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The ICW had held an emergency session in London. That they scheduled it two weeks before the regular session was troubling; that they then cancelled the regular session was moreso. No one connected the emergency session with the fact that the regular meeting would have been in Moscow.

When the delegate for Magical Russia spoke, his report was almost as incendiary as his topic. Many of the assembled witches and wizards had no idea things on the muggle side had gotten to this point, and those who did rarely brought the matter up. Albus had almost been required to take up the gavel as Supreme Mugwump, despite the fact that it was officially a committee meeting.

The fact that scared Albus the most, out of all the horrible things he had learned this day, was the idea that the emergency had actually taken place over a year previous. They were just learning about it now. If things had gone differently… No, it did no good to think that way.

It was October of 1984. In a few weeks, the war against Voldemort would be three years past, thanks to the Potters. And yet, here was another possible crisis looming.

Days like this made Albus Dumbledore feel impossibly old.

As he sat and looked around the park, he saw a young boy walk up to one of the small stone tables near the edge of the park. Even at its modest height, the chessboard and pieces were too high for the boy to see, so he did what any boy would do - he climbed up the chair and stood, taking in the board.

Albus chuckled at the determination of the black-haired boy. Part of him wondered where the parents might be, but it was a nice day - surely they were nearby.

The boy reached over to pick up a chess piece, but looked around frantically before his hand touched it. Albus frowned at the movement, and what it implied. Seeing no danger, the boy picked up one of the black rooks and examined it closely. The park provided chess sets in plastic, good enough for a proper game but not enticing enough to attract thieves. Nevertheless, the boy looked at the small plastic castle tower as if it were a treasure beyond price.

No longer able to sit still, Albus walked over to the boy.

"That one is called a rook," he said, amicably.

The boy's eyes snapped to him as he spoke, wide with fright. "I'm sorry, sir…" he began.

Albus waved a hand in dismissal. "It's quite alright, my boy, this is a public park. The pieces are there for anyone to use." He sat down opposite the boy, on the white side of the board. "Have you ever wanted to play?"

The boy frowned slightly. "I don't play games, sir." There was a sadness in his voice, hinting at a desire to change that fact about his life, if only he could.

Albus frowned as well. "Are your parents nearby? Perhaps I could teach you the rules, if you have time."

The boy again looked sad. "I live with my aunt and uncle and cousin, sir. My aunt is taking my cousin to the cinema, and told me to look after myself." He glanced around the park. "I like parks, when I can go."

"I see," said Albus, resisting the urge to ask more questions. Clearly the boy was mistreated, or at least treated with indifference. But he had no right to interfere with a situation that should, rightly, be handled by muggles. "Well, then," he continued. "It sounds like you have time for a game."

"Really?" the boy asked in wonder.

"Really," confirmed Albus.

oOoOoOoOo

Over the course of the next two hours, Albus Dumbledore easily had more fun than he had in decades. The boy - who, Albus noted, refused to give a name - was a quick study, and had already figured out how to use one piece to block for another. He enjoyed making a castle, as he called it, and liked the knights the best.

Even though the pieces weren't enchanted, Albus found that he was quite enjoying the afternoon. The fact that owls and patronus messages could not approach him in such a public, muggle area, surely helped. He had not noticed how much time had passed, until he heard a voice that sounded familiar.

"Boy!" A woman was shouting from across the street, and the sound of the woman's voice made the boy cringe. Even at this distance, the boy was palpably afraid. That earned another frown from Albus.

"I'm going to have to go now, sir," said the boy. "I don't want to get in trouble."

"I understand," said Albus. "Would you like me to walk you over? I can tell your aunt that I kept an eye on you." He leaned forward and whispered, conspiratorially. "I do work for the government, you know."

No need to mention which government, of course.

The boy looked uncertain, which made Albus' decision easy. "Come," he said, reaching down with his hand.

Tentatively, and with no small amount of trepidation, the boy took the offered hand. Together, they walked toward the street corner, where the boy's aunt and cousin had already crossed. When he saw the woman, he stopped in his tracks.

As did she. "You!" she shouted, her shrill voice causing the boy to shrink back in fear.

"...Petunia?" asked Albus, surprise in his voice. But if this was Lily Potter's sister, then where was Harry? The cousin looked much older than his four years, and had blonde hair.

