A/N: Oh boy, another long one and this one, despite taking a lot of time, was really fun to write. Like, it's always hard getting Harry to Hogwarts in these kind of fics, but now that we're here, the ball is really rolling and I don't plan for it to stop anytime soon. Anyways, remember that if you're liking this fic to give it a Favorite and don't forget to Follow and Review!

Chapter 7: The Mind of Albus Dumbledore

The corridors in Hogwarts buzzed with students all racing toward their next class. In the crowd, Harry was grateful to have the eyes of the world not be locked on him, but as the crowded halls thinned, Harry had come to accept he was completely lost.

Speed Walking through the passageways, Harry's eyes kept flicking from down to his schedule and back to the room number placards that distinguished each door. "Come on, it's gotta be here somewhere. I'm on the third floor right?"

To his relief, he'd been closer than he'd thought, coming across room number 3C, the door still slightly ajar, and filled with the sound of whispering students.

Harry stepped in, just as Quirrell's stutter broke the silence, "A-ah, Mr. P-Potter, good t-to see y-you were able to j-join us a-after all."

"Sorry for being late," Harry apologized. "I got a bit lost."

"N-not t-to worry," Quirrell smiled faintly. "You c-can take a s-seat beside Ms. G-Greengrass. The l-lesson's just b-begun."

"Gladly," Harry smiled, moving toward the blond haired girl at the back of the class, and sliding into the chair beside her.

"Greengrass," Harry greeted her grinning, in what he always thought to be his most charming smile. "I didn't realize I'd be graced with such excellent company."

Daphne didn't bother to look at him, her focus entirely on Professor Quirrell who was beginning to write feverishly on the board. "Late to class, Potter? How charming."

Harry smirked. "Would've been here sooner if I knew you were saving me a seat."

She ignored him, opening her book to what Harry could only assume was a random page in her book as no instructions had been given and began to read.

Harry chuckled to himself. "Ouch, Princess, you are cold."

Daphne, blue-eyes looked as if a fire had been lit behind them, yet remained frosty and piercing. "I told you I-"

But it was Professor Quirrell that interrupted, now done with his hastily written board. "Th-this year," he began, his gaze sweeping over the students, "we will be focusing more on practical magic, s-spells you'll need in real situations. T-today's lesson will focus on the Disarming Charm—Expelliarmus."

Harry glanced around as a few students began taking out their parchment and quills, preparing to jot down notes. He, however, didn't bother. His hand clutching his wand beneath the table as he practiced the fluid motion of the spell itself. As Quirrell continued on about the spell's usage and limitations, Harry simply allowed his mind to wander back to his lessons with Remus. If they're only doing this now, Harry thought, then I must be at a fifth-year level or higher.

Harry's daze was broken, sensing the curious Quirrell staring over his empty desk, his eyebrow arched. "M-Mr. Potter, aren't you going to take notes?"

Harry shrugged, keeping his voice casual. "No need, Professor. I already know the spell."

A few heads turned in his direction, whispers spreading across the classroom. Quirrell looked surprised for a moment, but then a slight smile crossed his lips. "W-well then, if it is a-as you s-say, would y-you be willing t-to show the class a d-demonstration?"

Daphne smirked beside him, but Harry found himself unable to pull away from Quirrell, an odd itch burning around his scar. "Do you want me to do the spell on you?" Harry asked, quickly tacking on a quick, "Professor."

"N-no," Quirrell said, with a firm shake of his head. "That w-would hardly be f-fair. Perhaps one of your c-classmates would like to volunteer?"

Draco's hand shot up with the speed of a striking cobra. "I'll duel, Potter!"

"Y-yes, very well," Quirrell said with a shaky sort of laugh. "P-Potter, you'll d-duel Mr. Malfoy then."

"I don't know, professor," Harry said lazily. "Isn't there anyone else?"

"What, Potter, scared or something?" Draco spat, filling the room with laughter.

"Bored, mostly," Harry answered, turning his attention back to Quirrell. "What I meant is, well, can't you find somebody a bit more talented. Malfoy's not really gonna be much of a challenge for me."

Oohs filled the room as if suddenly everyone had been possessed by a muggle concept of a ghost. Quirrell gestured for the class to fall silent and smiled back at Harry. "Mr. P-Potter, I assure you that Mr. M-Malfoy is talented enough for the purposes of an e-exhibition."

Harry stepped into the row dividing the two lines of desks as did Draco. With a wave of Quirrell's wand, the ground beneath Harry elevated to the point he found his foot leveled with Daphne's eyes. Harry opened his palm, effortlessly summoning his wand from his desk to the murmurs of surprise. He could hardly summon anything larger than his wand to him without words, but he didn't think that was yet important to mention.

