Recommended Listening
Song: Nothing Else Matters (Metallica Cover)
Artist: Apocalyptica
Album: Amplified: A Decade of Reinventing the Cello
31 October, 1980
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore walked down the narrow country street outside of the small village of Appleby quietly, ruefully. A most odd occurrence happened that evening, one that had the entire British Isles both mourning and celebrating. The Dark Lord, Voldemort, had been defeated, but at a great cost. A one year old boy had lost his parents, both of whom were talented and responsible Aurors.
The gold and red and orange colored leaves of autumn floated ominously over Risby Road with the occasional gusts of wind, and the trees swayed greatly. Fall was in full swing, and winter was getting ready to take over. Clouds covered the stars and the full moon of that fateful night, and Dumbledore most certainly minded.
For when he pulled a butane-fueled looking lighter from his cloak, and snapped it three times to cut the power to the three surrounding lamp posts, it left him in a cool, suffocating darkness. All that could be seen was the faint, opaque glow of the moon trying to push its light threw a fog of inky grey clouds, all that was heard was the rustling of the trees.
Only trees, that was, until a cat's distinctive "rawwr!" sounded from the bushes to Dumbledore's right. A casual flick of his wand and a stoic turn on the heel showed Dumbledore the image of a black and grey tabby, the large signature "M" on its forehead sticking amongst the matte grey coat. As soon as the large cat extricated herself from the shrubbery, it heightened and changed form, into a statuesque woman of impressive height and thin form. Small, square shaped spectacles rimmed her green eyes, and matching green robes adorned her sprightly frame. Long black hair was pinned tight to her skull, hidden under a pointed witch's hat that was cocked slightly to the right.
"Well, hello, Professor McGonagall."
"And to you, Professor Dumbledore," the woman replied, her expression grim.
Dumbledore looked to the sky. "Black should be along shortly with him."
"I saw them not five minutes ago, from the other side of this wood," McGonagall waved her hand towards the small copse of trees she had emerged from. "They should be here in a matter of seconds."
As if on cue, a large, flying motorcycle came bellowing over the top of the trees, a tall, muscular man at the handlebars. Long, scraggly brown hair fluttered behind him, and a sling was around his shoulders. The man put the bike down on the pavement of Risby Road with a loud screech of the tires, and the bike swerved widely as he tried to correct the course. He managed to straighten the motorcycle before pulling up alongside the two professors.
"Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall," Sirius Black greeted with a doggish grin. "I have a special delivery for you."
Sirius handed the bundle of blankets and baby that was cradled in his shoulder sling to McGonagall carefully. "Little bugger slept the entire way, as if he wasn't flying over almost the entire country. Poor lad is all tuckered out, I'd say."
"Thank you, Sirius," Dumbledore said gratefully. "It's good to see he was unharmed."
"For the most part," Sirius shrugged. He pulled the blankets away from the boy's face and caressed the lad's cheek. "That curse didn't kill him, but it certainly left its mark."
Dumbledore squinted as he looked down at the child's left cheek. Indeed there was a mark, a lightning bolt shaped cut that just slightly grazed the cheek. Small amounts of blood trickled out of it, and stained the blankets the boy was swaddled in.
"Most curious," Dumbledore breathed. With a pass of his wand, Dumbledore healed the cut and cleaned the trace amounts of blood from his chubby face. "We'll take him to his grandmother now. Get back to the Potter's. They need you more than he."
"Right," Sirius nodded. With a rev of the bike's engine, Sirius took off down the road before taking flight.
"Now comes the most difficult part," Dumbledore sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose under his half moon spectacles.
He walked down the lane until he hit the edge of Appleby. The first house, a modest one floor cottage, billowed smoke from its chimney and emitted light from its living room window. The small building was made of red brick, and exuded a sense of warmth and comfort. It was the house of a retired soul who long lived in hardship.
Dumbledore waved McGonagall off, sending her home. "I won't need any more security, Minerva."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes," he informed his colleague, touched by her concern. "If anything should come to bring me harm, I can well handle it on my own. After all, one does not make it to be headmaster of one of the greatest Wizarding schools in the world by being a lousy fighter."
"Very well," Minerva primly stated, and with a pop, disappeared.
All alone, Dumbledore strode to the front door and properly knocked on the door. A small shuffling came from behind the door and a small peephole opened in the middle of it. A round faced old woman with white hair and calculating brown eyes leered at him.
"Who goes there?" Augusta Longbottom asked. She had a remarkably smooth voice for a woman so old.
"It is I, Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. I come bring to bring you your grandson and be the bearer of news I wish not to give you, old friend."
The brown eyes narrowed on the other side of the hole, and the crinkled crow's feet surrounding them hardened. "To what end did I take to pass my O.?"
"I vaguely remember you forcing a house elf from the kitchens to quiz you on Charms until five in the morning every night. I also remember that despite your hard work, you received a D on that test."
The eyes of the old woman softened, and the door opened finally. The short, garishly dressed woman flew out of the doorway and hugged Dumbledore with grieving passion. "Oh, not my Frankie! Not Alice!"
"I'm sorry, Augusta," Dumbledore soothed, embracing the grieving mother with one arm and holding her grandson with his other. "I'm truly sorry."
She let go and quickly took the baby in her arms. "My Neville," she stated with sadness. "All I have left, my sweet little Neville…" She looked down at the chil with determination. "I will raise him, Dumbledore. I will raise him to be like his father and to honor his parents sacrifice. You have my word."
Dumbledore smiled, a familiar twinkling lighting his crystal blue eyes in a merry way. "I wouldn't have it any other way, Augusta. You'll do him proud, old friend."