A/N: I own nothing of JK Rowling's magical world. Some of the lines toward the end are taken from Sorcerer's/Philosopher's Stone.

Refers quite often to Dumbledore's past learned about in Deathly Hallows.

I found it rather challenging and enjoyable to write about Albus Dumbledore

Hope you enjoy it!

The mirror was coming tomorrow. Albus knew that. And any fool, knowing it's function, would be expecting to see something more than their reflection. And he, being slightly more intelligent than the average fool, had prepared himself for what-or, more accurately put, who- would appear staring back at him tomorrow. He wouldn't become another victim of the mirror.

But then he saw her. He had been turning on his heel to leave, after setting the mirror down in the unused classroom, when he had the strange sensation of being watched. Slowly, he turned back around, and found himself staring once again into Ariana's eyes.

He had seen her many times in his dreams-well, nightmares, really-over the years. But even his subconscioushe twinkle in her eyes- so much like his, how her blonde hair had framed her youthful, content face so well…Indeed, even the most detailed of memories faded over time. Of course, the youthful, free-spirited child had been lost long before her death and replaced with a quieter, nervous, and unstable one. But here she was. Perfect. Unharmed.

And she wasn't alone. Albus himself was there-it was still his reflection. On Ariana's other side was Aberforth. He was younger. 15? 16? His hair was unruly, with that same rough edge he'd always had permeating from the mirror's surface. He seemed happier than Albus could ever remember him being. Aberforth smiled and put his arm around Ariana's shoulders. Behind him was a fine woman of grace and etiquette. Her long black hair was held in a bun on top of her head, like it always had been in life. But even her refined appearance couldn't hide the small smile dancing on her lips. Around her shoulders was the arm of a handsome, middle-aged man. His face was still full of happiness and light; his eyes wewre still twinkling, so much like Albus's. Azkaban had not yet made Percival Dumbledore the shadow of a man Albus had seen shortly before he died in that wretched prison.

Stop, Albus commanded himself. Look away. You prepared yourself for this.

Indeed he had. But he hadn't imagined it like this, like they were standing before him. His mental battle raged on.

It's a strange feeling when your find yourself doing the exact opposite of what you focus all of your willpower on doing. As Albus urged himself towards the door, he instead found himself in front of the mirror. His family (no the projections of your family, Albus, he told himself) smiled out at him. Everything blurred, but he didn't wipe away the tears. Instead, he let them cascade down his aged cheeks, and into his silver beard.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered.

In the mirror, Ariana reached out and grabbed his hand and squeezed it. Kendra placed a hand on his shoulder. But as more tears leaked from his eyes, Albus did not feel the consolation from his mother, or the warmth from a little girl's hand in his.

It was the sound of Peeves bouncing around a few floors below that snapped Albus to his senses. He looked around in wonder. How long had it been dark? Moonlight was now streaming through the windows of the classroom. It had been mid-afternoon when he had brought the mirror in. Standing up, (how long had he been on his knees?) he remembered all the things he needed to do. He needed to respond to Lucius Malfoy's owl questioning the way he ran the school (after the disastrous troll incident a week before during the Halloween feast), and assure him that the other governors didn't feel the same way as him. He needed to talk with Severus and remind him that Harry Potter was not his father. He needed to talk with Minerva about an intriguing article he had read in the latest issue of Transfiguration Today. He needed to use a modification of the 'Muffliato' incantation Severus had told him about on the third-floor corridor (a student had reported hearing scratching and growling noises when walking through the corridor a floor above). He needed to buy some new socks- and perhaps some of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum as well-from Hogsmeade. There were so many things he had to do, and yet here he was, engrossed in the very thing he had promised himself he would not fall prey to. The family in that mirror was not his family. Everyone in his family-except his brother, who didn't get along with him- was dead. And most of it was his fault. He vowed to never come back to that mirror again, until he had to enchant it to protect the stone. Albus was rarely a forceful man, but he wanted to throw something. He flicked his wand, and all the desks and chairs zoomed across the room and halted at the walls. Turning on his heel, he left the room for what he had hoped was the second to last time.

