A/N: Hello again, it's been a while. Sorry for taking so long to update. I promise I haven't abandoned this fic, though I have been busy with my new longfic, Evangeline's War, which you can find on my author profile. It will take up most of my writing time in the coming months, but I promise to find time to update this fic now and again. Now with that shameless self-promotion out of the way, enjoy a new chapter!
September 18, 1995 (Death counter = 7)
Dumbledore decided it best not to return to Miami after the duel, finding his memories of Nathan too painful to bear. Every restaurant he passed, every park bench was another stab in the heart, another reminder of what could have been. But he was enjoying the American beach life, so he decided to go one coastline further to Los Angeles to test his fortunes there.
The Muggles here were just as carefree and fun-loving, if not even moreso. Dumbledore enjoyed simply people-watching in Santa Monica, sight-seeing in La Brea, celebrity-hunting in Beverly Hills. There was even a strange park full of odd contraptions and whirligigs that made Dumbledore's stomach churn. He heard passers-by call it "Disneyland"...what an odd name for a place full of torture devices! But the Muggle children seemed to enjoy the pain...Americans would never cease to amaze him.
He was most intrigued by the choice of transportation. He recognized a few of the vehicles: one was called a "car", which he had once been struck by in London while walking to the Ministry and mistaking it for a metal tent. Another was a "bicycle", which he of course knew thanks to Sirius Black's misadventures aboard his enchanted motorbike during the First Wizarding War. But this new vehicle perplexed him: just a thin strip of wood connected to a set of wheels, with no apparent means of self-propulsion. And Muggles were riding them in groups, occasionally manipulating the board to do little jumps and flips as they traversed the city's parks and sidewalks.
"Hey, bro," one Muggle called out to him as Dumbledore stared unabashedly from his park bench. "You wanna try?"
"Oh, no thank you," Dumbledore said politely. He hadn't even used Polyjuice Potion to disguise himself; there was no way these young Muggles thought he would be competent on such a device.
"C'mon, man, give it a try!" the man laughed. His buddies gathered around to watch. "You look like you know a trick or two."
You want to see a 'trick', huh? Dumbledore thought. Very well. "I suppose I shall," he said, standing up. The Muggle handed him the device. "What do you call these contraptions?"
"Uh...it's a skateboard, dummy," the Muggle chuckled. "How old are you, anyway?"
"One hundred and fifty-two," Dumbledore said honestly. For some reason the group found this hilarious.
"I like this dude!" another Muggle guffawed. "Sick rags, homie. What thrift store did you find this getup in?"
"Madam Malkin's in Diagon Alley," Dumbledore said. "Finest wizard's robes in the world." Again the group laughed.
"Alright, Mr. Wizard, let's see what you've got!" said the first Muggle. Dumbledore hesitantly balanced himself atop the skateboard, unsure what to do next. He could see no way to activate it to make it move, so he stealthily brandished his wand beneath his sleeve and pointed it at the board. "Automotus," he muttered.
Without warning, the skateboard shot forward, and Dumbledore could only press hard with his feet to keep them connected to the board. He zigzaged perilously between the Muggles, barely able to control where he was going. He was headed directly towards a semi-circular shape that he'd heard the Muggles call a "ramp". He wondered what would happen if he drove directly into it…
Next thing he knew, he was twenty feet in the air, flipping and spinning uncontrollably. "Gravitas correctus!" he shouted desperately, and the board righted itself in midair. He landed cleanly back on the ramp, zooming back towards the group of Muggles now. "Finite incantatem!" he bellowed, and the board stopped accelerating; Dumbledore screeched to a halt and barely avoided colliding with the group.
The Muggles were going absolutely nuts. "Dude, that was SICK!" the first one said. "What was that, a 1080?"
"Looked like more rotations than that," said another reverently. "What d'you call that move, man?"
"Uh...survival?" Dumbledore said, confused. He was shaking head to toe from the near-death experience and wasn't sure why they were so thrilled at what he had done.
"Cool, a 1080 Survival; you'll have to teach it to me," said the first Muggle. "I'm Craig. What's your name, dude?"
"Erm...Albus," said Dumbledore, awkwardly shaking the young man's hand.
"I like your moves, Albus," said Craig. "Say, we're meeting up in Venice this weekend for a skate sesh. You wanna join?"
"Oh...yeah, okay maybe," Dumbledore said tentatively. The Muggles all looked excited at the prospect.
