Hey, guys, as you may have noticed with Imaginary, I like Dumbledore. I think he is one of the best characters of the series. I love him. Now, there is a lot, and I mean a lot, of bashing for him on this site which is part of the reason why I wrote this (and Imaginary). I am taking a break from longer stories until the summer and this, and hopefully other, one shots are ways of me staying in practice with writing and getting me back into it. I got this from a prompt I found on the internet somewhere and fell in love with the idea. There are some stories that need to be told, some characters that need to be explored, Dumbledore is one of those characters, and I hope this is one of those stories.

It Was For the Best

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Dumbledore smiled as Harry walked up to be sorted.

He took in the wide, bright emerald eyes and the permanently messy black hair. He saw the hesitant, nervous walk as the boy moved closer to his destination. Frowning, he noticed the slight figure of the child and the way he looked like he was purposely holding his head up straight, as if by some act of defiance. Harrys' robes were new, he noticed, so there had been no trouble with the money then. He had found his vault. The headmaster felt a nervous feeling in his stomach as Harry sat down on the stool and the hat was placed on his head. The hat fell over his eyes, blocking the shining orbs from view. Albus tried to keep his hands still in his lap, it would not do for the Professors to see his nervousness. Strange how he felt like a parent when the boy was not his child.

The whispers that ghosted around the hall continued and Albus fought of a sigh. Harry had no idea the shear awe that he would now have to face, if only he had had someone to guide him…

No.

He must not think on that. Must not dwell.

Faces craned to get a look at their saviour, the great Harry Potter, and Albus couldn't help but feel bitter at the thought of all these children looking up to a child no older than themselves. Yes, a child, for that was what he was, what he would always had to of been, only a child. Regardless of what he had achieved, one day, soon maybe, he would be a man…but that day was not today. He was famous, for something that was only a shadow to his young mind, a wraith, perhaps a nightmare, but nothing more. Someday, definitely, that nightmare would become real. Someday, it would bleed out into the real world and rise up in a wall of decay and aggression.

But that day was not today. Or even tomorrow.

Albus watched as the boy fidgeted as he sat on the stool, felt the shock of his mind as he heard the voice speaking from the hat that had been placed on his had, and allowed himself a small smile. It was like that for everyone, even the purebloods, so unused were they to having a voice in their heads. The headmaster remembered his own sorting, the way he had almost jumped out of his skin the first time he had heard the hats ancient voice and suppressed a chuckle. At least the boy could have something in his life that was normal.

And then the hat announced the house he was to be in.

"GRYFFINDOR"

And Albus clapped along with everyone else, not caring if he had clapped for none of the other students, to caught up in his memories of another green eyed boy to care.

To caught up in another lifetime, another what if…

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"Why did that man look at me funny?" the eight year old asked.

Albus gave Harry a gentle smile, looking down into bright emerald green eyes. They had just arrived back to Hogwart's from a trip to Diagon Alley…guarded inconspicuously by the remains of the Order, of course. He wasn't taking any chances. "What makes you think he was looking at you in a strange way?"

"I don't know, he had this weird look on his face, like he knew me." Harry replied, his messy black hair falling into his eyes and hiding his scar as he spoke. Feet clicking on the stone floors of the long, daunting hallways of the castle he called home.

Albus smiled again, thoughtfully.

"Is…is this about that thing you told me that I would find out when I am older?" Harry asked hesitantly when his grandfather didn't reply. Whenever he mentioned things like this his grandfather got sad…and he didn't know what. The boy scowled at the thought. He didn't like not knowing.

"Yes." Harry's face fell from a scowl to a frown. "But don't worry. Such things are boring and quite dull. I'm sure you can deal with not knowing. Now, I think I gave you a promise…if only I can recall what it was? Hmm, must not of been that important."

The boys face lit up and he started speaking excitedly, earlier worry forgotten, just as Dumbledore had planned. "You promised me ice cream and cake after dinner. How could you forget that?"

"I must be getting a tad senile in my old age."

"You also said that I could bother Snape after dinner." Harry added with a wicked grin, the fiery light from the torches casting shadows over his young face, the flames dancing wildly in their brackets. His eyes were bright and alive, so alive, and Albus felt his heart lift as it did every day…every minute he spent with Harry. Is this what it felt like to be a parent? He had pondered the question for many years and the answer was, yes, that is what it felt like, because Harry was his son. The headmaster had raised him from a baby.

Albus raised an eyebrow in mock disappointment. "Not that senile."

"Oh but Grandpa!" Harry laughed.

