Two Boys of Right & Wrong and the Greater Good

Harry fell through a world of blinding sunlight and landed on soft grass. Looking around, he saw a massive grand mansion before him, but it was miles away. Around him was a garden, on which two young children played in circles. Their parents looked on some feet away on a picnic blanket, the woman with a small bundle in her arms. The family was dressed in old clothing suited for the late 1800s, and much too warm for such a sunny day, but they didn’t seem to mind.

“Slow down, Albus!” The smaller of the two boys was yelling, and Harry walked closer, easily passing through the tall grass, watching as he lunged forwards and tackled the older to the ground, laughing and batting him playfully.

“Clearly I don’t need to!” Albus shouted. It was jarring seeing Dumbledore so young, his face still plump with baby fat and hair vibrant red like Ron’s. “You got me anyway!”

The woman giggled behind Harry and he turned to see Kendra Dumbledore stand, holding her husband’s hand. “Come along boys, unless you want to miss teatime.”

“Do we have to?” Aberforth groaned, rolling off of his brother and onto the grass, though Albus was standing and brushing himself off, straightening his grass stained tunic professionally.

“You must,” Percival said. “This tea is with the Minister of Magic and many of his colleagues. You’ll want to be respectful, won’t you, Aberforth?”

Albus turned and held out a hand to his brother. “C’mon, Aberforth, we don’t want to keep the Minister waiting.”

“You’re such a -” Aberforth cut himself off, gnawing at his lip. Albus frowned, dropping his hand and watching him carefully.

“I’m a what?”

“Nothing,” Aberforth mumbled, standing and running forwards. “Forget it.”

Albus frowned but, after a call from his mother, ran forwards after him as well. The memory faded in plumes of dark smoke and Harry looked around, confused for a moment when the smoke didn’t fade except turn gray, then realized, when a little girl raced past pushing a cart stuffed with luggage, that they were at King’s Cross on Platform 9 ¾. Walking forwards he spotted the Dumbledore family. Percival and the little baby Harry knew to be Ariana - who would now be a young girl - were missing, and that simple fact made the energy around this incomplete group dark like a cloud that hung over them.

Albus, much older now with his red hair in a mullet, was hugging his mother around the waist. She kissed him on the forehead, whispering, “I love you, my darling,” then instantly straightened up. Albus turned to his brother, standing a good foot away with his arms folded grumpily, and opened up his arms. Aberforth hesitated, but took a cautious step forwards and embraced him.

Stepping back, he swatted the hand Kendra attempted to rest on his shoulder and his mother glared at him.

“Aberforth! What is the meaning of this?”

“You know what the ‘meaning of this’ is!” He spat, resembling his older self jarringly well when he yelled. “Ariana should be here!”

Albus winced as Kendra gasped and looked around them, grabbing her sons and pulling them close. “You know we don’t speak of her in public! What has gotten into you?”

“Maybe I’ve just grown a backbone and seen sense!” He shouted, pushing away from her and nodding at his brother. “Unlike Mr. Perfect over here.”

Albus frowned as he watched his mother and brother begin to shout, and their fight became muffled in Harry’s ears, he couldn’t make out what they were saying, and he knew that was because when this had happened to Dumbledore he hadn’t been able to either.

Instead, the world around him suddenly became still and quiet, save for a voice, shaky and childlike, drifting in through his very mind.

“I can’t believe it. Why now? Just your luck, Elphias…”

Albus turned and Harry did as well, spotting what he did almost instantly; a boy the same age as him, a First Year, whose skin held a greenish tint and many pockparks. He was hunched over, meek looking, and anyone who passed was quick to send him a disgusted look. Even his parents, talking to his older sibling beside him, didn’t touch him.

He met Albus’s eyes, and the ginger boy smiled, waving. His watery eyes widened and he waved back, though his mouth was open and he looked stunned to be given such kindness. Harry realized at that moment the voice he had just heard was this boy, and he’d just heard Albus accidentally listen to it with Legilimency.

The scene faded again then, and when the smoke reformed he was in a train car, looking down at the green skinned boy as the door slid open and Albus stepped forward.

“Hello there,” he greeted with a smile, though frowned briefly behind him, where Harry could just catch hints of students whispering his name. He shut the door and plopped down on a cushioned seat in front of the boy. “I’m Albus Dumbledore,” he announced, stretching out his hand to him, and the boy carefully took it, shook it, then recoiled.

“You shouldn’t touch me,” he said, voice as shaky as it had been in Dumbledore’s head.

“Why not? Everyone with half a brain knows Dragon Pox isn’t contagious anymore once you lose the purple rash.” He pointed a finger at the boy’s face. “I don’t see any rashes.”

“But… most people… they don’t…”

“Most people aren’t kind,” said Albus, shrugging his shoulders, and, as if to confirm his claim, there was a sudden pounding on the door and the boys turned to see a group of older kids grinning and pointing fingers at Albus, jeering and calling him names.

Rolling his eyes, the ginger calmly rose and removed his wand, and the kids gasped and scattered at the sight of it. All the while, the boy watched him in wonder, clearly believing him to be an impressive wizard even at eleven.

And Harry had to admit he looked cool as he turned, slipped his wand up his sleeve, and asked, “So, what’s your name?”

“Elphias Doge,” the boy choked out, and while Albus gave him a small smile the memory faded, reforming to show the Great Hall. The House tables were stuffed with more people than Harry had ever seen before, and a witch holding the Sorting Hat in one hand and a scroll in the other was reading off the names.

She had auburn hair with streaks of gray cut through it and a round, wrinkled face, and when she called out, “Dumbledore, Albus!” she spoke with a cheery accent.

Albus walked forwards with his head high, even as some wizards and witches whispered to each other his name, something about his father, and something about his sister. He plopped down on the stool and the Sorting Hat was placed onto his head. Behind him, Harry saw the Headmaster seated at the staff table was a man in fine black and green dress robes with pitch black hair and a long pointed beard. Phineas Nigellus Black.

“Let’s see… Quite a strange boy you are, aren’t you?” the Sorting Hat was saying, and Harry heard it as if in his head just as he had when he was a First Year. “Brilliant mind, a great deal of loyalty, but I see a heart of gold down there, yes, yes, I do. Yes I’m sure you’d do well in… GRYFFINDOR!”

Albus beamed as the witch removed the hat and jogged towards the Gryfifndor table that had instantly erupted in cheers, finding Elphias already waiting and patting an empty seat for him.

“We’re in the same House!” He exclaimed, and couldn’t look happier about it. The memories exploded in black puffs of smoke and reshaped rapidly into the grounds outside. A line of brooms were set on the ground and an asian witch with black hair, wearing old fashioned blue Quidditch gear and directing lines of First Years.

“Mount your brooms!” she announced, and Harry watched as Elphias struggled to climb onto his but Albus climbed on with smooth efficiency. “Now, I think you all can go for a clean test drive, just make sure to stay a few feet above -”

But Albus wasn’t listening. He had kicked off the ground and soared into the blue with a natural Seeker’s speed and skill, doing stunning loopy-loops that even some grumpy Slytherins had to stare in awe up at eventually. The flight instructor ran circles below him, shouting for him to get down, but he only lowered on his own account, grinning and sighing.

“That was incredible!” Elphias exclaimed, whom he’d landed beside.

“Where’d you learn to fly like that?” a Ravenclaw girl asked.

“From my…” Albus hesitated, and Harry realized it must have been his father, whom he was told not to mention. But before he could answer the excited compliments of his schoolmates were silent and he was listening to another’s thoughts. This time the flight instructor’s voice.

“I’ve never seen talent like that before… He’ll go far, I know it.”

Once again, the figures exploded in puffs of smoke and reshaped in the sky above the Quidditch pitch. Albus was cutting through the air with that same natural Seeker’s ability, dodging past scarlet and emerald robes alike, in pursuit of the golden snitch. His fingers closed around it, and cheers erupted all around. The memory faded and the little eleven year old was being hoisted up on the shoulders of a much larger Seventh Year girl with dark hair and skin, his fellow teammates cheering him on.

“Youngest Seeker in… I dunno when! Well done, Albus, well done!” A tall boy with curly red hair and freckles cheered, high fiving him, and Albus beamed.

The next memory was inside a bedroom pristine and clean, its walls untouched and bed neatly folded, wrinkled only for the presence of an open but empty suitcase on it. Albus sat at a desk propped up beside it and before a window, one of two in the room, the other with a small bay window area to sit with cushions. He was viciously scribbling at a long roll of parchment, the letter upon it already long enough for an essay to rival Hermione’s best. Layering his table, and the shelves around his room, were an uncountable number of trophies.

It was clear that even as a teen, Dumbledore had already exceeded grandly and accomplished a great many things.

A knock sounded on the closed door, and Albus called out, “Come in,” in a clipped voice Harry wasn’t used to hearing him use. The door slowly creaked open, a small form crossing the threshold. It was a young girl, her blonde hair braided in plaits on her chest, her dress spotless and conveying, along with her aura, an inherent air of sweetness. It wasn’t hard to see the resemblance the young Ariana Dumbledore had to the portrait in the Hog’s Head.

“Al?”

“Hello, Ari,” said Albus, turning in his seat and rolling up the letter, steepling his hands with his elbows balanced on the arms of his chair, not unlike he would many, many years later. “How are you?”

