Disclaimer:I am making no money from this. Anything recognised from Harry Potter belongs to JKR and her affiliates. Anything from the various religions comes from them and probably belongs to them. Anything totally unrecognisable is the result of my warped imagination and perverted sense of justice. No animals, humans, demons, angels, gods, witches, wizards or giant squids were harmed in the writing of this work of fan-fiction.

Judgement

Prologue

The house was in ruins. It looked like it had been hit with a muggle 'boom'… a very big muggle boom. Albus Dumbledore gazed around the devastation with what many would fondly imagine was grief. It was, to a certain extent, but the old man had long ago accepted that he would never be able to have any real feelings for the child who had once lived here. Oh, he had dearly wanted to do right by the child and the knowledge of what he had done instead was a splinter in his mind and soul. He was not a man who took any pleasure in hurting others, particularly children, but in those dark days, when he had all but lost hope of finding a way to end the war, when he had bitterly acknowledged his own powerlessness in the face of the prophecy, he had accepted that he would have to make some harsh decisions. Certain things would have to happen, have to be done. The child of the prophecy would have to be guaranteed light and controllable and most importantly, had to be willing to do anything to make a place for himself in the magical world. The people needed a saviour and the child would have to be that saviour, regardless of whether that child wanted to be or not.

So he had set things in motion, carefully arranging things to give the best outcome for everyone. Sacrifices would have to be made and sadly, sadly most of those would have to be made by the prophesied child. He still wasn't sure how the child had survived that first curse, but he had his suspicions. He also wasn't sure how much longer the myth of the blood wards would have held up. Lupin had been chaffing at the restraints. Sooner or later, the werewolf would have gone to the house regardless of Dumbledore's orders and the moment he set foot on the property, he would have known there were no blood wards. There were plenty of other wards, enough that only Alastor had so far noticed the lack. The old auror hadn't questioned him on it yet, but it was only a matter of time. He was still surprised every time no one questioned how he knew Lily Potter had had the option to flee and didn't take it. Of course it didn't matter now. He had no idea why exactly a muggle would boom number 4, Privet Drive, but someone had and not even Harry Potter's exceptional luck could hold out against the almost complete obliteration of the building he was in.

Sighing, he stepped back from the wreckage and looked up at the clear night sky above him. At least he knew it hadn't been Voldemort's doing. The total destruction of the wizarding world's saviour would not have gone unsigned had the Dark Lord been involved. This of course, only left one question; if Harry Potter was not the one fated to destroy Voldemort, then who was? Neville Longbottom? The Gryffindor was still a possibility, he couldn't deny that, but Voldemort had never shown any interest in the boy and he bore no mark. Turning slowly, and looking every bit his age, Dumbledore began to make his way out of the wreckage. A light summer breeze shuffled his long hair and blew some of the ash around in the debris behind him as he walked. The wind was too light to move much, but a faint red glow could now be seen, barely discernable under the fallen remain of the house. The colour was slightly deeper then the orangey one created by the still glowing embers. Dumbledore continued to walk, his thoughts to the prophecy and on who it could apply to. He was missing something, he was sure, but what was it?


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