Long, wrinkled fingers dipped a thin brush into the bowl of red, the blood gleaming against the golden ferrule and dripping down the bristles. Dumbledore lifted the brush and drew a rune across Harry's rosy skin, careful of the curves of the other runes. His breath trembled as he dipped the brush again, continuing his work.
"Almost done." Dumbledore gently patted Harry's head as he stirred in his sleep. "Keep sleeping."
Fawkes trilled softly and Dumbledore smiled at him, the song lulling Harry back to sleep. Drawing a rune above Harry's eyebrows, he kept the brush and bowl away, the Elder Wand slipping into his hand.
"With your parents' blood, you should be well protected," Dumbledore murmured. "It might've been more powerful if it was your own magic but you're several years away from doing something like this. And we cannot wait, can we, Harry?"
Dumbledore placed the tip of the Elder Wand against the rune on Harry's forehead and pushed his magic into it. The red symbols flashed golden, and the thrum of magic spread across his skin and sank into Harry, who smiled faintly in his sleep. He stepped back and ran his fingers against Harry's forehead, feeling the warm magic prickle his skin, his shoulders sagging in relief.
"We are ready, Fawkes." Anxiety crept into his heart from the ocean of welling sadness. "It'll be alright. Harry will be alright. It is a bond with the most powerful wand in the world. It has to be enough."
Fawkes' song hummed through the office and Dumbledore looked at Harry's faintly smiling face as Harry turned, tucking his hand under his head. He felt a warmth spread, rays of hope flooding him, like beams of the rising sun piercing through the night sky.
With a nod to Fawkes, Dumbledore waved his wand and the tables and chairs floated away to the corners of the office. Fawkes fluttered onto a bookcase, trilling encouragingly and Dumbledore turned to Harry. Scooping him into his arms, Dumbledore ran his fingers through his dark locks.
With a flick of his wand, the crib vanished, and he laid him on the floor.
"Don't move, little one," Dumbledore whispered. "You'll be free of the accursed connection soon."
Taking a deep breath, he wrestled the storm within him, imagining a single golden flame in his mind. "You've done this a hundred times before, Albus. A principle of equal exchange. It is simple. You can do this."
'But a life depends on it this time. A life has never depended on it before.' Worry crawled into his mind, but he smothered it.
"Time to take the leap," he muttered, pointing his wand at the floor. Golden flames of gold trickled from its tip and spread around Harry, who slept peacefully in the golden glow. "No more mistakes tonight."
The flames curled into glyphs and runes, a golden star forming over the floor with Harry at its center. A circle joined the five points, glyphs, and runes glowing brighter as Dumbledore stepped into it.
'Be brave, brother.' A memory rose in his mind, Arianna's smile flashing in front of his eyes. 'Be brave and you'll do great things one day. Greater than any other in history. I believe in you.'
"The sacrifice goes here." He placed the Elder Wand in the star above Harry's head. "An equal exchange. A bond for a bond. My bond with the Elder Wand— the most powerful wand in history to break the bond between Tom Riddle and Harry Potter."
He licked his lips, glancing at Fawkes who tucked his eyes under his wings. Dumbledore looked back at the circle and moved to the space between the two triangles at the bottom. Kneeling, he placed a palm in each triangle on either side of his knees.
The glyphs beneath his palms turned warm and golden light peeked between his fingers as the circle thrummed. He tugged at the magic within him and pushed it down his arms and the runic circle lit up, golden light flooding the room as bright as the sun emerging from dark clouds.
A screech pierced the air and Dumbledore squinted through the golden haze, watching as dark smoke poured out of Harry's scar, taking the form of a serpent, rearing its head, its smoky fangs poised toward Harry.
'No.' His heart dropped.
A wave of red magic burst from the boy and hit the serpent, pushing it away. Beams of red stabbed through the dark smoke and Dumbledore felt hope burn in his chest as the screech of the serpent rang through the stones of the castle while the red magic tore it apart like a house in the storm.
Then, the whirlpool of magic burst, shattering the windows of the office.
Dumbledore felt the magic push him into the air and he smashed into something hard, pain shooting up his back, throbbing against his head.
His glasses slipped off his nose and his temple hit the stone floor, something soft falling on his head.
"Headmaster, are you alright?" A voice spoke through the gathering fog. "Headmas—"
The voice faded and he knew no more.
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Cold stone floor pressed into Dumbledore's cheek and the faint copper tang of blood hovered on his tongue. Dust tickled his nostrils, and he coughed, pain lancing up his chest.