She shrugged her shoulders and walked over to his bed, hopping up on it, and frowning at the suitcase beside her.

“Mommy will be mad you haven’t packed…” It was Albus’s turn to shrug, and she smirked as he leaned forward and teased, “What’s she gonna do? Not send me to school?” The little girl giggled. She was hugging a small stuffed toy to her chest, a phoenix, but one of its button eyes had popped out. Frowning as he noticed this Albus held out his hand.

“I can fix it for you, if you want?” She slowly shook her head.

“Mommy says if I don’t want Fawkes to get hurt anymore I should learn to control it,” she said, staring down at her socks as she kicked her feet, which hovered off the ground over the side of the bed.

Albus frowned, and Harry saw within the piercing stare the want to agree. It was the same look he had on the train station years prior, before turning on his Legilimency and silencing out the world instead. And again at school. He did the same thing here, but this time he pried into Ariana’s mind, but all Harry (and Albus) could hear was screams. Recoiling, he shook his shoulders and turned back to his letter as if nothing had happened, though by the way she had blinked, startled, Harry could tell Ariana had noticed.

Ariana glared. “Stop doing that. You know I don’t like it when you do that! It makes it worse -” She gripped her forehead, and Albus looked up, stretching out a hand, but she pulled away, running through the door. Through the threshold Harry saw Aberforth walk past, but at the sight of his little sister running past he froze, looked at the door to his older brother’s room, still ajar, and scowled.

“Albus!” he roared as he pushed the door open. “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” said Albus softly, unrolling his letter once more and dipping his quill in an inkwell.

“’Course, because you never do anything here do you? You win all these shiny things back at school, but when you come home to us you ignore her like she’s not your own blood!” He froze, a sparkling realization dawning in his blue eyes, identical to his brothers. “Or are you becoming like them purist folk? Think she’s lesser?”

Albus’s quill froze an inch above the paper, upright, and Aberforth scoffed, shaking his head. “That’s what I thought…”

With that he turned and slammed the door, shaking the trophies on their shelves. A drop of ink fell from Albus’s quill onto the page and he groaned, pushing the letter aside and dropping his quill in the inkwell, staring up at the ceiling. Slowly, he rose from his seat and crossed the threshold of his room to a small bookshelf at the head of his bed, picking out a book on the top shelf. Flopping down on his bed, careful to avoid the empty suitcase, he opened up the book and began reading.

The title read; Obscurists and Everything You Can Do to Help Them.

The memory faded. They were in a huge, high ceilinged hall of a castle, not unlike the Great Hall but grander and somehow darker. Circular tables filled the place instead of long rectangle ones, and the room was mostly filled with brilliantly scarlet cloaks over tunics, about twenty blue uniforms standing out against it all plus twenty red, blue, yellow, or green Hogwarts cloaks.

At the head of the hall, where all eyes were turned, stood the Goblet of Fire, and the sight of it caused a surge of panic to lurch in Harry’s throat as for a moment he was fourteen again, and Dumbledore was reading out his and Draco’s names. But instead he watched a woman in long red dress robes pick the final slip out of the flames, and knew her to be the Durmstrang Headmistress of Dumbledore’s time.

“Albus Dumbledore!” The Hogwartians around the teen boy shouted with triumph and glee as they patted the redheaded teen - who looked the same age as he had in the memory before - on the back and pushed him forwards. He waved modestly and jogged forwards.

The memory exploded, and reformed into the same hall, but lit by blue candles and dazzled in falling magical snow, wizards and witches dressed to the nines waltzing all around Harry. The Yule Ball. His eyes found one wizard leaned against the concessions table, swirling a drink, and he walked towards Albus in time to watch as a blonde boy in a Durmstrang uniform bumped into him in reaching for the butterbeer.

“Apologies,” the teen choked in a German accent but Albus waved a hand.

“No, no, mein fehler.” The boy hesitated, then turned and met Albus’s gaze. It was now Harry was thrown backwards by the realization that this teen, with the German accent and Durmstrang uniform and curly blonde hair, was Gellert Grindelwald.

“You know German?” he asked Albus, who shrugged his shoulders.

“Bits and pieces. Helps me out of tight spots.”

“Well I’d say it’s impressive,” he nudged him in the shoulder. “Keep working, Albus.”

The ginger chuckled, and was that a blush to his cheeks? Must’ve been the butterbeer, but he did laugh awkwardly as the future dark wizard walked away, realizing too late he’d known his name and looking up, confused for a moment, before shaking his head.

The memory faded, and Harry was surprised to not see more of the Triwizard Tournament, but instead a much more aged Dumbledore - his red hair was longer, pulled back in a ponytail tied with a blue ribbon - standing outside of his home with a rucksack slung over his shoulder, a plain and ordinary looking oil lamp at his feet. A crack sounded and he turned and beamed as an older Elphias Doge walked forwards.

He was no longer suffering any effects of Dragon Pox, skin white and freckles with pink cheeks, hair blonde and combed. He was hunched over by the weight of the luggage strapped to his back.

“Elphias!” Albus exclaimed, laughing jollily, “I told you to pack lightly.”

“Oh believe me,” the other boy groaned, one of the many bags popping out from under its strap and dropping onto the grass. “This is light.”

Albus shook his head, exasperated, and looked out onto the street idly. Muggles were walking back and forth, pausing and staring at the pair of boys in tunics and cloaks in confusion before continuing walking by. Harry realized, with a start, that he’d seen this place before; it was Godric’s Hollow.

Beyond a high bush and gate boarded around the house, a carriage was rolling across the pavement to a stop before the house neighboring the Dumbledore’s. Albus, who was staring up at the blue sky with his hands on his hips, spotted it and hesitated, staring.

“Who is that?” Came Elphias’s voice and Harry turned to see Albus’s friend had stepped up beside him, staring as well at a blonde form hopping out of the carriage, then disappearing behind the bushes.

“I dunno…” Albus muttered, then shook his shoulders and turned to his friend. “But it doesn’t matter, does it? We’re off! We won’t be back here for a year. We’re seeing the world and cementing ourselves as wizards history will never be able to ignore. We -”

His joyous words were interrupted by a sudden explosion behind him. Harry wheeled around, stunned, as the windows of the side of the house were shattered outward and something black and dark, twisting through the air like smoke burst out, and hung, suspended in the air for only a moment, before recoiling back where it came from, leaving shards of glass stuck in the flower bed around the house and the broken window panes in its wake. Turning once more, Harry saw Albus and Elphias had been blown backward by the force of the explosion, the latter looking fearfully at the house while the former got up and brushed himself off, scowling.

“What was -”

“Wait here,” he commanded his friend, and marched for the door, Harry hurrying to follow.

Inside the house the living room was a mess; furniture had been thrown this way and that, a chandelier shattered on the floor, its sparkling glass pendants scattered around it. A young teen girl stood at the center of it all, her older brother knelt before her, squeezing gently on her arms.

But Albus didn’t look at his siblings, he was focused immediately on the body slumped against the overturned sofa, limp with the head hanging forward, hair shadowing an aged face.

“Mother!” Albus shouted, and bolted across the threshold to Kendra, lifting her carefully off the sofa and kneeling down with her on his lap, brushing her hair out of her face to cup it gently. It was still and unmoving, the eyes wide and staring upward, unseeing, as Crabbe and Fred’s had.

Two clear tears fell on the cheeks and Albus rounded on his siblings, but his brother was already standing glaring down at him, fists balled. Ariana cowered behind him, hugging herself and shaking.

“If you send her away,” he threatened, wagging a finger and looking admittedly intimidating even if he was a good deal younger, “I swear Albus I don’t care where you run I’ll find you -”

“We’ll hide her away,” he said calmly, ignoring his brother’s threats as he turned back and set the sofa back on the floor, carefully shifting his mother’s body to lay across it. “She’ll never resurface from this house,” slowly he stood, facing the window, back to his siblings. “She’ll be safe that way.”

“Safe?” Aberforth yelled, eyes wide and mad with anger. “Who cares if she’s safe if she never even gets to live?!”

“She won’t live if she leaves this house, Aberforth!” Albus wheeled around and now he too was yelling into his brother’s face, a fury in his eyes like none Harry had ever seen in his older self. “Don’t you understand that? Obscurists are killed for what they have if they live as long as she has! Killed or studied. I’ve done the math, there’s no way around it!”

“You’re the genius,” Aberforth spat, “I bet you could find a way -”

“This isn’t about intelligence, this is about the law. Do you think I like that she has to live like this?” He’d stepped up close to his brother’s face enough that he was practically breathing down his neck, and his voice had gotten dangerous in its lowness. “I hate it. But I can’t change the law and give Obscurists rights, nor can I magically make a cure. I’m not -” He took a shaky breath and sighed. “I’m not all powerful.”

“Wow,” Aberforth breathed, backing up and smirking up at his brother. “That must’ve been really hard for you to admit, huh? C’mon, Ari,” He slipped the little girl’s hand in his and walked off.

She turned at the last second before disappearing, and stopped, Aberforth being pulled to a halt as well by her hand.

“Albus,” she said, stretching out a hand, but the eldest Dumbledore had turned and stared at his dead mother’s face, fists balled at his sides.

“Go.”

“Albus -”

“I said GO!” He turned and roared, and Harry himself was even thrown backwards, as Ariana was, by the shock of seeing his mentor scream like that. “I am the man of the house now and I order you to LEAVE!”

