Standing at opposite sides of the checkered bridge they study each other. Albus smiles, face the fixed grimace of a cornered hound. Mirrored back shamelessly is the happy, thoughtless grin of a fox locked in the shithouse. "We don't have to do this Gile, I'd really rather not." Gile doesn't even have to reply face telegraphing clear as day -' Bullshit Abby. Its been a while since either of us gave a damn what someone else rathered.' Albus feels the ground shifting under his feet once again and hopes he wakes up to a future.
…
The bodies lie sprawled like a child's hopscotch grid - geometric without the limitations of precision or measurement. The way their faces have been mutilated makes them seem to be smiling. A sticky crescent of blood paints the lower half of their faces a pretty mulberry red. Watching the fitful wind ruffle their hair he tries to ignore both his headache and the odd sound of their eye sockets whistling. Sicking up again he pants hand on his knees as he tries not to notice their unnatural transfigurations.
"Burn them." It's the only choice really - certainly can't bury them all not with the others in the house. Not when he's woken up to noon when last it was night, The aurors might already be in the brush for all he knows. The body at his feet looks like an anorexic's idea of an angel. Wasp-waisted with limbs more bone then flesh. You cans see where the excess has been forced from the back as gaudy, viscera-rainbow wings like a sparrow's or perhaps a loon. Such a pretty face…
Retching up air and fear Albus swears he's gonna exercise this goddamn tumor if it kills him. The salty bile drips from his lips and he's heartsick unto dying with the horror. Feels phantom fingers in his hair sees Gile's smile and it's just the fucking same as his. Breathing though the sobs and his wand is out raining down Armageddon. 'Isn't it pretty Abby?'
…
Choking back another scream as he pulls himself from the pensieve he blesses and damns who the hell ever is at the door. Clenching the desk hard enough for something - either his fingers or the wood - to break he packs away a carnival of horrors. However the knocking comes again and he want to run a breath-thin razor across the fucker's throat. "Come in!" Breathing, breathing - "Albus?"
Dippet stands before the desk hands behind his back. Owlish he blinks innocently glasses about to tumble off his nose. "You've been on edge for a while now… how come?" Smiling while hoping it look real or reach enough - "Just nerves and stress. Tensions between my house and the others seems to grow every time I turn my blasted back." Hopes there's a knowing gleam in his eyes, but doubts it from the way Dippet straightens losing the "senile old man" act.
Nervous, but still breathing he can feel the latent energy coming up Gile riding the crest, an emissary from Hell's festering depths. "Headmaster, pleases let me be - please?" Begging and Dippet's eyes are bit drills at his head and throat. Salt at his teeth and his nose is bleeding, oh the walls are bleeding the Headmaster smashed against the ceiling struggling futility. "Like infants, like worms does man make his way from hell to hell. I forget who might have said that… Maybe it was me all along." Gile smiles as solid as the hot, red shower painting him from above.
…
Shivering and the aurors study him like they expect him to - to what? Dippet sits beside him and more then three other professors saw Gile as clear as day before he laughed and disappeared. "Mister Dumbledore sir, if you have an information about the assailant you're only hurting yourself by not passing it along." Already older then most people can dream to be in this century he smiles at the auror's bravado like a raccoon knee deep in the bottle, face a mask. "All I know is that he said he wanted to talk. He wasn't completely tethered and I was- was afraid when the Headmaster knocked. He said he'd reduce the door and Dippet to splinters if I didn't play his tune like Mozart." Except minus the act he can feel Gile paying out this pretty script from some pit in his head.
Alastor doesn't quite believe his eyes hard as malachite. Dippet strokes his back and the gesture is as comforting as a man grinding his axes. It all but says, 'we'll talk later with a nice big pitcher of veritisim beside us'. Gile promises he'll kill anyone who tires it and with a low groan Albus closes his eye face a delicate green. "Professor?", some young fuck and Gile couldn't care less if he cuts the boy's life short. Smiling kindly Gile opens twinkling blue eyes quickly banking them into tiredness'.
…
They stand at the bridge studying each other and Albus is tired, but not nearly enough to just give up. Smiling he raises his arms as a great thrill feels the air. As suddenly the bridge begins to melt Gile screaming in rag. Now running like water the gold and pig-iron becoming the gate of an endless wall as featureless as oblivion. "Goodbye Gile, we shan't meet again." Walking away the blood long dry Fawkes's feather clutched in his hand Albus smiles at the emptiness. Smiles as the tears run down his crumpled face.