What caught my attention was not what was on the inside of this packed, colorful room though. In the back of the office, a large circular window exposed the most brilliant night sky I had ever laid eyes upon. If only I could touch that night.
I looked at the mass of blubber in clothes before me, currently pretending to read some old parchment on his desk while keeping an eye on me out of his peripheral. Internally, I scoffed. This old fart wasn't going to stop me. Slowly standing up, feeling his eyes trace my rising form the whole time, I strolled around his desk, up the elaborate stone staircase and approached the magnificent view. To my surprise, it was not just a window but a tunnel, surrounded by clear magnifying glass. It was a dark hole, the heart of night sucking me into a world beyond walls and flashlights and civilization. How I ached to step forward into the tunnel and become one with the stars.
Alas, the tub of the man chose that moment to break our not-so-amicable silence. "Young lady, please return to your seat."
Pulling out of the meager reserve of energy I had long ago set aside for unimportant strangers, I forced my lip to curl upwards and managed to answer not as passive aggressively as I felt. "Of course. And you are?"
A lovely shade of puce colored his chubby, wrinkled face, telling me that my voice must have dripped with the disdain I had been halfheartedly trying to keep at bay.
"I'll have you know Miss...Visconti, is it?... that you are speaking to the undisputed leader of this great institute and the owner of the office you have been standing in for the past half hour, so I would mind your manners if I were you," he responded heatedly.
"Leone," I corrected.
He blanched. "Pardon?"
"My surname is Leone, sir," I replied casually, waving a hand in dismissal. "Although I don't fault you for not knowing. The marriage was never recognized by my father." I received a curious glance and plowed forward into conversation, not wishing to discuss the topic further. "Anyways, it's a pleasure to meet you. You seem like a decent enough type. Excuse my temperament; I'm not myself. Now, if you wouldn't mind me asking, what's your actual name? You look like a Pete."
He bristled, his whiskers giving him the appearance of an angry walrus. Just as he seemed to cool down enough to form words, a firm, deep voice interrupted the quiet of the office.
"Valentina?" I cringed, recognizing the distinct voice with the British accent that had plagued me my whole life. Whenever I had been about to do something even remotely unruly during my childhood that brusque, British quip of my name had stopped me in my tracks. Only in my head, of course. God forbid I ever received validation I hadn't been crazy.
Long ago, I had stopped paying attention to that voice, but it had gotten harder later. Especially since it had been incessantly lecturing me to come to London for the past month in that deep, authoritative tone it had. Curious, I had listened, but not without making a couple, ah, road stops on the way. I nearly chuckled, thinking of how much sterner that voice got with every stop I had made. Now to hear it in person…
Slowly, I walked forward, descending the stairs, spotting a looming figure by the entrance of the office. He had long auburn hair, carried himself with pristine posture, and wore the most horrendous wine-colored dress I had ever seen. His light blue eyes were simply shocking, managing to pierce me in their intensity, like I could see both his soul and his mind swallowing me in through his fiercely exposing gaze. Judging from the wrinkles around his eyes, I aged him to be at least fifty, perhaps a bit older. It was difficult to tell his age since he had a spirit about him that was so vivacious and timeless, not to mention how his good looks softened time's toll. All of this, and after looking at the sly curve of his lips and the proud angle of his clean-shaven jaw, one word rang true in my mind: arrogant.
He proved me right with the next words out of his lips. "My dear, how nice to finally meet you in person, although I dare say I already know you better than any person you may have already met."
He was joking, of course. But only partly.
"Who," I gritted, "in the name of everything holy, are you, you intrusive Brit?"
The man's eyes sparkled at my tone, undoubtedly expecting my temper. However, my new, oh-so-important teacher friend lost his calm, jumping out of his desk in outrage. "How dare you speak to the great Albus Dumbledore that way, young lady! This is not America. You will mind your manners in this office, Miss Visconti."
"Leone," I cut in dismissively.
An unrestrained growl rolled out of the teacher's hairy lips, vibrating the flubber on his neck.