Crying, Arian ripped her hand from Aberforth’s and fled up the stairs, screaming in pain as she gripped at her heart, and Aberforth soon followed, shouting her name, voice becoming more distant as Albus sank to his knees before his dead mother’s body and flung himself over her, beginning to weep silently as well.

Harry remained standing, stunned, even as the black smoke of the memoires reformed to a house, one he recalled from being inside himself months prior when Nagini, disguised as an old woman, had led him in and nearly succeeded in killing him.

Now, Albus, dressed in a black mourning tunic and cape strode up to the front door and knocked on it, flicking a speck off his shoulder and sighing up at the sky. Harry got the sense that this was a man who felt confined, with much bigger things exploding in his thoughts than visiting his neighbor’s on a Muggle street.

“Good morning, Albus!” The door swung inward and a young woman stood in its wake, smiling warmly up at him. Already Harry could see the resemblance to the old woman who’d attacked him and his friends in her warm face. “Come on in, come on in,”

She gestured him inside and he obliged, unclipping his cloak and hanging it on the wall, clasping his hands behind his back formally as the woman led him forwards.

“Why is it you called me, Ms. Bagshot?” he asked her as she got busy making tea in the kitchen and he leaned against a counter. Clearly he’d been in this home before.

“Oh please, call me Bathilda,” the woman said, batting a hand and turning with a wide smile. “But as to answering your question, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.” Albus raised his eyebrows, and Harry could instantly tell he was intrigued. Though he remembered where this story went and felt his heart sink. “My great-nephew has come to stay with me after a most unfortunate incident at school and, well, seeing as your friend has left you here alone, I thought you might like some company.” Albus opened his mouth to protest but she wagged a finger at him. “Uh uh, I know that look. You’re aching for some adventure, and isn’t meeting a foreigner always one?”

“Foreigner?” Albus asked, raising his eyebrows higher.

“Oh yes. My sister, Brynhild fell in love with a German man from Durmstrang during the very same Triwizard Tournament you participated in recently, isn’t that right, my dear boy?” Albus nodded, though his face looked grave. Harry remembered being told the tournament had been canceled due to the death toll, and could only imagine what incident had to have played out during his experience. “This was of course many years ago, but she gave up everything to move to his homeland. Now her grandson has come to stay with me. He’s your age, very bright. I think you two will get along quite nicely. Gellert!”

Albus turned, and slipped on the counter, straightening with a stunned expression as the same blonde that had bumped into him during the Yule Ball walked around the corner, a book tucked on his arm, giving an identical charming grin. The only difference was that he was now a good deal taller than Albus, and maybe more handsome.

“Hello,” he greeted, outstretching his hand. “I’m Gellert Grindelwald.”

“Albus Dumbledore,” his future defeater said, taking the hand and shaking it politely. “I - I think I’ve seen you before…”

“Gellert watched your Tournament three years ago,” Bathilda said, stepping over and placing a hand on her grandnephew’s shoulder. “You might have seen each other.”

The boys didn’t look at her, however, focused only on each other. “I recall you knew German?” asked Grindelwald.

Albus blushed as he had then. “Not well -”

“You underestimate yourself. Wen halten sie fur den besten Propheten?”

“Viele wurden es anerkennen Cassandra Trelawney, aber ich bevorzuge Tycho Dodonnus.”

Grindelwald beamed. “This man is certainly cultured,” he said, pointing a finger at him and nodding approvingly to his great-aunt, who shooed them away.

“Well don’t bog me down with your smart people talk. Go on, go on!” Slowly, the boys turned and walked away, exiting a backdoor into a garden behind her house Harry remembered Ron plowing through with his car.

“Do you study many prophets?”

Albus winced. “No, sorry, I’m actually what one might call a critic of Divination.”

Grindelwald gasped and exaggeratedly placed a hand on his chest. “He wounds me!” Albus laughed but kept his eyes trained on him as he did so. The boys sat criss cross on the grass and the German one leaned back and gazed up at the sky with a smile.

“You know, Albus Dumbledore,” he said. “I think you and I will be good friends.”

“I’m tending to agree, Gellert Grindelwald,” said Albus, leaning back as well and watching the clouds. “I’m tending to agree…”

Harry didn’t miss the way their fingers inched closer to each other across the grass before the memory faded. Each memory thereafter appeared in quick succession, showing a timelapse of the boys talking in this garden, sometimes on their backs, pointing up at the clouds, sometimes on their stomachs, reading books, jotting down notes, and occasionally turning to debate a certain topic to one another.

“Would the race that came first have anything to do with it? Are you suggesting that wizards were the first?” asked Albus of his friend in one memory that paused to let Harry hear their discussion. They were sitting up against a tree, books open in their laps, Albus eyeing the blonde beside him with a look of adoration Harry had seen Draco give him countless times. It was the same way Ron and Hermione looked at each other as well.

“Of course I am,” Grindelwald replied immediately, idly watching a bird as it landed on his finger. “How are Squibs made? I believe all Muggles are long descendants from Squibs, and their magic has all died out.”

“So you buy into the popular theory, then,” asked Albus, adjusting to lie against a flower bed so he could face Grindelwald. “That purebloods possess more magical power than half-bloods?”

“Of course I do,” Grindelwald said with the same confidence he had in the previous statement. Albus frowned and he turned to look at him, then widened his eyes, a dawning coming to them. “You’re a half-blood, aren’t you?”

He straightened, “My mother was a Muggle-born, but she was a very powerful witch -”

“Then I could be wrong,” he contended, turning as well to lie on his stomach, chin propped in his hands. “A man can’t be right about all his theories. Enlighten me.”

“Well, Aldabert Waffling writes…” His voice was drowned out as he turned the book to show Grindelwald, but Harry noticed how those heterochromic eyes never flicked to the pages but remained fixed on Albus’s blue ones. The timelapse continued, this time showing the boys getting ever closer physically, ending in them having fallen asleep, backs pressed together, hands holding on under the night sky.

Albus’s eyes fluttered open and he startled at the sight of the hands wrapped around each other’s but when he shifted Grindelwald did too, only further into the ginger’s shoulder, his other hand reaching to wrap around his waist. Albus smiled softly, and placed an even softer kiss upon the blonde curls on Grindelwald’s head.

The memory dissolved and reformed around the pair in what must have been Grindelwald’s room, nearly empty with too bright wallpaper and a rug that certainly didn’t suit him. It was a guest room, and it was clearly temporary.

Albus was pacing back and forth before Grindelwald’s bed, where the blonde sat crisscross, smiling at him idly as he watched him pace, rubbing his thumbs over a long scroll of parchment in his hands.

Albus stopped abruptly, turning and brandishing the scroll. “Are you sure they won’t think us -”

“Mad?” Grindelwald shrugged. “Of course they will, but all geniuses start with the wider populace believing them mad, don’t they?”

Albus didn’t look completely convinced, so Grindelwald rose and stepped forward, taking his hands and pressing a gentle kiss to them. “They’ll love you because I love you. Du bist mein größtes gut. You are my greatest good.”

Albus beamed at him lovingly, cupping his chin with one hand and leaning in for a kiss. “I love it when you speak german.”

As they kissed the scene dissolved once more, Albus standing back in his own room, dropping a copy of the Prophet on his desk, the front cover displaying the moving picture of him and Grindelwald laughing from Rita Skeeter’s book. He turned and didn’t at all seem startled, as Harry was, by the sudden appearance of Aberforth in his doorway, scowling.

Slowly, his brother turned and walked away, but Albus immediately followed, calling out his name.

Aberforth halted before his door a few feet down the hall, Albus stopping in his open doorway.

“I… Gellert and I…” He straightened, seemingly finding the courage and the words. “We’re leaving soon. The traditional Grand Tour, you know, I never got to make it -”

“Of course,” slowly, Aberforth turned to look his older brother dead in the eye, younger but once again so much more dangerously intimidating. “Don’t want to be bogged down by the common folk too much, do you, Albus?”

He immediately slumped. “Aberforth -”

“What exactly did you think was gonna happen to Ariana? Or do you even remember you have a little sister,” he stepped forward tauntingly, tilting his head. “When was the last time you saw her, Albus? How old is -”

“Stop!” He raised his hand, eyes wide, almost manic like. “You don’t - no right -”

Aberforth only grinned. “Of course I have no right. I’m just the idiot goat-crazy brother, right? And you’re the future Emperor of Muggles.”

Albus gasped, a flash of horror crossing his features and Aberforth nodded. “Oh yeah, I’ve seen what you two write up. What’s this by the way?” He tore a crumpled piece of paper out from his pocket and unfolded it, showing Albus, and Harry, craning his neck to see the symbol of the Deathly Hallows drawn in the ‘a’ of Albus’s name. “You’re calling card? A secret code?”

“It’s just a rune,” Albus lied smoothly, pecking the paper out of his brother’s fist. “Nothing special -”

“Uh huh… When did you plan on telling the family about your new boyfriend, huh? You never bring him up. Again, you never see us -”

“Will you shut it?” Albus unexpectedly yelled back. “We’ve been over this, I’m out of my element here. I don’t know how to run a family and I never expected to… to… to…”

But Aberforth, and even Harry, knew the end of that sentence, and Harry honestly couldn’t blame the younger Dumbledore for backing away, shaking his head disappointedly.

