Disclaimer: They aren't mine, they're J.K. Rowling's...I'm just playing
with them for awhile.
Notes: This is my first attempt at fanfic of any form, so keep that in mind (please)! Hmm, lesse what else...the title is horrid, I know, but I'm rotten with titles. If I think up something better later, I'll change it. Reviews are wonderful, and thanks for reading!
A good distance away from Hogwarts, away from Muggle England -- away from everything, really -- stood a stout stone house. Simple in its design but nonetheless elegant, it was comprised of a single sprawling level divided into many different rooms. If one were allowed to explore this house, they would discover that some rooms were underground and that the door leading out of a particular room didn't always lead into the room it had just previously...so, if one wasn't used to navigating the house, it would be fairly simple to get oneself lost. But that hadn't ever mattered in the past, not really. No one save the master of the house was ever in and out of it, and even then he was only in for a month or two out of the year. This happened to be one of those months, but the house was dark except for a very, very faint light that shone out the tall window of one of the exterior rooms.
The room, even in darkness, was vivid and colorful. The moonlight that shone through the wispy purple curtains cast light over one brightly painted blue wall, causing a painting of a small girl to abandon her place near her sleeping puppy in favor of the darkness behind her frame. A ray of moonlight fell on the foot of a great bed, illuminating the silver stars embroidered around the edge of the blanket folded there.
A wrinkled hand reached for the blanket. With that one hand, Albus Dumbledore spread the blanket over the lower half of his body, his other hand busy in keeping a book open in front of him. Despite the lack of any artificial lights in the room, he had no trouble reading -- the words in the book bathed themselves in a soft gold light as he read them.
He reached the end of a page and lowered the book into his lap with a sigh. "Rather chilly in here, isn't it my friend?", he asked of the phoenix perched in the corner. Fawkes turned to regard Dumbledore regally, ruffling feathers of brilliant scarlet. This answer seemed good enough for Dumbledore, who leaned back against the headboard and sighed again. He didn't raise the book again, however...no, now it seemed he was waiting for something to happen.
He looked around the room, his sharp-blue eyed gaze lingering on each detail as if he were committing them to memory, or perhaps looking at them for the last time. With a faintly sad -- or was it only tired? -- smile, he gestured to Fawkes, who swooped from his perch to land on Dumbledore's blanket covered knee.
"Watch him, my friend," Dumbledore murmured to the phoenix, using the tip of his index finger to stroke the creature's elegant head. The phoenix tipped his head, his small, intelligent eyes locking with Dumbledore's for a moment as if to convey understanding. Dumbledore gave a nod of his head and leaned back once more, closing the book that lay in his lap. "Now go."
The great scarlet phoenix lifted itself silently into the air with a beat of its wings. It hovered over the bed for a moment, neck craned to watch the Hogwarts Headmaster. Then, with a quiet swoop and a great flourish, Fawkes flew out the small open window of Dumbledore's room, disappearing from view almost before Dumbledore could blink.
Dumbledore stared out of the window for a few moments, watching the moon. The room was eerily quiet without the faint rustle of feathers and the occasional flicker and crackle of flame. The heavy silence was broken abruptly with a sudden outburst from Dumbledore.
It wasn't an outburst, not really...but compared to the utter lack of silence just moments before, it was a startling contrast. And the content of his sentence...well, that was enough to make nearly any good witch or wizard's blood freeze. "I know you're out there lurking, Tom. Why prolong what we both know is going to happen?"
If Dumbledore's sudden speech had been an outburst, what happened next was ear splitting. The door -- and a great, heavy, wooden door it was -- crashed open, sending candlelight spilling into the room. A second later, a robed figure cast a long shadow that blocked much of the light. It paused in the doorway for a moment, then glided into the room, silent and menacing....though if Dumbledore was intimidated or afraid, he did very well to hide it.
