This funny little tale came to me after reading a thread in The Dresden Files group on Facebook. I hope it amuses you as much as it amused me. The characters, places and magic here are the creations of Mr J. Butcher and Ms J. K. Rowling. I am merely playing from their sandpit so to speak. I gain nothing but amusement from my stories.

Discussions with Dumbledore

I met Hogwarts' resident poltergeist my third morning in the ancient old castle. When I left my private bathroom, and my first real hot shower in too long, the evil little imp was waiting for me outside the door. He screeched in my ear and tweaked my nose. Hard. My first reaction was an unholy battle cry. I did NOT scream like a little girl. At which Peeves rolled through the air laughing instead of fleeing in terror. Once I gathered my wits I grabbed my staff and ejected the little fiend from my chambers with a blast of air. "Next time it'll be fire.", I snarled after the menace and slammed out of my rooms to go to breakfast, Mouse on my heals and Mister ghosting off in search of adventure and his Lady Love.

Of course I got lost. Mouse finally took pity on me or he was hungry, and led us to the Great Hall. Then, after a delicious breakfast, it was off to the library.

After three days of not-so-passive passive-aggressive negotiations, I gave into the inevitable and fled the domain of the evil Madam Pince. It seemed she was a wee bit protective -cough- possessive -cough, cough- of her Library, and a scruffy new professor cluttering up many of her oh-so-neat tables, messing up her precisely ordered shelves and taking random stacks of tomes back to his quarters only to return just as many the next day, was NOT welcome in her domain. Especially with no students in the castle. Madam Pince it seemed, cherished her solitude and silence was indeed golden. At least to her.

I spent a day mulling over the information Lash had given me, before deciding that, as a smart detective-type guy, I needed more information. I suspected that the old mage, Dumbledore knew far more then he let on, he had that Merlin-esque mystique going on. So, being the nosey type, I began my own investigations. Easily done with Bob and Lash at my disposal, as well as one or two other resources no one would expect.

I hadn't spoken much to Ivy or rather The Archive, the living repository of all written human knowledge in the years since my duel against Ortega. We'd worked together a time or two, and she was good about giving me information as long as it didn't upset 'The Balance.' So frustrating. And she would never explain just what that meant.

On the subject of Voldemort, aka Thomas Marvolo Riddle, Ivy was quite informative. And very interested in seeing him 'dealt with.' To the point that she offered me the services of her bodyguard and daddy figure, Kincaid, should I need to do any serious fighting. It seemed cheating death offended the Archive and being what she was Ivy knew first hand exactly how something as foul as a Horcrux was made. She had been a wealth of information on Voldemort and his sycophantic minions. Apparently the Dork Lord had been a meticulous records keeper and had kept a personal journal throughout his life. All for the good in my opinion as Ivy had divulged a great deal of this information to me.

And then there was the Portraits. I may have mentioned this before, but they are tremendous gossips. By the end of my first week here I'd worked out which ones to go to for the most truthful versions of all the gossip.

My final ace in the hole was the army of House Elves who maintained the castle. I'd stumbled on the secret of the House Elves on my third day and had decided to see if my policy of pizza-driven good will would work with House Elves as well as it did with Toot-Toot and his folk.

It did. House Elves apparently loved pizza as much as their smaller brethren. They weren't as cute as Toot and his kin but just as powerful in their own way. And they heard and saw everything. They would not, could not betray the Headmaster, but they were good for all sorts of information. Especially that hyper little maniac, Dobby.

With just a week before the students were to return I had settling in for what would be a long boring staff meeting discussing all the preparations for the new year. I'd read through my predecessors' notes, idly noting that, despite being a fraud and a death-muncher in disguise, Moody-Crouch had done a fair job of teaching. As had Remus Lupin. Thinking of the quiet, scruffy man I mulled over the castle gossip. Apparently Dumbledore had no trouble with the mild-mannered werewolf but the public was prejudiced. Having had my own were-related troubles I understood their concerns but not the vicious laws against the affected. Remus was only dangerous two or three nights a month, my friends the Alphas were far more dangerous all the time.

I settled my long lanky frame in beside Severus Snape and joined him in eyeing the 'pink toad' in distaste. Nothing should be that shade of pink. Except maybe pepto-bismol. Dumbledore entered with a stern-looking woman wearing glasses. There was something very familiar about her and I realised it was the previously cat-stuck Professor McGonagal. She'd apparently finally changed back on her own and her forbidding look stopped any comments. Or teasing. I told myself firmly not to annoy that particular witch. If she could change herself into a cat, I didn't want to wind up as a rat or something else cats ate.

Surprisingly enough I kind of liked Severus Snape. He had a biting humour, once you got past the 'I-am-a-bad-person-stay-away' vibe he gave off. I knew quite a bit about him from Ivy and the castle gossip but I was waiting for the opportune moment to pull him into a soul-gaze, to 'see' for myself. He was very carefully avoiding said gaze. The meeting was, as I had predicted, boring as hell. I amused myself making snide remarks and jokes sotto voice as Snape choked back snickers beside me. Freed from the meeting I headed for the Great hall.

After a delicious breakfast, complete with life-saving coffee and pastries of every description, I met with Dumbledore in his office. The magical doodads and sensors made my senses buzz and I buttoned down my Sight tight. I did not need a migraine.

