Disclaimer: Not a speck of HP belongs to me. I just toy with JK Rowling's amazing characters and create my own plot. And this story is a bit OOC, and out of canon times. If you do not like these kinds of stories, please do not read. All reviews are appreciated very much! –hint hint-
May potentially become a long fic…I am not sure yet.
Our story takes us back to the grim years of the mid-1950s, in a world filled with the dark, oppressive strictures enforced by the Dark Lord—He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Not an immortal or mortal soul dared to utter the feared Dark Lord's name. Whispers of gossip clung to the misty air like thin, delicate threads of gossamer: prone to splinter from the merest provocation…
And yet, in the midst of all adversaries, the rarest flower blooms. The flower that withholds strength, beauty, and goodness…
The tall, thin man staggered up and cast a bleary eye around his surroundings. He ran a weary hand through his auburn hair and looked furtively about him. No one had followed him. Good. He tightened his traveling cloak around his shoulders and trudged along the dense Forest of Dean in Gloucestershire, England. His name was Albus Dumbledore.
Not many would recognize this man. After all, war and famine had ravaged the once-dashing profile of the greatest wizard of all times. Dumbledore's blue eyes were dimmed, his face was more lined. His rich auburn hair had streaks of gray in it, although he was still considered young by wizarding standards. He was still a bachelor. Seeking his identity…his forgotten life…his love.
As he neared the edge of the clearing, he could hear loud, blaring music of some sort. Raucous laughter broke through the still air and startled some crows. Cawing indignantly, the crows took off in a flutter of black wings. Albus approached the lights and paused. Suddenly…
"May I help you?"
Albus turned rapidly and his gaze fell onto the loveliest woman he had ever seen.