"I'm not alone, Albus," spoke the figure in a low and almost hissing voice. From the depths of the voluminous robes, the figure drew a wand. Dumbledore merely shook his head and raised a hand, not to defend himself, but to make the new arrival pause...and pause it did. And then, as if in defense, it repeated itself, "I'm not alone."
"I know, Tom, I know," Dumbledore replied. The robed creature shuddered with rage, hatred radiating from it in waves. "I don't suppose that there is any way to stop you from doing this?" He knew well that it was a futile effort, but some part of him longed to keep on, to continue to protect the boy.
"No," hissed the figure, finally lowering the hood of its cloak. Pale white skin seemed almost transparent in the light. Reddish eyes blinked momentarily against the light, then focused upon Dumbledore with a cold sort of gleam. As the hood was lowered, a group of five wizards filed into the room, faces set as if they were carved in stone. "No, the time for this is now, Dumbledore," continued Voldemort, now looking more relaxed and smug. "Before you go back to Hogwarts."
Dumbledore inclined his head, accepting what was about to happen. "If you insist, Tom." He took a brief moment to adjust his eyeglasses, then tipped his head slightly, studying the group of men standing before him.
Voldemort once again trembled, angry. "You will not resist death, Albus?" Clearly he had expected more of a fight...but it didn't seem that he was going to get one from Dumbledore. "You will accept this without question, without argument?" He snorted, snakelike nostrils flaring. "I see you aren't as powerful a wizard as I once thought....I should have done this years and years ago and saved myself much trouble and time." A few muted chuckles could be heard from the Death Eaters that stood behind him, chuckles that were cut short by a very severe glance over the shoulder.
"I cannot keep six of you from doing what I know one could not. You have clearly prepared yourself for this, Tom, and have ensured that you will not fail. Obviously, you have outdone me this time," Dumbledore replied, spreading his hands in a gesture of helplessness. Even as he did so, a very faint smile curled his lips under his beard. The words clearly rankled with Voldemort.
Voldemort raised his wand. There was shuffling from behind him, and soon five more wands were lifted. "I will have the boy, Albus," he spat, his form seeming to loom above the rest of his group for a moment, eyes both widening and darkening to a terrible shade of scarlet. "And now I can be sure that you will not be around to stop me from getting him."
Albus Dumbledore folded his hands in his lap, sharp blue eyes locking with Voldemort's. There was a swish of wands, all moving at the same time, and then a chorus of voices...all grave and emotionless, except of course for Voldemort's, whose voice rang with triumph.
"Avada Kedavra."
There was a flash of green light, and when the light dimmed, the five Death Eaters stood frozen in place, eyes locked on where Dumbledore was sitting. He was quite still, but none were sure that he was actually dead...at least, not until Voldemort stepped up himself and laid a hand on the wizard's shoulder. Voldemort turned, a smile slowly spreading across his thin, whitish lips. "He's..." But the dark wizard never got to finish declaring Albus Dumbledore's death.
As the Death Eaters watched, what had once been Albus Dumbledore seemed to crumble under Voldemort's hand...not into what looked like earth, but what seemed to be assorted colors of glitter. The glasses that had once been perched on Dumbledore's nose fell and folded themselves up neatly on the pillow. Voldemort stepped back, surprised as the rest of his group...he'd been largely unprepared for something such as this to happen. Even as he stepped back, the disintegration continued, until there was a small mound of glitter spread over the bed. A gust of wind blew the curtains into the room and of course lifted the glitter from where it lay. The six men that stood in the bedroom shielded their eyes as the wave of glitter hit them.
As suddenly as the wind had started, it died. Slowly, one by one, the six men looked up again. Voldemort drew a deep breath, once again beginning to look pleased. "You have done well, my servants," he finally said, turning to face the five men. "You will be rewarded in the days to come, be sure of it." The five Death Eaters bowed and murmured their thanks as dawn crept into the bedroom.