Draco blinked in bewilderment, but his face soon soured again as he rummaged for his own wand within his robes. "You ready, Potter?" Draco sneered. Harry only shrugged.

Quirrell cleared his throat nervously, sensing the tension. "The goal is simple—disarm your opponent. No other spells. Begin on my mark. Three… two… one… begin!"

Draco's expression darkened as he stepped forward on the dueling platform. "Rictusempra."

Harry leaned easily to his left, allowing the bolt of white light to soar past him and sputter against the classroom's walls, one his hands still tucked into his pocket. Draco growled, this time sending a Horn Tongue hex in his direction. Just as before, Harry avoided it with the simplest tilt of his head.

"Is this really your best, Malfoy?" Harry yawned. Draco's gritted teeth were their own reply. "I see," Harry said, doing little to hide his disappointment. Dodging another poorly casted hex, Harry slipped himself into the position, raising his wand to Malfoy. "Expelliarmus!"

The jet of red light from Harry's wand struck Draco's hand, sending it flying out of his hand. Draco eyes widened like those of a deer in headlights, but before Draco could say a word, Harry followed up with another spell, locking Draco's legs together and letting him fall backward on the dueling platform.

Harry calmly walked over, his wand pointed at Draco's throat. "Yield," he said, his voice steady.

Draco glared up at him, his face flushed.

Quirrell rushed forward, flustered, his hands raised. "Th-that's enough, Mr. P-Potter!" He flicked his wand, undoing the Leg-Locker Curse, and helped Draco to his feet.

"Points will be docked from both Gryffindor and Slytherin," Quirrell said, though his voice was softened slightly as he turned back to Harry. " "But... five points to Gryffindor for Mr. P-Potter's performance."

The remainder of the class was far more boring than even the exhibition had been. For whatever reason, while the other students seemed to sneak glances at him with amazed stares of girlish giggles, Daphne only met with him glaring eyes the few times she'd bothered to look in his direction. She doesn't actually have a thing for that creep, does she? Harry thought in horror.

Thankfully, the lesson had ended shortly after that sickening thought had entered his mind. Harry lingered, watching as Daphne meticulously put away her things before rushing out of the classroom. With nothing left to keep Harry's attention, he moved to follow the blond out of the classroom, but was stopped by the trembling voice of Professor Quirrell.

"T–that was quite a d-display," Quirrell started. "You are v-very skilled, Mr. P-Potter. Might I a-ask, how did you c-came to develop such a mastery o-over the Disarming Spell?"

"Oh that's easy professor," Harry said brightly, allowing the image of Remus Lupin to occupy his mind. "I had a great teacher."

Quirrell chuckled nervously, his eyes lingering a bit on Harry's own before a sharp, unexpected pain shot through Harry's head. His hand instinctively moved to his scar as the throbbing intensified. The classroom around him seemed to blur for a moment, his thoughts clouded by the sudden ache.

Quirrell's face turned into the picture of concern. "M-Mr. Potter, what's wrong?"

Harry blinked, shaking his head slightly as the pain started to subside."Nothing," he said, his voice a little strained. "Just... my head hurts."

Quirrell studied him for a moment, then offered a small, reassuring smile. "Perhaps it's just hunger, Mr. Potter. It's almost lunchtime, after all. Y-you should go get something to eat."

Harry nodded, though he still felt uneasy. "Yeah... maybe."

Quirrell dismissed him with a wave, and desperate to escape the classroom, Harry rushed on the door, the low pang in his head still throbbing.

Harry had only made it a few steps down the hall and rounded a corner before he found himself yanked into the stuffy air of a narrow broom cupboard. "What the—" Harry started, but before he could finish, the door clicked shut behind him, plunging the small space into darkness.

"Quiet, Potter," came the familiar voice of Daphne Greengrass. Harry's eyes, his vision long since corrected by magic, quickly adjusted to new found darkness and sure enough, he'd found himself face to face with the blond-haired girl.

Harry smirked and leaned casually against the wall. "If you wanted to spend time alone with me, Greengrass, you could've just asked. No need to be so dramatic. You know I have a thing for you, right?"

Daphne's glare sharpened. "Stop. Just... stop for once."

Harry tilted his head, his hand moving to rub at his still prickling scar. "Alright, what's this about, then?"

Daphne stepped forward, her tone dropping to icy levels, "This is about Astoria. Stay away from her."

Harry's eyes widened, but he quickly recovered. "Stay away from her? Why?"

"Because," Daphne said, her voice clipped, "you have no idea what kind of people you're upsetting. Draco's family... the Malfoys, they're dangerous, Potter. They're involved with people who wouldn't hesitate to hurt anyone who gets in their way—especially someone as... exposed as Astoria. Especially since I'm not around her enough to protect her."

