1.1 Humpty Dumpty
- 1981, Slytherin office, Hogwarts -
An emerald inferno billowed ghoulishly in the fireplace, casting green-tinged shadows across the dull slate floor. They twisted and turned like ferocious demons or spirits in agony, until they finally coalesced into the shape of a human form. A cloaked man emerged from the dying flames. He stumbled on the threshold of the fireplace, but caught his balance in time by grabbing hold onto the side of the chimney. There he clung trembling, as if for life itself, his forehead pressed to the cold brickwork.
"Ah, my young friend has returned." The speaker was old man seated on one of the armchairs in the room. He looked comfortable, wrapped in a frightful mauve blanket. Two feet in bright green furry slippers were propped up on a footstool. A tattered book lay on his lap, its two open pages showing once-beautiful botanical drawings, now indignified with an excess of wordy graffiti by some prior inconsiderate reader.
The first man looked up sharply. As he did, the hood fell back from his face. Two feverish eyes fluttered like confused, dying moths in the bone-white pallor of his thin face - from the old man, to the familiar furniture, to the jar-lined walls of his quarters. They finally focused onto his visitor, then onto the book on his visitor's lap. His pale lips twisted with displeasure as he pulled himself upright. "Headmaster."
"What happened? You don't look well." The old man closed the book and balanced it on the threadbare armrest. He dropped his feet from the footstool, his face grim.
Suddenly aware of his visitor's scrutiny on how he clung to the fireplace, the first man retracted his hands quickly into his cloak. The childish movement, like he was caught stealing sweets from the candy bowl, made him look startlingly young - but he was startlingly young. It was but a brief moment and the mask of chilly disdain quickly settled back onto his features, ageing them with bitter lines. He leaned back casually against brickwork, arms folded beneath his cloak. "I had a fall," he said coldly, "I'll be fine. You're here to discuss the Dark Lord's defeat then."
"No, I'm here to ascertain that the Auror Office released you today, as they'd promised me," the old man replied with the grim expression unchanging on his face.
"Then I've cast in my lot with the right master. I didn't expect it, but thanks." Despite his claim of gratitude, the young man's tone was as cold and rude.
"I'm not Voldemort," the old man said coolly.
The younger man sucked in a breath. For a moment he seemed about to say something, then he slowly released his breath without a word. Instead, he bared his teeth in a forced smile at the old man.
The old man's penetrating gaze continued its scrutiny of the young man's wilting posture. It was as if his eyes were two blue beams of light that could cut right through the black cloak obscuring the other's form. He ran a hand thoughtfully through the silver strands of his overly long beard.
"Come, Severus. Sit down. Let's have a chat." The old man gestured at the other armchair.
"I thought so," the other sneered. Despite his disdainful tone, he strode forward towards the indicated armchair. Unfortunately, after two steps his legs folded and he collapsed onto his hands and knees. There he crouched, his body trembling with strain.
His visitor stood then, and moved to stand before him. "You're not well."
The young man raised his head and gave the other a ghastly smile. "Looks like I've fallen and can't get up."
"Give me your hand then, let me help you," the old man said softly. He proffered a gnarled hand. Though its knuckles were knobbly and the skin spotted with age, it looked surprisingly strong, probably strong enough to pull a man up from the floor.
"No."
"As you wish." The old man stepped back and folded his hands behind his back. He waited.
"Command me or leave me be, Dumbledore!" the young man hissed. His pallid face was prideful and his words were spat out with spite. "We've reached our respective goals. For you, the Dark Lord is defeated. For me, Lily is now safe. What else do you want from me?"
The old man looked saddened. "Nothing for now."
"Then leave me be. I need to pack up."
"I'll leave you for now, but I've not released you from my service. Oh yes, did you think it'd be so simple? Rest and come to my office at ten tonight. Don't look at me this way. Lord Voldemort's defeat is only a setback. He will be back and we must be ready." The old man's tone was brisk, his words business-like.
Black eyes filled with venom and resentment followed the old man's back as he left the room.