AN: Hey everyone, it's been a long time. And while I have many reasons, it's really no excuse just to drop off the face of the earth. So I'm back and I'm holding myself more accountable. I've rewritten all the chapters posted (as I changed the direction of this story and improved the syntax), deleted one, and will post one chapter once a week on Tuesdays. So sorry for restarting the story after being gone for so long. Hopefully this chapter makes up for it. Until this story finishes, I've put the others on the back burner.

A week had passed since the Civil War's end. One week since the most infamous dark lord in Diagon history had perished. Vanquished not by a dauntless warrior, but at the hands of a virtuous babe. Many wept and considered the anomaly to be a miracle; others thought it to be poetic justice. How could a vile creature such as he, with unimaginable and unspeakable powers, be overpowered by such purity?

Yet no one questioned such a wonder. For blood had been shed profusely for over a decade and now Voldemort was no more. Finally, there was a sense of peace and the people had never been happier. The entire capital, as was the entire nation, was in a series of jubilant celebrations. People were dancing gaily amongst friends, families, and even complete strangers.

Music of all variety was played. Colored lights shot from wand tips high above the tiled roofs. Banners with the Diagon's emblem hanged on every building. The urge to celebrate with abandon was so contagious that not even the nobles were immune to the fanfare. And their celebrations were more grandiose.

Standing tall and proud in the center of the city capital was the famous Whitehall Castle; home to the three monarchs. Fireworks exploded high above the towers and turrets. The colorful banners of the three monarchs waived proudly in the mild wind. Even the weather was fair, the sky was clear, and the sun was bright; an appropriate reflection to the hope and joy shining within the people.

The ancient castle basked magnificently under the sunlight. Within the Great Hall was a festival unlike any other. Noblemen and women of magi, muggle, and the occasional elf twirled about the marble floor. Exotic foods were served continuously; wine and other liquors were consumed without care. And even the kings themselves were seen dancing about with their respective queens.

Yet despite the exuberant mood there was one individual that refused to partake in the festivities. He stood in the shadows casted over by large columns; arms crossed tightly over his chest with the hood of his cloak pulled up so as not to be easily recognizable. Even the clothes he wore, usually bright and attention grabbing, were muted to help him further blend into the obscurities. He was a tall man, nearly as tall as the elves, with long auburn hair and beard. His eyes, normally twinkling with merriment, were steel blue.

He was a legendary figure in his own right, the first person of Haldórer to gain acceptance into the Order. His name was Albus Dumbledore. He was one of the elders that were taught by the mighty Eragon Shadeslayer and led the third front in the Civil War. His spectacular feats were heard across Haldórer and possibly parts of Alagaёsia. Quite often, Albus was known for his quip humor and questionable fashion sense. Yet with all his humor and joyfulness, none could be found today.

As he watched the nobles of Diagon twirl around to the music, he couldn't help but feel revulsion growing in the pit of his stomach. His eyes were alight with ire when they rested on certain individuals such as the aloof Malfoys and the smarmy Lord Karkaroff. People he knew were knights of the Walpurgis Army, but could not be proven otherwise. His right hand clenched tighter in anger when he saw Lord Nott share a dance with Queen Molly.

This was an injustice. While Diagon was free from the clutches of a homicidal magus, and many of his followers were either dead or imprisoned, many more had slipped through the cracks of justice. There were flaws in laws that needed rectification and the country practically had to be rebuilt. There were too many cities that were nothing more than ruins, a high number of persons still missing. The economy was on the brink of collapse and the goblins were watching Diagon's borders with too much interest. If actions weren't taken soon, Diagon would find itself in another cataclysm.

As it were, the monarchs thought very little of their country's fragile state. They danced and celebrated as though they had actually contributed to the fight for freedom. It sickened Albus. But there was only so much a Rider could do before it became intrusive into the politics.

Mentally sighing and praying for longsuffering, the disgruntled man reminded himself the Code all Riders lived by. He muttered the mantra under his breath many times before he felt himself calm. His hand, which he hadn't notice until now, unfurled from the pommel of his sword, cramped due to the strain in his muscles.

The Rider sighed tiredly, leaning his weight onto the column next to him. The war exhausted him greatly. The deaths and arduous decisions still weighed heavily on his shoulders. It was a burden Albus didn't wish on anyone. It was a consequence of his position. A reminder of what he truly was.

