The resounding sound of skin touching skin, at a high speed, echoed in the chamber. The spectators winced involuntarily, but did not move an inch. They knew that much worse than a backhand to the face was in store for them should they attract attention. Everyone loved a show up until the moment they were the actual entertainment.

It was, though, an awesome sight. Slight of build, and magically powerful, no one expected the Dark Lord to physically punish his followers. And yet, when he did, it was more fearsome that him waving his wand in your direction. His magical aura reeked through the dilapidated warehouse that they were occupying for the time being. His anger, always fierce, was a storm that seemed to forever be at its crescendo. His blood red eyes glowed brilliantly in the darkness of the room; he resembled something from a children's story used to terrify. Instead, he was worse. He made grown men and women tremble with fear, to toss and turn at night and that was with just the mere mention of his name.

When this barbaric anger was directed at a person directly, there were few that could survive. Albus Dumbledore was an easy guess, and recently Harry Potter seemed to have been invited into the same exclusive circle. Aside from those two individuals, no one else seemed to stand a chance against the Dark Lord. The situation became worse if he felt the need to personally intervene. It was fabled that he was a ruthless dueler, and coupling his magic with his knowledge was a nearly unbeatable combination. It was fabled, of course, because most of the people that he had ever dueled did not live to tell their story. Lord Voldemort was a legend in and of himself.

Marcus Willemstyn, one of the surviving members of the party led by Bellatrix, let the blood flow from the gash on his cheek. To wipe it off would be a sign of disrespect to the Dark Lord, and he did not want the Dark Lord to focus on him. Though the physical backhand to the face was painful, it honestly paled in the face of the Cruciatus Curse, at least to Marcus. It meant that he would, at the very least, be able to sleep painlessly tonight, and not have to beg Severus for a potion to numb the pain. He as watched the Dark Lord pace soundlessly in the large room through lowered eyes, interested in what would happen next. With the Dark Lord, no one truly knew what to expect.

"Bellatrix, I am disappointed in you." In six words, the Dark Lord had made the normally fearless Deatheater turn an impressive white. Many of the Deatheaters would've laughed, had it not been Bellatrix that was the victim. In her own way, she was sadistic in her methods of revenge.

"And yet," The Dark Lord continued, his voice changing to one of an inquiring tone, "you say the boy is dead?"

"Yes, My Lord. I sent the final spell myself." Bellatrix responded, possibly hoping to gain some favor. Willemstyn didn't think it was likely, but the Dark Lord always seemed to have a soft spot for his top Death Eater.

"I do not believe that the Potter boy is an easy kill. He has powerful magic about him, and there is always a way." The Dark Lord seemed to whisper.

"But, my lord I –" Bellatrix began when the Dark Lord cut her off.

"Silence. It is most fortunate that this allows me to accelerate plans in other facets. You may have bought me some much needed time. Because of that, I give you your life." The sorcerer responded. Willemstyn watched as Bellatrix immediately dropped to her knees and offered her thanks which his master seemed to relish a great deal.

"Thank you My Lord, you are most gracious."

"Yes, yes I am. My Death Eaters, set about your tasks. Wormtail, attend me." The Dark Lord spoke after a short period of silence.

Willemstyn kept his head bowed as he forced his body to a slow pace and finally escaped the room with his life. He had to make his way home, recover from the battle with Harry Potter, and yet still be in his assigned place for the missions the Dark Lord had created. He didn't have much time, and with upon reaching the Apparition point, he disappeared with a loud CRACK.

It was a very exhausted Albus Dumbledore that exited the room. Even Fawkes, his powerful companion looked weary and drained. The amount of power that had been flowing through the room during the ritual had been intense and felt by every magic user in the house. The wards on the property itself had been thoroughly tested as they fought to disperse the magic. As it was, on the outside of the home, a small blackout had occurred as the magic had leaked out and fritzed many of the nearby homes.

For the first time in what may be a lifetime to some, Albus Dumbledore felt the need to sleep the rest of the week away. As he pondered the tasks that he had still set before him, he concluded that he could not afford such a luxury in its entirety. He had brought Harry back from the brink, but now the challenging part would be to make sure the young man recovered fully and with no lasting effects. Yes, he had much to do.

