I'll save any comments for after the chapter. I just want everyone to give a big thanks to Falconrok5 for his help with looking of my work before it is put out the website.

So, all rights to those who deserve them, and that other legal jazz.

Voice of Experience : Hindsight

XxXxXx

Albus pushed his spectacles further up his nose, trying to occupy his mind with the innocuous action. Meanwhile, he kept his eyes firmly locked on those of the young Mr. Weasley. It would not do to let his shock be noticeable to either boy, but it was a very difficult thing to conceal. The sudden and unexpected request had left him curious to unravel the puzzle that was the youngest Weasley.

The boy was a relatively untried boy, as best he knew. His family was prominent no matter it's financial or political standing, and had been one of the few to support him through his entire tenure as champion or the magical world. So it was a puzzle to him how a boy so steeped in innocence and light knew of one of the darker and more drastic measures he used to protect innocent lives when in times of dire need. Not even the boy's father, who was one of the most trusted members of the dormant Order of the Phoenix, knew about his talents in reading minds.

Gathering his magic, he decided upon the course of minor intimidation, and cast wandless magic to make his eyes glow, hoping to unsettle the boy enough that he would crack. Though there certainly was an initial flicker of doubt in his eyes, his face quickly slackened, and displayed an almost over the top lack of interest.

That alone made him worried about the boy sitting before him. Never had he met a first year who had grown up as this child had who could not be intimidated with a show of magic like this. Even Harry appeared nervous, and Albus understood that he had a much darker history to prepare him. His courage would serve him well, but seeing such from a Weasley boy was not something he expected. The mystery was enough that he began to feel a very real desire to enter this boys head, if only to dissuade himself that he was not facing some impostor with nefarious deeds in mind.

Sadly, the morality of the issue was much more difficult to handle than the actual magic itself. Not for the first time he felt a bit constrained by his own morals when it meant the most expedient solution was unavailable to him. Legillimency was horribly violating, and could be considered one of the most personally offense acts a human could commit against another. He could ill afford a slip in morals, when all that separated him from people like Grindelwald and Tom was the fact that he choose to do what was right and not what was easy, no matter the temptation.

Though, he admitted to himself, the world was hardly a clear division between Light and Darkness. Instead it would be best painted in shades of gray.

In the past he had been forced to delve into a student's mind for it had been the right choice, even if it was a damning act to do so. As head of the wizengamot, he understood just how many laws he was breaking each time he did such a thing. But it was his responsibility to keep the students safe, and as their headmaster, he would not let the children of known terrorists bring their preconceived notions into his school to harm others. He truly believed he could save those children, but it would not do to let them harm others in the interim. The intent made the actions no less a violation of a sacred trust, but he saw it as a necessary evil to protect the light.

It was a secret he held close to his chest, and there was only one other man who knew he was a master of the art. Dumbledore had taught that said individual everything he knew about the subtle arts of legillimency and occlumency. And he trusted Severus Snape with all of his secrets.

Yet this boy obviously knew quite well of his magical endowments. The demand painted him into a difficult corner to escape from, and he wondered if that was the point. The boy appeared perfectly willing to wait the night for a response, despite the obvious discomfort Harry felt at their prolonged silence.

It was unfortunate that he had to meet Harry under such circumstances, and it would be very bad form to commemorate their first meeting by having to obliviate the poor boy.

Such a course of action would do him little good, however, as no matter how apparent Harry's lack of knowledge about legillimency was, he didn't know the source of Mr. Weasley's information. To obliviate only one of them would simply allow the information to be leaked again, and most likely with far more drastic effects. For now he had a way to nip the problem before it came to a head, if he could but determine how the boy had learned of his skills. As he seemed unwilling to cooperate however, he found that the only way would be to act as was being asked of him and read his mind, accomplishing the boy's objective.

Albus was quite aware of the many years he had lived at this very moment, and he felt the life drain from him slightly. Judging by the boy's slight smirk, he suspected it was quite apparent to the boy that Albus was trapped. Sighing, he would have wagered that some of the trademark twinkling in his eyes had diminished already.

"I fear you have placed me into a very difficult position, Mr. Weasley. I don't doubt that this was your goal though," he said a bit reproachfully, "and I also would guess that you know what you ask of me is against the law. You have asked the man trusted with upholding the law to break one designed to prevent horrible atrocities being committed." The act he put on was slightly strong, but the words were not untrue, and he hoped to instill some guilt in the boy. "Now, while I may be capable of performing such magic, I fear I could not let a child such as yourself make the decision whether I should do so or not."

Leaning forward, he gave the red head an encouraging smile and spread his hands in a placating gesture. "Perhaps you could simply explain whatever it is that is bothering you?"

Whatever he had been expecting, it had been far from the cold disdain apparent from his young charge's expression.

"Albus," the boy said slowly, as if speaking to a recalcitrant child, "if you do not do as I ask, and do it this moment, I will have quite the nice discussion with Harry here. Perhaps we'll even discuss the sorts of interviews you give to aspiring divination professors? I'm sure he would love to hear what you and Professor Trelawney spoke of together all those years ago. Now, don't you agree it might be better that he hear them from you? If you do as I ask, I'll let you be the first to tell him, tonight that is, and not when you bloody well get around to it either." (

Albus paled and involuntarily gripped the edge of his desk, for the first time in years that all of his careful plans would be undone- by an eleven year old boy, of all things. He was at a complete loss as to what to do about this, briefly considering completely obliviating all of the boy's memories before tossing the idea as being too dark for his tastes. Still, here sat a boy who knew more than any other alive, privy to knowledge that was secret for a reason, and Albus could no longer be sure of the boy's loyalty to the side of light.

