A/N So it's been a while. A really long while. I had a personal tragedy that I had to deal with for the past year and well, it wasn't good. I decided to rewrite my stuff but then I found this beta-ed chapter buried in my inbox so that's why I'm only posting it now. I added some stuff to continue along the line of some semblance of a plot and I am now informing you my dear reader is that this will be one ass long fan fiction. So if you have patience and liked this story enough to see it developed to the end, get ready for a long ride. Read on.

Filch is one stubborn son-of-a-wand. He stood there, the obnoxious cat (non-kneazle) at his feet, balding head and ugly face scowling and NOT LETTING HIM IN! Alastor had a half a mind to Imperio the man and have him open the gate if it wasn't for the fact he knows the Hogwarts Ward would alarm the Ministry the moment he did such a thing.

Damn, damn, damn! He's soaking wet after walking in the dratted rain for a good hour, and no amount of weatherproofing can not irritate his fake eye. It is particularly itchy in wet weather, and this is very wet. Needless to say that he is in one foul mood. Not to mention that his boots are squishy, and if there is anything Alastor Moody had problem on, it is squishy boots. He hates squishy boots. It is no.2 on his hate list after idiots.

"Open the gate for me, you stubborn Squib! I have business with Dumbledore!" He really doesn't, but no one needs to know that. Alastor's wand hand itches to just grab his wand and hex the skin off the ugly Squib, but he refrained since it wouldn't help his case at all.

"The headmaster told me nothing of you coming here with business!" Flich replied with a sneer, and Alastor did take out his wand this time and took morbid satisfaction in watching the Squib stumble back from his wand point.

"Well, tell him that I'm here then, you great lump!" He sneered back at the scowling man and poked his wand another inch closer to the dratted Squib. Filch flinched [ha!] and scurried inside the castle grounds, no doubt to Dumbledore. If not, well, looks like Hogwarts is going to have to find a new Caretaker. He chuckled at that thought and smiled darkly. Well, at least he ain't so bored anymore.

Max saw a lot of things in his long ninety seven years worth of life, but what he is seeing right now is just too unbelievable to be true. The tray he was carrying clattered to the floor as he stares at the man standing in front of him, a familiar smirk-merry, handsome and mischievous-on his face, curly blonde hair flying around his handsome face in the City of Love night air and not a day beyond thirty.

"Hello, Max." Husky voice tinted with the barest hint of an accent. The voice that he served for almost twenty years before Gellert Grindelwald was captured and exiled in Nurmengard. You know, when he was fifty years plus, not the young Gellert Grindelwald standing in front of him. This man can't be the Dark Lord he served. But Max really had to refrain not to sink into the ground on his knees and bow his head,because something inside in him recognized this man as Master and demand he acts as such.

"It's been awhile. How are you, Pet?" he said again, the tone amicable but with a very distinctive tone that was achingly familiar, and an underlying malice that has Max shivering. The man moved forward, entering the manor with ease even though Max knew for a fact that his current owner had warded the house thoroughly against uninvited visitors. And the man striding in was definitely not invited.

Max stumbled backward, putting as much distance between him and the unwanted visitor, and he can feel a tug on his chest, signifying that his current owner is summoning him, no doubt distressed on the easy disablement of her wards.

Madam Miotte was quite the paranoid woman, having fled from Britain as soon as they heard winds of the new Dark Lord's return. In Max's opinion, the new Dark Lord is honestly nothing compared to his Dark Lord, but he was the very bottom of the Wizardry social food chain being what he is, so his opinion means nothing. But Madam Miotte had hired the best of the best ward-maker in Gringotts' French branch, and best independent security magic in Europe, just to protect herself from the new Dark Lord. Bet she didn't see an old Dark Lord invading her home instead.

"Aime, someone is here! Here, Aime, in my home! Get the Auror, Aime, hurry! The Dark Lord has come for me! He has come for me!" His owner screeched from somewhere above him, possibly from the sun room where she loves to stay because it gives a clear view of her courtyard.

Paranoid bitch, Max thought spitefully as his face flamed at the despicable name his current owner gave to him. Of course as soon as the insult registered he berate himself for thinking it.

"Out of all names in the world, she decides to rename you Aime? How grotesque," the visitor said. That's one way to put it, he thought. Max cringed at his own thought and hoped that his owner wouldn't get to making him drink a vial of Veritaserum like last time she went through a wave of paranoia.