"—bus? Albus?" A voice fell on his ears, something light hitting his arm. "Albus, are you alright, my dear?"
A faint head of blonde appeared in front of his eyes, fingers blurring in front of his eyes.
"Idiot boy. Episkey. Percuro." Magic washed over him, and the pain faded, the fog rolling away, and memories came back to him.
"Harry," he croaked, pushing himself up. "Check on Harry. I'm alright. Go, check on him."
He fumbled for his glasses and his finger brushed against the cold thin metal. He squinted at them, seeing the broken glass.
'No, no.' He clenched his fingers on the frame, imagining his golden spectacles. 'Repair.'
Glass flew back into the frame and the cracks vanished. Dumbledore shoved the glasses back onto his face, looking at Perenelle hunched over Harry.
Panic seized him and he hurried forward, pain burning up his limbs. "Is he alright, Perenelle? Tell me."
"He's healthy," Perenelle said, and Dumbledore breathed in relief, stumbling across the broken silver instruments and small pieces of glass, onto an armchair. "I think he was bleeding from his scar but now it is healed. Phoenix tears."
Fawkes ruffled his feather from atop his perch, his song ringing through the office.
"And the scar? The connection?"
Perenelle traced her wand down Harry's forehead and colors swirled over him. The magic churned taking the form of a body. A golden glow cocooned in a layer of red, the dark scar no longer present.
"The connection is no more, Albus."
Dumbledore's heart soared, and he slumped against the chair, his lips stretching into a brilliant smile. Fawkes sang from his perch and a laugh slipped through his lips, the phoenix landing on his arm.
"He's saved. He's saved, Fawkes."
Fawkes sang, his voice warming the office. A laugh slipped through Dumbledore's lips, the tenseness draining away.
"Yes, he is," Perenelle's sharp voice cut through his laughter. "But what did you do, Albus? What did you sacrifice?"
The happiness ebbed away, and he sat straighter, meeting Perenelle's worried brown eyes, Harry held against her chest.
"I found you against the wall with the hat against your face. The hat told me you did two rituals with Harry. What did you do?"
"I enhanced the protection over him with the blood of his parents first." Dumbledore shifted in the seat. "Then I removed his connection with Voldemort. A bond for a bond."
"Which bond did you sacrifice, my dear? What did you give up?"
Dumbledore's eyes ran across the floor, spotting the Elder Wand peeking from under one of the tables. He stood from the chair, wincing as a dull throb hammered against his limbs, and picked up the wand from the floor, feeling the cold wood bite into his skin.
"The Deathstick," Perenelle whispered.
Dumbledore stared at the Elder Wand, watching it tremble with every beat of his hammering heart. "Lumos."
The tip of the wand didn't glow, the wood dead against his fingers. He looked at Perenelle, handing the wand to her.
"You try."
Perenelle's lips drew into a thin white line as she plucked the wand from his fingers. "Lumos."
No light glowed and the wand remained unresponsive.
"It is just a stick now, my dear," Perenelle said and handed the wand back to him. "Was it worth it? Sacrificing the wand?"
"No wand is worth a life, Perenelle."
"Not even the greatest wand in the world? The wand that you won from Gellert?"
A storm of grief swirled under his ribs, a pair of heterochromatic eyes peering at him. Dumbledore squashed it down, glancing at Harry.
"Yes. Not even this wand." Dumbledore mustered a smile. "It is just a stick now."
Fierce pride shone in Perenelle's eyes, and she patted his back. "You did a good thing today, my dear. A noble thing."
Dumbledore nodded and turned to his desk, pulling the top drawer open and removing a curved wand from it, smiling as a welcoming warmth shot up his arm. "Hello, old friend."
"Your old cherry wand."
"Yes," Dumbledore looked around the room, at the cracked tiles and broken artifacts strewn across the office. With a wave of his cherry wand, the cracks vanished, and the office righted itself, furniture floating back into place. Shards of glass flew back onto the windowpanes, and he beamed. "As good as new!"
Perenelle chuckled, bouncing Harry slightly in her arms as he stirred.
"Can you take care of Harry for some time, Perenelle?" Dumbledore turned around. "Not everyone can be as young as you are."
Perenelle laughed and nodded her head, a slight sadness hovering in her eyes. "I will. My Nicholas may have never wanted a child— and neither can we have one. But I can take care of Harry for some time till you find someone to take him in, my dear."
A sigh slipped Dumbledore's lips. "Another thing that must be done till this day is over. But the worst is past us."
