What? Harry Potter fanfiction? In 2018?

Yup. They put out the movies on HBO, which prompted me to watch them, which then prompted me to re-read the books, which then led to...whatever this is. I do plan to update this as I read through the series, with one chapter corresponding to each book. As to what scenes I choose to elaborate on, and what scenes I add in, and what scenes I leave out...those choices are all deliberate.

Dialogue that comes from the book is book accurate, but some of the blocking might be more movie based...it's a bit challenging to un-see it after so many years.

Please leave the Dumbledore discourse at the door. Otherwise, let me know what you thought! Good, bad, or otherwise.

The boy was not quite what Albus Dumbledore had expected.

No, he was not that at all. It did not take a great deal of intelligence to observe- and Albus Dumbledore certainly had a great deal of intelligence- that Harry Potter was good.

It was remarkable, in its own right. The boy had been raised by the sort that had no business raising children at all. That Harry appeared here, now- seemingly unharmed, undamaged- was nothing short of miraculous. Albus had known, when leaving the infant Harry with his relatives, that he had been condemning him to a long, difficult ten years. Yet it had been imperative that the boy remain safe. Not only for his own sake, oh no, there was far more at stake than the boy himself. If it had been a mere matter of personal safety, other arrangements may have been possible. But in the event that something had happened, someone had found him…no. It was better that Harry was as far from their world as possible.

Protected by his mother's blood, he had remained alive. But that he remained whole…yes, Albus was pleased. Very pleased.

Well, perhaps not quite whole. From his place atop a battered old desk in a moonlit classroom, Albus studied Harry Potter with a careful sadness. Ah, yes, of course he had found it. Albus had almost hoped he would. The Mirror of Erised was a curious thing in that sense. A marvel to behold, so simple and yet terribly dangerous in its appeal. It was also a rather valuable first test. Albus watched as Harry stared at it hungrily, his father's marvelous cloak slithering to the ground behind him.

What a beautiful young soul, this boy was. Albus tilted his head to the side. No matter the angle, he could not see the vision that held Harry so transfixed- but it was not hard to discern what it was. Despite himself, Albus smiled a small, sad smile. He could certainly imagine the vision. Harry himself in the center. Just behind him would be his parents, of course, perhaps flanking the boy's shoulders. They would smile at him, gently resting their hands upon his shoulders. Behind even them, perhaps, were others…

Albus shut his eyes briefly. Oh, how he understood the way Harry pressed his nose to the glass, one hand resting against the cool pane. Had it joined with another's on the other side? If only such illusions could be.

Harry sank to the floor, sitting with crisscrossed legs and a dreamy expression upon his face. It was clear then, that it was his intention to stay here the whole night through. That wouldn't do. Harry had come to this room several nights now and gazed upon this mirror. Once he had even brought along his friend. Albus had hoped Harry would discover the truth on his own, and cease coming, but it appeared that was not to be.

Though he was reluctant to do so, Albus knew it was time to end it. Dreams were a wondrous thing, but alas…they were not real. And so he must do as all teachers will- he must teach.

"So- back again, Harry?"

The boy all but jumped out of his skin, whirling around to face his Headmaster.

"I-I didn't see you, sir."

"Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you," Albus said with a soft smile. He slipped off the desk, mirroring Harry's posture on the ground. "So, you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised." Harry looked up at him, seemingly amazed to see Albus sitting beside him as a friend.

"I didn't know it was called that, sir."

"But I expect you've realized by now what it does?" Albus prodded gently. Harry glanced down at his shoes, appearing uncomfortable.

"It…well…it shows me my family," he said.

"And it showed your friend Ron himself as Head Boy," Albus interjected. Harry looked up, wide-eyed.

"How did you know-?"

"I don't need a cloak to become invisible." Albus gestured at the silvery fabric lying discarded on the ground. Harry looked sheepish. "Now, can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?"

Harry shook his head. Not surprised by this, Albus pressed on.

"Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror. That is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is," Albus explained, leading into the answer without giving it away. "Does that help?"

