Disclaimer: All characters belong to JKR. I am just a penniless FF writer with an imagination.
A/N: This is written in response to MamaGoob's challenge on Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges forum titled It Takes 12 to Make A Quorum Challenge.
This is a monthly challenge that will be continued for one year.
It is written in a style somewhat (aka loosely) similar to The Notebook (novel written by Nicholas Sparks and 2004 movie adaption directed by Nick Cassavetes and starring Rachel McAdams and Ryan Gosling).
Basically, looking back on memories in the past. Yup.
Genre: ANGST.
(Love that word).
Overall Prompt (for whole 12 chapters): Headache
Chapter One brought to you by the first monthly prompt: Terminal
Also I'm not really sure on early 20th century forms of transportation in England. The steam engine had been invented well before 1899 when Dumbledore returned from Hogwarts but the Model T had yet to be put into production, so automobiles were most likely neither well made nor common. I kind of vaguely phrased it… I think I implied a horse drawn carriage. If anyone has any expertise in this area it would be greatly appreciated.
Also, the terminal is faintly referenced here twice. It signifies an arrival, of which there are two in this chapter. Sorry, this is so far the weakest reference in all the chapters I have written/planned.
For the sake of this story, I have changed Kendra's death/funeral and Gellert's arrival date so that the two correspond.
I realize that I describe Bathilda as in her early forties, which means that at her death in or before 1997 she was around 138. This is completely inconceivable, even for a witch, but I hope you shall forgive me. Also not sure about the terminology 'great nephew' versus 'grand nephew'. Whatever.
Sorry for the incredibly long Author's Note.
Enjoy :)
Temptation is a Delicious Thing
Chapter One: A Foray into the Past
The grounds were bathed in the softest, warmest hint of dawn, but inside his study it was still an inky, lonely night.
Rubbing bony fingers over his fatigued eyes and placing his eyeglasses back on their well-worn perch on his nose, he rose from the chair and moved to the curtains. He pulled a swathe of the maroon drapery aside and allowed a small beam of pink to illuminate his dusty, cluttered office.
He sighed as the sharp pang in his forehead reminded him of his now constant headache. It had started the night of the final task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament and had continued all throughout the summer. It was now August and the first of September was approaching too rapidly. He needed more time to think, and this was one of the few nights he had to loiter at Hogwarts before he got back to his duties awaiting him at Number 12, Grimmauld Place. It had been wasted pouring through another file of useless thoughts and memories. The few that he needed had slyly evaded him. How he wished he could just go to sleep for hours and wake to a steaming breakfast like when he was younger, completely carefree and untroubled!
It was then that he caught sight of the cabinet in which his Pensieve was held.
Swiftly crossing the distance, he pulled open the door and commenced searching for the particular memory that had appeared suddenly and clearly out of the murkiness clouding his mind.
Oh, how daft he was! The answer had been practically tap dancing on his desk for the whole night!
Several minutes, a few uncharacteristic curse words, and a plethora of scattered flasks later, he held the oddly curved green glass in his palm. Slipping the cork out of the neck, he gently tipped the translucent pearly liquid into the basin. Watching with an inscrutable look in his eyes, he remained until the fluid stopped swirling mysteriously and patiently lingered, waiting for the man to dip his face below the surface.
He complied.
Albus strode off the locomotive and onto the expecting platform of the terminal, pulling his bags behind him. He was met by his mother, looking gaunt and exhausted as usual but with her black hair wound into a noble bun on the crown of her head and an unmistakable air of control surrounding her.
On the rickety ride home he was squished between his clumsily proportioned younger brother, Aberforth, who was full into his adolescence, and their many trunks and bags from Hogwarts, which were digging uncomfortably into his sides. The only thing that kept him from exploding was the small piece of parchment folded into his pocket. It held his and Elphias' plans for their global trip, aptly titled 'Dumbledore and Doge's Grand Tour of the Wizarding World'. He would spend a few weeks at home in Godric's Hollow with Ariana, and then he would pack his bags and finally be going somewhere. It would be the most magnificent adventure, for he and Elphias had been preparing for it all of their seventh year.
It was that night at dinner when Kendra Dumbledore dropped the news. Aberforth was pushing around the food on his plate with his fork, Albus was fingering that glorious piece of paper in his pocket, and Ariana was simply staring at the tablecloth, her plate untouched. With a weary sigh, their mother wiped her mouth on her napkin properly, gently leaned her palm on her cheek and addressed her youngest son.