“I hope you enjoy your new life, Albus,” he told him, turning for the door.

“Aberforth!” Albus cried, rushing forwards but the door had already slammed shut and he was pulling on only a locked handle. He could’ve unlocked it with magic, of course, but with a solemn respect of privacy he sighed and turned, freezing at the sight of the far too small teen girl at the end of the hallway.

The stuffed phoenix in her arms was ratty and torn. Her dress was unwashed, her braids falling apart. It was a horrific sight of a neglected child, to say the least. Albus watched her with a face full of guilt then, sucking in a shaky breath, he slowly stepped forward and knelt before her, taking her bony hands in his.

“Hi, Ariana, you’re probably very confused -”

“Who’s Gellert?” She asked, her voice never smaller.

“My boyfriend,” he explained and when she frowned, added, “I love him, romantically.”

“Okay… Do you… Kiss?” She smiled mischievously at the thought and he threw his head back and laughed in a way so similar to his older self’s laugh it made Harry smile reminiscently.

“Yes, I guess we do. But, you should know, I’m going away with him soon.”

Surprisingly, although this was probably because she had been eavesdropping, she didn’t ask about where he was going or seem startled by the news at all. Instead she asked rather bluntly, “Why?”

Albus, for a moment, appeared caught off guard by this question, but after a moment managed to gather himself and find the words, explaining, “Well… We have these plans, you see. Plans for a… New World.”

“A ‘New World?’”

“A better world,” he added, smiling at her reassuringly. “A world where wizards and witches, people with magic, can keep the Muggles in line.” Ariana seemed to shiver at the word.

“Daddy used to say… that Muggles were cruel and violent and barbaric. They don’t understand us, so they fear us.”

“Exactly,” in a way which made Harry cringe, Albus seemed to gain courage from her words. “Exactly which is why we must control them,” his hold on her hands tightened on the word ‘control’ and at her flinch he looked down and let go of them immediately. “Sorry…”

“Will I be safe in this New World?”

He looked up, and Harry was genuinely curious to hear his response. Would she? Surely he knew Grindelwald would see her as a science fair project at best but instead of pointing out that obvious truth he smiled, tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and kissed her forehead.

“You’ll always be safe, Ari,” he whispered, and as the memory dissolved once more, Harry felt his stomach churning sickly.

Albus and Grindelwald stood in the back garden of Bathilda’s home under the midnight sky, faces still and solemn. Slowly, they walked towards each other, and the following ritual they performed could not be coherently explained through Harry’s understanding. It was some sort of a blood ritual, involving cutting open their hands and pressing them together, and at some point they were muttering incantations in another language. Eventually, the boys let go of each other’s hands and held them out, and slowly, like drops of blood from the cuts in their hands, two red beads rose up and combined to form a silver, diamond shaped pendant, a long chain wrapped around it.

Grindelwald beamed at his lover, who had released a shaky sigh at the sight of the completed blood pact, but when locking eyes with him, he instantly relaxed.

Harry was anything but relaxed as the scene dissolved once more and this time arrived at something jarringly similar to Albus’s almost departure with Elphias, but this time he and Grindelwald were both traveling lightly, their stride strong and proud, that of two people ready to conquer the world together, and their disappointment was very clear then they were forced to stop walking towards the doors at the sound of the ginger-headed ones name.

“Albus!”

Harry turned along with them to look at Aberforth, his heart sinking deeper than he would have ever thought possible.

He was standing atop the grand, curved steps, shaking his head, disappointed, and when he reached the polished entrance hall floors he burst forward, yelling out, “What the hell are you playing at?!”

Grindelwald ran forwards and held the younger man back as Albus raised his hands as if bracing for an attack. Harry could understand what Grindelwald was attempting to incoherently mutter into Aberforth’s ears was supposed to be calming, but the broader ginger pushed him away harshly and only looked more angry.

“So that’s it, huh? You thought you could sneak off without so much as a goodbye? What is this I hear about you controlling the Muggles, huh? Making some ‘New World?!’”

“She’s my sister too, Aberforth,” said Albus, though he looked betrayed that his little sister, who probably didn’t know any better, had gone and tattled to him.

“That doesn’t make her someone you can drag into your elitist nonsense. And what the hell have you done for her all summer? All your life?”

“Back down you stupid little boy, none of this concerns you.” Grindelwald’s voice was so calm in the middle of all that anger it sent a chill down Harry’s spine.

“I’m not talking to you Gellert,” said Aberforth, sending him only a second’s long glare before turning back to his brother, “I’m talking to my brother, or should I say, future ‘King of Muggles’?”

“Well, we haven’t thought of titles yet,” Grindelwald mocked with a smirk creeping up the corners of his mouth but Albus stepped forward, grabbed his shoulder.

“Gellert no -”

“Don’t you see how he talks?” Aberforth yelled, pointing a finger at the blonde German. “He’s a self-righteous prat and on the path to be a murderer! What do you think will come of our sister in your ‘New World,’ Albus?” Albus swallowed, pale as a sheet, and Aberforth scoffed, shaking his head. “That’s what I thought…”

“I think you’ll be more worried what will come of you, little boy, if you don’t let us go,” Gellert said, voice dripping with an evil that made Harry instantly realize why so many wizards and witches feared him as much as Voldemort. His once handsome features contorted, as Riddle’s had at this age, to the point that Aberforth took a shocked step back, before quickly straightening and glaring at his brother.

“Are you blinded by love, Albus? Can’t you see who this is? He just threatened me -”

“I can do a lot more than that.”

“Albus! Aren’t you listening -”

“Where’s your sister? I know a couple of spells I’ve been dying to -”

Aberforth, having seemingly given up on his brother, whipped out his wand and had it pointed at Grindelwald’s head in second, though the older teen only laughed and laughed, stepping back, which allowed Aberforth - and Harry - to see that behind him, Albus had drawn his too, but looked incredibly shocked at the movement.

There was a long moment where the brother’s simply stared at each other, each with a mixture of hurt and betrayal and anger Harry couldn’t understand - for he’d had no siblings - only Grindelwald’s sick and cruel laughter filling the high ceilings and empty air, until they slowed to a stop, and Albus only had a second to look to his love, concerned, before Aberforth had let out terrible screams Harry knew could only have one source; the Cruciatus Curse.

Sure enough, Aberforth was rolling and convulsing on the floor and screaming for his life, and through those screams Harry could make out both his siblings names, before the scarlet tendrils connecting the horrible spell to the tip of Grindelwalds’ wand shattered, and all parties turned in shock to see Albus standing between his brother and lover, wand raised, having just thrown up a shield charm.

He slowly turned to Grindelwald, and both of their eyes found the bloodpact hanging on his lapel. Sneering, Grindelwald slowly turned his wand onto Albus, and Aberforth rose shakily to his feet, raising his wand to both. Thus, three jets of multicolored light fired around the hall and it dissolved into chaos.

Harry struggled to keep track as the three boys ran and dived across the room, avoiding and firing spells interchangeably, but he did notice whenever lights fired from Albus and Grindelwalds wands met, the boys were blown backwards, convulsed, or simply cried out in pain, the pact on the latter’s lapel glowing stubbornly, and giving Aberforth the opportunity to hurt either of them.

Harry also came to notice, as he backed away from the scene to get a clearer view, the sound of footsteps, and, turning, he watched in horror as Ariana Dumbledore descended the steps, hands cupped over her ears, wincing at the display before her.

“Stop… Fighting…” She pleaded through gritted teeth, running the final steps onto the polished floors and watching, horrified, as her brothers and a man she didn’t know clashed brutally against one another, too fast to keep up with.

“Stop fighting!” She screamed, but still they took no notice over the sounds of bangs and crashing furniture and decoration.

Harry stepped forward, hand raised, whispering for her to stop too, even though he knew it wouldn’t work. She’d always run forwards as the three boys, each collapsed on the floor from each other’s spells, rose to each fire onto one another. She’d always get caught where the three spells met, and the light would always be far too blinding to tell which was which.

One second she was there and the next -

Harry blinked as the scene came back into focus. Four bodies laid sprawled across the floor. The youngest boy immediately jumped to his feet and dived for the young girl lying on the floor. As he carefully raised her into his arms, Harry was painfully reminded of Tess Whitlock’s body, broken like a porcelain doll. Ariana looked even smaller in death and far more kind, a peaceful creature that he felt like weeping over as Aberforth howled and sobbed into her fair blonde hair.

The door banged open and Harry glimpsed the figure of Grindelwald bolting across the grounds but couldn’t care, as the Dumbledore’s clearly didn’t, as he watched Albus crawl across the floor of shattered objects and charred wood, stopping to sit on his knees and watch his brother cry, silent tears racing down his cheeks.

In Ariana’s eyes lay her last tears as well, slipping down her cheeks as Aberforth’s grip on her limp body shifted.

The scene dissolved into a second montage. Harry watched Aberforth reel his fist back and punch his brother so hard he stumbled back into the tall white cake that had been prepared for Ariana’s funeral. Then he saw Albus shaking hands with Bathilda, who looked upon him with pure grief, empty words of reassurance passing between them.

Harry came to realize he was rising off the ground, and could barely gather himself before he was being pushed forward at a fast rush, memories and snippets of conversation flashing by too fast to keep track. He was flying through the years, he realized.