Without thinking, Albus looked down at the shaking boy who still held his hand, as if for dear life. Lowering himself down to the boy's eye level, and ignoring the pain from his old knees, Albus Dumbledore looked the boy in the eye - in those green eyes. Gently, he reached out and brushed the boy's shaggy hair away from his forehead - and revealed the scar he had seen these three years past.

"Harry?" he asked, quietly.

"If you say so, sir." was the equally quiet reply.

Albus rose as Petunia approached. When he spoke, it was not the jovial headmaster, nor the kind old man who had played chess with her nephew. No, when he spoke to Petunia, his voice was that of the defeater of Grindelwald and the Surpreme Mugwump. It was like steel, and it chilled the woman to the bone.

"We need to talk, Petunia Dursley."

oOoOoOoOo

That Sunday evening, the Dursleys cleared the table after dinner, shocking Harry, for whom that had been one of his first chores. Even though he needed a step stool to get the dishes in the sink, and could only carry a few at a time, he was proud of the fact that he had not yet broken anything.

Instead, he was made to sit at the table and wait quietly. He was even given a few thick books to sit on, so that he could actually reach further than his place. No one said why.

When the door opened, and the nice old man from the park walked in, Harry relaxed a little. Then he saw the chess board the man was carrying, and actually smiled.

"You're to have 'game night'," said Uncle Vernon, without preamble. He pointed a meaty finger at Dumbledore, accusingly. "But I'll not have any of your freaky games in my house, understand? You'll play proper games, and you'll like it." He glanced at Harry as he said this last, and Harry shrank back from his Uncle.

His relatives had let him use the second bedroom, even cleaning out some (but not all) of Dudley's old things. Something about this old man had convinced them to do it, though Harry didn't quite know what it was. All he knew was that the man wanted to play games with him, and that he knew Aunt Petunia.

For now, that was good enough.

"Hello, Harry," said the man. He smiled as he set down a chess board, and then handed Harry a large, velvet bag. "Would you be so kind as to set up the board while I speak to your aunt and uncle?"

"Of course, sir." He paused. "Do you want the white pieces, sir?"

Albus smiled at the boy. "Only if you don't, Harry."

oOoOoOoOo

When Uncle Albus showed up the following Sunday, again with his chess set, Harry was amazed. What could possibly have happened to get his relatives to let him do something fun, and then allow it to happen again? Surely, this couldn't last.

But Albus continued to come to the house every Sunday, without fail. For Harry, it was an island in a week filled with chores - though those chores had gotten easier, and the list of tasks shorter, since game night began.

Even Dudley reigned in his tantrums, to the surprise of everyone. What they didn't know, however, was the reason.

"Can I play?" Albus turned and saw Harry's cousin Dudley standing there, watching them set up the chess board. The three words the boy had said were the quietest Harry had ever heard out of Dudley, and his face betrayed his surprise.

"That doesn't bother me," he said, looking at Harry. "But chess only works for two people."

"Oh," said a crestfallen Dudley. Before Albus could suggest playing against Harry, or watching to learn the game, Dudley grinned. "I have a game we can play!" he said, excitedly.

Albus glanced at Harry, who shrugged, unable to hide his surprise. "Alright, Mister Dursley, we can play your game. Do you have it here?" A laughing Dudley ran off to his room.

That was the night Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, Holder of the Order of Merlin (1st Class), Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, learned how to play snakes and ladders with a pair of four year olds.

oOoOoOoOo

"Mum?" said Dudley.

Petunia looked up from her tea, eyeing her nervous son. "Yes?"

"Um, it's just, you see…" He paused, gathering his courage. "We need a fourth player."

Petunia had tolerated these weekly game nights for close to a year, now, allowing the fr… the Headmaster into her home. That he arrived each week, without fail, still surprised her. Now that Dudley was involved in their weekly routine, she could see that he was behaving better than he ever had - she had threatened to ground him from game night only once, and that settled the matter.

She had never been invited to play, however.

"What game are you playing, Dudders?" she asked.

"Mon… Mono…" He shrugged. "I don't know, Mum."

"Well, then," she said as she stood up. "Let's go have a look."

The game, as it turned out, was Monopoly. Dumbledore was already sorting out the money when she entered the dining room. Albus noticed her hesitation, and smiled kindly at her.

"I'm told," he said, "that this was an old family favorite."

