Disclaimer: I still do not own Harry Potter.
Author's Note: Hey everyone, and thank you so incredibly, incredibly much for all the reviews. I adore all your ideas and suggestions.
Now, this chapter, we take a dip into Albus Dumbledore's mind. It explains his thought process over the last ten years, and portrays his character in the way I see him in this story. I really hope you enjoy it.
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Albus Dumbledore sat in his office, slowly sipping a cup of tea as his mind was lost in thoughts of contemplation. He had always been a man of action, his head full of schemes and plots. He had played a major role in two wars, and he knew he was idolized throughout the wizarding world. Many looked to him for answers; even Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, was always owling him to ask for advice.
The first war Albus had been involved in, he would always feel guilt over because he hadn't done anything about the man he had once loved, Gellert Grindelwald, until thousands of people had already been killed. If the people that counted on him so much today knew about his past, he had a feeling they would turn on him, and very quickly. He had allowed so many people to die unnecessary deaths, and when Albus finally faced the man who had become his enemy, the shame and guilt was almost too much to bear. Still, though, when the other wizard was lying at his feet, he couldn't bring himself to end his life. So instead, he punished him by sending him to the prison Gellert himself had built. It seemed to be a very poignant poetic justice.
Then, when Tom Riddle had come along, Albus saw the warning signs. When he arrived at Hogwarts, he watched him carefully - but not carefully enough. He always tried to beat back the nasty little voice that often asked him whether he had let Tom go as far as he had on purpose, and didn't intervene earlier because he wanted to come blazing in once the damage was already done, and save the world from Tom's monstrous reign. That way, he would be considered a hero to the people, and his less-than-savory past would become nothing more than a fading ember compared to the burning flame of his present and future.
Dumbledore quickly broke out of these thoughts, sighing as he focused on the end of the First War. When Severus had overheard the first half of the prophecy, Albus knew that a new phase of the war had been set into motion. Things had seemed to happen so quickly, and when the Potters ended up in hiding, Albus had known how much was at stake. As powerful a wizard as he was, he knew it was not his duty to defeat Tom. As much as he wanted to take this burden away from the Potters and Harry, he knew the job would fall upon the little boy to rid the world of the darkest wizard ever to live.
And then, it had all gone wrong. Albus would never forget the night when one of the trusty instruments in his office had shown him something that caused his blood to run cold. James, Lily, and Harry ... their protections were gone; they'd been betrayed. And by one of the most loyal people Albus ever knew, a person he had expected to guard the Potters' secret with his life. Of all people to turn on them, Sirius Black was the last person he ever would have suspected. But it had come to pass, and the device which monitored the Potters' well-being was showing him that the couple were dead. But, shockingly, it also was showing that Harry was still alive.
His world spinning, he'd fled Hogwarts and immediately materialized on the scene, shaken by what he saw. He, who was usually so composed, knelt over the lifeless bodies of Lily and James and wept. And there was little Harry, lying in the rubble of what was once his nursery, his bright green eyes streaming tears as a cut on his forehead bled profusely. Albus was no Healer, but he had learned enough to get the bleeding to stop. The wound closed, but a jagged, lightning-bolt scar remained. It was such a curious shape that Albus suspected there had to be more to it.
Then, he had raised his wand, and gently brought it to the boy's temple, extracting a memory of the Potters' final moments so he could surmise what had taken place. He could feel powerful magic in the air - something extraordinary had happened on this night. There was a cloak lying on the ground by Lily's body, a cloak that was very familiar to Albus. Tom's cloak. But there was no sign of his old student anywhere.
He had placed a kiss on the child's forehead, and left the scene. He did not want to leave Harry in the ruins, but he had to know what happened before he could take any next steps.
And when he returned to Hogwarts, he disappeared into his Pensieve, and discovered what he was sure had saved little Harry and had taken away the Dark Lord's powers. Albus suspected it was only for now, for Tom's dead body had not been there, just his cloak. With Albus's knowledge of magic, a plan had cemented in his mind almost immediately.