“Don’t worry, Bathilda, I’ll be happy in Paris. Flamel’s a good friend.”

“Have you heard about Gellert Grindelwald? They say he can do things with a wand you’ve never seen!”

“Aw, look, ol’ Gregorovitchs was robbed, they’re closing for the winter…”

“Please, Dumbledore, if you could just consider our offers -”

“I’ve considered them enough by attempting to meet with you, Diggory. It’s still no.”

“Why would you like to be considered for the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher?”

“Grindelwald seems to be on the rise at a rapid rate as he appears at a rally during a Durmstrang Quidditch match - before being abruptly forced off the field by the Headmaster, of course.”

“Ah, Travers… What’ll it be this time?”

“Ten Muggles dead, yet it appears Grindelwalds support only gets stronger by the minute.”

“They say he saw an Obscurus kill you, Albus, and now he’s looking for one. This is no laughing matter.”

“They’re still convinced that you sent me to New York.”

“You told them I didn’t?”

“Yes, even though you did.”

“Pureblood or not, I know this; an Obscurus grows in the absence of love as a dark twin.”

The memories slowed, and Harry was being lowered onto solid ground again, left spinning on the spot to try and see where he was as the black smoke around him formed back into solid shapes. A classroom, with desks pushed off to the sides and tall open windows. It took him a moment but with a start Harry realized he was in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom at Hogwarts, and that the man before him, leaned against his desk casually with an auburn head of long hair and beard beginning to grow gray hairs, must be Dumbledore. Which made the stone faced looking people all around him in robes Aurors - he could tell by the uniforms.

“Newt Scamander is in Paris.”

Dumbledore tilted his head, and it was clear even to Harry he was feigning innocence in the playful way of his he knew from present day. “Really?”

“Cut the pretense,” the Auror speaking was clearly the leader in the room, stepping forward strongly, wrinkled faced. Powerful. “I know he’s there on your orders.”

“If you’d ever had the pleasure to teach him, you’d know Newt is not a great follower of orders.”

The Auror didn’t seem pleased by this, instead removing a small book from an inside pocket in his robes and tossing it at Dumbledore, who caught it and began flipping through it idly.

“You’ve read The Predictions of Tycho Dodonus?” Harry straightened, recalling that name from the first time he and Grindelwald had met. They’d mentioned him and Grindelwald had commented on his knowledge of Divination; the man must be a Seer.

“Many years ago.”

“A son cruelly banished, despair of the daughter, return -”

“Yes, I know it.” He placed the book down and sat upon the desk, still very casual, though the Auror didn’t shift in his business tones.

“There’s a rumor this prediction refers to the Obscurial. They say that Grindelwald wants -”

“- a highborn henchman,” He nodded, now avoiding the Aurors’ gazes. “I’ve heard the rumor.”

“And yet Scamander appears wherever the Obscurial goes, to protect him. Meanwhile you have built up quite a little network of international contacts -”

Now he was back to staring back at him with the same piercing blue gaze Harry knew so well. “However long you keep me and my friends under surveillance, you’re not going to discover plots against you, Travers, because we want the same thing: the defeat of Grindelwald. But I warn you, your policies of suppression and violence are pushing supporters into his arms -”

“I’m not interested in your warnings. Now,” Travers sighed, the air suddenly becoming slightly more relaxed. “It pains me to say it, because - well, I don’t like you,” the two men chuckled for a few moments before Travers continued, stepping forward, Dumbledore turning away. “But... you are the only wizard who is his equal. I need you to fight him.”

The desperation was hidden in subtext but still there, and in the eyes of all the Aurors watching carefully for Dumbledore’s reaction. And, after a moment, they got it, as he sighed and met Travers’ gaze to say simply, “I can’t.”

Travers barely took a second to remove his wand and raise it, asking, “Because of this?” and projecting an image out of smoke of the forms of a young Dumbledore and Grindelwald, facing each other, before it faded to just so Grindelwald, smiling at the old man watching him with clear grief and reminiscence in his eyes, the likes of which Harry had never seen in the present.

“You and Grindelwald were as close as brothers.”

“No, we were closer than brothers,” he instantly corrected, still staring at the memories with a look of agony and remorse.

“Will you fight him?” Travers repeated, strong, slow, and desperate without subtext now, but Dumbledore tore his gaze away and stated much more simply this time, “I can’t.”

Travers stepped back, looking very regretful, but not as much as he could because, as he had said earlier, he didn’t like him. “Well then you have chosen your side,” he said, flicking his wand and conjuring silver bands, like cufflinks, over Dumbledore’s wrists that glowed brightly for a second before fading.

“From now on, I shall know every spell you cast. I’m doubling the watch on you, and you will no longer teach Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

Dumbledore spared him only the slightest of glances before turning and leaning against his desk, rubbing his wrists while Travers turned to a tall man standing at his side. “Where’s Leta?” he whispered to him, “We need to go to Paris!” With that he turned and stormed out, the Aurors around him following, the man slow.

Dumbledore turned, calling out, “Theseus.” The man kept walking until the second call - “Theseus,” then he turned back, looking quite regretful. “If Grindelwald calls a rally, don’t try and break it up. Don’t let Travers send you in there. If you ever trusted me -” he started to smile as Theseus faced him fully, clearly sensing trust, but then -

“Theseus!” The man turned for the door, but gave Dumbledore one last look before he left, and the older man smiled a smile Harry would’ve given his life at the service of.

Maybe he was gullible, he thought, as the memory dissolved and he was standing in another classroom, facing a woman seated behind a desk, hands tracing the worn wood reminiscently. There was no other way to describe her then tragically beautiful, in robes of purple which were cut along her body attractively but expensively. Behind her, Dumbledore strode in, came to a halt, and smiled.

“Hello Leta, this is a surprise.”

She smirked, rising from the desk and turning to face him. “Finding me in a classroom? Was I such a bad student?”

“On the contrary, you were one of my cleverest.” he insisted but she retorted back coldly.

“I said bad, not stupid,” she eyed him up and down, frowning. “Don’t bother answering. I know you never liked me.” She turned for the door but Dumbledore called after her.

“I never thought you bad.”

“You were alone, then. Everybody else did. And they were right. I was wicked.” She kept walking but this time he followed her.

“Leta, I know how painful the rumors about your brother Corvus must be for you.”

“No, you don’t,” she protested, cold. “Not unless you had a brother who died too.”

“In my case, it was my sister,” Dumbledore confessed.

“Did you love her?” she asked bluntly, but looked curious. He sighed and stepped closer, talking gently.

“Not as well as I should have done. It’s never too late to free yourself. Confession is a relief, I’m told. A great weight lifted. Regret is my constant companion. Do not let it become yours.”

Harry eyed the past Dumbledore with as much curiosity as this mysterious witch, seeing, perhaps for the first time, all the love he did truly have for his sister without a fraction of taintedness. He thought of Draco, suddenly, and unexpectedly, as the memory dissolved and he felt himself pushed forward in time again. He thought of the way he held his hand, the desperation in his eyes whenever he constantly pushed him away. Had he been distant? Would he become regretful?

He looked around, confused. Dumbledore was seated at a restaurant in a Muggle suit surrounded by Muggles in Muggle clothes. His beard had grown just a tad longer. Not only that but he looked a bit out of place, simply sitting and staring forwards, occasionally twitching his fingers.

A waitress with a dark bob approached him, placing a cup of dark tea before him. He looked up, as if suddenly broken from a trance, and smiled. “Thank you.”

“Would you like something else?”

“No. Not just yet - I’m waiting. I’m…” He seemed to contemplate for a moment, frowning, before saying, “I’m expecting someone.” She nodded and bustled away, leaving him to drop a cube of sugar in his cup and stir it idly, leaning back in his seat after a moment and closing his eyes, sighing.

After a long pause, a light seemed to fall over his face, and Harry turned to see a man standing before him, tall, hair steel gray, but heterochromia eyes giving away his personage. He is also wearing a crisp Muggle suit.

“Would this be one of your regular haunts?” Grindelwald asked, gesturing around him.

“I don’t have any regular haunts,” Dumbledore responded, smiling, and Grindelwald did too as he took a seat across from his former lover. After a pause of studying his face, aged but no doubt just the same as he remembered it - Harry knew the feeling; he was in love as well, of course - Grindelwald spoke again.

“Let me see it.”

Dumbledore turned his hand over. Coiling around it tightly was the chain of the blood pact the two had made as boys. The chain slithered like a very narrow Nagini around Voldemort’s neck.

“Sometimes I imagine I still feel it around my neck,” said Grindelwald, eyeing it almost affectionately. “I carried it for so many years. How does it feel around yours?”

The graying, auburn haired man leaned forwards. “We can free each other of it.”

He sighed, studying him for only a second before looking around, as if trying to change the subject by stating, “Love to chatter, don’t they, our Muggle friends. Though one must admit: They make a good cup of tea.”

“What you’re doing is madness,” said Dumbledore, trying to meet his gaze again even as he avoided it.

“It’s what we said we’d do.”

“I was young. I was -”

“- committed,” he cut in, meeting his gaze seriously. “To me. To us.”

Dumbledore only frowned, not tempted by the seduction for a moment, shaking his head. “No. I went along because…” Though he did falter just a second.

“Because?” Grindelwald pressed, and was that hope in his eyes?

“Because I was in love with you.”