"Now, let us be gone....there is much that the Dark Lord must take care of, if things are to go according to plan."
Notes: This is my first attempt at fanfic of any form, so keep that in mind (please)! Hmm, lesse what else...the title is horrid, I know, but I'm rotten with titles. If I think up something better later, I'll change it. Reviews are wonderful, and thanks for reading!
A good distance away from Hogwarts, away from Muggle England -- away from everything, really -- stood a stout stone house. Simple in its design but nonetheless elegant, it was comprised of a single sprawling level divided into many different rooms. If one were allowed to explore this house, they would discover that some rooms were underground and that the door leading out of a particular room didn't always lead into the room it had just previously...so, if one wasn't used to navigating the house, it would be fairly simple to get oneself lost. But that hadn't ever mattered in the past, not really. No one save the master of the house was ever in and out of it, and even then he was only in for a month or two out of the year. This happened to be one of those months, but the house was dark except for a very, very faint light that shone out the tall window of one of the exterior rooms.
The room, even in darkness, was vivid and colorful. The moonlight that shone through the wispy purple curtains cast light over one brightly painted blue wall, causing a painting of a small girl to abandon her place near her sleeping puppy in favor of the darkness behind her frame. A ray of moonlight fell on the foot of a great bed, illuminating the silver stars embroidered around the edge of the blanket folded there.
A wrinkled hand reached for the blanket. With that one hand, Albus Dumbledore spread the blanket over the lower half of his body, his other hand busy in keeping a book open in front of him. Despite the lack of any artificial lights in the room, he had no trouble reading -- the words in the book bathed themselves in a soft gold light as he read them.
He reached the end of a page and lowered the book into his lap with a sigh. "Rather chilly in here, isn't it my friend?", he asked of the phoenix perched in the corner. Fawkes turned to regard Dumbledore regally, ruffling feathers of brilliant scarlet. This answer seemed good enough for Dumbledore, who leaned back against the headboard and sighed again. He didn't raise the book again, however...no, now it seemed he was waiting for something to happen.
He looked around the room, his sharp-blue eyed gaze lingering on each detail as if he were committing them to memory, or perhaps looking at them for the last time. With a faintly sad -- or was it only tired? -- smile, he gestured to Fawkes, who swooped from his perch to land on Dumbledore's blanket covered knee.
"Watch him, my friend," Dumbledore murmured to the phoenix, using the tip of his index finger to stroke the creature's elegant head. The phoenix tipped his head, his small, intelligent eyes locking with Dumbledore's for a moment as if to convey understanding. Dumbledore gave a nod of his head and leaned back once more, closing the book that lay in his lap. "Now go."
The great scarlet phoenix lifted itself silently into the air with a beat of its wings. It hovered over the bed for a moment, neck craned to watch the Hogwarts Headmaster. Then, with a quiet swoop and a great flourish, Fawkes flew out the small open window of Dumbledore's room, disappearing from view almost before Dumbledore could blink.
Dumbledore stared out of the window for a few moments, watching the moon. The room was eerily quiet without the faint rustle of feathers and the occasional flicker and crackle of flame. The heavy silence was broken abruptly with a sudden outburst from Dumbledore.
It wasn't an outburst, not really...but compared to the utter lack of silence just moments before, it was a startling contrast. And the content of his sentence...well, that was enough to make nearly any good witch or wizard's blood freeze. "I know you're out there lurking, Tom. Why prolong what we both know is going to happen?"
If Dumbledore's sudden speech had been an outburst, what happened next was ear splitting. The door -- and a great, heavy, wooden door it was -- crashed open, sending candlelight spilling into the room. A second later, a robed figure cast a long shadow that blocked much of the light. It paused in the doorway for a moment, then glided into the room, silent and menacing....though if Dumbledore was intimidated or afraid, he did very well to hide it.
