Disclaimer and fun stuff: if you're stupid enough to believe in any way that I own these characters, boy, I pity you. I don't own Harry Potter or Warner Brothers or anything of that sort, because if I did I wouldn't be writing insane little pieces of fanfiction, I'd be on a tropical island rolling naked in my piles of money.

Also, I do love Harry Potter. Understand that this is in no way meant to be a lash out at anyone who loves Harry Potter, or J.K. Rowling – it's merely an adventure of my slightly disturbed mind.

Enjoy.

Harry Potter

what should have been

Part one

"Come into my office, Harry." Dumbledore said, opening the large marble doors that led to his secret private office that Harry had learned about, thanks to the cute ducks that were psychic. Dumbledore looked solemn, as if his mommy had died. It made Harry feel depressed, and for one moment he wanted to turn around and flee like a startled gazelle, but he didn't, he had been through a lot of pain and secrets and betrayal and other brutal things. He took a deep, deep breath and walked forwards, towards his sad headmaster.

"What's wrong, Alby?" he asked, trying to sound as if he really cared about what was wrong.

"Oh my dear boy Harry...I have to tell you something I should have told you a long time ago. Something that I should have, in fact, shouted at you as soon as you were born." Replied Dumbledore

"You were there when I was born?" asked Harry, fascinated.
"Yes, and your mother looked really bad, and so did you."

"I didn't know that."

"There's a lot about me you don't know, Harry. That's why I have called you here." Said the headmaster, sounding glum. "But enough about me. Come in, Harry. Sit down, my little friend." Harry thought that Dumbledore snorted a little when he said friend, but he wasn't sure, Harry had been suffering from an earwax problem. He walked in and chose, out of pure stupidity, the hardest, ugliest chair. He felt ugly inside, because he didn't want to listen to his headmaster, he wanted to go outside and find evil people and fight them. Harry Potter liked to fight evil people, it was fun and pretty girls kissed you after you defeated the evil people, unless you had killed their family.

"Harry...listen to me." said Dumbledore sternly.

"I'm listenin', I'm listenin'," said Harry boredly.

"Good. Harry...a long time ago I met a handsome wizard. His name was Tom Riddle, but I called him Voldermort, which is Latin for cupcake butt. He had the best butt, Harry...it drove me wild. It still does. We fell in love. But then, sixteen years ago, he was trying to kill a baby for us to eat. We liked to eat babies. But the baby didn't die. Do you know who that baby was, Harry?" cried Dumbledore, sounding manic. Before Harry could reply, Dumbledore spoke on. "That's right...his name was Jamie Kurk. You don't know him. We fed him to a tiger after our spell failed. I didn't eat a baby, Harry. Do you know what that's like? Do you?"

"No sir...but what does this have to do with anything?" asked Harry.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I just like to tell stories." Replied Dumbledore. "But, oh yeah. WE COULDN'T KILL YOU EITHER!!! AND THE TIGER SPAT YOU OUT!!!! Do you know what that's like, Harry? To not be able to kill innocent babies for food, and then have even the tigers fail to destroy them? It's horrible, Harry, so horrible. It made my cupcake butt so depressed that he left for eleven years. I am a Dark Wizard too, and my cupcake butt and I shall eat you, oh yes we shall." He was cackling now, a dry irritating sound that made Harry flinch.

"You mean...all the attempts on my life...you knew about them?"

"Knew about them?!? Hah! Hah! I planned them, Harry! I planned them with my darling Voldermort! But you are a nosy brat that tigers spit out! I don't know what tigers have to do with it! But now, oh now Harry...you shall die, my death kitten!" he laughed, crazily.

"That can't be good." Said Harry, looking scared.

Dumbledore drew out his wand in a single, fluid movement. In a just as single and fluid movement, his arthritis flared up and he dropped it. In one more single and fluid movement, Dumbledore bent down and got the wand again. He pointed it at Harry and shouted something, and suddenly Harry felt more then pain then he had ever felt in his entire life, pain that was such pain that it made the pain from the painful Crucio curse seem like buttercup petals. He screamed and screamed, screamed louder then he ever had in his entire life. It hurt, really bad. This was pain that a Band-Aid couldn't help. But then, thankfully, Dumbledore switched over to the Crucio curse, and it felt like buttercup petals, so Harry laughed. That made Dumbledore get mad! That made Dumbledore get very mad! And then Dumbledore got madder, because his arthritis flared up again, and in a single, fluid movement, he dropped his wand again.

