"Shit," he steeled himself against a wall. Harry felt like throwing up and the walls of Hogwarts castle felt oddly tight around him.

The funeral was a macabre endeavour even with the grand lake behind them. New fixtures lined the grounds now, and the part of the Forbidden Forest that was vaporized was remodelled into a maze, he didn't think that he did that much damage at the time.

It was a testament to how much Dumbledore had loved Hogwarts that he was even allowed to be buried on the grounds, it was a feat no Headmaster had accomplished before in spite of trying.

Even in death, the apprentice was in awe of the master. A smile fleetingly came across Harry's lips. Fawkes had perched himself on top of the closed casket, it was white with gold embroidery of Phoenixes and Lions on the sides.

Mrs Weasely who had lost a son, two brothers and her husband wept very loudly. She had tugged Harry in such a tight hug that he debated casting a breathless charm on himself.

The procession song was being played by Flitwick on a grand piano that McGonagall had surely conjured that morning to her credit she did not cry, but she gravely looked at Fawkes like the old Firebird was in danger of blowing up at any moment. Which, of course, it was not. It was waiting for Harry.

"There there Hagrid," George said, patting the blubbering groundskeeper on his back.

"Gone too soon I say," Hagrid said in between sobs. He had been saying that since the beginning of the funeral.

"Well he was one-hundred and thirty years old, Hagrid," Ron supplied.

"Tha' don't matter, he didn' look a day over fifty-two!"

Harry was going through the motions whilst feeling insanely claustrophobic. He was shaking hands, saying hellos, and meeting people who naturally knew all about him, but he knew nothing about them in turn. Most of them meant well.

As it turned out, many things had changed since he met most of these people eleven years ago at the end of the war. Even the ones he did remember had whole lives and responsibilities. It seemed his personal "war" on ex-Death Eaters and Dark Wizards had made the once intact Dumbledore's army into a frayed reserve militia being held together by loose tape in the name of Neville Longbottom.

Neville was now a Herbology Professor—well it was a more complex elective rather, Pamona Sprout still headed the department. He was now also the Head of Gryffindor House. To their credit, many Slytherins from Harry's year also came to pay their respects. Daphne Greengrass, Draco Malfoy still sporting the scar Harry had given him during the battle of Bagnold, and of course, Tracey Davis.

Who was, just as Harry remembered, incredibly pretty and very single. Even Abeforth's family to their estranged credit appeared as well; his son and his wife, along with their younger children who were just finishing Hogwarts at the moment, and their oldest, a witch who he knew of too well. Alice Dumbledore was blonde pretty and Harry's first love in many ways. Of course, she didn't exactly know that.

"You should say something," Abeforth said gruffly as he gripped Harry by the shoulder. "I think you were the only person that my brother really loved, other than himself." Abeforth didn't say this in a way that comforted Harry but merely impressed it matter-of-factly, the man was slightly shorter than his brother but he still struck an imposing figure due to their sheer resemblance.

"Sonorus," Harry called pressing his wand to his throat. He placed his drink down, he needed to be a little sober for this.

He made his way up to the front of the crowd behind the elevated casket.

"May I have your attention for a moment, please." This felt awkward, as in the muggle world the fond memories and speeches came after the event finished, not during it. It had been just as awkward when Harry, Ron, and Hermione went to Luna Lovegood's funeral in their fifth year, her father Xenophilius insisting on their presence and Harry's making a speech as well, the latter he guiltily declined.

"Albus Dumbledore was a friend, a hero..." then Harry stopped himself for a moment, inwardly rolling his eyes at the cliche of it all—Le Rois' Amuse; he'd give Dumbledore better words.

"But he was greatly misunderstood, the man you saw and the man behind the wand are two different people. Some forget that he was not all-knowing even less so all-powerful. Dumbledore was a Wizard like all of us.

"Yes, he was kind, generous, and above all good. But no one knows just how good and just how kind. When I came to him as nothing more than a second-year Hogwarts student with a mighty chip on my shoulder, he took me in.

"He trained me, he prepared me. And above all else, he was something to me that I had never had before. He was a father. I forced it upon him, I created this role for him, but never once did he complain or protest. Welcoming and kind, he was the epitome of light.

