(Hello i just what to let you know that this history is not mine i just re publish it since is have been delete for a long perod of time and no one has republish this history before)

These chapters seem to be getting exponentially longer, so thank you for all of vour kind encouragements!

I recommend you read this in 3/4 of the actual size. The text was formatted in a doc so it looks a little stretched out on ffnet.

Warnings: mentions of possible abuse, lots of magical theory, death, references to a lot of shit, long internal monologues, some philosophical theory bc I am that pretentious (also because I believe that is how Dumbledore, a highly intellectual individual, would think), etc. As the story progresses, I shall have to add more warnings.

A note for this chapter: opinions stated in this chapter (and possibly all future chapters) from any of the characters do not reflect my own.

They are simply my interpretation of the cognitive thought process that goes on in the characters' heads.

He was eleven years old. Finally.

Four years in a muggle home had humbled his soul to the point that he had started to see very simple muggle solutions to very complex wizarding problems. Having being raised in a wizarding family with very powerful witched and wizards, he had never really seen a life out of the wizarding world. Of course, one could not miss what one didn't have, so muggles who lived without magic their entire lives, could have no idea they were missing it.

In any case, he was a wizard, and he had grown to miss that world very, very much. He missed the flamboyant robes, the air that was saturated with magic, the every day accidents that occurred in a place where over three hundred powerful students found themselves losing their control over their magic and blowing up something in their faces, he missed wizarding chess and various wizarding sweets

- Petunia had already restricted his lemon sherbet intake when she had noticed how hooked he was on the muggle sweet.

It was a wonderful summer day. Also coincidentally his birthday, or rather, Harry's birthday. Albus was currently sitting on a swing in the Magnolia Crescent park, adjoining Wisteria Walk which was, as he knew, very close to where Arabella Figg lived. The sun was shining brightly, making the skin on his neck blister a bit and he relished in the warmth that the sun provided.

"Hey Harry!" Albus looked up to see Dudley approaching with a group of boys. One was carrying a black and white football.

"Me and the boys are gonna play some football. Wanna join?"

'"Going to' and 'want to'," Albus admonished, not unkindly. The other boys sniggered at Dudley's expense, the latter rolled his eyes, all too used to the wizard's antics.

"So, do you wanna?" Dudley asked, sarcasm dripping off every word. Albus chuckled and ruffled his hair. His height gave him an unfair advantage over Dudley, who was physically the same age as Albus, and he intended to exploit that as much as he could. One or two of the boys cooed mockingly at the affectionate way Albus treated him. Kindly declining the offer and excusing himself, Albus pushed himself off the swing and started making his way back to Privet Drive. As he was rounding the corner of the street, he heard some distant conversation:

"... Oh, man, I wish my older brother was like that," said one voice.

"He's my cousin," Dudley replied and Albus could almost see him rolling his eyes. "And yeah," his cousin continued, "he's pretty awesome."

A small smile crossed Albus's lips as he slowly strolled up to his house. He passed a few residents of the area and smiled and greeted them by name. He even helped carry Mrs. Robert's groceries up to her kitchen, as her old age was starting to catch up with her. She thanked him with a smile and gave him a cookie or two to eat on the way.

Once he had finally reached the house, he took off his shoes and left them in the foyer; he would clean them later.

"Harry? Is that you?" Petunia's suddenly very timid voice called from the sofa in the living room. Albus frowned - was it something serious? Or maybe... maybe the letter -

Peeking around the open door, he saw Petunia sitting in one of the impeccably clean sofas, holding a letter with a very familiar crest on the back, hands trembling. She looked up when he crossed the threshold into the room and beckoned him to the sofa. She swallowed nervously as he sat down.

Albus could already feel the magic emanating from the envelope.

The very parchment and ink and even the wax functioning as a seal were permeated with magic so profoundly that they seemed like a part of Hogwarts herself. Albus drunk the sensation up. After being restricted from it for so many years... to feel it like this was wonderful.

"Harry, you should know that what I am about to tell you is the complete truth and-" Petunia staggered over her own words and oddly, Albus understood. Petunia had once lost a sister to the wizarding school and was about to let a nephew - her sister's son - follow in her footsteps. "-and I am very sorry that I didn't tell you before."

"You see," she began as she passed the envelope to him. Albus' magic sang in response to the simple touch of Hogwarts' magic.