A humble servant to the people. Not a mighty ruler. It was against the Code to seek power for selfish gain. Riders weren't rulers and lords over land, nor should they ever be.

But…there were moments in his life that the thrall of power called to him like a siren. Moments when politicians and monarchs behaved ludicrously at the risks of the common people. Moments, where deep within his heart, Albus understood the reasonings behind an old friend's actions.

Your mind wanders into dangerous thoughts, my Rider. A deep voice was rumbled telepathically through the magus' Bond.

Albus sighed tiredly and pinched the bridge of his nose. I'm all too aware, my Fireball. Yet you must understand why it is hard not to think such a way when you see what I see.

The dragon, affectionately nicknamed Fireball, hummed and kept quiet for a few minutes. Albus figured his dragon was collecting his thoughts, so he turned his attention over to the Hufflepuff King, who was practically intoxicated, as he flirted with a young noblewoman. Albus rolled his eyes. If only Queen Helga could see her descendant now.

Is it wrong to celebrate freedom after struggling through dark times?

There is still much to do! Albus protested. The country is vulnerable and needs to rebuild. The goblins watch the borders like bandits. Court hearings for the accused must be held. And there is so much more that needs to be done-

Albus. The tone and command in the dragon's voice stopped the Rider mid-rant. You've taken so much responsibility in this war, you are overstressing yourself.

There is a reason Fawkes, you more than anyone else know this.

You still believe the dark creature will return? Fawkes' tone was filled with disbelief.

I do. And I worry more than just Voldemort's inevitable return. We must prepare the people for his resurrection.

The dragon rumbled and Albus knew his friend was more concerned than annoyed with Albus' worrisome nature. As the war dragged on, Albus felt the concern of his fellow dragon mount each day. Sometimes, when the amount of stress became insurmountable, Fawkes would abduct him and take Albus out into the wild for a day or two to relax. In hindsight, the Rider grudgingly admitted it was the right thing to do.

It had been some time since Albus had felt overburdened with stress and guilt. Memories of a not too distant pass unwillingly swam to the forefront of his mind. They swirled and taunted him blocking Albus from the hear and now. Images indecipherable from one another rushed him at dizzying speeds. Buried memories haunted him, yet made his heart soar. The ache in his chest more noticeable. Images of a man with a crooked smile and-

Albus! The dragon roared. Startled from unwanted remembrances Albus shook his head clear and focused back to the nobles twirling about the hall. The ache in his chest still lingered. His dragon remained silent as Albus feigned interest in the Hufflepuff King's drunken escapades.

A sigh of relief left his lips, he was in no mood to converse about him. Not when there were more pressing matters to be concerned with. If only it was as easy to lie to his heart as it was his mind.

Albus. Fawkes called again. The Scarlet Rider hummed under his breath, inclining his head in the direction of where his companion was located; the castle not built to accommodate dragons. You have done your duty to the people, my Rider. More than what I consider to be healthy. Albus winced at the darkened tone. The war has put much stress on you, I will not blame you if you want to leave for the wilderness. Escape from the madness, at least for a little while.

The Council would think otherwise. In fact, a few that would accuse me of abandoning the Code.

Albus felt the hot anger surge through their Bond. His chest rumbled with a deep growl, not of Albus' own doing. Then they will have me to answer to.

Despite the severity of Fawkes' voice, Albus' lips twitched humorously. The image of a seven meters tall dragon berating a few stuffy elves was comical. What he wouldn't give to see that in real life.

As good as your intentions are, I fear they would do more harm than good. His dragon felt otherwise. You worry too much for my wellbeing, Fawkes.

Fawkes' growl rumbled deep within his chest. Clearly, I don't worry enough. The war has affected everyone, but it has affected you greater than even the kings.

Albus exhaled a breath of longsuffering. The kings did little to aide in the war. The responsibility laid solely at our feet.

A burden I wished you didn't feel compelled to carry on your own. There were other Riders just as qualified and willing to apprehend the dark magus.

While Albus agreed with Fawkes' sentiment, he knew any other Rider wouldn't have been enough. Voldemort did not fear anyone but Albus. And Albus was the only one to truly see the monster that lurked beneath the charming façade, even when he was just a boy.

What's done, is done. The war is over, and Voldemort has been vanquished.

Fawkes was not so easily swayed by his Rider's words. If you truly believed what you were saying, you would participate in the fanfare with your allies. Not brood in the shadows shackled with stress and guilt.

You worry too much-

And you worry not enough! Can you not see the state of your mental and physical health, Albus?

