Blueowl's What-If Challenge

I've had this tiny plot bunny for a while now but know I will never be able to finish it due to real life and other writing projects. Thus, I have decided to give what I have with a challenge because I'd like to see what comes of this 'what-if' - What if Dumbledore really had been too late at the end of Harry's first year?

Here are the must-have-details of the challenge:

1. Dumbledore is moments too late to save Harry at the end of first year and Harry dies—he does manage to force Voldemort away and save the stone though.

2. Harry comes back to life sometime later and now has a seer ability that relies on touch, allowing him to see a snap-shot of the past or future

-Think 'The Dead Zone' by Stephen King

-He can receive a vision by touching anyone or anything with no warning

3. Harry was dead for at least one day, causing the blood wards to fall so he must live somewhere else from now on

-The Flamels or some other under-used/underestimated character(s) from canon-even Hagrid or Trelawney

4. No bashing – We've all enjoyed them from time to time, but for this challenge I want the focus to be on the 'what-if' and not 'let's bash [insert character] so hard Rowling will feel it'. Thanks

5. No pairings – I've found, more often than not, romance negatively distracts from the plot and ruins characters. And again, I want the focus to be on the 'what-if'. If you can't restrain yourself, please at least save it for the epilogue :P

Optional details of the challenge:

1. Mrs. Flamel is a seer of sorts (i.e. vague impulses), and felt the stone HAD TO be placed at Hogwarts for that year, or the world would eventually suffer-missing out on something that would change everything for the better, etc. etc..

-This causes the Flamels to want to take Harry in since they're responsible for what happened.

-They feel they may also be able to help him with his newfound gift.

2. Harry wakes after arrangements have begun for his funeral, so isn't in Hogwarts when he 'comes to'

Possible summary/teaser:

What if Dumbledore really had been too late at the end of Harry's first year? The Power the Dark Lord knows not would have truly been discovered ….

Well, there it is. Below are the 4 chapters I've written of the story (not betaed), which you can read/use at your discretion while keeping with the challenge's parameters if you choose to take it on. Please leave a review if you intend to take this challenge. If I get a moment in life, I'd like to see what you all come up with.

Happy writing ^_^

Part 1 — Too Late

Dumbledore was running, possibly running faster than he ever had in his entire life.

He dashed past the defeated troll, already having gone through the previous protections from the other teachers, before entering the room with Severus' test. He quickly downed the proper potion to allow him passage through the flames before charging forward again, a terrible feeling that something horrible was about to happen gripping his entire being….

He heard yelling and screaming even before he had fully exited the fire, and his heart fell even more as he saw what was before him. Quirrell, Voldemort, and Harry.

"KILL HIM! KILL HIM!"

"AAAAARGH!"

Dumbledore cast as quickly as he could, his wand already having been out, easily breaking all of his previous records of speed casting as fear rose within him, but not fear of Voldemort.

Voldemort rose out of the form of Quirrell as Dumbledore's spells made contact. Dumbledore didn't pause as he continued forward, mercilessly casting several more golden spells at the dark form while his free hand threw Quirrell off of Harry, wrenching him away from Harry's grasp and quickly pulling Harry towards himself as he briefly saw Voldemort's eyes glow a furious red before immediately fleeing.

Dumbledore looked down to Harry, finding his barely open bright green eyes gazing up at him for what felt like an eternity before they finally closed.

"Harry! Harry!" Dumbledore shouted, Harry limp in his arms.

He cast several energizing and healing charms and spells, desperately hoping that at least one would help in some way. Having cast everything he could think of, he refused to give up and used the muggles' method of resuscitation — CPR. But it was no use, and he knew it. Despite that though, he continued as several people dashed into the chamber and stopped.

The majority of his staff.

They were at the top of the stairs and were staring at the scene below. Dumbledore sat up and became still.

The mirror remained in the middle of the room, yards of rope resting on the floor between them and the mirror. Harry was completely motionless, laying partly on Dumbledore's lap and in his arms — the old man's wand now equally still — the red stone just inches from Harry's unmoving hand.

It was in this moment that time seemed to stop for Dumbledore . . . a moment that numbed all of his senses as he was suddenly hit with an overwhelming realization.

He was too late.

- - - Part 2 — Awakening

Fudge couldn't believe it.

When he had been alerted to there being something that demanded his immediate attention, he was stunned to learn it concerned the Boy-Who-Lived, but his surprise quickly caved to appalled shock.

He was dead.

Dead!

Murdered by none other than the Dark Lord himself!

Disembodied, yes, but with Dumbledore and his staff's memories having been shown to himself and the others of the Wizengamot in the emergency meeting, there was no denying it.

The Dark Lord, who they had believed to have been defeated and permanently destroyed by the Boy-Who-Lived, was not dead. He was still alive, for lack of a better word, and still able to do harm, and he had come dangerously close to regaining full power, and the only reason why he hadn't was because of Harry Potter….

A boy who had given his life in preventing that horrible event, given his life in carrying out one last heroic deed to protect the Wizarding World and everything they held dear.

Harry Potter had been gone for a few hours now, and the lad's body was currently in an empty room in St. Mungo's morgue, waiting for the Ministry to decide what to do — the news of his death not yet having spread.

Fudge hung his head in sorrow, defeat, shock, terror, and a dozen other feelings that were in danger of completely overwhelming him.

Dumbledore was clearly in shock and saturated in despair, having been the last to see Harry alive, but unable to save him.

Fudge shuddered, too overwhelmed to cry or shout in fury or anguish.

Why? he wondered, before getting up and making his way to the morgue, knowing the others were waiting for him there.

There were things they had to do now, including plan for a funeral that would take place later that week — one that would possibly be one of the largest that had taken place in over five hundred years….

They would pay their respects to the selfless hero who had given more than any of them could ever expect, fully thank, or comprehend.

Fudge entered the waiting area beyond the room Harry Potter had been placed, finding Dumbledore, McGonagall, Mr. Weasley, Madam Bones, Madam Longbottom, and several other prominent figures in the Wizarding World, including the Flamels, Malfoys, and Diggorys. His eyes also caught sight of three obvious muggles: a large walrus of a man beside a skinny woman with a chunky boy between them. Realization came to him quickly. These three were Potter's only living relatives: his uncle, aunt, and cousin.

He went forward, finding the beefy man mutely trying to console his sobbing wife, the boy slightly before them muttering, 'can't believe he's actually gone' under his breath, clearly stunned.

Dumbledore stiffened, barely able to hide his lost and pained expression as he turned to Fudge, his eyes still revealing deep sadness and regret.

Merlin, help me, Fudge thought, before they sat around the table to discuss what to do now.

O

Harry found himself resting on something rather hard and cold, but not painfully so. It was as if this 'bed' was merely a slab of metal with a few sheets over it, but what was truly bothersome and rather uncomfortable was one sheet in particular.

The sheet that was draped completely over him.

Harry opened his eyes, able to see that the sheet over him was white and that there was some light above him.

