AN: Before we jump right in, I would like to take a moment to express my sadness for the recent tragedy in Paris. My deepest condolences to any readers who might have had friends or family hurt in the attack. I hope everyone was able to stay safe and secure in their homes, and will continue to do so.
Take care, folks.
31 October 1981.
Albus cursed under his breath as he made his way to the Potters' home.
Of all the days for Fawkes to have his Burning. . .
His detection charms keyed into the wards around the Potters' home had triggered close to an hour ago. The Death Eaters had been unusually active this Halloween after a rather prolonged period of silence, executing guerrilla strikes across several regions at the same time; and while the aurors were able to repel most of them (thanks in part to his spy's timely warning), there had still been a great need of damage control at the Ministry.
In hindsight, it was pretty obvious that the entire night's events had merely been a smokescreen for Voldemort to carry out his plans without hindrance. But not even in his wildest dreams had Albus ever imagined that the Dark Lord would be able to break through the Fidelius of all things!
And to make matters even worse, the Potters had not had their Invisibility cloak with them tonight! Albus had merely borrowed it from them a scant four days ago, and was planning to return it by the end of the week. He had never imagined that they would be compromised before then!
Oh Merlin! Please let them be alright!
He knew his prayers were going to go unanswered the second the Potters' cottage came into view. The entrance was torn apart so badly that Albus could clearly see their living room through all the wreckage.
His heart hammering wildly in his chest, Albus drew his wand and walked into the house. He stifled a sob at the sight of James Potters' crumpled form slumped against the wall. He bent down and closed the blank eyes of one of his dearest pupils when the shrill cry of a child reached his ears.
Harry!
The child was still alive! Then did that mean. . . had Lily survived as well? His pulse quickening, Albus cautiously made his way up to the nursery. He rounded the corner of the staircase and stopped dead in his tracks at the sight that greeted him.
The room looked like it had been hit by a storm. An entire portion of the roof was gone, scorch marks covering the walls everywhere, the windows had been blown away clean. . .
And in the center of the room lay the body of Lily Potter, sprawled across the floor beside a pile of black robes. Sitting right beside the corpse, looking older and more worn that Albus had ever seen, was the devastated form of Severus Snape, his spy within the Death Eater ranks.
The man's greasy hair was splayed all over his head, his eyes gaunt and staring straight ahead, tear tracks marking his pale sallow face; the haunted look on the young wizard's face made him look several decades older.
But Albus felt no sympathy towards him. In that moment, loath as he was to admit it, Albus Dumbledore could not help but feel that Severus Snape deserved every bit of pain and suffering he got.
It was his fault all this happened! His jealousy, his pettiness was the reason two good people were dead before their time! It took all of Albus' restraint to not curse Snape right then and there for what he. . .
A shrill cry cut through the old warlock's thoughts, reminding him that there were more important things at the moment than revenge.
Harry!
Albus swiftly moved towards the crib where the toddler was bawling at the top of his lungs, blanching at the sight of the bloody cut on his forehead. He then proceeded to hit the child with every single healing charm in his arsenal (of which they were quite a lot). Ten minutes later when baby Harry was finally asleep, Albus wearily wiped his forehead, idly wondering why the scar on the child's forehead hadn't disappeared when he. . .
He frowned when he noticed a large blood splatter on the floor. How in Merlin's name did that get there?
Albus bent down to inspect it more closely. No, not a splatter. . . it was much too uniform in shape. It looked vaguely like a runic circle: a runic circle drawn in blood.
The implications sent a chill down Albus' spine.
Oh Lily! What did you do!?
Blood magic. A runic circle powered by blood magic, designed to create the ultimate bond of protection magic could hope to bestow. A life for a life. Equivalent exchange, the founding principle of alchemy, taken to its ultimate conclusion.
But then does that mean Voldemort. . . ?
Albus searched the room more carefully. His eyes fell on a bone-white wand lying on the floor beside a smoking pile of robes. He recognized the distinctive wand immediately, having fought against it so many times in the last ten years.
His mind worked furiously as he tried to reconstruct the events of the night. Voldemort had attacked the Potters after getting hold of the Secret somehow, and James had fought him to buy time for Lily to escape with Harry. But instead of running away, Lily had used her blood to quickly draw a runic circle and offered herself up to Voldemort (it was safe to assume that she hadn't put up a fight because of the lack of wand in her hand). By freely offering her own life in exchange for her child's, she invoked an ancient magic which worked to cast a powerful protection around the infant. Voldemort must have then hit baby Harry with an Avada Kedavra (his trademark curse; he rarely used anything else) on the forehead which rebounded on him because of Lily's sacrificial magic.
But if that was the case, then why was his body not here? Albus frowned when he realized the anti-apparition and portkey wards were still active around the cottage, which meant that Voldemort was still alive somewhere. But what measures could he have taken that his own curse would not. . . ?
He shook his head roughly. No, now was not the time to worry about this. There were much more pressing issues at hand.
He stood up straight and strode over to the distraught Death Eater. "Severus Snape? Severus? Severus!"
Unable to break the man out of his stupor, Albus raised his hand and viciously slapped the wizard across the face. Snape staggered against the wall in shock, staring at the warlock as though only noticing his presence now.
"Severus, you must listen to me carefully," Albus said urgently. "You are in grave danger! Voldemort has been defeated for now, and once word gets out that he met his downfall due to information he got from you every single one of his supporters will be after your life. Do you have a safe place to hide?"
