It started, as so many things do, with the best of intentions. It was early days, before they recognized the looming shadow of war. Even he, the greatest wizard of his Age, was just beginning to connect the dots between the rash of muggle-baitings and the odd rumor of a new Dark Lord. There was so little information, so many unknowns and the name Voldemort was only a hushed whisper in the night. That was when they still thought in terms of crimes and victims and not battles and casualties. He couldn't even say that the inspiration was all his own.
He had been called away from Hogwarts again to consult. As Chief Warlock he was naturally kept informed on any crimes that could be brought before the Wizengamot and he had made good use of that position to gather pieces of the puzzle on this new threat. Unfortunately, the picture they were beginning to form seemed to be truly dark. The previous times he had directly questioned victims it had been hours after the crime and the victims had been safely ensconced in a bed at St Mungo's. Of course they would answer any questions from the headmaster; if nothing else his former students would trust him in such dire circumstances. Those interviews were shockingly similar to those he often held in the Hogwarts infirmary, gently teasing information out of the victims as their healers flittered about administering potions to calm and ease pain. As necessary he would use the gentlest brush of legilimency just to confirm that they were being truthful, just as he had done as the headmaster to ensure the correct miscreants were punished. True the injuries were more significant and the circumstance much worse than some teenage pranking or a corridor curse, but as Poppy often told him he let the professional deal with that.
This time was different. He had apparated directly to the house, tucked back near the woods on the edge of a muggle village. They had missed the perpetrators by just minutes, maybe even scared them away with the sharp crack of the auror response team apparating to the site, alerted by the use of unforgivables. It was clearly a muggle household and he could hear the aurors to the side arguing how to handle this. He could clearly hear one young fellow arguing against the standard obliviation as needlessly cruel, leaving the survivor with so many unanswerable questions. Just inside the front door two of the inhabitants lay dead, their faces locked in a final expression of agony. Walking further inside he could smell the air hanging heavy with the sharp tang of iron and fear. Towards the back of the ransacked home crowded a few aurors and a healer. Stepping into the room he caught his first glimpse of the lone survivor his heart broke in a way he no longer thought it capable, not after his experiences in war and that final confrontation, that final betrayal of Gellert.
She was so young and so clearly broken. She had received basic medical care, but he could clearly see the blood on her face and hands, just beginning to crack and flake off as it dried and the trembling of her limbs from shock and lingering pain. He could but pity her with her world colliding so violently with the ugliest aspect of his own. Approaching as close as he dared he began his questions. Did she see any faces? Hear any names? She was huddled into herself, practically catatonic with a blank stare with hardly a blink. Looking at her, he felt reluctant to use his full skills to obtain the needed information. Legilimency was a possibility, but in her non-responsive state he would have to push hard for answers and that just seemed one violation too many on this horrible night. However, he desperately needed to know what she knew. The few surviving witnesses in previous crimes could only remember black cloaks and white masks or mocking cruel laughter, but nothing they could track down. Whoever was behind this spate of attacks may have been more careless in front of her, after all what could a muggle do? Sighing deeply, he unconsciously followed her unseeing gaze. Lying on the ground was a plastic bag of some muggle sweets, yellow hard candies scattered from its torn packaging. Out of curiosity he reached for the bag still half full and glancing at the girl he had a sudden inspiration. Delicately drawing out one of the sweets he whispered a few spells under his breath, one finger resting on his wand. Reading the label on the package, "Sherbet lemon?" he asked. In a seemingly automatic response, she slowly reached for it and placed it on her tongue. Almost immediately her shoulders relaxed as the calming, pain relief and soothing spells took effect and for the first time her gaze flicked up to meet his. Again he asked his questions and this time she haltingly answered. He was right; they were more careless in a muggle household. He had his first confirmation. The name Voldemort had been spoken. Thanking her he stood and walked to the lead auror on the scene, advising him of some additional detection spells to cast based on her account. He turned back to her in time to see the ministry obliviator finish his spells and her eyes glaze over. Would that he could make himself forget this night so easily. Stepping outside, he took a deep breath of the air, marveling at its freshness compared to the tainted air inside. A crinkling noise caused him to look down. Still clutched in his hand was the package of sweets. His lips pursed in a half grimace, half sad smile and he twisted the bag closed and tucked it into his travelling cloak. The girl may have the benefit of forgetting this night, but he would remember. He must return to Hogwarts to consult his pensieve. Tonight's answers may finally clear up some this murky situation. Without further ado, he apparated away.