He blinked, taking in a slow deep breath, deciding panic was not the way to go as he idly wondered why anyone would have placed a sheet over him. Was there something scary on the other side of the sheet or something? He was also glad the sheet wasn't too thick, or it would have been difficult to breathe.

Unsure about what he should do, he just laid there, trying to process what must have happened as he also tried to determine where he was.

Thinking back, he quickly remembered the stone, Quirrell and Voldemort, but that did nothing to help answer where he was now or why.

Closing his eyes, he tried to remember what had happened after someone had pulled him away from Quirrell.

Had Voldemort gotten the stone? Had he been kidnapped? Who had shouted his name? And where had he been before waking to this place? He knew he had been somewhere, talking to at least one person, though for the life of him, he couldn't remember who he had talked to or what they had talked about. Heck, he didn't even know if it was one person or several people.

Coming to the fact he couldn't find out anything if he stayed under the sheet, he slowly pulled it off of himself and sat up, feeling stiff and rather sore for some reason as he looked around the empty room.

The walls were plain, as were the ceiling and floor, save for a few counters, shelves, office drawers, and a vast amount of large metal drawers on the far wall, stacked and aligned.

What the — ? he thought.

He hopped off what he was on, his bare feet softly landing on the floor. He looked down at himself, quickly realizing he had been stripped of his clothes.

Grateful no one was around, he looked about, hoping his clothes, or at least his wand, would be close by. Looking back to the 'bed' he had been on, the top sheet now in a sort of mound on the floor, he decided the sheets were better than nothing and wrapped himself with them before searching through the office drawers for something else that might help him.

"Yes!" he whispered, never so happy to find clothing, even if they were thin, hospital-like pants.

He quickly got them on, rolling the bottom part up, since it was clear these were meant for an adult, not a child. He then pulled the thin rope within the waist band of the pants as tight as it would go, and tied it. He then draped one sheet across his shoulders, letting the other sheets form a pile on the floor once more. Wouldn't do to catch a cold from being shirtless. He tied two ends together, so they would sort of stay on his shoulders like a cape.

After managing to get himself moderately covered, he sank to the floor and leaned up against the table to rest for a moment. He had decided against calling what he had been laying on a bed anymore. It was too flat and hard, despite the attempts of whoever had placed him on it to make it otherwise with the layers of sheets.

With his legs stretched out before him, he placed his left hand on the floor to keep himself steady as his head suddenly swam with fuzzy and confusing images he couldn't decipher.

Sounds of weeping. Distorted, overlapping images of covered bodies being piled along unkempt walls, damaged by something more ravaging than time — War. Overhead lights flickered, flashes of spells being cast as a distant thunder of something he could only identify as wrath shook the walls around him. The smell of death rose in the air.

He managed to keep down what little was in his stomach as his vision shifted oddly in and out once more.

What's wrong with me? What was that? he asked, taking several deep breaths as he was unable to stop himself from trembling. He closed his eyes, trying to shake away the images that had passed through his mind in less than a second.

He didn't even know what half of what he had seen was, but he never wanted to see anything like that again.

Taking another deep breath, he opened his eyes as he was suddenly able to make out voices echoing through the air vents.

"The boy deserves a monument."

"He deserves to be, first and foremost, beside his parents, Cornelius; he definitely deserves that," an older voice said.

It almost sounded like Dumbledore's, but it was too sad and old to be his, Harry thought.

"We can decide those things later, we have more pressing matters right now," a female voice said.

"We all know that, Madam, but this decision will need to be made sooner or later," a smooth voice said.

Turning away from the vents, he looked around the room again, finding the only door, which was securely shut, a small narrow window down its side. Standing up, he managed to collect enough courage to peer though it.

He quickly stumbled back, his eyes growing wide.

There was a huge black man with an earring guarding the door! And he did not look happy.

Harry was too shaken to bother attempt to identify the expression, only certain it was not pleased and that he was there guarding the door.

Probably to prevent me from escaping… Harry reasoned, suddenly growing angry. Quirrell and Voldemort must have found a way to kidnap me, got help or something. They probably thought I was too weak so figured I'd be sleeping for awhile. Well, I'm not going to wait around for them to learn I'm awake!

Harry immediately began looking around for an escape route, his eyes quickly settling on the nearest vent that was about three feet wide.

That'll work, Harry thought, before deciding he needed to find a weapon as well.

He began quietly digging through the drawers. He had no idea where he was, why he was there, or who had taken him, and he certainly didn't know if he was safe, but judging by the man at the door, it was a fair guess those who had him weren't friendly.

He continued searching and found several odd items and things that he had no idea what purposes they served, but soon came upon a scalpel.

Harry recognized this tool from a show on TV, and knew it was used by doctors.

His eyes fell back to the other odd gadgets within the now open drawers, his heart now thundering in horror as his mind was rocked by cold possibilities. His eyes widened.

Who the heck are these people!? I've gotta get out of here!

Harry dashed to the nearby vent after quietly shutting all of the drawers, so they wouldn't suspect he was armed. He then managed to pry the grill from the wall enough to squeeze into the vents and to freedom. Once within the ventilation system, he tried pulling the grill back against the wall, so it wouldn't be obvious how he had escaped. He managed this well enough.

Satisfied, he turned and slowly began crawling, his hand still tightly holding the scalpel.

O

Dumbledore, McGonagall, the Flamels, and Fudge made their way to where Harry's body had been placed.

"Kingsley," Fudge said softly to him in greeting as the approached the door.

"Minister," Kingsley said with a short nod.

With that, he stepped aside, his eyes sad.

Dumbledore opened the door, but suddenly stopped.

McGonagall gasped, horrified.

The Flamels were equally shocked.

Fudge stared.

"Whe-where is he?" Fudge managed, before turning to Kingsley whose eyes were practically the size of basketballs.

Dumbledore whipped out his wand.

"Point me, Harry Potter."

He didn't wait for permission or any input from the others as he immediately dashed out, suddenly very furious that anyone would take a child's body.

O

Harry knew he couldn't stay in the vents forever. He knew he would need to sneak out and continue in open air, so to speak, he just didn't know where to get out exactly.

He crawled past loud areas, particularly where any screaming or shouts were heard, but finally, he came to a quiet room that seemed to be empty. Peeking through the vent screen, he saw a bed and a door, and though he couldn't see the rest of the room, he felt this would be as good a place as any.

He pried the vent open, slipping into the room before putting the vent cover back into place.

He exhaled when the cover to the vent had been properly secured, his trail now covered. Taking a breath, he looked around the room, finding that it went down a ways, and that he wasn't alone.

He stepped back. There were two adults with him, wearing some kind of hospital gowns. They didn't look sick, but they didn't look exactly well either.

One was in a bed that had not been in view from the vent. The other, a woman, was by a table with a few candy wrappers.

He glanced at the door he had seen from the vent. It was as far from him as it was from the woman.

Harry blinked, suddenly finding that there was something very familiar about the couple.