"I'm not alone, Albus," spoke the figure in a low and almost hissing voice. From the depths of the voluminous robes, the figure drew a wand. Dumbledore merely shook his head and raised a hand, not to defend himself, but to make the new arrival pause...and pause it did. And then, as if in defense, it repeated itself, "I'm not alone."
"I know, Tom, I know," Dumbledore replied. The robed creature shuddered with rage, hatred radiating from it in waves. "I don't suppose that there is any way to stop you from doing this?" He knew well that it was a futile effort, but some part of him longed to keep on, to continue to protect the boy.
"No," hissed the figure, finally lowering the hood of its cloak. Pale white skin seemed almost transparent in the light. Reddish eyes blinked momentarily against the light, then focused upon Dumbledore with a cold sort of gleam. As the hood was lowered, a group of five wizards filed into the room, faces set as if they were carved in stone. "No, the time for this is now, Dumbledore," continued Voldemort, now looking more relaxed and smug. "Before you go back to Hogwarts."
Dumbledore inclined his head, accepting what was about to happen. "If you insist, Tom." He took a brief moment to adjust his eyeglasses, then tipped his head slightly, studying the group of men standing before him.
Voldemort once again trembled, angry. "You will not resist death, Albus?" Clearly he had expected more of a fight...but it didn't seem that he was going to get one from Dumbledore. "You will accept this without question, without argument?" He snorted, snakelike nostrils flaring. "I see you aren't as powerful a wizard as I once thought....I should have done this years and years ago and saved myself much trouble and time." A few muted chuckles could be heard from the Death Eaters that stood behind him, chuckles that were cut short by a very severe glance over the shoulder.
"I cannot keep six of you from doing what I know one could not. You have clearly prepared yourself for this, Tom, and have ensured that you will not fail. Obviously, you have outdone me this time," Dumbledore replied, spreading his hands in a gesture of helplessness. Even as he did so, a very faint smile curled his lips under his beard. The words clearly rankled with Voldemort.
Voldemort raised his wand. There was shuffling from behind him, and soon five more wands were lifted. "I will have the boy, Albus," he spat, his form seeming to loom above the rest of his group for a moment, eyes both widening and darkening to a terrible shade of scarlet. "And now I can be sure that you will not be around to stop me from getting him."
Albus Dumbledore folded his hands in his lap, sharp blue eyes locking with Voldemort's. There was a swish of wands, all moving at the same time, and then a chorus of voices...all grave and emotionless, except of course for Voldemort's, whose voice rang with triumph.
"Avada Kedavra."
There was a flash of green light, and when the light dimmed, the five Death Eaters stood frozen in place, eyes locked on where Dumbledore was sitting. He was quite still, but none were sure that he was actually dead...at least, not until Voldemort stepped up himself and laid a hand on the wizard's shoulder. Voldemort turned, a smile slowly spreading across his thin, whitish lips. "He's..." But the dark wizard never got to finish declaring Albus Dumbledore's death.
As the Death Eaters watched, what had once been Albus Dumbledore seemed to crumble under Voldemort's hand...not into what looked like earth, but what seemed to be assorted colors of glitter. The glasses that had once been perched on Dumbledore's nose fell and folded themselves up neatly on the pillow. Voldemort stepped back, surprised as the rest of his group...he'd been largely unprepared for something such as this to happen. Even as he stepped back, the disintegration continued, until there was a small mound of glitter spread over the bed. A gust of wind blew the curtains into the room and of course lifted the glitter from where it lay. The six men that stood in the bedroom shielded their eyes as the wave of glitter hit them.
As suddenly as the wind had started, it died. Slowly, one by one, the six men looked up again. Voldemort drew a deep breath, once again beginning to look pleased. "You have done well, my servants," he finally said, turning to face the five men. "You will be rewarded in the days to come, be sure of it." The five Death Eaters bowed and murmured their thanks as dawn crept into the bedroom.
"Now, let us be gone....there is much that the Dark Lord must take care of, if things are to go according to plan."