Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me, the plot however does.

Summary: In the wake of the telling of the prophecy, Albus Dumbledore sets out to right a few wrongs, and learns some valuable lessons along the way.

Images of Sin

Footsteps (Part I)

In the end, everyone searches for absolution.

He never attempted to look for it when Severus Snape stood in his office, frightened beyond despair, and he allowed Sirius Black to go unpunished for the crime he committed.

He ignored his distress when Minerva McGonagall viciously protested against leaving Harry Potter at the Dursley's door, knowing to an extent that he was condemning the boy to a life of deprecation.

He buried the twinge in his heart when Harry Potter first came to Hogwarts wide eyed and excited by this new world that promised him freedom.

He ached when he found out that Sirius Black had spent twelve years suffering for a crime he did not commit, yet there was always justification – it was, an honest mistake.

When Cedric Diggory died and he sent Harry back to his relatives for a summer without contact, he almost caved. Almost!

But last week, the anguish on Harry's face, the quiet dissolution on Remus's . . . in the end everyone must look for absolution. So he stood at this door, contemplating whether to move forward or to steel himself again, to seek for excuses as he had been doing for almost thirty years. . .

The smell of spring lingered vaguely upon the air. The rain had been constant, banging against window-panes, strumming the pavement as if there was a melody of grief to be sung. He sat watching the green expanse of the grounds outside his window, his hand absently stroking the fiery red bird on the window sill. Albus Dumbledore could not bring himself to look at his oval office that was housed in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There remained still the remnants of an emotional display that had happened in this very office barely over a week ago.

'Oh Harry! How many times have I wronged you?'

The echo of Harry Potter's scream on the aftermath of the death of his godfather; the pieces of glass from the many tid-bits that had broken upon the back-lash because of his anger, his pain, still haunted his normally cheery office. The portraits sat sullen in their frames, unwilling to speak with him, unwilling to understand Harry's emotional response. In fact, Phineas Nigellus had been so adamant about the need to discipline the boy, especially after hearing about his great-great-grandson's death, that Dumbledore had asked him to not visit his portrait in the office for a little while.

'What a ruckus that had caused.'

There were things that needed to be done. Now that the Ministry had acknowledged the return of Lord Voldemort at long last, they had to begin mobilizing their allies. There were strategies to plan and people to see; Minerva had already been in to see him twice today, but for some reason his mind was fixated on the utter despair portrayed on Harry's face upon his learning of the prophecy.

'And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives. . .'

He had tried again and again that the prophecy was a false one, that it was not necessary to burden one so young with such a responsibility.

'But Harry was already responsible wasn't he? Eleven and bright eyed, matching himself against the Dark Lord? You set him up for it early on, didn't you?'

He sighed. There was guilt in his heart that he doubted he could ever assuage.

'I didn't even look him in the eye when I knew he would need me most!'

He had tried, oh he had tried to justify himself. He told Harry that he had been afraid for him, but the truth was that Albus Dumbledore had been first and foremost afraid for Albus Dumbledore and no one else. He had been afraid that he would be tempted to end Tom while he was possessing Harry, afraid that Tom might end him, and no matter how much he tried to convince himself that he wasn't afraid of death, he wasn't ready to go yet.

'Not yet. Not yet. Not yet.'

The knock on his door brought him out of his reverie.

"Come in!" Absent, that is how he felt, as if the world revolved around him while he stood silent, alone, awaiting judgement.

"Albus! We need to proceed to headquarters, Alastor has asked for a full meeting." Minerva's voice brought him out of his stupor. Distantly he wonders when she began to sound so weary.

"Albus?"

"Yes, yes" He looked up at her, poised, "Let us be on our way then."

Standing from his chair he moved to leave the office, glancing back only once.

'Not Yet.'

Grimmauld Place had always made him feel uncomfortable. It was neither the Slytherin décor of the place, nor its history, but it was a place that he had used to cage someone. Granted, Sirius could not have gone about on his own whims without posing serious treat not only to himself but also the rest of the Order; but if he was to admit to himself then yes, he had caged Sirius here, in an attempt to keep him safe, just as he had caged Harry in so many different ways.

There had been significant concern about the continued use of Grimmauld Place as the Order headquarters. However, all doubt had vanished upon his word that it was safe, Kreacher was taken care of, and the Fidelius charm was still in place.

'If you tell them to jump off of the cliff, will they do it?'

How was it that he was able to intimidate such loyalty was sometimes confusing to him.

'The greatest wizard in the world; of course you inspire loyalty! If they only knew. . .'

He sat down at the kitchen table as Molly Weasley bustled around trying to gather enough refreshments for everyone, and wondered what it was that his old friend wanted to talk about this evening. Was it urgent? Was it Harry, or the Dementors? Or was it just Alastor being Alastor. The years had not been kind to the man, his line of work as an Auror had instilled such paranoia in him that sometimes it bordered upon laughable. After the events of last year however – seven months spent in the confines of a trunk justified Alastor's behaviour. Seven months during which he had been unable to discern anything wrong with the impostor – another failure in his belt. The list was getting rather long . . .