"The one lesson that he taught me that I will still remember even when I'm old and near my death, is not Duelling or Magical Concepts. I've had enough of those two for a lifetime

"He said to me one day; I think it was in my third year; Darkness is weak, easily destroyed and killed. It only wins if you allow it to because that is the only power it has. I didn't understand what he meant at the time, because I thought I was fighting against Darkness.

"Voldemort had to be darkness. But what Dumbledore impressed on me, was a fact that I have only just come to terms with. No one is completely evil, no one is entirely one thing. And if they are, they are easily destroyed.

"Dumbledore will be someone I can't replace, he will always to me be an unattainable dream. Not just for his Magical Talent but because of who he was as a person."

Harry trailed off and everyone looked at him with pale faces and tears streaming down their eyes. Yet, Harry knew, they didn't understand.

It wasn't as simple as just saying a few nice things about Albus, nor was it about his legacy or message. After this moment, they would all return to their insular lives of mediocrity, never understanding Albus Dumbledore's one great rule.

"Above all, live without mediocrity," he echoed his mentor, finishing his speech. Harry produced his wand again, cancelling the Sonorus charm which had enhanced his voice, and then pointing his wand at Dumbledore's coffin.

"Ready Fawkes?" He asked the firebird which had been sitting there patiently for ages. It sang a low tune that let Harry know, he was indeed ready.

Harry's studies into Old Magic were far enough in a few days that he could do at least one thing. He flexed his fingers in an intricate and tense pattern that made the webs of them burn.

Indigo fire painted the air and Fawkes began smouldering slightly before erupting.

WOOSH

A great wind of flame spiralled around Dumbledore's casket like a tornado, Harry spoke to himself in a soft murmur. Dead languages danced across his tongue and his fingers continued, nearly going stiff from the effort he was exuding on them.

Each one moved independently, almost as if casting their spell in turn. Harry's wand was going into many intricate patterns of wand motions, sweat beaded down his face with the proximity to the fire.

Finally, he stopped his movements and chanting. Moving towards the perpetual flame he lunged his hand in and winced at the pain but left it in there.

Harry's eyes closed against the tide of memories, every lesson, every battle, every conversation. He began to slowly start seeing both sides as if he were standing in two places at once.

Finally, his hand was jutted out of the flames, Fawkes flying into the air with an enthusiastic and triumphant song. It was Fawkes' war song, and it made everyone but Harry uneasy when they heard it.

Fawkes' wings were golden as he spun around trilling mournfully, then he shot into the sky. The coffin at this point was nothing but ash, and Harry's hand throbbed with pain, though to its credit was not as badly burned as he expected.

Magic had enhanced his body the more it had gone through him. It's the same reason why Wizards can play a sport like Quidditch and follow a little golden ball that was going near the speed of sound, if just barely.

Though the average wizard would have lost their hand to the fire. Harry plunged it in again, and this time grabbed hold of something. What he produced was a curious egg that looked almost like a crystallized flame.

It was a Phoenix Egg, Fawkes' progeny. A Phoenix can only be born in life or death.

Dumbledore had said if Harry had ever had a child, Fawks could be present for the same purpose but unfortunately, the day never came to pass. Ginny Weasely, the person he thought would have been the mother of his children was currently sitting in the back row sporting her new boyfriend.

Everyone looked on at him in a stupor. They had never seen a display of Magic like this before surely. But Dumbledore had specially requested this funeral rite, should the time of his death ever come. As Fawkes would never appear again post-humously.

It was a mystery that not even Dumbledore knew the answer to, where it was Phoenixes went when their owner's died. But Fawkes did not appear to be a Phoenix that wanted to answer that question, the brilliantly glowing Phoenix was already miles and miles away, flying at speeds that should be impossible for most avian creatures.

And Harry finally realized just how alone he was as he watched the bird fly away in the distance. The egg he had just stuffed in his robe pocket wouldn't hatch for nearly a year or so, Ron and Hermione were too much of a burden to bring with him.

"So I hear you're our new Defense Teacher."

They had gone out for drinks after the funeral, something about burying the most powerful Wizard in a few centuries seemed to call for it.

And in between gulps of Fire Whiskey, he had a new companion as he drank. Daphne Greengrass. She was a lot more talkative than Harry remembered at Hogwarts, specifically because he had never spoken a word to her. Directly at least.