Snape nodded dumbly.
"Good." With a wave of his wand Albus collapsed the wards around the Potter home and then reached out and picked up a stray piece of wood, turning it into a portkey. "This will drop you at a remote location in London. Make your way to your hideout and stay there until I contact you personally. Do not attempt to contact any one of your Death Eater companions! Do you understand?"
At Snape's acquiescing nod, Albus roughly shoved the portkey into the younger man's hands and watched him disappear. Letting out a deep sigh, he sat down heavily on the floor and turned towards Lily's body.
Tears flowed freely from his eyes as he gently put her hands together and closed her blank eyes. Not even in his worst nightmares had he believed that this day would come. He had been so certain that, no matter what happened, the pragmatic young witch would find a way to survive the end of this war.
Why, Lily? Why did you have to go so far!?
By tomorrow, every single witch and wizard in the world would know that Voldemort had met his end. Regardless of how temporary his defeat was, the fact remained that he had been vanquished at a high cost. . .
Cost. . .
Albus nearly jumped to his feet in fear. He had completely forgotten that Lily had used Blood Magic to defeat the Dark Lord! No matter her intentions, the fact remained that Blood Magic was classified as Dark by most of the European Ministries, including the British. If this became public knowledge. . .
Albus cursed as he paced from side to side. If word got out that Lily Potter had used Dark Magic to defeat Voldemort, there would be chaos. Of course, the people would be happy that Voldemort was gone, but that would not last long. Once the celebrations had died down, the narrow-mindedness of the British public would rise to the surface once again. They would whisper that the wife of James Potter, a muggle born witch, had practiced the Dark Arts! That her status as a Dark Witch was the reason she had been able to defeat the Dark Lord in the first place! Lily's own reputation for ruthlessness would be used against her, and all her good deeds, all the lives she'd saved through her actions. . . all of it would count for nothing!
Decades of playing politics had taught Albus many valuable lessons. He was not naïve enough to believe that Voldemort's defeat would mean the end of his supporters as well. After all, many of his followers came from old and wealthy families. They would undoubtedly pull every trick in the book to get out of prison, even with Barty Crouch's way of handling things. Cutting deals and making bribes was a standard way of life in the Ministry.
Besides, there was also the possibility that the Dark Families might try to stir up a controversy regarding Lily's use of Blood Magic to distract the public from their own crimes. Misdirection was a classic tactic in politics, after all.
The good name of the Potters' would be dragged through the mud. With the entire family practically extinct now, Albus would have no other choice but to watch as their hard-earned reputation would be torn apart by their detractors. By painting Lily as a Dark witch, the Death Eaters would make a mockery of her sacrifice, and themselves get off scot-free despite all the crimes they committed.
No, Albus could not. . .would not allow that to happen! Lily and James sacrificed everything so that their boy could live. Albus would not stand by and watch their callous and cruel society turn innocent young Harry into a pariah.
But how? How could he find a way to explain all the events of this night without letting Lily's use of Blood Magic come to light?
His eyes alighted upon the sleeping form of the young toddler and an idea slowly formed in his head.
Tomorrow their world would demand answers, wanting to know who was responsible for Voldemort's defeat. As was always the case in such circumstances, they would demand a hero to thank and worship, to put on a pedestal and regard as their savior.
Harry could be their hero. All Dumbledore would have to do was erase every single trace of Blood Magic inside the cottage, and the people would automatically assume that the child was the cause of Voldemort's downfall. A few whispers in the right ears, and Harry Potter's image as a legend would be so firmly entrenched within the public's mind that no one would even bother to investigate what really happened this night!
The question now was not whether he could he do it, but whether he should do it.
Albus was under no delusions of what he was attempting to do. He was essentially painting a target on the infant's forehead, branding him a hero to be lauded and praised by the entire Wizarding world. The boy would grow up to be a symbol to their society, someone to be placed on a pedestal. . . someone who would never have a normal life no matter how hard he tried.
Albus shook his head slightly. Honestly, who was he trying to fool? Any chance Harry had had for being normal died today with his parents. He had never been a normal child, and if the Prophecy was true (and after tonight, Albus greatly doubted if it wasn't) he never would be.
Besides, it wasn't as though the target on his back could grow any bigger. Voldemort himself had marked the child as a threat, and since Albus was almost one hundred percent sure that the Dark Lord was still alive, Harry's future confrontation with the evil wizard was inevitable.
If Albus walked away now and let events play out as they should, only Merlin could tell what would really happen next.
But if he interfered, then Harry Potter would become a legend. He would be famous; even more famous than Albus was when he ended the War with Gellert Grindelwald. Given the proper guidance, by the time the lad graduated from Hogwarts he would wield more political power than Albus himself.
And if there was one thing the last four decades had taught him, it was that fame was a tool. An inconvenient tool for certain, but still a very potent tool; one that could be used to do a lot of good in the world if the wielder chose to. Harry's fame and subsequent status in their world would be a weapon he could use to fight Voldemort if. . . no, when he returned.
And return he would; Albus did not doubt that for even a moment. Tom Riddle was one of the most tenacious people he had ever known. If there was anyone out there who could successfully stave off death, it was him.
Decision made, Albus used his wand to erase the runic circle of blood, and any other signs of blood magic in the room. He then spent the next half-hour carefully searching the whole house for Lily's notes on the ritual she used. He carefully pocketed all the evidence, but not before running a cursory glance over them to determine their exact nature.