Harry straightened up, the smirk long faded from his face. "I know exactly who Draco Malfoy is," he said quietly, his voice firm. "I know all about his family—and the other Death Eater children running around this school." Harry moved to shuffle his hair. "Hearing you talk about them like that is a bigger relief than you could imagine though. I was worried you might be one of them too."

Daphne blinked, but before she could say anything, Harry continued. "Though, I'm sad to say I think you're wasting your time trying to get me to stop talking to Astoria."

"And why's that?" Daphne demanded.

"Do you even know your sister?" Harry started with a laugh, "She doesn't seem like the type of girl to just blindly follow orders. She'll realize something is up when I start ignoring her after what I did for her in the common room last night and then she'll start to do some digging. She's seems to be smart, and somehow, she's going to discover the fact that you are the reason she 'lost' her only friend in Gryffindor."

Daphne's frown etched itself deeper on her face, but Harry didn't stop. "I get that you're worried, but trust me, Astoria's going to be okay. I'll keep Astoria safe from the likes of Draco and his goons. I promise."

"And that's it?" Daphne spoke coldly, "You're just going to give me a promise and I'm supposed to believe it?"

"You aren't exactly the trusting type, are you?" Harry said wryly.

"Big brain you got on you if you could figure that one out," Daphne retorted.

Harry chuckled. "Alright, Princess, how's this for a reason. Astoria's my friend, and that means something to me. Even if it sounds like just talk to you."

Before Daphne could even think of a response, Harry opened the door to the broom closet, and with another easy grin said, "Later Greengrass, next time we find each other in a broom closet, maybe we can have a more fun meeting."

And with that, he walked away.

Harry hadn't realized he'd actually arrived at the Great Hall until his senses were accosted by the smell of roast chicken, freshly baked bread, and warm pies which served only to remind him how hungry he was. Spotting Astoria already seated at the Gryffindor table, staring intently at a scrap of parchment in front of her, Harry shuffled to the seat beside her.

Harry greeted her with a nod. "Hey, Astoria. How's your day going?"

Astoria glanced up, managing a small smile before sighing in frustration. "Could be better," she admitted, glancing down at the rest of her schedule. "I just had my first Transfiguration lesson, and I'm completely hopeless at it."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Hopeless? Come on, it couldn't have been that bad."

Astoria held up a small wooden matchstick, and groaned. "We were supposed to turn this into a needle. Everyone else could do it, but mine just won't change."

Harry chuckled. "That's hardly hopeless. Transfiguration's tricky, especially when you're just starting out."

Astoria sighed, resting her chin in her hand. "I don't know. It feels like I'm already behind."

Harry leaned in a bit, his voice low enough just for Astoria to hear. "Tell you what—I'll help you with it later. We can work on it after eight, how about that?"

Astoria's eyes brightened slightly at the offer, "You'd really do that?"

"Of course," Harry said, grabbing a roll from the basket in front of him. "It's no big deal. Besides, I've got plenty of practice with this kind of stuff. We'll have that match looking like the sharpest needle in the school in no time."

Astoria smiled, though it was faint, her fingers fiddling with the matchstick. "Thanks, Harry. I really appreciate it."

"No problem," Harry said easily. "I'm sure you're not half as hopeless as you think."

Harry had just started loading his plate with food when Michael Corner appeared behind them, his eyes red from what Harry assumed to be a result of an interrupted nap. "So," Michael began, glancing around conspiratorially, "word around the castle is you put Draco Malfoy flat on his back during Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Astoria blinked in surprise, turning to Harry. "Wait, really? How did that happen?"

Harry shrugged casually, biting into a piece of chicken. "Quirrell had us do a bit of dueling practice. No big deal."

Michael laughed, "Come on man, I'm trying to hear the juicy details. Way I heard it, Malfoy was running his mouth and you put a sock in it."

Harry grinned. "Yeah, something like that. He couldn't resist showing off, so I gave him a little lesson."

Astoria still seemed surprised, her eyes widening slightly. "You really took down Draco in a duel? I thought he was supposed to be pretty good. Talk all about his dad teaching him a few tricks every summer."

Harry smirked. "Guess I'm just better."

Michael snorted. "Man, I wish I could've been there to see the little turd get dropped. You really get to have all the fun."

Harry chuckled, "Seems like it."

Just as they were laughing, the two twin boy with the flaming red hair approached, their mischievous grins lighting up their faces. The two lifting their arms in to Harry in a mock salute.

"Potter, Corner," One of the twins began, "we just wanted to say… brilliant work."

The other nodded in agreement. "We heard about that little stunt you pulled on Snape in Potions. Absolutely inspired."

Michael grinned. "Glad someone appreciated it."

"Potter," they said in unison. "We of course heard all about you, but we figured we should introduce ourselves to our junior pranksters and offer our services if need. I'm Fred Weasley, and this is George, as you can see, I'm the handsome twin, but don't worry if you get us mixed up."