'Good thing the Ministry never tries to track me any longer. It would take all of my influence to explain why there was the equivalent to a Muggle nuclear bomb going off in the heart of London.' Dumbledore thought with an inward chuckle. Extending his senses, he found the expected occupants in the kitchen below him.

It had been several hours, nearly a day in fact, since he had ventured after Harry Potter, and he knew that his friends would demand some answers. He let out an aged breath and began to descend the stairs and make his way to where he could feel the rest of the magic users in the home. The moment he walked through the doors of the kitchen, he was bombarded. He got a brief glance of Severus, Nymphadora, and Alastor before a blur of brown appeared in front of him.

"Professor Dumbledore! What happened? Where's Harry? He's- he's not dead is he? Please tell me that he's okay. I just need to know." Hermione Granger spoke in rapid fire, her heart in her eyes. 'If only they would admit it to each other.' Albus thought with an inner sigh.

"Miss Granger, the most dangerous part is behind us. Harry is extremely weak right now, and will take time to recover, even after his physical wounds are taken care of. He will be scarred, and will need space." Dumbledore spoke, answering Hermione directly, but included the others by way of a glance.

"Albus what needs to be done?" Severus asked, not bothering to acknowledge the brief looks of bewilderment on the faces of Tonks and Mad-Eye Moody.

"He will need to be watched. His magic is fluctuating, bordering on nonexistent to God-like at times as his body recuperates. It does not help that this is very close to his 16th birthday. As I am sure you all know, that is usually the most volatile age in the life of a young witch or wizard." Albus continued.

"Of course," it was Tonks turn to speak. "That's when we go through our magical maturity, right? It's been said that some people are susceptible to some of the worst diseases at that ages."

"Oh. Ten points to whatever house you were in Tonks." Severus drawled. Tonks simply stuck her tongue out at the back of the man's head.

"You are quite right Nymphadora. For Harry, his magic will be rebuilding completely, while still growing and developing. In his condition it is even worse for him because he won't have a baseline to automatically protect him from those same ailments." Dumbledore spoke.

"What of me Headmaster?" Snape asked with the usual sneer in his voice. It wasn't so much that he didn't want to help Potter, but he knew for certain that the Dark Lord would be in a rage at the fact that not only had the boy been attacked without permission, but that he had survived again.

"I'll need the usual battery of potions of course, and your assistance with Madame Pomfrey on helping to repair his physical body from the litany of dark curses that he suffered from. Were it a lesser man, he would've succumb to those injuries alone." Dumbledore spoke, his eyes holding those of his Potions Master.

"At once." Came the quiet response as he immediately took off, the others soon following his lead.

"Professor, when would I be able to see him?" Hermione asked quietly, not really trusting her voice.

"Miss Granger, I am unsure of when he will awaken. I do want someone near him at all times though, just in case. With that, at the very least, please wait until the morning before you see him. I'd ask, too, that you not disturb his recovery. Should you need me, Fawkes is more than capable of bringing me here immediately." Dumbledore spoke, looking kindly at the young witch before him. He hoped that Harry would make it through as completely as possible, and with limited repercussions. If the love of his mother could save him, then may be the love of his friends could sustain him.

"Professor, do the Weasley's know what happened?" Hermione asked, turning her gaze on the door that housed her bestfriend.

"No, but they are my first stop and as such should be here as quickly as they possibly can. I must be going Miss Granger, I have every ounce of faith that Harry will recover." Dumbledore spoke, before giving her his trademark twinkle and disappearing down the stairs.

Hermione Granger was quiet. She wasn't sure how long she had been sitting outside of his bedroom door, waiting for the first hint of morning. She had acknowledged when a pale Ron, and an equally pale Ginny made their way to sit outside the door with her. She didn't truly feel the hug that a tearful Molly Weasley had administered to her as she sat there in a daze.

She had seen a dead person before, having gone to the funerals of grandparents at a younger age. The magical world, too, had shown her so much death and destruction, that she was numb to some instances of it. But seeing her bestfriend sprawled with a lifeless look in those powerful green eyes was almost too much for her to bear. Her entire world had shattered at that very moment, and she knew that it would never be the same again.