Harry glanced down again, brow furrowed in thought. Albus watched him puzzle away at it- it was quite the riddle for an eleven-year-old. Yet by all accounts, Harry Potter was a bright and inquisitive child. Too direct an answer would be an insult to his intelligence. And Albus wanted him to realize this for himself.

Harry spoke again, "It shows us what we want…whatever we want…" he trailed off, momentarily looking back to the mirror. Albus smiled.

"Yes, and no," he said quietly. "It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts." Harry looked back to his professor, once again transfixed with what he was saying. He hung onto Albus' every word, seeming to trust him blindly- it was at once as shocking as it was touching.

For a boy of his background to trust, so completely…and for Albus to know that soon the day must come, one terrible day when he must betray him…

"You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you," Albus pressed on. "Ronald Weasley, who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of all of them."

Harry did not yet react, still listening raptly. Albus continued.

"However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge or truth," Albus said, lowering his head a bit closer to Harry's. "Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen," he said in a low voice, "or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible."

Harry stared up at him, vivid green eyes locked on Albus' blue. His mouth hung open slightly, though he did not react with any real shock or awe at what he had heard. Albus thought, then, that the lesson had been understood. To be unsurprised was to understand how it could be so. Albus pulled back.

"The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry," he said. "And I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run into it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams, and forget to live. Remember that."

Harry held Albus' gaze for a moment, then slowly nodded. Satisfied, Albus stood, his old knees creaking slightly with the strain.

"Now, why don't you put that admirable cloak back on, and get off to bed?" Harry stood as well, bringing the cloak with him. He looked up at Albus, suddenly quizzical.

"Sir- Professor Dumbledore?" he asked, a hint of caution in his tone. Albus watched him patiently. "Can I ask you something?"

"Obviously, you've just done so," Albus answered with a cheekier smile. "You may ask me one more thing, however."

"What do you see when you look in the mirror?"

In the mere second that passed before he answered, Albus was caught off guard. He felt his gaze move towards the mirror standing erect behind Harry. He could see it now, the vision that had so entranced Harry- for there they were. His mother, his father, his brother…his sister. Whole, alive, and well, standing happily beside him.

The same as you, dear boy.

It was only a second. Without seeming to missing a beat, Albus' gaze flicked back to Harry, and he answered, "I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks."

Harry stared at him, incredulous.

"One can never have enough socks," he said. He gave a long-suffering sigh. "Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books."

Harry blinked, for it was clear this was not the answer he'd expected. And a lie it was, though out of necessity. Albus could not fathom sharing the truth with a boy so young- particularly not this boy. Ah, what would you think of me if you knew? Those eyes would not trust me so.

"Run along now, Harry," Albus said, resting a hand on Harry's shoulder to nudge him forward. "I daresay one cannot hope to win their match against Hufflepuff without proper sleep." He winked, and at this Harry nodded, scurrying from the room. He stopped at the door, however, and looked back.

Albus merely smiled, and gave a short nod. Harry turned, wrapping the cloak around his shoulders, and disappeared.

Albus could admit, he had been concerned for the boy after the Mirror was moved. Secure in its new home, Albus had little fear that Harry would discover it again. In fact, it was the very last thing that Albus wanted. He was infinitely glad, then, to see Harry's focus shifting back to his studies and his sport- that Quidditch match against Hufflepuff was coming up.

Yet there were worries, always worries- it troubled Albus greatly, what had occurred at the last match during which he had not been present. A broomstick did not simply go wild of its own accord. Severus, of course, had reported to him the day's events- that someone had tried to curse Harry's broomstick so that the boy would fall to his death. Well, no such things would occur at this match. Severus had volunteered to referee, and Albus knew well his own power. Whoever had done such a thing would not dare a repeat performance in his presence.

Ah, but who was the culprit? That was the question that truly weighed on Albus Dumbledore's mind as he climbed to the top of the Quidditch stands, settling into a rather uncomfortable seat next to one rather enthusiastic Minerva McGonagall.