It had been decades since Petunia touched a game like this - not since her sister had gone to Hogwarts. This particular game, as it turned out, had indeed been one of Lily's favorites.

"How did you know?" Petunia asked.

"I recognized it from something she told me, long ago," Albus replied, cryptically. He was not about to admit to pumping Severus Snape for information on his childhood friend's favorite board games.

"My mum played this game?" asked Harry, from his place at the other end of the table. Petunia looked at him, and saw the boy's hunger for any information about his parents. With a sigh, she took a seat at the table.

"Yes, Harry, she did. It was one of her favorites," Petunia said. Dumbledore smiled his grandfatherly smile at her as he slid a stack of coins toward her. Petunia looked at the coins, confused, before she realized that they were the same denominations and (roughly) the same colors as the paper money she remembered so well. She looked at Dumbledore, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged. "I am not accustomed to using paper for money," he said. "This seemed simpler."

Vernon would pitch a fit if he learned that someone had done magic in the house, but the excited looks on the faces of the boys stilled her. In the end, they were just coins, and it didn't really matter, did it?

"Fair enough," she said, picking up the dice. "I'll be the dog."

oOoOoOoOo

"No."

The Headmaster folded his arms across his chest, keeping his eyes focused on his potions master.

"Severus, my boy, you must see how critical this could be."

Snape eyed the headmaster, wondering - literally - just what his game was now. "Absolutely not."

"But you must, my boy." Albus insisted.

"I have potions brewing." Snape said.

Dumbledore waved a hand, dismissively. "Surely, one of your NEWT students can monitor those?"

"Not if you want them fit for use," answered Snape. "Minerva told me about last week, you know."

Dumbledore's expression fell. "Did she?"

"She did," Snape confirmed. "What possessed you to talk her into playing a game called 'Old Maid'?"

oOoOoOoOo

As her hand moved slowly toward the injury, Poppy Pomfrey did not know how the Headmaster had talked her into this.

"It's for the greater good," he had said cryptically. Of course, she had thought he meant that it was a matter of life and death. So, on a Sunday evening no less, she had grabbed her medical bag and made her way to the edge of the wards. The Headmaster took her arm and brought her via side-along apparition to the 'patient'.

And now, she found herself trying to repair a man's rib, using only this crude set of muggle tools. The indignity of this is appalling, she thought.

BUZZ!

The evil red light that constituted the patient's nose lit up - again - and Poppy set the tweezers down in disgust. "I don't understand how muggles do this, Albus, I really don't."

"They usually have training, Madam Pomfrey," said Harry Potter, with a cheeky grin, as the Headmaster chuckled softly to himself.

She fixed the boy-who-lived with a glare. "I'll have you know, Mister Potter, that I have been a mediwitch for over forty years!" The corners of her mouth threatened to turn up in a smile, but Harry played along with her false anger nonetheless.

"Yes, but how many years were you a surgeon?" As she spoke, he attempted to extract the piece that looked like a slice of bread from the stomach.

Poppy tried very hard not to chuckle at the boy when that merlin-be-damned red light lit up for him, too.

oOoOoOoOo

Albus Dumbledore smiled as he saw Harry walking out of Ollivanders. Harry had a grin on his face - hard not to, when you finally get your wand - but there was also a sadness about the boy.

"Holly and phoenix feather, sir," said Harry, answering the unasked question.

"A powerful wand, Mister Potter," replied Dumbledore. He glanced over as they walked, and saw the same pensive look. "Something troubles you?"

"No, sir…" answered Harry, automatically. Then he sighed. "I mean, we're not going to be able to have game night anymore, are we?"

Albus paused in the middle of Diagon Alley, turning toward the boy. As he had done almost seven years before, he lowered himself to get down to eye level with the boy-who-lived.

"Do you want game night to stop, Harry?" he asked, quietly.

"No, sir," Harry answered immediately. "It's just, we've been doing games for so long, it'd be a shame not to anymore."

"Ah, I think I see," said Albus. "You know, Harry, it's a very large castle, Hogwarts."

"That's what you said," replied Harry, thinking back to the stories the Headmaster had told about the school.

"And there will be quite a few students your age," continued the Headmaster. "I'll bet you'll find a few who want to play with you."

Harry's face lit up at that. He had enjoyed the evenings with just himself and the Headmaster, but loved it when they had others to play with as well. Especially the black haired potions professor who tried very hard to look like he hated every moment but secretly had fun, Harry was sure of it.