The woman looked very kind, and the man looked gentle.

"Uh, hello?" Harry whispered, not daring to speak any louder.

They didn't seem to hear him, but looked at him with lost, empty eyes.

"Are you stuck here too?" he asked, still whispering.

Harry could have sworn she had nodded, but it could have been wishful thinking on his part.

"Let's get out of here then," Harry said, deciding to go with his instincts as he moved toward the door, going past the man in the bed, and closer to the woman.

The woman moved, as if curious, stopping beside him.

"Can you talk?" Harry whispered, ready to use the scalpel if he had to.

She didn't answer. Instead, she slowly raised one of her hands and presented him a colorful candy wrapper.

Not knowing what else to do, he hesitantly took it, only to experience yet another rush of unexpected images.

He suddenly wasn't where he was, he wasn't in the present. He was in the past, and in a house he didn't know but knew the layout to. He was in a room, and he wasn't alone.

The air reeked of pain.

He looked to the floor, finding the couple lying on the floor, their eyes void of thought or even life, though they were still breathing.

He suddenly somehow knew what had happened and was grateful he had been spared from seeing it directly, since just seeing the brave couple in this condition was nearly too much. He was suddenly aware of a cry of an infant, hidden in a secret room, and a name suddenly surfaced within his mind.

Neville Longbottom.

He knew Death Eaters had come and knew what they had done to Alice and Frank, and knew what their incapacitation had done to Neville's future. Their fate, he dared think it, had been worse than his parents'.

He closed his eyes, wanting nothing less than for the result of this horrendous crime to be fixed. Reversed. Undone. And though he knew it would never be made perfectly alright, there was a spark of hope he could not escape or deny, not that he wished to.

The scene shifted, bringing him back into the room he was physically in, but he was not out of whatever this was.

Neville entered the room, followed by his grandmother and another adult. He was younger, appearing to be roughly seven or eight.

"Now, Neville, you are not to bring back anymore wrappers," Augusta whispered to Neville, a harshness laced within.

Neville looked down with a submissive, "Yes ma'am."

Time seemed to speed up then, their visit fast forwarding before it all slowed, Neville's hand subtly pulling back after taking his mother's hand. Harry nearly missed the wrapper slipping down into Neville's pocket.

Reality snapped back for Harry, and he actually had to grab hold of Alice to prevent himself from falling over. His balance slowly returned, but what he had just witnessed continued to pound in his mind.

Why was he seeing this? Was it real? Was anything he was currently experiencing real? Was this all some sort of bizarre dream?

O

Dumbledore was running once more, just as fast as he had been the previous day.

If the situation had been any different, he would have made a mental note to get some good sneakers, but since he was filled with anguish, worry, and rage his thoughts remained focused.

People, healer, patient and visitor alike, got out of the way, stunned at the angry fury ebbing from the running man's form. They had never seen Albus Dumbledore mad before, and suddenly understood why Voldemort had feared him.

Dumbledore made his way down the fourth floor, which was for spell damage.

He continued onward, his wand directing him toward the room where he knew the Longbottoms resided. Making it to the door, he threw it open, not prepared for what he was about to find.

He gasped, his eyes coming to rest on the boy he thought dead.

Harry was standing with his head bowed, and he was still. Dumbledore noticed a scalpel being held tightly in his young little hand that had held the sorcerer's stone not so long ago; his other hand was at his side in a fist. He was robed in a white sheet that was secured around his neck with a slanted knot to form a cape. His chest and feet were bare.

Dumbledore heard Harry slowly exhale before he went forward, never so relieved and happy in his life as he kneeled in front of Harry and pulled him close.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, not knowing what else to say as his right hand went up to the back of Harry's head, while his left arm went around Harry's back.

Silent tears of relief and joy streamed down his old face as he felt Harry breathe in and out, and he was too thankful to bother glancing at Alice who was still standing beside Harry, or Frank who was still laying motionless in the bed.

"P-pr'ff'sor?" Harry mumbled.

"Yes, Harry, it's me. You're safe, my boy, you're with me," he said, squeezing him slightly to confirm this.

"I'm so glad. I didn't know where I was, but I escaped. I was so scared . . ." Harry rambled. "There were . . . I don't know, scary things. And there was this big black man guarding the room I was in, keeping me there. How did Voldemort manage to get me out of Hogwarts? Did he get the stone too?"

"Shh-shh. Voldemort didn't get you, and the stone is safe," Dumbledore said, now trying to understand what Harry was talking about.

Harry pulled back, hearing people rushing down the hall toward them, but he first looked at Dumbledore's face, surprised to find tears. Now he was really confused. What was going on? What had happened? If Voldemort hadn't gotten him, who had? And were they so bad that Dumbledore was so relieved to cry now that he had found him again?

He was unable to even think about possible answers as several people came into view beyond the doorway behind Dumbledore, and one of them was the big scary black man with the earring.

Harry shot up away from the door and from Dumbledore, thankful he still had a good grip on the scalpel, raising it up defensively. Dumbledore whipped his head around while raising his wand, standing up in a flash and moving protectively in front of Harry, who was silently grateful.

But gratefulness caved to confusion as Dumbledore gave a sigh of relief and lowered his wand slightly.

"Kingsley," Dumbledore said.

Kingsley blinked, seeing Harry bravely hiding (as much as anyone can bravely hide) behind Dumbledore, ready to defend himself.

"Is everything alright, Headmaster? Is… how?... I will ensure the other Aurors set up a perimeter," he settled, falling back to what he was used to doing and hoping for answers later.

"I would appreciate that, Kingsley," Dumbledore said.

Kingsley gave a nod and walked away, Harry's attention now falling on the others staring in from the hall.

There was a stoutly man with a bowler hat, several nurses, McGonagall, an old woman, and an old couple. All of them were stunned and all the women had tears in their eyes, if not rolling down their cheeks.

Harry looked at McGonagall, actually worried about her and the others' reactions and shocked that his stern Head of House was openly revealing such emotion.

And then a thought suddenly surfaced in his mind. Were Ron and Hermione okay? With everything happening so fast, he had nearly forgotten what had happened before he had confronted Quirrell and Voldemort.

Was Ron okay? Had something happened when they left to get help?

"Is Ron and Hermione okay? Did something… did something bad happen to them?" he asked, his hands and voice shaking now.

"Ron and Hermione are fine, Harry," Dumbledore said gently. "Your friends are both alright."

Harry didn't look convinced, glancing back to the adults in front of him who were still staring at him.

"Then why do you all look as if someone died?" Harry blurted out, unable to take the stares any longer as Dumbledore kneeled in front of him again, tears on the horizon.

"Because someone did," Dumbledore whispered, taking Harry's hand that wasn't holding the blade. "You."

Harry barely caught Dumbledore's last word as his mind was once again bombarded.