"Bloody hell!" Ron muttered as Madame Pomfrey came up the stairs again. Hermione had been tuned out the first several instance when the MediWitch came by, but each time she came she was carrying more and more potions. And each time she left, she had a less than hopeful look on her face. Too, Madame Pomfrey looked exhausted.

"You children should get some sleep." Pomfrey spoke, noticing that even after her tenth visit to this section of the house, the teens were still sitting in the same places as before.

"Madame Pomfrey, how is Harry?" Ginny asked, seemingly shocked at the sound of her own voice being so raspy and dry. The other teens near her expressed interest in the answer to the question.

"He's alive. That's all that matters at this stage. I am working tirelessly to repair some of the damage that could be very lasting. It is even more difficult because Mr. Potter has little to no magic of his own to help with the process." The woman replied. Usually, she wouldn't divulge so much information, but after seeing the scared and desperate looks of the teens before her, she knew good news was needed.

"Little to no magic?" Ron asked. "Is he a Squib now?"

"No, but his magic isn't strong enough to feed itself yet." Madame Pomfrey responded, eliciting some confused looks from the two Weasley's and a nod of understanding from Hermione.

"But, what does that mean?" Ginny asked.

"It means that Harry's magic depleted itself to save his life. And now, what little he can recuperate is immediately going to sustaining his basic body functions. If a Witch or Wizard loses their magic too suddenly, their body usually cannot handle the shock, and they die." Hermione responded, remembering some textbook from years back.

"Correct Miss Granger. Because of the extent of his injuries and the severity of the depletion of his magic, it will take far more time than usual to get his levels to where they need to be. What's more is that it is close to his 16th birthday, which is when a great deal of witches and wizards begin to undergo their magical maturity. Because of his weakness, the potion usually given would do him far more harm than good."

"So you mean that one moment he can have no magic and the next he can be fully recharged?" Hermione asked.

"Exactly. If you wish, and to give myself peace of mind, you can go in to visit him now. Do not get too close, there are some wards around him to keep his magic from flaring out. Quite frankly, though, Mr. Potter is a very powerful wizard, those wards have been tested frequently." Madame Pomfrey spoke. She would have said more but suddenly there was Hermione Granger wrapping her into a hug.

"Thank you." The bushy-haired teen whispered, blinking back the tears that had started to pool up.

Once inside the room, Hermione held her breath. The boy in front her looked so weak and vulnerable that it was a wonder that he was still alive. Harry lay shirtless on the makeshift bed, with heavy bandages wrapped tightly around his torso. There were various potions suspended in mid-air that seemed to drip through clear tubes and make their way into Harry's body. She had been to Muggle hospitals before but did not know that the magical world knew how to run an IV.

"I'm unsure at this point you he can hear you all, but I wanted you to be able to see him." Madame Pomfrey said in a near whisper.

"Thank you for letting us in to see him." Hermione spoke, feeling a huge weight lift off over shoulders.

'Harry will make it, I know he will.' Hermione thought to herself as she made her way to her bedroom on the floor below. She would be asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

"Headmaster, the most pressing concerns are behind us now. His magic, despite constantly fluctuating, is stable where it is now. But," Madame Pomfrey spoke, still busying over her patient and trusting Albus to listen to her. "I don't think that he is going to wake up for a few days as of yet."

The headmaster stood there, silently regarding the boy in front of him. Harry already looked better, even only having been in the room for 2 full days since the end of the ritual. Pomfrey had slowed the internal bleeding, before completely stopping it with some tricky spell work that had taken most of one of the days. The rest of that very day was spent making sure that the rest of the particles lodged within his body was carefully extracted. What was more, was that there were still some internal tears caused by the extraction that she had to go in and repair yet again.

"You never cease to amaze me Poppy," Dumbledore spoke, catching her eyes and making a large smile come across her face, though he could see that her heart was not into it. "But I believe you have other fears that you aren't quite so willing to share?" Dumbledore spoke, not needing Legilimency to see the concern in her eyes.

"Albus, Harry's magic has grown," Poppy replied. "And I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing."

Dumbledore looked pensive for a time, trying to consider the possible complications. His eyebrows furrowed, Dumbledore took to the habit of stroking his beard as his formidable mind raced through intricate pathways.

"Have you noticed anything different than your previous check-ups?" Dumbledore asked, aware that she kept a tight file on all of her patients, and that her memory was second to none.