It wasn't, of course. He got his work done and was nearly his normal self. But come night time, he always found himself in that classroom. Every night he sat in front of that mirror, cross-legged like a small boy. He sat there for hours on end, just staring at them, taking in their smiling faces, his eyes never seeing enough of them. He began to wonder, had he not been so foolish, would Ariana still be alive today? Had he not been persuaded down the dark path with Gellert…would he still be on friendly terms with his brother? Would he receive owls from his sister, instead of, or accompanying, the angry parents of students? The idea consumed him.

One night, around mid December, he felt that there was another presence nearby. He stood up and walked out the door. There, slinking out from beneath a tapestry was Mrs. Norris. She turned, and, upon seeing Albus, meowed once and disappeared so fast that Albus had to question for a moment if she had been there at all.

Moments later, Argus Filch himself came bursting out of the same tapestry, wearing his old dressing gown and only one shoe. His eyes were popping and he held a lantern in front of himself.

"Who is it, my sweet? A student out of bed?" His voice grew with excitement, "Peeves?" he said, clearly hoping to catch the poltergeist in something worthy of his removal from the school. "Or…Oh! Headmaster!" Filch stooped his head slightly in a sort of bow.

"Good evening, Argus," Albus said calmly. Oh, how good he had gotten at wearing this composed façade. "I'm sorry to inform you that you came here on a false alarm. As you can see, I'm neither a child nor a poltergeist. I apologize for waking you, I was merely strolling through a corridors. A nighttime walk produces many of my-forgive me-more extraordinary ideas."

Filch seemed to be processing this. "So…no Peeves?" his voice sounded flat.

"I'm afraid not."

"I see. I'm terribly sorry, Headmaster. I'll…I'll be going now," he finished lamely. He bent over and picked up Mrs. Norris, stroking behind her ears. "Come on, my sweet…Good night, Headmaster," he added as he shuffled away.

"Good night, Mr. Filch."

Albus sighed. Was his life nothing but secrets and lies? How many more people would he have to lose, lie to or use in this deadly game he influenced, yet didn't understand himself?

After the encounter with Mr. Filch, Albus found that this did not stop his nighttime journeys to the mirror. However, hew as more cautious now. Before he left his office every night, he cast a Disillusionment Charm over himself. The charm was so powerful it rendered him almost completely invisible.

Truth be told, the mirror should have been moved to protect the stone weeks before, but Quirrell was still working on getting a mountain troll. He insisted on knowing the specifics of the other teachers' protections. Albus hadn't told him much, of course. Something had been off about Quirrell for a while now. He had told Severus to keep an eye on him, but Albus still had a creeping feeling that it wasn't enough. But it was, after all, just a feeling, and he thought he should not act on it more just yet. Regardless, Albus didn't mind the delay all that much-more time to spend with his family.

He told himself it was wrong, his nightly excursions to the mirror, he really did. But hadn't he proven long ago that his heart got in the way of his better judgment?

Christmas Eve, he told himself. Christmas Eve. That night he would also make sure the Cloak got to young Harry. Then two burdens of guilt would leave him that night.

As the days grew shorter and colder, the Christmas spirit about the castle gained in its momentum and sheer magnitude. Icicles dripped from every banister, the Great Hall had 12 trees dressed magnificently, and the suits of armor sang carols as you passed. Even Peeves sang Christmas carols-even if they were disgustingly re-written by the poltergeist himself. More and more snow accumulated so that when walking out in the grounds it felt as though you were-what are the words in that charming Muggle song? Albus thought- Ah, yes. "Walking in a winter wonderland."

Yet Albus wasn't wholly himself. Nightmares sometimes plagued his sleep, and the looming thought of the mirror was always at the back of his mind. It was a parasite; a drug. It reminded him of his worst mistakes, and continued to taunt him by reminding him of how little self control he had.

Time seemed to race forward in blurs until it was Christmas Eve night. A small weight had been lifted from Albus's shoulders. The Cloak was to be returned to it's proper family line. At least he had learned from his youth to not trust himself with a Hallow and search for them so greedily. And yet…he reached into the pocket of his roes and grasped the wand in there. He liked to think he used it for good, and he very well knew it could be used for so much worse. He shuddered at the thoughts and plans he and Gellert had once thought as 'for the Greater Good.' He had now come to realize that the two of them had been the greater cause Gellert had spoken of, not the Wizarding World. And the wand was the bluntest of the Hallows, the one won through conquest and destruction. It was the only one fitted for him. The Cloak was Harry's, and from all he knew of the boy so far, it wouldn't go to waste. Curiosity about the Cloak had caused him to borrow it. But what if Lily and James had still had the Cloak the night Voldemort attacked? Would they have survived? Was he, ultimately, responsible for their deaths as well? Well, aren't I just the on bringer of death? He thought.