Albus swallowed his regrets, making the decision to go through with the act as he met eyes with the boy. For a moment he was bothered by how cold those blue eyes could be for a child, but he pushed his magic into his thoughts, piercing the boy's mental defenses through their shared gaze. It was a gentle touch, not designed to alert or harm the boy, carefully letting the boy know he was in his head and not there to hurt him.

Though he approached with much caution, Albus still held reservations about this Ronald Weasley. He knew not what this boy hoped to gain by having his mind examined, but whatever it was, Albus wished to gleam the needed information quickly and abort the spell. At first the spell seemed perfect, and he traced the subconscious to those memories he sought, but he quickly noticed his magic was being accepted far too readily, pulled deeper into the boy. Attempting to escape, he found himself inexorably drawn into the strangest memory he had ever seen.

Albus fell into a near perfect replica of his office, and he wondered how this had ended up inside Ronald Weasley's head. If he weren't so used to every intimate detail, he would be fooled into believing he had never left. The walls showed a greater sign of age, though only by a touch, and various trinkets he did not recognize lined the shelves.

Though perhaps these were superfluous signs, as the most shocking example that something was amiss was the fact that an older version of himself sat behind his desk.

"Please do make yourself at home, my boy. This is your office too, after all," the older version said, grinning widely as he gestured at a ring of comfy chairs that were always kept in the office for entertaining guests. "I suggest you suspend your disbeliefs about what an eleven year old can do, Albus. You'll find Ronald quite capable, and I believe he will have made sure that you can rest yourself while you are made to suffer his whims in this place. I cannot interact with you, obviously, but I do wish to remember my manners and offer a guest a seat. I assure you, it will be a much nicer way to endure having to listen to an old man lecture you for a time."

Albus fell back into one of the chairs, surprised that he didn't fall through it and fall flat on his bottom, but he was still too gobsmacked from facing himself to worry too much about that.

The memory looked up in the general direction of Albus, his eyes focused on the wall to the right of his head, obviously unsure of where to properly look. "Ah yes," the thought began, running a hand through its beard, "we should decide on a manner of address, don't you agree?"

Smiling, he leaned forward, shifting his gaze so it was resting closer to where Albus was really sitting. "I believe I have the answer, and you shall have to excuse an old man his pride, though I'm sure you understand that quite well. I daresay I have a few more years on you, so I shall refer to you as Albus. Feel free to think of my as Dumbledore if you wish, my boy. I believe such conventions will make our talk much simpler."

Albus just nodded, not worried about such things, and watched as the shade in this boy's head gestured broadly at the room around them. "Now, a most logical question, and therefore the one I believe will be at the forefront of your mind, is where you are, no doubt."

The smile that he was given was a bit pitying, " Surely you must feel incredibly humbled at the moment, my boy. I do believe I would have had quite the hard time at your age moving past the fact that an eleven year old child with no training managed to turn your magic against you. A sign, I'm sure you'll agree, that you should never overlook one's merit due solely to age. That is neither here nor there, though, and I can assure you that he is the only person besides myself to know this bit of magic. The idea came to me after reading a wonderful book, one that you do not yet have in your collection, I might add. Do keep your eye open over the summer of Harry and Ronald's second year for the latest at Flourish and Blotts. No doubt you'll have little idea of what I have done until such time, but I shall simply describe the spell as being similar to a pensieve. Ronald has merely been kind enough to carry this memory back for me so that I could have a discussion with you, and hopefully dissuade you of some of our worst habits early on this time."

The specter looked apologetic as it pulled out a bag from the desk, revealing a large collection of muggle sweets. He then took a lemon drop and smiled as he put it into his mouth, "Pardon my manners, I would offer you one under different circumstances, but at least one of us need not suffer without, but I think you'll understand Albus."

Albus frowned. It was obvious that this was some experiment in time travel, but he was getting frustrated watching his older self settle into the chair, not explaining a single thing to him. Instead, all it did was waste time with pleasantries and idle banter.

As his temper began to run away with him, the vision locked eyes with him, and though they must have been focused on the wall behind him, he couldn't help but feel as if he really were being watched. Truly though, the most disconcerting thing was how he couldn't recognize himself in those blue eyes that were looking at him as if weighing his worth.

"I suspect you need to get a better hold of your temper, Albus. I merely am treating you with the same regard you show others, so if you are truly feeling any ill will, let it not be directed at me. If not, then I apologize for being so presumptuous."

"Now, where were we? Ah yes, I was going to give you an explanation as to what has taken place to warrant these actions. Before we begin, I recommend you suspend your preconceived notions and get off your high broomstick to listen to another's opinion."

Albus glared, but it was obviously ineffective on the memory, and it kept going.

"I trust that you have realized by now that Ronald has indeed traveled from the future, and has taken habitat in his younger self. I do not recommend you try and persuade him that this was a foolish reaction, he will accept little argument as to why it should not have been done. I must add that from my own perspective that without the knowledge he or I possess, to do so would be beyond the pale in terms of hubris."

The truth was that Albus had wanted to do just that. Time travel on a scale larger than a few hours was highly dangerous, and should never have been attempted. Yet this person truly did appear to understand his mind, and he was forced to admit that he was terribly in the dark about what could have convinced him to send the Weasley boy back into time.

"Nor was it my idea," the shade said slowly, smiling as he demonstrated that uncanny ability to know what Albus would think. "Ronald was quite passionate when he came to me and asked me to help him with the needed spells. I do believe that should you look past your spectacles and see the boy as something other than a student, as you too will be hard pressed to find flaws in his reasoning. Perhaps he could even let you view the memory of the inspirational dressing down he gave me, as it was one of the most compelling speeches I have ever heard. Should you find yourself separated from your delusions of grandeur in the near future, I would highly recommend making this request of him."

