The beginning of several years of torment.

June 1992

Albus Dumbledore was walking back to his office after a rather uncomfortable conversation with one Harry Potter. The boy was under Poppy Pomfrey's care in the hospital wing after a rather nasty brush with the spectral form of Tom Riddle. Somehow, Harry had survived in surprising health and was merely being kept overnight for observation. Albus had feared the boy would be unconscious for days due to his run in with the esoteric magics used by Tom and his proxy Quirinus Quirrell.

Albus had known that Tom was not as dead as the average witch or wizard believed and celebrated. However, the nightmare of his existence was so profound that convincing anyone otherwise was an exercise in futility. In the ten years since the man's disappearance, Albus had watched for any sign of Tom returning to power. Just before the school year began, rumours had begun circulating among the less reputable crowds. There was nothing concrete, nothing definitive, but the signs were beginning to corroborate the rumours.

Historically not one to give divination more than a passing thought, Albus had begun paying special attention to the vague and mysterious art ever since his interview with Sybill Trelawney. It had been the first time he had ever witnessed a prophecy being given and, loath as he was to admit it, it terrified him. The idea that his future was not entirely of his own making, that someone or something held a power over him and his destiny or his fate, had conflicted with everything he had ever believed in his long life. Bearing witness to that same prophecy becoming partially fulfilled had shaken Albus to his core.

Now, Harry Potter was lying in bed and his friends Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom and Ron Weasley were prevented from seeing him. Albus knew isolating Harry was a questionable decision at best but the boy could not be permitted to retell his story. Information control was Albus's greatest weapon against Tom and his followers. Sadly, it was also Tom's greatest weapon against the Light, as well.

Just before Albus had departed the hospital wing, he had permitted Harry to ask whatever he wished. Unfortunately, the young Gryffindor had asked the one question whose answer was possibly the most closely guarded secret in the entire British magical world. Only one person knew that secret in its entirety, though at least two more knew of it in part. Albus, knowing the full reason why Tom had targeted Harry and why that spelled his own eventual defeat, could not trust an eleven year old child with that secret.

A partial answer, that Harry managed to survive when no one else Tom targeted did, did not seem adequate. As such, Albus decided that no answer was better than a lie. He knew it would upset Harry. The boy had become much more inquisitive after befriending the young Miss Granger back on Halloween. He was no longer satisfied with being given textbook answers. Harry wanted to understand the whys and wherefores that lead to the answers. He sought out explanations for information that most others decades his senior took on faith. For Albus, it was like looking in a mirror and seeing his eleven year old self.

He and Harry were both Gryffindors as opposed to Ravenclaws. While the distinction had faded in Albus's mind, there was a reason Harry was made a Lion rather than a Raven. The proof could be seen if one were to look at his actions that night. No Raven would have pursued Quirinus after being dismissed by a professor. Only a Lion would have defied authority to do what was right rather than easy. Albus smiled at that thought. It reflected well on the man who young Harry would become.

Albus approached his office entrance. The gargoyle moved to the side without waiting for the password. Albus frowned. He liked thinking up new passwords and giving them. It was good motivation to try out various new sweets. Using the names of sweets as passwords was wonderfully effective since there was a book where every password ever used was recorded. The ink in the book turned red whenever a new password had been previously used. It made for a wonderfully efficient cataloging system.

Recently, he had been tasting muggle sweets, trying to find something he enjoyed more than the lemon drops he had taken a fancy to more than ten years before. Finding those had been a particularly joyous occasion. There was nothing quite like them in the wizarding shops and they were so very delicious.

Reaching the top of the spiral staircase, Albus opened the door to his office. The incident between Harry, Quirinus and Tom would cause a rather tenuous situation in the government to worsen if not handled properly. Even if Albus did not approach Fudge and relate the events, the man would find out what had happened. Nothing was more widespread or cancerous than rumour. No, first Albus had to contact Nicholas and Perenelle and convince them their Philosopher's Stone needed to be destroyed. If Tom was willing to infiltrate Gringotts and then later Hogwarts to get to it, it was far too dangerous an object to be permitted to continue to exist.