"Yes, there were several attributes that I automatically credited to the Killing Curse that Mr. Potter survived. Having never seen a survivor, I did not know what else to do about some of those findings. Having checked his parents over and over again, I expected Mr. Potter to, well, to be far more powerful." Poppy spoke, stroking the boy's hair, though she would vehemently deny that such a thing ever happened.

"And?," Dumbledore probed. "We've seen cases where the child was significantly less powerful than the parents. Some genetics would even indicate that in some of the older, Pureblood families, that this was even more evident. What's so special about Mr. Potter? We've witnessed him do extraordinary magic, and share no ill effect." Dumbledore continued.

"He was far less powerful than the average would indicate. How he did any of that magic, is beyond me. I think, if anything, he had something feeding off of his magic that complicated matters." Poppy replied, regarding the pensive expression on the Headmaster's face.

"Of course, it all makes sense," Dumbledore muttered, his mind immediately running through the mazes. Unintentionally, and inexplicably, Voldemort had left a piece of himself within Harry on the night that he attacked the Potters.

Dumbledore was unsure if Voldemort himself was aware of magic involved with sacrifices, or anything having to do with love as the basis. Voldemort, was likely so sure of the prophecy, that he put as much of himself into the spell as possible. From there, it was a simple matter of the magic of Lily's sacrifice protecting Harry. And yet, it couldn't protect him from something that was within his very own magic. The piece of Voldemort had been feeding off of Harry for more than a decade, using his own magic and life force to survive.

No one, not even Dumbledore himself, would have known what to look for because the boy had been reasonably healthy, and still did fantastic magic for his young age. 'How much more could he have taken before he died as a result of losing his magic?" Dumbledore pondered, a bit morbidly. He wondered, too, if that would technically fulfill the prophecy that he had finally revealed to the young man. Technically, it was a piece of Voldemort, and it had been killing Harry.

They could've lost the war and not even been aware of it.

"How could we have caught this Poppy?" Dumbledore asked.

"I don't know Albus. I've never encountered what would technically be a magical leech. There are of course curses and potions that inhibit magic, and drain a person temporarily of their magic. But I have never, and I mean never, encountered something of this magnitude. He could've died Albus!" Poppy hissed, upset at herself for being out of her depth.

"Now now Poppy. There is nothing you could have done. Let's thank the fates that Harry is here now, and that he is in your most excellent care." Albus spoke. Whether he knew it or not, Voldemort had just created his worst enemy in Harry Potter.

He, himself would wait until Harry woke up in order to speak with him. If possible, he needed to see how the boy would respond to the sudden changes that he would be experiencing.

It wasn't a secret that most young witches and wizards grew in power as they aged. In fact, that only made sense to the researchers. What wasn't commonly known was that it wasn't so much that they grew in power, but that their connection to their magical core was strengthened, making spells easier to cast. The plus side of accessing more of your magical core was the familiarity with your own magic, hence the reason silent casting wasn't taught until the N.E.W.T. years. It was simply easier to master with a strong connection, and generally more confidence.

What was a secret, though, was that with every magical birth, a record was made of the child, their parents, and an estimated level of power that they were likely to attain. For obvious reasons, this was not the best way to determine how powerful a child would be. And yet, it did allow the researchers an opportunity of studying the average power levels throughout decades. What they used the information for, no one knew. The recording wasn't foolproof. Obviously, it had limited range, so it wouldn't reach the Americas, nor could it not count non-human magical machine, too, could not account for the nature of the child being born. Some children easily encountered stress that did nothing but suppress their magic. Other children, however, were in environments where their magic could thrive.

Researchers thought that this was why, despite being more powerful on average, Muggleborns struggled mightily in the wizarding world whereas their Pureblood counterparts thrived. It didn't help that there were laws in place that empowered the Purebloods to circumvent the law in order to allow their children to actually practice magic.

While a secret, Dumbledore was one of the few people within and outside of the Ministry that knew it existed, and knew the location of it. For ages, he had studied it, trying to make sense of it himself. What he knew, and understood, was that he needed to check it to see if it would record the changes that Harry had recently went through.

Once Harry woke up, he would do some research and try to understand what had happened to the boy, who, not too long ago, was dead. It could take a few days, but it was imperative that he find the information before anyone else did.

