The Art of War
*Author's note*
Hello all, this is my first real attempt at fanfiction so please review, feedback is good.
This is an A/U fic set during OoTP. I'm deliberately not sticking to the original storyline because the changes I've made (particularly the introduction of an OC) makes that impossible. If you're a fan of the canon please don't judge me. J.K. Created the world, I'm just here to shake it up a little.
Disclaimer:
I own nothing Harry Potter, all characters and ideas (except mine) belong to J.K. Rowling.
Otherwise enjoy!
Prologue: Discoveries
Albus Dumbledore sighed as he set down his mug of pumpkin juice and returned to the mountain of paperwork piling up on his desk. Being Minister of Magic was a lot harder than he had expected when he had accepted the post a few years ago. Not only did he have to oversee the running of England's magical governing agency, but the usually level-headed Headmaster also had to ensure that Hogwarts was properly tended to before the start of the school year.
The death of Cedric Diggory had been a catalyst for uncertainty in a normally certain world.
Albus had been frantically trying to ease the press from causing wide-scale panic in the wizarding community. The Order of the Phoenix - A specialized branch of the ministry dedicated to Voldemort's Capture, headed by Dumbledore himself - were doing everything they could to locate the Dark Lord and his followers. Albus knew many Death Eaters by name, but could do nothing unless he collected enough proof of willing involvement. For now, he just could not think about it.
What was foremost in the Headmaster's mind was the fact that he needed to hire a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher to replace Alastair Moody, or rather the Death Eater who had impersonated him.
Despite maintaining a cool exterior in front of the students and teachers, Dumbledore had been shaken by the deception and the ability for someone so close to Voldemort to infiltrate Hogwarts so easily. With Voldemort's return trust was in very short supply these days. Ministry officials keep to themselves out of paranoia and barely spoke when passing each other in the halls. Neighbor was wary of neighbor and Albus had been looked toward to keep everything together. He had approached Moody just last week about taking up the DADA mantle for real, but the veteran Auror had declined fearing the students may not take well to him after Barty Crouch Jr's deceit.
The old wizard was at a loss. At this time more than anything his students needed someone who could prepare them for the coming days both mentally and physically. Someone that he could trust beyond a shadow of a doubt. For a moment Albus considered taking the boat himself, but dismissed the thought as foolish. Two roles of responsibly were more than enough for any sane man to handle. His swift mind sorted through many candidates but could only come up with one person. Even still, Snape could not be given the post. Voldemort needed to think that Severus was being kept at arms length for his plan to succeed.
At times like these Albus found it pertinent to pray. He believed in no 'God' to speak of, but he believed in power: the power of life and love, the power of magic. More than once in his life Dumbledore had looked toward a greater power than himself in times of crisis and found himself guided to safety as if by -for lack of a better word- magic.
He was about to give up all hope when he felt a fluttering within his chest. It was no more than a hint of a feeling, but he held onto it like a lifeline. This was what would lead him to what he needed.
"Fudge!" he called out to the Deputy Minister.
Cornelius Fudge came to the door in a rush. "Yes Albus? What can I do for you old friend, you seem... Excited?"
"Something has come up. It may turn out to be nothing but I need to leave right away." Before this 'feeling' disappears, he thought to himself. "I'll need you to assume the post of Acting Minister of Magic a little earlier than expected. Have Percy help you with all this paperwork, but I must leave at once."
With no more words spoken Dumbledore stepped surprisingly lithely away from the now speechless Cornelius and left his office. While walking he attempted to hone his feeling into a sense of direction. Albus had learned long ago that apparition could be used not only to a known destination, but also to one that was unknown provided an anchor point existed to apparate to. Once Albus felt comfortable enough to guess where he would be going, with a loud *crack* he dissapparated.
Following his feeling to that anchor, Dumbledore found himself on a street under a starry sky. He noted that it had been mid-morning when he had left, so he must be somewhere far from England. His assumption was proved correct when he saw the constellation known as the Southern Cross high up in the heavens. "So I'm in Australia" he said to himself. International apparition was dangerous even for someone of Dumbledore's skill; luckily he didn't seem to have suffered any splinching damage.
The Professor looked around to try and gain his bearings. His intuition kicked in and he followed it toward an alleyway. For the first time Albus began to doubt himself. How was he meant to find who or what he needed in a city halfway around the world? Walking silently, he rounded the corner and glanced down the length of the opening. The place was quiet, with barely a noise. Aside from the passing of lone cars the only sound came from a barrel in the middle of the lane. The crackling sounds of a dying fire filled the silence. Dumbledore sighed to himself. It had been a long shot. His 'feelings' were not always accurate.
He was about to turn back when something, perhaps another 'feeling', perhaps the same, made him pause. Had he looked away at that moment he might have missed the small movement from the side of the alley. A huddled figure, dressed in black and hidden from the light of the street reached out an empty hand toward the barrel, as if warming it on the dying flames. What Dumbledore did not expect to see were the flames suddenly glow brighter and burn with a greater intensity that almost singed his eyebrows.
The figure turned it's head toward Dumbledore, all that was visible was the eyes of the person glowing gold with the reflection of the fire. Slowly, the outstretched hand moved away from the barrel and came to rest directly in front of Dumbledore's chest...