[A/N] Hullo! Here is Whispers of Death, the second one in the Whispers collection. Yes, I took a while. No, I'm not abandoning this story. I never abandon stories :)
Disclaimer: I'm totally J.K Rowling. Seriously guys, do you even think that she would need a FanFiction account to popularise her stories?
Whispers of Death
Albus Dumbledore bustled around his kitchen, merrily humming the Hogwarts school song. He loved Hogwarts. He felt as if it was his home, the place that he always ought to be.
He drew his wand and flourished it at the pot of liquid on the stove, which immediately began to bubble. A delicious aroma wafted out and he chuckled quietly to himself. He flicked it upwards and the faintly orange soup soared in an arc.
He slid a porcelain bowl with fluttering Snitches under the stream, just before it would have hit the ground and splattered everywhere. He clicked his tongue. His reflexes were slowing up, a couple years earlier he would have caught the soup far before.
He strode quickly to his favourite armchair. It was red velvet, and very tattered with patches of every colour. He sank into it, feeling very relaxed. He pointed his wand at the hearth, which immediately burst into crackling flames.
He spooned the French Onion soup into his mouth heartily. He was actually quite glad that he could cook, without having to give the job to a poor little house-elf. At least the Hogwarts house-elves were treated fairly.
Finishing the soup, he walked back to his kitchen and set the little bowl in his sink. He yawned as he saw the pile of dishes that sat in his sink. His eyelids fell droopily, and he knew he hadn't even the energy to maintain the simple spell needed to cleanse the dishes.
He slowly stepped up his spiralling staircase to his bedroom, thinking dreamily of the four-poster bed with red hangings that had spangled gold stars. He'd always been a fan of Gryffindor, as it had been his house at Hogwarts.
With a contented sigh, he changed into his pyjamas, and clambered into his comfortable bed. He rested his glasses and his pointed hat on his bed-side table, and closed his eyes.
A bright flash awoke him from his dreams. He opened his eyes and grasped his wand, directing it at the foot of his bed.
What he saw made him break out into a wide grin. It was a silver beast with four legs, a long snout, horns and large, leathery wings. It was a Patronus of a Hungarian Horntail, with smoke curling out of its muzzle.
"Albus," it croaked, in the wise, powerful voice of Nicholas Flamel, "I need you to be here, urgently." Dumbledore yawned, and the dragon's eyes narrowed. "Now!" It disappeared as if it was silver powder being blown away.
Dumbledore climbed out of bed and dressed in his robes again. He pulled his watch from his pocket. It was just after midnight. He grabbed his half-moon glasses and his signature pointy hat, and walked out of his house.
He wondered what any watching muggles would think of his eccentric clothes, or the awkward time that he was out. He had always been curious of the thoughts and ways of muggles – maybe not so much as Arthur Weasley – but definitely curious.
He removed his wand from his pocket and made sure that the street was deserted. He withdrew an object like a silver cigarette-lighter from his robes and clicked it once, twice, three times. All of the lights in the street plunged into his Deluminator.
He pocketed the Deluminator and gripped his wand tightly. He turned on the spot, and there was a loud CRACK. Then Albus Dumbledore disappeared from his street.
Dumbledore reappeared in a seemingly deserted street. He smoothed his windswept beard and readjusted his hat. It was very annoying how Apparating was like walking through a very forceful, blustery gale.
He whispered "Lumos" and the tip of wand – which was still situated firmly in his right hand – lit up. He waved it back and forth, trying to read the peeling golden numbers on the rusty letterboxes.
The number 45 glittered dimly under his wand light, and he strode purposefully toward the letterbox. He stopped in front of it, and bent down so he was eyelevel with it.
"Nicholas, it is I, Albus Dumbledore," he said to the letterbox. The golden numbers melted into streams, and they merged together to form a large golden circle. In the centre of a circle was a fierce-looking dragon.
"What is your favourite jam, Albus?" asked the dragon, but the voice was not snarls or growls. Rather, it was the commanding voice of Nicholas Flamel.
"Raspberry," answered Dumbledore with a twinkle in his eye. The dragon nodded, and the gold circle separated and formed the number 45 again. Dumbledore straightened up and chuckled quietly to himself.
The door of the boarded-up house creaked open of its own accord, and Dumbledore swept up the stone steps, and over the threshold.
As soon as he had stepped past the doorway, the door slammed behind him. He was not scared though, and soon enough, the lights flickered on.
They illuminated a cosy yet elegant living room, with a grand piano. The furniture was either beige or deep mahogany brown, and there were silver and gold accents splattered around the room.
A grey-haired couple stood arm-in-arm next to the fireplace. The woman had on a neat grey skirt suit, with a curly bob and simplistic pearl jewellery. The man wore floor-sweeping silver robes and a stiff wizard's hat. He had one arm around his wife, and the other extended in a gesture of welcome.
"Albus," he welcomed, "it has been long." He moved to sit down on the couch, and his wife followed. Dumbledore stood awkwardly, and Nicholas guffawed. "Dear me, Albus, where are my manners? Please, sit down."
Dumbledore sat down opposite the couple, and he jerked his head at the both of them. "Nicholas, Perenelle."
