A small flash of yellow was all the warning Albus Dumbledore had before flinching at the horrible cracking sound coming from the end of his study, only to turn in amusement as he recognised the bright gold snidget squished tightly against the glass. Wearily, he lifted himself up and hobbled toward the window, laughing as the tiny bird barely managed to hold onto the small ledge. A small gesture and the heavy mahogany frame swung inward, the disorientated bird practically falling in with it.

"Ah Harry, what can I do for you today?" Albus asked curiously, watching as the tiny bird morphed into a lightly toned raven hared man.

"Just dropping by Albus, don't worry nothing's wrong...yet." Harry mumbled, rubbing his sore nose and grumbling about having closed windows on a perfect summer day.

"Indeed? Do you want some tea before you raid my library?" Albus offered gently.

Harry chuckled before adding

" No thank you, I was lucky to escape with only two breakfasts and three cups of coffee this morning before Master Dobby released me"

"I see. Well don't let me stop you Harry, Merlin knows how you ended up so intelligent with the bashing your head receives."

A small quirk of the lips was all the response Dumbledore saw before Harry dashed out of the study towards the Dumbledore Library. A far-cry from the Hogswarts library or Ministry archives, this particular library only consisted of eight book cases, full of dusty old tomes. Then again, most of these books were extremely rare – some even the only copy in existence. Hermione would have loved it here.

Pulling a leather-bound journal from the shelves, Harry flopped down across one of the arm chairs and began to read. That was almost all he did now; read, brood, read, brood....until Albus or Dobby snapped him out of it. He should have been happy, Voldemort was dead. Definitely and utterly this time. He wasn't though. Hermione moved to France not a week after her 18th birthday, and Harry couldn't honestly remember the last time he talked to her face to face. Ron, Ron was a different story entirely. He was still the hot-headed, obnoxious red-haired wizard since he was eleven, and unfortunately as Harry grew up, Ron did not.

"Given up reading already Harry?" How Albus always knew he would never understand, perhaps he had a bit of seer blood in him. It would explain some of the man's quirkiness.

Harry sighed, and threw a scathing glare that would put Snape's to shame at the chuckling old wizard.

"Just thinking," he snapped back.

Albus's cheerful demeanour dripped off his face, uncovering a solemn face and dull blue eyes.

"You can't keep going on like this Harry, it isn't healthy for you." The only response was the soft turning of a page, and a soft mumble of 'I know'. Sirius' death was the catalyst, and it went downhill from there. It almost made him briefly wonder if Harry had accidentally been dosed with a bad batch of Felix Felicis as a baby.

Remus had buried his grief in Order work, and ultimately led to his death. He was assigned to try and obtain if not the aid, the neautrality of Bulgarian werewolf packs. Voldemort had bought their allegiance three weeks earlier.

Voldemort may have been overly cautious of attacking Harry Potter directly after the prophecy was destroyed, but that didn't stop the mental torture though. Remus's head delivered in a hessian sack carried by four owls was by far the most damaging. Harry begged and pleaded for Alastor Moody to obliviate *that* particular memory after without sleeping for nearly a week.

Hermione's parents were brutally murdered, the wards unable to withstand a direct assault. The order guard was Molly Weasley, who never stood a chance against a death eater in combat. Hermione never actually said it to Harry's face, but he knew that she blamed him for the death of her parents, and their fractured relationship had not lasted long after that day. Ron had no such qualms, and almost solely blamed Harry for his mother's death, despite Molly having been an order volunteer and 'blood traitor' herself. He also blamed Harry for Hermione moving to France over a decade earlier.

A soft chirping in the corner alerted both wizards to Fawkes presence, and despite nearing another burning day stood tall perched on the back of a desk chair. A brief flap of wings and Fawkes glided onto Albus' shoulder, head butting him gently. Harry was bemused as he watched the normally unflappable wizard gaze at Fawkes with nothing other than stupefied shock. It was only after Albus' eye's began twinkling and he gazed shrewdly at Harry did he begin to worry.

"Fawkes tells me something interesting Harry." Bushy eyebrows crinkling as his face scrunched up in thought.

"Oh?" was the ambiguous reply.

"Yes. It seems that Fawkes here thinks he can help you get out of this rut you have been in."

Harry replied, slightly confused and wary "I really don't see how."

"Harry, I am an old man now. I loved teaching, and I loved being Headmaster, and only really held political roles out of necessity. The ministry practically 'forced' retirement on me, and I was quite upset at the time. My bones grow weary already Harry, and one day I will die. The Prophet still writes scathing articles about you, and the Ministry is deathly afraid you'll use your standing against them. The problem is Harry, once you keep telling lies for long enough, no matter how ridiculous or untrue, people will eventually begin to believe it." Albus commented.

"I hardly see how what those Ministry idiots have to do with Fawkes. They are looking for a scapegoat Albus, and seeing as they no longer need a hero I am at the top of a remarkably short list. You and I both know that they deliberately leaked the prophecy last year to start a new campaign against me about how I was 'too slow' in stopping Voldemort, and that many deaths were my fault because of it. I just don't care anymore Albus." The barest hint of anger in Harry's eyes belied his true thoughts on the Ministry, but Dumbledore knew better than to tickle that particular sleeping dragon.

Albus began slowly, as if afraid of Harry's temper being directed at him and began his explanation. "Yes I know that, in fact I wouldn't be surprised if our beloved Ronald Weasley was the 'reliable' source. My point is Harry, a decade ago when Fudge tried to silence you and take over the school you stood up and fought all the way to the end. Fawkes tells me, and I quite agree, that the reason you don't bother with the Ministry now is because you simply don't care anymore. He also says there are opportunities for you to heal and move on if you know where to look."

