"That bastard." Arthur growled as Kingsley nodded solemnly from his position on Arthur's couch. He was losing time, any minute now could be his last. The spell had already spread from his legs up to torso and was slowly constricting his breathing.

Arthur clutched at his chest. There were multiple scars there, but a few of them belonged to Voldemort, or as he now found out, Dumbledore. All those people killed, he hadn't had any warning the second and more intense time. He had lost touch with his magical side after Voldemort's first defeat, becoming too wrapped up in his non-magical affairs. His fist clenched. But now he could do something about it. He'd be able to fight for his people...

"What are we going to do...?" Arthur murmured as he folded his fingers under his chin.

"That..." Kingsley wheezed, "will be... up to you... I'm afraid..." A pained cough escaped his lips as the fire reached his lungs. He was dying and more quickly now.

Arthur glanced up with a sorrowful expression. "I can't stop it. The only thing I can do is dull the pain, and even then only a little." Arthur stood and tipped more of the potion laced tea into Kingsley's mouth. Kingsley smiled ruefully and gave a thankful nod.

"I... know. What... do you... have in... mind?" The pain was dissipating, but he could still feel the flames curling around his insides and building underneath his skin.

"I'll have to go undercover. Thankfully the old coot was reinstated as Headmaster instead of given a position in the government like he really wanted. There are no worries about him taking over, yet. But he'll be wanting to string up his favorite puppet again, what with the previous seventh years re-taking their classes. He can't be suspicious. It will have to look like I'm a supporter of his cause. Yes. It might take time to dig up and renew my credentials, but I need to get as close as I can..."

"I'll have to ask for a position as a professor..."

Harry was pacing back and forth restlessly in his hotel room. After recovering from the war and watching the rest of Snape's memories, Harry had been constantly calling his entire life into question. Once he had seen the evidence in Snape's memories he could not deny it, no matter how long he had convinced himself that they were edited memories. Dumbledore was not at all what he seemed.

When the old man announced his return, Harry had fled back to Grimmauld Place immediately and packed everything. He hadn't even told Ron and Hermione yet. How could he have had the time? Ever since the end of the war everything had been a blur of one thing to another. Funeral after funeral. Speech after speech. He had barely had enough time to mourn let alone think about what it would mean to have to fight Dumbledore of all people. It sent him into a panic nearly every time.

Even now his heart was pounding at the thought of what Dumbledore had done and was likely going to do. What he would have to do if he ever wanted to stop the old man from taking over.

It made Harry sick to even think that Voldemort was merely a puppet himself. The Dark Lord had just been the beginning, a scab over a wound no one had realized had been festering. This was larger than just blood prejudices, this was a matter of senseless war mongering and manipulation on a truly grand scale.

Harry had to stop his pacing and catch the breath he had suddenly lost. He groaned and pulled at his hair with tight fists. It felt like he was having a complete mental breakdown and any minute now Healers from St. Mungo's would come bursting through the door to take him away to the wizard version of the loony bin. Merlin, did he just want it all to end.

Not his life per se, but definitely something. It was like he was on a speeding train that just kept hurtling faster and faster towards this indefinite point in the far of future and everything was a blur outside the window and all he wanted right now to just get off at the next bloody stop and be able to think for once in his life.

Harry snorted in his position curled up against the mantle of the fireplace. Again with the stupid train metaphors. Speaking of… Harry straighten as the thought hit him. If I was "dead" then how had Dumbledore managed to show up in that vision? Hadn't he even out right told me he was dead? Harry snarled, it was just a merry-go-round of question after question spinning around in a mad circle. Hermione might help…

With that Harry turned from the fireplace with a determined expression.

It was time he sent a very important letter.

"Mr. Kirkland..." It was eerie, speaking with the Headmaster as his painting was also mounted behind his head. The painting was cast immobile in the light of Dumbledore's reinstatement, but it was still rather creepy. "Mr. Kirkland?"

"Oh, yes. Terribly sorry, I was dazed for a minute there. You were saying?" The headmaster frowned almost imperceptibly before smiling kindly.

"Yes, the mind does like to wander, doesn't it? I was asking as to why you wished to teach at Hogwarts, Mr. Kirkland."

"Ah. Well, I've always wanted to teach and I thought now would be a good time, what with the war finally over. Hogwarts is a grand school." England shifted in the chair in front of the headmaster's desk as he felt the probing of Dumbledore's Legilimency. England hid a smile. The headmaster would have to try harder if he wanted to get into a nation's mind, they were all natural Occlumens. It was a self-defense thing to keep their secrets... secret.

"Oh? It says here you graduated from Hogwarts but I don't seem to recall you?" Arthur could tell Dumbledore was unsettled by the wall he had put up, making sure he couldn't delve into his mind.

"Well, Headmaster, I wouldn't imagine you could recall every student that has passed through these doors, hmm?"

Dumbledore shifted but held his grandfatherly, patient tone. "Ah, that may be true but after receiving your application," He gestured to it, open before him on his desk, for emphasis, "I looked up your name and couldn't find it within the records for the year you listed."

England supposed this is where he should panic, but after centuries of dealing with these kinds of situations he had learned to keep his cool. "Ah, but I never listed my graduation year, only my birth year. They wouldn't have matched up as I had graduated a year late."

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes. "Ah, well, would you care to explain why as I look for you in the registry?"

"Well, I was called away for a family emergency my sixth year," decades of lying aided England in this as he spun his tale on the fly, "and it lasted for quite a while." He bowed his head and his voice softened. "My mother was dying from a degenerative disease, you see."

England was able to glance up and catch Dumbledore's fake nod of sympathy as he rifled through scrolls of parchment.

"In any case, I had to repeat that year and so graduated a bit late."

"My condolences, Mr. Kirkland. Ah! Yes, here is the registry for your graduating year."

England sucked in a small breath before concentrating on the scroll. He felt a slight tingle in his fingertips and there was a flicker of triumph in his eyes. He did it. It didn't take much for him to do extremely advanced magic after all.

Dumbledore hummed unhappily, "Here you are Mr. Kirkland. You were in Slytherin?"

"Yes, sir."

The old wizard rolled up the scroll and adjusted his spectacles before continuing. "One last thing, Mr. Kirkland. Why a History of Magic?"

England smiled. "It's simply one of my favorite subjects."