"Harry? What's wrong?!" Dumbledore asked, quite troubled with how Harry had tensed, his eyes closing tightly before he gave an uncontrolled jerk to the side. Dumbledore stabilized him with his other hand, not sure what was happening. With a gasp, Harry reopened his eyes, locking onto Dumbledore's.

"I'm sorry I scared you," Harry whispered, his eyes revealing deep regret.

Dumbledore frowned in concern and confusion. "You have nothing to be sorry about, my boy. Nothing."

Harry gave a hum of disagreement before his body relented against the fatigue he was feeling and simply collapsed, his eyes closing as his mind surrendered to sleep.

- - - Part 3 — Changes

Joann, an assistant to the leading healer for children at St. Mungos, quietly entered a room and closed the door behind her. Before her was a child she had heard a great deal about, and one who had just recently become even more renown.

News of what had happened at Hogwarts had leaked, not that that was really surprising, though Joann could tell Dumbledore wished it had not been the case – for Potter's sake. The-Boy-Who-Lived had escaped death once again, though this time he had taken it to the extreme, apparently having died only to revive a few hours later after being taken to St. Mungos' morgue. Poor child.

Joann approached the bed, taking a few readings with her wand. The child had been asleep for nearly three days, his 'escape' from the morgue having clearly exhausted him. Thankfully, word of that little venture had been contained somehow.

She shook her head, silently amazed with what she was now reading. Potter's magic was erratic, but it was there and strong. He had sustained some physical injuries, but they were slowly healing and there didn't appear to be anything to be overly concerned about.

After Harry Potter's miraculous return, Dumbledore and a small number of other influential people had been quite busy. Memories of Dumbledore and his professors had been shown during the emergency Wizengamot meeting, which had also included wizard oaths from those showing memories, swearing the memories were correct and unaltered.

The memories of the professors showed the spirit of Voldemort fleeing the scene. Joann hadn't seen the memories herself of course, but she had overheard the Minister talking about it when he had come to visit Harry. It was clear that the memories had been frightening and left no doubt as to what had taken place, or rather, what could have if not for The-Boy-Who-Lived.

As a result, no one could dispute the fact that at least a part of You-Know-Who still existed. It was understandably quite disturbing and alarming. The Ministry was currently trying to show the public that everything was being done to protect them and to prevent he-who-must-not-be-named from ever fully returning. To put it simply, they were trying to stop an all out panic, which led to what they were doing now. Putting Harry Potter up as their savior once again.

Joann fought back a sigh. She knew Dumbledore was currently in another meeting of some sort, though he had stated it primarily concerned Mr. Potter's future. She didn't know why he told her that, but who was she to question it?

Joann looked down at Harry, taking in the fact that the boy still had some of his baby fat, before she realized his eyes were now open.

How long had she been staring at him?

O o O

Harry opened his eyes, quickly gathering that someone was standing right by the bed. He didn't feel threatened, just a little crowded.

"You are in a room in St. Mungo's Hospital, Mr. Potter. Relax, you are safe," the woman said.

She sounded kind, so he felt it would be alright to reach to the side table to get his glasses that were hopefully there. They were, and he quickly put them on.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Potter?"

"Okay, Ma'am," he answered, noticing she was in a light green robe. Nurse perhaps?

"I'm Nurse Joann; I assist Healer Needler."

"Is he my doctor?"

Joann nodded. "So no aches or pains anywhere?"

"Well," Harry began, taking a brief moment to evaluate himself. "I feel really tired and a little sore everywhere, like I've just gotten over a cold."

"Hmm," she hummed. "Professor Dumbledore will be in to check on you soon, probably with Healer Needler. The Headmaster's been worried about you. Told me to stay here with you. He didn't want you to wake up alone."

"How long have I been here?" Harry asked as she leaned closer to him to take some other reading with her wand.

"Three days. You will probably remain here for a few more days, just to be safe."

"To be safe?"

"After what's happened, we want to make sure you're alright," she said, placing her free hand on his shoulder comfortingly.

He was standing in a hall, just outside of a small hospital room with a young girl lying on the bed. He glanced above the door frame. ROOM 141. He slowly entered the room, slightly bewildered before his eyes fell on the side table. There was a little empty flask on the side table. He looked back to the girl. She wasn't breathing.

"No," he whispered, as two words flashed in his vision.

Lacertos Potion.

The scene shifted, violently, to a funeral. A couple, who Harry assumed were the little girl's parents, were crying over the casket. Harry took a few steps back, trying to understand what he was seeing as he nearly bumped into someone else who was mourning.

"How? How did they mistake that potion for her medicine?" they whispered.

He was jolted back into his bed with Nurse Joann leaning over him, very concerned.

"Mr. Potter, are you alright?! What's wrong?" she asked.

Harry reacted instinctively, taking hold of Joann's hand that was now on his cheek for some reason.

"A little girl, in Room 141; go help her!" he said urgently.

He didn't know why he was so certain, but he was, and he was not about to let what he saw come true.

"Room 141? Mr. Potter, you're not making any sense," she said. "What's wrong?"

"The little girl, she was given the wrong potion! She's going to die!"

"Mr. Potter — Harry, I don't know how you know there's a girl in that room, but she's fine. There's no reason she would have been given the wrong potion. All of our potions are properly labeled and administered."

"No, I'm telling you she took the wrong potion! Lacertos! Now if you don't want her to die, go help her, before it's too late!" Harry said, sitting up, his cheeks now flushed in anger.

Why was she still standing there? !

"Harry, you've been through a lot. You're confused."

"I'm not confused! She took the wrong potion, go help her!"

"I'll have one of the nurses check on her soon, okay?" she relented, pulling back, unable to fight the feeling that he was right as she looked in his eyes.

"Do it now!" he shouted.

"Mr. Pot—" she began as the door behind her opened.

Dumbledore entered the room with a Healer. He glanced at Joann, having heard the last bit of the shouting, before focusing on Harry. "What's going on here? Harry, are you alright?"

"Sir! Tell her to check on Cassy, in room 141. You have to make them help her! She took the wrong potion! She's going to die! Please!" he cried, moving forward, his blankets bunching up around him

"Harry." Dumbledore didn't know what else to say before looking at Joann. "Joann, go check on Cassy. There's no harm in doing so."

"Of course," Joann said, leaving the room, the door closing behind her.

Dumbledore approached the bed as Harry continued to stare at the door anxiously, ignoring the man who had entered with Dumbledore who had yet to speak.

"Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry looked at Dumbledore. "I don't know what's happening to me," he managed as the man with Dumbledore stepped up.

"Mr. Potter, I'm Healer Needler. What were you saying about Cas—?"

"Healer Needler, you're needed in 141!" a young Healer called, not bothering to knock as he threw the door open.

Needler hurried out, but not before a quick back glance at Harry.

O

"Albus?" Nicholas Flamel asked, coming to a stop at Dumbledore's side. "How's Harry?"

"He's alright."

"And the child?"

"Cassy will make it. It's a good thing Harry. . . ." Dumbledore frowned and shook his head. "How did he know?"