Albus' own knowledge of Blood Magic was pretty good (he had dabbled quite a bit into the Forbidden Arts in his youth). He quickly determined the nature behind Lily's protection and his brilliant mind helped him recall something he had once read about Blood Wards. Should he be able to channel the residual magic from Lily's ritual effectively, he should (theoretically) be able to extend the protection, giving Harry a permanent natural defense against Voldemort.
But that required the assistance of a close blood relative, and Albus was quite sure that Lily's parents were dead. He faintly remembered something about a muggle sister. Perhaps Minerva would know?
He strode back into the nursery and checked on the still sleeping toddler. As he bent down to pick up the child, he frowned when he realized that it would seem suspicious if he were the one to retrieve Harry from the ruins of the cottage. Barty Crouch and he had had several disagreements lately regarding their less-than-legal ways of dealing with Death Eaters, and the head of the DMLE would insist on looking at this situation more closely if it was discovered that Albus had spent so much time within the Potter's home before the DMLE forensic team arrived.
Minerva was out of the question since Albus needed her to locate Lily's sister, and Alastor was at the Ministry with the aurors. Perhaps he could ask one of the Order. . .
He dismissed that thought immediately. No, what he needed for this task for someone he trusted absolutely. Someone whose reputation for honesty was impeccable. Someone who no one would ever dream of suspecting of foul play.
And the answer came to him: Hagrid. Sweet, kind, gentle Hagrid was the last person anyone could accuse of being involved in a conspiracy. And he was imposing enough that even the most hardened Death Eater would think twice before attacking him. Harry would be safe in his care.
Nodding to himself, Albus shot off a Patronus message to Hagrid, instructing him to retrieve young Harry from the cottage and take care of him until Albus contacted him again with the address of Harry's aunt's. He also firmly included the part where no one, meaning absolutely no one was to so much as touch the child without his express permission.
Knowing that he had only a few minutes before Hagrid made his way here, Albus removed all trace of his magical signature from the house and cast one last mournful look at Lily's body. "Farewell, my child. I hope to see you again on the next great adventure. . ." he whispered.
He then activated his own emergency portkey and disappeared. He had preparations to make.
It was an entire day later that an extremely tired and worn out Albus Dumbledore made his way back to his office.
Exhausted, but triumphant. The whole plan had gone off without a hitch.
After sending off Minerva to locate Lily's sister, Albus had looked up some references on Blood Magic from some of the books in his private room at the Hog's Head (courtesy of his brother Aberforth) and made sure to attend close half a dozen celebrations to give himself an alibi for Barty Crouch's inevitable interrogation. Then he placed baby Harry at Petunia Dursley's doorstep with Minerva and Hagrid as witnesses, and spent the next five hours with them at the Three Broomsticks raising a toast to James and Lily's memory.
He then used a Time-Turner (one he was due to return to the Ministry now that the war was over) and went back five hours, arriving just as his older self and the other two left. He then proceeded to Disillusion himself before spending the entire night casting the Blood Wards around the Dursley home, weaving the magic from Harry's bond of love with his mother into the very layers of the wards.
It was incredibly tiring work, even for a wizard of his caliber. But the sight of the slumbering toddler gave him strength, and in a few hours the wards were completely set up.
Then he waited. He waited with bated breath for another hour. Finally at the crack of dawn, Petunia's shrill scream awakened the child. She and her husband exchanged heated words at the doorstep before they carried baby Harry into the house. . .
. . . and the wards fully activated.
Albus heaved a huge sigh as he felt the power of the wards wash over him. Intent-based magic: the most powerful and complex magic in existence. No one who intended harm to Harry could ever hope to approach this house, even if it was Voldemort himself.
I did it, Lily. Your sacrifice was not in vain. Your son will always be protected. . .
now finally back in his office, the Hogwarts Headmaster sighed as sipped a glass of his strongest firewhiskey. While the feeling of success was great, the despair that he felt at the loss of his two brightest pupils was simply overwhelming.
The War was over. Victory had been achieved, but at a very high cost.
James had always been one of his favorite students. Intelligent, kind-hearted, mischievous, a bit arrogant. . . but steadfast in his loyalty to his friends. Whatever he may have been as a teenager, the man he grew up to be was someone Albus had always greatly admired. And Lily. . . Lily had been the closest thing to a daughter he'd ever had, even if he'd never quite succeeded in saying it out loud.
But now they were gone, dead at such a young age! Their one-year old baby orphaned, forced to remain hidden just to lead a safe life; and if Minerva's initial impression of the Dursleys was accurate, certainly not a very happy one.
He took another sip of his drink. He really, truly wished that there had been another way; that young Harry would have an opportunity to grow up in his world, surrounded by people who loved him instead of merely tolerating him. But there were too many factors, too many things that could go wrong.
Lily's contingency plans hadn't exactly helped him, either.
He glanced thoughtfully at the items lying on his desk. A piece of parchment that contained the Last Will and Testament of Lily Potter nee Evans, and a sealed journal delivered to his office hours after her demise.
Of all the things he had encountered in the last twenty-four hours, this was perhaps the strangest of all. Sure, on the surface things seemed pretty straightforward: Lily named him the executor of her will, and left behind the journal with a request to give it to Harry when he was ready.