Albus snorted slightly, his anger growing at the tone that was being taken with him. He would have let his indignation grow, but instead reigned it in tightly, worried what he would do to the boy should his magic be fueled by emotion here. It would most likely be enough to free him of this prison, but he didn't care for the cost of such actions. No doubt it would do irreparable damage to the boy's mind. That left having to listen to this unwarranted scolding until the very end. Until such time, he would remain calm, feeling as if he claimed a small victory in doing so.

"I must warn you that should you continue to act the way you have been, you will bring disappointment to many, Albus. You're no longer the great general, nor should you be. Your machinations will eventually crumble, and I can honestly tell you it will be at the worst time. The one boy that the entire world was forced to rely upon, you left to the wolves, and he was eaten by the beasts that hunt him. And it was worse than your nightmares could prepare you for, my boy. I know this to be true as well."

"With that said, I pose you a question you must consider," the memory said slowly as it stood up. Suddenly its face contorted in a rictus of fury, and it slammed its hands into the desk hard enough that Albus flinched. Though the memory dulled it, he felt the magic building around him and grow strong enough to make the hairs on his arms rise up. He was being leveled with the same intimidating look he gave others when he expected them to act, and this time he understood their terror all too well. It had been a long time since he had been truly terrified of someone, and now he was shaking like a schoolboy.

The next declaration was delivered at such volume it echoed in Albus' ears, "Now you will listen well, for I challenge your honor with these words. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, you doddering old fool, what in Merlin's names were you thinking?!"

It was from the corner of his eye that he saw something speeding towards his head, and all thoughts of this being merely a memory left him as he ducked from the flying books and trinkets. Flicking his wrist, he forgot that he did not have his wand in its holster here, in a child's mind. Then again, few ever expected to be attacked in a memory, so there was little need for such defenses.

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself meet the eyes of an incredibly angry version of himself. The words had enraged him too, but it was as a candle to the bonfire compared with this rage he was witnessing. Whatever had infuriated him so was a powerful force, far stronger than his own injured pride.

"You are a manipulative old fool," the memory hissed at him. "You're as involved in your own self image as the supreme mugwump and guardian of the light that you could not find your arse if it summoned both hands to it! Surely you've seen Harry by now; is this your champion? A malnourished, abused boy, placed under the most questionable of care because you believed your decision was best, and ignoring McGonagall's words to the contrary?"

"Perhaps he even reminds you of another boy, whose burgeoning darkness was allowed to grow thanks to you damnable pride. You long believed that you could stop him should he grow out of hand, yet you failed. Now stands Harry, a boy who makes Riddle's own past pale in comparison and with potential for more power than either you or Tom. Shall we trust such a thing into the hands of one who has already failed so spectacularly?!"

"That boy should hate you," the vision said, its voice suddenly soft, and Albus winced at such a damning admission. "Yet he is a better man than you, Albus, and capable of more love than any child who has lived with such people as the Dursleys can be expected of. Through every mistake, he has worked through his anger to eventually forgive us our transgressions. In all of my one hundred and twenty three years of life, I have never been more ashamed of doing what is right."

His older self stood up to his full height, and the magic gathered to him. He seemed to be wrapped in his own power, and his eyes glowed in a way that put Albus' own earlier display with Mr. Weasley to shame. Those eyes promised horrible retribution should his demands be denied in any way. Finally the eyes locked on him, reaching into his soul from a reality removed from his own, and he felt a shiver go down his spine.

"You will take Harry from that hovel in which you thrust him in and train him yourself. The plans you have dreamed up will not breed the man you need to win you your war, Albus," the voice held such contempt when speaking of the Dursleys, he had to wonder what had really happened to leave Harry looking as he did.

"I do not care how difficult this is for you," the shade continued, "but you will not let that boy experience the hell I know awaits him should you have your way. You command an order of talented witches and wizards, head them as the strongest wizard since the times Merlin walked the earth, and so I trust you have the ability to make this happen."

The older Dumbledore looked him in the eye again, looking appraisingly at him. "I can hardly believe I need to say this, but I fear I must, for I remember how stubborn I could be. I have instructed Ronald in how to exactly discredit you and prepare Harry for the things to come, should you ignore my wishes. Please do not disappoint me, for I would hate to have an eleven year old boy show the world how easy it is to ruin every single one of your plans."

Those final words trapped Albus between embarrassment, fear, and quite a large dose of anger.

Had it been anyone but himself telling him these things, and in such a tone, he would have let his resentment lead him to find a way to silence them. Regardless of the fact that they were simply a memory of a time that would hopefully never be. But deep within him was a part of his soul that secretly enjoyed getting castigated by a source that knew his darkest secrets.

It had long festered inside of him. That doubt about whether he was doing the right thing, only to be buried deep inside each time it tried to dissuade him from following his self prescribed course. It left whispered guilts in his ear at night, when he was alone and subject to the company of his own mind, letting him know his worth for being so manipulative. Now he was faced with a voice he could not drown out, a person who spoke clearly of how he was wrong. And truthfully, the thought of what had happened to turn him into what he saw on the other side of his desk left him shuddering in fright.

For a moment he just stared back into the eyes of this angry glimpse of the future, feeling conflicted and very numb all of a sudden. It seemed the older Dumbledore shared his fatigue, for he suddenly collapsed in his chair. The magic was gone from the room, and he no longer looked angry, but very very tired. Waving his wand casually, the pensieve removed itself from the cabinet to float forward and land on the desk between them.

For a moment his older self examined the magical artifact, leaning forward to run a thumb over its engravings, lost in some deep thought before speaking. "I had Ronald share many of his memories with me. Some I added myself, of course, but a large number come from that young boy you probably so quickly over looked. I fear the only way for you to truly understand is to show you what it is we have had to live through. Perhaps afterwards you will understand why it is I beg the gods to judge me lightly when I move on to the next life."

