Disclaimer: See Stave 1

-oOo-

Stave 4

-oOo-

December 25, 1994

Hogwarts, Scotland

The merry little tune of the chiming clock filled the cluttered office. A phoenix sung with the chime, obviously liking the tune and mimicking it. At a large oak desk with gold filigree and topped with nick knacks, quills, ink pots, papers, parchments, and the accoutre of an administrator of a prestigious school and important member of two governing bodies, sat a distinguished old man that had fallen asleep in his gilded chair.

The old white bearded man started when the chimes started to ring out the hour. Vivid blue eyes snapped open. They looked confused for a moment as they took in their surroundings and only as the chime struck seven did he start to calm.

At eight chimes, his hand left the handle of his wand.

At nine, the man let out a long breath.

At twelve, the room grew silent. Only the insistent ticking of the old clock and the crackling of a dying fire filled the room with sound.

The old man was still getting his breathing under control. The dreams he was having tonight were unsettling him. Looking down at his hands, for once he was taking in the liver spots on them. His body, once so full, strong and virile, was starting to fail. It scared him to come to this revelation. He had much to do, and not much time to complete it.

Now he had another task. A task he never thought he might. A task that was shocking him to his core. He never thought he would have to repent. Hadn't all these years of fighting for the light, doing what was needed and keeping the Greater Good all for penance? He felt he was paying for hubris and his sister's death every day.

Fawkes started to trill a sad dirge that filled him with foreboding. Looking to his familiar, he felt his long-time friend was admonishing him for things the phoenix had warned him about many times.

Looking to his desk, he could see the small crystal goblet was half-full of brandy. Hadn't he drained it? Not long ago he had wanted it to enjoy the night cap. Then it had been a balm to a nightmare. Now it was an antithesis to his once happy evening.

Rubbing his face, Albus leaned forward.

"It must just be the stress of the tournament getting to me," he said out loud.

The song from Fawkes said otherwise. It did nothing to soothe Albus like Fawkes's songs usually did.

He sat up and leaned heavily into the cushioned back of his thrown like chair. Rubbing his face, Albus leaned forward. After a moment, his eyes looked around the office. It was full of a lifetime of schemes, plans, research, awards, successes, failures and mementos. The portraits were all sleeping, which was a balm that none of them were seeing his issues this evening.

As he swept his eyes across his office again, a dark shape in a corner caught his attention. It was already a dark corner in the dying firelight and with no other lamps lit in the office, but whatever was standing there was darker than the surrounding shadows. A deep foreboding filled him. He reached out his magic and felt nothing. Knowing this was just part of his growing nightmare, he sat in his chair waiting to see what would happen.

The shadow seemed to be studying him for a long few moments before it moved. Albus's brow rose as it looked like it was taking off an invisibility cloak. Like the Potter cloak, it had completely shrouded the figures magic, but, unlike the Potter cloak, it masked the figure in shadows, not hiding it completely.

A shocked gasp left his mouth. It didn't matter that he was the most accomplished Legillimens and Occlumens in history, if he did say so himself, but after all the shocks he had had tonight, seeing the sixteen-year-old boy before him was one too many.

The figure gave a devilish grin. "Hello, Professor," the figure said.

Albus reached for his wand and stood. In one fluid motion it was moving. Equally as fluidly the figure lazily waved its hand. The magic died before it even reached the tip of the wand, and it was ripped from his hand. An icy shot of fear went through him. There was something that even in a dream felt wrong as the wand left his hand. He could feel the shift in loyalty and the boost to his magic wane.

He stumbled back, hitting the back of his knees into his chair and sitting heavily into it.

"Please, take a seat, professor. I think we need to have a conversation," the boy said, a satisfied smile on his face as the Elder Wand was grasped from the air. Black and red sparks shot out the tip and the room groaned as the magic from the figure expanded in an oppressive manner before retreating.

Albus didn't know the last time he felt fear, but he certainly felt it now.

"This can't be… You can't be…" Albus said, his eyes quickly going to a drawer in his desk. As dangerous as this figure was, it didn't have the same wrongness that the horcrux did in his drawer.

"Well, there is some debate on that, professor," the boy said as he moved towards the desk. Albus could see the Slytherin colours, the style and cut to the school uniform from fifty years ago, the handsome visage of a boy that turned blacker than black and the shadow of a man that would run from death. The very moniker the boy would adopt spoke of the fear Tom Riddle had of dying. And yet, before him, was a figure that felt like death…

He paled as he came to realize what this was…

"A reaper," Albus whispered. He wasn't ready to go to the next great adventure…

The boy gave a little chuckle. "No, nothing like that, I'm afraid. Though, I wouldn't be surprised if one should visit you soon. I am what you would call an emissary. Someone has petitioned for your soul to be saved, and as much as I find that reprehensible, I am here to do my part. Though I will say it is under protest. I think the first thing to do is to reunite this tool with the line my master granted it too."

Albus blanched more. "You can't," he said in a soft, horrified tone.