Hearing Professor Snape tell him "You sunk my battleship," in his trademark drawl had sent Harry into a fit of giggles.

"I think I'd like that very much, Headmaster," said Harry.

"Good." replied Dumbledore. "Now, let's find you a pet. Shall we?"

oOoOoOoOo

Minerva McGonagall had never seen anything like it.

It was the third weekend of the new term, and a group of first and second years were playing board games in the great hall on a Sunday afternoon.

"Remarkable, isn't it?" She turned to see the Headmaster walking up beside her, taking in the scene.

"It is," she agreed.

What astonished her the most was that there were representatives of all four houses present. Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott, from Hufflepuff, were sitting next to Hermione Granger from Gryffindor and Michael Corner from Ravenclaw. The game they were playing seemed to involve a mystery of some sort. As she watched, Susan Bones said something about finding a clue in the conservatory, or some such.

Even Slytherin was represented. Draco Malfoy had challenged Ron Weasley to a duel, but Harry Potter had talked them into a chess match instead. When both showed up with a wizard's chess set, they argued about which set to use. One didn't mix pieces from different sets, or the pieces had a habit of getting much more competitive than usual.

Harry Potter had solved the problem again, when he produced an old muggle chess set. Ron had grumbled about using the unfamiliar set of pieces, but Draco noticed how well cared for the pieces had been. This was a well-loved chess set that had gotten a lot of use. If it was good enough for the boy-who-lived, then who was Draco Malfoy to say no?

The intense looks on both boys' faces told of a hard-fought match. It would have to be, seeing how long it had gone on so far.

"I never did ask you, Albus. Why did you start playing games with Mister Potter?"

Albus sighed. Conjuring a chair, the Headmaster sat down against the stone wall. Minerva conjured a chair of her own, taking a seat next to her longtime colleague.

"Tell me, Minerva," began the Headmaster. "Have you ever heard of Stanislav Petrov?"

She shook her head. "No, I don't believe so. Who is he?"

"As it turns out, he is the muggle son of a squib, born in Russia. Like many, he served in the muggle armed forces of the Soviet Union." The Headmaster's voice grew quiet as he spoke, and Minerva could tell that the topic bothered him. "Lieutenant Colonel Petrov worked on a system that lets the Russians detect bombs launched at them from the Americans."

Minerva looked puzzled. "I don't understand."

"Think of it like this," Dumbledore said. "The Russians and the Americans have built weapons big enough and powerful enough to shoot at each other from around the world. These weapons are stronger than thousands of bombardas, Minerva, and each nation has thousands of them. So, if one decided to attack the other, it could kill millions."

"Merlin," she whispered. That the muggles could do that, it was appalling.

"Quite," said Dumbledore. "Lieutenant Colonel Petrov was told by his sensors that the Americans had attacked. His job was to tell his nation to retaliate. But when he looked into it, he decided that the attack was false, and that there was no incoming weapon. He disobeyed his orders, and did not order the attack."

"Of course," continued the Headmaster, "The Russians at that time did not tolerate anyone who disobeyed orders. Petrov was given a reprimand, and a year later he was out of the army. That, incidentally, is when the ICW learned about the almost-war he prevented, and panicked."

"He stopped a war, all by himself?" Minerva was shocked at the prospect, and horrified at what might have been.

Dumbledore nodded. "If he had been wrong, then millions of his countrymen would have died. But he made the hard choice, knowing he may well suffer for it." Dumbledore looked out across the great hall, and saw Harry Potter teaching a Ravenclaw how to play a card game. "I made a choice like that, years ago, when I placed Harry with the Dursleys." He shook his head, smiling to himself. "The worst sort of muggles, I believe you called them."

"I did, yes." She remembered her day monitoring the home as if it were yesterday. "He seems to have turned out well, even with all of that."

"Harry Potter is a fine boy, Minerva," Dumbledore agreed. "He'll be a fine wizard." He frowned. "But his relatives were not kind to him, at first. When I saw him in the park, he was underfed and thoroughly broken. He didn't even know his name." Dumbledore gestured toward the hall, where Harry Potter was sharing a laugh with another student.

"I made the hard decision, Minerva," Dumbledore continued. "Why should Harry Potter have to feel the pain of it?"