“Ah, Harry,” said Dumbledore, taking off his half-moon glasses and polishing them on the sleeve of his robe. His eyes twinkled mischieviously, yet wisely. “Now that you have survived seven years of school, now, on the eve of your great and final battle with Voldemort, I confess I must tell you the truth, because I may never have another chance.”

“What?” said Harry. “But what about in my fifth year, when you said, ‘Now, Harry, I will tell you everything?’”

“Lying through my teeth,” said Dumbledore prompty. “No, Harry, there is one more very important thing that I must tell you ere your mortal duel.”

“Well, out with it, already,” said Harry, “I have to get a good night’s sleep, you know.”

Dumbledore sighed, reached up his hand, took hold of the point of his embroidered purple hat, and pulled. The hat came off. So did his long, flowing white hair, and his long, silvery beard. They appeared to be attached to the hat with bits of elastic. Underneath, Dumbledore was clean-shaven, bald, and slightly scaly.

“Merlin’s Kneazles!” gasped Harry.

“Yes, Harry,” said Dumbledore, who was popping blue contact lenses out of his eyes, which had begun to glow bright red. “I am none other than your arch-nemesis, Lord Voldemort himself!”

Harry boggled. “But...but...”

“You see, Harry,” said Dumbledore, steepling his fingers, “the wizard you know as Albus Dumbledore is a mere identity I created for myself when I stole a Time-Turner and went back in time to stop the rise of my former self.”

“Oh no!” said Hermione, conveniently running past the door. “But the use of Time-Turners is strictly controlled by the Ministry!”

“And who do you think made those laws?” smiled Dumbledore. He turned back to Harry, who was still stupified. “I am the orphan who was Tom Riddle. In the original timeline of this universe, it was I who led the Death Eaters to victory.”

“Didn’t I stop you?” whispered Harry, who had really caught onto what was going on by now but was a good lad, and always kept an eye out for the exposition.

“In the original timeline, Sybil Trelawney made her prophecy to an empty room. The spy was not caught. Lord Voldemort – I – heard it all, but the Potters, who were not informed by me, did not go into hiding. I simply showed up one day when they were out shopping and threw you out a window. Then I went on to subdue the rest of the Wizarding World under my reign of terror and Crucio. All wizardkind lived as slaves to my dark powers!”

“I...I don’t believe you,” said Harry, clutching his wand behind his back. “Why would Voldemort want to come back in time to stop his own conquest?”

Dumbledore shrugged. “There wasn’t much to do after conquering the world, you know. After a while I got bored of feeding house-elves to Nagini and chasing Wormtail around Dark Hogwarts with a stick. And getting beaten at wizard Scrabble by Lucius Malfoy.” Dumbledore slammed his fist against his desk and his eyes glowed momentarily. “Anyway, I took to reading books on moral philosophy, and realized what a bad person I had been, so I wanted to change things. Also,” and here he snickered, “it’s really fun scaring my former self. He's so easily riled up! Hee, hee.”

Harry coughed, drawing Dumbledore out of his reverie.

“Right. Yes,” said the old wizard. “So, I went back in time, and thwarted my plans to kill you, because I needed a hero-figure and I always thought James Potter looked dashing when he struck a pose, so I thought you would, too. Oh, excuse me,” he said, pulling a drawer full of onions out of his desk, and wiping his eyes, which were still slightly twinkly. “Won’t be needing these anymore, as you can see.” He threw the onions over his shoulder. “Carefully I orchestrated the events of the last seventeen years. I worked my way into the position of Headmaster, and bought a lot of silver spindly things to decorate the room with, to make me look I knew what I was doing.” He flicked one of the little spindly things off the desk. “What,” he said to Harry’s downcast expression, “you thought those actually did something? Arhrm. I let my former self continue on his path to further and further incompetance, with his Death Eaters. Well, not the Death Eaters who I liked – I redeemed them in their younger days so they could reap the benefits of being on the side of good. McGonagall, for example – in the original timeline you would not want to meet that witch on a dark night.” He shuddered. “Except for Snape, of course, who always annoyed me, so I found a way to force him to teach a bunch of ungrateful little children every day – the best punishment for him I could think of. And Lucius Malfoy, of course, got no slack from me, triple-word-score-stealing scumbag.” His eyes glowed again and Harry shifted nervously in his seat.