That would have been the end of it, and if he could have predicted what all it would bring it certainly would have been, but the next night he was again apparating to the site of another muggle attack. He had barely slept, but he knew he was close to uncovering the true source behind all this. He didn't even mean to, but when he looked into tear stained faces of the two muggle boys, newly orphaned that night, and desperately clinging to each other, his hand moved of its own volition to his traveling cloak pocket and he found himself offering them the muggle sweet he had acquired the previous night, whispering the same incantations under his breath. When he returned to Hogwarts later and once again set his pensieve to stirring, incorporating the new facts he had gathered, he sat at his desk contemplating the muggle sweet. Well, he wasn't the greatest alchemist in a century for nothing. In less time than one might imagine he had concocted an improved version of the muggle sherbet lemon. It looked and tasted the same as the original candy, but subtly laced with a calming draught, a minor pain relief potion and just a touch of the draught of peace. Staring down at his latest creation in his palm, Dumbledore sadly smiled, it was a sad day when something like this was necessary. He feared this was just the beginning.
His fears, unfortunately, proved correct. He lost count of the number of attacks. He had taken to always carrying a bag of his custom sherbet lemon drops with him everywhere. He did garner some funny looks from witches and wizards when they were offered one, but when he easily sampled one first, they willingly took one as well and the ease of subsequent interviews more than proved their worth. The drops were truly soothing and he had taken to taking one on his own when Wizengamot sessions or meetings with the Hogwarts board grew onerous. He had modified them a few times, once unsuccessfully adding a mild truth serum that proved to reduce the benefit of the calming draught. When the auror response teams began actually making arrests, he even added a slight trust potion to the mix, keyed to him of course. This proved a great boon in opening up the hostile death eaters and they willingly ate the candy when he ate one himself. Not that it would be enough to truly make someone trust him who did not already, the slight dose in one drop would never accomplish that. He did not find it ethical to force someone against their will, he often stood against the forced used of veritaserum in the Wizengamot, but as he was already the trusted professor or headmaster for almost the entire magical population of Britain, one drop was often enough to make the perpetrators more forth coming than they would otherwise be.
He was always careful with his sherbet lemons, thoroughly testing each strengthened formula so that they were safe and would do the greatest good. He made them to alleviate pain and make difficult interviews easier, not to control people. After all, he enjoyed snacking on them too and he would never intentionally harm his fellow man and certainly not himself. With the stress of Hogwarts, the Wizengamot, and the ICW as well as the escalating situation throughout Britain who deserved a calming and peace inducing sweet more than him and if he could trust himself who could he? What could it hurt?
Albus Dumbledore looked at the young man before him. His face was battered and he could see the tell-tale quivering in his limbs, a symptom of Cruciatus exposure. It was clear that life as a Death Eater had failed to live up to the hype and he clearly regretted his choice. Here was the proof that he needed. Given time and opportunity the rebellious elements of society would repent their violent ways and willingly return to the light. He felt vindicated for his support to restricting ministry response in this war to non-lethal and minimally intrusive methods. He just needed some insight into their methods to bring them back and now he would have his own agent inside their camp. It was the beginning of the end for Voldemort he could feel it. He was glad he trusted his instincts. Pulling a bag from his pocket, he popped a sweet in his mouth, the sweet taste of lemon the perfect complement to the sweet feeling of vindication.
"Sherbet lemon, Severus?"
"The Fidelius, Professor? Are you sure that is our best option? It just seems so risky to rely on one charm, no matter how much we trust our secret keeper." Lily Potter looked nervous as she rocked her young son.
James comfortingly rubbed her back. "It's not that we doubt you, but won't we be safer at my family's home? It may not be the most convenient of places, but the protections on that place are ancient. Voldemort would think twice before coming at us there."
"It is that reliance on such protections that I fear. I can't forget our early failure to protect the Bones family. If the youngest two children were not at Hogwarts at the time, the entire family would have been wiped out in one attack. The wards on their home were just as established as any I have seen and it was not enough to protect them."
James and Lily looked at each other, silently communicating with their eyes.
