Disclaimer:

On your way to Flourish and Blotts to purchase the latest Harry Potter Quidditch guide, you find an old rolled up scroll. You quickly bend down and pick it up. Upon unrolling it, you discover that it's blank. However, you remember Harry Potter's adventures with the Marauder's Map from his autobiography, Harry Potter: Before and After Voldemort.

You take your wand, point it at the scroll, and say, "I solemnly swear that I will not sue Wild Rose, because I know that the Potter Universe belongs to J.K. Rowling, her licensors, and her publishers, not Wild Rose."

Suddenly, words magically begin to appear on the scroll.

Moony: Ah, you figured out the password.

Prongs: Congratulations, but the words that we conceal so carefully will not be so easily revealed.

Wormtail: Yes, we are the keepers of a story that can only be shown to certain eyes, for it contains a pairing that not everyone agrees with.

Padfoot: At least some people have sense to know that the lovely Hermione shouldn't be with that greasy git. Why would she want him when she could have me?

Wild Rose: Oh, Padfoot, you know Sevvie's sexy. Who could resist that snarky Slytherin? I wonder what he looks like in just black silk boxers.

Padfoot: Ah!!! Images!!!

Wild Rose: Now that I've punished Padfoot for remarking about my sexy Slytherin, it's time to ask you: Do you agree with the pairing?

A Life for a Life

In a surge of frustration, the dejected Albus Dumbledore slammed shut the last of the ancient tomes he harbored within his library. Turning his chair from his desk, he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and cupped his face wearily. It was useless. He had searched for over a month for the vital spell, but it was futile. If he didn't discover it soon, it would be too late for Severus and Hermione. He could not fail them, too.

It was just over a month ago that Voldemort had been defeated, and too many others had accompanied him to the grave. Lives that Albus felt responsible for. The memories of the agonizing screams of the fallen and tears of the survivors still were as vivid as they had been hours afterward. He had known the possible cost and yet he had proceeded to command the members to attack. Harry, Remus, Minerva, Charlie...so many lost before they had lived. He was alive, though, to his chagrin. Perhaps death would alleviate the guilt he felt.

They were mere children, trusting an old fool to lead them through the darkness.

When he attempted to be angry with them for giving him the responsibility, he always became consumed with the pain of failing them. They needed a leader and they unfortunately had him.

But he had more than their deaths to feel remorseful for. He had the years of manipulation as well, depriving many of their lives before they had even died. Those like Severus and Harry were tools of war, means to an end.

Severus.

His surrogate son.

Even now Severus was suffering in the infirmary, along with Miss Granger, because of him. Both had been struck by a derivative of the Killing Curse. A much slower and excruciating version that forced the victim into a coma-like state, but left them aware enough to feel every second of pain. There had been others but their stubborn wills made them the lone survivors. And, if one wanted to be honest, their love for each other. Of course, only a few knew that to be true.

Damn it! Where was it? It had to exist. It had to.

If the legends about its usage in his family were but myths, well...he just hoped they weren't.

Aberforth.

He, as Albus's older brother, might have the spell that Albus needed. Albus knew he should've sought his help earlier, but his stricken conscience demanded solitary redemption, though that wasn't the lone cause for hesitation. Now, it appeared he had no choice. Hopefully, Aberforth would allow old resentments to stay buried. Hopefully.

Striding toward the hearth, he reached into the small box that contained his Floo Powder.

"Aberforth." came the simple destination.

He easily stepped through the flames to be confronted with the dark and rundown living chambers that was characteristic of Hog's Head and his brother.

"Aberforth."

"Albus."

"I need your help."

Aberforth stood expectantly with arms crossed braced against the doorframe that led into the living room. "When don't you, Albus? You expect everyone to be at your beck and call, don't you? The powerful Albus Dumbledore."

Obviously, he wouldn't let his grudges over Albus's status go. "Aberforth, there are lives that are depending on me. Would you really allow them to die over a childish feud?"

"It's not childish. You had the power to save her."

The real reason for Aberforth's treatment. It always came back to this. "For Merlin's sake, Aberforth, she was a goat you transfigured. She wasn't a real woman. They couldn't reverse the transformation with the incantations you cast. You know she had to be put down."

"I loved her!" he yelled indignantly.

"Aberforth!"

His brother was a few syllables short of a spell, but he had his moments.

Aberforth reached for a rag he had tucked in a pocket to dry his eyes. "The only spell you could use is the Transferring of Energy." As he murmured an indecipherable string of incantations, a small, aged book appeared in his hand and he passed it to Albus. "This will give you what you need."

He turned before Albus could voice his appreciation and disappeared. Albus, too, moved to leave, pulling the powder from a hidden pocket and giving the destination as Hogwart's infirmary.

The Transferring of Energy is far from a simple spell and can only be performed by the most powerful of wizards. Those that are unprepared will ultimately drain their own life force and their goal unaccomplished. However, the practiced wizard will be able to convert his energy into healing magic and direct it to whomever they wish. The only exception is death. No living being can revive the dead.

That was the description that the book provided along with instructions to perform it. He only hoped he was powerful enough to save them both.

"Translato!"

Suddenly, a single beam of pure white light flowed from his chest, then began to vee in order to reach both individuals. Albus quickly could feel himself weakening, his life lessening. Death was a welcomed retreat from his reality, his memories.

Before lost to complete darkness, he watched them begin to stir, a gradual awakening. But the deities didn't grant him the privilege of witnessing the tender reunion to follow.

THE END

A/N: To understand some of the references in the scene with Aberforth, check out this wonderful site: It was most helpful to me.

Translato means to transfer in Latin.

Thoughts??? Reviews are food for a starving muse.