After Ariana's death he had sworn to do better, and to change the world. It was his way of avenging her. To make the world a better place for the innocent like her. Perhaps he should take a more altruistic view about James and Lily's deaths as well and to make sure their son fulfills the very prophecy that caused their deaths. Voldemort had chosen who of the two boys would be his downfall, Albus would sure of that.

Remembering the job at hand, Albus walked to the door of his office and descended the spiral staircase. He tapped his wand on his head once and felt the familiar feeling of the Disillusionment Charm sweep over his body. Aged though his limbs might be, they still carried him forward swiftly and purposefully. He had gone so many times now it was almost second nature. He trod lightly, knowing that many of the students still at Hogwarts were awake; their anticipation for the next day was nearly tangible.

Soon he found himself standing in the classroom once more. To ordinary men, the task ahead would be a daunting one. But to Albus it was fun, and, not easy, but quite capable of being accomplished. It wasn't difficult and it wasn't simple. It was going to be time consuming, though. After all, it would certainly not take just one incantation. Stepping forward, he began moving his wand through the air like a conductor to his orchestra, chanting the incantation inside his head.

He was running; chasing. Albus ran until his lungs burned, and even then he still ran. He was chasing ghostly apparitions of his family, who were so tantalizingly close, but still out of reach. He had run through thick forests and grassy hillsides. The apparitions ran so fast they were almost gliding, and they sometimes hid behind trees or large rocks. All the while, Albus heard Aberforth's yells and Ariana's screams as she pleaded with her brothers to stop fighting with the strange man Albus was so often with. Finally, he burst out of a wood onto a Cliffside; and with one final scream and the small gasp she had made when she had fallen dead to the floor, Ariana and the rest of his family burst with a small pop. In a small explosion of feathers and light, four crows took flight towards the distant horizon. The ground beneath him began to crack and it shattered like glass until Albus was falling, falling, falling…

Albus woke with a start. It had just been another nightmare. Slowly he got up, the dream still infesting his mind. He strode across the room to the window where the sun rising in the morning sky could barely be made out through the clouds that muffled it. After a few silent, pensive moments he remembered the date, and turned back around to the foot of his bed, where a pile of Christmas parcels stood, asking to be opened. He returned to his bed and obliged their silent pleas.

Many newly received books later, Albus emerged from a hole in his office wall, a winding staircase behind him. As he stepped out into his office, a bookshelf slid back into its place, obscuring the entrance to his private quarters once more. Dumbledore wore festive robes of red and green. He strode to the window and Fawkes took flight from his perch by the window, soon becoming a small dash of scarlet over a canvas of white.

The day seemed to flash by in a blur of festivity and good spirits. Albus returned to his office, wearing a lovely bonnet atop his head and still chuckling from a joke Professor Sprout had told him at the feast. He decided to rest for a while and read one of the many books he had been given. Lifting a heavy, leather-bound book, he sat in his desk chair and carefully cracked it open. As he progressed further and further into the book, he found he couldn't recall what he had read so far; he hadn't absorbed the information at all.

You're moving the mirror tonight. Say goodbye to your family, you old fool. You're moving the mirror tonight…Over and over it ran through his mind, a sickening chant with no rhythm; no aim but to destroy.

When he couldn't stand the monotonous drone any longer, he rose again to his feet and strode to his office door, performed the Disillusionment Charm, and made his way once more to the empty classroom.

As he sat there and stared into the mirror's depths, he felt a strange sense of foreboding wash over him. The mirror was not going to its proper place protecting the stone that night, and he would not be the only one to gaze into it either. He couldn't explain this sudden revelation. He just knew. He heard a scream echo from what sounded like the library (incredible how the sound could travel so far), and remembered a book in the Restricted Section which shrieked upon opening.

Someone must be looking through the Restricted Section in the night's cover, Albus thought. Perhaps someone…cloaked.

A few minutes passed, and there were footsteps resounding through the hallways. Getting to his feet, Albus crept lightly towards the door with the agility of a man decades younger. Albus realized he had left the door ajar and saw dark figures speaking in low whispers. Argus Filch's greasy voice mingled with Severus Snape's. They spoke of someone wandering through the restricted Section, just as Albus had guessed. He felt a disturbance in the space by him, as though someone had just entered the door, though there was no one visible in sight. Then there was deep breathing and gasping from somewhere along the wall.