'Wake up my son.'

He blearily opened his eyes, suppressing the urge to groan as the sunlight assaulted his visual senses. It was morning, he could tell that much. Even without his glasses though, he could still make out the form of Albus Dumbledore.

"Ah, Harry, words cannot express how relieved I am to see you awake and well." Dumbledore spoke. Harry was busy shaking the grogginess out of his head and didn't bother to reply immediately.

"Funny that, coming back from the dead doesn't seem to feel as awesome as I thought it would." Harry said bitterly. Dumbledore seemed to pale at this, looking older than Harry had ever seen him look before.

"We're still looking into seeing how that could've been avoided and prevented at any cost." Dumbledore, with Harry nodding along gathering his thoughts.

"Well, it could've been worse right?" Harry replied again, this time sitting up in the bed as he found a well of hidden strength within him. He worked his flimsy Occlumency shields overtime in order to try to suppress the various aches and pains that littered his frame. Not only did it make him ignore the pain, but it helped him to avoid lashing out at Dumbledore at this precise moment.

"Harry, surely that attitude is unnecessary, we were and are only always trying to protect you. If anything -" Dumbledore started. He was nearly into his next sentence when Harry lost it. So much had been building up for so long that he finally needed a release.

"You can't keep sheltering me Professor! Not while I am at the very center of this war. It's not fair for me. The war finds me anyway, and I need to be prepared. I need to be able to fight. I need to know how. I need to learn to live. I can't do that if you continue to do this thing you call protecting me." Harry stood, his jaw clenching as he fought to ignore the physical pain from his wounds and the even deeper pain that his mentor did not seem to trust his abilities. Dumbledore himself looked taken aback at the harshness of Harry's tone.

"Harry – you must understand –" Dumbledore started, but was cut off harshly by the young man in front of him.

"No! I refuse to understand! I refuse to understand this idea of the greater good by me sacrificing. I want to be able to go to the park! I want to be able to hang out with my friends! I want to be able to leave this damn prison!" Harry spoke heatedly. He took a breath to try to calm himself. "Professor – Albus, I appreciate everything that you have done for me. But, there is a difference in being alive and living. They are not necessarily the same. I appreciate you professor, Merlin knows that I do. I look up to you, hell most of the wizarding world does!" Harry continued, pausing to gather his thoughts, noting that his use of the Headmaster's first name received a swiftly raised eyebrow.

"But sir, I can no longer be blinded by the Dumbledore on a Chocolate Frog card. Protecting me may seem like the very best thing to do, but sometimes protecting me will mean helping me to protect myself. At the end of the day, I have to kill Voldemort, not you. I have to try to destroy that monster! I need your help to do that."

"Is that really what you want Harry? Not a childhood?" Dumbledore inquired, having felt the sting of each and every one of Harry's words.

"Does it look like I can have a childhood? What I can have, and what I crave is to be able to live. I can't seem to do that either unfortunately," Harry breathed. He knew what he needed, and in some way how to get it. "I want a chance to live. To be respected. You can't expect me to save the damn world, but keep me hidden away from it. Am I some sort of sacrifice to you?" Harry asked, the hurt obvious in his question.

"Never!" Dumbledore spoke heatedly as he shot to his feet, a stark contrast from his usual mild baritone. It was likely one of the first times that Harry had witnessed the Dumbledore's anger directed at him. In that very moment, he knew why Voldemort feared the man. He stood tall, powerful and proud and secure in his power. Even more, his brilliant blue eyes held a ferociousness that nearly made Harry take a step back from the man in front of him. Instead, he mustered his resolve and held his place, feeling his body tense as if a fight was expected.

"You have a tough time showing that." Harry dared to speak. "I'm sorry professor; I know that you care about me. Everyone in the school thinks I'm your favorite. I just need you to consider me, the person, for once. Ask me what I want, or what I think. I may not be as wise or as smart, but I deserve to have a say. My life is at stake!" Harry spoke further, watching as the man across from him let out a deep breath. Dumbledore seemed to deflate in front of his very eyes, once more returning the venerable man Harry was used to.