"Your parents both had m-magic. They belonged to a community of magic-users... And they weren't killed in a car-crash." She took a deep breath. "When I was twelve years old your mother, then eleven, received a letter just like that one. At first no one believed it save for Lily because she had started to control the power that the letter now called magic."

Fascinating, Albus thought, a muggle child that had had enough maturity and consciousness of thought to actually delve into her core? Most adult wizarding folk didn't even know how to replicate the same action.

"Professor McGonagall came to the house and explained it all. There was a school called Hogwarts for other wizarding children, some from magical backgrounds, some born from two..." she hesitated,

"muggles."

"And you are such a muggle," Albus said gently, inclining his head at Petunia. If she was shocked that he would believe her so readily, she didn't show it.

"Yes, I am, Dudley is too. So was Vernon," she said, nodding.

"And my parents? Their death?" He questioned quietly. Petunia bit her lip uncertainly.

"They were m-murdered. Your lot was having a war and towards the end of it, your parents were murdered-" Petunia seemed like she was close to tears and Albus hesitantly took hold of her hand. He tenderly forced the magic in his core to pass on to Petunia like a cloak of warmth and comfort. She gasped and stared at their joint hands, eyes wide.

When they snapped up to meet Albus' there was something accusing in them. "All this time - you knew?"

Albus smiled warmly. "I suspected," he said by way of explanation.

Petunia harrumphed and pulled her hands back, instantly Albus' own magic withdrew, now that the physical connection was gone.

"Well go on, then. Open the letter!" Petunia exclaimed, gesturing at the 'offending' envelope still clutched between Albus' hands.

He broke the seal, marvelling the crest on the front. How many years had he used this coat of arms to seal his own letters? There were three letters inside: one was his acceptance letter (which he was sad but not surprised to see now bore the name 'Minerva McGonagall' as headmistress), the second was his list of supplies and the third was a letter from Filius himself.

Dear Mr Potter,

It has come to my attention that you were raised by Muggles. In such cases, Hogwarts always sends a professor to explain the finer points of wizarding culture and if needed, to provide proof that our society is, indeed, real. If it is adequate for you and your family, a Hogwarts professor will visit you on the 1st of August to give you explanations and to accept your reply if you so wish to attend our school.

Yours sincerely,

Filius Flitwick,

Deputy Headmaster

"It appears that a professor will be coming to visit us tomorrow," Albus said, watching as Petunia's face paled, knowing how much she cared about outward appearances.

"Yes, I suppose that would be good," she managed to force out.

It had been more than four years since Albus had had his last taste of magic (with the exception of his brief accidental magic cases, own magical training and Fawkes' visit) and from the moment he woke up he found himself practically trembling with anticipation. For a wizard such as him who had spent so long so immersed in magic, practically bathing in it, suddenly being jerked to Harry Potter's world where magic was nonexistent was a jarring experience which he found he did not want to repeat again.

However, when a crack, like a backfiring car sounded just a few corners away, Albus sat bolt upright in bed, where he had been reading a text on quantum physics (which surprisingly touched on a few magical theories). A few minutes later, the doorbell rang and he heard shuffling downstairs. The situation had been explained to Dudley and all of a sudden, Albus heard the door next door to his burst open and then the pitter-patter of feet leading up to his own room. Dudley burst in.

"Harry! They're here!" He whispered excitedly. Albus chuckled.

"Come on then, Big-D," he said calmly, although he was everything but that, and gestured to the stairs. "What are you waiting for?"

When Albus walked into the living room he found Petunia already offering the visitor to sit down and have some tea. A visitor who Albus knew all too well. A pleasant smile broke out on his face as he shook Minerva McGonagall's hand, wishing in that moment to do nothing more than hug his former student and good friend.

"Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts," she said kindly.

Her lips were twitching slightly which Albus knew to interpret as a smile.

"This is my aunt, Petunia Dursley and my wayward cousin," Albus said, pulling Dudley (who was starting at Minerva's peculiar travelling hat with wonder) to his side. "Dudley."

He gestured graciously at the sofa opposite him and directly behind Minerva. "Please, sit."

She sat, eying him peculiarly has he stared at her with twinkling eyes. She seemed somewhat disturbed and he realised all of a sudden that he probably reminded her of her old friend and headmaster.

Minerva, in contrast, was drinking in the sight of a healthy Harry.

Something in Petunia and Dudley's disposition had changed over the years. When she had visited them all those years ago, he had seen an unpleasant, rude woman attempting to calm down an equally as rambunctious and spoiled little boy.