"Mhmm," he grunted in ascent.

"Wow, fascinating. Here I thought given how many times a Professor of that job tried to kill you you'd have an aversion to it."

"Wasn't the job's fault, I suppose it attracts the wrong sort as all."

"Are you the wrong sort Harry Potter?"

"I can be," he shrugged. "If you'd like to have a look."

He was slightly ashamed to admit that he shagged her after that. Even more so when he realized that she was the Hogwarts Transfiguration Professor, he should've asked at the 'our' comment before doing something stupid.

Naturally, Harry stuck his wand where it shouldn't belong. He had this trait Magically as well, though he suspected getting killed was a lot better than what he was in for now.

The first rule of Auror training was no fraternizing with either your enemy or your fellow Aurors. The reason was simple, you don't shit where you eat. One uncomfortable situation, one misused word or verb, and everything goes tits up.

Thankfully he never fell victim to it, but it had happened in his time overseeing the Auror Office and it was always messy. More Jinxes had been thrown when Ubrecorn's wife came into the office than when they had invaded Malfoy manor.

"I'm famished, are you?" Daphne said as she buttoned up her blouse, her face was flushed and it wasn't hard to imagine why. They had apparated to her apartment nearly three hours ago and just decided to have a break.

"I could do with a bit of something."

She grinned.

"Tea?"

"Do you have Coffee?"

"Nope."

"Then tea it is. Black please."

She shuffled along, deigning to just keep her blouse on but not her lower half. Harry inwardly groaned and slumped on the bed. He was doomed if he couldn't stay in Hogwarts for the full term.

His mission was to raid Dumbledore's secret study and learn under Hogwarts. The reason why being quite simple, Hogwarts was the most protected Magical castle in the world, but it was also teeming with something that no other place had in such a vast supply of outside of a few isolated well-springs.

Old-Magic. If you were attuned enough the place would appear like a fire-cracker to you, constantly buzzing, driving you mad. The same would be true for any detention Wards, so the ministry turns a blind eye to whatever it is that goes on at Hogwarts magically at least.

Of course, if you cast a Dark Magical spell with your wand, you could always priori-incantato. But Old-Magic was something that while highly illegal and detectable, was not traceable with simple spells.

The Magic that most Wizards had access to could not hold purchase on the more powerful progenitor of the Magical Arts.

Though Modern Magic was not without its uses. It was quick, it was easy enough to learn and it was not that hard for a young person to cast the advanced magic of that particular subset, should they have the power and talent to do so.

Old Magic would require everything you needed for Modern Magic but doubly so. You needed will, talent, affinity, and drive, a sheer drive that most did not possess. Old Magic was also highly dangerous if mismanaged.

There are creatures that likely are all but gone now, but were a serious problem in the days of old. They were called Niffins; what a Wizard becomes when they use Magic without a clear head and outside of their own limits.

Imagine yourself, but blue and without any soul, because Magic burned it away. A near-omnipotent being that has no care for the world around it, but sheer curiosity to see how it all works. Making what most would assume is a sociopathic creature.

Except for Niffins also having bad habits of tearing other Wizards in half and grabbing the Magic from their bodies. Most Niffins were sealed away, some Wizards figured out how to kill a few, and one committed suicide. None have ever been reverted.

But none of that mattered to Harry, he and likely a few other select groups of people were learning Magic of this sort. No one close to him would touch Old Magic, because he knew to die before turning into a Niffin. He wouldn't grab it for desperation.

"Everything alright?" Daphne looked at him curiously.

"It's just that... I shouldn't be here."

"Did you not like–"

"No, no it's not you. It's just that we're coworkers now and."

"Is it because I'm a Slytherin and you're a Gryffindor?"

For a moment Harry's face screwed up in confusion at the randomness of the statement, but then saw Daphne crack a grin.

"Now that you mention it..." she play punched him in the arm.

"It's not that serious, Harry, really. We're both adults, well, one of us at least."

"I thought I was being very adult when I–" She had conjured a sock and stuffed it in his mouth before he could continue.

"I didn't know you liked this sort of stuff," he continued conversationally through the sock, casting an intangibility spell on it.

"Agh!" she groaned, throwing a pillow at his face.

He spat out the ghostly sock and laughed before banishing the pillow back into her face.