Disclaimer: I don't own anything like the Harry Potter universe. Dammit.

I don't own much of anything at all… WAAAAH!

Dumbledore Trips over a Solution;

Or OOOPSY.

Albus Dumbledore was in a quandary. Just the previous evening he'd been involved in an employment interview with an applicant for the Divination post. This was not a normal event for him, he had planned upon explaining to the woman that the entire course was to be scrapped, only allowing for students that showed an aptitude obtaining personal instruction by much more prolific seers than the young woman.

However, he did feel he owed it to Sybil, since she was a descendant of Cassandra. Even if she hadn't had any properly determined visions to date. In fact, he had just opened his mouth to inform her of the new school curriculum when she dropped into a daze and spoke with a deep and ethereal voice giving what he could only believe was a real prophecy.

'Drat the luck!' he steamed in his mind as the statement was made. 'Most unfortunate. Alas, I am the only one that will be able to remember it. The magic won't allow poor simple Sybil to recall her utterance. It's only bad luck that young Severus overheard the first part of it.' Nodding his head to himself at the memory of hearing his brother oust the deluded boy.

For now Albus was determining what he should do about the prophecy he had been given. He'd already concluded that there would only be two children that the lines could apply too. And both were yet unborn, therefore, the seventh month part of the prophecy. 'Two young families that may be impacted terribly by Tom and his evil vendetta.'

Staring through his window from the Headmasters Office located in the secondary minaret of the North Tower, Albus thought deeply upon this conundrum. 'There must be a way to use the prophecy that won't endanger anymore youth of the Wizarding World. The Greater Good requires that I find a solution. Sybil's vision clearly speaks of a hero that would be powerful enough to defeat Tom… perhaps it is time for some research into working around prophecy.'

Coughing in agreement with himself, the Headmaster climbed the spiral stairs to his personal library and began researching the problem. The next week saw many books discarded with minor disgust and a grunted, 'No help there.'

The following week showed a bit more promise of result when he, quite unexpected, found an old tome of Runes located on a shelf dedicated to magical theory. Thumbing through the book, he found that Armando Dippet had been mad about other universes and written many annotations in the extremely advanced Runes textbook. That was when Albus had the remarkable idea of summoning a hero from another world to help with the war against Tom and his Death Eaters.

If he failed, he would only be out the ingredients and materials used for the ritual. But if he succeeded… well, the Wizarding World could truly become that Utopia he had long dreamed of.

He set about collecting the needed scrolls and books of Arithmancy, Runes and advanced Ritual Design and began to craft the new Ritual and design the Runic Array that would be employed during the procedure. He spent many an hour for the following weeks as the school year wound down, designing array and calculating the power requirements. Free moments were spent enchanting the objects that would be used or waiting for delivery of the twenty-four dragon blood candles. Two days were spent in imbuing the twelve crystals with re'em blood. Ten thousand galleons spent on obtaining the single basilisk fang he could locate.

Ten days spent waiting for the ingredient collector to bring him the toenail of a virgin giantess. He expended favors owed to him in collecting dragon tears, the hair of an unborn mermaid, the dying breath of an ancient vampire and the nostril hair of a Chinese Fireball. The fortune he'd spent on the basilisk fang was nothing compared to the fortune in gold and political capitol that he spent in obtaining mummified lethifold skin, the bile of a boggart and the scalp of a redcap.

It took until the very last day of the school year before all the material had been gathered, and his calculations weren't complete as yet. He gave all the staff the entire summer off so that he could work in solitude and not worry of interruptions. The month of July was spent with the preparations for the ritual, even as he finished his final calculations and designing the Runic Array.

He had reasoned that a wizard powerful enough to defeat Tom would require tremendous amount of power to summon, so he determined to use the mana tap of the Ward stones of Hogwarts to power the Ritual. His own magic would be used in directing the search part of the enchantment, while the power of Hogwarts would bring the wizard to his realm. And rather than corrupt the Runes needed by carving them with the most powerful wand in existence, Albus opted to carve them by hand in the floor of the Great Hall.

Moving the student tables out of the way and stacking the majority to the side under the Slytherin banners, and sliding the few that wouldn't fit there to the Gryphindor side, the ancient wizard conjured knee pads and knelt on the floor and began the layout of the Array. Six days it took him to outline what he could carve out with the waxy chalk staining his fingers and robes. Meals and short naps the only time he took any break from his work. After the terribly intricate runes had been marked out he transfigured scaffolding that he might lie down and carve the surface of the stone into the shapes of the Runes. Twelve days he worked on this aspect of the plan to save his world.

Once the runes were carved, he carefully tested each to ensure they would perform as they had been designed to. Then he set about constructing the stands that would hold the crystals, standard candle holders were all that were required for the dragon blood candles. The other ingredients were systematically ground and mixed into a thick paste to fill each of the Runes to increase the intent of the Ritual. Finally, on July 31, at one in the morning, he was finished with the easy part of the task.