Now though, Petunia seemed somewhat calmer; she sat staring at Minerva with the oddest, most pensive expression on her face which reminded the witch of the first time she had met her when Lily had received her own visit. Dudley, the cousin, was eagerly watching on, but he seemed more balanced, there was a maturity in him that she didn't often see in eleven year-old boys.

And Harry - Harry was a whole other story. From the moment he had walked into the room, straight-backed, tall and very self-assured and assertive, she had felt the atmosphere lighten, as though his very presence made everyone more content. His eyes twinkled with a sort of joy of life that she only remembered seeing in one other man.

Minerva forced her mind back to the present. It did no good to dwell on memories of the past, of people long gone.

"I understand that the Deputy Headmaster wrote to you to let you know that I would be coming to visit?" She finally said, feeling slightly awkward in the silence that had ensued after introductions had been made.

"Yes," Harry replied, lips quirking upwards. "And I very graciously accept your invitation to attend Hogwarts. It seems like a wonderful possibility!" He said joyfully. Minerva couldn't help but be unsettled with the odd tone with which he spoke.

Minerva was then forced to spend the next hour or so explaining various ideas and logistical ideas to Petunia such as funding, holidays and so on whilst Harry entertained Dudley. Finally, when it seemed that Petunia had run out of questions for the time being, Minerva stood up causing all eyes to fall on her once more.

"Unfortunately, all of the items on that list cannot be bought in muggle London, as such I will have to take Mr Potter with me to Diagon Alley to visit the various shops and buy his various supplies."

Petunia opened her mouth ask something but Minerva swiftly interrupted her. "Which will be paid with the trust vault Mr Potter's parents left him."

Upon opening the gateway towards Diagon Alley, Minerva turned her eager eyes on the soon-to-be first year, always being one who enjoyed watching the muggle-born or muggle-raised children watch on in wonder as they experienced the wizarding world for the first time. She was not disappointed this time: Harry stared on, a large smile plastered all over his face, full of joy and happiness, as though nothing had ever even come close to this moment before. His bright green eyes were electrifyingly alit with life.

"Everyone is always surprised when seeing Diagon Alley for the first time," Minerva said, silently enjoying the look on Harry's face.

However, there was something else in his physiognomy; something one might look like when spotting an old friend or returning home after a long trip. Banishing the odd thoughts now crossing her mind, Minerva gently pulled him along to the bank.

It was almost impossible to get there in any reasonable time because Harry kept stopping at one or another stand, examining the magical artefact being sold there, then asking for the price, and finally nodding very earnestly. He was inherently curious about everything.

"Mr Potter!" She was finally forced to bark when they had stopped a fifth time so that Harry could examine some sort of pendant that the crooked-toothed man behind the stand promised could make one invisible. The boy looked up from the pendant he was examining, lips drawn in a familiar pout, but Minerva couldn't quite place where she had seen it before.

"We don't have all day!" She called over the chatter of Diagon Alley's residents and visitors. Harry sighed melodramatically, excused himself from the man and slowly and gracefully walked over to her.

"I apologise, Professor."

"Some more seriousness will be advised and required at Hogwarts," she replied with a stern expression. Harry chuckled - yes, chuckled - merrily and eyes twinkling he spoke:

"Life is too important to be taken seriously, Professor McGonagall!" Despite the fact that Minerva was well over fifty years older than Harry, she felt chastised and corrected as though someone older and wiser than her had given her life's true lesson. But that was ridiculous - Harry was just a child!

A short trip to Gringotts ensured that Harry had a pouch of money (that McGonagall told him to spend wisely), and then they 'hit the shops' so to speak. They had just left 'Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions ' with a large order for new wizard's robes (Harry had wanted the oddest combination of colours on his day-to-day robes). when Harry's bright eyes spotted a large shop - Flourish and Blotts - towards the north of the Alley. His whole body tensed with anticipation as he turned to look at Minerva.

"May I-" he gestured at the shop. Minerva pursed her lips and glanced at her watch. They were almost done with Harry's school shopping and only needed to get his wand. His robes would not be done until later that afternoon.

"Very well, Mr. Potter. We shall meet in front of Ollivander's in exactly one hour. I will arrange for your robes to be sent to your home via owl post." She had hardly finished her sentence, when the boy had started nodding to her in thanks and had quickly woven through the crowd in the direction of the book shop.