Hello, Harry, Albus thought, sitting down one of the desks crammed against the wall. Clasping his hands together and resting his chin on them in a pensive manner, he observed the approximate area where Harry stood, cloaked. There was a pattering of small footsteps against the stone floor before a terrified gasp, which told Albus that young Harry had looked into the mirror and seen far more than his own reflection

Curiosity filled his mind, leaving him incapable of any other thought. All else seemed trivial as other thoughts felt fuzzy as though his brain had become a nesting site for charming creatures The Quibbler called "wrackspurts." What, Albus wondered, does he see in the mirror? Will he discover its purpose? He tried to take on the mindset of an eleven-year old boy: still a child, yet not wanting to be one, and just grasping at the idea of being a teenager or an adult. When he was eleven, he had been imbued with a lust to learn and prove himself, to not simply be known as the son of the notorious Percival Dumbledore, butcherer of Muggles. Surely that was what Harry dreamed of as well? The young Potter already had a name carved for himself, as stories of him were told before he was old enough to even understand them.

Perhaps that's the problem, Albus thought. He can't remember what he is famous for, and now he wants to achieve something he feels he can take credit for-at least partially. Something told Albus that this assumption was wrong. Ever since his arrival at the school, Harry had proven himself to be downtrodden, yet fiercely compassionate, brave and aiding to others. Not everyone is cursed with my need for power, he added to himself.

A timid whisper then revealed Harry's innermost desire. "Mom?...Dad?"

Lights popped at the edge of Albus's vision and he couldn't breathe. Surely it was the grasp of Devil's Snare that strangled him now, not because he was seeing himself in the eleven year old entranced by the mirror.

Except Harry had never known his family, ad grew up with some of the most pretentious and awful Muggles. His family family was taken by Voldemort, and Albus wished he could say the same. He wished he had the ability to say his sister's blood was not on his hand, or that he had done more to protect James and Lily. If he hadn't borrowed the Cloak, or if he had seen through Peter, then maybe Harry wouldn't be seeing his family for the first time in ten years now.

It was strange, but he felt a sort of connection growing between himself and Harry. Although for different reasons, both of them yearned, from their very cores, for their families. It was not wealth or power or something else that was insubstantial in comparison. Oh, how he admired Harry's modest longings, for in that desire he showed more wisdom than many people older and more experienced than he.

No. No, no no. He was supposed to view the boy as another pawn, another piece in the overall scheme. It was easier to hide behind plans and facts and statistics than to make the players actual people in your mind. The ethical decisions became easier if you convinced yourself that those executing the choices were as defunct of personality as the pieces in a game of chess. If you got too attached, the choices became harder, more painful. Harry had been marked for a life of torment since the day Voldemort chose him as the one the prophecy spoke of, and Albus knew there might one day be a time when Harry would die. So, Albus knew he could admire the boy and his skills and character. He could even like the boy, he had told himself.

But the plan didn't have room for something like this. As prepared as he had been, Albus had never planned on loving the boy.

The longer he sat on that desk, the more it occurred to Albus that he should do something. Harry was easily becoming lost in the false hopes and realities that the mirror held. Dumbledore did now want one more soul to waste away before it.

Waste away like you have the past month, a part of his brain reminded him.

The minutes dragged into hours. It seemed nearly hypocritical to Albus that he should tell Harry the dangers lurking about the mirror all day. This boy, surely pressing against the glass now (though Albus could not see him), willing himself to be able to walk through the reflective surface to those waiting on the other side, was throwing all of his errors back into his face. He had become so deluded in this dream, this childish fantasy that he had lost control. The people Harry saw were not the real Lily and James, just shadows of their real selves. Dwelling in front of those apparitions was an insult to their memory and their sacrifice. Their son needed to live. Albus wanted Harry to live. He wanted to be able to truly live himself.

Yet something held him back.

So I have restraint when I don't need it?

He would wait. Curious as to what Harry would do, and if he would find out the function of the mirror, he did not speak out.