I have little time to look after myself-

Then make the time, or is that a task to great for the famous Albus Dumbledore?

Albus was at a loss for words. He stood, hidden in the shadows, body numb to the outside world. Deep down, he knew Fawkes was right to worry for him. His mental health was the least of his concern. There were always more pressing matters to attend. Whether they be reconnaissance missions, battle plans, order meetings, or court meetings. The Civil War had consumed him. He breathed, sweat, bled, and even dreamed the war; the faces of fallen friends would always haunt him.

The war ended so abruptly, Albus was thrown off balance. Even more so considering how the war finished. But he was still in the mindset of war. Albus still woke up with a thundering heart and short of breath. The images of destroyed towns and villages and the death of hundreds still plagued him in his sleep. His mind and body were on pins and needles and he had only noticed the constant wavering of his hand over his sword.

Albus let go of the breath he was holding in a shuddering sigh and clamped a hand tightly around his balled fist to stop the shaking. His body sagged further against the column. Worry seeped through their Bond and for once Albus didn't fight his dragon on his nagging behavior. The adrenaline and stress used to keep his body mobile had drained from him. So much that Albus was finding it hard to keep his eyes open.

He wouldn't be surprised if he'd fallen asleep right there, regardless of the cacophony of voices. Sleep was hard to come by during the war, at least restful sleep. Even a week after the war's conclusion, Albus had gotten little to no sleep. He was sure his dragon was no different. Fawkes constantly worried over his wellbeing.

Albus was ashamed to admit he thought little of his companion's health. Even as a dragon, there was only so much one could take. War tested even the mightiest of persons. He was sure Fawkes needed as much, if not more, rest as Albus did. Both needed time to regain their strength.

Forgive me for my selfishness, Fawkes. Once again, I placed the good of others before you.

A low purr reverberated through the Bond. Albus felt the mental nudge of affection their inner fire warming their soul, strengthening the connection they shared. The warmth filled the cold ache Albus had felt for so long. Finally, he could live.

There is no reason to apologize. You are my purpose and I will protect you with all my might...even from yourself.

Albus smiled in self-deprecation. Truly, he felt blessed to have such a friend. When this is over, you and I are going to sleep for the rest of this century. And then we'll soar the skies until we touch the stars.

The dragon purred in contentment and the Bond was saturated with the love and warmth he had for his Rider.

You still wish to speak to the Gryffindor King?

Not so much as wish, as it is necessary. I can't prolong this any longer. We at least owe the boy that much.

The dragon sighed begrudgingly and made his displeasure know strongly. Albus winced, feeling like a chastised child once again. I swear to you Fawkes, this will be the last thing I do for a long time. I promise you and I will get our much-deserved rest come sunset.

I will hold you to that. Fawkes huffed. Now if you want to speak to the king, might it best to join in on the festivities? Unless you'd rather brood in the shadows like a certain Rider of ours.

Quiet you. Albus quipped, the dragon chuckled.

Now in somewhat better spirits, Albus gathered what energy he had left and joined the nobles dancing without care.

Loathed as he was to do so, Albus lowered his hood and straightened out the wrinkles in his clothing.

A rotund middle-aged lord stopped in his tracks and gaped at the tall Rider. The man's cherry red face flushed further and with a gaping smile the lord raised his goblet high. "Hail, Rider Dumbledore!"

"Hail, Rider Dumbledore!" The Great Hall erupted into a thundering applause and the people toasted the Rider for their newfound peace. The Dragon Rider noted the reluctant to toast in his name in the formerly accused Walpurgis knights.

His eyes settled on a pair of cold grey eyes. The platinum blond hair, and aristocratic features belonged to none other than Lord Malfoy. The two men stared down one another until the lord turned his eyes from the Rider. Albus wasn't fooled. He lacked the proof, but the Scarlet Rider knew where Malfoy's allegiance truly laid.

One day the man will become a problem.

He didn't dwell much longer on thoughts of war and snakes among men. He had another, more important, task to accomplish. He urgently needed to speak to the Gryffindor King. If only it were easy.

Because of his fame and the people declaring him a war hero, Albus never had a moment to himself. There was never a shortage of women of all ages wanting to dance with the Rider. With each dance partner and unpleasant flirting, Albus longed for his shadowed sanctuary.

You've fought ghoulish creatures, yet your greatest fear is women?