If he were a lesser man, Albus might ask forgiveness rather than permission. Idling fingering the rufescent stone in his pocket, he resisted the temptation as he sat down to compose his first of many letters which Fawkes would be delivering that night. Looking up, Albus was glad to see all of the portraits were asleep. He was not in the mood for their usual, unhelpful commentary given the stressful nature of the past evening.

Two hours, and a disgruntled phoenix later, Albus relaxed back into his highback chair. The imposing piece of furniture had been crafted two centuries before for the express purpose of being gifted to the then headmaster of Hogwarts. Supposedly, it was a bribe to prevent the expulsion of a student but the journal that might contain the true story was misplaced several decades later. Regardless, the chair was surprisingly comfortable in spite of its appearance, though the charms which caused that had to be refreshed every decade or so.

Sinking into the cushions, Albus reached out by habit to a crystal bowl resting on the corner of his desk. Rather than resort to a headache potion, which would have Poppy chastise him considering how many he usually consumed, Albus hoped that indulging in the sweet and sour combination of a few lemon drops would calm his mind and sooth his spirit. As his hand touched crystal, Albus's eyes darted to the bowl.

It was empty.

Furrowing his brow, Albus opened the top left drawer of his desk, where he kept his supply of unopened packages.

They were all gone.

Whipping his wand out, Albus's eyes scanned his office. Something was dreadfully wrong. He had purchased several new packages just a few weeks ago and, despite rumours to the contrary, he did not consume them in bulk. Normally, a single package would last him a month.

Considering Tom had been in the castle that night, even in the form of a wraith-like entity, such caution was only prudent. There were many things, books, magical trinkets, and scrolls among other things, that were kept in the headmaster's office for a reason. The danger they posed made the restricted nature of the office even more essential.

Seeing no one, and his magic revealing no one, Albus turned to his companion. "Fawkes, has anyone other than me been in this office tonight?" Fawkes was a bit of a jokester who liked to pick apart Albus's words. It necessitated many qualifiers whenever he directly addressed the creature.

Fawkes trilled a tone that Albus interpreted as an affirmative response.

"Did they touch anything?"

Another affirmative trill.

Taking a moment, Albus pondered the situation. The only thing he knew was missing was his stash of lemon drops. "Did they touch anything other than my lemon drops?"

A third affirmative trill. Albus frowned. "Aside from the floor, the top left desk drawer and the sweets bowl?"

Fawkes rolled his head back and forth. Finally a useful answer. Whoever had entered had done so with the explicit purpose of going after Albus's lemon drops. It made no sense, however, considering the wealth of information in the office. The effort required to enter without detection supported that the thief must be highly skilled. Such skill would be wasted on anything so frivolous as stealing less than a Galleon's worth of sweets.

Albus's eyes widened. "Did this person leave anything behind?" he asked Fawkes.

Fawkes hopped off his perch and landed on Albus's desk. Picking up a small envelope, lost in the stacks of parchment, he held it out for Albus to take.

Knowing the Phoenix wouldn't have picked up and offered anything harmful, Albus opened the letter. Its contents were a single sheet of parchment with a single line written in neat, looping script that he did not recognize.

When someone asks you a question, you answer them.

Flying down the stairs, Albus ran towards the infirmary as fast as his legs could carry him. Arriving at the hospital wing, he looked inside. Harry was fast asleep on his assigned bed. Entering Poppy's office, Albus found the matron filling out some of her end of year reports.

"Poppy," he started. "Has Mr Potter left his bed this evening?"

Poppy gave Albus a humourless glare. "Of course not. You were here when I gave him the Dreamless Sleep draught. Nothing is waking that boy until the morning."

Half relieved, half panicked, Albus bid a good night to Poppy and returned to his office. Just as he was about to continue his investigation, the Floo flared to life.

"Albus," Cornelius Fudge's voice filled the office. "What is this I hear about an incident involving Harry Potter?"

Fawkes watched as Albus, frustrated at the Minister's timing, tried to address the other man's concerns. Tucking his head under his wing, Fawkes thought back to earlier in the evening when a very angry first year Gryffindor girl had somehow found her way past the gargoyle. Deciding to help, Fawkes had disposed of Albus's spare lemon drops after the girl had emptied the bowl. It was one of life's true pleasures, seeing Albus all a flutter over something as mundane as missing sweets.

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