WARNING: arrogant, manipulative, self-righteous, somewhat-evil-but-not-dark Albus Dumbledore. Fawkes, too, is more than he appears.

Disclaimer: Not mine, never has been, never will be.


A Peek Into the Mind (and Office) of Albus Dumbledore

Albus paced his office, waiting for Harry to arrive. He had to ensure that the Boy-Who-Lived would become his ally. There was a soft knock.

"Come in," he called, practically diving into his chair. The door opened.

"You wanted to see me, Headmaster?"

"Ah, Harry." The headmaster's eyes twinkled away. "Yes, I was hoping for a quick word. Sit."

Harry sat in the chair closest to Albus' desk and stared at the old man with calm, curious eyes.

So, Albus mused, he knows better than to try the wide-eyed, innocent look, at least until he knows why he's here.

"Would you care for a lemon drop?"

"No, thank you, sir."

"Did Severus tell you why I asked you to come?"

"No, sir." Nonchalant, polite, slightly questioning.

"I've been meaning to have a talk with you for a while." Albus watched closely, but the boy's face was not particularly open. His eyes did most of the talking, and even they didn't say much. They simply shone that strange, disconcerting green. Rather desperately, the old man groped around for what to say and blurted out the first words that came to mind. "I was wondering if you had any questions for me."

Harry seemed to mull this over for a moment. "About what, sir?"

"Well … anything. Ask away."

Harry thought for a few more minutes. "Why didn't you expel Sirius Black in his sixth year, after he tried to kill Professor Snape?"

Albus choked. From his perch, Fawkes trilled in agreement. Harry's eyes flicked to the phoenix and sparked for a second, then blanked again.

"I – er – how did you find out about that?"

"Uncle Remus told me."

Dumbledore hesitated. This was unexpected. "Sadly, I am unable to offer you my reasons for that. Do you have … any other questions?" He tried not to cringe as he asked.

"I suppose not, sir." Harry had a calculating glint in his eyes and a tiny frown playing around his mouth, neither of which the Headmaster liked.

"Well, then, I suppose you'd … you'd better return to your dormitory."

Harry's eyes sparked again. He nodded sharply and exited, leaving Albus to berate himself for not planning the encounter properly.

How was he supposed to deal with this? He had been expecting – no, planning on – a little clone of James. Harry was supposed to be a perfect Gryffindor, a hero-in-waiting. Not this … enigma. Admittedly, the boy had some potential; the Headmaster's eyes had been twinkling like mad when he heard about Harry's rescue of Sandra Quartz on Hallowe'en. But the wand, which both Lupin and Ollivander had written to him about, was worrisome. And being placed in Slytherin? How had that happened?

Albus had been careful. The Ministry refused to allow any child, much less the Boy-Who-Lived, to be placed in the custody of a werewolf. So Albus had placed Harry with his maternal aunt, a woman he knew to despise all things magical including her own sister, and arranged for Remus to be close enough to baby-sit. Petunia, Albus reasoned, would be so relieved to have a magical person to hand her nephew over to that she wouldn't care about that person being a werewolf.

Harry was to be raised mostly by Remus, taught to love and cherish the magical world and see it as refuge, a sanctuary from all the hurt of the Muggle world. He would do anything to save the magical world, and if Voldemort ever did come back, Harry would be willing and able to fulfill the prophecy. Albus would be his role model, the pinnacle of light. Thanks to the influence of the last Marauder, Harry would hero-worship his father's memory, and be willing to do anything to hear that he would've made his father proud. But something had gone wrong.

Dudley Dursley was a wizard. Harry's relatives had not rejected him, throwing him into Remus' care without a second thought. The Dursleys embraced magic, and by extension, their nephew. Harry had been loved, cherished, raised to have his own mind, and seemed to be taking after his mother. Slughorn had often said that Lily would've been better suited to Slytherin.

Now there had been this prank. Purple feathers replacing hair, how amateur. But targeting the Great Hall meant that the culprits would not be easily caught, unless they confessed. Since all the Christmas decorations had been conjured up by magic anyway, the enchanted ornaments were relatively untraceable, but Dumbledore was very sure Harry was at least involved. Remus had told him about the 'Junior Marauders.' This was a cautious way of testing the waters, perhaps, to see how much they could get away with.

Encourage that, Albus instructed himself. Try and get him to act more like James. Push him closer to his cousin, perhaps – Dudley is in Gryffindor, after all. Don't let him befriend to many Slytherins – that Quartz girl may need to be removed. Still, I can't risk estranging her family, her father and grandfather in particular. Damn it, Harry, why couldn't you have been a good boy and gotten Sorted into Gryffindor, like you were supposed to?

A sharp trill was all the warning Albus got before Fawkes shifted to his proper form. "Come on, James Junior, be a good little chess piece and let me manipulate you," said the redheaded man sarcastically. "Is he supposed to be a pawn or a knight?"

With a deep sigh, Albus turned to face the Phoenix-Animagus. Why did he keep this man around again? Oh, right – to hide the fact that the real Fawkes had vanished almost twelve ago, shortly after the prophecy was made. "I wish you wouldn't blow things out of proportion like that. I only have– "

"Everyone's best interests at heart, you've told me. I, meanwhile, wish I didn't have to pretend I was your pet bird. This is bloody demeaning!"

"If you hadn't taken refuge in your Animagus form, Voldemort would have killed you."

"And if you hadn't let my psycho-idiotic-git of a brother run amok at Hogwarts and try to use his best friend to murder mine, Voldemort wouldn't have killed Lily."

Albus sighed again. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. "Why do all our conversations end up being about your brother?"

"Maybe I just like reminding you of your mistake."


A/N: Celebration-cookies for anyone who can correctly guess who Fawkes is! Sympathy-cookies to anyone who takes a guess but doesn't get it! It's very simple: just grab your favourite type of cookie and tell yourself it's from me! SUGAR RUSH!