"Gryffindor will take the lead if we win today," she said to him as soon as he'd sat. Albus granted her a smile- no need to trouble her with his woes.

"A Headmaster is not meant to play favorites," he said with a wink. Minerva only grinned.

"You hardly fool me, Albus, but I won't spoil your secret," she said. At that moment, the whistle was blown- and the game began.

It was a whir of excitement- a Quaffle thrown here, a Bludger hit there- Hufflepuff was awarded a penalty when said Bludger whizzed past Severus' ear. Minerva frowned rather loudly.

"Oh, those Weasley boys. They ought to know better than attacking a referee!" she pressed her lips into a thin line, shaking her head when Hufflepuff scored. Albus watched her disdain with some amusement.

"Careful. People will start to accuse you of favoritism as well," he said. Minerva scoffed.

"If a head of house can't root for their own team, then I don't know what," she said, prodding him in the arm. Albus laughed. Thus far, the game appeared to be going quite well- though Severus had just awarded Hufflepuff another penalty. For what, Albus could not discern. He exhaled through his nose- some grudges never did change.

Not five minutes later, Minerva jumped out of her seat, grabbing Albus' arm and pointing up. He followed her gaze and stood rather quickly. Harry had just nose-dived towards the ground, presumably having seen the Snitch. Watching with bated breath, the two old friends could not help but cheer as the boy pulled out of the dive, hand extended triumphantly- the game was over. Gryffindor had won.

And what a triumph it was. The stadium erupted with a deafening roar. The students spilled onto the field, swarming Harry like a hoard of bees- Minerva included in their number. Albus descended the stairs a little more slowly, allowing the students to savor the moment. But he did still make his way through the euphoric crowd, approaching Harry's side.

"Well done," Albus said quietly, clapping his hand upon Harry's shoulder. The boy looked up, clearly startled, but grinning from ear to ear. Albus felt something in his chest lurch. Merlin's beard…he bent low so only Harry could hear him.

"Nice to see you haven't been brooding about that mirror," he whispered with a knowing look. "Been keeping busy…excellent..."

At that moment Harry was swept away from him, pulled into the throng once again. Albus let his hand fall away from the boy's shoulder. This was right. This was good. And yet, not for the first time, Albus was terribly concerned at what the growing sense of pride he felt might mean.

He's only eleven.

That night Albus found himself awake long past moonrise, pacing back and forth in his study. Hands clasped behind his back, nothing but the light of a slowly dying fire illuminating the room. The only sound was the crackling of the flames, and the occasional plaintive cry from the brilliantly plumed phoenix sitting upon a golden stand in the corner. Albus glanced at it, but chose not to address him. Fawkes, while far more intelligent that most would give credit for, did not have the answers Albus sought.

Harry Potter was quickly becoming a problem. Albus turned away from the phoenix, his gaze now trained upon a stone basin which sat in the corner of the room. A reminder, perhaps, was what he needed now…Albus drew the Pensieve out, setting it upon his desk. He prodded it with his wand, and its contents seemed to spring to life. An eerie blue glow emanated from the swirling memories within.

"No, no," he muttered, sifting through them with the tip of his wand. "Ah…there." With one last prod, he stepped back. A figure rose from the basin, silvery and gossamer. Her beady eyes were hidden behind large spectacles, and her long dark curls were hidden beneath her many shawls. When she spoke, it was with a harsh, raspy voice.

"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 will mark him as his equal, for he will have powers 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 will be born as the seventh month dies…"

As quickly as she had appeared, she disappeared into the mist. Albus heaved a great sigh- hearing it again gave him no joy. It was the penultimate line that gave him such trouble. Neither can live while the other survives…it was quite an obvious thing, yet so complex. Albus' brow furrowed. No matter how he puzzled at it, he simply could not grasp it.

The night Harry Potter lived, something had happened. Something terrible, something which had doomed the poor boy to the life Albus knew he must soon be condemned. The Dark Lord will mark him as his equal…but what did it mean?