The two reached their hands over each other, crossing Harry's as they took his hands to shake. "Suppose we should also say we're sorry about the stunt our little brother pulled in the common room yesterday, we had an impromptu meeting with Wood about the Quidditch season. We woulda told him to shove it if we were there."

The twin who'd been identified to be George leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "More importantly though, yours and Corner's stunt in Potions today landed us on our radar. So, if you ever feel like pulling something bigger, you know, on a grander scale… you come to us. We've got a few tricks up our sleeves."

Fred winked. "We're always on the lookout for promising talent. And you two—" he glanced between Harry and Michael, "—seem to have a knack for this sort of thing."

Harry exchanged a quick look with Michael, both of them grinning at the thought. "We'll keep that in mind," Harry said.

Fred and George gave them both an approving nod before heading off to another part of the table, the two nearly banging their heads as they whispered low to each other.

"Finally acknowledged by Fred and George," Michael said with a whimsical sigh. "What a great day this turned out to be. The Weasley twins are legends when it comes to mischief."

Harry laughed, turning back to his food. "Looks like we're in good company."

Astoria, still slightly bewildered by the whole exchange, shook her head with a small smile. "Well, I'm just glad you two didn't get yourselves into too much trouble… yet."

"Oh, about that," Harry said with a grimace, "You got any ideas when Snape's gonna make us hold those detentions. I'd hate to miss Quidditch try outs because of them."

"You two already have detention?" Astoria said slack jawed.

Harry held up his fingers "Two of them."

"How do you already have two detentions? We haven't been here for twenty four hours!" Astoria exclaimed.

"Ah, you know," Harry sighed. "Just trying to live up to my legacy."

"Anyway," Harry said. "What classes do you two have next?"

"History of Magic," Astoria said. "Last class of the day though."

"I've got Herbology," Michael replied. "You?"

Harry unfolded his schedule, only to find a blank spot beneath his lunch. "Huh, mine's blank."

"Must be an error," Michael shrugged. "3rd Years don't get free periods. You should probably talk to your Head of House about it. For Gryffindor, that's Professor McGonagall."

"Can't afford to stick around to see where you end up though, Potter," Michael said, the lids of his eyelids fighting against their will to drop. "Ravenclaw's upset enough with me today, and I gotta at least try and earn back some of the points I lost. We can't all be famous and untouchable."

"Yeah, that's pretty unfortunate for you," Harry said. "You should probably get moving too, Astoria. Don't be late on my account."

Deciding it probably best for Harry to check about the blank on his schedule rather than risking another cluster of points to be taken from the saddeningly empty Gryffindor point tube, Harry asked a prefect where he might be able to find Professor McGonagall and followed their instructions to the staff lounge.

Harry knocked, and to his relief, it was Professor McGonagall herself who answered. Mr. Potter," she greeted, her voice sharply pitched. "What can I do for you?"

Harry held up his schedule. "Well, when looking through my schedule, I noticed there's a blank spot here— Corner says third years don't get free periods or anything so I'm wondering if there was some kind of mistake."

McGonagall stretched out her hand, and took the schedule from him, glancing over it briefly, "Ah, yes. That's no mistake, Potter."

Harry's head tilted slightly, a little confused. "It's not?"

"No," McGonagall replied, returning his schedule.

"As you'll be taking private lessons with Professor Dumbledore in the evenings, we've allotted you a couple of free periods throughout the week. This will give you time to catch up on any homework or extra studies."

Harry nodded slowly, the realization settling in. "I see... right, that makes sense."

McGonagall gave him a sharp nod. "I trust you'll use the time wisely, Potter. Your curriculum courses are just as important as any lessons with the Headmaster."

"I will, Professor," Harry promised.

"Good," McGonagall said, her tone softening just slightly. "If you have any further questions, feel free to ask. Otherwise, I'll see you in class."

The conversation with McGonagall had reminded him of the one he'd had this morning. A shiver raced down his spine as he stopped at an open window, glancing out onto the ground. The weather looked beautiful, and on the rolling hills, Harry saw the sight of older students reading with their backs against the grass, or jumping into the Black Lake, or simply meeting up for a game of cards. But Harry couldn't shake the feeling of what he knew drifted above the clouds and just beyond the castle's gates. Dementors.

He'd done his best to shake the cloaked figures from his thoughts, but it was more his frustration than his fear that plagued him. Remus had taught him the spell, and while he'd never managed a full corporeal patronus, he'd conjured up a cloud of mist in the past. Yet, in the presence of the hollow figures, Harry couldn't even remember to breathe.