He had sent Hagrid to retrieve Harry, and bring him to Hogwarts. As he was doing so, he composed one of the hardest letters he had ever had to write: to Mr. and Mrs. Dursley. He hated himself as the parchment was filled with a very important missive. This poor child would have a rough time of it for the next ten years, and he knew it. How many times had he overheard Lily speak of her sister, Petunia, and the resentment and anger she harbored towards the wizarding world? She and Vernon would not take too kindly to Harry, he knew, but it must be done. He would be safest amongst blood relatives, and those were the only ones he had. And he must stay alive at all costs. Because above anything, Albus was sure that one day, Voldemort would return, and Harry would be needed to free the wizarding world from his tyrannical reign once and for all.
Once Hagrid arrived with Harry, Albus had had Poppy check him over just to make sure there had been no other damage done to him. She assured him that he was as fine as he could be, under these horrific circumstances. She could not heal the scar, however; no matter what spells she tried, it remained, the curious lightning-bolt shape ever present. This made the Headmaster even more sure that there was more to the scar than met the eye.
The little boy stayed in the infirmary until morning, and then Hagrid continued the journey with him to Privet Drive. The flight took about twelve hours, and his trusted friend and Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall went to keep vigil at the Dursleys. By this time, Albus had made it known to several of his most trusted allies about what had occurred the night before, and the news spread like wildfire. However, he did not make it known what he suspected about why Harry had survived; instead, because he knew what was to come, he allowed Harry Potter to become a household name. This way, the wizarding world would be primed to believe that Harry was their savior. His conscience never failed to ream him out for this, but the morale of the wizarding world needed to remain strong through any oncoming darkness. The celebrations that erupted in the wake of Voldemort's defeat had been massive; people had had precious little to rejoice about for eleven years.
As the following days passed, more plans were put in place. Albus met Hagrid and Minerva at Privet Drive, and with a heavy heart, listened to Minerva's objections and parried them with the practiced ease he'd gotten used to displaying. He'd arranged for Mrs. Figg to reside two streets away, and report on what she witnessed as Harry grew up. He had told her to make the Dursleys aware of her presence, and offer her help with Harry whenever they needed it.
Every night, as Albus lay in bed, he wrestled with overwhelming guilt. There was a huge drawback to being as powerful as he was; he was the one who had to make excruciatingly hard decisions. When he'd laid Harry gently on the Dursleys' doorstep, he'd known that Harry staying here was for the blood wards, but he also knew that it wasn't the only reason this would work to his advantage. The Dursleys' hatred of all things magical and, above all, resentment towards Harry would cause the boy to search for belonging elsewhere. And, when it was time for him to rejoin the wizarding world, he would cherish it like nothing else. And Albus reckoned Harry would do anything to keep that world intact.
This decision caused many a night for him to be sleepless, wondering what the poor child was going through. The only thing that helped him to function was the fact that in the end, it would be worth it. When he remembered the trauma of the First War, the sight of the endless rows of casualties always played behind his eyelids. The Dark Marks that had appeared over countless houses, the empty bodies with lifeless eyes staring out of them, faces frozen in shock and fear, life wiped clean away. The sobs, the screams, the paralyzing grief, the hate, the fear, the rage of all those left behind. The evil cackles of Tom and his minions as they left devastation and destruction in their wake. If one boy's childhood had to be sacrificed in order for the world not to end up in ruins, it had to be done, and Albus had the power to make it happen. In the end, he had no choice. No choice at all.
When Mrs. Figg started to report back to him, however, Albus realized things were not going at all according to plan. An event had occurred which he had not thought possible - Petunia Dursley had had an epiphany, an awakening. Albus should have foreseen this, really. Hadn't he gone from loving Gellert Grindelwald to despising him? Why hadn't it occurred to him that things could go in the opposite direction?