"Armando," the redhead known as 'the great Albus Dumbledore' stepped in. I nearly gawaffed at the name but managed to reel it into a snort. "Excuse my cousin please, she's been through much. She has just experienced a terrible death in the family."
At this, so many emotions hit me at once— anger at his pity, horror at the reminder, fear at how much he knew, and most of all shock at..."Cousin?" I gaped.
"Indeed," he answered pleasantly in that irritating accent. "And, if I may say, how very unlike your mother you look."
I rolled my eyes. "Thanks for the enlightenment." I had heard that nearly all my life. My mother had been a fair skinned, scarlet-haired woman with a tall, lanky form and a dainty look about her. From the top of my dark auburn hair to the bottom of my brash, combat boots, nothing in my five-foot frame truly reflected the long deceased Anastasia Arabella Visconti. Not even my personality. I only held faint traces of her, like the delicate, pointed facial features, the slightly lighter skin tone than my father's, the tone of red in my dark hair, and, most importantly, the existence of some sort of morals, though ruthlessly suppressed, running through my veins.
Needless to say, as of three weeks ago, I have much preferred the usually undesirable genes of my warlord father, despite the strange colored eyes and distinct aristocratic stigma that they burdened me with.
Speaking of which…"My father said everyone in her family was dead."
"Valentina," Albus said softly, as if to a child. "I sincerely hope you've learned, intelligent girl you are, never to trust a word that comes from that man's mouth unless he has nothing invested in it, which, most times, is not the case."
I frowned. Of course I did not trust him. In fact, I suspected him for a great number of things, including the crime I had decided to build my future life around— not that I had much of a choice in the matter— and if my father was responsible for that, he was a dead man walking, blood or not.
"So, what?" I challenged, leaning against the handrail of the staircase, crossing my arms. "I'm just supposed to believe your claims that I'm your long lost cousin?"
The man, Albus, seemed suitably irritated at that, breaking his thus far pleasant demeanor with a slight purse of his lips. "As you know, I've been watching over you since you were a child. You are my only living relative besides my brother Aberforth. Why else would I possibly do that?" he asked a bit exasperatedly.
Scowling, I folded my arms over my chest. "I don't know why psychopaths do half of what they do, but that doesn't make them any less dangerous," I responded airily, mimicking the tone he had taught me when he was interrogating a new recruit. Its effect had always left the subject wanting to prove him or herself to him, at any cost. He had been a master of manipulation that way, infamous for it, in fact. They had called him Orpheus in the underground because, as rumor claimed, he could manipulate any instrument to play his tune. That is, before he met his siren and lost control of the music, letting his lady control his tune, luring him deep into the sea.
I shuddered. The nickname he had gifted me years ago had turned out to be too accurate for comfort.
The walrus of a man, Armando, shifted uncomfortably at his desk, drawing my eyes to him. I had forgotten he was in the room, having been so focused on Albus. Something my supposed cousin had said earlier came back to me about personal interests.
"Armando, is it?" I asked drily, mirroring his words earlier. He flushed.
"That's Headmaster Dippet to you, young lady," he corrected.
"Yes, of course, forgive me," I replied speedily. "If I may ask, what is your business here?"
He spluttered like a fish, his face slowly regaining that lovely shade of puce that had clung to his cheeks earlier. I could practically hear the blood rush angrily to his head. "Why—This is my office! Albus! Discipline your cousin! I will not have this!"
A laugh bubbled out of my chest before I could stop it. "Discipline me? I'm not a child, sir."
"No! But you are a lady and you will act like one or I will insist you leave my school at once!" Once again, I nearly laughed but restrained myself as something clicked in place.
"My apologies, Headmaster Dippet," I replied smoothly and without an ounce of sincerity. I'd be damned if I didn't see Albus' eyes twinkle. "I understand this is your office. I was merely curious as to why my cousin chose to have our reunion in your presence."
The walrus of a man huffed, slightly placated but still clearly miffed. From his desk, he picked up a fancy looking stick and raised it slowly, frowning at it as if he had just remembered something important in relation to it.