"Indeed." Perenelle smiled. "Go on, Albus. Have some rest. You've earned it and you'll need it when the ministry comes looking for you for answers."
"I've already met with the Minister before I came here. I explained to her what had happened the best I could." Dumbledore said. "But I'll undoubtedly still be needed sooner than later."
"As my Nicholas says, the world always looks up to great men in times of need and trouble." Perenelle ran her hand over Harry's head. "Rest, Albus."
"I will," Dumbledore said. "Can you tell Minerva to declare the day off for the students in light of Voldemort's demise? It will undoubtedly be the prophet's front page and Britain hasn't seen a day of joy for the last few years. We must let them celebrate."
"Anything else?"
"Take care of Harry. Once I rest, I'll find a new family for him. A family that he could call his own."
Dumbledore smiled faintly and Perenelle returned it before walking out of the door, her cloak fluttering behind her.
With a sigh, he closed his eyes, pressing the cold Elder Wand against his chest. "I'm sorry, Gellert. It was for a greater purpose. It was just a wand."
Pain twisted in his chest as he ran his fingers over the mahogany wood of the bookshelf behind his desk, the books sliding away to reveal a compartment. A photo of two young boys stared at him, both of them beaming as he placed the wand beside the photo.
His eyes flicked to the other photo and Ariana and Aberforth beamed at him, and he smiled.
"I did the right thing. No mistakes for this once. You'll be proud."
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The chatter of the students drifted through his ears, more alive than the world in spring as he made his way through the castle, watching a pair of first-years skip through the corridors, their laughter ringing down the hall.
Raising his hand, Dumbledore knocked on the bricks in a pattern, and they slid away, revealing an archway. Candles lit up as he walked up the stairs and the woman in the portrait raised her head.
"Password?" She asked.
"I am afraid I do not know the password, Florence." He smiled at her. "But I need to access the room. If you'd be so kind as to call Perenelle or let me in, I'd be grateful."
"Well, as the headmaster, you can always go into any room you wish, I think," Florence said and the portrait swung open.
"Albus, my dear, you're up so early?" Perenelle put down the Daily Prophet, Harry, James, and Lily's face staring up at him from the front page. "You should've rested."
"It is already late enough. And I needed to check on Harry."
"He's still sleeping. He woke up once, crying but then went back to sleep." Perenelle's face fell. "I think he knows what happened. He might not understand it, young as he is, but he knows. He was asking for his mumma."
Dumbledore felt his heart clench as he glanced at Harry who was sleeping in his crib. "He'll never have his mother again, unfortunately."
"They're calling him the Boy-Who-Lived," Perenelle whispered, wetting her lips. "Their savior. The sun to their darkest night. He'll be the most famous child in the wizarding world by this time tomorrow."
"It doesn't matter what they proclaim him to be, Perenelle. He's still a child. A child who just lost his parents."
"What will happen now? Where'll he go?" Perenelle asked. "He needs a family. Someone who can raise him as their own."
Dumbledore swayed the crib and looked up at Perenelle. "There's his godmother, Alice Longbottom. She has a son Harry's age. He will have a good family growing up there. I've sent an owl to her already."
"Longbottom, you say?" Perenelle's forehead creased. "The ones who were Aurors?"
His heart plummeted as Perenelle picked up the paper, flipping through the pages and turning it around. The Dark Mark hung over a house, the snarling faces of the Bellatrix Lestrange as she was escorted out by aurors below it.
Dumbledore sat on the floor, his face pale. "Alice and Frank… are dead?"
"Not dead. No." Perenelle kept the paper next to him. "Tortured under the Cruciatus. They are said to be unresponsive. They've been admitted to Janus Thickney ward."
"Long-term damage," Dumbledore murmured. "There might be a cure though. Perenelle, could you go and see them later? As a personal favor? If anyone would know a cure when the healers have given up, it'd be you."
"I can check on them for Harry's sake," Perenelle nodded. "But what if they aren't curable? Then what will happen to Harry?"
Dumbledore turned to her, staring at her intently with hope brimming in his eyes and Perenelle instantly shook her head.
"Don't even think along those lines, Albus. My Nicholas doesn't want children. He has made that clear since the past so many centuries. He despises them. You know what happened with Nicholas' father and uncle, don't you?"
"I do." Dumbledore bowed his head. "It was an accident, Perenelle. One he blamed on the doings of a child."
"Albus, our house is less a house and more a lab. It is no place for a child," she sighed. "Do not take this the wrong way, my dear. It is nothing against Harry. Just… children being children."