The memory began to fall in towards the pensieve as the memory leaned in, bringing its large hooked nose to the rim. Albus waited for the disorientation to pass before examining his surroundings.

They were in the middle of what seemed to be the most eerie muggle graveyard, something straight from the scenes of a horror story.

From behind him came the only sound in the darkness of night, "Harry once shared these memories with his friends, using my pensieve to do so. The magic may be stretched thin to fully draw on the details of the world around the subject, but I foresee no difficulty viewing the essential portions. There are a myriad number of things to be aware of here, so I shall leave you to witness them alone. I believe I have some respects to pay alone."

The specter left him then, going close enough he wasn't compelled by the magic to have to follow, but far enough he felt like he was separate from the other person. The older man was hidden in a shadow cast by an old dead oak tree, and he shivered at the way the scant light made him look so very old. Not just in physical years, but an old soul, long overdue to be laid to rest.

Ripping his gaze from the depressing sight, Albus tried to objectively take in the graveyard. Something about the place spoke of dark rites and great evils. Dimly it reminded him of the magical concentration camps Grindelwald had kept secret from the muggles. The same evil magic permeated this place, so strong even through memory alone that Albus felt ill to witness it.

Though the gravestones were perfectly maintained, they were jarring on the eye, cold and hard on the eyes, silent sentinels speaking of the mortality of man. Each cried out to him, tolling on about a thousand horrible deaths, and even the wind didn't blow in this place, not daring enough to disturb this sanctum of evil.

Silence was not to be held for long, and a chain of pops flooded his hearing, signaling the arrival of some two dozen death eaters. Each robed figure held a small muggle girl of no more than 15 summers, bound and gagged, their eyes bulging with fear at the sense of their impending doom. Though their faces were masked, Albus could feel their excitement on the air as they imagined the next few moments of moral abandon.

In their center though was Tom, or some horrible mockery of the once sinisterly handsome young man he had known in the first war. No matter the skin in which he dwelt though, Albus could sense the evil that was held within his soul. He too held a wand to the throat of a girl who was most easily the youngest, yet she held the most defiance in her eyes.

Albus longed for the strength of youth to face such odds head on, but the combination of being a mere memory and the understanding that it was pointless, made him stand stock still to watch.

"Harry," Tom hissed out, sounding more like a snake his ancestors payed homage to than a rational human being, "I know you're here, boy. I can tell your dreams bring you to this place, dreaming of our time together. I suggest a game, in honor of that wonderful night. I do so hope you will play."

A flash of orange brown light left his wand, and despite being so close, Albus watched the split second reaction of the young girl Tom held change to horror, realizing she would have no rescue from this. For a long moment she thrashed on the ground, writhing and screaming under the cruciatus curse. Before long her head hit the corner of a tombstone hard enough to crack her skull, staining the stone red. A few more convulsions and she lay still, even under the curse. The life within that small child had forever been extinguished.

"Do you care for the first round of the game Potter? If you send me one of the children that followed you to the ministry last year, I shall let these children go. One life can save so many innocents, Harry. Will you doom so many for your selfish desire to protect your friends? You have until morning, at which point I promise you I will have lost all patience and will kill them all. For now though, I suggest you stay and watch the way muggles should properly serve wizarding kind before I let you report to that headmaster of yours."

The next few minutes passed at an agonizingly slow pace for Albus, and he was forced to look away as acts of horrible torture and rape were performed by the death eaters. Such an atrocity left him feeling ill, and his faith in humanity deeply shaken. Many of the death eaters he saw before he had once been students, and it shamed him horribly to know that he had let them turn into such monsters.

Even as he averted his gaze so as to not be subjected to the worst portions of this nightmare, he saw that portions of the memory were missing. To his best guess, he suspected that Harry had purposefully tried to spare others the most horrific moments of this memory, and he began to connect with the boy. He had never known this Harry, but such tragedies as he had undergone to have to witness this would leave scarring deep within the heart that would never truly be healed.

Gradually the memory faded, moving Albus to the same location, only now the graveyard was bathed in a soft morning light. Standing over a pile of burnt and dismembered bodies were Harry and the Weasley boy, both much older and serious-looking. Near them was a teary eyed witch he wagered on being another first year he had seen tonight, Hermione Granger, and a long time friend and ally, Alastor Moody. While the Weasley and Granger were in tears and holding on to one another for comfort, Harry appeared numb to the sight.

Though to watch the act as he had, Albus would guess that it was almost a needed sense of closure for Harry to see the bodies. A sense of peace to deaden the shock of so many dead before him, knowing their pain was over with. It was a long moment that he stared at them, unmoving except for a slow clenching and unclenching of his fists.

Eventually he nodded to Moody, who placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, showing a silent understanding of his pain. Shortly the other two composed themselves and grabbed onto the auror's sleeve, and they were whisked away, causing the memory to change with it.

Albus was then subjected to a parade of difficult memories, most donated by Harry, for the remainder of an hour. Though there were myriad different moments of the boy's life being displayed, there seemed to be no order to them, and in a way that was rather saddening to watch. The boy seemed to show his desire to strike out at those watching, to let them witness his pain and have them experience a small amount of it themselves by never letting them accept a patten of abuse. One moment they would go from the acts of Tom, to times he was shut in a cupboard for weeks on end.

The worst recollection of this timeline, though, was one of those near the end, and it had been provided by Mr. Weasley instead of from the usual perspective of Harry. The scene began with an argument between the boy and Ms. Granger, resulting in resentment and anger at some minor slight that only a boy his age could take offense to. While normally such things would have been resolved quickly with no lingering effects, war had its way, and demonstrated why it was important to never leave unresolved issues to fester.