"I have been blinded Harry, I can admit that. Know that everything that I have ever put you through has been because I had your best interest at heart, and I wanted to protect you and shelter you in a way." Dumbledore started, his eyes holding sincerity. "And yet, I feel that because I cared so much for you, that it did indeed blind me to all that was going on in your life, and all of the pain that you went through. You have suffered a great deal because of me and I do not know how you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

"I don't know Professor. I'm willing to try. I don't need or want to know you entire plan. But by Merlin, I believe I need to know enough so that I'm not completely blind going into a situation. I'm at the center of this war, and have been for my entire life, before I even knew who I was. What kind of life is that to live?" Harry asked. Knowing that all he really wanted was a proper chance.

"What would life have been like for you then Harry?" Dumbledore inquired, startling Harry with the question. Harry racked his brain for a response but before he could respond, Dumbledore spoke again. "Do you think you'd have the same survival instincts? That you'd have the same quality of friends that you do now? Do you think that you'd be as strong as you are now? You'd have had a perfect life only for it to have been shattered the first time that Voldemort attacked you."

"So my being abused was worth it to you?" Harry asked, struggling to comprehend how his Headmaster, his mentor, could see him as some sort of sacrifice.

"No, but your safety was. A week after Halloween, some rogue Deatheaters had managed to find out that you lived in Surrey. They came there, but the wards were so fresh, and so powerful, that they were unable to make it within 10 miles of you. The wards are based towards those with the intention to harm you and harbored the love of your mother, an infinitely powerful source of protection. Even to this day, as you grow older and your own magic grows phenomenally, it is likely the best form of protection that you will ever have. That is what I weighed for you. Should I leave you with a family that may not be able to protect you, or send you somewhere where your safety, more or less, would be guaranteed?" Dumbledore spoke. Harry racked his brain for an appropriate response, but could not fight the embarrassed look on his face.

"Er…I didn't think of it that way sir. I apologize." Harry stated. He was apologetic, but he was not sorry that he tried to think for himself. The headmaster would approve or he wouldn't but Harry was done being a mindless tool.

"What are you apologizing for Harry? I, being the seemingly wise one here, should have known that you were far more mature that even I gave you credit. There are so many places where I went wrong with you, thinking you fragile, and only thinking of protecting you from outside influences. I never would've imagined that I'd be the cause of some of your other pains." Dumbledore stated, looking Harry in the eye.

"I will admit to not truly being ready for the prophecy after my first year. But, after my second year, surely you had to have known that my life would be far from ordinary. Hell, professor, I had proven myself over and over again. Instead, you waited until after I had been tricked into going to the Ministry. You waited until after I had lost my Godfather. You waited until after everything had happened to let me know why you decided to allow Snape of all people to brutally rape my mind, over and over again!" Harry stated, started heatedly and nearing a volcanic eruption towards the end. Each sentence seemed to weigh the Headmaster down a bit more.

"Harry, I -" Dumbledore started but was cut off again by the Boy-Who-Lived.

"I can't immediately forgive you for those things, especially because you knew well in advance. Even more hurtful is the fact that you knew Voldemort was back after my 4th year! An entire year later, and I'm fighting him once more. Was that not further proof that he would stop at nothing to try to get to me?" Harry spoke, having to reign himself in with a supreme effort of sheer will. Dumbledore was eyeing him warily from the other side of the room.

Harry closed his eyes and tried to calm his breathing. He was still in pain, having just woken up earlier that day. His head still hurt, as he had yet to touch any of the Potions left for him, certain that there was a Dreamless Sleep potion littered in there somewhere.

There was silence between the two wizards for a long moment as Harry thought deeply about some of the things that the venerable Headmaster could've hidden from him. More importantly, Harry started to think of the results of the lack of some of this communication, and how he himself could have been far more careful in regards to his own safety and negligence of the school rules. That got him to thinking of all of the times he had been caught out of bounds.

"How had Dumbledore found me all of those times. It all seemed so convenient." Harry pondered, glancing at the man in the room with him, and seeing him likewise in his own thoughts.

"You've been following me." Harry said aloud suddenly after having bits and pieces of different conversations come back to him. Dumbledore always had the knowing twinkle in his eye, and often said that he did not need an invisibility cloak to become invisible. "Or, you've had me followed, or monitored, even before Voldemort came back. Why?" Harry questioned.