"Actually, Miss Visconti," he started slowly, but without hostility. It took everything in me not to correct the name, but since he held no animosity I figured he must have forgotten. "I am here to verify that you are, indeed, Albus' cousin. You see, no offense to you, but I don't want anyone on the school premises if I don't know exactly who they are. It's a matter of safety, you must understand."
I tilted my head, watching in curiosity as he played with the stick. Is that what I thought it was?
"Yes, I understand," I answered honestly. "And no offense taken. This is actually to both of our benefit. However, how do I know this magic test of yours is legitimate?"
"You would not," Albus' firm, clear voice interrupted. "Nor would I expect you to. Although hope and expectations are two different things, and I did dearly hope you had come to see me as family, even subconsciously, after all those years I had intervened on your behalf."
His sky blue eyes dripped with something akin to disappointment, but I did not have it in me to feel guilty. I would not apologize for being cautious. "Technically, in order to have seen you as family, I would have had to actually see you, don't you agree?"
The humor wasn't lost on him. He laughed, although still looking a bit put out. "That is fair. May the Headmaster begin the diagnostic while I present to you the evidence of our kinship?"
I nodded, barely sparing a glance as the wizard by the desk began to swish his wand in my direction and a faint glow lit my skin. My entire attention was on Albus. From the pocket of his wine-colored dress, he pulled out a file— Lord knows how it fit in there— and handed it over to me.
"This, dear cousin," he explained, "is an official government documentation of our family tree. You'll see that your mother is on there as well as me. Also in this file is a blood test comparison of both of our samples, a picture of your mother and I when we were young and another when we were older, and last but not least a portfolio of all the letters she ever sent me, regarding her life with your father, her life before him, and, most of all, you."
I stared, amazed, grabbing the file from him and greedily thumbing through. I remembered what her handwriting looked like. It was one of the last things of her I truly remembered vividly. She always dotted her 'i' with two dots instead of one for some reason. If I could just get to the letters he had and see…
Hope rose up within me. The 'i' in 'Valentina,' God bless, had two dots on it. That's all I had to see.
Looking up to my cousin in a new light, I smiled, wrapping my arms around Albus. We were family, truly family. I was not alone anymore! Tears welled down my face. I had thought I was alone forever.
He hugged me back gently, rubbing my back in circles as my joyful tears turned into ugly sobs. Soon, my entire frame was shaking with the weight of what my life had become in just a mere few weeks.
I was a widow.
My father was my remaining family and that was only until I killed him.
I had a cousin, a very interesting one at that.
I pulled away, startling out of my tears as the last resolution truly took hold in me once and for all. "Albus Dumbledore," I tasted out the name on my lips. I had a feeling I would be hearing and saying that name a lot from now on. Afterall, his was the name that had changed everything. "So is it true then? My mother asked you to protect me and that's why you've been annoying me all these years?" I asked, remembering the contents of the letter he had shown me.
My cousin's handsome face distorted into concern for a moment before something slightly more powerful grappled for control— excitement. His eyes were practically alight with the idea of me accepting my magic. Perhaps he was lonely and felt he couldn't connect to me until I accepted who I was and entered this strange world of his. Perhaps, but not likely. Humor entered those sky blue eyes and I had the faintest suspicion he could see what I had just thought. He seemed to find my defensiveness entertaining for some reason.
"Truly."
"My father never told me about this, though I suppose he might not have known," I muttered, thinking aloud. "My father—"
"Is a powerful, dangerous wizard," Albus finished gently. "He comes from a long line of powerful, dangerous wizards. It is doubtful he would want you to know about me since I have very different political views than he and most pureblood wizards like him. So did your mother."
I laughed harshly, reluctant understanding overtaking me. "Of course, no wonder he hated Nic so much with his extensive ties to Britain. He must have been worried he knew you. Although, I suppose there were other reasons." This was just another motive my father had for murder if I was right.