Instead of having the chance to properly apologize, events spiraled out of control far too quickly for any party to properly guard themselves against it. The wards were soundly broken about the Weasley property, and all but Mr. Weasley taken to one of Tom's lairs. Though Mr. Weasley did his best, the brief glimpses of the next few days, and those horrendous moments in the company of Tom, would no doubt have changed him as much as they had Harry. The boy had been put through a terrible reformation, and though it had cooled his temper and produced a strong man, it was truly a change that should never have been.

Throughout the entire experience however was his older self, an aged fixture who remained frozen in the shadows of a memory. Never before had he seen any one man look so tired and full of guilt, and he could only gather he was thinking of every opportunity he had to stop these events from unfolding. It was a horribly frightening thing to imagine that had fate continued unhindered, he would have been the bearer of such heavy feelings and burdens.

Slowly the scene changed from the burned and twisted remained of Harry, lying on the grounds of Hogwarts with the first peaceful expression in years, to that of his office. Albus felt much older now than when they had begun, and almost wished for the comfort of a bottle for a few hours. This feeling went well beyond his long years, but it attacked his very store of energy, that thing that drove him on to live longer and to continue his fight to protect the light.

Truly, if he were to be honest with himself, all he wanted now was to hang up his mantle and let someone else take up the cause so he could rest. It had been far too long a century for him, and seeing such misfortune gravitate to one innocent boy saddened him beyond simple words.

Taking a seat in one of the chairs again, he looked up to see the same aged expression on this broken version of himself.

Slowly it began to speak, and he felt himself compelled to listen to a voice of authority more than he ever had in the past. "Did you truly believe the Dursleys were a good choice, Albus?" it asked in a quiet voice. "Did you expect muggles with such fear in their hearts to ever accept and care for that boy like he deserves. You saw the address upon which his letters were written, and did you not ask yourself why he was in such a place? That boy needed a better home than you gave him, as well as the training to survive the storms of war that will fill his life."

"The home to which you sent him is your only sin for now. But I bequeath you to reconsider your actions and save Harry from the fate he suffered in my world. Ronald took a large risk to save the boy who was his brother in spirit, and he has given you another chance to do what you should have done the first time."

"You no longer are the great general, Albus," the voice said softly, not intending to hurt with its words. "Our mistakes could cost many innocents their lives. You pride yourself on trying to teach children about doing what is right when faced with difficult times, so you must act as you preach and lay your pride to the side. Admit to yourself that you are too old to live through another war that will ravage the land. This war has taken the last spark of life from me, and I know it is nearly time for me to pass on, but that doesn't need to be your fate. It is not a certainty you shall win, but teach Harry how to win, and ensure that he WANTS to be the world's savior. Right now you are his best shield against what fate would have planned for him had you gone unchecked. You need not darken his entire childhood with thoughts of war, but you can prepare him for when the events that herald the return of Tom truly begin again."

The specter turned its chair so the back of the seat was all Albus could see, "You must be a better family to Harry than his own blood relatives or I ever were."

With that, Albus felt the magic holding him to this memory release its grip over him, and he was able to slowly withdraw, leaving Mr. Weasley's head.

Sitting before him, where he had sat in the memory, were the two boys, and he hung his head in shame. He recognized they had set him up to be sitting there so the memory could better intimidate him by knowing where he was, but that was inconsequential now. For now he merely wanted to compose himself before trying to discuss anything with these boys.

Right now he was faced with a large range of emotions to sort through.

Anger, at being talked down to in a manner unlike any he had ever experienced before. Shame, for the pain he could have caused Harry through his machinations. And most of all was the embarrassment.

In his very long life, he had never before considered the possibility that he could be so horribly wrong about anything. All it took to see that was one young man to come back to this time and do what was right, no matter how easy it would have been to move on and not have to relive this nightmare again. Albus could not say he acted out of ill will towards Harry, but looking back, the decision to place him with the Dursleys had been the easy choice. That, and many other small choices were easy, but not right.

Perhaps it truly was time for him to move out of the spotlight, and hand the stage over to the next generation. He had grown accustomed to the people's attentions, and he admitted he enjoyed being the focus for crowds of admirers. Albus had been a rather precocious child, and it was a saddening thing to see that hadn't moved as far past that point of his life as he might have wished.

His thoughts started to grow darker with that, and just as he could not stop the ocean's tide, he began to be caught up in a vicious examination of all his thoughts and actions of late. He was saved from this damning action though when a soft song filled the room, and the darkness that was building inside of him broke. It did not absolved the guilt, but the phoenix song was more than enough of a bulwark to lean up against in order to think of a proper solution, and not the problem.

Mr. Weasley had come back with a purpose in mind, and these boys needed his help to see their plans through. Most of the foreknowledge would be of little use, given the unfortunate circumstances in which the previous Voldemort was defeated, but the older version of Mr. Weasley was a steady wand and keen mind that could help Harry. No doubt they could use some of the information to their advantage, but there would be a large burden upon him to prepare them well for the war.

It would not be a pardon for his crimes, but it would be a good beginning to changing himself. If he were so willing to grant pardon to dark witches and wizards, perhaps it was time to begin to forgive himself of his own mistakes.

Looking up, he ignored the red headed boy's piecing gaze for the moment to look at the clock on the wall above the entrance. He had been distracted for a far shorter time than he had thought, even though the time he had spent in the boys head had felt much longer, and he knew he could not put this meeting off for the evening. Again, he could only wonder if this had been another portion of a larger plan.

Meeting Mr. Weasley's gaze, he nodded slightly, and the boy relaxed. Seeing Harry's attention on the occupant of the perch in his room, he smiled softly.