Albus spent a ridiculously long time simply running his hands up and down books, taking in the smell and reminiscing in old memories he had of obscure texts he had managed to procure over the years in his previous life. He wondered what had happened to his stupendous collection in his personal library at Hogwarts. Come to think of it, he wondered what had happened to his vault at Gringotts.

No doubt Abeforth had inherited it all, after all, he was Albus' only recipient in his will.

Once he picked out the books for his first year from memory, he started browsing the bookshelves for anything he had not yet read or that particularly piqued his interest. He found a few Transfiguration Today magazines on the far wall and purchased a pack of them too, interested to see what deviations this universe had from his own.

The man behind the counter eyed him oddly as Albus dropped a large stack of textbooks, fictional wizarding books, poetry and magazines with no effort at all as though they weighed nothing. This of course, was facilitated with Albus' increasing control over his own magic. In recent months he had found it easier to summon objects towards himself, levitate them and even sometimes control hair length or the weather in certain, confined areas.

Whilst carrying a heavy load of books was no particularly great feat, to Albus, who had been attempting to train his magic to it's previous level, it was a sign that what he was doing, was helping. Exiting the shop, he started wandering in the direction of Ollivander's but soon found himself standing in front of Hippogriff House Cafe, which was located slightly to the south of the wand shop. The Cafe had been one of the first buildings in Diagon Alley that had been destroyed when Tom had started the war in earnest; it had always been one of Albus' favourite places to frequent with Nicholas, when he had been the alchemist's apprentice.

He sat down in the open air terrace and opened his parcel with books to pull out the Transfiguration Today magazine. Flipping it open to a random page, his eyes widened in an instant upon seeing the the column on that page: "' Hélas, Je me suis Transfiguré Les Pieds', A Discourse on Human Transfiguration, by Albus Dumbledore (posthumously)". Biting his lip, Albus read that word over and over again. Posthumously. He had already gathered from Fawkes that Dumbledore of this world and timeline was dead. Minerva was headmistress, that much was clear.

It seemed that magic herself had attempted to balance out the amount of souls in this universe so as not to throw it into a paradox; for if there had been two Dumbledores walking around Diagon Alley... well, Albus surmised that the consequences would not be pleasant. He lamented his other self's death, knowing that his appearance in this world had ripped the Other's life from him. Albus' eyes found the article once more and he winced - to see that word attached to his name...

Albus quickly flipped the page, knowing already what that column comprised, having written it himself years ago. A nice, young waitress walked by him quickly and placed a bottle of Butterbeer that he barely even remembered ordering. Gulping half of it down in one go, Albus perused the magazine, only reading the headlines of articles by authors he knew to be often incorrect, and immersing himsel in those that had interesting deductive reasoning.

"Mr Potter!" Albus looked up to see Minerva standing directly in front of him, hiding the sun from view. Squinting up at her, Albus opened his mouth to exchange pleasantries, but she beat him to it.

"One hour, Potter!" She exclaimed exasperatedly. "I said one hour!"

"Ah," Albus murmured as his eyes dropped on his own peculiar watch (which had five hands, all moving at different speeds that had no correlation with the way muggles assessed time). Two hours had passed

"Yes, Mr Potter. Eloquently put!" She sighed, "Perhaps I ought to transfigure you into a watch? Then surely you will not miss the train to Hogwarts?!"

Albus felt a small blush start to creep up his neck. This had actually been a daily occurrence in his old life as Albus Dumbledore; he would often be late to the faculty's meetings, or to dinner and lunch and had to be often chastised by Minerva to get, ah, how did she put it? - 'A move on!'

Minerva had often called his time wasted when he insisted that he had gotten lost in the castle, or he had ventured too far out into the Forbidden Forest. His answer to that had always been: "time one enjoys wasting is not wasted time", which always led to Minerva rolling her eyes at him and ushering him into whatever room he was supposed to be in.

"I apologise, Professor," he reiterated, suddenly feeling very young in the face of Minerva's wrath.

The transfiguration mistress harrumphed. "I suppose I'll be hearing a lot of that in the future," she said. Her eyes finally alighted on the magazine that Albus was still holding in his hands and her gaze softened and yet, her brow arched in bemusement. Ah, transfiguration and Minerva.

"I myself have a subscription to Transfiguration Today," she said gesturing at the magazine. Albus smiled knowingly. Every time he had sent in a column, Minerva had been the first person at the breakfast table to find that particular page and the first to read it, analyse it and thoroughly go through the theories that Albus proposed.

