Okay, so the response to this story has been quite good, much better than expected, so here's an update for you guys.
This is a second prologue, if you will. It focuses on Dumbledore, and what occurs is the lead up to what happened to Harry at the end of the other prologue (if that makes sense!)
It skips forwards quite a bit, but it is linear in its events, so it should all make sense.
So anyway, read on and enjoy!
Harry From Another World
Prologue II: Dumbledore's Problems
The door to the kitchen of Number 12, Grimmauld Place opened slowly, causing every eye to turn towards it.
Albus Dumbledore entered through it, looking every one of his 114 years.
"Are you alright, Albus?" asked Minerva McGonagall.
"No, Minerva," he replied, making his way over to the seat at the head of the table "I am not alright."
"How's Harry?" asked Remus Lupin as Dumbledore sat himself down "What did the healers say?"
Dumbledore heaved a great sigh and then responded "He is not in a good way at all. He has regained consciousness, but is failing to react to all external stimuli. The healers say that he is in a condition similar to that seen in Frank and Alice Longbottom."
"You mean he's lost his mind?" asked Molly Weasley, worriedly.
"No, my dear Molly, I do not mean that. He has drawn in on himself, his magic blocking his mind from the rest of the world. It is a rare reaction to extreme shock."
"But surely Sirius's death could not have affected him so severely," said Molly, causing Remus to glare at her, and making her add "Don't be like that Remus. Yes, Sirius's death was tragic, but people die all the time and yet their friends and family never react this badly to it."
Remus nodded in acceptance.
"Are you sure that it was nothing that you said to him when you were talking to him in your office after the battle?" asked McGonagall.
"Minerva, as I have already told several times, I did not get the chance to speak with Harry that morning. After speaking with the Minister, I arrived back in my office where I found Harry curled up in a foetal position by the door, shaking all over. It was all I could do to get Madam Pomphrey there to stabilise him and summon the healers from St Mungo's."
He shook his head ruefully and continued "Alas, if only the Minister had not been so intent on asking questions, I might have gotten to Harry sooner and been able to procure the necessary treatment before his mind withdrew too far."
He glanced up and saw that they were all staring morosely down at the scratched and worn surface of the table around which they were all sitting.
He was, of course, not being entirely truthful with them. He had talked with Harry that evening, and it was that talk that had pushed Harry over the edge. He had ignored the signs that were there and delivered yet another blow to the already emotionally wrought teenager.
It had been too much, and Dumbledore regretted it, but now was not the time to discuss it with the others. They would only blame him and argue with him, and they could not afford such behaviour. Not now when they were facing an extremely difficult situation, one that would require Dumbledore to divulge much more information than he was comfortable with in order to get them to agree with his plans.
He cleared his throat and began to speak again "In light of this new situation, I feel that I must now share with you some vital information, so that we can decide how best to go forwards."
He paused to allow his words to sink in. Once every eye was on him, he continued "As you all either know or have probably guessed, the reason for our continuous guarding of the Hall of Prophecy in the Department of Mysteries over the past year was to prevent Lord Voldemort from ever obtaining one particular prophecy from within that place and hearing it in its entirety. That prophecy foretold a way in which Voldemort might come to an end. It also talked about the person who could bring that end about."
"Harry," muttered Nymphadora Tonks.
"Not originally," replied Dumbledore "The "who" was initially ambiguous, but since the prophecy was made, certain events have singled Harry out, making him the one referred to."
"I think that it's best if you tell us the exact contents of that prophecy, Albus," said Alastor Moody "Word for word."
"I believe that I can do you one better," replied Dumbledore as he reached into an inside pocket of his robes.
From within he pulled out something small and silver, not unlike a dish in miniature.
The placed it on the table and with a wave of a wand he returned it to its proper size.
Now those in the know realised that it was his pensieve, a device in which memories could be stored and viewed.
Dumbledore placed the tip of his wand to his temple and held it there for a second. When he drew it back, there was a thin, wispy, silvery strand attached to it, which he lowered into the bowl.
The silvery substance expanded to fill the bowl like some kind of strange liquid, and Dumbledore prodded it with the tip of his wand.