Yes, all that labor was the easy part to his mind. Performing the Ritual would be tremendously draining upon his magical core. He partook of a large meal and then slept until time to begin the Ritual. He planned to complete the Ritual at Midnight exactly, the time when the magic would be most powerful in relation to the Hero he intended to call. The Prophecy did say as the seventh month dies.

It would be a lengthy four hours of chanting that evening and he had to begin the Ritual at precisely eight o'clock if he intended to complete it at Midnight. So he slept until he absolutely had to get up, to be certain that he was fully rested. Once he woke he had another large meal aided with strengthening draught. He also drank a specialty potion invented for orators that would improve the stamina of his speech for the full four hours.

It was a simple potion that didn't even have a name it was so ubiquitous. He was sure that he was not the only political figure to use it. Once all his preparations were complete, Albus took his position in the enchanter's circle of the Array and waited for the clock to strike eight. He had placed a timed silencing charm upon the clock to chime that hour and strike the Midnight hour, all the hours between being muffled by magic so he couldn't be disturbed by them.

Promptly, as the final reverberations of the final toll sounded, Albus began to chant, 'Tu'Gro, pheal benit colume sypphael 'kIslkar kirit nom hkeskary goneth t'Allem tol…' The language so old even when the muggles first began their earliest civilizations in recorded history it was ancient. On through the evening he chanted the phrases of Summoning, opening a portal into his world to bring a hero.

Albus was old still, at nearly one hundred and thirty, and the Ritual still took a tremendous toll on him, straining his core as the search through the universes went out. As massive as his core was, his vision swam with the effort and the sweat of the concentration dripped from his brow and into his beard. He hair became lank with the moisture, his muscles protested the extended period of standing in one place, gesturing with his hands, shaping the magic. His bones felt the vibration of the magic as it hummed into the room he performed the summoning in.

Eventually, as with all things, the time came for the end of the Ritual, he shouted the last word of power to complete the chant with the beginning of the toll of midnight. BONG… his sight grew narrowed into a tunnel… BONG… the last word of his chant echoed throughout the empty castle… BONG… a glow began to swell in the center of the array… BONG… the glow became brighter, cycling through the rainbow and into colors never seen by man or wizard… BONG… ambient sound inverted and turned upside down… BONG… the candles around the rim of the array gave off brighter light that tasted like vanilla and old sandals… BONG… the crystals hummed like blinding Jell-O… BONG… Albus hearing became blind and his vision grew deaf… BONG… his beard became stuck to the roof of his mouth while his tongue wrapped around his knees… BONG… his feet felt as if they would buckle and his boots felt tight at his waist… BONG… Albus knew he could stay upright on his elbows for much longer and tried to keep his wrists straight… BONG… a great feeling of water rushing through one ear and out the other and he passed out.

o0O0o

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore woke to the smell of a grand breakfast feast and the sounds of many pieces of flatware. He groaned as he began to stir. Shortly he felt the welcomed hands of assistance helping him to sit up.

Casting his gaze around the Great Hall, Albus saw that the majority of the tables for students had been left where he had placed them. But under the Gryphindor banners, those tables were where they belonged. And the benches were filled from one end to the other, both sides. The piles of food being eaten by an enormous number of individuals that all shared remarkable resemblance to one another. Painfully turning his head to face the Head table he could see the staff chairs also filled, his own throne like seat occupied by a man barely a hundred years old. But these people also shared that same remarkable resemblance to the others he had already seen.

There were a dozen or so black haired girls, or redheaded ones. The vast majority of the people Albus could see had black hair, but all of them had emerald green eyes. And all of them were looking at him. As it was noticed that he had woken, the sounds of eating tapered into silence. When all was still the man in Albus chair spoke, "Well, you manipulative old fossil. It looks like you really over stepped your bounds here."

"You seem to have me at an advantage sir, You appear to be James Potter… but he does not have green eyes." Albus stated.

"No. No he doesn't, or didn't as the case may be," admitted the oldest man the Headmaster could see. Gesturing around the room for Albus to look and possibly understand, "We are Harry James Potter. And those of us who are old enough to have defeated our Tom Riddle have a few questions for you Albus. Not the least of which is, why aren't you dead? As well as, what are you going to do about the worlds that you've left defenseless against Tom? And, why shouldn't we kill you for your hubris? "

"Oh dear!" the enormity of his desire for the Greater Good finally coming to clear focus to his mind, the condemnation of possibly billions to the less than tender mercies of a plethora of Voldemorts on other worlds screaming his own guilt in his ears.

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A/N… weird idea about Albus actually attempting to do something and going overboard. Rather than allow events to occur and manipulate them afterward to create his sacrificial lamb. The idea would be here that Albus performed the summoning in a place that used too much power and drew more than was asked for to his world. All of them the same person, but variations of a theme, from not quite eleven to already old and wise in the way of the world and having thought about what had been done to him.

Each Harry would be from a different world, some of which hadn't been able to face their individual Tom and destroy him yet. All because Dumbledore was too goody-goody to do what was actually right and get his hands dirty. I hope you liked it.

Garret Evans and the Wizard of Idiom will be continued, my new concrete formers have finally gotten here and I will be able to cast the next slab to carve on soon.

Gseven