They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Well. Good intentions brought literal hell to earth, for him and so many other young wizards. Albus Dumbledore's eyes observed all, and nothing could hide from his overbearing gaze. The absolute leader protected his subjects, making sure that not one toe was out of line at any time, lest the mistakes of the past be repeated. The dark would not be allowed to rise again. Not on his watch. Not ever.

Harry Potter knew this truth well, and had battled with it, from the very beginning, ever since he could remember. The old man was ruthless and unforgiving, and he had spent many, many weeks in Hogwarts' solitary ward, because he had dared even question the teachings of their holy leader.

This time however, he was prepared. The man stood before him, his wand raised, and Harry knew that he need only think about binding him, and he would be on the ground, ready to be shipped off to another week long trip to solitary. Albus Dumbledore had …relieved many students during the four years that Harry had been in Hogwarts. He had relieved many a wizard from before he had joined Hogwarts as well, when he had been isolated in a remote cabin, guarded by the Order, day and night. Any time one of the wizards gave even a hint of impure thoughts, a wish to gamble, a sip of firewhiskey, anything, the old man knew. And before they would know what was happening, they would be delivered from their life of sin, before they could even commit to it.

But through it all, he had never attempted to do anything else to Harry, other than trap him in the solitary ward, so that he may repent for his sins. Maybe it was because he still felt guilty about that cold October night of 1981. Maybe it was because Harry was the catalyst for everything that followed. It did not matter.

He had found it. A spell incantation that was his last hope. Any spell that may have tempted a student, lured them into the pursuit of power had been retroactively erased from Hogwarts library. Any dissidents had to make due with mundane household spells to make their rebellions, and any crumbs of information that were left behind were few and far between. But he had managed it. He was sure of it. A simple spell that was an offshoot of Reparo. Meant to turn back the effects of time on an object, useful for things such as restoring a moldy fruit to a previous, fresh state.

In hindsight, it was not a very powerful spell. After all, those were not allowed. Magic was part incantation, part wand-waving, and part intent. But magic was also much bigger than the sum of its parts. He believed with all his heart, that if he put enough feeling, enough intent, and wished for deliverance, he would finally receive it. He could return the old man to the benevolent leader of the Order that he was, prior to the death of the Potters. And so, he made his choice, no matter how naive his wishes may have sounded.

"Expeliarmus" Dumbledore muttered, his gaze piercing through Harry's own. He spared a glance at the spell that Harry had flung as it rebounded off of Dumbledore's own, returning back to its caster.

The last thing that Harry saw before everything turned white was Dumbledore's cold blue eyes, devoid of all emotion.

So why was it that when he opened his eyes again, those same blue eyes stared back at him, filled with warmth and a hint of concern?

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A bit of a drabble that hit me as I was editing my other story - I can never seem to focus. Will probably continue this, but just want to gauge interest first and plot things out.