Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I'd live in a much nicer house than I currently do. Also, I'd probably have had a more exciting vacation this Christmas.

Headmaster's Office

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Evening of 4th June 1996

"Albus Dumbledore. Have you any idea the damage you've caused?" The words, delivered in a flat, chilling tone entirely foreign to the young man behind him, sent shivers down Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Grand Sorcerer, Order of Merlin, 1st Class, etc.'s spine. Turning slowly to face Harry Potter, he was struck first by the calm, collected posture of the young man – boy, really – who had merely minutes ago faced Lord Voldemort. It was a position Dumbledore recognized from Auror training manuals, one that allowed its user to draw his wand or dodge an incoming spell in a split second, one that minimized reaction time – One that should have been absent from Harry Potter's repertoire.

He was struck second by the disgust and hatred warring for the premier position in Harry's eyes. Those emerald orbs, usually so open and friendly, were now narrowed in a gaze that threatened to strip the flesh from Dumbledore's bones.

"I beg your pardon, Harry?" The Headmaster's grandfatherly tone concealed his growing unease.

"I said, have you an idea the damage you've caused, directly and indirectly, by refusing to accept the ramifications of your precious Prophecy? Can you conceive of the suffering at your feet, the blood on your hands, present and future?"

"I confess to an uncomfortable degree of puzzlement, Harry. I do not entirely catch your drift, and the style you've adopted seems more in character with the young Miss Granger than yourself."

"No, I don't suppose you'd understand at first, would you? But you will by the end, I believe." And with those cryptic words, Harry crossed to a cabinet and pulled out the Pensieve Dumbledore kept there. Shocked by the breach of courtesy, Dumbledore watched numbly as his student spun a silvery thread of memory from his temple, placing it in the stone basin. "If you'd be so kind, Professor?" Harry almost spat the title at Dumbledore, as though he hated giving the man any form of respect. Dumbledore flicked his eyes between the Pensieve and the coldly furious young man beyond it… the Headmaster could almost swear he saw ice crystals on the floor around Harry's booted feet. Boots? He thought inanely. He wasn't wearing boots in the Ministry, I'm sure of it. Eventually, he nodded decisively and bent down to examine the memory.

The world was burning. Green flames, witchfire, Dumbledore suspected, advanced down a corridor in the Ministry – He thought he recognized the Auror Corps' headquarters – setting the very stone aflame. More magical infernos burned inside the offices, the doorways limned in the hellish light. At the end of the corridor, a squad of grim-faced Aurors guarded a group of Ministry workers trying desperately to pierce the anti-Apparition wards the attackers had set up. Turning, Dumbledore got his first look at those same attacking forces.

There, striding down the Ministry hallway without a care in the world, was Lord Voldemort. His snakelike visage was twisted into a cruel sneer and the wand in his hand sent spell after spell into the backs of fleeing civilians. Here and there, pockets of Auror robes signified resistance, but groups of Death Eaters swarmed over and around them like a great river sweeping away pebbles. The constant spellfire gave Voldemort's inhuman features an unholy cast, as though he'd left what little humanity remained to him behind and traded it for demonic power.

Which, judging by the ease with which he despatched target after target, might not be far from the the last of the Aurors protecting the cursebreakers fell, his spine crushed to powder, a Death Eater appeared at Voldemort's elbow.

"My Lord." A short bow, and the man straightened back up, smiling thinly beneath his turned, a triumphant smirk on his face.

"Ah, Lucius. How goes the fight?"

"The Ministry is yours, Lord, and with it Britain."

Dumbledore missed Voldemort's reply, so shocked was he. How had Voldemort defeated the massed forces of the Ministry and the Order?

"There is, however, one slight problem." The Death Eater – Lucius Malfoy, Dumbledore supposed – said with a small frown.

"Lucius, not even the return of that fool Dumbledore could spoil my mood today. What is it?"

"You won't get to enjoy your victory long." And with that, Malfoy removed his mask just as the last of the Polyjuice faded, the sneering face of the Pureblood lord replaced by the haunted, war-weary features of Harry Potter. He brought up his wand and said quietly, almost sadly, "Avada Kedavra." Lord Voldemort fell to the floor, a look of surprise frozen on his reptilian turned and touched a Portkey hanging from his neck. The Boy-Who-Lived vanished just as the first Death Eater curse reached his position.