"I may not be able too, but you can. You can't play a god with people, professor. Magic doesn't like it when you steal, manipulate and sacrifice the worthy to save those that are already condemned. This tool does not belong to you. It does not belong to the lengthy line of those too selfish to truly use its power. But that is not why I am here. I am here for you," the sixteen-year-old boy said.

"But this part of you is dead," Albus said.

"This part of me is paying its penance. That is the only reason I am here, professor. Otherwise, I would like to see you burn as much as I do. You have sent far more to their deaths and done much more heinous acts than I ever imagined," the boy said before clapping. "I must say, if I had realized how much you could have taught me, I would have asked to become your apprentice, instead of opposing you."

Albus lost all colour. "I never committed the crimes you did, Tom."

The boy's grin grew malicious. "No. You did far worse, professor. Where I may have only made an hour or two of someone's life pure misery, you have made entire lifetimes and families feel the wrath of evil. Your crimes are far worse. I could never play with my toys like you did."

"I never… the Greater Good… I only ever wanted to save people," he said, fear of what this being was saying.

The boy gave a dark, mirthful laugh. "Oh, yes. The Greater Good. I do enjoy what you and Gellert Grindelwald did with that saying."

Albus took in a sharp breath. He was more powerful than this sick nightmare. "Be gone," he said sternly, power infusing his voice. "Be gone! I am nothing like the man that became Voldemort."

The amused laugh sent a chill through him. "No. You are far worse."

"I said be gone!"

"I think not, professor. I think you should see what your Greater Good has achieved," the boy said. Albus flinched back, but instead of grabbing him, like the other spirits had, the figure casually waved his wand and Albus was yanked out of his chair, hit his desk rather painfully and was pulled into the open palm of the deranged spirit…

-oOo-

June 15, 1997

Hogwarts, Scotland

Albus fell in a heap at the feet of the young man. He was face first in the dirt. The figure was darkly chuckling. He heard sniffling, crying and the murmuring of people around him. The mournful cry of a phoenix was echoing around the grounds. Albus slowly got to his feet to see everyone looking towards a coffin.

It took him a second to realize he was in the middle of a funeral.

A redhead was holding a bushy hair girl next to him.

"We mourn his loss," a very tired and aged visage of Dumbledore was saying. "A braver young man I could never imagine. His loss will be felt for years to come, and I only prey it was not in vain."

As he looked around, he realized that it was a small funeral. He could make out the Weasleys, Miss Granger, Remus, Nymphadora and Alastor. Everyone looked careworn and defeated. It wasn't long before the funeral ended, and he lowered the casket into the ground. Albus didn't miss the dead and blackened left hand of the slightly older version of himself. He looked as defeated as the others.

"Whose funeral is this?" Albus asked, the crawly things that he had in him growing more restless.

"Why it's your pawn's. Isn't this always the way you do things? Your pawns always die for the Greater Good while you hold the moral high ground?" the young Tom Riddle questioned as though honestly confused.

Albus swallowed hard. "I don't have pawns."

"Well, you certainly don't see them as people worthy of their own lives and decisions," the young Tom commented. Albus felt like he had been slapped by the casual words.

The older Albus approached the crying girl next to him. "Miss Granger, I was hoping to have a few words. There are things that Harry left, and things left to do…"

The redhead, Ronald, that was holding her, looked infuriated. He pushed her to the side and before his older self could react, the young, strong boy's fist connected with his nose and sent the old man sprawling on the ground. "Don't you dare to talk to her! This is all your fault! Harry tried to warn you all year of Malfoy and Snape. You didn't listen! No one ever listens to Harry or us!"

The older form of himself rolled to his side to push himself up. Blood was trickling down his face. "I never meant for this. I trust Severus. Draco and others could still have been saved," the old man said in a tone that sounded more pleading than sure.

Ronald went to attack him again but was stopped by Ms Granger. "Ron, stop. The old man isn't worth it," she said in a harsh voice. She looked at the old man with such contempt that Albus couldn't believe this was the same girl that he figured would be head girl. The tears rolling down her cheeks just added to the girl's rage. "The old man is just an arse. He trusted you, headmaster. We all trusted you. Instead, you trusted a traitor and only wanted to save scum. Harry told you! We warned you! But you never listen. Look at what that got us!"

Albus followed the girl's hand and looked up. His heart sank and he fell to his knees. Hogwarts was a smoking husk and ruins.

"I never… how...?" he asked.

Young Tom smiled. "As I said, I could have learned so much from you, professor."

"But…"

The world shifted in a sickening way as Tom's hand touched his shoulder…

-oOo-

September 1, 1998

London, England

"It is good to see so many of the blood and loyal to our cause," a high pitch, sibilant voice echoed around the large room he found themselves in.

Albus was still on his knees. Looking around, he realized he was in the main atrium of the Ministry of Magic. Before him was a stage. Around him were hundreds of witches and wizards. Some were in black cloaks and masks. Others in ministry robes or regular day wear. Some looked shocked or horrified, but many, too many, looked pleased and excited.

He looked up as the man on the stage continued talking. "Today is a day for great celebrations as I, Lord Voldemort, announce the purging of our great society and the opening of Hogwarts after a year of reconstruction."

The surge of horror that swept through him was worse than anything he had known.

