Trigger Happy

A Harry Potter Oneshot.

Warning : Somehow what Dumbledore-centric. Might be a tad confusing.

Disclaimer : I do not own Harry Potter.

Albus Dumbledore was a wise man. He had lived a long life, and was far more knowledgeable than most, if not, all other wizards and witches. Any suggestion he had was almost immediately declared as the best course of action and any commands promptly complied with.

The fact that he was the Supreme Mugwump helped.

Well, and that he was ostensibly the most powerful wizard alive... currently. Voldemort had perished merely eleven years ago, and he was sure the Dark Lord had certain... measures to prevent his permanent incapacitation.

All in all, he was pretty much regarded as the incarnation of Merlin himself. He had made lots of choices and decisions over his long and illustrious life, and he regretted none.

Dumbledore found himself almost regretting allowing the infant Harry 'The-Boy-Who-Lived' Potter to go with Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody. The grizzled Auror had turned up the very night, and was much more grumpy and unapproachable than usual after the demise of the Potter couple. He had been rather close to them, after all.

Rumour has it that James Potter originally wanted to have Moody be his secret keeper, but the grizzled Auror wouldn't hear of it. The reason wasn't known, or the veracity of the rumour.

When the dustbins all leapt up and were about to challenge him, Albus allowed a twitch to escape his iron fist and Occlumency. When even the pathway was about to rise up, Dumbledore was seriously tempted to power his way through. He could, indeed, but he thought he found no need to.

When he narrowly diverted a stunner and a particularly painful severing curse, he started to regret allowing Moody to have the Potter scion.

"I sincerely apologize about that Headmaster Dumbledore."

A mop of ebony hair, tousled, and messy. Shockingly emerald eyes, constantly darting left and right, in full alert even within the safety of his home. A jagged scar, in the form of a lightning bolt, was the only blemish on the slightly pale skin.


Dumbledore noted with mute fascination as the young Potter casually and instinctively avoided a stunner, moving just the bare minimum sufficient to escape the spell and lazily casting a stunner right back at the source.

Coughing slightly to interrupt the escalating fire fight, and in a display of power, Dumbledore reached out with his magic and dispelled both stunners. He had to bend down quickly to dodge the dual Petrifying Curses headed his way.

"Calm down!" Dumbledore barked, clutching his hat.

The Sorting was rather odd. While most sortings took a scant of a few seconds, Harry Potter's Sorting took far longer. Far much longer indeed, as it had been at least fifteen minutes and Minerva McGonagall was looking rather irritated.

For the last time, boy, let your Occlumency shields down! The hat would have scowled if it was possible.

But you might be a transfigured enemy...

Suffice to say, the conversation followed in that manner until the Hat snapped.

It was still generally regarded as a mystery/miracle/a bunch of hogwash/etc to the Hogwarts students as to how Headmaster Dumbledore was capable of picking out Gryffindor amongst the curses the Hat was hurtling out at light speeds. Far more than enough to get an entire crew of drunk sailors embarrassed. It appeared that the years had proved beneficial to the Hat's lexicon. Who knew that was anatomically possible?

Quirrell found himself stunned, bound, and dumped into a bag even before he could regain his bearings.

The professor was about to reach for the Mirror of Erised when everything went black.

Dumbledore was mildly amused when he was greeted with a visage of a wand to his face, the stunner missing him barely. Harry James Potter, seated on a constantly moving black bag and holding a red jewel – the Philosopher's Stone – made for a rather amusing scene. He'll have to remember to view it via Pensieve again later. The soul fragment of Lord Voldemort however... It appears to be fortunate that Moody had for some reason chose to educate young Harry with knowledge of runes. Thus it was a frustrated and extremely irritated Voldemort that greeted the both of them as the hastily carved runes shone with a faint glow, indicating that they were in fact, in use.

Voldemort's face spat out a part of the turban that Harry had accidentally shoved into his mouth in his haste to quickly cover the face again. Voldemort's shock and surprise (Where was the weak and insecure boy he had expected?) had allowed the young Potter enough time to carve the runes, which was rather fortunate, as they removed the Dark Lord's ability to move from Quirrell's body.