But the more he looked at it closely, the more it confused him. Why had Lily named him as the executor of her will, especially given her open distrust of authority figures? What was in that journal and what did she mean by giving it to Harry when he was ready? A part of him couldn't help but feel that the answers were in that journal, but out of respect for her memory he did not read it. In his mind there was no greater sacrilege than violating the privacy of a family.
Besides, there were more pressing matters at hand.
He once again read through the will. What had Lily been thinking, making such arrangements for Harry's care? Surely she must have understood the ramifications of her actions? Then why would she request that Harry be sent to. . .
He shook his head. No, no he was being too foolish. Lily's greatest strength was her ability to plan in the long-term. He would not be surprised if she had made other arrangements of her own to help her son in the event of her death. No doubt this tied into it, somehow.
But that still begged the question: why had she gone to such lengths in the first place? Researching Blood Magic, performing that ritual, arranging for this journal to be delivered to him. . . it was almost as if she had known what was going to happen.
But that was impossible. Or was it?
Albus sighed. He was much too exhausted to be going through all this right now. Whatever Lily's intentions were, they would reveal themselves given enough time. He just had to show some patience.
Still, he mused, it would be nice to know why she hadn't thought about naming some of her comrades from the Order as Harry's guardians. Why, she hadn't even mentioned the boy's godfather, Sirius Black. . .
Wait a minute. . .
Albus suddenly sat up straighter in his chair. What was that Hagrid had said to him back at Privet Drive? Sirius Black had met him outside Godric's Hollow, demanded that he hand over Harry. . and then given him his flying motorbike.
But why?
Albus knew Sirius well enough to know that the boy was among the most stubborn people he'd ever known. If he really had wanted to take Harry with him, he would have done it. At the very least, he would have insisted on accompanying Hagrid to see what Albus had planned for his godson.
But he hadn't done that, had he? No, he let Hagrid, an outsider, leave with his godson without even bothering to confirm his story. Even more, he handed over his prized possession, his flying motorbike, without a word of complaint. What was that Hagrid had mentioned that he'd said? 'I won't be needing it anymore'.
Why would he say that!? Why would he act that way!?
Unless. . .
A cold dread settled into the pit of his stomach. No, it couldn't be. . . he wouldn't do that. . . not Sirius. . .
Closing his eyes, Albus began to use an old occlumency trick Nicholas had taught him and began to examine his memories of the past year. It was a slow, painstaking process, but after several minutes he found what he was looking for: a faint memory of himself, James and Sirius sitting in his office, discussing the Fidelius Charm. . .
His face blanched as he finally saw the confirmation of his worst fear: James and Lily had indeed made Sirius their Secret Keeper.
The more Albus thought about it, the more it made sense. They had suspected for quite some time, particularly after the deaths of the Prewitt brothers, that there had been a spy within the Order. But out of respect for their privacy, Albus had never performed more than a cursory Legilimency scan on any of them. It hadn't helped that most of the Order had some level of occlumency training, and were more than capable of keeping a secret if they wanted to.
Could Sirius Black have been the spy? Had he been passing information back to Voldemort's people from the very beginning?
Albus shook himself mentally. What was he talking about? Of course, he was the spy! Who else could it be? Who else would have the motive and the opportunity to do something like that?
The 'why' was pretty obvious: it was to regain his status as heir to the Black family. Sirius had been disowned by his mother back when he was still at Hogwarts. It made sense that he had come to regret that foolish act of rebellion, and tried to get back into his family's good graces. Being the cunning people they were, the family must have demanded that he pass them information from behind enemy lines, and he had.
And Albus, like the fool he was had allowed it! He had sat back and let that traitor sit with them at their table, to eat and drink in their midst when all the time he had been plotting their downfall!
His hands clenched into fists, his magical aura unleashing around the room threateningly. For the life of him he could never understand why he had thought that someone like Sirius Black could turn out alright. After all the trouble he caused when he was at school, after the time he nearly got Severus (and by extension, Remus) killed; after all the grief the Black family as a whole had given him over the decades, he had still trusted him, like a fool!
That boy was a monster, a thorn in the side of all good and honest people; just like his father and his grandfather!
But he wasn't going to get away with this! Oh no, Albus would make sure that backstabbing demon rotted in Azkaban for the rest of his miserable life!
Tired, angry and exhausted, Albus Dumbledore made an incredibly rash decision. He jumped to his feet and strode over to the fireplace, intending to share his deductions with Barty Crouch.
It was a mistake he would come to regret.
August 1991.
"I do believe that is the last one," Albus said as the storage crate packed itself.
"Oui. It is," Nicholas sighed and stretched his back. "Merde, I am getting too old for this!"
Albus raised a bushy eyebrow. "Getting too old for faking your own death?"
"Very funny, Albus. You try faking your own death sometimes. See how difficult it is!"
"I shall pass on that, thank you," he answered with a small smile. "But do remind me: why exactly are you and Perenelle faking your demise once again?"
"In all honesty, it is because we are tired, mon cher," Perenelle answered as she entered the room. "Six centuries is much too long a time to live in this world."
"Précisément. That, and it's becoming harder to pretend that we give a hippogriff's behind about the world anymore," her husband muttered.
Perenelle shot him a dirty look. "Ignore the old goat's wheezing, mon cher," she said to Albus. "He is just sad that he had to be the one to clean out the library."
