Harry Potter and the Crucible of the Light

Prologue - Beginings

AN/ This scene is right before the beginning of the story. It takes place after the end of the third task.

Albus Dumbledore was deep in thought. His bushy eyebrows tensed under the weight they carried, the weight of the entire Wizarding World. He felt his age now, as he reflected on the problems of the evening. Voldemort was back, and Albus knew that this would shake the very foundations of the world. He looked up, his blue eyes glinting with sorrow. The twinkle that had lived there, a sparkle that had guided countless generations of Wizards, had died again. The darkness was closing fast, and the end of the world was not a place for jollity.

Scolding himself, he sat up with a start. Slipping out his wand, he gestured to his pensive and watched as the liquid began to spin. Out of it rose the grey image of a women, a women whose words had haunted him for fifteen years. She began to speak:

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...

Dumbledore smiled. It was not over yet, he was a fool to ever doubt the power of the light. It would not abandon them to evil. It never had and it never would.

His mind turned slowly to the object of his hope, a 14 year old boy. With jet black hair that would never rest and green eyes unlike to any other pair, save one, he had ever seen; Harry Potter was a remarkable young man. Only hours ago Dumbledore had witnessed his return from the third task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, had heard Harry speak of the rebirth of the Dark Lord and of his harrowing duel in the darkness. Harry had faced a test harder then any other and had survived.

Dumbledore stood, pushing back his great chair and paced over to the window. Seeing the first rays of the golden dawn, he sighed, it had been a long day.

He turned, and looked about his office. He saw his snorkel scope, a gift from the Basha of a grateful realm after he had destroyed an infestation of Lethifolds. Its soft whirring was a comfort to him as it searched Aura flows around the castle, seeking for magic of despair.

Walking slowly, he ran his weathered fingers along the spines of countless tombs. A rune text, filled with secrets from the warding of Atlantis. A pamphlet, filled with the secret history of goblins. A colossal book filled through with ancient light battle magic. Each in turn was followed by another example of the spectacular learning's of the most powerful Wizard on earth. It was a testament to both his commitment to his task, and his love of learning.

Tonight, though, he could not distract himself in self reflection. No, for the question was too important to be cast of for thoughts of his past.

"Harry Potter", the words world of his tongue, a muttered plea for wisdom. He was ready now, or he would be soon, to take his oath and begin his journey.

Albus was faced with a choice. He could send young Harry back home, back to his family, to his relatives, back to childhood. Or he could take Harry and mold him, guide him, and help him achieve his destiny.

"He's only fourteen", the thought ghosted across his psyche like a cool breeze, hard and biting; "No one should have to grow up so quickly. He should be thinking about friends, girls and games. Not Dark Lords and Deep Magic. He should live! He should be flying, laughing, loving! Can I really rob him of that?" His thoughts were disturbing, unsettling and difficult. How did it come to this? How did it come to him, and old man, choosing the fate of a child? Where did it say that he could steal that childhood? Could end his innocence?

"He is no longer innocent. He lost that tonight, if not before. The trial has come and all must play their own part." He remembered the prophecy. Oh light! Why have you done this? Why must a child bear this burden? Why must a child learn horror's name? Why must a boy slog through death and evil?

He remembered that night now, the dark of the room, the flickering fire. He remembered the haunting words, the shock and anguish as he understood the meaning of it all. Until then he had been confident, until that point he had been ready. Tom was afraid of him, and had run at every encounter. Until that night Dumbledore had been sure it was only a matter of time before he destroyed Riddle. And then, and then the Light had taken away his duty and given it to another. He would not be allowed to destroy Voldemort.

He remembered when he received the news, a bright eyed transfiguration professor crying "Albus, the potters have been attacked!". He remembered the pain of walking through the ruins, of collecting each scrap of Harry's heritage, a wand here, a picture there.

He remembered his agonizing decision to leave Harry with the Dursley's, as he vowed to not make the same mistake that Uther the Great had made, spoiling and training the chosen one only to discover the evil within him, and evil that had nearly destroyed the light. He knew now that such fears were dead, Harry would never betray the light so long as he still breathed. In fact, Harry was nearly at the point that he would be able to swear the oath of fealty, that is if Dumbledore committed to destroy what ever remained of the child's youth.

He sat down again, his body creaked in pain, aged under the care of time and burden. His face was ashen grey, his jovial smile dead, as his eyes leaked silent tears. How would he choose?

He looked at his phoenix, a symbol of all that was good in the world, a symbol that that very same good would never roll over to any tyrant, and asked "What am I to do Fawkes?"

A triumphant trill, and a distinct impression that he was being made sport of some joke, was all the answer he received.

Turning from the now silent bird he posed his question to the silent portraits, "What is to be done? Dare I steal his childhood?"

A snort answered him, the portrait of Phineas Nigellus raised its eyebrow and scornfully said "What makes you think that it is your choice to make? Has not the boy himself had just as much right as you?"

Thunderstruck, Albus sat completely still. Slowly a soft smile began to spread along his lips "Of course! The choice is his, but I will guide him as far as he is willing."

He clapped his hands and now at peace shouted "Tofty!".

With a pop, a small elf burst into existence at his feet. "Master Dumbledore sir is calling Tofty?" she asked.

"Yes" he said, "When the students are ready to leave for the train tomorrow, I need you to send for young Mr. Potter. The password is Mutton Pops. Oh, and Tofty? Send up a spot of tea would you?"

The exuberant elf bounced once or twice at the prospect of direct orders from Professor Dumbledore. She smiled and with a loud 'Pop!', disappeared.

Smiling faintly at the antics of such wonderful creatures, Dumbledore leaned slowly back in his chair glanced at the small photograph on his desk. It was of a small child, somewhere around his first birthday, grasping onto the silver beard of the man that carried him.

The face of the most powerful wizard in the world grew stern once more as he sighed and said, "Jacta Alea Est".

Please Review, I would really like to help flesh out some of my writing skills.

AN/ Also the final quote is Latin, it means "The Die is Cast." Ceaser said it as he crossed the Rubicon and declared war on Pompey the Great. Some will spell it with Iacta instead of Jacta, but thats what my Latin Prof says so I am not going to argue.