It was an easy task after that for Dumbledore to destroy the soul fragment. (Who'dya think he was? Some balmy old codger?) Unfortunately, apparently Quirrell's soul had for far too long been exposed to Voldemort's corrupting influence, and was unstable with the removal of the Dark Lord's soul.

In the end, the DADA teacher resembled a freshly-kissed Azkaban prisoner, something Harry had commented on rather blandly, as though discussing the weather. The prospects scared Dumbledore.

The second year was amusing, at the least, or so Dumbledore thought. It was certainly impressive how the young Potter duelled with the Potions Master and won. It was pretty much interesting to see Snape having to jump to the side to avoid a rather potent volley, one which was particularly favoured by Aurors.

On hindsight, perhaps he should have a little talk with Alastor. Children do not need to learn spells of such calibre.

It was amusing, nevertheless, as Snape conjured up a very powerful shield, and was yet caught by surprise as the young Potter sent a rebounding charm, which cast the Potions Master forward... right smack into his shield.

A rather joyous occasion for some, although the Gryffindor score pot suffered a sharp dip for the next few days. Pity, though, that the Potter-Snape rivalry seemed to worsen.

Dumbledore was rather surprised when young Harry turned up in the infirmary with Ginevra and Ronald Weasley, along with an incapacitated Gilderoy Lockhart, clutching the Sorting Hat with one hand and holding onto Fawkes with another, with Fawkes claws grabbing onto a book with a Basilisk fang stabbed through it. The residual stench of Dark Magic assaulted his senses.

Apparently Alastor had once again ignored his warning and told Harry on the much darker side of magic. Including the disposition of a Hocrux. The rather dark looks the Potter scion was sending him confirmed his suspicions.

At that thought, Dumbledore groaned. No young man should have to know about such Dark Magic, especially at such a young age. And Moody...

Dumbledore groaned. When this was over, he was going to nurse a rather violent headache. And a cup of strong liquor.

The third year was a mess, or at least Dumbledore thought. Sure, Harry might have gone slightly wild with his Patronus-es, but it wasn't everyday you see a dementor shriek when a particular person walks near. While rather amusing, it was painful to the ears.

Not to mention the episode about the Hippogriff and the Malfoy scion. Honestly, the Malfoys must have inbred too much for their son to lack such common sense. Then again, maybe not, since he has the intelligence to clutch and attempt to stop the blood flow to his injured arm... It might have been instincts.

The blood for worthless and stupid dramatics must flow in the family. Dumbledore faintly recalled a similar incident, save with Malfoy Sr. and a particularly serene Gryffin.

It was amusing (privately) when the young Potter turned up with a trussed up werewolf, trussed up Potions professor and a trussed up Peter Pettigrew, with an injured Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger limping behind, supported by a rather large dog.

Dumbledore trusted his poker face/I'm-just-a-kind-old-grandfather look not to reveal his true thoughts.

Privately, he thought it was funny how Severus was worming about on the ground. Who knew the haughty Potions Master would get caught unaware by the young Potter. Tipping his head in what he hoped was an enigmatic gesture, he strode to his office, leading the way. He had Aurors to firecall, and a mangy mutt was awaiting his freedom.

"Down, boy!" Albus barked, nudging the growling dog, who attempted to snap at the terrified Pettigrew. While Sirius might get seriously mad at him for that jab, it was worth it.

"Tri-Wizard... What a mess." Dumbledore groaned, clutching his head in the confines of his office. "Quad-Wizard, as it were, actually."

The new DADA professor he hired – some Delandus Dingalow – turned out to be Barty Crouch Jr, and the press had a wild time when the young Potter suddenly leapt out of his seat and fired a revealing charm at the unsuspecting teacher, citing his sneakoscope had went off.

Bit too late, though – the fake had already confounded the Goblet of Fire. Privately speaking, what sort of half-rate magician made the goddamn Goblet? What sort of magical artefact could be so easily confounded? Why, if he'd made it...

Fawkes trilled amusedly.

"Amusing to you, I know." Dumbledore narrowed his eyes, sending a half-hearted glare at the phoenix.