The mystery of how Harry had lived while Lord Voldemort was left broken, a mere shell of his former self, had eluded all wizardkind the last ten years. None would blame Albus for being unable to solve it. Yet still it was obvious what must occur for Voldemort to be defeated at last.

This was what plagued him most. The boy had a death sentence written upon his brow as clear as his scar. He had from the day these words had been uttered, from the moment they had been overheard. That meant Albus' way forward was equally as clear- he must prepare Harry for this. He must tell him the terrible truth, must groom him for the battle and the sacrifice that must be made.

For the greater good.

Such horrible words.

Yet it was not the task at hand that made it all so difficult. A difficult task it may be, particularly when so many variables were yet unknown- but it was possible. That hope was still alive, that the world might be spared a second time.

No, what made it so taxing was the boy himself. It was his bright smile, his charming demeanor. It was the look of joy in his eyes as he held up the Golden Snitch. It was the way he laughed with his friends, and the way he trusted so completely, so implicitly, that this world was the salvation from the life he'd known before.

This innocent, happy child…how could Albus bear to destroy him?

He would be put to the test much sooner than he had realized.

"Harry's gone after him, hasn't he?"

Two frightened young children nodded up at him- one clearly injured, the other white-faced and drawn. He had rushed off to the third floor.

The boy lay upon the hospital bed, peaceful in still. There was a cut upon his face, running from his temple down to the bridge of his nose. His hands lay unmoving, bandaged from where they had been injured.

He sped past the barriers guarding the Stone, bypassing the charms and spells as if they were not there at all. Just a little further, a little further…at the door of the last chamber, he could hear the struggle on the other side.

The door burst open, and the sight was more terrible than Albus had imagined. The disfigured shape of his own Professor Quirrell writhed upon the ground- two faces upon his head, one screaming "KILL HIM, KILL HIM!", the other covered in blisters and shrieking in pain. Quirrell's hands wrapped around Harry Potter's neck, struggling to pull him off. Harry's hands were pressed against Quirrell's face, the source of the blisters.

Albus lunged forward without thought- "Harry, Harry!" He wrenched the boy free, and brandished his wand. Quirrell was blasted backwards. His head hitting the wall with a sickening thud. But the damage had already been done- the man would die, not from a head wound, but from the burns peppering his face.

Behind him, Harry fainted.

For an entire year, the disembodied form of Lord Voldemort had resided in these very walls. And he, he the protector, the guardian, the Headmaster- had been ignorant of it. Though how could anyone have known? To look at Quirinius Quirrell was to underestimate him. Albus could concede it- he'd fallen into the same trap. When old Nicholas Flamel had warned him of the rumblings from Albania, that what remained of Voldemort's supporters were interested in the Philosopher's Stone- it had only seemed wise to protect it at Hogwarts.

Under the nose of Albus Dumbledore, no one would dare to try to steal it.

A foolish oversight, one easily made by those with power. Albus had never dared to dream that Voldemort was gone for good, but he had also never believed it possible that he might infiltrate the school. Never, not once during the first war, had Hogwarts ever been targeted.

Would this lesson never be learned?

Albus sank to his knees next to the boy, feeling for signs of life- the breath, a heartbeat, anything. He found it by pressing his fingers against Harry's next and heaved a great sigh of relief. Harry was alive. But only for now- he was a white as a sheet, his breathing shallow and labored.

Albus pulled Harry into his arms, his bones creaking as he struggled to his feet. There was no time to think of anything else, however, as he rushed back through the many chambers and passageways up to the third-floor corridor.

The only thought in his head was that Harry must live. He must live.

Three days had passed. Harry had survived this encounter. He was weak, and likely to be sore for some time- but he would indeed live. Over the course of those three days, Albus' fear had transformed to something else.

He was proud, intensely proud, of what Harry had accomplished. A boy of eleven had faced down the most feared wizard of all time, and come out victorious. Most grown wizards could not say as much. Albus stared down at him now, seemingly so weak and small in his hospital bed, and an enormous affection bubbled up within him.

Harry's eyes flickered open, and the first trial began.

He failed it.