"Thank you for the wonderful song, Fawkes," he said, drawing the dark haired boy's attention back to him. The boy gave him a glance that begged the question of what Fawkes was, and about the song, so he provided them as best he could at the time. "A phoenix, Harry. Amazing creatures, but alas, I think we shall have to wait to discuss them later. For now I believe your friend has brought us here for more important reasons."

Albus then faced the red head, this time not shying away from his gaze, "Would you mind if I referred to you as Ronald, like my predecessor? And perhaps you can ask your other self if it would be more appropriate to simply call him Ron?"

The boy smirked, painting a very odd sight. It truly did appear as if an older man used a child's face to try and mimic the expressions of an adult. "I'm glad to see you're open to taking suggestions from Dumbledore. Maybe there is hope for you yet, headmaster."

Albus's face twitched as he kept from smiling, not at all bothered by the formal form of address used by this man before him. "Perhaps there are a few things he pointed out that I believe I should respect and consider. Only tell me, Ronald, how much do you wish to speak of with Harry here? I cannot argue about his involvement, not after seeing those things, but as you are the most well-versed in what is to be taking place in the near future, I feel I must default to your expertise in this matter."

Ron looked at Harry for a moment, but the expression left little doubt that Ronald already knew how much he wished to be telling the other boy. "Everything, headmaster. Ron is already a good friend of his, and you've already seen in those memories how he takes to half truths. You can tell him everything that has happened up until now, and then I will explain my part in this."

Harry looked ready to protest being discussed to offhandedly, but Albus held up a hand to stop him from doing so. "Peace, Harry. We do not mean you any slight by talking of you in this way, but there are some things your friend and I must decide upon before we inform you of what we know. Some parts are better told by me, and others by him, and we wish to present this to you in the best manner possible."

Reaching into his desk, he pulled out the bag of lemon drops he stored away for emergencies, and subtly tapped his wand against the side of the bag. Placed upon the sweets was a small spell to help calm the boy, so they could more easily discuss what was happening.

"Here, I believe it best to begin these things on a light note, so have a lemon drop, Harry."

Harry reached across the desk to grab the sweet, and began to suck on it, within a few seconds he began to look calmer. He no longer looked ready to protest against what was taking place, and Albus replaced the bag in his desk. Ronald quirked an eyebrow at his actions, and Albus suspected the man knew what it was he had done.

"Now Harry, I must apologize to you. I have done you a great disservice that shames me to have ever committed." Albus ignored the images of abuse that floated in his memory, ghostly reminders of the trip into Ronald's memories.

Harry shook his head, vigorously trying to refute the claim, "Of course not Professor. I'm sorry for barging in here, there's nothing for you to apologize for!"

Albus sighed, "Tell me Harry, can you honestly say you cared for your time with the Dursleys?"

The boy instantly had a guarded expression, "I suspect it was pretty normal, Professor. They don't like magic though, so there might have been a bit of strain there, but nothing too serious."

Ronald snorted, "And I am the ghost of the Bloody Barron. Harry, look, right now this isn't the normal Ron speaking to you, he's just letting me out to talk to the headmaster. But I was once a good friend of yours, in a manner of speaking, so let me tell you something as a friend, and don't you dare hold this against Ron later."

The boy took a deep breath to compose himself, "Stop the damned secrecy crap. You may not like sharing secrets about yourself, but if you want a friend, you have to give as good as you get, mate. We're not going to destroy your privacy. We'll worry about you, try and help you when you're down, but we can't do that if you hold us at arm's length. If you want a friend to give you their trust, you've got to give them some as well."

As soon as the words were out, the very way Ronald held himself changed, and Albus suspected he was meeting the eleven year old Ron for the first time. "Harry! Bloody hell, I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting him to say that, I swear."

Harry shook his head, but his eyes were locked on the floor, "No, you, or whoever said that, is right. I guess I have been getting this friendship off to a pretty shoddy start, not really telling you anything. I...just don't want to talk about it yet, okay? Maybe another time..."

He sounded as guilty as his friend looked, and Albus took pity on them by coughing lightly, distracting them from the moment. "A good idea, I feel. I must apologize again though, as I am the one who brought it up. Now, without going into detail of your youth, I do realize your time spent with the Dursleys was...unpleasant," he said, his anger at the muggles bleeding into the last word. "I apologized before for it was my choice to have you placed under their care."

"Against the better opinions of Professor McGonagall and those close to your parents, I sent you there to better protect you should Voldemort resurface, Harry. There is old and powerful magic tied to your Aunt, designed to keep you safe should things go awry. That is no excuse for my actions however, as it is obvious that they are not fit to parent a child such as you. I did what was the simplest option, instead of what would have been best for you, and I offer my most sincere apologies."

For a moment Albus was very glad that he had slipped Harry the charmed sweets to calm him, for he could see a great deal of hurt and anger pass through those emerald eyes. It was an underhanded technique to keep the boy relaxed, but it was important that he heard the full story, and he knew it was important to help the boy cope properly. He had years of abuse to help Harry through, and his own habits to change, and such things could not be accomplished in one night alone.

"But why was it needed, headmaster?" Harry asked softly, "I thought everyone said he died that night. Why put me there if he was already dead?" Harry sounded vulnerable, and scared of the possibilities, causing Albus to frown deeply.

"Harry, you must understand, there was much magic used that night that is beyond any of us to understand. Truly, before Ronald here pointed out the opposite, I had hoped that you really had seen the last of the man, but I could not let myself be completely convinced and ignore your safety. It is fortunate he has not had the power to try and return sooner than now, but Voldemort is very much alive, and will likely someday find a way back into your life."

The small boy before him nodded, his eyes still misty from the enforced calm even as he wore a grim expression. Obviously the news was not a complete shock, and he was pleased to see Harry had come to the truth by himself. The hardships weren't over though, and he had to move on to more tenuous ground.