"Yes," Albus agreed. "I have it on good authority that there were other reasons indeed, but preserving the sanctity of the family line was the main one. Niccolo Leone, the infamous Orpheus of the rebel movement, was many things Valentina, and one of them was muggle-born. You aren't your father's only child, or even his heir, but unfortunately you are his favorite and always have been. That means he would want the very best for you, which, in his mind means a pureblood. He despises muggle-borns both politically and in actuality. However, his favor towards you remained, and perhaps even strengthened, after your elopement and recruitment to the revolution. I daresay, no matter what you do, you always will be his favorite and have to deal with the scrutiny that follows."
I shook my head, bitterly pulling away from Albus and leaning back against the wall, suddenly wishing to be alone. The anger was bubbling up again and once it did I was hopeless to stop it until I could express it somehow. Before I could restrain myself the words popped up into my mouth. "Let's see if I'm still his favorite when he's staring down the end of my gun and saying his last words."
Albus's intense blue gaze burned through my mind, seemingly trying to weigh whether I meant what I had threatened. "I daresay you will be, but let's hope you never test the theory," he replied firmly.
I glared at him. "You do understand," I ground out, "that that man is at least 90%, more likely than not fully, responsible for my husband's murder, don't you?"
He watched me carefully before responding, his voice acquiring that soft patronizing tone he had used earlier. "What happened to your husband was a terrible tragedy, Valentina, and he will never before forgotten." I heard a but in his tone and I was ready to slap some sense into him before I even heard his next words. "However, do you think patricide is truly the answer?" The unflinching haze I met him with said yes so he hurried on. "I doubt that is something your husband would have wished for you."
It took everything in me not to slap him for his words, for saying aloud the thing I had refused to acknowledge thus far. I forced the rage to subside because a nagging voice in the back of my mind— separate from his, of course, though Albus' annoying British accent had been protesting the idea ever since I first started drawing my father's attention weeks ago— telling me something along the same lines.
"He would not have wished for me to be a widow either," I hissed.
He nodded sadly. "I understand, Valentina. Yet, things will never work out for the two of you as you may have once dreamed. That does not mean you must be miserable. He would not have wanted that for you, and I fear killing your father may do just that."
With new eyes, I considered Albus Dumbledore. Now that I knew of our relation, I realized that he held a passing resemblance to my mother with his red hair, delicate features, fair complexion and tall, gangly frame. Judging by his last few comments, their likeness ran deeper from just mere appearance, though. As much I had loved my mother, she had always been a strict, unbending moralist. My father's men spoke constantly of it, mixed adoration and distaste in their voices. Unfortunately, her cousin seemed to share in my mother's incessant morality.
Then again, I suppose we all do to a certain extent. I've talked to the roughest of criminals in the Italian underground; we all hear the little voice.
Perhaps, it would be more precise to say that my cousin shared in my mother's irritating compulsive need to listen to it. Now that was unique.
A hesitant cough interrupted my thoughts, and I whipped my head to see the walrus professor. I had completely forgotten he had been there the whole time. I scowled, hoping he hadn't been eavesdropping, but from the clearly uncomfortable and slightly pitying look on his face he definitely had been.
"All done, my dear," Dippet said, clearing his throat and adjusting his wand into its holster. "It seems you are, indeed, Albus' cousin. Therefore you are welcome to stay under his protection in the castle as long as you please, but do try to avoid contact with the students. A young lady such as yourself would cause quite the uproar among the...ah...curious ones, especially the seventh years and I don't wish to have anything unseemly going on within grounds."
I smirked a bit at what he was implying, but it didn't reach my eyes, my mind still on Albus' words. "That's something you won't have to worry about, sir. I do have standards, and I highly doubt your students would meet a single one, much less all."
His fleshy cheeks flushed crimson. "Yes, well… keep it that way." Poor man. "I bid you goodnight, Miss Vis— Miss Leone, Albus." He bowed a bit, retreating into a room behind the office. "I know you have much to talk about. Stay as long as you wish, but do close the door on your way out."
Oddly, the fat old man had redeemed nearly an hour of despicableness in less than a minute. Yes, Headmaster Dippet and I would be friends, I decided. An impressive feat, considering I could decide on very little these days.