"See you then, Albus!" said Craig, and he and the other Muggles took off on their skateboards. Dumbledore watched them go, feeling an odd sensation in his stomach. He hadn't felt that rush of adrenaline since riding a broom as a teenager. It felt good. And he bet he could learn how to control himself better on the board if he tweaked his magic just a bit. Suddenly he was very eager for the coming weekend…
October 13, 1995 (Death counter = 7)
"C'mon, Ron, hop to it already!" Harry demanded impatiently. "How long can it take to make fifty thousand copies of something?"
"Blimey, mate, I only just learned the Protean Charm last week!" Ron complained. He was sitting amidst a stack of fliers in the Gryffindor Common Room, all bearing Harry's smiling face and the caption POTTER FOR MINISTER! "It's bloody hard to make one perfect copy, much less fifty thousand!"
Harry rolled his eyes. He knew he should've just gone to Kinko's, but he'd foolishly assumed wizards had better ways of doing things than Muggles, and once again been disappointed. "Well, keep going then," he huffed, spinning his Glock idly on his finger. "Hermione, how's attendance looking for the debate?"
"Well, it's not great," Hermione sighed. She was hand-writing thousands of letters to be sent out to every registered witch or wizard in Britain, inviting them to the upcoming Potter v. Fudge debate. "You've insisted on holding the debate on Halloween, which is a work day, and also traditionally a day people are busy with other festivities—"
"Guys, the election is in less than a month!" Harry said frantically. "I'll never be elected Minister of Magic if we don't get the word out now!"
"Harry, can I stop now?" Neville whined. "My fingers are sore, and I'm covered in poop." Neville had been tasked with putting Hermione's letters into envelopes and sending them off with the Hogwarts owls. There had been a hold-up in the process, and no fewer than fifty owls were zooming over their heads, awaiting their turn to receive a letter.
"I swear you people don't even want to have power!" Harry grumbled. "You realize if I win, I'll name you all as cabinet members? Let's see some pep in your step!" He was beginning to sympathize with Voldemort now...he understood just how difficult it was to seize control when your underlings were all incompetent buffoons...
"You're free to help us, you know," Ginny grumbled. She was knitting t-shirts and hats together with the help of Lavender, Parvati and Kate Bell, all looking thoroughly defeated at the process.
"I'm doing my part," Harry snapped. "I'm crafting my platform and preparing for my battle of wits with Fudge. It's the most important task of all!" But actually, he was just relaxing on the couch, trying to take his mind off of the dull burning pain in his side. The Philosopher's Stone may have made him immortal, but it was still uncomfortable as all hell, haphazardly stapled to his spleen. It made him crankier and more irritable than usual.
As usual, his thoughts drifted to Dumbledore, bitterly wondering what the old coot was up to. The selfish old geezer, probably wasting away his remaining days in some retirement home, no friends, no one to remember his name…
October 24, 1995 (Death counter =7)
"ALBUS! ALBUS! ALBUS!"
The crowd chanted Dumbledore's name as the man effortlessly performed trick after trick on his secretly-enchanted skateboard. He casually grinded rails, performed heelies and kickflips, and sailed gracefully through the air off of ramps. A sizable crowd had amassed as word had spread far and wide of the great Albus, the Wizard of the Skate Park.
"Albus, you legend!" laughed Craig as the crowd engulfed Dumbledore after his flawless run. "I can't believe we found you out of the blue!"
"I can hardly believe it myself," Dumbledore beamed. He hadn't had this much fun in all his life.
"Hey Albus, will you sign my board?" a teenage boy asked meekly. He looked like he could be a Hogwarts student; Dumbledore had never seen that look in a student's eye before. A look of reverence, of respect. The kids at Hogwarts always looked at him with disdain, like he was the uncool grandpa crimping their style. Now he was the style, the thing these kids wanted to emulate – what a breath of fresh air that was. Albus obliged the boy, signing his name with a quill and inkpot, to the delighted laughter of the gathered crowd.
He had never experienced such popularity before. He'd always felt aloof and unloved in large group settings like this. It was something he was always quiet jealous of Harry for, though he would never admit it. The boy had a natural way of making people like him without even trying. But now, for the first time, Dumbledore felt loved and appreciated the same way. It felt good, damn good.
If only Harry could see me now, he thought, feeling warm and fuzzy inside.
October 31, 1995 (Death counter = 7)
"...And that is why my past leadership experience and continued efforts to keep this community safe make me the ideal candidate for Minister. Thank you."