"Do you want me to talk with him? I will eventually, after all."

"I feel I should talk to him first. After we learned Cassy was going to be alright, he fell asleep. I didn't have time to really speak with him about anything or ask how he knew. He was too concerned about Cassy." Dumbledore held back a sigh. "The Dursleys left yesterday, 'washed their hands of him' Vernon had said." He gave a frustrated noise. "I should never have left Harry with those people, blood wards or no."

"Albus, if not for the blood wards, I sincerely doubt Harry would have succeeded in keeping Voldemort away from the stone until you arrived."

"Well, either way, the blood wards are gone now."

"This will all work out, Albus. Perenelle and I will help, which is why we made that decision this morning. We're partly responsible for all of this, after all."

"You couldn't have known something like this would have happened, Nicholas."

Nicholas closed his eyes for a moment, pained. "Albus."

Dumbledore looked up. "Nicholas?"

"I'm sorry, Albus. When I had asked for your help and suggested using Hogwarts, the stone hadn't really needed to be moved."

"Nicholas, I don't understand. You would put my students in danger for nothing? You told me Perenelle said it needed to be at Hogwarts. Said it was the best place for it to be." Dumbledore's eyes were not twinkling.

"You know Perenelle is a Dream Seer, but like all of them, she can't see everything."

"Why are you telling me this now?" Dumbledore asked, not knowing what to think.

"She saw something, Albus. It was the clearest vision she has ever seen. She couldn't ignore it."

"What did she dream?"

Perenelle occasionally saw glimpses of the future in her dreams. Sometimes she could change and prevent what she saw; other times they were things that would not happen unless she carried out what they showed needed to be done. This had been one such time.

"I can't tell you, Albus. She won't even tell me. But she said, for the future of the world, we had to entrust the stone to you this year, and that it had to be placed at Hogwarts."

"We nearly lost Harry!" Dumbledore said, unable to hold himself back any longer.

"I know, Albus. Why do you think Perenelle and I feel so responsible?!"

"Is this also why you've insisted on taking Harry in? Because if it is, Nicholas, if you only want him to ease your conscious, you better tell me now! I will not make the same mistake again and give Harry to unfit guardians. He doesn't deserve that. He needs a family who wants him for him, and not for any other reason."

Nicholas' expression changed. "With the blood wards gone, he needs to live in a safe place, like you said, and with people who will love him." Nicholas's eyes became earnest. "We have no children, Albus, no true legacy. Harry needs a home, and we need to share one. Perenelle and I aren't planning on living forever, but before we go, we want to leave something truly worthwhile behind. Please don't take this opportunity away from us."

"Oh, Nicholas, my friend, I won't, but please understand, I have already failed Harry more than once; I'm not going to allow myself to do so again."

"Your respect and faith in my wife and myself will not be in vain, Albus. Harry will be loved and well cared for with us."

"Thank you, Nicholas. My only regret is that I could not fulfill it myself."

"You are always welcome in our home, Albus, and if Perenelle is right, Harry will need you as well."

Dumbledore nodded. "I think I'll go speak with Harry now."

"Shall I join you?"

"I'll have someone get you and Perenelle if I think Harry's ready."

"Of course."

O

Harry closed his eyes, trying to calm himself.

Why was he seeing these things?

Harry slowly reopened his eyes, and exhaled slowly. The burned woman was gone.

She wasn't threatening or scary exactly, it was just unnerving to see a woman who didn't acknowledge him pace back and forth beside the bed with bandages wrapped around her face and hands, muttering to herself. It was almost as if he was trapped within a scene of a hospital TV show.

"Harry?"

Harry looked up to find Dumbledore at the foot of his bed.

"Headmaster?"

"How are you feeling, Harry?" he asked.

"Better, sir."

Dumbledore went forward and eased himself down to sit next to him on the bed.

"Are you up for having a talk?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes sir. What do you need to talk to me about?"

"Harry, with what has happened, there are going to be some changes. I need to discuss them with you."

"Okay."

"The first one concerns where you will stay from now on. Circumstances have changed, and the best place for you during the summer holidays is no longer at your relatives' house."

"You mean I'm not going to live with the Dursleys anymore?" Harry asked, hope clearly in his voice before pausing. "Why?"

"The reason why you had been placed at your relatives' house so long ago was because of your aunt's relation to your mother. It provided a means to create extremely powerful wards called Blood Wards. These wards would actually latch onto you and give you an extra layer of defense should you ever need protection outside the house."

"Is that why Quirrell got burned when I touched him?" Harry interrupted.

"Yes. It's also what ultimately forced Voldemort to flee as well."

"So, he didn't get the stone, right?" Harry asked. He knew he had already asked, and that Dumbledore had said it was safe, but just wanted to make sure.

"The stone is safe, my boy."

"I'm glad. Are Ron and Hermione okay? Are they at Hogwarts?"

"They're alright, though they were recently sent home. The Weasleys and Grangers understandably wanted them home early after what happened."

There was a brief silence between them before Dumbledore shifted himself a little. "So where am I going to live now?" Harry asked.

"This arrangement hasn't been finalized yet. We wanted to include you in the decision, as it is your future, but Nicholas Flamel and his wife were selected to be your caretakers for the time being. After considering a number of other people, including the Weasleys, Diggorys, Malfoys, and others, it was decided the Flamels were the best choice."

"The Flamels, sir?" Harry asked, stunned.

"Their home is very safe and is in a secluded place. You will be able to recover there and enjoy your summer."

"So, I would live with them until I graduate from Hogwarts?"

"If that is what you wish, yes. You don't need to decide anything now, but Nicholas has expressed the desire to speak with you today. Would that be alright with you, or do you need to rest and take all of this in? It's alright if you do."

"No, I can talk to him today. I don't need to wait," Harry said, rather quickly Dumbledore thought. Harry frankly didn't want to be alone in the room more than he already had to.

"Are you really alright, Harry? You seem anxious," Dumbledore asked, placing his large hand on Harry's covered knee.

Harry didn't bother to fight it this time, not that he really bothered any of the previous times as they were too sudden and impossible to stop or reign in anyway.

He found himself in a room with a couch. It looked almost like a waiting room of some sort. Dumbledore and McGonagall were on the couch, taking a moment away from the others it seemed.

Dumbledore had his face in his hands and McGonagall was trying to console him while trying to keep herself under control.

"He's gone, Minerva, and it's my fault. I should have. . . ."

The vision then dissolved, the faint sound of muffled weeping echoing away.

"Harry? What's wrong?"

Harry looked up slowly. "Nothing, sir. Nothing."

He didn't know what else to say, but he knew Dumbledore saw through his fib, and knew Dumbledore knew he knew he had seen through it.

"Harry, are you sure there is nothing you wish to tell me?" Dumbledore asked softly. "I can see there is something wrong. Please let me help you. I can't unless I know what's wrong."

Well, that sort of did it for Harry. He could not hide it any longer, not when Dumbledore asked it that way.

