Old
By Keo Siph
Harry Potter © JK Rowling
Old, dried hands graced a cracked beard in the dark. A tall object was viewed from behind half-moon spectacles. No one said anything, because there was nothing to say, and no one else was there. Harry's footsteps retreated down the corridor, blankly revealing his slow progress through halls the man presided over. Over… Shuffled feet started towards the door again, only to pause on the way, half-lidded eyes looking back for a moment.
He hadn't actually looked into the mirror, only paused and stared upwards as he talked Harry out of it. He wondered now whether the boy was the cause or effect of what he would see. Or, truthfully, had seen, since he was like any human. He was just as curious, and with such a youthful mind, it was hard not to give in. A shorter person had stood there, black hair and robes… His first impression was McGonagall, but after a few moments of thought, she didn't wear such men's robes. Did he want her to become headmaster, to don the responsibility as well as the more formal robes? But, no. She was tall, but not that tall. He began the shuffle again, only to pause as he neared it.
Most saw and didn't want to leave, but did he have the will to do so?
Who am I kidding. The man smiled, evermore hiding his twinkling eyes, which were now laughing joyously. Some professor will come find me later, I'm sure. No need to worry. Actually, if it's not Professor McGonagall, it will most likely be Snape, because he said he'd come to talk to me about the Defense position again…
He strode forward now, ignoring the dust and the occasional moth that alit in his beard, he soon stood before the dust-ridden device. Which happened to be so covered that he couldn't see what was on it. He reached forward and started near the top, then abruptly knelt to start from the bottom. Feet, knees, skinny waist surrounded by robes, small hand, the other was obviously held up somewhere, belt with a wand stuck in it hap-hazardly, elbow, chest, top of shirt, shoulder, neck, waving arm… Dumbledore cleaned up past the head to show a long arm waving happily, then came back to the face. Even this close, he really couldn't make it out. He started with the slow motions he had used earlier, then swiped his arm across the face, revealing tender eyes and a subdued, but still joyous smile.
Yes, of course. One could always expect him to pop up when he's not expected. Of course.
Tom Riddle just smiled wider.
The same Riddle who had bewildered the young, almost fresh teacher back in the day.
The same problem he had tried so hard to keep from failing.
The same one that he had always fought for.
The same creature the he had fought against.
His crushing failure. Why he hadn't stopped teaching. His reason for enlightening students one-by-one.
His obsession with Potter.
Their talent, their brains, their blood, was far too similar. Their loves were so far apart, one could never mistake them for each other. Which, of course, was what worried Dumbledore the most.
If they had been the same, he could see what was coming. He could put the dam up in the appropriate place, he could do so much more…
Gray sand slipping through cracked hands. Blood dripping across young flesh.
He stared aimlessly at the mirror.
Dumbledore raised an arm, and waved back at his treasured pupil.