Albus groaned irritably, the menace would take joy in his pain. You dance a few rounds with libidinous women and see if you still feel the same.

Ah, but why should I when I can take joy in seeing you frolic about the hall?

I do not frolic! He yelled indignantly.

The dragon laughed deeply at the Rider's expense. Pouting like a child will not sway me.

Don't you have to go shed your skin in a remote place?

I am not a cold-blooded snake!

…Lizard?

Albus!

Albus and Fawkes traded playful barbs while the Rider danced from one woman to the next. Despite the lightheartedness the man shared with his dragon, he still couldn't shake the residual urgency of his last mission.

Yet he still couldn't find the king, nor could he in could conscious brush the women aside. He feared his mother would return to haunt him.

He had been dancing for nearly an hour straight. His latest partner, a young woman with a daring dress, had subtly of a mountain troll. Her interests in him was made obvious in her leers. His cheeks never felt hotter and the raucous laughter of Fawkes did nothing to tame the forming headache.

It was with small consolidation that no other Rider was there to witness his plight. It was mortifying enough that his dragon bore witness. It would have been more humiliating if Murtagh was present, or worse Íorûnn.

The young woman continued flirting with the Rider pressing further into his personal space than polite when she interrupted by another woman clearing her throat pointedly.

His dance partner twisted her face into an ugly snarl and snapped her head to the "intruder". Albus had never seen a face turn paler than the young woman before him.

"Y-your majesty!"

Standing before them was the Gryffindor Queen, Queen Molly. She raised a sardonic brow at the lady before her. "May I cut in?"

The young woman was smart enough to recognize a command when she heard one. "O-of course not, your majesty." The woman gave a hasty curtsy to both the queen and Rider before hightailing back into the throng of dancers.

Albus sighed in relief and wanted to kiss the angel on earth. "Thank you." He said graciously. "You have no idea how happy I am to see you."

The queen chuckled and moved to dance with the Rider. "I have some." The rider smiled sheepishly, a light blush brushed his cheeks. "Who would have thought, a powerful man such as yourself afraid of harmless advances from the young Miss Duncombe."

"I would hardly call the woman harmless." Albus deadpanned. "If her father heard even a sliver of what she said."

The queen guffawed and smacked the Rider's shoulder. Smilingly benignly, Albus led her through another dance at the change of the song.

Albus thought King Arthur was one of the luckiest men alive for marrying such a kind woman.

Of all the queens, Albus had seen grace the halls of Whitehall Castle, Queen Molly was one of his favorites. She had such a giving nature and was not easily swayed in her beliefs. There was once a time when the capital was under attack and the queen had open the doors to the common people in the aftermath. In many ways, the Gryffindor Queen reminded Albus of another woman. One whose brave heart and caring nature shined even brighter than Queen Molly's.

Albus' heart throbbed and through the bond he could feel deep sorrow emanating from Fawkes. The woman, as well as her family, was the reason why he was within the halls of Whitehall. As all were celebrating and toasting to a brighter morrow, little remembered what the ultimate cost was to achieve peace, the deaths of Lord and Lady Potter; better known as James and Lily Potter.

The Potters were a well-respected family whose lineage had long since pledged their allegiance to sigil of Gryffindor. Rather than living in a manor like other nobles, the Potters lived in a comfy cottage in a small town called Godric's Hollow. The small family also had three close family friends and could often be found at the cottage when not otherwise preoccupied with the war.

But their greatest pride and joy was their one and only son, Harry Potter. Born in the height of war, the birth of Harry reignited the Order's commitment to bring an end to the dark days. The Potters were some of the fiercest fighters Albus had ever seen in a magus right after their son were born. However, as was common in all war, nearly everything had fallen apart.

The Potters were forced into hiding. For reasons not commonly known, Voldemort was personally after their son, and it was no longer safe to leave the toddler alone. Using old magic, they hid in plain sight and trusted their secret to one person. Unfortunately, it was the wrong person, and James and Lily ultimately paid the grievous mistake with their lives. But miraculously, their son survived. Voldemort had vanished and only the boy remained, with nothing more than a peculiar scar on his forehead.

But he was now an orphan, and at such a young age! He would never again feel the loving touches of his parents. Would never get the chance to grow up and love them more with each passing day. All moments and milestones significant to goth child and parent, the Potters were robbed of. What was worse, the Potters were betrayed by a close friend. But did they have the wrong man? The Wizengamot certainly didn't think so as did the public. The man already laid in a cell in Azkaban.