Because, according to Mrs. Figg, Petunia Dursley cared very deeply for her nephew, and her husband, Vernon, had begun to open his heart too. But, unfortunately for Albus, she very much maintained her hatred for all things magical. And she saw Harry as a victim rather than the cause of her pain and rage.
Albus had, of course, never told Mrs. Figg all the facets of his plans, so she never knew he'd expected the Dursleys to mistreat him. As more and more reports kept coming, Petunia's heart seemed to soften for Harry even more, and she treated him as a part of the family. He and her own young son, Dudley, got along like the best of brothers, and Harry was enjoying a very loving, nurturing childhood.
And one day, Albus knew he had to act. Harry was three years old at the time, and Albus, not only under cover of darkness but also Disillusioned, had Apparated close to the Dursleys' house. His heart pounded with self-hatred at the act he was about to perform, but he knew he had to do it. In order for the wizarding world to stand a chance, he had to do it. He'd probably end up in Hell when starting his next great adventure, if indeed there was such a place, but he knew this was for the Greater Good. There were spells you could cast, subtle but powerful ones, which left whoever they were cast on think they were acting of their own free will, yet the spell was shifting their brain chemistry and their patterns of thought. Albus had to force any lingering resentment Petunia and Vernon still felt to be shown to the boy, along with any jealousy Dudley might harbor about not being the only child and not having all of his parents' attention. The way things were going now, Harry might refuse to become a wizard. And that absolutely could not be allowed to happen.
But, his plans had gone wrong again. One thing he had not taken into consideration was the fact that the blood wards, which were powered by love, could not cause ANY wizard to come to the house who would do Harry harm. Of course, Albus had known this when it came to any of Voldemort's remaining Death Eaters, but had never thought of it in regards to himself. Because by casting those spells, he'd be causing the boy harm, wouldn't he? He would be directly hurting the child. And the wards were more powerful than Albus Dumbledore could ever hope to be. The moment he'd gotten close to the house, the wards had gone into effect, blasting him away. No matter how hard he tried, he could not circumvent them.
And so, the stage was set. There was nothing Albus could do now but hope and pray that Harry, by some miracle, would accept his place at Hogwarts. Unfortunately, Mrs. Figg's continued reports did not hold promising results. What was he going to do? How was he going to solve this problem?
And when Harry received his Hogwarts letter, the worst had come to pass. There's something about having an event finally happen that you've been dreading for years that hits you like a tsunami, because a part of you doesn't want to believe your worst fears can actually become a reality. That, after all, was why he'd been so undone by that final gong of doom, that rejection letter written by Harry that plainly said, in the boy's own hand no less, that he wanted nothing to do with the magical world. To add salt into the wound, he wanted his magic removed. This feat was impossible, but the fact he wanted this at all hurt Albus beyond anything else. And when he'd gone to the house and seen the boy for himself, his attitude unnerved him completely. The fury he displayed surpassed any of his worst imaginings.
And so, the Hogwarts Headmaster was currently plotting his next move. Arabella Figg had just informed him that her gentle attempt to convince the boy had failed spectacularly, and he had displayed another round of accidental magic in his anger. Yet more bad news, Albus thought, sighing heavily, his heart, or what was left of it, aching with a pain which was now constant.
As the night wore on, the wheels in Dumbledore's mind began to turn, forming a new strategy. There was no getting around it - Harry had to fulfil the prophecy. He could wish for things to be different all he wanted, but it would be in vain. The boy had to protect a world which would crumble and fall without him. Civilization would destroy itself from the inside out if Tom won ultimate control of it, and Albus had the means to put things to rights.
"I'm sorry, my boy," Albus whispered as his brilliant, cunning mind settled on his next steps. "I pray that someday, you will forgive me. But it must be done."
And he knew that in the morning, he would leave his office, and start laying out the pieces on the chess board. He would fill up his Pensieve, which would be integral to the plan, and contact certain people he implicitly trusted who worked at the Ministry. This plan had to work, come hell or high water.