"Well, it wasn't my book collection that took up half the manor," Nicholas grumbled.
"Perhaps you should read more then," his wife shot back.
"And perhaps you should go to. . ."
"Alright, let us perform one last inventory check," Albus interrupted loudly. "Are you certain we packed everything?"
"Completely." Nicholas sat down in his chair. "All that is left is to. . . what is the phrase. . . ah, yes. . . get the show on the road."
"Let me see if I have it correctly," Albus began. "In exactly six months, you will announce that you have destroyed the Philosopher's Stone and remaining Elixir samples, allowing you to live only long enough to set your affairs in order."
"Then in two months, our solicitors will announce our official demise," Perenelle continued. "Naming you as the one incharge of disposing all our assets, including the manor."
"And I am to complete this by the end of the next year, and forward the monies to you at your new home in. . . er. . ."
"Los Angeles, California in the United States of America," Nicholas prompted. "Hollywood, Albus. Hollywood! Ancestors, how can you forget that?"
"My apologies, Monsieur Guillory," Albus said, using the new surname the Flamels were going to use in their new home. "I am not very familiar with the cinema from across the pond."
"I still do not understand why you had to choose Los Angeles of all places," Perenelle said with a shake of her head. "We will stick out like a sore thumb."
"That, ma femme, is the genius of the plan! It will be so overt that it will be covert," Nicholas declared grandly. "Just imagine: Monsieur and Madame Guillory, an old and wealthy couple emigrating from the countryside of France." He put on a really bad American accent. "Hey there! How're you doin'? Nice to meet ya!"
The other two simply stared at him blankly.
"Never mind," he sighed in disgust.
Albus' beard twitched slightly before he turned back to Perenelle. "Still, I do have to admit your sudden call took me by surprise. I assume you have been planning this for a while now."
"We have," she confirmed. "We were going to do this in a couple of years. But recent events have forced us to accelerate our schedule."
Albus sat up straighter. "What recent events?"
The Flamels exchanged a look. "A few days ago, there was disturbance at the edge of our wards. Someone was trying to force their way in."
"And you are telling me this now!?"
"Albus, please. People have been trying to get past our wards and steal the Stone for centuries," Nicholas said. "We have gotten so used to it that it is barely of any concern anymore."
"But you could have called me. . . !"
"All the way from Britain?" he snorted. "Don't be ridiculous! Besides, we have been defending the Stone from thieves before your grandfather was born. Another pair of hands is more of a hindrance than a help!"
"And yet, something about this attack has you worried," Albus surmised.
"We performed our own investigations into this matter, and what we found was . . disturbing." Nicholas licked his lips. "Apparently, there is a highly skilled Dark Wizard in town. My sources claim that he arrived here a week ago. From Albania." He shot his student a meaningful look.
Albus narrowed his eyes. "Albania, you say?"
"Oui," Nicholas nodded. "What's more, he is leaving quite a trail of bodies in his wake. Almost all of them have traces of the Cruciatus and Killing Curse on them."
"Tom," Albus breathed softly.
"Maybe. Or it might be someone attempting to copy his modus operandi. Either way, it is dangerous to continue staying here in France."
Albus heaved a heavy sigh. "Agreed. But leaving here means forfeiting the Philosopher's Stone. I assume you are taking a stock of Elixir with you."
"We have enough to last a decade. Two, if we ration," Perenelle said.
"Then you will die?"
"Yes. We will die," Nicholas answered simply. "To sickness or old age, whatever gets to us first. To the world, we will seem like a regular non-magical couple who died after living to a ripe old age. We will be buried alongside non-magicals in a regular cemetery. No fuss. No threat of any misguided witch or wizard attempting to steal our remains for some bizzare ritual."
"Exactly as we like it," Perenelle smiled, squeezing her husband's hand gently.
Albus regarded his teachers with an awed look. "How could you be so calm in the face of death?" he asked.
"To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure," Perenelle intoned.
"You always did say that," he chuckled. "I can only pray that I am able to show half the fortitude when I meet my end."
"Now, now none of that, Albus. You still have a lot left to live for," Perenelle said sternly. "Besides, who will continue our legacy if you don't?"
"Thank you for saying that, Perenelle," Albus smiled. "I shall endeavor to live up to your expectations."
"You'd better," Nicholas grumbled. "It took me a century to invent the pensieve, and the one we're leaving with you is the most advanced kind there is. I swear, if you do not take good care of it, I will come back from the grave to haunt you."
"Oh my, I had better be careful then," Albus grinned. "I would hate to have the ghost of a senile old alchemist haunting my school."
"And just who do you think you're calling senile, you. . !"
"Nicholas," his wife warned.
"Nevertheless," Albus said as he stroked the outer edge of the beautifully carved pensieve. "I do not believe you have to worry about your belongings." He smiled wistfully. "With luck, they will someday be in hands worthier than my own."
Nicholas frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, Nicholas you really are going old," Perenelle sighed. At her husband's outraged expression, she explained. "Harry Potter will be coming to Hogwarts this term."
"Ah," Nicholas nodded in understanding. "So is finally coming home then. Your wonder child."
"Yes. Yes, he is."
"Well, then I hope he proves to be worthy of all the gifts you plan to bequeath him. It would be a shame if our possessions end up in the hands of some reckless, spoiled child."
"Oh, I do not think you need to worry about that, Nicholas," Albus smirked. "Harry is the farthest thing from a spoiled child."