"Aberforth, I have procured you a job at the chapel. You will sweep the floors, wash the altar, scrub the wax from the candlesticks- anything Father asks of you. It's time you pitched in around here. I'm sure you know money is very tight." Kendra Dumbledore said this very precisely and never once looked at her son.
Albus glanced at his brother. Aberforth was furious. His knuckles gripped his knife with such force that Albus was worried for a moment if he would hurl it at his mother.
"What?" Aberforth finally managed to hiss out of the corner of his clamped mouth.
"You heard me. Albus will be preparing for his work in the wizarding world this summer and with him gone it would be of much use to me if you would be productive in this household and you won't be that while holed up with Ariana. I can manage to take care of her- I've been doing it for a while now."
Aberforth was in a mute rage. He flung his silverware onto the dining table and stormed from the room, his face flushed red and seething. Kendra flinched only slightly. The clatter greatly shocked Ariana, who tumbled halfway from her chair, her bony arms barely catching her fall. Automatically, Albus hurried to hoist her back into her seat. When he returned to his own, he felt an immediate, sudden wave of hatred: for his brother, his mother, his sister, and himself. Needing to be alone to sort through his thoughts, a habit he had picked up while at school, he excused himself and departed to his room.
Nestled in his window alcove, he could finally examine his jumbled emotions. The first was obvious; his brother was being his immature, infuriating self. It was time that he stopped picking fights with the other boys in the village and started helping out. And his mother didn't need to act so distant. True, it was probably his and Aberforth's fault that she acted so detached- they hardly talked to her nowadays. His mind came to rest on Ariana. Her fragile, dependent beauty irritated him. Or maybe it was not so much Ariana that bothered him as much as the constant feeling of watchfulness. He had looked out for his sister ever since he was nine. He hated that feeling of perpetual responsibility. He was a member of the Dumbledore family; together they would bear the burden of hiding her from the world. How he longed for the next weeks in which he would finally escape Godric's Hollow! With Elphias by his side they would discover the many wonders of the world. For now he had to wait patiently. It would just be fortnight and then he would be free.
He rose from his stooped position, still lost in thoughts. He slowly wandered toward the shelves of memories and felt an immediate tug, as if an invisible force was pulling his hand. His fingers grasped the glass in the far back, also bizarrely shaped, but this one was a vibrant red.
The contents were resistant but eventually trickled in one long strand to the bottom of the bowl where they sank, permeating the Pensieve. He lowered his head into the depths.
Albus wandered in the lanes of Godric's Hollow, smelling the heat and relishing in the solitude. Aberforth had left for his third day at work merely an hour ago, and Albus had just eaten his breakfast. He decided to amble down to the stream placed conveniently behind the copse of trees shielding his house from view. He carried his alchemy book and a hope that the shore would be as peaceful as ever.
He was so engrossed in his book that he did not notice the momentary shaking of the ashes' leaves or the brief but violent whistling of the wind.
When his eyelashes were thick with sunlight, he stretched his cramped back and rose to his feet. It was just about time for lunch so he returned to the house.
Immediately, he knew something was wrong. Dropping the heavy tome on the grass, he raced inside, pulling out his wand in the process. It was silent, and the only sound was his panicked, ragged breathing.
"Ariana? Mother?" he called, hating the thundering noise of his voice, which cracked vulnerably as he spoke his sister's name.
He hurried through the rooms, searching for any sign of chaos or a struggle.
It wasn't until he reached the small parlor that he found anything.
Ariana was just a small shape in the corner, emitting quiet sobs while she rocked back and forth, clutching her knees.
Glass shards littered the floor, and the few precious furnishings had been demolished and thrown across the room- a chipped table leg here, a torn pillow there. His mother lay among the wreckage, her pristine dark hair strewn haphazardly in a disorderly halo above her head. Her blue eyes were unfocused and empty.
In shock, he staggered through the debris, not noticing when slivers of glass slid into the soles of his shoes or caring if his clothes were snagged on the splintered remains. Sinking to his knees, he held his mother's face in his hands and sobbed.
It was here that Aberforth found Albus almost an hour later.