Deciding to make the most of his time, and with nobody to talk to, Harry made his way to the Hogwarts library. The smell of parchment and dust filled the air as he stepped into the vast library. Rows of towering bookshelves stretched out before him, and the sound of quiet whispers and pages turning filled the space. He approached the desk where the librarian, Madam Pince, if he recalled correctly, a thin, vulture-like woman with a sharp, hooked nose and the most piercing eyes Harry'd ever seen looked up at him from behind a stack of books.

"May I help you?" She asked firmly.

"Uh, yes, actually," Harry said in a hushed whisper. "Do you know where I can find any books about the Patronus Charm?"

Madam Pince looked up, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly. "The Patronus Charm?" she repeated, scrutinizing him for a moment before nodding. "A bit advanced for your age, no?" Harry had just opened his mouth to speak, but had it shut by Pince who shot up from her seat. "But it's not in the restricted section, so have at it. Follow me."

Harry followed Madam Pince through the aisles, her fingers trailing lightly over the spines of the books as they walked. After a while, she finally stopped at a shelf near the back and pulled out a large, leather-bound tome titled, "The Defensive Arts: Mastering the Patronus Charm".

"This should do," Madam Pince said, handing it to him. "Be careful with that."

"Oh, don't worry, I won't push myself too hard." Harry said. "I just need to-"

"Not you," Pince said, waiving away his words with disinterest. "I was talking about the book."

"Right…" Harry said, waiting for Pince to remove herself from the aisle. "She's great. Can't imagine why students don't come here more often."

Finding an empty table near the back of the library, Harry set down the book, flipping through the pages until he reached the section on casting a patronus. Harry read the instructions carefully, finding the movement of his wand synced perfectly with his muscle memory. "Well, it looks like I'm doing that part right, and I know I have my memory. Maybe I just need more practice?"

He tried to recall his memory, the one that had powered the wispy shield, but doing so seemed to make his head hurt. Sighing, he packed up his belongings, his eyes traveling toward a window displaying the still bright ground below. "I think I just need to get some fresh air and clear my head."

The sweet September air hit him just as he made his way onto the ground. Harry wandered mindless, allowing himself to relax and find a place away from distraction. After about twenty minutes, Harry settled for a spot just on the edge of a lush forest and pulled the book he'd taken from the library out again.

Skimming the pages on the spell instructions, Harry felt confident he remembered the procedure and rose to his feet, his wand gripped tightly in his hand. "Alright, let's give this a shot," he muttered to himself.

He raised his wand and tried to focus on a happy memory. His mind drifted, for a while, Harry wasn't concerned, but as the minutes dragged on, Harry felt his heart start to pound in his chest. He had happy memories, he knew he did, and yet, he couldn't seem to summon a single one on command. Pushing himself to think, Harry tried to remember his trip to Spain and his visit to the Professional Quidditch Facility, something that was still fresh, but the more he forced it, the more blurred and distorted the image became.

"Come on, focus," he muttered, closing his eyes and trying again. But this time, it went far worse. He couldn't even seem to conjure the blurry images any longer, every one of his memories now felt as if they were being assaulted by the sucking face of the black-coated dementors. Then, his ears began to ring, and once more, he heard the woman's voice crying, screaming in his head.

"No, no, no," he muttered, trying to shake off the haunting echo. "Stop it. Stop it now!"

Harry's eyes flashed open and he sat upright with a gasp. Why am I on the ground? Harry wondered, feeling the dewy grass surrounding his legs. He glanced up, seeing the crescent moon coming into view above him. And now it's dark out? Harry glanced down at his watch, and cursed, seeing the time to be ten past seven. "Just great," Harry grumbled, "I'm late to my first lesson with Dumbledore."

Harry stumbled to his feet, wiping the grass from his robes. His mind was still a whirl of confusion, but there was no time to dwell on the strange feeling gnawing at him. As he started back toward the castle, footsteps crunched behind him. Harry spun around, wand at the ready, only to find Hagrid striding toward him, his massive form making him look like a moving mountain in the dim light.

"Harry, thought that might be yeh, what're yeh doin' out here?" Hagrid asked, his thick brows knitted together in concern.

"I... uh," Harry hesitated, unsure of how to explain the situation without sounding like a complete fool. "I sort of lost track of time. I was supposed to meet Dumbledore, but—"

Hagrid waved a giant hand, cutting him off. "No need ter explain it ter me, but yeh shouldn't be wanderin' round this late, not this close to the Forbidden Forest, mind. Dangerous things lurk there, Harry. Somethin's been killin' unicorns, and despite me best efforts, I haven't caught a trace of it yet."

"Something's killing unicorns?" Harry repeated, his eyebrows raised.

Hagrid nodded solemnly. "It's my job to deal with it and even I'm not excited to meet the thing killin' those beautiful creatures." Hagrid waved his hand. "But none of that matters fer now, you said you're needin' to see Dumbledore, let me take yeh to his office. I'll make sure yeh get there safe. Can't be havin' yeh wanderin' about so close to the Forest with that thing still out there."