After some pleasantries I found myself sitting across from the venerable wizard, this era's answer to Merlin himself and within half an hour I was utterly baffled at the complete illogical behaviour of these people.

Despite all their assorted magical powers, their extensive learning and the fact every person over the age of eleven carried a deadly weapon, the entire community seemed to be hiding under their beds from a relatively small group of terrorists and one megalomaniac with delusions of grandeur. Those fighting back were getting systematically picked off and after a sequence of unfortunate events plus a bunch of complete idiots in power, almost the whole community was now against the child they once lauded as their saviour. Same said child was apparently yoked with a prophecy marking him as the downfall for aforementioned megalomaniac terrorist, hence the mad obsession.

Thanks to the kids at Grimmauld, the gossiping ghosts and the prattling portraits I already had a very clear image of what had happened in the past few years, including some very disturbing tales from the dungeons. However Dumbledore didn't know what I knew. So I let him talk. It was quiet informative, but not in the way the old man meant it to be I think.

And I wasn't buying Dumbledore's 'harmless old man' shtick for a minute. I let him play his game for a bit as he waffled around the true topic of our conversation and waxed poetic about Hogwarts. Then in true Dresden form I decided to up the ante.

"So, how many nasty soul containers did the Dark Lord make? Horcrux, I believe they're called? I shudder to think of them as a plural." I ventured, casually stretching out my long legs.

Dumbledore just gaped at me, looking for all the world like a great, bearded catfish. His eyes bulged and he fish-lipped at me for a few stunned seconds. Oh, that infamous British reserve.

I sat up and spoke very quietly. "I do not like being manipulated, Mr. Dumbledore. There is a lot more going on here then just needing a teacher. And somehow I don't believe you told Ebeneezer everything either, something the old man will not take kindly when I have to contact him."

I glared. Dumbledore stared. Finally he sighed, his phoenix sung a short tune and the air in the room cooled from its tension-induced state.

"You would call in the Wardens, the Blackstaff?" whispered Dumbledore, shocked

"Damn right I am. You asked me here to teach, not clean up your mess. I'm getting my boss out here. Lets see how your Dark Lord likes it when the Wardens come knocking." I folded my arms. Dumbledore got an odd gleam in his eye for a moment then he smiled and spread his hands expansively.

"Lets Talk"

Over the next few hours Dumbledore and I talked. About Riddle, about the Wizarding World and about their war. We argued back and forth somewhat and I got a few trips into Dumbledore's memories. I really really want one of those Pensieve things! It would make detective work a piece of cake!

We got into it a few times. I could not believe someone with so much influence had done so little over the years and told him so. I sharply pointed out his missed opportunities and all the changes he could easily make, here within the school, causing him to have to stop and think before acknowledging, grudgingly, that I made several excellent points. He excused himself with his talk of fearing power and how everyone deserved redemption. I sighed. Another bloody bleeding heart. I'd had these discussions before with Michael.

"You're in a war, Headmaster. It is time to take a stand. You can't just 'stun and bind' these guys, one of their fellows will revive or free them and they're right back in the fight. They have taken the gloves off, they are criminals, animals. THEY are trying to kill you, your fellow witches and wizards, innocent people who have nothing to do with. How many have died? How many children have died or never been born?" I realised I was shouting and calmed myself. "The time for negotiation and second chances is over. Innocent blood has been spilled and the price needs to be paid in kind. Any of those death-munchers come at me, I am going to respond in kind." I stared at him "But you knew that. That's why I'm really here, isn't it?"

The old man sighed and removed the little half moon spectacles he wore. He cleaned them carefully on his robes and spoke quietly. "Yes. I am getting old Mr. Dresden, and Mr. Potter is still too young, too inexperienced for this fight. You know of the Horcruxes. What you do not know is that one final fragment of Voldemort's soul is trapped within the boy's scar. It is why it hurts him to be near Voldemort, and why he has survived when others haven't. I believe Lily did something, before she died, to protect her son. However he's been lucky to this point. Voldemort's back at full power and he possesses much knowledge of Mr. Potter. Harry is more vulnerable then ever." He hung his head. "And for Voldemort to truly die, Harry must die at his hand." Tears leaked down the old man's cheeks. "I have not found any other way and I have searched and searched."

I just stared at Dumbledore, feeling sick. Lash was muttering curses in a language I did not understand. I sat thinking before I spoke. "There is a medicine man within the Council. Listens-to-Wind may be able to help."

Dumbledore looked at me, hope kindling in those bright blue eyes. "Indeed, I have heard of him."

I walked for a while after leaving Dumbledore's ivory tower. Walking helped me think. I decided I wanted to talk with young Harry, let Lash get a feel for him. After all, she had sensed the presence of not one, but two Horcruxes within the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. A series of quick notes by house-elf courier and I'd arranged to return to Headquarters by week's-end. The other notes went to Captain Lucio and to Ebeneezer. I was going to use my newly minted position as a Warden and call in the big guns on this one. Hell, taking out Death Eaters would be a great exercise for our newest Warden recruits.

So, progress made, I braved another run through dangerous territory and escaped the Library with another armful of books and only three hex marks on my leather duster. I was getting better at dodging those. Ms. Pince really didn't like me.

I stubbornly did not think about the 15 year old boy who may or may not have to die to stop a war. But I had already decided. I wasn't going to let him be their sacrificial lamb.