The crowd applauded politely as Cornelius Fudge took his seat beside Harry in the Atrium. The moderator of the debate stood to address the crowd. "Thank you, Minister Fudge," he said. "Now we will hear opening remarks from our challenger: Hogwarts student Harry Potter." Again there was a polite smattering of applause as Harry confidently got to his feet and strode to the front of the stage.
"I'm Harry Potter," he said. Then he turned and retook his seat. The crowd looked at each other, confused.
"Um...Mister Potter, perhaps you'd care to elaborate?" the moderator said nervously.
"No thank you," Harry smirked. He knew he had this election in the bag.
"O-kay then," the moderator chuckled nervously. "Now we'll move to the question and answer portion of the debate. Does anyone wish to ask anything of our two candidates today?"
Several hands shot into the air from the audience. "Question for Mr. Potter," said Rita Skeeter. "Do you believe you are qualified for the job, at just fifteen years of age and with no prior government experience?"
"An excellent question," Harry said. "Yes, yes I am." Again an awkward silence followed.
"Uh...question for Minister Fudge," another reporter called out. "How have you managed to bring about peace to the wizarding world in the past few months?"
"I'm glad you asked," Fudge beamed. "We have successfully brought crime down in the last quarter, and witches and wizards today are safer than they've ever been before."
"That's MY doing, not yours!" Harry protested. "I killed Voldemort, remember!"
"Nobody believes Voldemort was ever back in the first place," Fudge chuckled nervously. "Surely you don't expect us to indulge in this fantasy of yours forever, Harry?"
"Can you provide proof that You-Know-Who has returned?" another witch in the audience asked Harry.
"Sure I can," said Harry. "But why should I bother telling you?"
He flashed a thumbs-up to Hermione back-stage. He didn't need to hear her approval to know that he was killing it up here. I'm Harry f&$*!ng Potter, he thought smugly. I'll be elected Minister in a landslide. Why put in effort if the outcome is already decided?
This arrogant git, Hermione was thinking angrily to herself.
December 6, 1995 (Death counter = 7)
Dumbledore strolled peacefully along the quiet shores of Venice Beach, watching the sleepy morning waves lap the sand as the sun slowly rose overhead. He wasn't due to meet the skate crew for another couple of hours, but he had taken a liking to the beach, spending most of his waking hours out here soaking in the sun. The weather was never nice enough in Britain to enjoy the coast like this, and he understood now why the crazy Americans liked to run around outdoors with little to no clothes on.
As he walked, something bright and colorful caught his eye just up the shoreline. He quickened his pace towards the object, puzzled, and found the last thing he was expecting to find on a beach: a pair of blue-and-pink patterned knee socks, adorned with little spangles and sequins.
Who would leave such a beautiful pair of socks on the beach like this? Dumbledore thought to himself. He looked around in search of a potential owner, but saw nobody for hundreds of feet around. Dumbledore wondered if anyone would even be coming back for the socks. They looked a bit weathered by a night exposed to the elements, but a quick wash and dry would have them as good as new.
Why should I let such a good pair of socks go to waste? Dumbledore thought to himself, his eyes lighting up at the thought. He hadn't indulged himself in a nice pair like this one in a while. Figuring that he would be a far better owner than whoever negligently left them here, he bent down and grabbed them.
As soon as he did so, he realized his mistake. He felt a sensation like a hook grabbing his midsection, and the next thing he knew he was hurtling through the air in a rush of wind, his hand still glued to the socks. Moments later he felt himself slam back to the ground, a much harsher surface than the soft sand he'd just departed. Dumbledore forced himself into a sitting position, rubbing his arm that had just been slammed into what felt like concrete.
"What on earth…?" he said groggily.
"See? I told you he'd go for the socks!" came a triumphant voice, and Dumbledore's heart dropped. Standing over him was none other than Harry Potter, flanked on either side by concerned-looking Gryffindors.
"Are you alright, Professor?" asked Hermione in a worried tone, hustling over to help Dumbledore to his feet, but Harry held out an arm to stop her.
"He's fine; he's not a helpless old man, Hermione," he snapped. "Show some damn respect. How's it going, Al?"
"Did you really leave a Portkey on the beach in the hopes that I would find it?" Dumbledore asked, shakily getting to his feet.
"Sure did!" Harry said proudly. "You said you didn't enjoy being Accio'ed, so I figured you would be a bit more appreciative."
"What if a Muggle had picked it up instead?" Dumbledore asked irritably.