"Oh. Do tell."
"My. . ah. . reliable source tells me. . ."
"Reliable source?" Nicholas scoffed. "Right. You mean that batty old cat lady you hired to spy on the boy."
"As I was saying," Albus said loudly, shooting his mentor an irritated look. "My source claims that Harry is a very hardworking and responsible child. He helps around with the chores, and is said to be quite diligent in his studies. I also have it on good authority that he spends almost all his free time in the local library." There was a touch of pride in his voice towards the end.
"Yes, yes. . . that is all very well," Nicholas said patronizingly. "But you haven't actually seen the boy yourself, have you?"
The smile vanished immediately from his face. "No. No, I have not," he said mournfully. "I have not seen him since that day, all those years ago. . ."
Albus beamed as the two year old child's bright green eyes lit up with joy at the sight of stuffed lion he had conjured. But his happiness did not linger for long as the harsh clearing of a throat shook him out of his reverie.
"Petunia. . ." he began.
"Mrs Dursley," the horse-faced woman corrected.
Albus suppressed a flinch at the open hostility in the young woman's gaze. "My apologies, Mrs Dursley. I take it we have an agreement then?"
"Agreement?" she practically shrieked. "Agreement? You act as if you're offering us a choice in the matter!?"
"There is always a choice, Mrs Dursley," he said quietly. "But in this case, allowing Harry to stay in your home in the safest course of action for your entire family."
"Safest? That almost sounded like a threat." Vernon snorted. The huge beefy man crossed his arms and glared at him. "I just don't believe your kind! First, Petunia's good for nothing sister goes and gets herself blown up; and then you go and dump her spawn on her doorstep like a bottle of milk. Don't you people have any decency?"
Albus wasn't sure whether it was the insult towards Lily or the disdain towards baby Harry that set him off. At any rate, this simple statement was enough to make him unleash his aura. "Firstly," he intoned. "This 'spawn' happens to be your nephew. Secondly, Lily Potter was a hero who died trying to save this world from the greatest evil it has ever seen. I will thank you not to insult her in my presence!"
The Dursley couple immediately shrank back. "Y-you can't t-threaten us like this," Petunia stammered defensively, he face gone stark white in terror.
The Hogwarts Headmaster felt some of his irritation slide at their horrified expressions. This was going much worse than he'd imagined: he was here for a negotiation, not intimidation. "My apologies," he said. "Back to the business at hand: will you continue to let Harry live under your roof until he is ready to re-enter our world?"
"W-What do we get out of this?" Vernon blurted out.
"Apart from the most powerful kind of protection magic can provide?" He sighed at the way they flinched at his use of the word 'magic'. "Very well. What is it do you want?"
"Well. . . raising children is expensive," Vernon muttered.
Albus raised a bushy eyebrow. Between the brand new vehicle outside and the pristine condition of the house, he would've guess that the Dursleys had more than enough money to raise another child, especially when he was family. But apparently they did not share the same sentiment. "How much?" he asked.
"Er. . . five hundred-no, four hundred pounds. . ."
"One thousand," Petunia said, causing both men to look at her in shock.
"One thousand pounds. Every month. Or he doesn't get to stay," she declared, before crossing her arms and glaring up at the ancient wizard.
Albus narrowed his eyes slightly. "Very well. I shall deposit one thousand pounds in your family account every month until the day Harry comes of age."
"Or you could just give us access to her account," she said snidely. "I know she had some gold squirreled away in that strange bank that your kind use."
"I think not," Albus said coldly. He had no desire to let these. . . people's hands get anywhere close to the Potters' money. That belonged to Harry, and Harry alone. "I will pay you the money from my own account. As long as you get your payment at the beginning of every month, it should not be any concern of yours as to where the money comes from."
Petunia's horse-like face seemed to contort in anger. "Alright," she ground her teeth. "But I have another condition!"
Albus repressed another sigh. "Go ahead."
The woman stepped forward and looked right into his face. "I want you to swear that you or any of your kind will never darken our doorstep again!"
"What?"
"You heard me," she spat. "I don't want your kind in my house! I want your freakishness to stay as far away from my family as possible. I don't want to become the talk of the neighbourhood just because your kind has no sense of privacy or common decency. I won't have it. I won't have it, I tell you!"
"Mrs Dursley, please be reasonable. . ."
"I am being reasonable," she screamed, her spittle flying all over his robes. "I couldn't care less if that little urchin died, do you hear me!? I'm doing you a favor by letting him stay here, and in return I'm asking you to leave us alone! Do you understand? You or anyone of your freakish kind must never show up here for any purpose! Is that clear?"
For the first time in a long time, Albus was at a complete loss for words. How could she say such things about the child of her own sister? And how could he possibly explain to this woman why her request was so difficult for him to grant? How could he possibly make her understand the bond he felt with Lily's only child; how the little boy playing near his feet was the closest thing to family he had left?
He decided to make one last attempt. "Mrs Dursley. . ."
"If you don't like it, you can leave," she snarled, glaring at him defiantly. "Leave, and take that. . . that thing with you! Never come near us again!"
For a moment, Albus was tempted to do exactly that. He wanted nothing more the pick up the infant and walk away, blood wards be damned! There was nothing he wanted more than to ensure that Lily's boy would never have to come near this vile woman ever again!