It wasn't pleasant when he sprouted all those things that made her 'punish' him.

"But, I suppose, if you are as good as you were fifty years ago, it would be somewhat befitting," he continued, smirking with remembrance. Max just gapes at him, obviously. Gellert Grindelwald's fake was being very, very authentic, and his owner's screeching is making his head hurt. "Fun times we had then huh, Max?"

"Who are you?" he managed to get out, looking at the man incredulously. "You can't be him. You're too young, the Nurmengard is impenetrable and Master never intends to leave Nurmengard, so you can't be him!" Right? His face crumpled briefly into sorrow, so brief that if Max wasn't watching as closely as he did and wasn't as familiar to the face in front of him, he would have missed it.

But he did, and Max's heart palpitated harshly at the familiarly foreign gesture. Then it rearranges into an oddly familiar smirk, pale eyes glinting dangerously.

"It is me, Max. If you willingly come with me, I'll prove it to you. I need you, Max." Max stares apprehensively at the man in front of him, longing for the familiarity the man seems to radiate, but afraid of the unknown. He knows his Master was a brilliant man, but to be able to un-age himself to his prime was something all magical creatures with mortal fears crave and are never able to do without some dire consequence. If this is Gellert Grindelwald standing in front of him (as his being screams it to be) what price did he had to pay for this transformation?

A scream from the stairs took their both attention from each other, and a witch, mid forties with flamboyant purple hair piled on top of her head and draped in miles worth of colorful satin and silk. Her face was unnaturally smooth despite her obvious age, and she was decked in every kind of jewelry possible it seems. She looked utterly ridiculous.

"Aime, what are you doing! Get rid of the man at once!" his owner screeched and his body jolted forward, prompting him to do as his owner told him to. He lifted his hand, ready to blast the man away, when he, Gellert Grindelwald, turned pale eyes on Max, as calm as a typhoon, and Max felt a shiver go down his spine.

"Max, STAY!" Max halted, surprised when the man's order overruled his owner's. He doesn't know who was more surprised, him or his owner when he listened to the man order so obediently. The Fake Master whipped out his wand and without a word; cast a Full-Binding Spell on the distraught witch, causing the woman to tumble down the stairs in the most undignified manner, and Max had to fight the most inane urge to laugh in his shock. She stopped at the very bottom, sprawled unnaturally, eyes glazed with pain and weeping and groaning simultaneously. He looked at his owner, still and bloodied at the bottom of the stairs, looking at the man who claims to be his master with fear in her eyes, and his being faltered.

Should he or shouldn't he?

Gellert stretched out a hand, looking at the half breed with an odd look on his face that Max recognizes and it tilted the scale for him. Max took Gellert Gridelwald's (hopefully) hand and they Apparated out, leaving behind one paralyzed, bloodied witch.

**( _ )**

Dumbledore deemed himself a good character reader as well as having quite the high E.Q in comparison to most people, and in addition to being one of the best Legilimens in Wizarding Britain didn't quite hurt either.

But he was known to be wrong on quite a few occasions about some people-namely Severus Snape for one-but never was he ever completely ignorant on how people would react to some of the things he'd do for the sake of the greater good. Like he is right now.

He looks at Harry Potter's blank face as he stares at his intertwined hands, unusually bright eyes shining with the revelation he presented. Harry expressive eyes were guarded flickers of volatile emotion flitting in the emerald green. Albus was tempted to try and probe his mind, but considering what he had imparted to Harry was quite heavy to absorb, he doesn't dare.

The few times he actually entered Harry's mind it was disconcerting. Harry's head was a whirl of thoughts, images, sounds and memories flitting about like a hundred furious Snitch's, never staying one place at a time.

It was hard to pinpoint Harry's thoughts as they were there long enough for Harry to register it before it was dismissed to make way for a barrage of information. It whirls around like a tornado, enough to disorient an amateur legilimen, but displayed publicly enough that a good legilimens can pluck some thoughts out, though with the utmost difficulties.

Normal peoples thoughts usually moved only a fifth of Harry's mind speed, and as far as he can make to be, the more intelligent and observant one is the faster their mind works, and Harry's was as fast as the Firebolt he rides on. The only other people's minds he knows to move as fast as Harry's are Tom Riddle and Gellert, which attest to Harry's intelligence more and more.