"May I?" She asked after a moment, outstretching her arm. She flipped through a few pages and then stopped. Her gaze grew even softer and something akin pain and perhaps... love appeared in her countenance. All of a sudden, Albus realised that she had probably found the posthumously published article.

"Most children your age would rather read Seeker Weekly or Spella Weekly, " Minerva remarked. Fascinating, thought Albus, he had never taken her to being a sceptic when it came to a child's intelligence.

"Magical theory fascinates me," he said as lightly as he could but there was an inculpating glint in his eye, challenging her to disagree with the fact that a child could understand the complex topics discussed in an academic periodical such as this. Minerva gave him a considering look before pulling out her wand and spelling the stack of books (that Albus could have carried himself, thank you very much) to float right behind her.

'Well, then, up you get, boy!" She said somewhat impatiently, giving nim back the magazine. "Your wand!"

Albus hadn't been in Ollivander's shop for, ah, many years. Not since he had performed his Deputy Headmaster duties and had taken the Muggleborn wizards and witches to the shop. He wondered why Minerva was the one accompanying him to the Alley, as it was usually the Deputy's job to introduce the muggleborn children to the wizarding world. Perhaps she had wanted to personally see how he had been treated by the Dursleys?

Turning his mind back to the wandmaker, he tried to remember when he had seen him in person the last time, for surely he would have been a very different person back then, with a different spirit and a different aura. He had, however, corresponded with Garrick over the years after Fawkes had donated him the two feathers. Albus had always been interested to see who the wands would go to.

Now, he found himself wondering what wand would choose him - surely not Tom's brother-wand? For Harry's magic had changed too much, Albus had influenced it too much. As for wands, he now wondered where his own were: where was his cherry wand and perhaps more importantly, where was the Elder Wand? Pursing his lips slightly nervously as those thoughts invaded his head, he tried to relax and exclude an outward appearance of calmness and serenity.

Then Garrick appeared out of nowhere.

The man was as barmy-looking as ever: white hair sticking out in every direction, eyes popping out of his skull, and dressed in something that would have been more appropriate in victorian England - the muggle one. His bushy eyebrows moved prominently with every frown, every smile, with every minute expression.

However, the moment his eyes alighted on Albus, they widened a fraction more. The reborn ex-Headmaster of Hogwarts nodded faintly, to confirm any suspicions Garrick probably had. The wandmaker had the rare ability of 'sensing' which allowed him to see deep into another human being's - or indeed, creature's - soul and assess what was inside it. It made him very good at his job.

The man furtively glanced at Minerva, who was examining a wand holster on the other side of the room and Albus gave him a short shake of the head to indicate that no, she did not know who he really was. Garrick's bushy eyebrows arched and he gave Albus a bemused stare.

"Minerva McGonagall," he said at last, jerking her attention towards him. "Nine and a half inches, fir and... dragon heartstring?" Garrick Ollivander left the rhetorical question hanging in the air, as everyone knew that he had got it in one. "I trust it is in good shape?"

Minerva's hand reached to her arm holster to reassuringly pat her wand. "All in order," she said, smiling somewhat tensely. Albus almost chuckled, knowing how uncomfortable she was with types like Garrick; he had been the exception.

"Now, Mr Potter, do you know what kind of wand you want?" Garrick asked, mirth dancing behind his eyes. Albus folded his hands behind his back.

"I'll rather leave that decision up to the wands, sir," he said earnestly.

Ollivander's lips twitched slightly as he turned around to reach up to a shelf overflowing with boxes with wands.

"Right you are," Garrick muttered to the wall and Albus was almost completely sure that he saw the man's shoulders shake in silent laughter. Minerva's frown only deepened with every word they spoke and Albus had no doubt that she felt like she was missing a large portion of what was really being said.

"Ten inches, snakewood, basilisk horn," Garrick said passing the wand over to him. Albus almost rolled his eyes at the ironic humour.

Such a wand was primarily used for dark spells - no light wizard, or even morally grey wizard would or could ever be found in possession of such a wand. He took it anyway and was unsurprised when coldness radiated up his arm. In an instant, the whole shop was filled with a thick layer of frost.

"Ah," Garrick said quietly. Minerva didn't look altogether too amused, but seemed impressed at the powerful display of magic coming from someone that young.