Albus wasn't as positive. He knew the man in question. His actions went against everything Albus knew of the man. As far-fetched as it was, it wasn't impossible. War changes even the best of men, the Rider has seen this many times; too many in fact.

The young lord could be guilty of betraying the Potters to Voldemort, but there has never been a trial. Because Albus was called to aid the people of Diagon, it was his responsibility to watch over the court sessions of war crimes as an impartial party. Albus attended all of them, even the gut wrenching trial of the knights that attacked the Longbottoms, but there had never been a trial for Sirius Black.

The Court Judge and the Head of the Department of Law Enforcement refused to reopen the case. Leaving Albus no choice but to seek a meeting with the three monarchs and prime minister.

"Your mind wanders to the war, doesn't it?" the queen's soft voice broke Albus from his muddled thoughts. The queen had led him from the dance floor and moved them by the windows.

The Rider sighed haggardly and offered the Gryffindor Queen a grim smile. "Was I that obvious?"

Queen Molly gave the Rider a strained smile of her own. "Only to one whose experienced loss." Her eyes filled with unshed tears and she quickly dabbed them away with a handkerchief.

Albus' heart clenched, he felt the grief and sorrow emanating from Fawkes. The queen's twin brothers were members of the of Albus' organization. Honorable men and formidable fighters, it nearly impossible to see their bodies after the Battle of Dufftown.

The Rider cleared his throat and forced himself not to dwell any longer on the loss of the Prewetts. If he broke now, he would not have the strength to press on his final mission. "Yes, I suppose you do."

The queen scrutinized the Scarlet Rider. "What troubles you Dumbledore?"

"…too many things I wish not to burden you with, your majesty."

The queen wasn't easily swayed. "Dumbledore, I would like to think you and I have formed a kinship over the past decade. Whatever is bothering you, you can share it with me. I'm made of sterner stock." As a mother of seven children Albus expected no less of her.

"I have many issues concerning the fallout of the end of this war. But there is one I wish to speak to your husband and the others of the Sovereigns' Council. It is urgent I find him as soon as possible." While I still have the energy.

"And what it so urgent?"

Smiling wanly, Albus answered. "I owe James and Lily."

"The Potters!" she exclaimed.

"Yes, the Potters."

The queen hummed and Nodded to herself. Without preamble, she walked briskly into the throng of people. Albus stood baffled before shaking himself from his stupor and followed the Gryffindor Queen.

The Great Hall was surprisingly easy to cross. With the people paying more attention to the wines, hors d'oeuvres, and dancing, Albus could walk through without garnering much attention; it also helped that more than half of the guests were inebriated.

Finally, near the thrones, the Rider spotted the familiar Gryffindor crown. The Gryffindor King was conversing with an elder lord while his eldest son, now of school age and thus permitted to attend social gatherings, stood on his right-hand side listening with rapt attention.

The queen captured her husband's attention first, followed by the prince and lord. Curtsying respectably, the queen moved to her king's left ear and traded soft words with him. King Arthur smiled adoringly at his queen then politely dismissed the elder lord.

Queen Molly held out her hand to her son and led the reluctant prince to the dance floor. Passing the Rider, the queen wished the man well.

Turning back to the awaiting king, the Scarlet Rider bowed respectfully to the Gryffindor King. "Greetings, your majesty."

The king chuckled good naturedly and waived off his bow. "Come now Dumbledore, we've known each other long enough to forgo the formalities. As it is, it should be I that bows to you!"

"Er, that won't be necessary." Albus said hastily. Fawkes snorted in derision.

King Arthur gave the Rider a bright smile. "I should see why not! After how much you've done for our country, I believe I owe you more than a simple bow."

The king was a tall man, though not as tall as Albus, with a lean build. He had clear blue eyes, ginger hair and was dressed in the finest cloths of reds and gold. Atop of his head was a gold crown with a large ruby gem and from his right hip was the legendary sword of Godric Gryffindor. Of the three kings, Albus found King Arthur to the most level headed. Should Albus be able to convince him, the others would be more easily swayed.

The two men took a moment to observe the people laughing and dancing with abandon. Albus noted the warm smile and soft eyes of the Gryffindor King when they gazed upon his queen. "Your people are happy, your majesty." The Rider noted.

"Our people, Rider." The king corrected. "You will always hold a place in the hearts of Diagon, especially after all of your efforts against the Walpurgis."