"I fear there is more, Harry, so please do not become too complacent. And once I have finished, it will be Ronald's turn to speak to you." Turning to the redhead, he gave the boy a smile to calm him. He did not want this boy too angry with his older self for teaching Harry a lesson in friendship that would have been a long time in coming had he not been so brave as to speak those words. "I would suggest you let your friend speak at that time as well, Ron. I assure you, his words were only meant so as to aid your friend, and his only fault is that he was perhaps a bit blunt with his words."

The boy frowned, but Albus believed he would listen to his council, so he turned his attention back to the other child. "I did not wish to tell you these things until you were older, Harry, but I suspect that if I ever wish to earn your trust and atone for my sins, I would be wise to tell you fully of your connection to Voldemort at this point in time." Taking a calming breath, Albus began to carefully give background about the first war against Tom, and then the prophecy and Harry's connection to it.

His shocked face came early in the retelling, and he had no doubt the boy had quite a fair mind, putting together the pieces before he could reach the end. Ron seemed amazed as well, and he wondered how much his older self had divulged before this night.

By the end though, both boys were pale, and Harry had a horrified flighty expression, making Albus fear the boy was close to having a slight breakdown, no matter the calming spell. It was a close thing to stifle his sigh, but he had feared this sort of reaction. Though less...dramatic then he had once feared, this was exactly the reason he had convinced himself to wait on telling the boy. In this state the boy would be useless to everyone, and he feared for how the knowledge would affect him to know he was labeled by prophecy to be a killer.

Making eye contact with Fawkes, he gave the bird a silent plea for help in both calming the boy and impressing upon him the morality of stopping Voldemort. The bird understood the request, and gave a slight trill before jumping to the back of Harry's chair, standing next to the boys head.

The phoenix placed the crown of its head into the nook of Harry's neck, slowly letting out a soft calming melody as it continued to nuzzle the boy. As the boy began to relax, the bird lifted its beak to Harry's ear, singing a melody too soft for any to catch but Harry, and for a moment the boy appeared surprised. Then slowly he began to sit straighter, looking more confident, though still tired and scared, before Fawkes moved back to his perch. Harry turned into his seat to nod in thanks to the bird, then he nodded to Albus as well, thanking them for the gift of Fawkes song.

Ron put his hand on Harry's shoulder as well, his face a mask of confusion at what had just happened, "I'm not really sure what's going on anymore mate, but you know I'll try to help, right? So don't worry, I mean we have the best wizard since Merlin and a time traveling auror to help us, what could go wrong?"

Harry gave a small laugh, but then gave his friend a slightly sharp glance, "And what's this about an auror, Ron?"

Albus laughed freely for the first time that evening at the panicked expression on the boys face at that line of questioning. "It would seem, Ron, that Harry here is now in need of your story." The boy looked slightly stubborn for a moment before he nodded, and a moment later his expression changed back to that of someone older and more guarded.

"Yeah, sorry about before, mate," Ronald said hesitantly, his hand reaching up to scratch the back of his head in a gesture of awkwardness. "Can't tell you how bloody odd having to talk to you like this is."

He took a deep breath, "Harry, before anything else, understand this is still Ron, or I guess Ronald is what I'll be called while here. I don't come from this time, but the important thing is that you were fighting Voldemort in the future, and I stood at your side through the whole damn thing. It was pretty damn close, but we won, even though the cost was too high. Friends and family for both of us died in the fighting, and we both nearly got our tickets stamped as well. The war was done with for a few years, but you weren't right in the head, and basically comatose to the world. When it got to be too much for you, you ended up taking your own life, but before you wonder why you would do that, you have to realize you had it the worst of all of us. Voldemort put you through hell before you got him, and it was so bad that I don't think any of us didn't want to escape this mortal coil sooner rather than later."

"I spent some time brooding about the damned war and your exit from Gryffindor tower the dramatic way, and finally came up with a crazy idea. The actual magic doesn't matter, but me and the headmaster from my own time came up with a spell to come back in time and change everything, for the better hopefully. I'm not sure how I can help, now that I've got this version of Dumbledore off his butt to help you, but I'll do my best. I can help train you two, along with Dumbledore, but I don't have more than second hand knowledge of attacks to really pass on. The final fight, and some other key people and events have already been given to this Dumbledore, so I'm about done with what I can do for you in that way. All I can say is that I'll make sure you two don't have to relive the same mistakes I, and the previous Harry, went through."

Harry nodded, "So is that why you had Ron make friends with me," he asked softly.

Albus noticed a momentary flicker of expression, and it seemed as if the two personalities within the boy warred for a moment, but then he froze in what he assumed to be some internalized discussion before the Ronald appeared to take control again. "Ron himself wanted to tell you that isn't true, but I convinced him to let me tell you. Did I arrange it so you two will meet? Yeah, I bloody well did. I even had to poke and prod him into actually writing over the summer, since I was bloody lazy at that age. But I never once influenced how you two got on."

The boys stared at each other for a moment, and Albus could feel the tension build as Harry weighed Ronald's words. Finally he nodded, accepting the sincereness Ronald had presented, and they shook hands, an understanding passing between them.

Coughing once more, he managed to redirect their attention back to himself, and he leaned forward, his forearms supporting him on his desk. "Now, while I am sure there is much to discuss still, I believe it would be best if we adjourn for the evening. It has grown quite late, and while I do not often like to do such things, please take this."