Grindelwald smiled, softly nodding with a “Yes,” then leaning forward as well. “But that’s not why you went along. It was you who said we could reshape the world, that it was our birthright.”

The waitress returned, placing a cup before Grindelwald who took it without so much as a smile. Instead the men sat, stewing in each other’s silence for a long moment, before, with a long inhale, he continued. “Can you smell it? The stench? Do you really intend to turn your back on your own kind for these animals?”

Harry startled. The shapes around their table were slowly disappearing.

“With or without you, I will burn down their world, Albus. There’s nothing you can do to stop me. Enjoy your cup of tea.” With that he rose from his seat and strode off, and all around Dumbledore, his surroundings lit up in flames, before all dissolving in black smoke, leaving Harry to be thrust forwards through the years again.

Distantly, he heard Grindelwald’s voice calling out, “Who will love you now, Dumbledore?” before he landed, with a jolt on a ballroom floor.

It was a wedding reception, he gathered by the dark skinned lovely woman passing by in pale wedding robes with the Auror from before - Theseus? - on her arm, and once again Dumbledore was seated with a cup of tea before him. Slowly, a man crept up and sat beside him. He had curled chestnut bangs hanging over his forehead and a very awkward disposure. The clip on his black cloak over his dress tunic was tilted, but he also seemed quite nice.

“It was a lovely ceremony,” said Dumbledore, nodding to the man. “You gave a wonderful speech -”

“Yes, well Theseus wrote about half of it for me.” The two men chuckled, but the awkward one leaned forward, avoiding eye contact shyly as he asked, voice quite serious, “Is it true Grindelwald held a rally in Petersburg-”

“Newt I don’t want to talk about this here,” Dumbledore immediately said, looking around worriedly though everyone around him was passing by seemingly happily enjoying the wedding reception. “Besides, I thought you were very clear about being ‘out’ of the war.”

“Well, it is a war, Dumbledore, one can never be truly -” He looked up, seeing Dumbledore had narrowed his eyes seriously, and sighed. “Alright I want to get back in the field - but you can’t tell Tina!”

“I’m sorry did I just hear that right,” The shy man jerked and looked over his shoulder at a round man in a Muggle suit who had just appeared at his shoulder, frowning at the two and curiously speaking with an American accent. “You want to get back into this crazy war?”

“Sweetie,” Suddenly an exceptionally beautiful woman with an American accent as well who reminded Harry alot of Anthony Goldstein appeared at the man’s arm, frowning as she stroked his cheek. “Did I hear that right? You want to go back into the field? I thought we talked about this…”

“Okay there has been a big misunderstanding,” said Dumbledore, raising his hands up placently. “Nobody’s getting back to the fight, Newt simply asked me a question.”

Harry frowned. Was this shy man the Newt Scamander? The - well he actually knew null about him but Hermione always talked about him like he was important.

“Well that’s a shame.” Yet another American appeared, sliding into a seat beside the shy man. She was just as beautiful as the blonde woman but in a more modest way, her dress robes much more covering. “I’ve been feeling ready to punch a German purist.”

“Aren’t you an Aurora or something? Don’t you do that every day?” The American man asked.

“Auror,” the woman corrected, eyes narrowed. “And no, since Newt’s latest arrest in Australia Theseus and I have been stuck categorizing Grindelwald’s followers -”

“Busywork.” Newt muttered but she plowed on.

“- which is very respectable work and I am not in the dog house -”

“Nobody said you were Teenie,” said the blonde American.

“ - besides, look at Theseus! He’s doing the same work as me and still managed to turn his life around! Must be nice to be married, right, Scamander?”

The shy man rubbed at his temple, and Dumbledore, looking between the group of clear friends, sighed, rubbing his own before leaving forward and confessing, “Alright, yes, I’ve been looking back into Grindelwald’s activity -”

“Yes!” Newt and the American woman cheered while the man and blonde woman groaned.

“Sh!” Dumbledore hissed, though he seemed to be growing a smile. “Travers has been planning an intervening at Grindelwald’s next rally in Hamburg. Coincidently, he wants the old team to help…”

His sentence was never finished as the memory dissolved and Harry found himself standing in a train compartment, Dumbledore leaned against the window and stared out of it morosely. The door slid open, and Newt Scamender stepped in, dress attire abandoned for a worn blue traveling cloak.

“Remind me again why we couldn’t use a Portkey. Besides making Jacob upset, of course.”

“I gave him his fake wand back, he’s fine,” said Dumbledore, smiling, and Newt chuckled as he took the seat across from him. “But if you must know this is yet another case of Grindalwald not comprehending that which he deems to simple to… ‘see.’”

Newt nodded. “Such as Muggle transportation. You’d think after all these years he’d learn. But then again…” he leaned forward, his next words soft. “Have you?”

Dumbledore frowned. “What on earth are you getting at, Newt?”

“You aren’t ready to fight Grindelwald,” he said bluntly, and Dumbledore leaned back, rolling his eyes.

“Not you too…”

“I’m serious! You barely beat him in Bhutan, you let him go, and you have avoided the war ever since. Now you think you can take him on because if you don’t the Ministry’s threatening to take you out of the field and you know you’re the only one who can take him down but you still care about him. That or Aberforth’s threatening you. I suspect blackmail.”

“You sound like Lally.”

Newt beamed. “Well she is my sister-in-law. I like her much better than my brother,” he pointed a finger forwards, “But you dodged the question.”

“That wasn’t a question.”

“Statement then.”

Dumbledore sighed, rubbing his temple with two fingers then strengthened again. “Yes, maybe I’m not ready and out here because the Ministry and my brother aren’t happy, but I am the only one with any hope of taking Grindelwald down. Newt,” he leaned forwards as well. “My sources say he’s looking to assassinate a major German leader. A Muggle by the name of Adolf Hitler.”

Harry did a double take, his jaw dropping to the floor.

“Why would he do that?” asked Newt, brows creasing in confusion while Harry thought up a billion reasons why.

“I suspect it has to do with the second World War he predicted three years ago. But the point is he may be ever closer to winning over a whole population of wizards and witches if we prevent this war. Sometimes we must let the wheels of time… turn.”

Harry frowned, knowing, sensibly, he probably was right but also knowing full well the outcome of these particular wheels.

He saw the same pain reflected in Newt’s eyes. “I… Dumbledore I saw that war. Back in Paris. We all did. I don’t know how you’re going to convince anybody to let that happen.”

“This isn’t about the greater good, Newt,” said Dumbeldore, making Harry startle. He thought everything was always about the greater good. What had he misunderstood? “This is about the greater evil. The Muggles can annihilate their own world; what Grindelwald wants will result in the destruction of both worlds.”

As Harry was left to stew with these foreboding words, Newt pushed on. “Still hasn’t got me convinced you’re ready.” Dumbledore sighed.

“You know I once told Leta it’s never too late to free yourself. I need to free myself of Grindelwald. As long as he’s out of a cell in Nurmengard I’m never going to be free.”

Newt nodded, soaking in the statement, then looking up, smirking. “Nurmengard? His own prison? That’s cold.”

Dumbledore shrugged. “Seems fitting.”

The memory dissolved, and reformed on a stone street. Crowds of citizens were pushed into buildings, gawking and jeering at two men pacing around each other in a circle, wands out, eyes narrowed. Dumbledore and Grindelwald. Something in the air and something in his heart told Harry that this was the final duel. The one he’d first heard of from Draco and heard comments about all year from others. The one that started this journey with the Elder Wand ending with the Quartet.

Technically it started with the Peverell’s, but under the orangy sunrise of dawn and before a crowd of eyes, Muggle and magical alike, the setting seemed much more fitting, to use Dumbledore’s own words.

“You don’t know what you’re doing, Dumbledore,” Grindelwald called, looking just the same as he had in the restaurant, except for a new, much darker look to his eyes. “Step aside, and let me save our world.”

“No. There won’t be any of your ‘for the Greater Good’ nonsense today, Gellert. Today it ends.” Dumbledore however had grown his beard down past his collarbone now and looked about half auburn and half gray.

“You once believed in that so-called nonsense, Albus, don’t you remember?”

“I do, but I also remember telling someone many years ago that regret was my constant companion. You killed her before she could overcome hers, but today I’m prepared to overcome mine.”

Grindelwald tilted his head, sneering, then rolling his eyes. “You disgust me.”

“Brilliant, then we’re both overcoming our regrets.” He declared, then fired a jet of purple light out of his wand which Grindelwald dodged but met with another spectacular spell.

Once again, the following fight couldn’t be described in words. Harry had heard of the magnificence of this fight, and Hermione said Rita claimed in her book it was too fantastical to exist, but this was magic the likes of which he couldn’t describe. Neither of them said a word when casting their spells, and the spells they used Harry was sure he hadn’t even learned about in school. He found himself backing up to stand with the rest of the crowd, staring wide eyed and awed like a Muggle.

It was with a sinking feeling, however, that he realized, along with the horror struck faces of the crowd, that he could tell Dumbledore was losing, and this was only made into fact when, while firing projectiles back at each other that kept transfiguring into different objects in the sky via boxes they had levitated and were jumping between, Grindelwald’s wave of daggers became too much for Dumbledore’s tiring attitude and sent him spiraling down to the pavement.

“No!” Harry shouted out instinctively, though sensibly he of course knew Dumbeldore wouldn’t be able to hear him as he groaned on the floor, rising to his knees while Grindelwald hopped his way down to the ground, laughing as he went.