His was unable to form words and simply gurgled as he hobbled over to his sister. He gathered the girl in his arms and carried her, weeping, from the ruins.
It took Albus the longest time to reach in the cabinet for the final container of memories he needed. This one held no special distinguishing detail like the first two, but Albus held it preciously cupped in his palm.
It was but a moment and Albus was once more traveling briskly down the misty courses of past events, clouded in a haze.
The funeral was a solemn affair, the attendees clad in stiff, musty black. Not many neighbors came, for Kendra Dumbledore had acquired the reputation of a haughty, absorbed witch, and this judgment lasted past her death. Some of Albus' relatives had crowded around him after the burial, but he managed to jostle Aberforth into their midst. He escaped from the cemetery and hurried back to the house in order to check on Ariana, who was contained in the damp basement.
When he had brushed her fine yellow hair and helped her into her nightgown, he finally laid her to sleep and once more escaped, this time to the sturdy oak swaying in his backyard.
Leaning against the trunk and swinging his feet in the night breeze, he repeated the statement in his head.
His backyard. His backyard. His.
For now it truly was his. His parents were gone and he was the heir to the Dumbledore estate. He was also the guardian of Ariana and Aberforth, at least until Aberforth came of age in a year. It was his responsibility to look after his sister and brother, and he knew without at doubt that it would be a long and tiresome chore. Only three days ago he had been preparing to romp around the world and now he was stuck in Godric's Hollow, constantly watching his turbulent younger sister and supervising his brother. He felt trapped in an iron birdcage, alone and dismal, still able to see the outside world that was filled with adventure and risk, a world he had almost been apart of, before fate had ripped it cruelly from his hands. He wept silently, pitying himself and hating the fortunes that had destroyed his dreams and means of escape.
These matters weighted his mind until the cool air finally soothed his bitter thoughts and lulled him to sleep.
It was only a few wretched days, however, before chance (or perhaps Destiny, for Albus Dumbledore now believed wholeheartedly in that savage mistress) happened to frolic across his path.
Bathilda Bagshot, a family friend, knocked on his door during the late afternoon (Albus still hated calling it his door- he had been doing so for years unconsciously, and it wasn't until now that it actually was his did he recognize what an effect it had on him).
Preparing himself for a long chat involving many pourings of tea into Bathilda's cup, he opened the door. There stood the woman, in her early forties, smiling benevolently. It wasn't that he didn't like her- she was quite agreeable, and when Aberforth and he were younger she would always bring them sweets- it was just that she could talk for hours about the most tedious things in the world.
He placed a welcoming smile on his face, greeted her, and made to usher her inside the house.
"Oh, Albus, no need for that. I just stopped by to chat a little. I'm not going to bother you at all. You see, what with all this commotion after your mother's death- I'm terribly sorry, by the way, if I can help at all don't hesitate- oh, but I thought you might like a little distraction. And it just so happens that my great nephew just arrived from Durmstrang in Norway yesterday. I almost lost him in the commotion on the terminal in London- you think with a lot of wizards running around the place would be more organized! Anyways, he's staying with me over the holidays and as you and he are around the same age, I thought he might like the company… is that rhubarb tart I smell? I might just have to go take a look- you and Aberforth must be receiving lots of food from the neighbors. I don't expect you two can cook at all. I'll have to remember to bring something over. Now if you don't mind, I'll just take a peek in the kitchen and see if you've burned anything."
With another grin, she stepped into the house and went to 'check things out' but Albus knew that she was actually just going to sample some of the tart. As she departed from the door frame, she revealed a young man grinning impishly from the corner of the garden. He was throwing a plum from his right hand to his left, his curly yellow hair like a lion's mane above his head.
The boys looked at each other for a moment, and then Bathilda's great-nephew shook his tresses and gave a small, feisty wink.
Albus flinched a tiny bit and felt his stomach squeeze a little in nervousness. The boy suddenly took a large bite of the juicy plum, bounded up the steps to the door, and stuck his hand out.
"Hello- I'm Gellert."
Albus shook the proffered hand.
"I'm Albus. Nice to meet you."
In the next moment, Albus Dumbledore was standing back at the basin, still staring into the mischievous green eyes of Gellert Grindelwald. With a sigh, he straightened his robes and paced around his office. His head ached but he did not notice it, for he was too absorbed in unseen memories from long ago, and the day in which he met his first love and his first enemy.