The man on the stage was stark white. His face had a snake like nose and eyes. The red eyes looked at the gathered crowd with a certain malevolent glee that chilled anyone that would dare look at him. Many in the crowd around Albus cheered at the announcement.

"No," Albus said in a voice that was devoid of hope.

The young Tom knelt next to him. "Look at your Greater Good, professor. You wanted to save magic, and the purity of the old blood lines, here is your great victory."

"No," he said in horror. "This was not my vision."

"But this is what you wrought. What your Greater Good is. Isn't it? You saved magical blood. You redeemed those that are worthy. You brought about a new age of wizard supremacy. Isn't this the dream that you and Mister Grindelwald wanted all those years ago?"

"I want to save our world, but not like this," he said.

"But all the sacrifices? All the blood? It wasn't to save these people that you thought could be saved? All those that were pure of heart to save those that were not? I fail to see how this was not your vision," young Tom said with a sadistically gleeful tone as he looked around.

"No. I never wanted this. I never wanted to sacrifice anyone. It was necessary. I saved more than I sacrificed," he said in horror.

"You saved many but look at who you saved. It is wonderful, isn't it? All this magical blood," young Tom said.

"…as we purge those that do not deserve this gift and return magic to those that do, I demand your support. Those of the proper blood will be rewarded for turning in those on our undesirable list," Voldemort said. Albus saw the Wizarding Wireless microphones picking up his words.

"Merlin, I didn't do this," Albus said in disbelief.

The young Tom leaned in, his lips inches from Albus's ear. "A true master you are, professor. My adoration at the way you helped to save our society is immense. Without your help, I could never have achieved this. How many of your purest supporters did you sacrifice to your old lover and my older self to save all these people? I was only forced to kill one witch or wizard for about every five of my supporters here. You sacrificed almost three to one over your years of your Greater Good. Thank you, professor."

Any colour he had left drained from him. Had he really sent so many to their deaths? Had he not acted and sacrificed those that supported him? Surely not…

"And to mark this auspicious occasion, the last great enemy of the State shall be executed today," Voldemort said with a glee that had Albus shaking.

He was watching as a figure was rolled onto the stage. He closed his eyes to see the defeated figure.

"I give you the defender of the hopeless and defeater of nothing, Albus Dumbledore," Voldemort snarled.

Albus felt he was suddenly suspended in the air. The ache of his body was enormous as his arms were outstretched. It felt like his left arm was trying to separate from his body. He groaned as he opened his eyes. Horror didn't begin to express his emotions as he realized he was the figure in the frame that was being held up by his arms. His left arm was rotting and looked ready to fall off.

He wanted to scream but found his throat too raw to do anything.

The smiling form of Voldemort leaned down, its red eyes staring into his. With a malicious grin, he whispered. "I owe you a thank you. Without you, I never would have gotten Potter. Without you, most of those that opposed me would not have fallen so quickly. You saved all my most stringent supporters. If I didn't need to make an example of you, old man, I would grant you a quick death for my thanks. As I do need to make an example, I will keep you alive for as long as I can."

"Tom…" he managed to croak out.

"Crucio!" The look of rage on the snake like visage was the last conscious thing he would remember…

-oOo-

December 25, 1994

Hogwarts, Scotland

Albus shot out of his chair screaming in abject terror and pain beyond anything he had ever known. He fell to the floor, his body racked with great spasms. The carpets did little to protect him from the hard, cold flagstones beneath them.

He grunted as he hit the floor.

It was some minutes for the phantom pains to subside. He was left on the carpet, panting and groaning, his old form curled up into itself. He was just catching his breath as the polished shoes of the 1940's uniform stepped up to him. A young boy of sixteen knelt. A white, knotted wand of some fourteen inches was lain near him.

"This is the vision of what your prophesy and Greater Good is leading towards. Will you do anything about this, professor?"

"What can I do?" he managed to croak out through his damaged and raw throat.

"That is up to you. I only come to warn you what happens if you keep using and sacrificing your pawns. If you keep snuffing out the light to save the dark, will there be any light left to illuminate what is left?" young Tom put to him. "You are not a god, professor, as much as you like to think you are."

Albus was able to look up. The cruel and sadistic face of the boy that would grow into one of the worst Dark Lords that Albus had ever heard of looked pained and sad. "I have my own demons to appease. Will you banish yours before they come to take everything?"

Albus wanted to say something before the boy started to dissolve into black wisps. A moment later, he was left alone on the floor of his office. His body was beaten, broken and too sore to move.

Visions came to him as he lay on the floor:

A young boy being slammed into a wall and then tossed into a cupboard…

A man broken and shivering in the cold December nights…

A young couple trying to defend their child only to die…

More people trying to defend their families…

Rape.

Murder.

Torture.

People dying as those that were blacker than night took their pleasure in his desire to save those that were already lost…

Dozens…

Hundreds…

Thousands…

All the lives that had been affected by him came crashing through his weakened occlumency shields.

Albus Percival Brian Dumbledore, the Defender of the Light, defeater of Dark Lords and saviour of magic and the oppressed, cried as he collapsed in on himself.