But then baby Harry reached out and tugged at the hem of his robes, and Albus found himself looking down at the child he had to come to care for so much. He saw the scar, the only visible mark of that Halloween night, a stark reminder of the evil that still lurked out there in the shadows. He thought of Lily, the woman who willingly offered up her life so that her son could live instead.
Was it right for him to throw away the protection that she had died for? Would he really be able to protect Harry from Voldemort better than Lily could? Was the child's happiness really worth more than his safety, bought and paid for in his mother's blood?
No. No, he could not. As much as he wanted to, he could protect him. He couldn't protect his mother, he couldn't protect Ariana, he couldn't even protect Lily. . .
Fighting back the tears from his eyes, Albus turned back to Petunia. "Very well. I, Albus Dumbledore, give you my word that I nor any other witch or wizard under my command will ever physically come near your family, or have any kind of contact, until Harry is ready to come to Hogwarts." A brief glow of magic sealed the deal. "Is that satisfactory?"
For a long time, Petunia glared at him, as though trying to ascertain his truthfulness. Then she nodded. "That's good. Now show yourself out!"
"And don't forget about the money," Vernon warned, his false bravado having finally returned.
Albus nodded and briefly knelt down to plant a kiss on the infant's brow. "Be well, my child," he said softly. "I hope you will find it in yourself to forgive this old man someday."
With one last look at the Dursley couple, Albus walked out of Number Four, Privet Drive. He ran a cursory glance over the currently vacant house at Number Eight down the street.
After all, he had promised that no magicals would ever come near their family. He had never said anything about squibs.
Perhaps his old friend Arabella would enjoy a new home.
"Albus. Albus? Albus!"
He blinked away his daydream to see his teachers looking at him in concern. "My apologies."
"It is I who should apologize," Nicholas said quietly. "Je suis désolé, old friend. I misspoke."
"It is quite alright, Nicholas. Now," he cleared his throat. "I do believe we should come up with a suitable distraction before you make your great escape."
"Distraction?"
"Elementary strategy, my dear Perenelle," Albus stated. "If this Dark wizard is as dangerous as he seems, we need to make sure he is suitably distracted before we go ahead with the plan. Otherwise, it will all come to naught."
"Agreed," Nicholas nodded. "But how?"
Albus glanced around the room, his mind working furiously, until his eyes fell upon the blood red stone on the alchemist's desk: the fake Philosopher's Stone that Nicholas used as a paperweight. "What if," he said slowly, picking up the rock. "What if we were to use this?"
"Ah," Perenelle nodded in understanding. "You wish to use that to draw attention away from us."
"Precisely. Nicholas, I need you to go to Gringotts tomorrow and get this transferred into a high security vault in Britain under my name."
"And then get that information leaked to the correct sources?" Nicholas asked shrewdly.
"Indeed." Albus steepled his fingers together. "I plan on using that Stone to draw out our mysterious Dark wizard. See if he has a connection of some sort with Tom, or if he is merely an ambitious copycat."
"There is one flaw with your plan, Albus: if he is half as persistent as he appears to be, he will not be deterred by the prospect of breaking into Gringotts," Nicholas warned. "If he gets his hands on the fake Stone, our charade may be over before it has even begun."
"Then I shall have the fake Stone moved to Hogwarts," Albus declared. "It will help us buy some more time."
Perenelle shook her head. "That is a very dangerous idea, mon cher!"
"It's only for a few months, Perenelle," Albus reassured her. "Besides, the wards of Hogwarts are practically impregnable once they are fully raised after the beginning of the term. Once the fake is transported to the castle, even the most determined thief will have to reconsider his options; not to mention it will make our ruse seem all the more authentic."
"And what if this Dark wizard were to infiltrate your school somehow?" she pressed.
"Then he will still have to face me. And at the risk of sounding arrogant, even Tom would not be foolish enough to challenge me in my own home."
Nicholas sat back heavily in his chair. "Ma femme is right. This is a very bad idea."
Albus sighed. "I know, old friend. Believe me, I know. But I have little choice in the matter. For a decade I have looked for proof of Lord Voldemort's continued existence, and found nothing concrete. If this risky gambit is what is takes to bring him out, then so be it."
He gazed out of the window at the setting sun. "Harry will be coming to Hogwarts this year. If I am to ensure his safety, if I am to ensure everyone's continued safety. . . I need to determine once and for all who or what are enemy really is."
"And to do that you will risk the safety of every single student at that school?" Nicholas sighed. "The irony. . ."
"I know," Albus murmured. "I know. But I have no choice."
Albus' insane strategy worked better than expected, with Hagrid bringing the fake Stone to the castle just as the new term began.
But the Hogwarts Headmaster's attention was occupied by another matter entirely.
Harry Potter. Oh how Albus' heart had swelled with joy at the sight of the young lad! Practically a carbon copy of his father, with Lily's intelligent bright green eyes, walking though the Great Hall, tall and proud, to put on the Sorting Hat. The ancient wizard had been ready to jump in joy when the child was sorted into Gryffindor, the house of his parents. Instead, he contented himself by a raising his glass in a small toast to the beginning of Harry's journey in their world.
The more he observed him, the happier he grew. Harry was everything Albus (and indeed, most of their world) had dreamed of: smart, kind, humble, always ready to lend a helping hand to those in need. . . a credit to Lily and James in every possible way. Minerva gushed almost non-stop in private over his abilities in Transfiguration, Filius took every possible excuse to bring up the child's great skill in Charms, and even Severus, despite his sour disposition, was forced to concede that the young Potter's talent for magic was formidable.