"Honestly, I needed to see how you were coping with a new life for my own eyes. To go from a most pitiful predicament to one where you have, essentially, a whole new world to explore would be devastating for some. Admittedly, I wanted to see how you'd react to your fame, and the potential dangers and downfalls that could come from it. Harry," Dumbledore paused here, and Harry looked him in his eye. "You have never ceased to amaze me. Everything that you have been through, suffered and overcame is much more than many, if not most, adults would be capable of accomplishing."

"I don't feel like it." Harry spoke bitterly, his eyes drawn to his tattered socks. 'I really need to go shopping.' He thought with a small grin.

"Well, I'd hazard a guess that it is difficult to see yourself from the perspective of other individuals." Dumbledore mused with a grin. Harry's grin in response was fleeting as his mind posed another question to him.

"Professor, during my first year, when you caught me at the Mirror of Erised," Harry began, easily getting the attention of his Headmaster. "You told me that when you looked into the mirror, that you saw yourself holding a pair of socks. I didn't believe it then. But, I was too scared to ask you what you actually saw."

"And you wish to know now?" Dumbledore asked, his voice had a hint of something that Harry just couldn't place.

"Yes sir."

"I see my family in the Mirror of Erised," Dumbledore spoke, somberly. "I see my mother and my younger sister, both of whom are now deceased."

Harry was at a loss for words, curious beyond belief and yet wanting to respect the secrets that Dumbledore kept. It was obvious to Harry, from the tone of voice no less, that this was a topic that had caused Dumbledore to have a great deal of stress and sorrow built up.

"Sir… what happened?"

"Harry, the Dumbledore family has always been extremely powerful. My sister was monstrously powerful, but she was young and was unaware of exactly what she was capable of. She didn't know how to control it. We tried, very hard, to keep her away from the outside world. We lived in a mixed Muggle and Wizard village, and most of the wizarding world kept a fairly low profile at this time, content to be in our own world, sheltered from the rest." Dumbledore spoke slowly, not seeing Harry despite facing him directly. Harry had a feeling that he was taking himself back to the very moment.

"There was one summer day where she ventured out of the house, and started doing a slight bit of magic. Unfortunately, some Muggle boys saw her and attacked her. They beat her savagely, Harry. She barely survived. How she managed to cling onto life, we'll never know. She was found, and returned to our home. Our father was enraged, the most I have ever seen him so. He found all of the muggle boys responsible and punished them, severely, and with magic. The Ministry found out of course, snapped his wand, and shipped him off to Azkaban, where he would die in the years to come. Therefore it was up to my mother, myself, and Aberforth to look after a young woman who was mostly incoherent, unable to control her magic, and had no will to do so. It was, quite frankly, a frustrating time." Dumbledore spoke gravely. Harry imagined that he saw silvery tears streaking the aged man's face.

"Professor you don't -" Harry began but was cut off as Dumbledore began to speak again.

"Harry, I was ashamed of her. I slowly distanced myself away, going about trying to be brilliant and change the world. I met another young wizard by the name of Gellert and we became fast friends, almost immediately. We pushed each other, you see. At a young age, I wanted power, more than anything else. We had a plan to subjugate the Muggle world, for what we called the greater good. We wanted to run the world so to speak.

While I was away on one such journey, gathering support and increasing my powers, my mother and brother were at home trying to keep a broken family together. My mother supported my ambition, I'd like to believe, but she always felt that my place was at home, caring for my sister. Aberforth, on the other hand, was a bit more vocal in his opinion," Here Dumbledore chuckled a bit, a sad laugh that made Harry's heart ache. "And yet, there I was, thinking that everything would work itself out. Do you know what happened while I was away Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

"No, I don't sir." Harry responded quietly. Thinking that he had heard the name Gellert at one point or another in his time in the magical world.

"My sister had one of her huge magical outburst and the backlash killed my mother. And so, I hated her, with such passion, because I knew then that I would have to come home and help. I would have to sacrifice so much for someone who didn't know the value or understand the purpose of what I wanted to pursue. And I dedicated the time. I knew that the experience could certainly help to propel my aims. See, even in my most giving of moments, I was selfish. Harry, I admit to always being a big planner, even a manipulator of some sort. As I've aged, I've only gotten better at it."