"I think I'm going crazy," Harry cracked, his voice breaking. "I-I…I'm seeing things."

"What sort of things, Harry? Does this have anything to do with how you knew about Cassy?"

Harry nodded. "Some of the things are flashes, other times they linger and I'm in them but then I'm suddenly not, and it doesn't seem like any time has passed; but I know things, things I didn't know before and really shouldn't."

"What do you mean, Harry? Tell me what you're seeing and when you see them. Had you seen something a moment ago?" Dumbledore asked, gathering as many pieces to the puzzle as he could.

"Well. . . ." Harry looked down, not making eye contact. "I saw you and Professor McGonagall in a waiting room or something."

"Yes?" Dumbledore encouraged, as Harry had stopped.

"You were . . . upset, because I was gone." Harry risked a glance up at Dumbledore's face before looking down again and whispering, "You know, it wasn't your fault."

Dumbledore inhaled sharply before collecting himself. "You are kind to say so, Harry, but it doesn't change the fact I should have made other choices this past term. Things would have turned out differently."

"Differently perhaps, but who's to say they would have been better?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore smiled softly. "I see I won't win with you, Harry."

Harry returned the smile with a shrug.

"What else have you seen, Harry? When did you start seeing them?"

"I guess soon after I got up. There was a really weird and freaky one in the morgue. And then Neville's parents. . . . Why am I seeing these things, sir?"

"I don't know, Harry, but we'll figure this out. Perhaps it has to do with what has recently happened to you. You had, excuse my bluntness, just been dead, after all. Those who have escaped from death, as you have, sometimes experience strange phenomenon for a brief period of time afterwards."

"Like seeing things?"

"Yes. Sometimes they are given feelings or hints about the coming demise of someone close to them, allowing them to stop or postpone it."

"Like I had with Cassy?"

"Yes."

"So, what will we do now?" Harry asked, uncertainly.

"We will take things as they come, Harry, together," he said, before pausing, contemplating something. "Would you like to talk to the Flamels now?"

"Okay."

"I'll go get them, then. They will be happy to see you awake."

O

Perenelle and Nicholas stopped just outside of Harry's room. Dumbledore had just told them what he had discussed with Harry and that he seemed to have taken the news of them becoming his caretakers quite well. Though, considering what else was going on, that wasn't much of a surprise.

Nicholas entered first.

"Hello, Harry. I'm Nicholas Flamel, and this is my wife, Perenelle."

Nicholas was a very distinguished looking man. His robes were rich, his shoulders wide and his back straight. He was like a proud warrior, but his eyes were kind. Perenelle was his equal, her face glowing with an inner strength he had never seen before.

"Hello, sir; ma'am." Harry was still tucked in the hospital bed.

They smiled at him before conjuring some chairs beside his bed and sitting down.

"Dumbledore informed us of what you two had discussed," Nicholas said.

"Oh." Harry looked down, no doubt wondering what they thought about his 'visions'.

"We're glad you've agreed to allow us to become temporary caretakers of you. We hope 'temporary' will, well, only be temporary," Nicholas said, amused with his own words.

Harry couldn't help but smile.

"Well, do you have any questions for us before we start asking our own?" Perenelle asked.

"Um, when will I go with you?"

"Once you are released from the hospital, which should be within a few days. We live in a small castle in Wales. We have a few acres there with horses, young dragons, and a few other animals," Nicholas answered.

"Dragons?" Harry asked, perking up.

"Oh yes, we raise them from eggs. We find that retrieving broken scales and horn tips is easier if they are familiar with the one who retrieves them when they are older," Nicholas answered.

"Oh, do you know Charlie, Charlie Weasley?"

"Yes, such a charming young man, and thank you for helping Hagrid out with that Norwegian Ridgeback. She was a very nice addition to our dragon nursery."

" 'She'? 'Nursery'? You mean Norbert's a girl and you're taking care of her now?" Harry asked, quite amused that Hagrid had mistaken the gender of the dragon.

"Yes," Perenelle said with a chuckle. "Though we have renamed her Norberta. We will not be keeping her for much longer, however. She is nearly ready to go to the reserve."

"I was there when she was born. She burped fire onto Hagrid's beard," Harry said with a laugh.

They laughed with him, easily imagining the scene.

"Albus told me what you and some others had done. You know, dragons never forget who met them in their first moments."

"Will I be able to see her before she has to leave?"

"Of course."

Harry smiled, though his face became still as the Flamels slowly became serious.

"Harry, we need to talk to you about one other thing before we go, though I'm sure you already know what it's about."

"What I'm seeing?" Harry asked.

Nicholas nodded.

"We have a bit of experience with this sort of thing, I—" Nicholas glanced at Perenelle. "Well, my wife. . . ."

"I have visions," Perenelle took over. "They only come occasionally when I sleep. They're called Rem-Visions, for they happen when I'm in REM sleep."

"We just wanted to let you know, so you don't have anything to worry about there. We will help you in every way possible with whatever you happen to see," Nicholas said.

"Thank you," Harry said.

There was really nothing else he could say.

- - - Part 4 — Castle

Dumbledore was not pleased, but the Minister would not be refused. So, reluctantly, he led the way to Harry's room. Thankfully though, the main source of his displeasure had been removed. The reporters. Initially, the Minister had insisted on having a few reporters accompany him when he visited Harry. Well, Dumbledore was not about to allow that, and flexing his magic for all those in the vicinity to feel had been sufficient to cause the fairly new Minister to change his mind about the reporters. Though, he did promise to come back with a statement from Harry Potter for them. Dumbledore could live with that.

"Harry?" Dumbledore asked, knocking on the door to announce his presence as he slowly entered.

"Yes, Professor?" Harry asked.

Harry was sitting on the bed that had recently been made up, presumably by Harry himself.

Dumbledore smiled at the sight, before turning as a man with a puke green top hat stepped in behind him.

"Harry, this is Minister Cornelius Fudge, he wanted to see how you are before you leave with the Flamels," he said.

"Oh, okay," Harry said. "Hello, Minister." He did not offer his hand. Fudge didn't seem to notice as he held out his own.

Not wanting to appear rude, Harry took the offered hand, despite the desire to not touch anyone unnecessarily.

He was instantly standing in a nearly empty hall. Far from the hall's corner, the Minister was talking with a blond headed man in hushed tones.

"I understand your desire to adopt the Potter boy, but I'm afraid the decision has already been made; however, I promise you, Lucius, if things don't work out with the Flamels, I will fully indorse you taking custody of him."

"Thank you, Minister. I know it is a bit selfish of me, but I want to be the one to take care of the boy."

"I understand. Harry Potter has given us all so much, and we owe a great deal to him. It is only reasonable someone with your history would want to give something back. I will keep you informed."

Lucius bowed his head as the Minister turned and headed out of the hall.

Harry watched Lucius stare at the Minister's retreating back, a hateful sneer quickly overtaking his look of concern and kindness.