"What, those hideous things?" Harry guffawed, indicating the discarded socks lying in the corner. "I knew nobody but you would dare touch them."
Dumbledore took a moment to take in his surroundings. They appeared to be in some kind of bunker, a windowless concrete room with a long table at its center. Littering the table was various maps, schematics, and plans that the group had no doubt been deliberating over for some time. Taking a closer look at some of the diagrams, Dumbledore realized with horror that they were maps of the Ministry of Magic.
"Planning to build a replica of the Ministry, Harry?" he deadpanned, though he knew the answer would be far more sinister.
"Things have gotten bad here since you left, Al," Harry said bitterly. "They're just blatantly rigging everything against me now! I won the election last month in a landslide, and now they're trying to take it away from me, just like they took credit for Voldemort's downfall away from me!"
"You have evidence that the Ministry has rigged the election?" Dumbledore asked, eyebrows raised.
"We were actually wondering the same thing ourselves," Ron muttered nervously. "Harry's been going on about it for weeks now, but we haven't actually seen the proof yet—"
"You think they would just leave the proof lying around?!" Harry demanded. "We have to go and take it for ourselves, Ron! We can't just let them steal it from us!"
"But Harry, we were polling far behind all year," Hermione protested. "The results looked very close to what we expected to see—"
"Forget about the polls!" Harry exclaimed. "I'm the Chosen One, Hermione, how could anyone have voted against me?"
"There was a new scandal every day, mate," Neville sighed tiredly, and Dumbledore got the sense they'd had this argument with Harry many times before. "Hexing people in broad daylight...trying to blackmail Krum into an endorsement...getting caught with those Beauxbatons girls in the middle of the Atrium, for god's sake…"
"Didn't expect some clumsy bloke to trip over us under the Invisibility Cloak," Harry grumbled bitterly. "But it doesn't matter! Once we break in and find the evidence they rigged the votes, I can name myself emergency Minister and make everyone regret ever standing against us."
"But you said we were just taking over to reverse the anti-werewolf legislation!" Neville protested.
"And we will do that," Harry reassured him with a wink. "Among other policies."
"None of them Dark policies, right?" Neville asked tentatively.
"Of course not," Harry said. Again he winked.
"Will you stop bloody winking?!" Neville groaned. "Look me in the eye and tell me honestly that you're not taking over the Ministry for nefarious purposes."
Harry sighed dramatically and turned to Neville. "I, Harry James Potter-Black," he recited dully, "promise that I have no ill intent behind my decision to name myself Minister of Magic."
Neville stared at Harry.
Harry stared right back.
They continued staring at one another.
Then, unable to help himself, Harry winked.
"Dammit, Harry!" Neville groaned, moving towards the door. "I'm out. I want no part in this."
"Fine! We didn't need you anyway!" Harry shouted at the retreating Neville, though privately he was thinking about how badly he needed him. "Never mind. Let's go over battle plans…"
"Ahem," Dumbledore cleared his throat. "And why exactly have you summoned me here? Surely you don't expect me to partake in these shenanigans?"
"Well, yeah," Harry shrugged. "I figured you must be getting bored sitting around waiting to die, so I thought I'd offer you a bit of excitement. How often do you get to break into the Ministry of Magic and take over the government?"
Oh, I've considered it plenty of times, Dumbledore thought bitterly to himself. Watching morons like Cornelius Fudge bumble their way through the office of Minister often made him daydream about storming into the Atrium single-handedly and wresting power for himself – and he might have been able to get away with it, too. It wouldn't be as satisfying to see Harry take the throne, but the kid did have a point: it was a longtime fantasy of Dumbledore's that he could knock off his bucket list. He may not have a magical device full of quests like Harry did, but there were definitely things he wished to accomplish in his younger years that he could now pursue freely.
"Very well," Dumbledore sighed, stepping forward to the table with the others. "What was your planned point of entry for assault?" Dumbledore had often spent hours in his office dreaming about how he would make the assault himself. He had helped design the defenses of the Ministry and knew how robust they were, and knew it would be no easy matter.
"I figured we would all just cram in the telephone box and walk in," Harry shrugged.
"That telephone box is rigged with every kind of anti-tampering defensive enchantment you can imagine," Dumbledore pointed out. "There's no way you could break in that way."
"You don't have to break in, stupid!" Harry laughed. "You just tell it politely why you're there, and it'll let you right in. That's how we got into the Department of Mysteries in my first cycle."