"But there's more isn't there Professor?" Harry asked, getting the feeling that an even sadder moment was coming.

"Yes," Dumbledore started, as if gathering strength. "One day, Gellert came to visit, having run into some snags with one of the plans that we were developing. During this visit a very heated argument between myself, Gellert, and Aberforth happened. It resulted in wands being drawn and spells being fired. Unbeknownst to us, my sister wandered into the middle of it. To this day, we do not know who or what, but that was the last day that she would be alive. One, or maybe a combination, of our spells hit her and she was killed. In just a few short years, I had lost nearly my entire family. This was nearly a lifetime ago, for most people. Generations have come and gone, and I have labored with the thought that I ruined my family," Dumbledore spoke, taking a moment to catch his breath and to compose himself. "Of course Gellert disappeared, and I wouldn't run into him again many years later, and he was a different person then."

"Why does Gellert sound so familiar?" Harry asked aloud.

"Gellert Grindewald. You may have heard of him." Dumbledore spoke.

"You were friends with Grindewald before you two dueled?" Harry questioned, his mind racing. Did this mean that Dumbledore had a soft side for the man before they did battle. From what he could remember from his "studies" (whenever he actually took the time to read), Grindewald had a reign of terror that spanned for many years before he was defeated. From all reports, the duel had been quite spectacular and had raged for many hours, leveling towns and decimating cities along the way. A testament to the sheer power of the two wizards was evident from old photographs.

"Yes. I had avoided confrontation with him for quite some time because I didn't feel as if I was ready. It was not for lack of power, as I had always been the better dueler by a small margin. It was, if anything Harry, a lack of faith in myself. I was afraid at that time that in a contest between the two of us, that I'd learn exactly what happened the day that my sister died. I was, and still am not, prepared for such a moment." Dumbledore responded, emotion still etched in his face.

"I'm sorry Professor. It must have been very difficult for you." Harry replied, knowing he could never see himself killing any of his friends.

"Yes. Gellert had good intentions at one point, but it is so very easy to justify your actions behind those good intentions, without seeing the bigger picture. Remember this Harry, if nothing else; the road to hell is paved with good intentions. I have, unfortunately, been on that path with you," Dumbledore spoke. "Alas, I am not here to salve your wounds with tales of my past, though it has been most relieving to speak to you about such things. I wondered, and forgive me if I am overstepping, if you'd mind sharing the memory of the battle with me?"

"For your penseive, or through Legilimency? Harry replied after giving it a quick thought. It wouldn't hurt anything for him to share the information with Dumbledore.

"I can make a copy of it for my pensieve, and that will allow you to retain the information as I study it and develop a lesson plan of sorts for training you. It'll help me to see how much and what you know already and whether or not, I'll need to approach topics in a certain manner."

"Of course, sir. Er, how exactly do I draw out the memory?" Harry asked sheepily. He had never been too good at the mind arts, as evident in his atrocious Occlumency skills, though Snape had plenty of blame there as well.

"Quite simple actually. You want to bring the complete memory to the forefront of your mind, and want to transfer it to the very tip of your wand. From there, I will do the rest."

It took Harry several tries, but he was finally able to pull the memory from his head with the tip of his wand. He was elated. Dumbledore then "captured" said memory within a small vial that he had conjured. He seemed almost excited in regards to viewing the memory. It made Harry just a bit nervous if he thought about it.

"Excellent. Now, I believe that some of your friends will wish to speak with you. Do you feel up to it?" Dumbledore inquired. Harry thought long and hard on his answer. He didn't know how much his friends knew, and he was not ready to field any of their questions. In all honesty, had Dumbledore not already been in the room when he had woken up, he would've been content to stay locked away in his room.

"No," Harry started. "I don't think I'm ready to speak with them yet, or ever. I just need some more time, to properly heal." he didn't know how to really put it into words, but he knew that Dumbledore would understand.

"I see. I will persuade them that you are to be left alone," Dumbledore stated, turning to exit. He stopped with his hand on the door, and without turning around spoke a few more words. "It is never easy, Harry. If I could take your burden in all of this, I would do so just to see you smile. Stay safe my boy."

After the headmaster left, Harry sat down heavily on his bed, his mind and body numb. He had a lot to think about.