Abrubtly, the scene shifted. No longer was the Ministry burning around Dumbledore. Instead, he stood in a tomb, observing the shrouded bodies of three people. The bodies lay on marble slabs in a dark room, with corridors – tunnels? Dumbledore had no idea where this scene was taking place. – branching off in all directions. Harry Potter flashed into existence near the middle slab. He fell to his knees, head bowed, eyes closed. His voice was barely a whisper, but Dumbledore caught the words even so.

"It's not over. Voldemort's gone, but so's everyone else. So are you, so are they, so's everyone else here. I'm sick, Gin, sick in mind and body. I failed. Everything I've ever cared for, everyone I've ever loved…

"No excuses. If I'd trained harder, if the DA'd had some real discipline the last two years, if I'd just been there for you all…" A single sob, shockingly loud in the quiet grave.

"Damn him, Gin. Voldemort killed you, and our family, and all the others, but he let it happen. Dumbledore and his damned "Greater Good," his precious sentimentality, his cursed unshakable belief in his own omniscience let him. We wasted six years, Gin. In three I learned enough to fight Voldemort to a standstill. In six I could have killed him before you died. I could have saved everyone. I'd do anything to have you hear, love. I'd give anything. Anything." More sobs. Dumbledore's face bore an expression of horror as he realized just what his insistence that Harry Potter have a normal childhood had done. Minerva had been right after all. Raised by Muggles, left to his own devices at Hogwarts,left unprepared for his destiny… Dumbledore had ignored the Prophecy he'd put so much faith in.

"We hear you, young one…" Harry's head snapped up, eyes narrowing as his wand rose to point in the direction of the sound.

"We hear the pain, we see the anguish, we feel the loss…" Both Dumbledore and Harry spun in a different direction, fear evident on both their faces.

"We remember the future and predict the past. We guess at the present and discover the last."

"Last of what?" Harry demanded, his wand now sending a beam of light into the pressing darkness.

"The last cause in the chain. The vergence between Fate and accident. We can help you." From the black tunnel to Harry's right, three black-robed figures walked. They halted on the opposite side of the marble slabs, the middle one resting a gloved hand on the smooth stone.

"Anything for them." Harry whispered, gripping his wand tightly.

"Good." And with that, the three ominous figures each raised a hand, their robes falling back to reveal gleaming white bone beneath the gloves. A wave of indescribably power flowed from them, and Dumbledore was ejected from the Pensieve.

He came to on the floor, while Harry perched on his desk and regarded him with a cold expression. Dumbledore licked his dry lips, pulling himself into a sitting position.

"What… what…" He gave up. The images flying through his mind were too incredible for words.

"That is the question, isn't it? What happened, and why, and when, and where. All the usual. Allow me to start from the begginning of my time in this reality. It won't take long, as I arrived about fifteen minutes ago. Odd, really… I told the Darkness I wanted to appear in first year."

"The Darkness?"

"All in good time, Professor, all in good time. Now, consider. The three skeletons in my closet… tomb, rather, were not quite normal. They sent me back to try again. You see, I couldn't live with myself in that reality. You didn't see the full extend of the war," but I did, said the icy emerald eyes, "so you can't fully appreciate the level of carnage you were indirectly responsible for. Hogwarts attacked, all the remaining students dead, – All of them, Dumbledore, hundreds of children tortured and killed – the Muggles dying in their tens of thousands, Dementors loose, vampires feeding on the streets of Hogsmeade, Death Eaters parading in full daylight across the ruins of the castle… You saw the tomb memory." Dumbledore nodded dumbly.

"They offered me a way out. A way to fix all my mistakes, and all of yours besides. A way to ensure that the deaths that have already happened are not followed by more. I took it.

"That's why and how I'm here. You've seen the where, and the when is now. Know that I will not tolerate interference from you or your Order in this. My friends will not die this time around, but my enemies, whoever they may be, will.

"That I promise you."