Inconsistent Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own it.
Warnings: Angry!Sirius equals M-rated language.
Harry didn't know how many people there were in the world until he attended his parents' funeral. Concealed supposedly safely in his family's cottage, Harry was more accustomed to small groups of people, just his parents and their closest friends. And yet so many surged forwards upon seeing him, claiming to know him, to have known them, and to impress their grief upon him. Even worse were the journalists, who didn't squander precious words on sympathy and attacked him with questions about moments he hated to remember. Harry quickly took to hiding behind whatever was closest to hand: a tree, a wall, a table, Sirius.
What struck him most was the sheer amount of children. He was sure that he had never seen another child in his entire lifetime. Only here, now that his parents had gone and he had been forced to grow up, did they come out to play, and they looked at him with the same fascination that he felt for them. He supposed that most of them recognised him as the orphaned child not, as he would find out later, as the child who escaped Voldemort and was the one destined to kill him.
None of them approached him, and Harry forced himself not to mind, quelling the childlike need for adoration and companionship. It didn't work, and he was found hiding behind the buffet table, stuffing himself with treacle tart and choking down his sobs, by a family that he didn't know. That wasn't saying much; he hardly knew any of the families here, but he felt as if he should know this one. Looking at them was like staring into his past. There was a boy of about Harry's age between the two parents, dark-haired and definitely well-cared for. The adults had faces that Harry recognised from photographs taken during his parents' school years. Harry had never had a name to put to them.
'Harry,' the woman said while her son peeked out from behind her skirts, 'I'm so sorry,' she said. 'I'm so, so sorry.'
It was with reluctance that Harry looked up at her, expecting to see that same parody of sorrow on her face. But it was with relief that he saw her sadness, real and potent, and traces of something else. The sort of expression that Sirius wore when he turned up late to dinner but amplified a hundred times over. Guilt, Harry thought.
But his four year old mind dismissed it as unimportant and promptly forgot it. The woman knelt before him and hugged him tightly as if Harry was her child, and he snuggled close, pretending that the caressing hands were Lily's.
She pulled away too soon, and the sight of the stranger's face was almost too much for him to bear. He turned away, back to his abandoned treacle tart on the ground. The firm pressure on his shoulder made Harry look up with a start. The man was gripping his shoulder a bit too tightly.
'Good luck, Harry,' he said before letting go and guiding his wife and son away. The little boy looked back at Harry with wide eyes, and Harry returned the stare, envious and confused and slightly sadder than before.
'There you are, Harry.'
Sirius just missed them, they might as well have been figments of Harry's imagination, for all Harry knew. A projection of his wishes that evaporated in the dusty air.
...
Dumbledore sighed as he reviewed his computer screen, the only human sound amongst the reliable ticking of his clocks and the occasional squawk from his pet bird. The Potters' funeral was splashed across the Net with stolen pictures of Harry decorating the semi-serious text. Shaking his head, Dumbledore formed a steeple with his fingers and looked thoughtfully over them. The Daily Prophet: that confounded newsposter. Its headliner was practically an invitation to Lord Voldemort. The only reason Harry was alive now was because the Dark Lord Voldemort had believed the boy dead. Now, with the boy so publicly presented, who knew how long it would be before the Dark Lord was tracking Harry down, this time leaving no margin for error?
He would have to get the Order involved, have a rotating watch on Harry, no less than two operatives at a time and–
The doors to his office slammed open, and Sirius Black barrelled into the centre, momentarily distracted by the majestic, orange bird that sat on the perch by Dumbledore's desk, before he found the focus of his anger.
'What the hell is this, Dumbledore? I thought you were going to pay those journalists off!' Sirius slammed his tablet, its screen the perfect replica of Dumbledore's, down on his desk, causing Dumbledore's bird to flap its wings in a steadying motion. 'This isn't even about the funeral. It's about Harry. Look, he's all over it. They're already calling him the "Chosen One".'
Dumbledore smiled serenely. 'Yes, I have also read the article, Sirius. Please, be calm–'
'Calm? I will not be fucking calm. How can I be? They're calling him the Chosen One. Are they trying to provoke You-Know-Who? Usually I wouldn't care, the Prophet can mock him all they want, but putting Harry's face on that shit? Why did you even let them into the blasted funeral?'
'Sirius, you know that it wasn't my place to bar anyone who wished to pay their respects from attending.'
'They weren't there to pay their respects. They were there looking for stuff to keep their read count up. And now they're all talking about Harry like he's some kind of messiah or something. All because of that damn prophecy.'
'Finished, Sirius?'
After a long, drawn-out exhale, Sirius nodded.
