Quidditch League, Round 7
Position: Beater 1
Prompts:
(word) Happy
(word) Consolidate
(quote) "It is better to be hated for what you are than to be loved for what you are not." ― André Gide, Autumn Leaves
Horcrux: The Gaunt Ring
Word Count:1,370
"You wanted to see me, Albus?" Snape asked as he arrived in the Hogwarts Headmaster's office. Albus Dumbledore was sitting in a high-backed chair, drumming his fingers on his desk. Fawkes was sitting on his perch to the left of the desk, preening his scarlet feathers carefully.
He nodded and gestured to a seat on the other side of the desk. "Yes, thank you for coming at such short notice. Please, sit."
Snape obediently sat down, wondering what the Head wanted. He took in the office. Usually immaculately clean and tidy, today the whole place was messy and dishevelled. Books were stacked haphazardly on the shelves, crumpled and creased pieces of parchment were scattered on the floor and the pensieve's lid wasn't even placed on properly. Then his gaze wandered to Dumbledore, and the sight that met him was truly worrying.
His long, grey beard was unkempt and scruffy. His robes hung limply off his frail frame and they were covered in stains. His eyes looked furtive and alert, glancing round the room, but at the same time he seemed sad, as if he had just witnessed a great tragedy.
"Professor…" Snape began slowly. "Are you alright?" Dumbledore gave a small smile.
"Oh, Severus," he said warmly. "You always were so naïve," Snape frowned, unsure of where Dumbledore was going with this. Albus waved at his office and at himself, to indicate the room and his shabby appearance. "Do I seem okay to you?" he asked.
Snape paused, then shook his head slowly. "What's wrong, Albus?" he asked. "Why did you ask me to come? How can I help?"
"You want to help me," mused Dumbledore, thinking. "Then consolidate me," Snape raised an eyebrow.
"You need consoling?" he asked sceptically. Dumbledore nodded absently.
"I've been looking for more horcruxes," he continued. "And I found something I was certain was one – I believe they call it The Gaunt Ring."
At this, Snape paled. He had heard of the Gaunt Ring. Everyone associated with Lord Voldemort had heard of the Gaunt Ring. "What…" he paused, gathered himself together. "What did you do with it?"
Dumbledore chuckled. "Something that was, in hindsight, foolish and that I shall no doubt regret very soon, unless you can do anything to help."
"What did you do?" Snape repeated.
As a reply, Dumbledore lifted his hands off the table and held them out to Snape. "Look," he said.
Snape studied his hands and for the first time took in the gnarled black flesh, withered and dead. It was spreading, too. The black infection was creeping up his arm, too slowly to actually see move, but there were patches of skin turning grey. "Did… Did you put on the ring?" Snape asked incredulously, still unable to believe what he was seeing. Dumbledore was cursed, there was no doubt about it.
"I did," Dumbledore admitted. Snape cursed under his breath. "I know, Severus, but I was obsessed with knowing what would happen. Would I die a lightning-quick death? Would I slowly turn insane? I was curious."
"Why," Snape muttered. "Didn't you just," he paused, "Use magic?" he asked, staring at Dumbledore like he was the most ridiculous man he'd ever met. Which, right now, he was.
Dumbledore shrugged. "I tried to, of course. But the ring would not reveal its powers to me. It was dark magic, Severus, and I didn't like it."
Snape sighed and massaged his temples. "What, exactly, happened?" he asked.
At this, Dumbledore smiled. "The memory is already in the pensieve. Take as much time as you like." And with that, he walked off to the other end of the office, Fawkes hopping daintily onto his arm as he walked past.
Snape strode over to the pensive and, without hesitation, plunged his arm into the cold, swirling water.
At once, the scene around him melted and churned as a new place was formed. Except it was the same place. Yes, the memory was still in Dumbledore's office. Snape spotted Dumbledore sitting at his desk, and he walked over.
Dumbledore was holding a small black box. The lid was open and as Snape peered around him, he saw a clumsily forged gold ring. It was plain enough, but clearly the maker was not a skilled craftsman and the edges were bumpy. There was an ugly black stone fixed onto it. Dumbledore was mumbling something unintelligible to himself.
After listening to his ramblings for a few minutes, Snape realised that the ring was clouding his mind.
"If it makes him happy…" he murmured softly. "All I can do… He will need the stone…" Snape frowned. Who would need what stone? The stone on the ring?
He peered at it more closely. It was just an ugly lump of rock. Except… What was that? He stared at it. There was a triangle carved into the stone. With a circle and a vertical line inside it. What did that mean?
Then it hit him. The Deathly Hallows! But they were just a myth… Weren't they? Or was he looking, right now, at the Resurrection Stone? The idea was too ridiculous to even consider, so Snape cast it from his mind as quickly as it had entered. No. There had to be a more logical explanation.
Dumbledore was talking again. "It's all his fault… He who calls himself a Lord when he is not, he who likes only purebloods when he is not, he who thinks it is better to be hated for what you are than loved for what you are not…" Now the Headmaster was holding his fingers just above the ring, silently debating whether or not to touch it.
A voice in his head was telling him no, it could be dangerous. But there was another voice, not in his head. It was saying do it, do it, do it, do it, over and over again. Surely he should listen to the voice that wasn't in his head? Because that would have to be another person, Dumbledore mused. But then, wasn't he alone? Or was it the ring that was talking?
Never trust something that has a mind of its own, if you cannot see where it keeps its brain. The words came back to Dumbledore now, and he had almost decided to put the ring back down when the voice outside his head spoke again. Don't you want to know what happens?
Dumbledore's thought processes, although cloudy, were strong enough for him to realise that yes, he did want to know what would happen. So, pausing only for a moment, he reached down and slipped the ring onto his finger. And screamed.
Snape watched all this in horror. Dumbledore was writhing in his seat, his hands clenching and unclenching, his face screwed up into one of unimaginable pain. After at least a minute of this, he managed to wrench the wring from his finger and with a final howl of pain he threw it across the room and collapsed.
Then the scene collapsed in on itself and whisked away as Snape was taken back to the office in the present time.
Snape looked around the room for Dumbledore, and spotted him reading a thick book in the corner of the room. Fawkes was, once again, sitting on his perch by the desk.
"Dumbledore…" Snape said softly. "What is the curse doing to you?" At his words, Dumbledore's head snapped round and he stared at Snape.
"It's killing me, Severus," he whispered. "Dark magic is spreading through my body and there's nothing I can do to stop it. I can only slow it down."
"How?" Snape asked. "How can you slow it?"
Dumbledore smiled grimly. "That's where you come in, Severus. Is there anything you can do? Anything at all? It isn't time yet, for me to die. Not yet."
Snape gazed in despair at the wizard, who was as accepting of death as he was for anything else. He just took it all in his stride. How he would miss that.
This man, this wizard, this headteacher, had given him so much. And now this ring, this cursed ring, would take him.
"I will help you, headmaster," he said sadly. "I will do my very best."