Harry nodded, following Hagrid whose footsteps equated to at least three of his own. The two trudged up the stone steps of the castle and entered the main hall. Harry tried to keep close to the wall, not wanting to draw any more attention than he needed to.

"Don't ye worry 'bout bein' late, Harry," Hagrid said with a reassuring grin. "Dumbledore's a patient man. Just don't go makin' a habit outta it, eh?"

Harry managed a practiced smile, "That's good to hear. I'll be sure to remember that."

As they reached the stone gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office, Hagrid pressed his hand against it and whispered, "Cauldron Cakes." Instantly, the statue came to life, jumping out of their way and revealing a spiraling staircase. Hagrid then turned back to him, his voice low. "Best get in there now. But Harry... this is important, don't let me catch yeh wanderin' round the grounds after dark again, alright? Especially not near the forest, you understand?"

Harry nodded and quickly stepped into the staircase, fearing the chances of the gargoyle jumping back into position and crushing him. "Thanks, Hagrid," he said securely beyond the statue's base.

"Anytime, Harry," Hagrid said. "Have a good evening. And Harry," Hagrid's eyes looked almost to be swelling with tears. "It's good to see you back where you belong."

"It's good to be back," Harry said honestly, watching as the giant departed and the gargoyle statue stepped back into place. "At least, I think it is."

The spiral staircase carried Harry upward, each step bringing him closer to the door marked with a knocker in the shape of a griffin. It was with a slight tremble in his hand that Harry banged on the knocker. He waited, before knocking again. Just as he'd lifted the knocker again, the door swung open, and Harry almost stumbled inside, his quick instincts being the only thing preventing his fall.

The headmaster's office was circular, with high, stone walls lined from floor to ceiling with bookshelves overflowing with ancient tomes, strange artifacts, and peculiar trinkets. In one corner of the room stood a delicate silver contraption, spinning slowly and emitting soft, ethereal smoke that seemed to form shapes in mid-air. A long, beautifully polished desk sat near the back of the room, behind which was a large, arched window overlooking the Hogwarts grounds, casting a golden hue across the space as the evening sun dipped lower. And at the desk's side, perched on a golden stand, was the most magnificent bird Harry had ever seen.

Its vibrant red and gold feathers shimmered in the light, and Harry couldn't help but stare at it in awe. He had never seen anything quite like it.

"Ah, I see you've noticed Fawkes," Dumbledore said with a smile, following Harry's gaze. "He's a phoenix. Very rare, and very loyal."

The bird let out a beautiful cry that nearly brought a tear to Harry's eye before lowering it's head, beckoning for him to approach. "A phoenix?" Harry asked, still captivated by the creature.

"Exactly right," Dumbledore smiled. "Five points to Gryffindor." Harry heard the tinkling of beads into the nearly empty tube. "Fawkes seems to have taken an interest in you, he seems willing to let you pet him."

Harry did so, amazed by how soft the bird's feathers were in his hand. Though even Fawkes could not eliminate the awkwardness he felt at the way Dumbledore was staring at Gryffindor's nearly empty glass of rubies that denoted their current house points. Wanting to break the silence, Harry took a seat opposite of Dumbledore and finally addressed what he expected Dumbledore to be waiting for.

"I'm really sorry for being late, Professor," Harry said, his voice apologetic. "I kind of lost track of time."

Dumbledore smiled gently, waving off the apology. "Think nothing of it. From what I gather, your first day has already been quite eventful. I understand you've managed to earn yourself two detentions."

Harry's eyes darkened at the mere suggestion of Snape. Leaning back in his chair, Harry huffed, his arms crossing tightly over his chest. "Yeah, well, I wouldn't exactly say I earned them. If anyone deserved a reprimand, it's Snape," Harry said, his tone sharper than before. "He had it out for me the second I walked into his class."

"Professor Snape, if you'd be so kind, Harry," Dumbledore said, drawing a wrapped sherbet lemon from his desk and popping it in his mouth, offering one to Harry, he took it, unsure of how to refuse. "But nevermind that for now, I'm sure you're curious as to why I have scheduled us to meet twice a week here in my office. You know, of course, of the general reason, I am to train you to protect yourself against Voldemort, but there is more to defeating an enemy like Voldemort than fancy spellwork. As such, you will not be needing your wand just yet."

It was a rather disappointed Harry that complied, shoving his wand back into his pocket. "Do not look so dejected, my boy. There will come a time for that sort of training, but there is something far more important we must direct our attention to first."

"Oh," Harry said, his curiosity peaked. "Like what, Professor?"

