a foul place is where i love you

Seven

The door creaked shut once more. Harry clenched his fists as he began to lean forward, tense and ready.

"My my, Harry, if I am not mistaken, you have seen much better days."

Just like that, Harry's body went slack. That voice ... it couldn't be ...

Albus Dumbledore, clothed in bluebell robes of the finest satin, stepped forward into the dim light of the cell.

All the words eddied out of Harry's head.

Dumbledore's tone and posture was relaxed and casual, as though speaking to an old friend. But there was something different in his wrinkled face and blue eyes ... As if his old age was finally starting to catch up with him, his characteristic inner light and humor that always made his eyes twinkle seemed dimmer than Harry remembered. Exhaustion.

"I must say, my boy, that you have never ceased to amaze me," Harry's former mentor continued, calmly folding his hands together over his abdomen. "I consider myself a very clever old man, but you always seem to find ways to prove me wrong when I am certain that I am right." His half-moon spectacles glinted as he slightly lowered his head to look Harry directly in the eye. "But it's good for me to be humbled, I suppose. It's easy for a man of my age to be caught up in his own arrogance."

Harry was slowly remembering how to control his body. Like an aged pulley, his mouth slowly and mechanically shut, hopefully not making him look as big of an idiot as before.

Dumbledore examined Harry carefully for a few tense, silent moments, and it took a greater amount of effort than he would've liked to admit to keep from squirming in his chair. The old headmaster's face turned pensive as he began to slowly and aimlessly wander around the lighted cell space in front of Harry. 

"This prison was originally built and used by Gellert Grindelwald, did you know?" Dumbledore asked conversationally, looking around at the stone walls. "I try to avoid Nurmenguard as much as I can - too many memories - but I must say that the plumbing has worsened since the last time I was here."

Nurmenguard. The name clicked in Harry's memory. Hermione had mentioned it before, that Grindelwald himself had been imprisoned here after Dumbledore defeated him all those years ago. It wasn't exactly an answer he wanted, but it was an answer nonetheless. And he fully intended to get more.

"Who are you," Harry bit out, fighting to compose himself.

Dumbledore paused his wandering, looking at Harry with a raised brow. "I would think that you'd know who I am by now, Harry."

Harry's anger spiked. "Who are you really."

Dumbledore slightly tilted his head to the side. "That is a question with many possible answers, my boy."

The leash on Harry's temper snapped. "Enough with the fucking games!" He lurched forward in his chair, straining to come free, to stand and face the disguised trickster and give them a piece of his mind, but the magical bonds held firm. Harry seethed. "You are not Albus Dumbledore, just like those other two nitwits were not my parents! So just quit it with the lies already and tell me what the hell is going on!"

To his credit, Dumbledore - or ... the Not-Dumbledore - remained completely in-character throughout Harry's outburst. His brow furrowed and his eyes seemed to bore into Harry as he quickly approached him with a rare urgency, kneeled down directly in front of him while maintaining that eye contact, and gripped his shoulder firmly.

For many uncomfortable seconds, Dumbledore only stared directly into Harry's eyes, as if searching them for all his secrets. It unnerved Harry in a way he never would've expected, seeing how scarily similar this Dumbledore was to the real one.

This was a dream. It had to be a dream. It was the only possible explanation Harry could think of for all this.

Dumbledore's eyes grew wide behind his spectacles, wide in a way Harry never would've expected to see. It was as though he had somehow found something, something he was surprised to find, just by looking -

Just like that, the realization hit Harry like a tidal wave.

Legilimency.

Panic sent Harry's heart racing. Even when Dumbledore had begun to train Harry privately, Occlumency was still a weak and sore subject. And clearly this Fake was a very skilled Legilimens. There was no defending himself.

In a jerk reaction, Harry put forth all his strength into pushing himself away from the Not-Dumbledore, the force, almost like an electric pulse in Harry's muscles, sending his chair flying several feet back in the cell, and the Fake falling to the ground.

Both Harry and the Fake looked at each other in shock. The magical bindings should not have allowed Harry to harness so much magical energy, especially when having his mind invaded by a Legilimens. Harry had grown in power these past few years, that was for certain, but never had he shown it this strongly.

Harry was too stunned to react when Not-Dumbledore rose carefully to his feet and continued to pierce Harry with his eyes. "Harry, I'm going to ask you a question," he began, all casualty disappearing from his tone, "and if you answer it with complete honesty, I give you my word that I will tell you everything you want to know."

If not for the absolute confusion of what had just happened, Harry's spirits would've soared. But now all he could think about was that surge of power and strength, unlike anything he'd ever felt, as he slowly nodded in response to the Fake's words.

Dumbledore's expression was serious an intent. "What do you know of your prophecy?"

Harry's pulse quickened at the question. How or why this Fake knew about the prophecy was beyond him. But if it got him the information to get out of this hell and back to his friends and family, then he would use it. "Dumbledore first told me about it my Fifth Year," Harry started, slightly breathless. "The one with the power to defeat Voldemort was to be born at the end of July to parents who defied him three times. He would mark the chosen as his equal, but they would have the power he knows not, and 'neither can live while the other survives.'  I was born the 31st of July, and my parents escaped him three times. The scar he gave me the night he killed my parents was his mark, and the power he knew not was the power of love. The last part refers to the piece of Voldemort's soul he transferred to me the night he gave me my scar."

It wasn't exactly the best explanation Harry could've provided, but he could barely think over the pounding headache. And besides, why would that prophecy matter anymore? Voldemort was gone. They could finally move on with their lives.

The Not-Dumbledore's expression was pure shock, which unsettled Harry to no end. It was rare enough to have seen the real Dumbledore so
genuinely surprised by something. On top of that, if this was really Dumbledore, he would've known all about the prophecy, would've remembered telling Harry all this information. The anger inside him reignited to a slow burn.

"I gave my word," said the Not-Dumbledore quietly, seeming to catch Harry's rising temper, "and I fully intend to do as I promised. But first, I must get you out of this cell."

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Ayy, Dumbledore for the win!

I never thought I'd have so much fun writing Dumbledore's character. I very rarely see a story that actually portrays him accurately, so I hope I did him justice. What do you think?

Anyway, thanks for reading! Next update will be Wack-A-Harry.