“Surrender now, Dumbledore!” he declared as Dumbledore, to Harry’s horror once more, coughed up blood. Then, as the German maniac grinned at his victim, he realized suddenly his fear was ridiculous; he knew Dumbledore would win, so instead of cowering in the crowd he stepped forward and looked around for any sign of the solution.

But that didn’t help him feeling horrible when Grindelwald sliced his wand through the air - the Elder Wand - and Dumbledore spiraled backwards in the air like Draco had hours before, falling into a massive water fountain many feet away instead of a stone wall, however.

Tauntingly, Grindelwald stepped forward, his wall of daggers following him, but halted, along with Harry, following him, when they both heard a faint, faint sound.

It was a sound he hadn’t heard in a very, very long while, ringing through the air brilliantly, literal music to Harry’s ear. Birdsong, the likes of which he’d never heard in anyone other than the source of it, soaring out of the fountain and spinning in the air, letting tiny droplets of water shower the mob of watchers, before the orange phoenix spread its wings as Dumbledore slowly rose up before it, the wings framing him as if they were part of him.

Grindelwald stood frozen, horrified at the scene, and Harry found faintly hear him whispering, above the birdsong, “‘Return great avenger, with wings from the water…’” He then straightened, managing half a sneer as he strode forwards proudly. “And so the phoenix has at last found the Dumbledore in need. Let’s see what a bird can do to save you now.”

Dumbledore only scowled at him, the fearcity in his gaze the likes of which Harry had never seen before. Not when he broke in Moody’s office, not in any of his younger years; this was Dumbledore at his most formidable. It couldn’t be plainer how he had fully overcome all his fear and regret as he rose the Sorting Hat his brand new phoenix must’ve brought him and tore the Sword of Gryffindor right out.

Grindelwald’s daggers flew forward madly, and Harry triumphantly glimpsed he looked scared, but Dumbledore merely easily conjured up a large golden shield to shield his body against them, then pushed it aside and struck the sword through the air against the boxes Grindelwald now attempted to slam into him. He walked smoothly and gracefully, the phoenix following his every move, and Grindelwald stumbled back further, looking more and more terrified, until finally he poked the tip of the blade straight through his robes and pinned the german to the floor.

“Do you yield?!” He bellowed, his voice causing the audience (and Harry) to shudder and Gindelwald’s already wide eyed gaze to make his pupils turn to pinpoints.

“Kill me…” He bit out through clenched teeth, thrusting a hand forward to the hilt Dumbledore gripped and pulling it towards him.

Dumbledore fought back, and for a long moment it was the two men gripping the sword hovering an inch from piercing Grindelwald’s chest, until something in his eyes, some bright light he’d had in every memory, every moment with Albus Dumbledore, burned out, and his heterochromic eyes looked just as deadened as they had in his final moments years in the future.

“No,” said Dumbledore, sheathing the sword back into the hat and tossing it aside. “You’ll face penance for your crimes and rot in Nurmengard until Death takes you.”

He turned the weak man over onto his stomach and lowered his wand to his wrists, prepared to conjure shackles, but froze. His blue eyes had found the Elder Wand, lying only inches from his fingertips, and he must’ve felt that warmth and comfort Draco described that made him know this was his weapon, because in seconds the long stick was in his hand instead, and he cast his first spell with the formidable weapon; conjuring binds around the newly beaten Gellert Grindelwald.

With that the memory dissolved and Harry was being thrust forwards through time again, and now he was at a gala or ball of sorts, surrounded by wizards and witches dancing around in dress robes. Once again, Dumbledore was leaned against the drinks table as he had been years ago during the Triwizard Tournament, though this time he swirled an alcoholic drink in his hand, staring forward at the celebration numbly.

“I believe congratulations are in order,” said a voice and he (and Harry) turned to see Newt Scamander stepping up with his own drink in hand. “So uh… Congrats.”

“Well, I’m flattered,” laughed Dumbledore as Newt chuckled awkwardly. “That was at least ten times better a thank you than an Order of Merlin.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you. For a couple of years there… I thought you’d given up.”

“Maybe I did… But I’d like to say I was… otherwise occupied.” When Newt raised his eyebrows Dumbledore looked around for a moment before leaning forwards to continue. “There’s a boy at Hogwarts. He’s a Seventh Year now,” again he looked around before whispering, “I don’t trust him.”

“I thought we’d had our fair share of untrustworthy boys -”

“We have,” Dumbledore agreed, “But this one’s… Newt I’m sure by now you trust my guesses are usually right.”

“Of course,” said Newt, straightening, and Harry recognized the same schoolboy eagerness in him he himself had.

“Well I’m sure I’m right about this child.”

Newt beamed. “Do we have another mission for the team, then?”

“No, Newt,” Dumbledore shook his head, waving a hand. “I’ve pulled too many people into my messes, this I must do alone.” He gave one final nod to his old student then turned and walked away, the memory dissolving into black smoke as he did.

Harry rose up easily, used to being pushed through time by now, as he listened to the sounds of the past zoom by.

“Hello Hokey. Don’t be scared… I think you can help me.”

“The time is long gone when I could frighten you with a burning wardrobe and force you to make repayment for your crimes. But I wish I could, Tom… I wish I could…”

“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…”

“Lily and James put their faith in the wrong person, rather like you.”

“Keep an eye on Quirrel, won’t you?”

“It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that.”

“Harry Potter… and Draco Malfoy.”

The last two sentences caused Harry to startle a bit and slow to a stop. It was the second that really made him jump, though, as he landed with a halt on familiar carpeted floors and found himself in Dumbledore’s office.

There Dumbledore himself stood, bent over his pensieve, looking just the way Harry remembered him perfectly, with spangled robes and long white hair and beard. Not only that, but Snape and McGonagall stood behind him, just the same as well.

“This can’t go on Albus,” McGonagall was saying, “First the Dark Mark, now this. Albus,” she stepped closer, hand outstretched, “We have to put an end to all of this. We can’t let those boys compete.”

“You heard Barty, Minerva,” said Dumbledore, still focused on the swirling contents of the pensieve. “The contract’s sealed. They have to compete.”

“The devil with Barty, then,” now McGonagall strode forwards, placing a hand on the Headmaster’s arm, and Harry was almost touched to see just how worried she looked. “And since when did you accommodate the Ministry and its rules?”

“I too find it difficult to believe this mere coincidence,” said Snape, and just the sound of his voice was enough to get Harry’s blood boiling. “However, if we are to truly discover the meaning of these events perhaps we should, for the time being, let them unfold.”

Of course he’d say that. He was probably in on the entire scheme to resurrect Voldemort from the start, maybe even knew Mad-Eye was Crouch Jr.

“What?” McGonagall blurted, spinning around to her colleague in shock. “Do nothing? Offer them up as bait? Potter and Malfoy are boys! Not pieces of meat!”

“Minerva,” slowly Dumbledore turned to his own colleague and smiled comfortingly, though his gaze was as piercing as Harry always remembered it being. “It’s been a long night, you should go rest. Severus and I will discuss things from here.”

McGonagall didn’t seem to like that idea at all, and Harry believed she had every right not to, but when she opened her mouth Dumbledore’s gaze hardened and she shut it again real quick, scowling and turning swiftly on one heel to march out.

The doors thundered slightly as they banged shut as slowly Dumbledore turned his gaze to Snape, fixing him with a cold stare.

“No,” he sneered, “I don’t know a thing.”

“I didn’t expect you to, Severus. Look here,” he strode over to his desk and gestured to the many silver instruments that used to layer it the year this memory was from. “Can you see anything in the smoke? Calculate a thing with these globes? They’re all out of balance. Whatever happened tonight was a sort of event that a Divination novice might call, well… ‘wrong.’”

Snape raised his eyebrows, prodding the man to elaborate.

“Potter and Malfoy’s names weren’t meant to come out of the Goblet of Fire.”

Snape blinked slowly. “I thought we had established this.”

“What I mean is,” he picked up one of the instruments that Harry only now thought might have been well suited in the Time Room at the Department of Mysteries, “The wheels of time have changed their course.”

“Do you believe one of them put their names in?”

“No, no, no, no,” said Dumbledore instantly, waving a hand as he placed the instrument back down. “I know they didn’t, they couldn’t have found a way past my age line, just as Minerva said. All the same, whoever did had to have wanted both dead. Can you think of any Death Eater who would want Lucius Malfoy’s son gone?”

“I can think of many,” Snape said, sneering. “He wasn’t exactly well liked.”

“Yes, but how many who aren’t currently imprisoned in Azkaban?”

Now the men locked eyes and Harry saw identical realization and… was that fear?

“None.” Snape breathed, and Harry wished, desperately, this wasn’t a memory so that he could throw something at him, knowing he had to be lying. Crouch Jr was out, and very bloodthirsty.

“We’ll have Kingsley investigate every cell to be sure. Meanwhile… there’s the matter of the boys.” Slowly he walked to a window in his office Harry now saw gave a perfect view of Gryffindor tower. He recalled where he’d been two years ago, huddled under his covers, scared and angry at the situation and Ron’s betrayal. He now thought of how Draco might have felt. Scared too? Did any of his friends hate him then?

