A Dance of Deception

Dumbledore had the unsettling feeling that the Dark Lord had created several of these abominations. He now had a monumental task before him. He would have to locate and destroy all of Voldemort's horcruxes before he could be eliminated once and for all.

And then there was the enigma of Harry Potter. How was the child still alive? Dumbledore had no idea why that killing curse had been deflected; perhaps the ritual had been botched? Perhaps Lily had cast some sort of protective spell long ago? Perhaps fate herself had intervened?

He didn't know, but he did understand that the prophecy was still valid. Harry had somehow survived a killing curse, and Voldemort's soul was still bound to this world. Neither had yet died at the hand of the other.

But how long would it take for this prophesied conflict to begin again? Would Voldemort be disembodied for weeks? Months? Years? Yet another thing that Dumbledore didn't know. He did know, though, that the monster was temporarily gone, and the wizarding world could breathe a sigh of relief and regroup. Meanwhile he would have to scour the earth for some of the darkest artifacts in existence.

The 24 hours following the death of the Potters and the defeat of the Dark Lord had been the busiest of Albus Dumbledore's life. He spent hours thinking through every implication of the events that had just transpired. He would not go public with any information about the Dark Lord's demise until he was absolutely certain he controlled all the pieces on the chessboard.

He had finally concluded that his plan to sacrifice the child of prophecy to Voldemort was still the best course of action. When Voldemort eventually returned, it was best for the prophecy to be taken out of play as soon as possible. That meant he would have to make sure Harry Potter remained vulnerable, and, if the boy lived long enough to attend Hogwarts, untrained and ignorant.

The problem had been how to accomplish such a thing. There were no other Potters left, so he would likely be raised by his godfather. The boy's godfather was Sirius Black, and Dumbledore knew that Black would never allow the boy to grow up untrained and vulnerable. Even if he had no idea that the Dark Lord would someday return, Black would keep the boy safe and teach him how to fight.

He knew that Lily Evans had a muggle sister who lived somewhere in England, but he knew nothing else about her. Perhaps Minerva could locate her and convince her to make a claim for Harry as his last-remaining blood relative?

The solution to Dumbledore's dilemmas, both what to do with Harry and what to tell the wizarding world, had presented itself the next morning like manna from heaven. He had breathed a ragged sigh of relief at Black's reckless attempt at revenge against Peter Pettigrew. He couldn't have asked for a better gift from the man. Black had removed Pettigrew from the board permanently, something Dumbledore wanted in any event, and he had placed himself under the Chief Warlock's authority. Perfect.

Dumbledore had immediately taken custody of Sirius Black before any serious questioning could be done. Then he had spread far and wide the news of the Dark Lord's demise at the hands of Harry Potter.

The legend of The-Boy-Who-Lived was born.

Dumbledore then spoke to Minister Bagnold and Barty Crouch, Sr., Director of the DMLE, convincing them that Black had betrayed the Potters on top of murdering Pettigrew and a dozen muggles. The bloodthirsty Crouch had been more than happy to toss the traitor in Azkaban without a trial and leave him there to rot forever.

By the next morning the entire wizarding world was celebrating young Harry Potter and cursing the name of Sirius Black. Black had never known what hit him. Dumbledore regretted having to take this action against the likeable Sirius, but felt he had no real choice in the matter. Too much was at stake.

Two days later Dumbledore had been declared the magical guardian of young Harry, a move approved by the Wizengamot to ensure that the boy was protected. Of course, Dumbledore hadn't told them that he planned to foist the boy off on his muggle relatives, but they didn't need to know that yet, did they?

Minerva had located Petunia Dursley in Surrey, and Dumbledore had dropped the boy off on her doorstep the very night he gained magical custody of Harry.

And so Harry had grown up at 4 Privet Drive, protected from rogue Death Eaters by blood wards, while Dumbledore had gone about the grueling business of tracking down the Dark Lord's horcruxes. Every year he expected the Dark Lord to return, and every year he grew more mystified by the man's disappearance.

Now he was finally back, and the opening salvo of the war had really favored neither side. Dumbledore was back to square one, trying to think of ways to force the confrontation between Harry and Voldemort before a true war could take shape. Once the prophecy was out of the picture, he would finally be able to end it.

Dumbledore was pulled out of his reverie by the voice of one of Hogwarts' former Headmasters.

"Albus, Alastor Moody is approaching the gargoyle."

"Ah. Thank you, Headmaster Dippet. I have been expecting him."

Dumbledore seated himself expectantly in his throne-like chair as Moody ascended the steps to his office.

"Albus," declared Moody gruffly as he stomped into the room and seated himself.

"Alastor; thank you for coming. May I offer you some refreshment? A lemon drop, perhaps?"

"No thank you," he responded, his magical eye whizzing crazily as it inspected the contents of the room. He was haggard-looking and thin, still recovering from his ordeal as a prisoner of Barty Crouch, Jr.

"Hagrid has sent word that he and Maxime arrived in Germany safely and are continuing their journey in the morning," Moody began, ignoring small talk altogether.

"Good, good. Hopefully their gifts to the gurg will be well-received. I have yet to talk Remus into making contact with the werewolves, but hopefully he will see reason soon."

"Hmph. I wouldn't bet on it, Albus. That man doesn't want anything to do with real fighting. If I didn't know better I'd say he got bit by a puffskein instead of a werewolf."

Dumbledore smiled benignly. "Well, not everyone has your taste for combat, Alastor. Have you had any more luck in the Auror corps?"

"Aye. Tonks is working on Hestia Jones, and Shacklebolt is recruiting some kid named Stadler. We're putting out feelers, but it's hard to avoid Bones' attention."

"Well, please heed your own motto, Alastor. We absolutely cannot have Amelia asking questions. The Ministry can't get involved until after we have defeated Voldemort."

"Aye; constant vigilance it is. What's the new plan for taking the monster out, then? Tell me it doesn't involve me sleeping in a box for months," he grimaced.

Dumbledore chuckled. Moody wasn't aware of it, but he and Snape had discovered the identity of Barty Crouch, Jr., mere days into his tenure as Defense Professor. They had questioned Crouch under veritaserum and then obliviated the man, ultimately deciding that they needed to play along with Voldemort's ludicrous plan.

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