The Shadow of the Snake
What if something you thought could not ever be possible came to life before your very eyes? What if it was all true? Fantasies...you had thought. Fiction! You had cried. But inside, deep in your subconscious you thought, "What if..." All the ifs have become ares. It's real. But not in the way you want it to be...
Albus Dumbledore put his head in his hands and sighed, ignoring his glistening silver beard that shone in front of his weary eyes. All his students were leaving. The spirits of the children were dying, wavering. Their parents were yanking them out of his school by the dozens. The Death Eaters were back and Voldemort too. There was nothing he could do. Soon the school would be closed, and all the children scattered into horrible Muggle normalness. "What can I do..." he said in a muffled sort of way to the desk.
The painting behind him shifted and murmured. One sat straight up in his red velvet chair, purple-feathered hat bobbing. "I know!" he grinned, showing yellowed teeth. Dumbledore didn't even sit up; this headmaster had been a little...off. "I have heard..." the portrait continued in a conspiratal whisper, "...there are those that are Muggle-born that are brought into the world with magic in their hearts. You could find them, reach out to them."
Dumbledore straightened. "Oh my..." he said slowly. "You've just given me an epiphany." He got up so hurriedly from his desk that his chair flew backwards and almost dashed to pieces on the sharp stone fireplace edge. "Really..." it said slowly, then flowed back into inanimate silence. He paced back and forth, soft shoes not clicking, but a gentle sort of whooshing noise on the cobblestone floor. "Who can write...who can write for me?" He nearly jumped across the room to an immense closet and opened the creaking oak door. "Accio Author Record!" he whispered into the immense silence, not sure if it would work. He saw a dim yellow package flying towards him quickly. He waited patiently, oh so patiently. THERE! It hit his outstretched hands, and he opened it hurridly. "Of course!" he chuckled to himself, and swiftly stepped to the gigantum fireplace, pausing only to grab a handful of fine powder from an elaborate silver box. He threw it into the fire and stepped firmly into the flickering green flames. "Rowling." He said firmly, and vanished.