Young Potter damn near killed the dragon, what with the crazy number of spells he sent flying it's way. Poor Charlie Weasley was almost catatonic when he saw the treatment required. At least it was relatively mild compared to the stunt he pulled off during the Yule Ball. Not only did he manage to 'get' the French Veela and fellow competitor, he acted as a perfect gentleman. Surprisingly normal, and he caused quite a stir when he appeared without the glamours he so frequently slapped on to "shield me from my enemies".

Apparently he hadn't realised his stunningly good looks. While many might regard that as a welcome change, Dumbledore was rather worried. It could be the beginning of a prank, something Alastor Moody had been famous for in the past. When you constantly worry about the possibility that the Anglo-French relations will suddenly plunge, an enjoyable ball becomes... something else. Dumbledore didn't want to relive it again.

Then the Second Task. It was the miracle of the century as to how they managed to convince Alastor Moody to obediently be a 'hostage'. He had to pull off another miracle to mend the Hogwarts-Mermish bilateral relations after Potter singlehandedly K.O.'-ed half of the mermish 'guards' rather... harshly.

The third task was amusing and tiring. Not only did the Potter boy reveal that he knew fiendfyre, he used it to devastating effect and burned a straight hole through the hedges. Now he had a rather flustered Minister of Magic screaming inane stuff in his ear, he had to deal with the rather... sharp shrieks from Professor Sprout as she saw the 'greens' being destroyed. Come to think of it, it made for wondrous blackmail material. Maybe now she'll be properly encouraged to breed lemon drop producing trees.

It was even more headache-inducing when the Cup revealed itself as a portkey and Filch an imposter, with the real Filch secured to the chains in his office and gagged, running off whatever morsels Mrs Norris scavenged and squeezed through the gag.

When young Potter appeared with a entourage of trussed up Death Eaters and a nasty looking baby who decidedly resembled a snake, who was knocked out, immobilized, paralyzed, tied up, and with a series of hastily created runes glowing with suppressed magic tied around the baby's head.

"I present to you, Moldieshorts and his measly band!" Potter yelled rather cherrily. Too cherry, in fact, Dumbledore mused privately.

Chaos erupted.

The phoenix gave some sort of snort and instantly combusted.

"Burning day again?" Dumbledore chuckled. "Right, right... Now where's the baby powder?"

If it was possible, the baby phoenix gave him a glare a Basilisk would kill for.

Turned out that Alastor had been searching for the Hallows at the same time, for they met in the Gaunt's ancestral manor, wands out, and Alastor had a particularly potent Basilisk's fang held in dragonhide gloves.

Visitors gave the collection on the Headmaster's table a funny look every time they passed by. But what they didn't know didn't kill them. The knowledge of the odd items being Hocruxes wasn't exactly public. Nor did he want the knowledge to be widespread.

Perhaps the wooden chunk from a wooden leg wasn't a Hocrux, but bah, Alastor's sworn off wooden legs after the Potter scion set it on fiendfyre immediately upon gaining conscious when they removed the last Hocrux from him.

Dumbledore was amused when the retired Auror walked with a clanking noise to the wedding, now equipped with a metal leg. People (Ronald and Hermione Weasley, Neville and Luna Longbottom, Remus and Nymphadora Lupin, etc.) parted as the grizzled old man limped his way to the couple. The groom still summoned it with practised ease, despite the care the old man took to carve anti-summoning runes.

"You still haven't bothered to make it resistant to foreign influences, Pa. It was easy to summon the dirt on it."

"Oh shut up, Potter! Why, I'll..."

"And what were you about to say to my husband..." Fleur Potter (née Delacour) interrupted the duo, her wand threateningly held in her hands. "And even if it's you, Harry, if you disrupt the wedding, I'll be severely displeasured..."

She left the threat hanging and disappeared into the crowd, having spotted another school friend.

"Why, I'd say you're whipped, Potter!" Moody laughed, slapping his foster son on the back enthusiastically, threat forgotten.

"Oh, shut up!" Potter snapped.

The End.

A/N : Another plot bunny that refused to just shut up and stop screwing up Chapter 12 of Cold Metal.