Harry has a somewhat mediocre protection, but it is too out there, too easily discernible for an excellent Legilimens like him, Voldemort and Severus. It made him to be a bad Occlumens though the natural protection all by itself was thoroughly impressive.

Though a few other factors do arise when he discovers Harry's furious mind.

But for now, he put those thoughts on the back burner and stared at the soon-to-be-fifteen year old boy in a couple of weeks, gauging for any reaction.

Harry (the future one) had told Albus that he was allowed to impart as much as information of the future, giving that they are all before Harry was nineteen, partly because the future Harry had believed that if things were to go as planned, a lot shall be changed, and imparting the next four years of his life of pure hell-dealing with the Ministry, Sirius' death, finding out about the Horcruxes, almost killing Malfoy, his own death, hunting down Horcruxes, almost losing his two best friends on said hunt, the Battle of Hogwarts, killing Voldemort, mourning for the death of the fighters and then dealing with the aftermath of the war-will be a bitter pill to swallow. Though some things got better, it didn't take too long before it got much, much worse than Voldemort. But that was story for another time.

Hopefully.

Harry had a wild eyed look at the first part of the story which grew grimmer as it went on, and his eyes dim in sorrow before they turn completely blank as Albus explains his plans and the reasoning behind it.

It was during then he asked the first and the last question during the tale; "Does that mean I still have to die at Voldemort's hand?" Albus had stared at Harry, so stunned at the resignation and willingness in Harry's voice that he had to dig his nails into his palm to prevent tears flooding his eyes.

But his breath did stutter out of his body at the question, and an unbelievably heavy sadness settled on his heart and much, much older soul. "No. No, Harry, I would never ask that of you. Not again."

Harry had look at him then with glimmer of disbelief? in his eyes, and Albus's heart broke a little bit at the damages he can see in the teen.

He thought back to the Harry Potter that had summoned his spiritual being to the living plane and had seen a man, exceptionally young looking, with eyes that had seemed too old for such a youthful looking man, fit body riddled with numerous battle scars that made him flinch. He had stood tall with a deceptively easy smile, but he held a deep sadness and world weary feeling that made his non-beating heart (then) ache.

'This man is a warrior, a fighter.' He had thought then. And he knew whatever happiness the future Harry had, it was gained with much too heavy of a price.

He cried then. And Albus can see that the teen in front of him is becoming that man. Already he knows the heavy price he already had to pay for being on the front line of the battle line was due and he knows, Harry would no doubt would pay them willingly if he can save any life he can; with the morbid exception of his own.

Albus swore right there that even if he can be rid of the sorrow and weariness that had already set in Harry's soul and heart, he'll prevent more from settling on it as much as he possibly can.

**(-_-)**

Sometime during 2030, Godric Hollow, post Summoning

Harry closed his bright green eyes, a weary sigh leaving his lips as he leans back on his chair. His grip on his armchair was tight, the only indication of his state of mind.

He was tired. So very tired. The entire ritual had taken too much from him and had been much, much longer he had expected. He also had to prepare some extra for Gellert Grindelwald since his presence wasn't exactly planned beyond the summoning.

He had needed a particular knowledge of a very dark alchemy, and had known regardless of the many branches of magic Albus Dumbledore dabbled with, the Light Wizard, out of courtesy of Nicholas Flamel, dark alchemy wasn't one of them.

He made some research and pulled some weight and discovered that Gellert Grindelwald had been quite particularly interested in Dark Alchemy as per shown in his many researches-masked with Nazi's activity to hide the fact-and was a particularly talented alchemist himself.

Though, he had to summon the two previous lovers together to gauge Gellert's reaction and whether or not the information needed was worth the price he was willing to pay. After they both were summoned, he told them what he wanted. Dumbledore consented to have his soul ripped to pieces as he was sent through time space and dimension to correct the mistake of the past and information from Gellert Grindelwald.

Surprisingly, Harry got what he wanted and more.

Well, he never planned on sending the Dark Lord to the past with Dumbledore, but a deal's a deal. Looks like Albus Dumbledore will be in for one hell of a surprise. Tingles of magic touched his core, and Harry can feel the mage circle he'd drawn for the fusion activating. And Harry relaxed for the first time for a long while, a smile curving on his face.

A/N Well, review please. the chapter will come faster then!