LOGICAL INSANITY

AN: This story takes place during HBP. I realize this is most certainly NOT what would happen in canon and I am not trying to imply that in any way. Of course as always I own nothing(disclaimer). Also, this is SS/HG so if that's not your cup of tea, it's the wrong place for you.

AN2: I can't believe I am posting this because I have a horrible habit of not updating. I'm not trying to turn you away, I am just hoping that if you review a lot, it will keep me motivated. I would really like to finish this story. I think it is going places, so please review!

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Light tread marks were beginning to wear into the carpet where a thoughtful man was pacing monotonously in his office. So lost in thought was he, that it took him several minutes to notice the imprints he was leaving, and even then, he only half-heartedly waved the charm that caused the signs of his worry to disappear.

Slowly, he slouched down in the large chair that accompanied his desk. The fact that anybody had rarely seen him agitated to a state where he might pace or slump was not lost on him. He idly stared at his hands, lost in deep thought before he noticed that the fingernails on his left hand were in the need of their annual trimming. Not wanting to leave the task to his forgetful memory, he fished in his desk drawer for a pair of small nail clippers, choosing to do it the muggle way as he always did, and began clipping his nails into neat ovals. Sometimes, the muggles just did things more practically.

The object of his worry was not a small one. Ever since the beginning of the school year, he had been faced with a dauntingly confusing, not to mention moral problem, that might just literally be the end of him. He had been contemplating it for days now. There just seemed to be no simple solution, not even to his well experienced mind.

Not a sound broke the deafening silence of the almost dark room except the occasional clipping from his fingers. Clip, clip, clippity-clip, he hummed softly to himself and bobbed his head to the beat.

It really was amazing, he later reflected, how engaging your mind in deep thought while engaging your body in a mind-numbing activity can produce fantastically genius ideas. He had been over those haunting words again and again trying to figure a way out of the catastrophe he had unexpectedly found himself in.

And should it prove necessary…if it seems Draco will fail…will you carry out the deed that the Dark Lord has ordered Draco to perform?

And then it hit him like a rogue bludger and he chuckled in delight at just how ingenious he really was. Of course, you silly old man. The deed he has been ordered to perform. The deed indeed! He groped around in his candy bowl for a rather large lemondrop, but took two instead, to celebrate.

He sensed someone outside his office door but didn't care to make himself look like he had been doing anything ordinarily productive. He had a feeling he knew who it was. The wide door swung open and Professor McGonagall stepped in, squinting, proving his intuition was as sharp as ever.

"Albus, I came to discuss the behavior of Peeves with you. It seems he-" she was already saying as she walked in, but quickly stopped. "Albus, why do you have that silly grin on your face, and why on Earth are you sitting alone in the dark?" She pursed her lips in confused disapproval.

Dumbledore stood up wordlessly and smoothed down his robes. He walked around the desk and put his arm around Professor McGonagall and began escorting her out of his office.

"My dear Minerva, what would you say to a nice cup of tea in the kitchens? For celebration."

"Celebration of what?" she asked, clearly confused.

"Why, the celebration of life, of course," he added as if it were self-evident, and he shut the door behind them, but not before throwing a spell over his shoulder to return his nail clippers to their rightful spot. Neatness always was important. Professor McGonagall, chalking it up as Dumbledore's usual eccentricities, shrugged to no-one in particular and followed him down the stairs.