Brief Encounters

It came not as a surprise, but as an undeniably ironic realization: Albus Dumbledore was infatuated. Yes, it was silly and incredibly naïve, but that did not make it any less true. More often than not, he found himself wandering through the Hogwarts corridors after curfew (even though he knew exactly where he wanted to be). He often forgot he was a teacher now, so whenever he heard footsteps, his first reaction was to hide (and he was damn good at it). Thus, no one ever found out his dark, little secret (though it barely classified as 'dark' in his opinion).

However, this night was special. Exactly one year had passed since their first encounter (he could not quite believe it himself). It still amused him to remember the first time they met (he most surely did not believe in coincidences). Consumed by guilt and remorse on a sleepless night, Dumbledore had decided to take a stroll around the school. Before he knew it, the young wizard found himself on the seventh floor of the place. He was so absorbed in his own mind that he failed to notice the worried look that was sent his way (his disheveled appearance from tossing and turning before declaring it a night was certainly a cause of concern). However, he was not completely immune since upon hearing some weird noises, he wasted no time to draw his wand.

"Fear not, my dear friend, for I intend you no harm," a mysterious voice said.

Dumbledore could not place the exact location these words had come from, and that put him on edge.

"Young sir, I beg you to trust me. Now come and speak your ills-- You might find in me a courageous ally. Say the words and we shall find the culprit of your troubles or else perish bravely in the charge!"

It took Albus five seconds to finally realize where the words came from (and shocked as he was he could not help but laugh at the turns of life). Against his better judgment, Dumbledore threw caution through the window and told Sir Cadogan the tragic events that had happened over the past years. He was only careful to avoid mentioning any names, but his hearer did not seem to mind as he proudly declared that "all this must be suffered by those who profess the stern order of chivalry" (it was not until 1945 that Dumbledore fully understood the unbearable truth of this statement, and these words stuck with him until the very end)

Suddenly, visiting the North Tower became a habit, especially on those days in which he could not find the will or strength in himself to fulfill his mission. The encounters were brief: first, he would eagerly wait to be spotted (after all, patience was one of his virtues). A florid comment from his auditor would follow to which Albus would respond in an equally pompous manner. Sometimes, he would try to flare the poor devil, others, he would confide his latest fears and theories. Whatever the case, the outcome was always the same. He felt he could sympathize with this stranger: it was said that he was mad (or rather misunderstood); that he had a moronic sense of duty (platonic, he would explain); that he was ridiculous (what was so wrong with being unique, anyway?), but all that Dumbledore could see was his pure and innocent intentions (they were almost endearing).

And so it had come to this day, the day in which he finally realized how far he was from his old self. He had grown, most definitively, and his love for the portrait had been a compass that guided him through some of the toughest times (in a way, it had kept him from making the same old mistakes all over again). And for that, he was most grateful. Albus liked to play with the idea that an epitomic bond united the two of them: It seemed like all his traits, values and faults were enhanced a tenfold in Sir Cadogan's persona (from there on, The Picture of Dorian Gray would become his silent accomplice).

Dumbledore often pondered on the ridiculous situation he was now immersed in. He sometimes wondered what Grindewald's reaction would be like if he ever found out (very deep down he knew that was one of the reasons why he continued to participate in this satirical pantomime). But the past was the past and now he was slowly learning to focus all his energy on his teaching, on learning, on understanding. He no longer sought power or greatness (or at least, he tried not to). One of the things that the portrait had taught him was that he had lost himself in the big picture and forgot about the small details (and it was those small details that both killed and saved him). And even though he knew his situation was a peculiar one, Albus never regretted it (he could not help but chuckle; Grindewald would hate it).

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