"Ha!" shouted Harry, and then, laughing at the lack of buttercup petals, said, daringly, "ha ha!"

"Oh, gosh darn it!" said Dumbledore, who never used profanity, even though he ate babies.
Harry leapt forwards in a single, fluid movement and pulled from his robes a dagger. He stabbed Dumbledore in the heart, and nasty old-person's blood trickled out.

"Argh," said Dumbledore.

"Ew!" said Harry, sounding girly. Suddenly realizing that he had just stabbed a knife into his headmaster's heart, he pulled back and looked at Dumbledore. "I'm...sorry," he said. "Please, have a drink." He offered Dumbledore a silver sparkling goblet filled with a red drink.

"Okay!" said Dumbledore, forgetting he was bleeding from the heart. He took the goblet and lifted it to his shriveled lips and downed the draught in a single, fluid movement. As soon as the burning red liquid went down his throat, he realized what a grave mistake he had made, taking a drink from the Boy Who Lived and had also Tried To Kill His Headmaster and Liked To Use Capital Letters Wrongly.

"Argh," said Dumbledore. "Is this poison?"
"Yes, as a mater of fact, it is." Said Harry, rather...well, rather matter-of-factly. Suddenly he felt more pain then he had ever felt in his life, and that was a lot of pain. He blacked out.

Groggily, Harry awoke. He was on a cliff. Dumbledore stood nearby as the wind blew around them.

"Why are we here, Dumbledore?" asked Harry. "Why didn't you just kill me?"

"Duh...this is more a much more climatic area for a fight to the death. Sheesh, don't you ever watch cheesy films?" asked Dumbledore deridingly. "Now Evil shall triumph over Good!"

"Uh...in climatic movies the good guy always wins..." Harry pointed out, smirking.

"Really? Guess I have to pay for falling asleep during those movies, huh?"

Harry, who had gotten pretty dang scared, because hey, he was on a cliff with one of the most powerful wizards in the world, decided, with all his usual bravery and heroism to do what any other arrogant seventeen year old boy with a severe psychosis problem would do: he charged forward at Dumbledore, screaming as he pushed the Headmaster Who Had Really Been Evil All Along off the cliff.

"Argh," said Dumbledore as he fell off the cliff.

"Take that, suckah!" crowed Harry childishly, doing the Funky Chicken dance (and oh, he danced like the funkiest chicken of them all!), because hey, this was his moment, after all.

Dumbledore kept on falling (it was, after all, an awfully high cliff), poison running through his veins and his life's blood trickling out from his stab wound. Suddenly, a buzzing sound broke through the "silence" (well, it would be silence if you excluded Dumbledore's choking screams and Harry's I've-Gone-Mad laughter), causing both Harry and the falling Dumbledore to look towards the sound. Slowly a flying shape appeared through the clouds, its propellers twirling around like, who knows, propellers or something. It was headed towards Dumbledore. The helicopter struck Dumbledore's falling body forcefully, before crashing into the cliff Dumbledore had fallen from when Dumbledore had fought Harry, who kept trying to kill Dumbledore. Dumbledore is a great word, isn't it? Let's say it again – Dumbledore.

"Argh," said Dumbledore as he struck the ground, breaking his back.

Harry kept on laughing. He didn't really know if he could stop, anyways. He wondered if he was having a nervous breakdown. He read in a cheap novel that sometimes fantastical heroes had them. But he didn't recall any wonderful heroes in his book going down mad lane in laughter. Shouldn't he be hearing voices and seeing hallucinations and things?

You're not crazy Harry...it's just really funny, that's all said Harry's shimmering pet giraffe, who he had named Brittany, even though it was a boy.

"Yeah, you're right Brittany. I'm glad I have friends like you," he said, petting the air where the giraffe was.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore lay there, moaning. Suddenly, amidst his moans, he heard what we never want to hear after being stabbed, poisoned, and then shoved off a cliff – he heard a growl. From the darkness (why there was darkness he didn't know, it was daytime, but somehow there was) came a pack of mountain lions with gleaming fangs and blood red eyes.

Oh no... thought Dumbledore it's the rare breed of Fanged Red-Eyed Mountain Lions. At least there are no giraffes.

The mountain lions came closer.

Boo said Brittany.