October 31st, 1969

Amadeus was spending his Saturday night as he usually did: drunk beyond recognition. Saturday evening's performance with the Los Angeles Philharmonic in America had proved to be incredibly well-received. In fact, the Americans seemed to have rallied obsessively around his performances more than any other place he toured. And as was his wont, being a twenty-two year old attractive man, he was the guest of honor at party after raucous party. Tonight happened to find him at a beach-house in a place called Malibu. And there were floods of attractive, half-dressed people running around.

When he became a concert pianist, his only drive had been music. Honestly, music was the sole driving force for his entire life. He had never been particularly drawn to any of his classes at Hogwarts, he never really bothered to excel in any of them either. His greatest enjoyment, and his deepest burden, came from the music lumbering through the back of his head like a caged beast. It had to be let free, trained to fit proper standards of behavior. But he had no other alternative: his earliest memories, his constant thoughts were all filled with music. It was a sort of parallel oxygen, without which, his mind would have been equally unable to function.

And then, Amadeus went on his first tour. At the tender age of eighteen, he had been busy rubbing elbows and making connections. Deus spent a great deal of time at Galas and opening night banquets. At each event, he was sandwiched between the largest (sometimes literally as well as figuratively) art patrons in the country. They were fantastic people, a bit old, and somewhat one note, but he was delighted with their conversations and interest in his artistry. These dinners were filled with honors, awards, auctions, schmoozing, and airy talk of importance of music to cultures both muggle and magical. Executive directors of symphonies adored him, patrons doted on him, and his agent saw him as the best cash cow this side of 1950. The place he seemed to slip up was interviews. He was very cagey about his past, saying only that he was raised by god parents after his own had died, and that "Aunt Clara" gave him music lessons all throughout his youth. He focused on Ms. Shaylander as his guardian, mentor and inspiration. With the flood of press coverage, painting young Deus as a brooding, mysterious artist, the young man's largest audience suddenly dropped forty years in average age. Eager boyfriends saw this flashy new artist as a romantic date, spell-bound women were desperate to see his troubled, empathetic eyes for themselves. Muggles, wizards, and witches alike were swept off their feet by him.

Mr. Shaylander still went to the splashy events and wooed plenty of donors. But on his second tour, when one of the meet and greets finished at ten in the evening, a young, ambitious reporter grabbed his arm and pulled him off into the night. It was New York, in 1967, the free love, and even more readily proffered drugs were cluttering every party in the Village. At first, the well-bred Dumbledore lad was put off by the loud noise and the overwhelming press of bodies. But eventually, the party scene greatly appealed to him. After his other commitments, he began seeking out the kind of places he knew would provide the entertainment he desired. Deus was by no means out of control, these parties simply provided a distraction from the constant strain of his music. When he was drunk, when he was with a woman, when he was high, the music became an option, something he could control. When on something the people at the party called 'shrooms, he had even been able to turn the music into color without magic. He had stacked all the music up into a solid rainbow wall of blocks of sound. It was liberating to finally be the master of this urge, this drive that had ruled him for his entire life.

So it was, he found himself drinking something Muggles called "Sex on the Beach" while contemplating which of the bikini-clad women he could get to perform that very act in Malibu, California. He as up on the top deck of the house, swirling his drink, and narrowing the running down to three women, when a ruffled-looking owl alighted on the railing next to him. Instantly, his wizard's protectiveness kicked in, and he snapped the envelope from the owl, nearly offered him a drink, through better of it, and tossed him a cracker from a nearby plate instead. The messenger was gone before any of the equally inebriated guests noticed. The message was from his mother, therefore crisp and to the point.

October 31st, 1969

Dearest Deus:

I realize you are otherwise occupied with your exceptional career, but we have missed you at the family home these past two years. You have missed the birth of your youngest sister, and have yet to even meet Daphne's lover. Indeed, it seems that the last time you were on the family grounds was two years ago July for Theseus and Sedna's wedding.

This brings me to my primary reason for this missive. Sedna gave birth to a baby girl this morning: Damara Freya Circe McGonagall Dumbledore. Your brother and his wife are parents, and you are an uncle. I know that your tour is planned out for this year all ready. I am certain you made little provision for visits home. But as your mother, I must say that my deepest wish for this holiday season is to have all five of my children around the table this year.

I have enclosed a photograph Teddy wished me to give you. He sends his best wishes, and congratulates you on becoming uncle of the most beautiful bairn in all the magical world. We miss you all, dearly.

With much love,

Minerva M. McGonagall

Deus examined the photograph. It was a quick, bouncing snapshot of Theseus with his tiny family. Sedna's blond hair fell in an elegant curtain, and Teddy kept pulling it back to get a better look at the baby. The child had Sedna's grey eyes, and an unruly dusting of McGonagall raven crowned her head. Deus knew his brother very well, and he could see that Teddy had never been more proud or content in his life. Deus felt a pang at having missed such a crucial part of his brother's life. He had received a letter from the Auror wishing him happy birthday back in July. It had mentioned something about a baby, but in truth, Deus didn't spend much time actually doing more than skimming.

Scrunching the letter in his hand, he found the hostess, said good night, and walked off into the sand dunes. When he was alone, he Aparated to his hotel room. Immediately, he sent off an owl ordering a bouquet of flowers of Sedna, another ordering a fine bottle of Scotch whiskey for Theseus, and then stayed up into the morning recording forty minutes of lullabies for his new niece.

/*\/*\/*\

When Mr. Unser woke the next morning, he found a note taped to the door of his room in the suite:

Unser:

Must clear my schedule December 25th, January 1st and January 6th. An urgent family matter has come up.

-Deus

P.S. Why haven't we recorded an album of lullabies yet?