A figure rose up out of it, draped in shawls and her eyes appearing to be enormous, thanks to her overly large glasses. Slowly she began to rotate, with her feet still in the basin.
"Isn't that Professor Trelawney?" asked Bill Weasley.
"Indeed it is," answered Dumbledore "She is the one who made the prophecy. During her interview for the position she now currently holds at Hogwarts, I might add."
When the image of Sybil Trelawney spoke, it was not with her usual mystical tone, but with a harsh voice that did not belong to a human.
'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives… the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…'
The slowly rotating form of Sybil Trelawney sank back into the swirling silver pool below and vanished.
Silence hung in the air and everyone digested this new information.
Dumbledore was the first to break the quiet "Shortly after that prophecy was made, two possible candidates were born. One was Harry, whose parents, James and Lily, had thrice defied Lord Voldemort. The other was Neville Longbottom, his parents Frank and Alice having done the same."
"How do you know which boy the prophecy refers to?" asked Arthur Weasley.
"Voldemort chose which boy himself," replied Dumbledore "That night he went after the Potter family in Godric's Hollow he was intending to wipe out the boy most likely to be the one in the prophecy before the child grew too powerful. And we all know how that night ended."
"So what do we do now that Potter is incapacitated?" asked Kingsley "Do we train the Longbottom boy to act as his replacement?"
"No," replied Dumbledore with a shake of his head "Neville Longbottom has not been marked by Voldemort, and so no longer qualifies."
"So, what, we're just going to have to wait around and hope that Harry somehow gets better?" asked Tonks.
"I am afraid that we do not have the time to wait on such a thing," replied Dumbledore.
"But you do have a plan?" asked Remus.
"I do, but in order for it to work, we will have to rely on a branch of magic that is both poorly studied, and regarded with distain by most."
"What are you one about, Albus?" demanded Moody.
"I am talking," replied Dumbledore "of a ritual of extraordinary complexity, one that is likely to not work, and one that I would never have considered using were we not in a situation as desperate as this one."
"And what, exactly, will this ritual do?" asked McGonagall.
"Why it will rip through the very fabric of time and space in order to reach into an alternate dimension, and bring the Harry Potter living there to our world so that we might use him to win our war."
The twenty or so members of the Order of the Phoenix we were sitting there with him in that room all gaped at him.
"But surely such a thing is illegal." protested Hestia Jones.
"Not to mention immoral," added Bill "I mean it's one thing to want our world's Harry to face You-Know-Who for us, but it's a whole other issue if we steal one from him home universe in order to fight our war for us."
"I'll admit that it is unsavoury," replied Dumbledore "But lives are at stake here, and if anyone has a better suggestion then I will gladly listen to it."
Silence filled the air once again.
Seeing that no one else had anything to offer, Dumbledore patted his hand twice on the table top and then stood up, saying "I must contact the Department of Mysteries at once. Hopefully the Unspeakables will have something that can help us in our endeavours."
"No," said the Head of the Unspeakables firmly "absolutely not."
"Algernon," said Dumbledore firmly "I know that you have heard the prophecy, and that you know what it means for our world. Surely you can see the necessity in-"
"I know damn well what that prophecy means, Albus," the man, Algernon Croaker snarled in reply "but you ask too much."
"You have tampered with time before," replied Dumbledore.
"Yes, but within the realms of our own universe, and no further back than a day at most," replied Croaker "Never before have we tampered with the very foundations of our universe. Never have we aimed to disrupt the forces of the space-time continuum to such an extent."
"But you know that it can be done," retorted Dumbledore.
"I know that the Americans and the Germans have both worked on the notion," said Croaker "I have certainly never heard of them having any success, and trust me, if they had done it we would know about it."
"How easy would it be to get their notes?"
"It doesn't matter, Albus. We are not doing it. End of discussion."
He turned to leave, but Dumbledore called after him "I wonder what the Ministry, and not to mention the wizarding public as a whole would think of your refusal to cooperate?"
Croaker spun around and snarled "The Unspeakables hold no value for public opinion, Albus, not like you. And the rest of the Ministry knows well enough to leave us alone."