'All right. Firstly, I'm afraid the Daily Prophet incident was inescapable. The public have been waiting for an end to this war for a while, and now Harry gives them that chance. I'm afraid he's going to be seeing a lot of the press. The most he can do is learn how to use publicity to his advantage.
'Secondly, I am not planning to leave Harry at all defenceless. This building is well fortified, and I am planning to utilise soldiers from my Order of the Phoenix to personally protect him. Of course, you, Remus, myself and Severus will be permanent fixtures.'
'Severus? Severus Snape?'
'I also want to ensure that Harry is perfectly capable of protecting himself. He will be educated in physical combat and weaponry as well as military strategy, problem solving, arguing persuasively, public speaking, battle history, perhaps some languages would be useful as well, to make alliances with other Earth Settlements that do not have English as their official language. I want to send him into the battle with the best chance he has.'
'I don't want to send him in at all.'
'Me neither, Sirius, me neither, but that isn't our choice. It wasn't Seer Trelawney's choice. It wasn't even Fate's choice. Voldemort brought Harry Potter on himself the moment he carved that lightning bolt into the boy's forehead.'
...
Harry's scar was now uncovered, but the skin around it was still angry. He hated looking at it, but Pomfrey insisted on keeping his fringe away from it until it was properly healed.
He sat in Dumbledore's office, his legs swinging several inches above the ground, and tried not to scratch at it. It itched so badly; he really hated it. Harry tried to divert himself by looking at the odd contraptions on Dumbledore's desk. Little mechanical wonders that pivoted, swung or piped steam, some glowing with the jewel-like veins of chemicals. The portrait-lined walls were also of interest to Harry. Although he didn't know who any of them were, he liked searching for the portrayal with the largest nose or funniest pose. There was one man who had been painted holding an ear-trumpet, which (Harry thought) made him look as if he was trying to smoke a pipe with his ear.
Eventually, Harry tired of this and stared ahead, wondering where Dumbledore could be. A caw had him starting violently and turning to kneel up on his seat, peeking around its broad back. A radiant, vermillion bird sailed through the open window and alighted on the carved perch that sat by the desk. So the bird belonged here then. Harry watched it with reverence as it shook out its fiery wings and fixed Harry with a dark, intelligent stare.
'His name,' and Harry jumped again, 'is Fawkes.' Dumbledore entered the room and sat at the desk, opposite Harry.
'He's very…' Harry searched for a word magnificent enough to honour the bird, but he came up short.
Dumbledore chuckled kindly. 'Yes, Harry, I know exactly what you mean.'
Harry nodded. 'What is he?'
'He's a phoenix.'
'Phoenixes are stories,' Harry said, 'for bedtimes.'
'Aah, quite. Phoenixes were indeed a myth before this extraordinary species of bird was discovered. They cannot regenerate.'
'Regenerate?'
'Ah, to be born again. While they cannot be reborn from their ashes, as the legends say, their flaming feathers led the man who discovered them to name them after the legend.'
Harry's mouth formed an "O" of understanding, and Dumbledore smiled again. Lily's thirst for knowledge was there somewhere in Harry's nature.
'Now, Harry. What I'm about to tell you is very important.'
'Ok.'
'It's about Voldemort.'
'The man who killed them.'
'Yes. He is a very dangerous man, Harry, and I'm afraid that he wants to try and finish what he began.'
'He wants…me to die?'
'Yes, I'm afraid.'
'But why?'
Dumbledore looked into those miserable, green eyes and sighed very deeply. This was the first situation in a while that he was not sure how to handle. He would have to tread very carefully. 'Alas, Harry, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know, one day…put it from your mind for now, Harry. When you are older, ready, you will know. Now, the more sensible thing to focus on is keeping you alive, wouldn't you agree, Harry?'
The little boy nodded fervently, easily sidetracked.
'Good. You will be living here from now on, in Hogwarts Castle.'
Harry snorted slightly at the name as James would have done before covering his mouth and apologising as Lily had taught him.
'You will be taught everything you need so that you become just as strong and smart and powerful as Lord Voldemort. Sirius and Remus have already agreed to live here too,' he said, knowing that this would cheer Harry up. The child brightened immediately, gifting the room with a dazzling smile. 'Is that agreeable with you, Harry?'
'I agree,' he said after breaking the word down into recognisable parts. 'I agree, Mr Dum-ble-dore.'
And that was Harry's beginning.
Jaysnow-Silverblaze and LoveInTheBattleField: Thank you! I'm glad that you liked it!
Grapes: Thank you. :) Let's just say that I'm attempting to keep everyone as in character as this alternate universe setting can afford. For me, that would mean a manipulative yet well-meaning!Dumbledore.