"You're core, young man, is quite active for one of your age," Garrick continued. If Albus were any other person, he would have taken this as a compliment, as only more mature wizards had very active cores. But seeing the dirty look briefly cross the wandmaker's face, he concluded that the man was actually making fun of how old he really was.

Ollivander hummed and examined him for a moment. Then, spun and disappeared into the small walkways snaking through his large storage area. Albus stood in relative silence, allowing his magic to roam free. Once or twice, he caught Minerva staring at him, whether because this was the first time he had consciously used magic in front of her or because he had started to hum a song he had always hummed when touring the hallways of Hogwarts, he didn't know.

Finally, Garrick reappeared in front of them, carrying not a box this time, but a long object wrapped in a cloth. He gently placed the wand on the counter between him and his two customers while they looked on in curiosity. The wandmaker then slowly unwrapped it and Albus mouth popped open: laying there, innocently, was a wand which had brought much tragedy both in recent history, and in the distant past.

This was the wand that had inspired his obsession with the Deathly Hallows. This was the Elder Wand.

He heard Minerva gasp next to him and he realised this was because she recognised it as 'Dumbledore's wand', but not as the Elder Wand. In his old age, Albus had taken to protecting and disguising his powerful wand. Whilst many others had advertised that they indeed, had mastered the unbeatable, legendary wand, he had kept it under wraps, seldom letting people have a good look at it. Not even Minerva had known the true nature of his wand.

Gingerly, Albus reached to take it: his fingers had only touched the handle when the room exploded in bright, golden light, giving them and the passers-by outside, a show of fireworks. Albus felt a sudden giddiness at being reunited with his old wand. It seemed that the Dumbledore of this world had died peacefully and in his sleep; the wand had been masterless for all these years and had seemingly deemed Albus a good enough match. It vibrated in answer to his theories and he smiled knowingly, being well acquainted with the Elder Wand's semi-self consciousness.

"Very good, very good!" Garrick exclaimed, clapping his hands, watching the last dregs of the fireworks sink over all surfaces, melting the frost that had previously befallen the entire store. Albus could still feel Minerva's eyes boring into him, silently demanding questions and he felt a sudden urge to tell her everything; confess who he really was.

He refrained though, for now, his only mission was to find the Horcruxes and defeat Tom once and for all; the more people became involved, the more he would endanger. Perhaps one day, when it was unavoidable, he would confess everything to her.

It took the pale and shocked Minerva McGonagall some time to convince that he could stay in the Alley a while longer and still find his way back to his muggle home. And when Albus finally did, using his usual sharp and precise language, he persuaded her to take the Floo back to Hogwarts. Eventually, he was left alone and to walk around as he pleased. Once or twice, he bumped into a student he knew from his Headmaster years, and remarked how much different it was to see them from this angle; after all it had been a while since he had been a student himself.

Albus spent some more time in Diagon Alley, visiting shops that he had once frequented and wandering off to some more obscure parts of the area to get the more, ah, off-market supplies.

All around him he saw children doing their Hogwarts shopping, more often than not with their parents or friends. Conversations involving the words 'sorting' and 'quidditch' 'Hogwarts' often wafted to his ears and he found himself wondering what house the sorting hat would put him in. Even after all these years, he still wasn't quite sure how the Sorting Hat functioned. He had always theorised that it reflected one's soul back to oneself, showing each student what he wanted to become. More often than not, the person in a certain house - a Gryffindor, for example - spent all the years at Hogwarts displaying no chivalry, pride or bravery. The sorting hat simply seemed to tell the students what virtues they valued most of all

Albus had been sorted into Gryffindor the first time around, and yet, he found himself pondering what he valued now. Certainly not pride?

For pride was what had led him to Gellert. No, certainly not. He valued knowledge, but also loyalty. Not for the first time, Albus let out a sigh of frustration. What he had originally thought would be an interesting ride, had become a long, never-ending, slow progression of events. He needed his magic to mature so that he could finally start putting events into motion!

He was so immersed in his thoughts that he barely noticed the other, slightly shorter boy that he almost overran. They both ended up on the floor, massaging their sore heads.

"I do apologise!" Albus exclaimed, upon straightening himself and pulling the other boy to his feet.

"It's okay," the other boy said nervously and Albus recalled from memory that this was Neville Longbottom. The future Hogwarts student was still massaging his head when a smartly dressed, elderly woman, with an odd hat - was that a stuffed vulture?!

"My, my, what is going on here?" Augusta Longbottom asked, dusting off her grandson.