"You may not value their opinions as I do," said Dumbledore "But how will you feel, I wonder, when Lord Voldemort is murdering your co-workers. Or when he is razing the very street where you live to the ground."
"Do not go there, Albus."
"How will you feel when all this happens, knowing that you might have been able to prevent it had you just taken the chance?"
"And what happens should it go wrong? We're talking about altering the very fabrics of existence here. What happens if we cannot repair what damage we do? What happens if we do more damage than we meant to? It is not just our lives that we would be risking on this matter. It'll be the lives of everyone in our country, everyone in the world. Our entire universe and perhaps the one we are trying to reach into as well. We could destroy all of them for that matter, every one of them."
Dumbledore had no way of arguing against that, so instead he settled for something less "Fine then. I won't ask you to do this. But please, just see about getting a hold of the research already done and look it over. And if after that you are still not convinced to perform the task, then I will drop the matter entirely, agreed?"
Croaker studied him for a moment, before finally giving a nod of his head and replying "Alright, fine. But I can tell you now that I am not going to change my mind over this, Albus."
Two weeks passed before Dumbledore heard anything from Croaker again. In that time, Harry made absolutely no progress on the road to getting better, and Voldemort began to increase his attacks, including one that almost cost Amelia Bones, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement her life. She was now recovering in St Mungo's.
Cornelius Fudge received a vote of no confidence following a spectacular show of unity by the entire Wizengamot, and his replacement, Rufus Scrimgeour, was sworn in to the role of Minister for Magic.
Dumbledore was escorted through the Department of Mysteries and shown into Croaker's office.
"Well?" he asked eagerly.
Croaker shook his head "I managed to get their notes, Albus and I've looked it all over, but I still don't like it. There are too many variables still unaccounted for, there are too many things that could go wrong that we have no countermeasures for. In short, there is not enough research done, and not enough solid evidence to prove that this sort of thing is even remotely viable."
"So you still do not wish to do this?" asked Dumbledore.
"Albus, this research has cemented every one of my reservations. This cannot be done, and only a fool would try."
"I understand." replied Dumbledore, getting up "It is regrettable that you feel that way, but I understand. I will see myself out."
The silvery form of Sybil Trelawney sank back into the swirling mass in the pensieve, and Rufus Scrimgeour, newly appointed Minister of Magic turned his eyes back towards the man sitting on the opposite side of his desk.
"You are certain that Harry Potter is the only person that this prophesy is referring to?"
"One hundred percent certain." replied Dumbledore.
"And you believe that the unspeakables may have a solution to our problem that they are unwilling to share?"
"I know for a fact that they do."
"Very well. You leave this with me, Dumbledore. I will get the information needed."
The doors burst open and a swarm of Aurors flooded into the office.
Senior Auror John Dawlish came forward and announced "Algernon Croaker, you are hereby ordered to hand over all documents pertaining to inter-dimensional travel immediately. Failure to comply will result in the immediate termination of your employment within the Ministry of Magic, and anywhere up to a possible twelve year sentence to imprisonment in Azkaban. This is in compliance with Ministerial Decree Number One Hundred and Sixteen."
Croaker stood up "Now wait just one minute. That research is unverified and potentially hazardous. What use could you have for it?"
"It is because it is hazardous that it is being confiscated," replied Dawlish "Now hand it over."
"I can't. It belongs to my equivalents in Germany and the U.S."
"Well, I'm sure that the I.C.W. will be delighted to learn what those two countries have been spending their time working on. Last chance, Croaker, hand it over."
Slowly and reluctantly Algernon Croaker turned to the filing cabinet in the corner of his office and tapped his wand on the top. The resulting clunk confirmed that it had unlocked and he pulled one of the magically expanded drawers open.
From within he pulled out several brown card folders that were filled to bursting with page after page of parchment.
Once he had it all he carried it over towards Dawlish and dumped it into the Senior Auror's arms.
"Is this all of it?" asked Dawlish.
"Everything."
"It had better be."
"Are you sure that this is going to work, Dumbledore?" asked Scrimgeour, nervously.
"I am almost certain that it will." replied the bearded old wizard.