"It is in regard to the information I possess about our foe." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled behind his half-moon glasses as he leaned back in his chair. "Harry, before I can teach you any advanced magic or share with you the full extent of what I know about Voldemort, there is something you must learn first. It is a skill that, while not often talked about, is of vital importance if we are to have any hope of defeating him."

Harry frowned slightly, leaning forward. "What skill is that?"

"Occlumency," Dumbledore said, his tone weighty. "It is the art of protecting one's mind from intrusion."

Harry blinked, slightly taken aback. "Intrusion? Like... mind reading?"

Dumbledore gave a small nod. "Precisely. Voldemort was, in his prime, a highly skilled Legilimens—someone who can enter another's mind and extract thoughts, memories, and emotions without them even being aware of it. It is a skill he mastered early in his life, and it has served him well in his pursuit of power. He can, in essence, peer into your very soul. If we are to keep our plans hidden from him, you must learn to shield your mind."

Harry's stomach twisted at the thought of Voldemort creeping into his head. "So, you think... Voldemort might try to read my thoughts?"

"In his current state," Dumbledore said, stopping as if processing the question further. "I would say it is unlikely. Legilimency is difficult without a true form, but it is not impossible. And that alone is why I cannot yet share certain... vital pieces of information with you. For now, I must teach you how to block any such attempts."

Harry sat back under the weight of his crushed vision of what he believed his lessons with Dumbledore would look like, but couldn't find a fault in the old wizard's argument. "So," Harry began slowly, "you're just going to be teaching me occlumency? For how long?"

"Yes, that is correct," Dumbledore said, watching Harry carefully. "As for how long, that is entirely up to you. Occlumency is not an easy skill to master, and it will require focus and patience. But I have every confidence that you will succeed. Once you are able to properly repel my attacks, I believe we can move on into more 'exciting' plans for our training sessions."

Harry ran a hand through his hair, trying to process everything. "Alright then. I guess my next question is how do we start?"

With a wave of his hand, Dumbledore summoned a small, thin book from one of the shelves. It hovered in mid-air for a moment before landing gently in front of Harry. The cover was old and worn, but the title, "Mental Barriers: A Beginner's Guide to Occlumency," was still visible.

"This will be your guide for now," Dumbledore said, his voice calm but firm. "Study it well. We will begin practical lessons in earnest next week." Dumbledore stood, removing his wand. "Though as your father was a practical learner, and from what I've gathered from Sirius, you are much the same way, I will allow you to view my mind as an example."

Dumbledore gave Harry a serious look as he rose from his chair. "But before we begin, I must caution you, Harry. What I am about to show you is not something to be taken lightly. Legilimency is a powerful and delicate art, and as with any form of magic, it can be dangerous in the wrong hands. I'm allowing you to enter my mind as a teaching tool, but I must stress this—do not attempt this with anyone else. An untrained Legilimens can cause severe damage to another's mind, even unintentionally."

Harry nodded, listening carefully to Dumbledore's words. "I understand, Professor."

"Good," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling with a hint of caution. "Now, take out your wand."

Harry did as instructed, gripping his wand tightly in his hand.

"I want you to focus on clearing your mind," Dumbledore said, his voice calm and measured. "Close your eyes if you wish, and concentrate on your breathing. When you're ready, you will perform the Legilimens spell. I will allow you to enter my mind."

Harry hesitated for a moment, but then closed his eyes, following Dumbledore's instructions. He focused on his breathing, steadying it as best he could. After a few moments, he whispered, "Legilimens."

The moment Harry cast the spell, the sensation hit him like a jolt of electricity. His mind was pulled into a vast, swirling space, and when he opened his eyes, he found himself standing in what could only be described as a library—a grand, endless library. Bookshelves stretched as far as the eye could see, but instead of remaining still, they moved of their own accord, sliding along invisible tracks, constantly rearranging themselves in a fluid, dance-like pattern.

The air, if Harry could even call it that, felt heavy, and the silence within the moving library was broken only by the soft sound of pages turning and the occasional whirl of a spinning object in the distance.

This is... your mind?" Harry asked aloud, though he wasn't sure if Dumbledore could hear him.

"Yes," came Dumbledore's voice, though Harry could not see the headmaster. "I've chosen to organize my thoughts in the form of a library. It helps me keep track of things."

Harry turned, trying to locate the source of Dumbledore's voice, but instead, he found something—or rather someone—else. At the far end of one of the aisles, a figure stood, tall and imposing, dressed in dark robes. The man's face was sharp, angular, and Harry felt a cold chill run down his spine as he recognized the form from one of Remus' old textbooks.

"Gellert Grindelwald," Harry whispered.

The figure didn't move, simply standing there as if frozen in place, watching the moving bookshelves.

"That is a memory," Dumbledore's voice explained, though Harry still couldn't see him. "Grindelwald, as he was in his prime. A powerful wizard, as I'm sure you know, but not someone to be admired."