"I understand." Dumbledore grimaced. "Nicholas doesn't want to let it happen again. To him, there's no controlling the curiosity of a child."
"Exactly."
Dumbledore closed his eyes and let out a breath. "Perhaps—"
He saw Harry stir, stretching his arms over his head, his eyes blinking open. He looked around with wide emerald eyes, and he rolled onto his side, pushing himself to his knees.
"Mama?" Harry stared up at Dumbledore from the crib, his hands grasping the wooden bars as he pulled himself up. "Dada?"
Dumbledore's heart clenched and he looked at Perenelle who averted her eyes, a pained expression on her face. Dumbledore knelt by the crib and smiled softly, smothering the grief that surged through him. "Hello, Harry."
Harry beamed. "Me!"
"Yes, little one." Dumbledore patted Harry's head softly. "I am Albus Dumbledore."
"Al Do?" Harry tilted his head, blinking at him. "Mama?"
Dumbledore felt his gut twist and he looked at Perenelle who closed her eyes and nodded.
"Your… Mumma is gone to a place most beautiful. Someplace where heroes go." Dumbledore mustered a smile and gathered Harry in his arms, lifting him. "You'll see her someday. But not now."
Harry squirmed, his fist curling around his beard as he looked around the room. "Dada?"
"He is with your Mumma, little one. He is with her, and they are happy." Dumbledore's heart crumbled as he stared into Harry's eyes. "They are watching over you. You'll understand when you're older."
Harry's lower lip quivered, and his eyes grew teary. He shoved his head into Dumbledore's beard and sobbed, his fingers tugging at the silver hair. Dumbledore shushed him, looking at Perenelle helplessly. She shook her head, wiping the tear that rolled down her cheek.
A bright flash of flames lit up the room and Fawkes flew into the room, the phoenix song ringing through the air. Harry's sobs lessened and he looked up, tear stains shining on his cheeks, his gaze fixed on Fawkes, who settled on a high shelf.
Harry wiggled in Dumbledore's grip until he set him down. Harry's mouth hung open as he toddled toward Fawkes, the phoenix trilling encouragingly.
"Magic birdy!" Harry giggled and waved his arms at the phoenix. "Magic birdy!"
Fawkes squawked suddenly and was pulled off the shelf, zooming across the room toward Harry, flapping his wings in panic. Before Harry could get his arms around him, he disappeared in a flash of fire, leaving Harry grasping at the air.
"Magic birdy?" Harry looked around and Dumbledore chuckled. "Magic birdy."
Perenelle laid a hand on Dumbledore's shoulder. "Albus, did you see what I just saw? Did Harry… summon Fawkes to him?"
"Well, he has certainly taken a liking to Fawkes, I did say." Dumbledore watched Harry toddle around the room. "Even yesterday he was distracted, thanks to him."
"Yes, my dear. But that is not what I am saying. He used a summoning charm on a phoenix, Albus. A phoenix. And he's a year old."
Dumbledore's smile faded a little and worry niggled at him "Is there something I'm missing here?"
"Albus, at what age do you think children usually get started with accidental magic?"
"A year? Maybe two?" His forehead creased. "I remember Harry was doing magic a few months ago when Lily had to bring him along to a meeting. He turned Dorcas' hair blue and hit her with his toy."
Perenelle raised an eyebrow. "And how long ago was that?"
"Maybe six-seven months? Why do you ask?"
"Albus, children don't start doing magic until they are at least two years old," she said. "For most magical children, it is between the ages of three and seven when they first show signs of accidental magic. There are only a handful who develop it before they are three. If you saw Harry do magic seven months ago, it means he has been doing magic since he was eight or nine months old. Maybe even before that."
"Is it something to worry about?"
She shook her head. "No, no. But it is just unheard of, my dear. And he summoned a Phoenix like it was a toy. Have you ever tried a summoning charm on a phoenix? Or any magical creature?"
"I can't say I have." Dumbledore frowned. "But I suppose it'd be a rather tough task due to their powers."
"Not tough, but an impossible task. Phoenixes are powerful magical creatures, Albus. If you could just summon one, every single wizard would've gotten a hand on one." Perenelle said. "Their innate magic prevents most of our magic from working on them. The most one might be capable of summoning would be an owl, a crup, or a kneazle. Not unicorns and phoenixes."
"I see." Dumbledore inclined his head. "Did you check him today?"
"I did. He's a perfectly healthy child and there's nothing to be worried about," Perenelle affirmed. "Maybe he could summon Fawkes because of the wand? You sacrificed the most powerful wand in the world for him. Maybe it had some… unexpected consequences?"