Perenelle smiled, but Nicholas frowned. "Albus, what is the reason behind these formalities?" They caught each others' eyes, and the both of them relapsed into chuckles. Perenelle giggled quietly, more to be socially polite.
Dumbledore clasped Perenelle's hand and kissed it. "Perry, how have you been?" he asked casually. "Immortality suiting you both well?"
Nicholas' eyes twinkled as he said, "I shall miss immortality, I daresay I shall." Dumbledore looked confused, which was an expression that rarely crossed his face.
Nicholas and Perenelle smiled, and gestured the ruby red stone that was glowing subtly. It sat on the mantelpiece above the hearth. Two crystalline goblets accompanied it.
"We fear for the stone's safety, Albus," whispered Perenelle worriedly. "Lord Voldemort will soon discover that the stone is what he requires to regain a body."
Dumbledore narrowed his eyes in thought. "What do you propose? Do you wish to hide the stone in Gringotts, my friends?"
Nicholas nodded. "At least until you negotiate the means for proper protection of the stone within Hogwarts."
Dumbledore nodded gravely. "I assumed as much, Nicholas." Nicholas raised an eyebrow, wordlessly demanding Dumbledore to explain his graveness.
Dumbledore smiled inwardly, and explained. "Nicholas, I do not think it wise to hide the stone in a place that Lord Voldemort knows so thoroughly."
Nicholas grinned excitedly, and Dumbledore was reminded of an eager schoolboy. "But that's the essence of the plan, Dumbledore!" he practically squealed. Perenelle had an apologetic look on her face. "He won't think to look in such an obvious place."
Dumbledore considered. He did not like the idea of harbouring the stone in such an open, accessible place. "What if the students find it, Nicholas?" asked Dumbledore, voicing a common concern.
Nicholas snorted and Perenelle rolled her eyes. "Albus, were you honestly going to just leave the stone out in the open?" he asked.
Dumbledore opened his mouth. He did not like being scolded like a child. "What if one of the older students found a way to break the enchantments guarding the stone?"
Nicholas rolled his eyes. "Albus, are you trying to be difficult? We trust you to provide enough protection to keep the stone safe – from Lord Voldemort and the students."
Dumbledore stroked his beard. He could do it, he knew he could, but he enjoyed teasing Nicholas too much. "Very well," he said, a twinkle in his eye.
He stood up to leave, but remembered a final thought. Rounding on Nicholas and Perenelle, he blurted, "But won't the absence of the Elixir of Life make you, to put it in blunt terms, die?" he asked, feeling much like a child as he did so. Often being around Nicholas, who was centuries older, brought about this feeling.
Nicholas smiled gently, wrapping an arm around Perenelle's shoulder. Only today did Dumbledore realise how ancient, fragile and worn they looked. "Ah Albus, you have not known life as long as we. It becomes a tedious thing now; we do grow tired of it." Nicholas fixed Dumbledore with a penetrating gaze, not unlike the one he used on his students.
Perenelle smoothed her silver curls back from her face, and placed her hands gently in Dumbledore's. "Do not mourn us, Albus. Our time here is done; we have already stayed far too long."
Dumbledore sighed and leaned against the wall. Nicholas and Perenelle were treating Death as merely a welcome reprieve from life, a holiday from which they would never return. He remembered a muggle quote, "Death must be amazing because no-one ever comes back from it." Looking at Nicholas and Perenelle, he realised how much they would have gone through, being immortal.
Nicholas clapped his free hand on Dumbledore's shoulder. A single tear dripped into his silver beard, and he wiped it away. Nicholas eyed him sympathetically. "Albus, do not weep. After all, to the well organised mind, death is but the next great adventure."
Dumbledore was shocked by Nicholas' phrasing and the jovial, appreciative way he said it. When Dumbledore pulled back, he saw that there was a twinkle in Nicholas' eye, and that they were both grinning hugely.
"I shall miss you as much as I shall miss immortality, Albus, but I cannot say I regret what I am about to do. It is for the greater good."
Nicholas' words stirred up something deep and dark in Dumbledore's long memory, but he shunted it to the side to deal with later. The clock on the table read 3:45am.
"Nicholas, Perenelle, I really must be going. If I delay any longer, my street will be too overcome with muggles to hide my Apparating." Nicholas nodded solemnly, and the two men exchanged a hearty hug before Dumbledore stepped out of the house, never to see his friend Nicholas alive again.
Dumbledore sat by Harry Potter's bed, relating Nicholas' words to him. As a single tear trailed down his nose and into the mess of hair that hung in a silver beard, he could not help but recall the twinkle in his eyes when he had spoken of this.
He remembered the positive, jovial Whispers of Death.
[A/N] It was kind of sad, I guess. But how did I portray their characters? Was Nick how you imagined him to be? Did I get the wise, merry attitude? I wanted him to be to Dumbledore as Dumbledore is to Harry, that kind of caring, older person whom the younger person respects. Maybe Dumbledore got the inspiration from Nicholas? It's up to you...
Next story is called Whispers of Jealousy. Anyone who guesses what this is about gets a free wand from Ollivander (I have connections, I can get you a wand ;)