Harry nodded, though he found it hard to tear his eyes away from the figure. "Why is he here?"

"Because, Harry," Dumbledore's voice replied, "my mind, like yours, contains memories, both good and bad. What you see before you is one of the more painful ones—a reminder of a past I cannot change."

Harry took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the place press down on him. "It's... overwhelming," he admitted, his voice quieter now.

"That is why you must practice, Harry," Dumbledore said, his tone gentle yet firm. "In time, you will learn to control what you see, and more importantly, what others see should they attempt to enter your mind. For now, focus on maintaining your presence here. Don't let the vastness of it distract you."

Harry nodded again, focusing on steadying himself as he continued to explore the labyrinthine shelves. The books shifted and rearranged themselves, sometimes forming new paths, sometimes closing off others. It was a strange, almost dreamlike experience, but Harry could feel the power behind it all—the sheer force of will that kept this place together.

"Now," Dumbledore's voice said, "I want you to try something. Look for a memory—any memory. Let your instincts guide you."

Harry furrowed his brow, glancing around the endless shelves. He took a step forward, then another, until his eyes landed on a small, unassuming book resting on a nearby shelf. It seemed to glow faintly, almost as if it were calling to him.

He reached out, his fingers brushing the spine of the book, and the moment he touched it, the library around him began to blur and dissolve. Suddenly, Harry found himself standing in a new place—a grand hall filled with witches and wizards, all dressed in fine robes, their faces illuminated by the flickering light of floating candles.

At the center of the hall stood a much younger Dumbledore, engaged in a heated debate with none other than Gellert Grindelwald.

"This," Dumbledore's voice said, "is a memory of our final duel. It was the moment when I knew I had to stop him, no matter the cost."

Harry watched in awe as the scene unfolded before him, the two wizards exchanging powerful spells that lit up the room like fireworks. It was unlike anything he'd ever seen—raw, magical power on a scale he could hardly comprehend.

And yet, there was a sadness to it, too—a deep, lingering sadness that Harry could feel in every word, every spell.

The memory began to fade, and soon Harry found himself back in the library, the books shifting around him once more.

"Well done, Harry," Dumbledore's voice said, sounding closer now. "You've done remarkably well for your first attempt. But remember—this is just the beginning."

Harry opened his eyes, blinking as the real world came back into focus. He was once again sitting in Dumbledore's office, his wand still clutched in his hand.

"That," Dumbledore said with a soft smile, "was a glimpse into what you will learn. But for now, I want you to rest. Study the book I gave you, and we will continue your training next week."

Harry nodded, feeling a mixture of awe and exhaustion. "Thank you, Professor."

Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses. "You're welcome, Harry. Now, off to bed with you. I daresay you've had quite the eventful day."

Just before Harry turned to leave, Dumbledore cleared his throat softly, drawing Harry's attention back to the desk. "There is one more thing, Harry," Dumbledore said, his voice kind but firm. He reached into one of the drawers of his desk and pulled out a familiar piece of shimmering fabric—a long, silvery cloak that seemed to ripple like water in the dim light.

Harry's breath caught in his throat as he recognized it immediately. "Is that...?"

Dumbledore smiled gently and nodded. "Yes, it's an invisibility cloak, your father's cloak to be specific. It was left in my possession many years ago, and now, I believe it's time it is returned to you."

Harry stepped forward, taking the cloak from Dumbledore's hands, his fingers brushing against the smooth, ethereal fabric. "Your father used this cloak many times during his days at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said softly. "I have no doubt you will put it to good use, but I must remind you to be wise in how and when you use it."

Harry nodded, his fingers tightening around the cloak. "Thank you, Professor. I... I'll be careful."

"I'm sure you will," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling once more. "Now, off you go, Harry. Though, as you are your father's son, I feel compelled to ask you not to get into or, I suppose, out of too much trouble with it."

Harry chuckled, "Truthfully, Professor, that I'm not so sure I can promise."

"Oh well," Dumbledore said with a warm smile. "One old man cannot curtail the rambunctious ambition of youth." Dumbledore swallowed down his sherbet lemon and sighed with satisfaction. "Let it be known that I tried. Now, once again, I bid you goodnight, Harry."
"Goodnight, sir." Harry replied, before stepping out of the office, and slipping on his father's cloak.

A/N: So how are we feeling about the definitive edition so far? You see, younger me was very edgy, I think, and at the time, I really liked the idea of this overtly shady Albus Dumbledore, but as I've been re-reading the books, I really grew to like Dumbledore more, and while he's definitely morally a bit dubious, I didn't want to bash him in this fic. Especially because I have mapped out what I want to do with him thoroughly now, which I can't say it was before.

Alright though, that's it for today. Tune in tomorrow for another chapter and don't forget to follow, favorite, and review!