Genius, Dumbledore mused silently to himself. Could the entire Ministry defensive scheme be brought down by simply asking politely? He'd never stopped to wonder. Maybe this would be an easier feat than he once thought...
December 13, 1995 (Death counter = 7)
To Harry's credit, the telephone booth plan worked without a hitch. Granted, it was a bit cramped as he, Dumbledore, Ron, Hermione and Ginny shoved themselves into the box. It was all the attack force they could muster, as everyone else had chickened out or pretended that they'd never helped Harry's campaign in the first place.
"Okay, we're in," Dumbledore said as they stepped into the Atrium. The Ministry was bustling with people on this work day. "What's your plan to sneak into the Wizengamot chambers?"
Harry strode confidently up to the security station. "Hello, I'm Harry Potter," he announced. "I'm here to see the Wizengamot."
"Do you have an appointment?" the security wizard asked.
"Yes," Harry lied.
He and the security wizard stared each other down for a moment. Harry's eye was twitching madly as he did his best not to wink.
"Okay," the wizard shrugged. "On you go then."
Brilliant, Dumbledore thought as they continued deeper into the Ministry. Who would have thought that lying would be such an effective infiltration tool?
The five of them got onto a lift and took it down to the bottom floor where the courtrooms were. They were quickly approaching a set of double doors, which Dumbledore knew was laden with every anti-assault enchantment known to the wizarding world. There's no way Harry will be able to break through these, not in a million years, he thought to himself. I designed the traps myself. They are fool-proof.
Harry walked up to the doors and knocked three times. "Pizza delivery!" he announced loudly.
A set of footsteps could be heard excitedly crossing the room before the door was opened by an eager-looking wizard in purple robes. "I didn't know someone ordered pizza!" he said. The next moment, he was blasted aside by a Stunning Spell and Harry strode into the center of the room. The Wizengamot was in session, and they fell silent at the appearance of the odd group.
"I'm Harry Potter, and I'm here to claim the Minister of Magic post that is rightfully mine," Harry announced loudly.
"You lost the election fair and square, Potter," Fudge sneered. "Stop fooling yourself."
"Prove it!" Harry spat.
"I don't have to prove it," Fudge said. "You're the one claiming it's been rigged. You provide proof."
"THIS document proves corruption in the wizard courts!" Harry announced triumphantly. He brandished a sheet of paper over his head, causing the room to devolve into murmurs of surprise. "It shows how the Wizengamot conspired to deny my my rightful election victory."
"May we see this document?" requested Amelia Bones, looking highly interested now.
"Ha! So you can destroy the evidence?" Harry laughed. "I think not. Overturn the results and then I will show you."
Dumbledore snatched the document from Harry's hand and scanned it. "This is just a half-finished Potions essay for Snape's class," he muttered, confused. "Wow, you make a lot of spelling mistakes—"
"Dude, you're supposed to be on my side here!" Harry hissed angrily.
"Enough of these games!" Fudge announced. "Guards, seize these intruders!"
A group of security wizards converged on them. Harry whipped out his wand and began firing spells at the approaching wizards; Dumbledore was forced to conjure a Shield Charm to protect himself from the sudden surge of powerful magic being slung about. Moments later, Harry stood, wand smoking, over the unconscious bodies of the security team.
"You cannot take all of us at once, Potter!" Fudge roared, standing and brandishing his own wand. Most of the Wizengamot followed suit.
"My team and I will make short work of you fools," Harry snarled.
"What team?"
Harry looked around; Ron, Hermione and Ginny had also fallen unconscious from errant spells Harry had cast in his excitement. "Whatever; Albus and I can handle this, right?" Harry said, looking to Dumbledore for support. Dumbledore sighed and pointed his own wand up at the group.
"Alright, I propose a compromise," Dumbledore announced, not really feeling up to fighting two hundred competent witches and wizards at once. "We hold a vote to name Harry Minister for the day. He only wants it for the achievement anyway. Then Fudge can continue serving as permanent Minister after that."
Fudge's eyebrows furrowed at this suggestion. "You really only want the title for bragging rights?" he asked Harry.
"I mean basically, yeah," Harry shrugged. "All this bureaucracy nonsense seems kinda boring if I'm being honest."
"And you promise not to pass any dangerous laws during your one day in power?" Fudge asked.
"Yes," Harry said. Only Dumbledore was close enough to notice his subtle wink.
"Works for me," Fudge shrugged. "All in favor?"