In front of them Bathsheba Battling, the Study of Ancient Runes Professor for Hogwarts School was engraving the symbol of Ehwaz, or partnership into a rock that would serve as one of the keystones for the ritual.
Nearby Bill Weasley was using a finely bristled paint brush to draw out the symbol of Eihwaz, or defence onto the stone floor in dragon blood.. Being a curse breaker by profession, his usual job was to disable runes, not create them, so this was proving to be a nice change of pace.
Nearby were several hooded Unspeakables who were also working to prepare the ritual. Just because their boss hadn't been on board with the idea, didn't mean that some of the others didn't want a look in. History could very well be made here with this. Of course, history could very well be destroyed here as well, along with everything else, but they did their best to not think on that.
The door to the room opened, and Severus Snape marched in, his black robes billowing in their trademark way.
"Headmaster," he said "Minister. It wasn't easy, but I managed to siphon off several phials worth of ectoplasm from the school's resident ghosts."
"Very good, Severus," said Dumbledore, admiring one of the phials as Snape handed it to him "I suspected that this would be the hardest piece of the puzzle to get a hold of."
"Each had their reservations," said Snape "however once they learned that it might help Potter most became more willing."
He addressed Dumbledore directly "I need to leave. The Dark Lord has been calling for several minutes now."
"Indeed," said Dumbledore, studying the phial in his hand "Very well, Severus. Set them down on that table and you may go."
Snape nodded his head courteously and then moved towards the table, onto which he places six phials of ectoplasm before turning and leaving the room.
"Are you still certain that he is absolutely trustworthy?" asked Scrimgeour.
"Oh yes," replied Dumbledore "I would trust him with my life."
They returned to watching the experts doing their work.
"How soon will this be ready?" asked Scrimgeour.
"Just a few finishing touches before we incorporate that ectoplasm," replied Professor Babbling "Once that's done we should be good to go."
Dumbledore took out his wand and gave it a wave. No fewer than ten phoenix-shaped patronuses soared out of the end and flew out of the room through the walls.
"That's it," said Bill, standing up and wiping the sweat off of his forehead.
The large dungeon room below Hogwarts castle was now holding many people. Dumbledore had summoned the entire Order of the Phoenix to come and watch the completion of the plan, and Scrimgeour had insisted on having several Aurors on the scene for protection.
"Very well," said Dumbledore. He turned towards the unspeakables "When you are ready then."
The hooded men fanned out around the ritual image that had been created following the research done by the Germans.
Once every man was in position, each raised their wand and began to incant in a strange language. Wizards normally used the Latin language for their spells, but not this time. This was something far more ancient and guttural.
Nothing seemed to happen for the longest time. Scrimgeour was seriously considering calling the whole thing off when all of a sudden there was a rapid fire show of lights that was somewhat reminiscent of the so called "northern/southern lights" or "aurora borealis/australis."
Their eyes and noses felt like they were on fire when a cloud of smoke filled the room, and Dumbledore waved his wand to clear it.
Nothing could be done about the burning smell.
But as the last of the smoke cleared, they saw him, a man, spinning in mid-air, just a few feet above the ritual circle.
His spinning slowed to a stop and his feet came to rest on the ground. Legs apparently unable to support him following his cross-dimensional trip, he crashed unceremoniously to the floor.
And then he threw up. Had Fred and George Weasley been there, they would have been quite impressed by the distance achieved by the first projectile blast.
Albus Dumbledore stepped forwards concernedly and asked "Are you alright?"
The man turned his head and looked up.
There was absolutely no doubting it. Although he might be older than they were expecting, and rather battle-worn to boot, this man was unquestionably Harry Potter.
Surprising them all, he gave a groan before muttering aloud "Oh hell! This won't end well for the French!"
And then he slumped over completely. Out cold.
A/N: Sorry if it feels short, but this does exactly what was required. And it's a prologue, setting up the rest of the story.
Hope you enjoyed the read. Yes, this is a manipulative Dumbledore story, but if you don't like those kinds of stories and yet didn't work out what this was going to be from the first chapter, then it's your fault not mine.