To those watching, the only hint that something was amiss was the tightening of Harry's neck muscles, but as quickly as it had come, it was gone.

"So how are you feeling, Harry?" Fudge asked, smiling like a doting uncle.

"Good, sir."

"Good, good. Harry, I wanted to personally thank you for what you have done. I also wanted to assure you steps are being taken to make sure something like this never happens again."

"You're looking for ways to prevent Voldemort from returning then?" Harry asked.

Fudge jumped at Voldemort's name, but kept enough composure to reply. "A number of departments within the Ministry are looking into it, especially the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Good, Voldemort will not give up trying to get what he wants," Harry said.

The Minister nodded nervously, not liking Voldemort's name being stated so often. Dumbledore stepped closer to him, no doubt wanting the minister to move things along and be on his way. Fudge was not about to make the man angry, especially in front of Harry, so heeded the hint. Ever since Harry's miraculous return, the old Headmaster was no longer as doting or seemingly senile. He was an unquestionably powerful wizard who had earned all of his positions and titles.

"Well, I just wanted to see how you were doing before you headed off to your new caretakers," Fudge said.

"Thank you, sir."

"No problem, Harry, and remember, if you ever need something, feel free to come to me. I'd be happy to help."

Harry smiled politely. "I'll remember."

Fudge beamed before looking to Dumbledore. "Albus, I will leave you to it then."

"Thank you, Cornelius," Dumbledore said as Fudge left, closing the door behind him. "Well, Harry, are you ready?"

Harry stood up hesitantly, thinking they would leave through the door. He didn't want to have to interact with any more people, and he was certain there were reporters just dying to talk to him. So Harry was confused when Dumbledore motioned him over and took out a sock. A brightly colored, little, knitted sock.

"Uh, Professor?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"I've made this into a portkey, Harry. It will take us to the Flamels' castle, where they are waiting for you. When you touch a portkey at a given time or activate it, it will instantly transport you to the pre-designated location. For those using it for the first time, it can be a bit disorienting, but the feeling will pass quickly."

"Okay, as long as I don't throw up," Harry said honestly.

Dumbledore chuckled. "No, that usually happens to people after side-apparating."

"Apparating?"

"It's when a witch or wizard transports themselves to a place they know. Side-apparation is when they take someone with them."

Harry nodded, wondering if there would ever be a time when the wizarding world would stop surprising him.

"Alright, shall we go then?" Dumbledore asked, holding out the sock.

Harry stretched out his hand and took hold of the sock.

"Albus, come here this instant, young man!" a woman yelled out the front door.

A young boy, even younger than Harry, trudged up the nicely kept yard, walking on the stone path that led to the front door of the tiny house.

"What were you thinking?! Using magic like that! Just because you are talented doesn't mean you should show it off everywhere!"

Albus seemed to instantly realize what she was referring to. "I'm sorry, Mother. Ariana asked me to show her."

"Really, Albus, you know she already has enough trouble finding matching socks on her own. Did you really need to add to it?"

"They still match," Albus muttered.

"Hold on tightly, now," Albus said, patting Harry on the shoulder.

Harry blinked, staring at the sock, unable to do anything else as the portkey activated, taking him and Dumbledore away.

O

Harry nearly stumbled, but Dumbledore kept him steady and on his feet when they landed at the edge of the vast property. Harry tried not to gape, but it was difficult. The castle was made of white stone, some vines climbing up its side. Magically moving bushes, trimmed and formed into the shapes of lions, bears, and dragons, patrolled the far side perimeter. The castle was not nearly as big as Hogwarts, but it was still a formidable fortress. It had one tower, which resided on the back corner of it, overlooking all of the grounds.

"Hedwig and your belongings are already in the room where you will be staying. I hope you don't mind that I packed your things," Dumbledore said, before taking a step forward and waving his hand before him, like batting cobwebs away.

Harry noticed the action and tilted his head, before speaking. "No, I don't mind."

"I also placed your cloak in the inner side pocket of your suitcase. Whenever you leave these grounds, please carry it with you," Dumbledore stated. There was a strange earnestness to his voice that Harry wasn't sure how to respond to.

"I will, sir."

"The same goes for your wand, of course," he added with a smile.

"Of course, I promise."

Dumbledore beamed, as if Harry had just done something exceedingly praiseworthy. Harry blinked. Dumbledore certainly was strange.

"Well now, my boy, shall we?" he asked.

Harry nodded, Dumbledore slowly leading the way. Dumbledore seemed to know that Harry wanted to take in as much as he could before they entered the small white castle. Taking a few steps forward, passing into the area where Dumbledore had waved his hand about, Harry was brushed with something he could not see, but evidently it had touched him enough.

Harry gasped, the feeling of thick heat coming over him as he felt a force so powerful that it knocked the breath from his lungs.

Time jumped, everything stopping. He could see Dumbledore turning back toward him in obvious alarm, but he was suddenly frozen in place, his beard twisted around his form. There was no wind, no sound, but suddenly, he was no longer in his body, but he remained, watching the grounds.

Time went back; he and Dumbledore going backwards and vanishing from sight before time rewound even faster. Days went back, weeks, months . . . years. A blur of people moved across the grounds — visiting, staying, living. He barely managed to spot the Flamels among them, as well as, occasionally, Dumbledore. It was utterly bizarre, watching years pass backwards, Dumbledore going back in years, amber coming back into his hair, his beard shrinking. . . .

More time passed, the grounds becoming filled with a haze of forms Harry could not identify due to the speed in which they passed, until finally. . . .

Time slowed, Harry still standing back as a bystander watching this strange history.

The Flamels were there, as well as a number of goblins. The couple was younger, much younger. And Mrs. Flamel was with child.

Goblins were placing stones with runes engraved upon them around the property, before dropping them into holes they had recently dug.

"Are you sure this is really necessary, Nicholas?" Mrs. Flamel asked.

"It is, my flower. These grounds must be protected. We don't know what the future holds," he answered.

She sighed. "I suppose you are right, but could we have not waited until after the little one was born?"

"Well, if we do this now, it will be one less thing we will need to worry about," he said simply, before going over to her and placing his hand lovingly onto her bulging stomach.

"Harry!"

Harry's vision focused as he instantly found himself crumpled on the grass, the green blades rubbing against his clothing and skin.

Dumbledore knelt beside him, leaning over him. "Harry, can you hear me?"

"Yeah. I-I don't know what happened," he answered, sitting up and placing his right hand at the edge of his brow.

"Does your head hurt? Do you feel sick?"

"No, no, I don't feel sick," Harry said, shaking his head, still trying to gather himself.

Dumbledore looked at him intently. "Did you see something, Harry?"

Harry nodded. "It wasn't bad or anything. It just . . . sort of showed me the history of the wards."

Dumbledore's eyes went wide. "Which wards?"

"I don't know. Goblins were burying large stones with markings on them. The Flamels were there, and Mrs. Flamel was pregnant."