Roughly half the Wizengamot raised their hands. It looked to be not enough for a majority, until Dumbledore's wand started to crackle menacingly, and a few more hands shot up to seal the victory.
"Very well," Fudge said, banging his gavel on the table. "Harry Potter is hereby named Minister of Magic for one day."
Harry's pocketed dinged, and he pulled out his quest device. He gave Dumbledore a thumbs-up: mission success. Thank goodness, Dumbledore sighed in relief. If he could get out of here in the next few minutes, he might just make it in time for the skate competition in Century City he'd committed to attending...
"Brilliant!" said Minister Harry, clapping his hands together. "My first order of business is to name myself permanent Minister, effective immediately."
The Wizengamot exploded with uproar. "You can't do that!" Fudge said.
"Uh, I'm Minister of Magic; I'm pretty sure I can," Harry rolled his eyes. "Anybody object?" Hundreds of hands shot into the air; nearly the entire Wizengamot disapproved of his actions.
"Very well," Harry shrugged. "My second order of business: anyone who disagrees with my first order of business will immediately be sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban."
The Wizengamot nervously looked at once another. Is he allowed to do that? they clearly wondered. But one by one they all put their hands down, not wanting to risk their political careers over a technicality.
"Very good!" Harry grinned. "Now, since I have you all here, I have a quick question. What does it take to be named a Dark Lord these days? That's another item on my bucket list I'm looking to cross off."
"Erm...well, it would have to be put to a vote," said Amelia Bones, confused. "But you don't meet the criteria."
"Why not?"
"Well, in order to be named a Dark Lord, you have to defeat a wizard of equal standing to yourself," Bones explained.
"But I killed Voldemort!"
"So says you," Fudge sighed.
Harry contemplated this. "So you're saying if I kill a wizard who is more respected than I am, I can be named a Dark Lord?" he asked innocently.
"In so many words, yes," said Fudge.
"Cool, got it," said Harry. "Sorry Al, but duty calls."
"Pardon?" said Dumbledore, still mentally making his plans to return to Los Angeles. But before he could say another word, he saw a flash of green light and knew no more.
June 24, 1995 (Death counter = 8)
Dumbledore nearly fell out of his seat when he came to in his office. The Killing Curse had caught him so off-guard, his mind so many thousands of miles away, that it took him a moment to realize what had actually happened. When he did so, he stood and glared at the boy seated in the chair opposite him.
"Harry!" he bellowed. "What was that for?"
"Sorry?" asked Harry in a placid voice.
"You killed me!" Dumbledore glared.
"What?" Harry hummed, casually scratching his face. "Ah yes, I suppose I did. That felt like many lifetimes ago. The unfortunate actions of a much younger, stupider man."
Dumbledore frowned. "How long, exactly, did you live on after I died?" he asked.
"Six hundred and seventy-one years," Harry smiled wistfully. "I had to one-up Flamel, you see. I ruled Britain peacefully for centuries and changed the stigma against 'Dark Lords'. I saw the world. I fathered many children. And I found my inner peace."
"Congratulations," Dumbledore grumbled. "And yet you didn't see fit to end the time loop and die peacefully like a normal person?"
"Come now, Albus, there's nothing normal about you or me," Harry smiled. "There is much more to be accomplished in this life. I won't feel satisfied until I have exhausted all possibilities."
"That's wonderful, Harry," Dumbledore sighed, standing to go. "If you'll excuse me, I'd like to enjoy my summer in peace."
"Wait!" Harry said, bounding to his feet. "I'd like to say that I'm sorry, Albus. All this time to reflect has made me realize how hard I have made things for you over the past few cycles. I was selfish and greedy, and that wasn't fair to you. I hope you can forgive me."
Dumbledore's eyebrows shot up. Was Harry being genuine? Could six and a half centuries' worth of introspection have really given him the maturity and self-awareness he always lacked? "I appreciate you saying that, Harry," he said, extending his hand. Harry shook it, then a moment later withdrew his hand and stared at it. He looked from his hands to his arms and legs and the rest of his body, as though fully taking it in for the first time.
"Merlin's beard, I'm young again!" Harry yelped. "It's been so long I'd forgotten what it feels like!" With a childlike giggle of glee, Harry sprinted for the door, knocking Dumbledore flat onto his back in the process. "Sorry Al, got too much to do!"
Some things never change, Dumbledore sighed internally as he stared up at the ceiling of his office.
UP NEXT: Tom/Harry slashfic? Tom/Harry slashfic.