Dumbledore's face turned pensive before he felt a tug at his robes and looked down to see Harry staring up at him.
"Foo?" Harry pointed at his stomach. "Hungy!"
"Err… of course," He glanced at Perenelle. "What do you want to eat?"
"Chocate!" Harry beamed.
"Albus, you don't do that." Perenelle shot him a glare and knelt in front of Harry. "You need to eat your greens, little Harry. Come, I'll prepare something for you."
"Chocate?"
"No, proper food." Perenelle poked him. "You can have chocolate afterward, though."
Harry beamed and held out his arm. "Upsie!"
Perenelle scooped him up. "I'll go to the kitchens and see what I can get him. But you still need to find a good family for him. A good home. A safe home." Perenelle bit her lip. "Children, ones as young as Harry, are a lot of work and you cannot raise him at Hogwarts or by yourself, my dear."
"I understand." Dumbledore smiled softly as Harry gabbled. "I'll see what family he has left, or I'll find someone good to take him in."
"Good," Perenelle said and took Harry to the kitchens, playing with him in her arms.
"No more mistakes," Dumbledore whispered to himself. "No more."
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"What are you going to do, Albus?" McGonagall's voice cut through the silence of the office. "Did you find someone?"
Dumbledore looked up from the thick tome in his hands and heaved it back onto the desk with a sigh. "No, there aren't any other Potters who are alive, Minerva. I went through the whole book of admissions. Charlus only had James, and his brother, Fleamont, never had any children. Harry is now the last of the Potters."
"What about Fleamont and Charlus' uncles?" She leaned forward. "Surely they had someone of their own? I remember Charlus telling me about an uncle who was on the board of MACUSA."
A pair of heterochromatic eyes rose in Dumbledore's mind, glowing like the heat of a furnace. A sharp pain twisted beneath his ribs.
"They were killed a long time ago," Dumbledore replied. "Grindelwald killed them when he attacked the American Ministry. It was what prompted Charlus and Fleamont to join the war." He closed the book of admissions with a light thud. "I'll contact some of my friends at MACUSA and ask them to check if there are any Potters who are left there. It is unlikely, but still, worth a try."
McGonagall nodded, her nails digging into the armrest of her seat. "What about James and Lily's wishes? They might've had a will."
Dumbledore opened a drawer and pulled out a roll of parchment, passing it to her. "I thought the same and told Bagnold to owl me a copy of the Potter's Will before I left her office last night. It wasn't much help, I'm afraid."
"Alice and Frank Longbottom, Sirius Black, Marlene McKinnon, Edgar, and Caroline Bones…" She trailed off, frowning at the parchment. "How old is this will? Edgar and Caroline died months ago. And Marlene even before them."
"The Will was made a few months after Harry was born," Dumbledore said. "November of last year. They likely made it after the war escalated with the assassination of Minister Minchum. It was months before James and Lily went into hiding. And they never had time to change it, I suppose."
"You never told us why they went into hiding. Was it because He-Who-Must—"
"Voldemort," Dumbledore corrected. "The fear of a name increases the fear of the thing itself, Minerva. And yes, Voldemort was after them and they knew it."
McGonagall put her face in her hands. "So, no one is there to take in Lily and James' child? No one?"
"No one on James' side is left. But there's always Lily's maiden family. She had a sister, Petunia, if my memory serves me well."
McGonagall's head snapped up. "No, Albus. Petunia was a horrid girl who despised Lily. I do not think the sisters ever saw eye to eye. Petunia wasn't even at James and Lily's wedding, for Merlin's sake!"
"Surely she would see—"
"She wouldn't. Petunia's a bitter girl, Albus. One who despises magic," she huffed. "No good would come from her raising Harry, trust me. You know what has happened to the young wizards and witches who fall into the clutches of magic-hating muggles, don't you? It would be a mistake to place him with her."
Arianna's face flashed in front of his eyes, dark, hazy tendrils of magic tearing through the memory, her scream ringing in his ears.
"No more mistakes," Dumbledore whispered to himself, closing his eyes.
"Albus?"
"I'd suggest that we start looking for alternatives then. A good family to place Harry with." He rose from his seat and turned to the window. "Maybe someone from the order. Or someone—"
A dark owl flew onto the windowsill, holding its leg out, a letter tied to it. Dumbledore frowned and untied the letter with the tip of his wand, unfurling it.
"Who is it from, Albus?"
"A most interesting person," Dumbledore whispered as he read through it. "Arcturus Black."