"No buts, child." Albus said, chuckling himself, enjoying the conversation with his young charge, his surrogate son. "Now then, go off and do whatever it is that little boys do in there spare time."

Harry grinned again and Dumbledore was reminded of another cheeky young Potter who had walked these very halls, many years ago. "Are my crayons still in your office? Can I stay with you for a little while? Will Fawkes be there?"

"Do your crayons and Fawkes ever move?"

"No." Harry's face fell for a moment. "But if I don't ask one day they might not be there."

Albus paused in his walking before carrying on expression suddenly serious for a moment. "Harry, if you require them, they will always be there."

"Good." Harry said simply, in that youthful, innocent, way children have before running on ahead. He already knew the password to the headmasters office.

This was his home, after all.

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But it was not meant to be.

Things changed, like sand being scattered in the breeze, or sound being tossed around the air, an echo in a cave. It was like the mountains of old, worn and wrinkled by the cruel wearing of the elements; wind and rain, gradually chipping apart the stony surface until all that remained was a empty hole, a chasm where a heart used to be.

Simply put, Harry died.

And it was then that Dumbledore realised his mistake, his foolishness, that he had sacrificed Harry's safety on a selfish whim. Stupid, a mistake that he immediately set about correcting. Meddling in time was dangerous, but he would do it, he would take that risk, if it could safe Harry. For weeks he starved of his grief, the ache in his heart, as he searched for a way to fix what had happened. It became an obsession and, after a while, he resigned his post as headmaster…because it wasn't important anymore. All he wanted was to right the wrong…to see Harry smile again. At last he figured it out and the clocks went back, everything changed. Harry was left with the Dursley's and Dumbledore forced himself to walk away. The grief came back. But he hid it. He had too. But then Harry came to school and he, finally, began to heal.

Albus watched as the boy grew up.

He watched the changes, taking in the things he had never seen but had speculated about. From afar, for that was all he had to stay, Albus followed the childs' progress from boy to man. When Harry fell during the Quidditch match in his third year, Albus had a violent flashback, glimpsed memories of a small, green eyed boy crumpled on the floor after being hit with a sickly green light. It would not happen again he vowed, raising his hand to slow his fall, hiding the all consuming panic that almost overtook him.

It got better as the years went by.

Similarities between the child Albus had known faded as the boy grew older, growing above the childishness that Albus had known. The youth and innocence. Some things stayed the same. Like the eyes, the bright green eyes, that always seemed to pierce right through to Albus' soul. He saw the same light in them, the same determination, whenever Harry looked at him. Even his words seemed the same, had the same tone, the same texture. It took a few years, but eventually, he began to recognise the confidence in Harry's stance.

He had seen it long ago…in a young and nervous boy who was filled with a incredible resolve.

Severus would call it arrogance. Others would call it pride. Albus…well, he called it proof that Harry was the same boy he had once raised. He moved with a self assurance that the headmaster had always known he'd gain, a sort of challenging defiance in his step. Yes, Albus had seen it long ago. Sometimes, Harry would give him a smile, just a smile, and it would take him back years- to a cheerful boy with a shy, mischievous grin, happy to have built a small tower out of blocks.

And it made him devastatingly sad.

It hurt to be near the boy he had never known, but had raised, just as it hurt to not go near him, to try and occupy himself in his office with some other work. Which one could he choose to do? If both caused him pain? Either way, the pain would be there, a dull thud, thud in his chest whispering of times long ago. Of birthdays and Christmases and of wide smiles and shining eyes….times that had never existed. It was moments like that that made him question what he had done. Question his reasoning…and the whispers would change, telling him to go back; telling him that he could protect Harry this time. But he knew that there was not chance of that. Just as there was no chance of him stopping everyone who had ever died from dying. Lily, James, Arianna…because meddling in time was dangerous. And he had done what he had to do.

To keep the child safe.

And as he saw Harry experience all the things that he had promised to show him, Dumbledore found himself hating that all Harry could be to him was Mr Potter, never family, never son.

It hurt when Harry tried to destroy his office, shouted obscenities at him, cried and screamed. He felt his pain, felt the overwhelming grief at the loss of Sirius…the only family Harry had ever known. Albus took the way he shattered the objects he had once, in another lifetime, so admired and been in absolute awe off, because there was nothing else he could do. He didn't react as he broke the table that had once been where he would sit and draw with the crayons that he had so loved. Neither did he flinch when he tried to leave, wanting to run rather than talk to the person who had once been family.

Until that moment, Albus had never understood how hard it was to lose something you never had.

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I hope that wasn't too confusing, read and review.