"Trust me; I will do all I can to keep you and your son safe." Dumbledore continued with a genial smile, "Sherbet lemon?"
Appearing suddenly on the quite suburb street, Dumbledore calmly extinguished the surrounding lamps. No need to draw unnecessary attention, especially now that the war was all but over. Looking back on the events that led to this night, he could not fault himself for convincing the Potters to use the Fidelius Charm, even if it failed them in the end. He trusted his decision and what had happened had been for the best. He trusted that Severus had done all that he could too. Their son had survived, somewhat miraculously, but that seemed to further justify his decisions. He was right when he surmised several months ago that the end for Voldemort was near. The final denouement still puzzled him and there were still some questions to be answered. His monitors on Godric's Hallow clearly showed the use of three killing curses as well as some unknown magical spike at the end. Clearly, Lily Potter had tapped untold resources to protect her son. He would never underestimate the power of a mother's love again. It was that power that he would soon trust the young Mr. Potter too. It wouldn't surprise him if powerful blood wards automatically formed around the boy's new home just by dwelling with one who shared the blood of his mother. Sucking on his favorite sweet, he was more certain of his conclusion the more he thought on it. Yes, this was the best place for Harry, hidden from both his enemies and over-adoring fans. This was for the greater good. He was calm and confident in his decision, trusting that he was making the right choice.
"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall. Sherbet lemon?"
"Are we certain? I mean Black was so close to the Potters, they idea of that level of betrayal . . ."
"I understand, but it is quite certain. He was caught laughing, wand in hand, just after murdering Peter Pettigrew. It is not commonly known, but the Potters were under a Fidelius. I think we can all agree that they would have chosen Sirius Black as their Secret Keeper and I know he was at the Potter's home on the night of their murder. I do not see any room for doubt. Sherbet lemon, Minister?"
"Yes, thank you." Sighing she leant back in her chair, "I don't know how much more we can take. I thought the Longbottoms would be the worst of it, but this." She sighed again, "With every trial, it seems our society falls apart just a little more."
Dumbledore nodded his agreement, picking out his own candy from the dish on his desk. Voldemort was gone, but it seemed he was still able to cause damage. There had already been enough death and destruction. Black's trial would just be one more wound and the last thing the public needed was yet another example of how Voldemort should be feared. Now was a time for healing.
"It all seems so pointless. We know he did it. Maybe we should just chuck the filth straight into Azkaban."
Pausing in thought, Dumbledore stated, "Maybe we should." He knew Black was guilty. He could see no other option, not with him being secret keeper, killing poor Peter and Hagrid himself saw him that night in Godric's Hallow. There was nothing a trial could do to change any of those facts. He knew that. "Yes, it may be that his trial will do more harm than good."
"You're right, as always Headmaster. No more trials."
"No more trials. It is time we moved forward." Nodding, in finality, Dumbledore took another sweet from the candy dish enjoying the sour tang. Yes, he was certain. It was time everyone moved on. "Another sherbet lemon, Minister Bagnold?"
Harry Potter was coming to Hogwarts. Ten years of questions would be answered soon. He knew he had made the correct decision to place the boy with his aunt and uncle, regardless if he may face some . . . unpleasantness . . . there. The furor over the so-called Boy Who Lived was still going strong even a decade later. It was for the best that he had grown up ignorant of all that mess. He hadn't failed to note the strange way Professor Quirrell had been acting since his return from his sabbatical. He was the headmaster; of course he knew the details of his staff. Soon all his pieces would be on the board and the end game would begin. It was all coming together. Calm and confident, Dumbledore strode through the halls of Hogwarts. Even his conversation with Nicholas had gone just as he predicted and soon he would have the final bait he needed. Nicholas even took an interested in his sherbet lemons although he voiced some unnecessary concerns about cumulative effect. Dumbledore had thoroughly enjoyed expounding on his alchemical process. It wasn't often that he was able to discuss his work with a peer. He knew so few that could speak at his level and fewer still that he trusted, not like he could trust himself. Things could not be going better. Smiling, Dumbledore popped another one of his ever present drops into his mouth. Enjoying its sweet tang his step acquired an additional bounce. More confident in his decisions than ever, Dumbledore set out toward the third floor. His decisions were right, the plan would go perfectly, just as he had come to expect.