Title: Acuity

Author: Maid Of Many Names

Rating: PG-13

Author's Note: This is the first short story that I've written in a very long time. I cannot say how difficult it has been to switch styles. I hope that I have managed without mangling it! It is a short (600 words) insight into a moment in time.

I was going to have this out by Christmas but I deleted the first draft out of frustration. Naturally, I'd love to hear some feedback! If it stinks, don't too shy to say so. I'm more than happy to work on it. Criticism is an author's best friend.

UPDATE: Apologies to everyone for the strange mixup with this story. When I uploaded this file, somehow it reverted to a past rough draft. This is all the more odd as I don't even have a copy of that version! I think there was some kind of error with Microsoft Word. Ah well, with any luck this should be fine.

Albus Dumbledore's head was bowed over his desk. Silence carpeted
his ears in velvet nothingness. Not even Fawkes could find heart
enough to pierce his master's silent introspection. The last of a
sherbet lemon dissolved on his tongue and finally the old wizard
shook his head and heaved a sigh. Try as he might he could not let
go of the exchange he had so recently witnessed. It nestled in his
mind with a dull ache. His thoughts ceaselessly circled the source
of that ache, until again plunging into recollection.

Curses had clouded the air as robed forms apparated in and out of
combat. Aurors, Death Eaters, Order members and students had
engulfed the main street of Hogsmead with the haze of too much
magic. In the middle of it all were the three Gryffindors that were
responsible for the worst frights of Albus' life. Today they were
yet again threatening to do in his nerves permanently. Harry had
engaged the enemy with remarkable bravery and no little foolishness.
Beside him Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger refused to yield as Death
Eaters swarmed about shouting Unforgivables.

Alarms had clanged through Hogwarts as soon as battle broke out but
it had taken precious moments before Albus had been able to reach
Hogsmead. Having assessed the knots of combat about him, he had
moved as quickly as he could to protect Harry and his companions.
Again and again Death Eaters had blocked his passage forcing him to
waste time dueling them. Regretfully, he did not reach his three
students before Lord Voldemort did.

With a snarl of defiance Harry spat out the first spell. The Dark
Lord was all too delighted to meet his enemy in a duel. For all his
fear, Albus couldn't help the flush of pride at how well the messy
haired boy stood up to a wizard far beyond him in experience and
power. That, Albus knew, had to chafe the Dark Lord's pride most
painfully.

Of course, Harry's remarkable display of defiance could not last.
The youngest Weasley boy threw himself into the path of a nasty spell
that would otherwise have hit Harry. The youngest Weasley boy
slumped unconscious to the ground. Such a noble effort was in vain,
as Voldemort flung Harry across the battlefield into the wall of a
nearby house. It was then that Hermione Granger moved to block
Voldemort from finishing her disabled friends. Helplessly Albus
Dumbledore watched as the young witch locked eyes with the serpentine
Dark Lord.

The chaotic noise of the battle seemed to evaporate. Hermione's chin
tilted up in calm determination and she did not flinch under
Voldemort's gaze. Strangely, the expected tsunami of magic did not
rise between the two greatest students to have ever passed through
Hogwart's gates.

As if in slow motion, Albus watched the dawning look of astonishment
cross the face of the wizard once called Tom Riddle. The young
witch's eyes widened and for a fragile shard of time, exultant
recognition radiated like searing heat between them. Even as it was
acknowledged, the euphoria of discovery crumpled to aching
realization. Eyes slipped away from each other. Behind those
averted orbs, them the knowledge of what had happened was shuttered
away.

As if by silent agreement, his two greatest students turned to other
foes and the pandemonium of the battlefield once more took sway.

Had he not seen that silent exchange he would never have wondered
about the pale empty cast that Hermione Granger's face would take at
unguarded moments. Nor would he have wondered at Harry's swollen
scar and strangely moody behavior. Nor would Albus Dumbledore be
struck silent with the grief of what might be that neither Dark Lord
or Muggleborn witch would further acknowledge.