a pop.

. . .

"Harry must not know, not until the last moment, not until it is necessary, otherwise how could he have the strength to do what must be done?" Dumbledore told Severus wearily. He hated it, what would happen to the boy—even if everything went according to plan, Harry would have been through far more than any child his age should have.

"But what must he do?"

"That is between Harry and me. Now, listen closely, Severus. There will come a time – after my death – do not argue, do not interrupt! There will come a time when Lord Voldemort will seem to fear for the life of his snake."

"For Nagini?" Albus nodded gravely.

"Precisely. If there comes a time when Lord Voldemort stops sending that snake forth to do his bidding, but keeps it safe beside him, under magical protection, then, I think, it will be safe to tell Harry."

"Tell him what?"

Albus took a deep breath, his eyes closing in a self-hatred Severus couldn't see. It was his fault. It was his fault that Harry would have to die, with or without the possibility of revival. But he had to focus on the bigger picture, as he always had—whether Harry survived or not, countless lives would be saved that Voldemort would be truly dead. He had always focused on the greater good, so why was it proving to be so hard now? What was it about this boy?

As he recounted the true nature of Harry's scar to Severus, he found himself in a swirling torrent of egotistical loathing and "what-ifs". What if he had paid more attention to Tom, helping him rather than watching him? What if he had paid more attention to Severus—saved him from his father, pulled him away from the bad influences in Slytherin? Would Voldemort exist? Would he have heard the prophecy? Would the prophecy exist? Could Harry have just been a normal boy, raised by Lily, James, Sirius, and Peter? And what about Peter, could he have saved him as well?

He could hardly focus, with his doubts, emotional trauma, and the phantom pains in his dead hand all drawing his attention in different directions. It hardly seemed fair that one of his worse problems was a dead hand while the safety of the world could mean permanent death for Harry. What if the boy fought back, drew his wand rather than let Voldemort kill him? If something went wrong and Harry's soul was separated as well?

"So the boy ... the boy must die?" Severus' voice broke through his panicked musings, bringing him back from the tormented depths of his mind. It was for the best, he reminded himself. The fate of the free world depended on the death of one boy. One death, for the lives of many. But why had it seemed like such a more logical concept when he was young?

"And Voldemort himself must do it, Severus. That is essential." He emphasized it, wanting no reason for Harry to lose the life he had ahead of him. But when it came down to it, he would have to sacrifice the boy for the sake of the world. And it killed him.

. . .

The painting of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore leaned back in his fluffy armchair, alone in the Headmaster's—or, rather, Headmistress'—office. The other portraits were off celebrating and grieving with the rest of the school. The war was finally over, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione were alive. But many had died.

He thought back over the years, of the mistakes he had made. Ariana Dumbledore. Aberforth Dumbledore. Gellert Grindelwald. Tom Riddle. James Potter. Severus Snape. Petunia Evans Dursley. Sirius Black.

Harry Potter.

Especially Harry Potter.

The boy had grown up abused and neglected. After entering school he had no consistency—either a celebrity with no privacy or a pariah, hated by all. He was forced to take up the mantle of manhood from a young age. He saw death at fourteen. From then on he watched so many people he viewed as family die.

So many times he was shunned by the world. But still he was willing to die for them.

Albus knew that Harry looked up to him, but in reality he looked up to Harry. The boy was every inch the hero he had dreamed of being when he was young. But at that age he had none of the wisdom Harry had gained over the years, none of the courage, none of the sheer tenacity that made Harry who he was.

He hated himself for every decision he had made that caused Harry pain, but he tried not to regret any of them.

They were for the Greater Good.

They were made with the best intentions.

But, Albus realized as a tear slipped down his painted, crooked nose, his best intentions had led a once-innocent boy into his own personal hell.

A/N: So, I don't think it's all that good; pretty choppy. But I do think that that's the kind of thing Albus would think, at least some of it. And I alluded to what Ms. Rowling implied was his relationship with Grindelwald, so yeah...I don't generally write slash, but since this fic doesn't centre around romance and it's kind of canon I thought it was kind of important to see a snippet of his feelings toward Gellert. .

This kind of shows my take on Dumbledore as a character—many people see him as a manipulative old goat, or paint him as a saint. Some even believe he's evil. But I think he's just a human, flawed like the rest of us. But he's got so much power that, as he said in the first book, his mistakes tend to be bigger than most. He does have control issues, one reason he chose to decline the position as Minister for Magic. He can acknowledge it, but that doesn't make it any easier for him to resist the temptation. He often feels that he knows what's best for everyone, and focuses on the big picture more than anything else. But that doesn't stop him from being a good man—in fact, I think it makes him all the better that he can acknowledge his flaws at all. Um, sorry about that...

So, tell me what you think, but please don't flame