"While I am flattered by your words, my king. I do not deserve such praises. After all it was not I that defeated the dark lord."

The king cleared his throat awkwardly. "Nonetheless, you've done much during the war. I say if it wasn't for that miraculous event, you would have done away the dark lord yourself!" Mentally, the Rider winced. "Can you imagine, a baby responsible for bringing down the worse dark lord we'd ever face? One that survived the Killing Curse? A true miracle blessed only by the All-father!"

"And all it cost, for such a miracle, were the unnecessary deaths of two wonderful people. Parents that would never watch their son grow to become a man." the Rider interjected.

"Yes..." The king trailed off uncomfortably. "The deaths of Lord and Lady Potter were most unfortunate. Even worse they were betrayed by a close friend." the king frowned. "What is the reason for this conversation, Dumbledore?"

"The boy, Harry Potter, we are doing a huge disservice to him."

"Oh come now Dumbledore, the boy is in good hands. His relatives were more than accommodating when the boy was brought to their home. Cheer up, my good Rider; the dark days are over now."

Frustrated and tired, Albus was more than done with the king's blasé attitude.

And you say he is the most levelheaded? Fawkes asked incredulously.

I may have spoken too soon.

The Rider took a calming breath so as not to lash out on the king. "My king, the dark days are not over as you would wish to believe. But I'm afraid that is a conversation for a later date.

"The boy is placed into a home where the people care little for his wellbeing and more about his ill-begotten fame. They will exploit the boy to elevate their status. Already there is a line meters long to their home just to get a glimpse of the babe's scar. They even have the nerve to charge each person!"

"Surely you are exaggerating." the king scoffed. "Or is this one of your queer anecdotes?"

"I, and my dragon, have seen it with our own eyes. The boy is in an unstable home and should be moved to his true legal guardian."

"You're not suggesting..." King Arthur trailed off suspiciously.

"Lupin is more than capable of caring for the boy."

The king guffawed derisively. "Even if that were true, there would be a public outcry. The people will not approve a boy from a noble family, a savior no less, move in with a werewolf."

Albus stared coolly at the man. "I had thought you were above such prejudices."

"It is not I that has a problem with werewolves," he quickly backtracked "but the majority including the other members of the Council. King Thaddeus believes werewolves to be nothing more than feral animals and should be hunted for sport."

"I am familiar with the Hufflepuff King's views." Albus replied sardonically. "But it was my hope that you would urge them to see reason."

Scoffing, the king said, "I long for the day when Thaddeus sees reason."

I second that notion. Fawkes expressed dryly.

"What you are asking, Dumbledore, is impossible. The Council will never allow the Boy-Who-Lived to live with a werewolf."

"Then what of Black?" the Rider carefully broached. "According to their will, he is the rightful guardian of Harry Potter."

"Are you mad?" the king hissed. "Did you forget that it was that renegade lord that betrayed the Potters to You-Know-Who, the same one that killed another magus and twelve muggles while attempting to flee the country?"

"I have heard all the tales. But there is a chance the man might be innocent."

"There is no chance! He's already been found guilty and is in Azkaban. This matter is closed."

The king started walking away when the Rider called out. "He was found guilty in the minds of the people, not by the law!" Albus called out. The king's shoulders stiffened. He turned on his heels, marched up to the other man and glared up at the Dragon Rider.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked in an even tone.

"I have attended every court hearing pertaining to the Civil War since its conclusion. Not once was a trial held for Black. Yet he rots away in Azkaban with a life sentence."

"What are you trying to say, Rider?"

"Both Court Judge and Head of the Department of Law Enforcement were made aware of their transgressions and chose to ignore them in favor of keeping their reputation." The Rider answered in a tone that said he found their actions objectionable.

"You speak treasonously." the Gryffindor King warned lowly. "And I will not stand idly while you continue to insinuate that our laws are flawed. The last Rider who had such thoughts-"

"I am well aware of the actions of the last Rider, my king." Albus interrupted firmly. "And if it is treasonous to speak to the truth then I fear the future of this country, of our people." The Rider finished passionately.

Heart racing and hands clenched, Albus forced himself a few steps from the king to regather his thoughts. He did not wish to fight with a fellow ally, he did not wish to fight at all. "King Arthur," he started calmly "I am not asking you to outright release Black from Azkaban. But give him the due process he is owed. To not do so would not only be an insult to the memories of Lord and Lady Potter, but to the Founders."