“I still don’t believe you,” Harry said. “How do I know you’re not just the real Voldemort trying to play mind-games on me?”

“Think about it, Harry. Why did I never take more steps to guard you when Voldemort was in the castle, trying to lure you into the Ministry, or Portkey you for use in his weird graveyard rituals? Why did I let the Dark Arts, such a vital subject in such troubled times, be taught by people who were unskilled, unpopular, and unpretty?”

“Well, Lupin wasn’t bad,” mused Harry. “Although this new Professor Tibblesblossom is a bit strange.”

“Professor Tibblesblossom is a stoat sandwich that Hagrid left under his bed for three months, which developed rudimentary speech,” said Dumbledore flatly.

“Oh,” said Harry.

“Why, Harry,” said Dumbledore, “the explanation is perfectly simple. I have no idea how to be the Headmaster of a school! I spent all my childhood plotting the downfall of wizardkind, remember?” Dumbledore spun around in his chair. “I just sit in here all day and eat candy!”

Harry looked up at the portraits on the walls. “Is this the truth? Why didn’t you tell anybody?”

The portraits shuffled about in their frames. “Well, you have to admit,” said a small witch, “it is rather amusing that none of you noticed.”

“Yes, Harry,” said Dumbledore soberly, spinning to a halt. “Why do you think I wear these silly half-moon glasses? Because if they were round, I couldn’t see and the constant bumping into things would give me away!”

“But how come my scar doesn’t hurt when I’m near you?” shot back Harry.

“Oh, that,” said Dumbledore. He opened another drawer, and pulled out a small doll. A doll with messy hair and glasses. Its forehead was full of tiny pins.

Harry stared. “You monster!”

“Well, I had to convince you that you were psychically connected to Voldemort somehow,” said Dumbledore.

Harry still looked suspicious.

“Yes, Harry, it’s all perfectly true,” said Dumbledore. “When I went back in time, you see, I knew I had to invent myself a new name, and I chose an anagram of what I would have called my new persona in my younger, more angry days.”

Dumbledore lifted his wand and wrote in the air, in fiery letters,

“DUMBLEDORE.”

Then he waved his wand and the letters rearranged.

“O DUMB ELDER.”

Harry stared at him.

“So all this,” he said carefully, “was a grand scheme, orchestrated by you, to bring about your own downfall, at my hands. All this.”

“Yes,” said Dumbledore.

“THAT IS THE STUPIDEST THING I HAVE EVER HEARD!” roared Harry. “FOR THE LOVE OF MORAN LE FAY, WHY DID YOU NOT JUST GO BACK IN TIME TO WHEN YOU WERE LIVING IN THE MUGGLE ORPHANAGE AND HIT YOURSELF ON THE HEAD WITH A BRICK?!”

“Erm...because the meeting of the two alternate selves would cause a matter anti-matter explosion and destabilise the structure of the dimensions and the cosmic integrity?” suggested Dumbledore.

“THEN WHY DIDN’T YOU HIDE BEHIND THE CORNER AND LOB A KILLING CURSE AT YOURSELF? OR PUT A POISONOUS SPIDER IN A CORRIDOR YOU KNEW YOU WOULD GO DOWN?” Harry threw up his hands in frustration. “OR MAKE A PORTKEY LEADING TO A PLACE HUNDREDS OF MILES IN THE AIR, AND PUT IT ON TOP OF A DOOR YOU KNEW YOU WOULD GO THROUGH? ARGH!”

“Well,” said Voldumbledore slowly, stroking his chin. He sat a moment in silence, and then continued, “Well, I suppose I was never one much for the planning.”

End.