A noise somewhere far off in the castle jerked him to his senses, and, judging by a small noise near the mirror, Harry was yanked from a stupor as well. There was a whisper of "I'll come back," and then Harry's footsteps trailed from the room. Albus himself walked over to the mirror and his own family, promised them the same thing, and was off.

The next morning in the Great Hall, Albus found himself closely watching Harry. He was talking with young Ronald Weasley, which wasn't at all curious, but the fact that Harry wasn't eating was. The boy stared morosely at the table, and Albus remembered how he himself had eaten less and less the past month. The mirror left a horrible longing inside you, and it became your reality. You always needed more. Now Harry had had a taste as well, and would no doubt be there again tonight, perhaps bringing Mr. Weasley with him.

His assumption turned out to be correct, as they almost always do. Two small boys had come racing into the room that night and threw the cloak off of them. Albus retreated once again to a desk and observed the boys in front of him. He had to speak out and finally end the madness for all of them, but not yet. There was a time and a place to act, and it had not come.

The boys had not figured out the mirror's purpose. Harry had assumed it showed the user's family, and was perplexed when Ronald did not see his own family. Instead he saw only himself, with power and greatness.

Albus understood. No one longed for what they already had. With a family as large as the Weasleys, Ron didn't want to see his family. His brothers had all amounted to impressive achievements and he didn't want to be copies of them or anything less. He craved to be the best of them all; unique, special. Albus understood wanting to step out of the shadows of family. Perhaps, with luck, things would work out better for Mr. Weasley.

The boys had run off at the sight of Mrs. Norris before Albus could reveal himself and speak to them. So he knew he would have to wait one more night. Only his own silly delusions could be blamed if the mirror never reached its proper place as protector of the stone. Tomorrow. Now matter what, the mirror was leaving tomorrow, he told himself.

Harry had journeyed to the mirror recklessly the next night. Clearly it had eaten away at all other thoughts, calling him forward faster and faster. Silent thought it was, its call drowned out all other noise. So, Harry had not cared about how loud he was as he had run down corridors and slammed the door behind him. As soon as he threw himself hungrily before the mirror, Albus pulled out his wand, undid the disillusionment charm, and cofronted the young boy.

"So-back again, Harry?" he said casually.

The boy turned, frightened, looking-what was the Muggle phrase?- as though he had seen a ghost. Yes, thought Albus, I suppose Muggles aren't used to seeing ghosts. Some don't even believe they exist.

Harry continued staring for a few seconds as though he had seen a type of apparition vastly misunderstood by the non-magical community before blinking and stuttering. :I-I didn't see you, sir."

Albus smiled. He felt affection welling up for the boy and mused "Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you." Without waiting for a response, Albus went to join Harry on the floor, and then peered at him through his half-moon spectacles. "So, you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."

A discussion ensued. Albus wanted so desperately to help Harry, but as he explained the mirror's function, he found that he was speaking more to himself than the small boy beside him.

"…this mirror will give us neither knowledge or truth," he said at one point, chest tight and tear ducts threatening to betray him, yet he continued on in an objective tone. "Men have wasted away before it"-including myself-"entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what is shows is real or even possible."

Part of him felt guilty, conveying this wisdom as though he himself were above such petty things. He was not mentor, and the boy should not view him as such. If anything Harry had taught him over the last few days and had woken him from his mirror-induced slumber. Now he had to return the favor.

"The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry, and I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will now be prepared." He had a strange feeling that if any student in the castle were to reach the Sorcerer's Stone and the Mirror, it would be Harry, even above those much more skilled than him. Feeling as though he were struck hard in the stomach, he added, "It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that." The words echoed in his mind as he thought that he ought to remember it as well. What was in the past, was in the past. There would always be the scars, but he could not spend all his days remembering the fights where he had gotten them. Losing himself in what could have been would not protect the stone. It would be of no hope to anyone. So, no matter how much it hurt, he had to continue on bravely.

For the greater good.

After words of parting and more secrets and lies were told, Harry went to bed. Without even glancing at the mirror, Albus strode quickly from the room as well, towards his own office.

The next day, he was beneath the school, after a series of daunting obstacles. He set down the final one gently. The great gilded mirror was in its new home and would torment him no more. For a moment, he stood before it, smiling sadly at his family. Then, he tore his eyes from his sister's for what he was sure was the last time.

But little did he know at the time that in less than six years he would be falling, falling, falling… before he boarded a train to spend all of eternity with her.