The two high ranking individuals stared at one another in tense silence until the king groaned under his breath. "You always did have a way with words, Dumbledore." he muttered. "Very well, I will do my best to convince the other kings to allow a trial for Black."

"Thank you." Albus said in gratitude.

"I should warn you, Rider, if Black is re-trialed," Trialed. "and is found guilty, the boy will live with his relatives, not with the werewolf."

The Rider smiled grimly. "Of that, I have no doubt. You will inform me once a decision has been made?"

"By the end of the week at the latest. You have my word." the king reluctantly agreed. "Until then, enjoy the celebrations, good Rider." he bade the Rider a farewell.

Albus watched as King Arthur whisked his wife onto the dance floor with the approving applause of their subjects. The Rider only watched the royal dance a few seconds longer before exiting the Great Hall from a side door.

He traveled through the vacant corridors, took many turns and stairwells until he reached a secluded courtyard. The Rider sighed in relief and took a deep breath of the crisp autumn air. Despite the castle's grand size, the walls and ceilings were too narrow for his liking; a side effect in spending nearly a century in a castle made for full grown dragons.

And there is my grumpy Rider. Fawkes quipped.

Resting in the center of the courtyard was the dragon that Bonded to Albus. When standing; Fawkes reached twenty feet in height. He had scarlet red scales and gold colored eyes. A pair of bone-white horns protruded from the top of the skull and white spikes ran down the neck and back to the tip of his tail.

Currently the dragon rested on his stomach and gazed insipidly at the approaching Rider.

Hello to you too, Fawkes. Albus chuckled. He patted the dragon's snout affectionately and Fawkes gave a pleased rumbled. The magus Rider made himself comfortable and rested against the dragon's leg. What a long week. He groaned.

Did you convince the king?

I thought you were eavesdropping.

Off and on. There is only so much bureaucracy I have the patience for.

Little to none?

Precisely. The dragon stated impassively. So, did you?

By the skin of my teeth. With luck, the others will concede to King Arthur's wishes. The sooner Black is trialed, the sooner we can remove the boy from the Dursleys.

You assume Black will be found innocent?

I predict the boy will not stay with the Dursleys, regardless of the verdict.

Do you wish to fly back to Little Whinging?

No, you and I don't have the energy to make another journey. Besides the last I've checked, Minerva is handling her own against the boy's relatives; quite splendidly might I add. Albus grinned and his eyes began to twinkle.

Fawkes chuckled humorously. I always did like the woman. It is too bad she isn't a Rider herself. Albus chuckled. What of Lupin?

He's still missing. The deaths of the Potters and the possible betrayal of Black or Pettigrew has hit him hard. For now, I think it's best to leave him to the comforts of the woods.

And Pettigrew?

Albus frowned, subconsciously reaching for his sword. He will be found and questioned thoroughly. In fact, I have many questions for Black as well, seeing as he was the secret keeper when the Potters perished.

You must have patience, Albus. All will be revealed in due time.

The Rider exhaled a long breath and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. Yes, I suppose so. If only I could leave the country in good standing when we return to Deorcwuld.

The Elders can send for another Rider to assist in the reconstruction.

If the kings allow it. They are a prideful bunch and would not take too kindly to an outsider pointing out their flaws in government. Albus frowned, wearily rubbing his brow. They fail to see what's in front of them.

And what, my Rider, is it that they fail to see?

The corruption that runs rampant right beneath their noses. How can it be possible that a man that fought for the freedom of Diagon slowly wastes away in Azkaban without due process yet members of the Walpurgis dance away in the Great Hall without fear of incarceration?

I have no understanding how politicians think. The dragon drawled. But just as there will always be justice, there will always be corruption. One cannot exist without the other. If that were the case, the words would lose all meaning and we would lose our sense of morals. You can minimize one or the other but never can you be rid one completely. It is an impossible task and you will go mad, trying to achieve the impossible, Albus.

The Scarlet Rider hummed and idly twiddled his thumbs. You're right…as always.

And never you forget. Fawkes chuckled.

What a humble dragon I have. Albus quipped.

If I was humble, I wouldn't be a dragon.

Albus hoped and prayed the kings concluded in his favor. Lives were at stake. The disgruntled Rider scowled darkly. Fate had a cruel way of repeating itself. However, this time would be different. Albus would not stand idly by. The last time Albus left a boy in an unloved home resulted in the Diagon Civil War. He would do whatever it took to not make the same mistake again. Consequences, be damned.