Harry chuckled darkly and stared at Fawkes as if challenging him.

"And how," he drawled "would your overgrown turkey manage to do that?"

A ruffle of feathers and a sharp trill was the only response before Fawkes turned to Albus. It was difficult to follow the largely one sided conversation, but Harry could pick out some of the emotions filtering across his former Headmaster's face. Shock, amazement followed by sadness and a dash of fear, before his stance filled with determination as he threw a few measuring glances Harry's way.

"Ah, it seems Fawkes isn't too sure if it will work fully, given that you are tainted with dark magic – but he says it would be like overlaying a template of his soul or mind over yours to heal the damage. I don't blame you for having to do what you did Harry, in fact my inaction probably forced your hand into dabbling into dark magic and your rather, ahh, volatile methods with regard to death eaters but I wish it wasn't the case."

A grim smirk was the only response to the comment about the slain death eaters.

"I don't care Albus; let your turkey do whatever he wants – not like I could stop him anyway. If it doesn't work it isn't like I could end up worse."

Almost as though hit by a cheering charm, Albus bounced up from his chair and said,

"Very well, let's be off!"

"What?! Now? What will happen, how? Where?" Harry blurted out each question turning an accusing eye to Fawkes.

"Ah, in my old office my boy. Fawkes perch is there and Poppy too – just in case. The students won't return for another two months anyway." How Albus managed to stay so cheerful while commenting on grim possibility that such an evil woman would lock him up for even sneezing was a mystery to Harry.

A gnarled hand landed on Harry's shoulder, and with a flash of fire the world spun until the familiar surroundings of the Great Hall came into focus.

There was no warning, just a fierce stinging across the back of Harry's neck before he dropped to his knees. He saw Albus frown in worry as he started at his protégé of ten years with blood dripping down his back. Fawkes trilled smugly before flying into the back of Harry's head while he was still dazed forcing him to all fours. Albus, confused about exactly Fawkes was doing but trusting his familiar took a few steps back. A brief shuffle of feathers and Fawkes unsteadily wobbled to reach Harry's neck. Phoenix song filled the air, making Albus sigh with contentment and Harry flinch violently. Albus couldn't see what was happening after this point, Fawkes had blocked his work from view, and it simply looked as if Fawkes had lost a grape in Harry's neck and was trying to use his beak to find it. Finally satisfied, Fawkes pulled back, beak dripping with Harry's blood and began dripping pearly white tears across the wound, trilling a sharp note before disappearing in a flash.

"Harry? Can you hear me?" Albus questioned.

Groan. "Clearly."

Helping Harry to his feet, worried eyes cast a hasty diagnosis. Apparently satisfied, Albus asked the next question burning on his tongue.

"Harry, could you tell me what happened?"

"I might be able to" Harry chirped.

There was silence for a few seconds before Albus realised Harry wasn't going to say any more, surprised that Harry was feeling playful after having his neck gashed open by an 'overgrown turkey' as he put it.

"Very well Harry, will you please tell me what Fawkes did to you?"

Green eyes twinkled back at Albus before his lips formed a smirk and he clearly shook his head no. Deciding to interrogate Harry later, Albus decided to check in with his old office.

"I am going to see if Minerva is here, would you like to come?"

"Of course – I'd never turn down an opportunity to visit your old office Albus. Those portraits all say such flattering things about you, don't you know?" Harry replied, slightly miffed that Albus would even consider leaving him here and planning on getting some blackmail material from the rather gossipy portraits.

"Yes Harry, I know very well what the portraits are like, now let's be off." With that, he strode down the hallway along the familiar route to the headmasters office.

Mumbling the password, 'Studious Success', Harry followed Albus up the staircase to the office door, waiting patiently as he knocked and asked if anyone was in. Hearing a few conversations, he simply opened the door and gestured Harry in. Harry and Albus walked into the empty room, and the portraits fell silent for a few seconds before greeting the two wizards.

"Ah, Minerva isn't here then?" Albus asked with the air of a puppy that just got his favourite bone taken away.

One of the portraits chuckled and replied,

"No Albus, Minerva claimed she had an urgent last minute meeting with a new muggleborn student after Trelawney character came in here determined to give our illustrious headmistress the first spin of a new crystal ball she acquired. Of course, she just said she would leave it here so I don't think she'll be getting out of it that easily this time."

Harry glared at the thought of more crystal balls or tea leaves. Past experience with divination had left much to be desired, and he doubted he would ever be fond of such 'magic'. Looking around, he eyed Albus talking with two portraits near the fireplace. Most of the devices, gadgets and gizmos that Albus had as Headmaster were gone – who knew what they were anyway – replaced with old tombs and stacks of paperwork.

A glint of light caught his eye, and he turned to a shelf near the edge of the room, with a rather large crystal ball lay. Wandering over to it, he absently placed his hands on the orb while looking at the grounds through the window. He turned back to the ball to see it filling with white fog and before he could even move his hand, he blacked out.

He gained his bearings as some of the light returned. Memories began filtering through his mind, brief flashes at first. Swirls of colour, sight, sounds, smells. Blurring forms, animals running around inside a large room. The memories came faster, his first broomstick. He remembered the tag, 'To Harry, from Santa', and proudly showing his two foot broom to his smiling parents. Hospital, babies. Eliza and Ashley, sisters. Uncle Sirius, Uncle Remus. Grandparents, owls, tutors, homework. Pranks and study. Playing with younger sisters, playing quidditch in the manor garden. Shopping, food, arguments. July 31st, 1991. He remembered everything – of a life he had never lived.