Albus reached into his desk to retrieve two small stoppered vials of powder. Contained within each was a powerful sleeping agent, that in this dose would ensure each boy got a good night's rest, despite the late hour at which they were retiring. "These two vials are for you boys, and will help you be rested by morning. Simply pour them into a full glass of water, and I do ask that you do not try and save them for another day. It is the first day of classes tomorrow for both of you, and despite the circumstances, you still need to be awake and ready to begin your education. In order to succeed in your endeavors, both of you will need to excel in your studies, and I ask that you approach tomorrow, and every day after, seriously. I do not care for adding hardships to children as young as you, but a small amount of effort today shall save us much pain later. I will be in contact with more information about special lessons when you two have properly settled in."

Both nodded, then stood up, taking the vials from him with many 'thank you's'. They all made some very small talk as things wound down for the evening, and Albus gave them the password into their dormitory as well as a note to be out in the halls.

The two made their way out of his office, discussing the events of the past few hours. To their credit, they demonstrated a good deal of discression by not discussing the most pertinent information where it could be overheard.

Leaning back in his chair, he took a moment to massage his temples before fishing around in his desk for a potion to cure his headache. Taking a small sip, he ignored the temptation to sleep as well and instead steeled himself, taking out a piece of parchment and quill. If he was to teach these boys, he would do it properly, and it had been a long time since he could enjoy simply writing up a lesson plan. Tomorrow would come the designs to protect those boys from people such as Quirrel. They did not have a class with that particular professor until next week, and he could easily arrange for the other man to miss mealtimes until then.

He had just begun to write out the proper ways to teach them dueling tactics when a flash distracted him, and upon inspecting his room he noticed Fawkes was notably absent. For a moment it was a source of curiosity as to what prompted the bird to leave, but then he felt their bond tell him that the bird was located in the Gryffindor tower. No doubt his old friend was even in the room where Harry and Ron slept at this very moment.

Smiling to himself, he buried himself in his work once more.

XxXxXx

A/N:

Hopefully everyone enjoyed this installment of the story.

I am glad however that these first three chapters are done. There was a lot of ground to cover, and soon there will be more action (including an action scene next chapter) and some time skips.

For those interested, I've given a brief clip from my next fan fiction at the end of these notes. The other story I am spending time on lately is an idea for a book I have had in mind for close to a year, but I will not post that online.

As for the chapter, I found I had more material at the end of my rough draft, but it felt right to end things here. Dumbledore is especially long winded in my opinion, so the style of writing reflects that, and so the old man got his own chapter. And while I am not particularly against Dumbledore, it was fun having Dumbledore Dumble bash himself, so to speak.

Next chapter is underway, and it will introduce one of the biggest plot twists to this story. It's not totally unheard of, but I like to think the way I am doing it will be different. It will have long lasting effects on the plot and the characters. The only hint is that it ties into the name of this story as well.

Until next time, stay safe. And for those with some time on their hands, I will include a brief blurb about an upcoming Harry Potter story, as well as the first few paragraphs. It's still in it's rough draft format, however, so please don't judge it too harshly.

OoOoOo

One Sided Sun:

'To love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides. ' David Viscott

Notes:

My first attempt at a more romance laced action story. The action will be more muted, and character interaction much more pivotal. There will be battles on and off the fields of war.

This is going to be an attempt at a Harry/Gabrielle relationship, in honor of an amazing piece of fiction by Jeconais' entitled 'Hope'. Truly an inspirational piece of fiction that opened my eyes to a pairing with a lot of potential, but rarely seen.

Short Summary:

Harry is a duelist of the highest ranking. A force unto himself that only Voldemort can stand against, and then only with the help of dark arts and darker tactics to ensure survival.

Gabrielle has graduated from Beauxbaton as one of the best witches to pass through the sacred halls in ages. It is time for her to learn how to be of use in the war that is tearing the magical world apart at it's seems.

Harry has a trouble past he can't move fully past, and Gabrielle is looking for her future. Together, they're going to undo the damage Voldemort is causing and pave a way for the next generation, even if that takes them to the gallows and beyond.

Excerpt:

Harry felt trapped.

No matter how hard he struggled to move on, his unconscious mind would always force him to relive this one moment in his dreams.

Harry watched as his hand rose by itself, wandless, but still poised to smite his enemy. His wand was lying forgotten somewhere behind him, but he would not need it for this final spell.

They hadn't expected Godric's Hallow to be the site of such a large battle, but each man and woman who had come with them to investigate reported death eater activity had fought bravely, holding the location until reinforcements had arrived. Though the beginning had been rough, with the arrival of Dumbledore, the death eaters were being forced back between the headmaster's and Harry's combined power.

The chance to win their first major battle on English soil had galvanized those fighting on their side, and they had given Harry the perfect opportunity to strike out at Voldemort.

Slowly a feeling of warmth and happiness suffused the dream, and Harry did his best to ignore the feeling. It was difficult to do, though, as a golden light filled his palm, a reflection of the emotions used to power the spell. It was useless to try and break free from the dream, but Harry did his best to wake, not liking the way the memory of this spell could remind him so much of her. That love and joy would only make the next portion of the dream much harder to handle.

He had seen it countless times now, but his heart still began to quicken as Voldemort began to pick himself up off the ground. The dark lord was gravely injured, dazed from the last attack that had forced him to the ground, but still he recognized his death awaiting him. The very air hummed with the magic bleeding from the spell Harry was weaving.

Then from the corner his eyes, he saw a flash of red hair, dodging and weaving spell fire from various enemies. For a moment Harry saw the glint in Voldemort's eyes as he found a way to finally weaken Harry enough to strike him down.

His spell only needed a few more seconds to be complete, but the killing curse was much faster, and struck before Harry could retaliate.

As that one small body hit the ground along with the death eaters, Harry's spell lost cohesion, it's power source gone. All that was left was for Harry was to look up into the eyes of the man that was preparing a second curse to reunite him with her...

That's it! Stay safe everyone, and until next time!