“I think it wise to, for the moment, seize this as an opportunity,” said Dumbledore, Snape raising his eyebrows behind him, confused. “They could learn to work together, and we may just manage to save the young Malfoy boy’s soul from further corruption by his father’s life choices.”

“Apologies, Professor, but I believe we have bigger problems than a teenager and whether he is nice or not.”

“And I thought I had made myself very clear on how love can be our strongest ally against Voldemort. Don’t overlook what having true friends at your side can do to turn the tide, Severus, it might still help you yet.” Snape didn’t look at all convinced but Dumbledore seemed very optimistic as he gazed back out the window towards Gryffindor Tower.

The memory dissolved, reforming around the two men again except this time they were standing outside of the Great Hall, the lights, tables, and music inside telling Harry it was the Yule Ball, a line of students slowly leaving as the party ended.

“Well?” Dumbledore murmured to him.

“Karkaroff’s Mark is becoming darker too. He is panicking, he fears retribution; you know how much help he gave the Ministry after the Dark Lord fell.” Snape said, side eyeing Dumbledore with a frown. “Karkaroff intends to flee if the Mark burns.”

“Does he?” He gave a quick smile and nod to Fleur and Roger Davies crossing the hall, giggling, then turned to Snape. “And are you tempted to join him?”

“No,” said Snape, black eyes following the couple, “I am not such a coward.”

“No,” Dumbledore echoed, nodding, “You are a braver man by far than Igor Karkaroff. You know, I sometimes think we Sort too soon…”

Snape’s eyes now followed Dumbledore’s gaze and Harry was shocked to see himself exiting while laughing at some joke Draco had just told him. It was now he soaked in just how much they’d changed; Draco looked so much more youthful, and there was a glow to his entire body that took Harry a moment to realize was stripped of him not from the stress of trying to kill Dumbledore, but banishment from his family tree. And then there was himself, laughing, red in the face from a night of dancing, and so… happy. Merlin, was that even him? Had that only been just over two years ago?

“See you in the morning, Harry!” Draco called, as Harry remembered him doing before departing down the stairs to the dungeons while he ascended the stairs.

“Oi! Get a bush!” It was here Harry saw Viktor Krum, alive, healthy, and arms wrapped around his brilliant girlfriend, face full of love. With a flip in his stomach he slowly stepped closer to the walking corpse, raising a hand, knowing it would pass through him like he was a ghost, but still trying, worthlessly, to grab onto him. Hug him, and reassure him that she was okay. That she was doing great despite him being gone, but not in spite. That she still screamed in the night because she’d always love him, but she’d moved on, just as he would’ve wanted.

“One might say the same for those boys.” Harry was called back to matters at hand by the sound of Dumbledore’s voice, however, and spun around to see the two teachers still standing there, thinking of how he hadn’t noticed them years before. “I must say I think our plan is going brilliantly.”

“Your plan,” Snape corrected, side-eying him but nodding. “And yes, it would seem so. Draco did exceptionally well in the First Task.”

“Harry too,” said Dumbledore, though Snape scowled. “We must still be cautious about who put their names in. Lucius refused to admit anything, did Karkaroff have any inklings…?”

“He’s an oblivious coward, Dumbledore, I thought we’d been over this,” said Snape, as they walked back into the Great Hall to close the doors.

“You’re right. Still, I hoped…” Dumbledore stepped away from the doors, watching Harry’s fourteen year old self ascend the stairs to Gryffindor Common Room and disappear, out of sight. “Regardless, we must move quickly. They were lucky to do so well during the First Task - they might not get lucky again.”

Sarcastically, Harry thought Snape didn’t want him to be lucky, but as the smoke vanished he found himself back in Dumbledore’s office, the old man bent over his desk where a bag of unopened hot cross buns sat before him, Snape scowling at his back behind him.

With a start, Harry recalled this basket as the very same he and his friends had seen Draco take from Rosmerta last March, and the bad memory associated with seeing Draco holding it in the Three Broomsticks.

“And you’re certain Voldemort never mentioned something like this?”

“Yes, Dumbledore.”

“Never a comment -”

“Yes, must we go through this again?”

“I’m sorry, Severus,” said Dumbledore, turning and Harry was shocked to see just how aged he looked from the stress of the death threats made by a student, “but this situation is… Well it’s scaring me. Somethings terribly wrong, all the signs point to it, even Trelawney has -”

“We both know she’s a fraud -”

“Maybe so but we also both know her prophecy is the one that started all of this,” Dumbledore interrupted, gesturing around him. “I trust her to understand at least when something isn’t right. Besides, Firenze told me the stars have shifted out of alignment -”

“Then you should have led with that.”

“-which means I believe it’s time to cash in the big card.”

Snape’s scowl flinched and his brows pinched together. “No…”

Dumbledore nodded. “He’ll know exactly what’s happening, I’m sure of it. I’ve never met a wizard stronger and with his Seeing abilities -”

“He’s a maniac, Dumbledore. He’d never help us,” Snape protested.

“You never knew him,” he pointed out, already striding towards Fawkes, raising his arm and allowing him to rise and perch on it. “Which means you don’t have any right to assume how he’d react. Whereas I… A foolish, much younger man might say we were ‘closer than brothers.’”

Snape scowled but didn’t move anymore as Dumbledore nodded his goodbye and Fawkes released a sharp cry, the two disappearing in a burst of flame as he had from his office only weeks after this moment, probably.

Harry floated suspended in smoke for only a moment before he found himself in a cell he’d been in once before. He’d knew, logically, this is where Dumbledore would go, but it still felt frightening to watch this great figure arrive with a burst of flames, just as Fawkes had come to his rescue in the Chamber of Secrets, only to slump and look aged and worried sick once more as a sadistic looking Grindelwald sat up on his lone bed in the cell.

“Now this certainly isn’t a usual haunt of yours,” said Grindelwald, voice as gravelly as it had been when Voldemort would confront him a year later. “Why have you come crawling back to me after so long, Dumbledore?”

“I need your help.” Harry really had to give Dumbledore credit for not trying to hide it one bit and instead be absolutely bald faced. “None of my divination devices are working, the stars aren’t aligned, and -”

“- Someone’s trying to kill you.” Grindelwald finished, leaning forward so his face passed through the moonlight falling through the narrow window above him. “I’m aware. I assume you came here to ask me to reveal to you the answers that lie in wait for you?”

“If by that you mean my future… then yes,” Slowly Dumbledore stepped forward, Fawkes rising and perching on the edge of the window, and removed his wand from his sleeve to conjure a hookah, Grindelwald’s eyes following the long stick as it waved through the air hungrily before his eyes found the hookah and widened.

“What am I getting in return for this?”

“Nothing, because I know, deep down, you want to help me, because you can’t stand the idea of the self-proclaimed Dark Lord killing me.”

For a long moment the two simply stared into each other’s eyes, and Harry recognized, from Malfoy Manor, the faces of lovers passing messages between each other between just their eyes, and desired greatly he could make sense of what they were saying. But then Grindelwald turned away and grabbed the hookah, standing from his bed to walk towards the cell door, examining it thoroughly.

Finally, he turned to face Dumbledore, stood at the other end, and blew into it. All at once, the cell was flooded with smoke, and Harry squinted as shapes began to form into it.

A couple were waltzing through the air, red headed and wearing glasses. His parents, laughing as they danced, until a man, cloaked, came up behind them. His father fell with a yell and his mother spread her arms out before a crib, but fell too with a great flash of green light. When the cloaked man raised his wand to the crib, however, the green light filled the entire cell, Dumbledore stumbling from the shock of it. Harry didn’t flinch, eyes focused on a black vapor spiraling through the air towards a baby boy’s head, peeking out from over the crib. Before it made contact the vapor turned into a red jet of fire, which landed in a second Dumbledore’s hand, the past Dumbledore, who declared the names ‘Harry Potter’ and ‘Draco Malfoy’ with confusion.

Now he saw Viktor’s body spiraling through the air, and Voldemort rising, black robes encircling him magically. Then he saw Draco stepping into the smoke, raising his wand to Dumbledore. Their figures dissipated and became just a lone tower stretching to the ceiling of the cell, and a body falling, falling, falling down from it. He watched Voldemort kill Gregorovitch, then Grindelwald himself, then saw Snape pushing back the top of Dumbledore’s tomb only to find the wand already gone. He saw Fudge handing it off to Draco, and then the boy standing, the wand tight in his hand, atop the ramparts to the Astronomy Tower.

He was looking down, and the look in his eyes told Harry exactly what he was about to do.

“Goodbye, Harry.”

“NO!” Harry bellowed, and turning away from the smoke, which was beginning to form he and Voldemort, standing in the forest, he jumped upwards and pushed through the air as if swimming, furiously, to rise out of the memories. Eventually he did, falling back against the carpet of Dumbledore’s office and, not taking another second to comprehend all he had just witnessed, he scrambled to his feet and turned to run, strides impossibly long, taking steps three at a time, thinking only of Draco and the Astronomy Tower, and begging sweet Merlin he wasn’t already as good as gone.

Back in Dumbledore’s office, he missed the surface of the Pensieve displaying Voldemort raising his wand to him in the Forbidden Forest, and a great green light overtaking the cell again. He missed Grindelwald confirming Dumbledore would die soon but Harry would have to as well, and the two giving one last goodbye, before the stream of memories died out.

If he hadn’t, maybe this night would end differently.