"I bumped into your grandson, I do apologise," Albus said as he started to recall her as a student. He remembered her having a petty rivalry with Minerva over transfiguration. The woman harrumphed and placed a hand on her grandson's shoulder whilst Neville cowered his head slightly. Albus frowned, remembering how timid the boy had been throughout his Hogwarts years.

"Hogwarts too, dear?" She finally asked, attempting to fill the awkward silence that had settled between them.

"Yes, first year," he replied, eying Neville who had just perked up upon hearing him say that.

"Oh, well then you'll be with Neville," Augusta continued, patting her son's shoulder. "We're hoping for Gryffindor, of course."

"I was unaware that students were sorted with their grandparents," Albus said with a deceptively light tone. Augusta's eyebrows drew together at the fashion with which Albus spoke to her.

"No, indeed not," she said slowly.

"Slytherin seems like a perfectly wonderful house too, don't you think Neville?" Albus continued in that same light tone. Neville seemed caught between his grandmother and Albus and he shrugged.

"Slytherin is the house of vices," Augusta said snootily, raising her nose into the air. Albus stared tragically at her, disbelieving that she could truly see no good in the serpent's lair.

"Though ambition is a vice," he said quietly to her watching as Neville hung onto every word he spoke. "It is often times the cause of virtues," he paused, "And our lives are more tied to our vices and faults than our virtues." Memories of Ariana, of Gellert, of Abeforth of Severus and of ever other person he had ever failed swam to the forefront of his mind. Faults were what defined him.

Augusta's eyes narrowed as she stared at him, evidently deep in thought. Then without another word, her grip on Neville's shoulder tightened and she started moving away. But when Albus started to walk back up to the mouth of the Alley, he took one last look over his shoulder and found a smiling Neville staring right back.

Nicolas Flamel was an odd man, certainly, but nothing was odder than the company he kept on a regular basis. He was just escorting a large half-giant, half-goblin creature (with whom he'd spent the afternoon drinking) when he heard a tapping upon his study door.

Frowning, he ascended the stairs to his open study, wherein he found a beautiful phoenix sitting atop his desk. A phoenix he knew all too well.

"Fawkes!" He cried out, approaching his desk and all of a sudden noticing a piece of parchment that the creature had dropped on a pile of parchment that was to become Nicolas' next research book.

He sat down in the plush chair and motioned the bird to climb onto his shoulder. Fawkes seemed particularly chippy - more content and at peace than Nicolas had seen him in a long time, certainly the happiest he had been since Albus' death. He wondered briefly if the phoenix had found a new master, and then instantly discarded that thought. Fawkes would never switch loyalties, even with a dead master.

Odd, he thought, fingers swiftly opening the envelope. Muggle paper.

Who had Fawkes trusted enough to let them use him as a messenger - and why did this evidently magical person use muggle paper?

He gasped when he read the signature at the bottom of the page: it was signed as ' your dear friend, Albus'. Nicolas almost instantly threw the letter out, but was quickly stopped by the thought that Fawkes now sat on his shoulder and there was no other person in the world who Fawkes would ever find worthy enough to deliver letters for other than Albus.

" Dear Nicolas, the letter read. His eyebrows skyrocketed at seeing the familiar spidery script and emerald ink.

"I fear I will have to be quite blunt this time: I am Albus Dumbledore.

Currently, I am inhabiting the body of one Harry James Potter, whose soul has long since dissipated. It is now, for the first time in years, that I have been able to reconnect with the wizarding world. As you are aware, I once left Harry with his muggle relatives in Surrey - it has proven to be a quite isolated area indeed! Only recently, did I even have my first taste of magic and that came in the form of my Hogwarts acceptance letter!

Due to this, my muggle family has given me certain allowances; among them Fawkes, whom I can finally keep at my side (providing he does not expose himself to our neighbours) without fear that the muggles will do anything to him.

Despite Fawkes being a very trustworthy companion, I am hesitant to write any more - ah - sensitive information in my letter to you. I would very much like for us to meet and discuss certain topics. Tom Riddle will rise once more and I fear that I will need your help to defeat him once and for all. In the meantime, I beg you to remove the Philosopher's Stone from Gringotts; I have it on good authority that a break-in at vault 713 will take place later this year.

I have instructed Fawkes to stay, should you want to make further inquiries.

Your dear friend,

Albus

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(Hello i just what to let you know that this history is not mine i just re publish it since is have been delete for a long perod of time and no one has republish this history before)