Dumbledore reared back slightly, confusion crossing his face for a moment before disappearing as quickly as it had come. But Harry had seen it. Not knowing what to think of that, Harry looked to the castle. If he was having visions outside, how many more would he experience inside?

"Let's get you inside. I'm sure Perenelle already has tea waiting for us," Dumbledore said after a moment.

Harry gave no arguments.

O

"They're on their way. They've just stepped onto the grounds," Nicholas said. "And, knowing Albus, he is going to take his time walking up here." He paused, closing his eyes and stretching out his senses and magic. "Ha! He is. The old rascal!"

Perenelle chuckled, shaking her head as she poured herself a small cup of tea, before waving her hand toward the oven to turn it on.

Ten minutes later, they heard the door knocker. Nicholas hurried to the door, opening it for them.

"Harry, Albus!" he said happily, beckoning them in.

Albus smiled, leading Harry in.

"Perenelle has tea and biscuits that are almost ready. Until then, how about a little tour?" he asked, looking to Harry.

"Sure, Mr. Flamel," he said.

Nicholas waved off the sir. "No need to be so formal, Harry. You can call me Nic or Nicholas here. As for my wife, you can call her Perenelle."

Harry smiled softly, before Nicholas motioned toward the hall to their right after closing the massive mahogany door.

Harry took this moment to really take in the interior of the castle. The entryway was ten feet wide with marble and stone floors. There were old pictures on the walls of people Harry had never seen before, though they did have some resemblance to Nicholas. The ceilings were high, much higher than they were in muggle homes he had seen. Harry guessed about 12 feet high at least, the walls arching over to join the ceiling. The light fixtures were medieval, and the walls were aged stone, while parts of the ceilings had exposed wood where the plaster had fallen off.

Following Nicholas, the two of them made their way down the hall he had previously indicated. Dumbledore had headed off to assist Perenelle in the kitchen.

"Down that way are some guest quarters," Nicholas pointed, before leading them up a staircase to the left in the middle of the hall. "Up here are our quarters, as well as yours, Harry. But it also leads to a staircase going to the high tower you probably saw while walking to the door. There's also another staircase that heads back down to the first floor."

He pointed out the doors to his and Perenelle's chambers. "You may knock anytime you need us, even at night. We'll either come to the door or call you in." Nicholas then continued to another short hall that branched off from the main. "And here are your quarters. Albus already set your belongings there, so they're waiting in there for you, as well as your owl. After dinner, you can investigate your rooms further. I just wanted to show you where they are now."

Harry nodded in understanding.

"Alright, let's head back down. This way," he said. "There are other halls and chambers, but I'll show you them later. I don't want to overwhelm you."

Heading down the stairs, Harry took hold of the railing, his eyes trailing along the curve of the wall. There were carvings and decorative items hanging and it was clear that each held a story.

"These stairs will take us to the library, which connects to the living and dining rooms. Those, of course, are right next to the kitchen," he said.

Harry took another step down, his hand bracing against the side of the wall as Nicholas increased his pace.

"I don't care, Deborah, I am not going!" a slightly younger Nicholas yelled from the entryway of his castle.

"And why not, uncle?!" she screamed back.

"That man is evil, that's why!"

"Have you ever even spoken to him?" she asked snappily.

"I don't need to! If allowed, that man will bring about the destruction of the entire Wizarding World, you mark my words!"

"Gellert would never hurt the Wizarding World, he's here to save it!"

"If he is, then I'm a twitterpated hippogriff in a pink tutu!"

"Must you be like this?" she cried.

"I could ask you the same thing," he stated relentlessly. "I will not go and show my face beside the man who will lead this country into war. And neither should you. Do not stain your family name by standing by that man. It will only come back to haunt you when his true self is revealed. . . ."

A hand grabbed his arm, and for a moment Harry didn't know where he was.

"Steady, steady," a voice said by his ear. It took him a second to recognize it as Nicholas'.

Harry swallowed, the angry and hurt voices from the vision still ringing in his ears.

"Alright?" Nicholas asked, his hand still firmly around Harry's arm.

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Um. . . ." He looked at Nicholas questioningly.

"What is it, child?"

"Who is . . . Gellert?" he asked, deciding at the last second that asking about Deborah might be getting too personal just then.

Nicholas blinked, tilting his head a little bit. "What did you see?" he asked softly.

Harry looked down, breaking eye contact with Nicholas. "Uh, well. . . ."

"It's alright, Harry. You can tell me."

Harry hesitantly lifted his eyes. "I saw you arguing with someone about him."

Nicholas' face showed recognition. He knew what argument Harry was referring to. "I see. Well, Gellert was a dark wizard during the time of World War II. Gellert Grindelwald."

Harry's eyebrows went up at that, recalling Grindelwald's name on Dumbledore's chocolate frog card.

"I see you know that name," Nicholas said, before once again going down the stairs, though he remained close to Harry. "He was a very powerful wizard, and very well still could be except for the fact he is in Nurmengard — a prison. Many consider him the darkest wizard of all time, well, except for Voldemort, even though Gellert terrorized all of Europe, and not just Britain like Voldemort."

"Why do people say Voldemort is worse?" Harry asked as they entered the library.

"Because of his methods. Voldemort was not above crucioing a young child in front of their restrained parents to get what he wanted, was not above imperioing a man and forcing him to kill his family before lifting the Unforgivable and throwing him a painful potion to drink to commit suicide. Voldemort was a sadist to the extreme. And he displayed it openly. . . . Gellert, on the other hand, did it secretly, and in worse ways."

"Worse than that?!" Harry asked, appalled.

"His methods should not be discussed in civilized conversation, but I will say this. He was a master manipulator. He manipulated leaders and nations, both muggle and wizard alike. He was not responsible for World War II, but he was planning on using it to his advantage before its end. He would have brought the entirety of Europe's magic community to its knees before transforming it into his vision of a new world order. That order would have then spilt over into the muggle world at the end of or soon after WWII."

"So do you think Grindelwald was worse than Voldemort?" Harry asked.

"Comparing want they had done and what had resulted from their actions, yes — however, I feel Voldemort could have become much-much worse. He also did something that no one, other than you, has ever done. Survived the killing curse. Granted, it had reflected off of you before hitting him, and its power was likely damped, but he survived having his body destroyed. He should be dead, by all rights, but he lives on — if living as a parasitic spirit is a life. This fact, above everything else, tells me he has delved deeper into the dark arts more than anyone who has ever lived, including Gellert. Gellert was a malicious and manipulative Dark Arts Master, but Voldemort is as well and more. He holds nothing sacred. Not honor, not life, not love. Nothing."

"Did Gellert?"

"Honor. How do you think a duel between him and Albus was able to take place? Albus challenged him, Gellert couldn't not oblige. That is why the historic fight is called the 'spectacular duel of legend' and not the 'spectacular battle of legend'."

Nicholas didn't say anything more as they came to the edge of the library, the smell of Perenelle's cooking coming in from the kitchen.

O