But throughout it all the signs were there: the signs that everything was not as well with the child as everyone was so eager to believe. Whether the others noticed it or not, Albus definitely did. All the times Harry tried to keep to himself, the moments when he avoided physical contact unless he was the one to initiate it, the stifled manner in which he spoke about his relatives whenever they were brought up. . .
All this filled him with a great deal of sadness. It seemed that, despite what Albus had dared to hope, Harry's childhood in the Dursley home had been far from ideal. Arabella had of course mentioned that things had become much easier for him after Vernon's unfortunate death a few years ago (which Albus honestly could not say he was very sorry for), there was the fact that the lad had had to endure more than his fair share of suffering.
So Albus did everything he could to make it up to him at school. He instructed Severus to mind his temper around Harry (as much as he could, anyway), he approved Minerva's request to have him drafted onto the Quidditch team (in her defense, Harry really was gifted at flying), he even secretly passed on James' Invisibility Cloak to him as a Christmas present. . .
It was the last action that indirectly led him to accost the young lad in the room with the Mirror of Erised.
"The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry, and I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don't you put that admirable cloak back on and get off to bed?"
Harry stood up.
"Sir - Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?"
"Obviously, you've just done so," Dumbledore smiled. "You may ask me one more thing, however."
"What do you see when you look in the mirror?"
"I? I see. . ."
For a moment Albus wanted to give the standard eccentric reply he gave whenever someone asked him such a personal question. But looking into those startlingly green eyes, he felt a wave of sadness and shame wash over him.
This was the child upon whose shoulders destiny had placed such a huge burden, a burden which Albus himself had added to by creating the legend of the Boy-Who-Lived. This was the very same child whose childhood had spent in misery and unhappiness because of another one of his decisions, justified though it may have been.
Was it right for him to lie? Was it right of him to refuse an honest answer to one who had known so much suffering? What kind of a man did it make him that he, who always preached about love and trust, lied to the child who was so dear to him?
Albus took a deep breath. "I. . had a sister once," he said softly. "She died when she was very young, barely older than you really. Her name was Ariana."
The young boy's eyes widened in surprise. "Sir! I'm so sorry. . ."
"It's not your fault, Harry," he said gently. "It's just one of things about life, I suppose." He glanced at the Mirror again, watching sadly as a brown-eyed little girl smiled and waved happily at him. "Things which are best left forgotten. . ."
"Or maybe," Harry said slowly. "It's exactly what we need: something to remind us."
"Remind us of what?" Albus asked.
The eleven-year old looked him straight in the eye. "Of what we're fighting for."
The profound wisdom behind those words filled Albus with an indescribable emotion: melancholy, satisfaction, regret, happiness. . . all mixed into one. In that moment Albus found himself reflecting on his life, on everything that had transpired since his time with his family in Mould-on-the-wold; how, for better or worse, the events of his past had shaped his nature and brought him this far. "Yes, that is true, isn't it?" he murmured, casting one last wistful look back at the enchanted mirror. "So very true. . ."
"I should get back," Harry said. "Goodnight, sir."
"Goodnight, Harry."
And as Albus Dumbledore made the long walk back to his office, for some reason his heart felt lighter than it had in years.
AN: So yeah, updating this took me a lot longer than I thought it would. I rewrote this whole chapter thrice until I felt reasonably satisfied with the way it turned out. I have, of course, done my best to tackle as many of the plot-points as I could. Do mention it in your reviews if you feel I've missed something or if something doesn't seem to add up.
In this chapter I've tried to show Dumbledore's intelligence and pragmatism at work, while at the same time showing his vulnerability. The latter is something I feel has never actually been dealt with properly in canon. For all that Dumbles keeps going on about how he is only human, we rarely seem to see that part of him until the final book. It's why I tried to do something different: Dumbledore is still the ultimate strategist with great presence of mind, but he's still human enough to let his grief get the better of him and jump to the wrong conclusions (like in Sirius' case).
Another thing I've tried my best to showcase here is Dumbledore's idealism, which to me is the most defining trait of his character. Even in canon we see that Dumbles is always the guy who wants to see the best in people, even those who seemingly don't deserve it. You could argue that it was irresponsible as fuck of him to believe that the Dursleys would have treated Harry at least with common human decency, but child abuse is something that blindsides most people. Even after seeing so many cases myself, I still can't help but get a WTF feeling every time I come across physically or emotionally abusive guardians. It's one of those things you simply never get used to.
And if the beginning of the chapter (absence of Fawkes + Invisibility Cloak) seems a bit unbelievable, well. . . I invite you to look up the term Fortunes of War. Throughout history strange things have happened that can often be put down to grand conspiracy theories, but most of the time it's just plain bad luck. Shit happens in war, things go horribly wrong. . . it's just how it is sometimes.
FYI, Dumbles doesn't know that Harry is (or was) a horcrux at this point; so that whole 'He was plotting Harry's death all along' stuff is moot.
The mystery of Lily's strange will and her final journal will be revealed in future chapters. Depending on whether I have time, I might do a Lily POV as well.
Next up: The chapter you've all been waiting for - the story of renegade Harry told from his own POV. Also revealed is the story of Lily's notes, and the extent to which they shaped Harry into what he's become.
Stay tuned.