Author's Note:

Holy crap! I forgot just how addicting reviews/favs/follows are. They're like … mmm … parts of the giant Toblerone bar I have on my desk. You sit there having a stair-down with it but you know you shouldn't, then you do and you get a sugar high and… *sigh* Seriously, thank you all so much for reviewing, faving and following. You've made my days, even if I've somehow forgotten to thank you.

This is the big one. The one we've all been waiting for (even though it was quite a bit shorter than I'd intended)! … No? Just me? Okay then, let's move on. :P

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, Voldemort would have had a spy somewhere high up in the Order of the Phoenix. Ah, the chaos…

Chapter Sixteen

Albus Dumbledore, the leader of the Light, was a grandfatherly figure to many. He was powerful yet kind, and he always had a wise word for any who might seek his council. His hobbies and interests were often called bizarre; indeed, many hypothesized that his mind was beginning to slip in his old age. This persona was his biggest asset. Underneath it lay a still-sharp, ever-calculative mind. When he combined these two strengths, as he intended to do this crisp January morning, his requests were rarely denied.

In the end, The Hogwarts Headmaster's considerable persuasion skills were unnecessary. Madam Pomfrey, the school's Mediwitch, had already taken care of her patient and, not expecting him to wake any time soon, had returned to her office to request more potions for the hospital wing. She had placed a ward over him that would allow her to know when he'd woken, but no other long-lasting spells had been cast on the boy. That was a good sign, Dumbledore reasoned. The lack of protection wards indicated Tom still saw Harry Potter as his enemy. He hadn't discovered the nature of their connection. He'd been worrying that the first year's lessons with Quirrell would result in a change in their relationship. After all, Tom was known for his persuasion skills. He would have eavesdropped if Tom, ever cautious, hadn't put up wards against such things.

The Headmaster had been woken in the middle of the last night of the year by the alarm ward for the mirror of Erised. He'd considered the possibility that all previous alarms would be silenced, so he'd placed one where it was easiest for any seeking the stone to be distracted. He'd arrived to see Harry Potter laying still on the floor with the body of Professor Quirrell near his feet. Most concerning, the stone was nowhere to be found. He'd brought the Boy-Who-Lived and the Defense professor's corpse up to the infirmary, but the matron had shooed him off before he could investigate. So he'd gone for a stroll around the castle, then taken a roundabout route back to the hospital wing.

Albus Dumbledore did not consider the fact that Lord Voldemort, in his haste, had failed to take into account Lily Potter's protection on her son. After the Crucio, he'd had only enough power to banish the stone to a safe place. He'd been forcefully ejected from Professor Quirrell's body mere moments before Dumbledore's arrival. These two men would never know how close they'd come to encountering one another that evening.

Hogwarts' Headmaster had just turned to leave when a thought occurred to him: perhaps, while he was here, he could examine young Harry's mind. He'd been planning to do such a thing, but now was the perfect time; the boy would be much less aware of it when unconscious. Technically it was legal—after all, he was Harry's magical guardian. He had the right to investigate as he saw fit.

So investigate he did. And he was glad he'd done so, too.

The first thing he noticed was that Harry had made very good headway on Occlumency shields. They were fairly easy to break through though, especially since the boy was not conscious for the invasion, and Dumbledore was very gentle in his entrance.

The second thing he noticed was that the first year had far, far too many memories for a boy his age. Even before he skimmed random memories to get a sense for how they were sorted, he estimated there were sixty or seventy years' worth of memories. Upon further investigation, he learned that they were arranged into two clusters, which were attached to each other by many fine threads. These threads connected one memory to others, creating trains of thought, as muggles would call them. The smaller cluster of memories, Dumbledore decided, were likely Harry's own. There looked to be enough of them to account for eleven years of life. The other, much larger body, however, was a different story. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, Albus Dumbledore found a starting place and began skimming the memories. The technique he used was reminiscent of skimming one's fingertips over still water. One could experience the texture and feel its small movements without immersing an entire hand or body in the liquid. When skimming memories, one sees snatches of the scenes from a bird's eye view. Using this technique, the Headmaster learned very quickly just whom those memories belonged to. He withdrew from the boy's mind with a grave frown on his face. When he re-entered, he had a different spell on his lips: Obliviate.

Obliviation was a tricky process, especially when covering Tom Riddle's memories in Harry Potter's mind. For one, it was clear the boy relied heavily on the memories, as the pathways between them and his own memories were very strong.

As he worked, Albus Dumbledore soon found himself forming a plan. He could not remove all traces of the memories, not without far more time than he could borrow. Besides, with his plans for the boy, it was highly probable they'd be re-discovered. After all, the path of a savior involves much pain, mental and physical, and only these things could return Obliviated memories. It was worrying that Harry had relied so much on them, but perhaps the ancient wizard could give him something else to rely on while they were missing. Perhaps he could sway the Boy-Who-Lived to his side so that when the inevitable happened, young Harry would know that he had another option.

This being decided, he slipped from the unconscious first year's mind. He turned to leave the infirmary, then hesitated and turned back. Perhaps his plans needed a bit of a push. With a subtly-placed compulsion to be open-minded, Hogwarts' Headmaster left with a swirl of star-spangled purple robes.

Author's Note:

BOOM! *sits back with popcorn to watch fireworks*

*wipes sweat from forehead* For some reason, I stared at this blank document for a couple days, then I sat down and wrote it in one sitting. Dumbledore is really not an easy character for me to write, especially since I'm taking care with my portrayal of him. He shall not be bashed. On that note, we won't see many chapters from other characters' points of view—in fact, this is the only one of its kind that I know of. It's also one of the shortest ones I'll write—hopefully. I figured this needed a chapter all to itself.