I confess, I'm on holiday and I could be writing more than currently appears on my laptop. However, recently, I had the pleasure to begin reading Dostoyevsky's novels. I'm obsessed. Reading books by that master of literature, philosophy, and psychology has given me a new perspective on writing and what novels and in general, literature, should deliver. I shall continue this story as I had planned for it to continue. But I feel that any new story that I write in the future must have a deeper, more sensible meaning than all the superfluous things I have written until now (let's face it, everything). But if in spite of this, you continue reading the story, many thanks to you!
"Your shirt is un-tucked!" The mirror in the first year, boys' Hufflepuff dorm room exclaimed. Albus, who had been about to exit the bathroom, walked backwards a few steps and blushed faintly when he noticed, that yes, his shirt was untucked. It was Christmas morning and it was the day that Albus would be telling Minerva who he was. He, at least, wanted to look somewhat presentable before she cursed him to Hell and back.
He had chosen a dark blue cloak with a matching wool vest and a grey shirt. But if one squinted and looked closely enough, one would notice that every few minutes, tiny fireworks exploded in the fabric of the cloth of his cloak and socks. A small Christmas detail. Neville would call it tacky. Albus would say he didn't care.
"Much better! Now off you go! Presents await!" the mirror exclaimed. Albus smiled at it and bowed his head in thanks.
"Merry Christmas, Sabetha," he said to it. The mirror's gold frame seemed to give a little twinkle.
Albus chuckled to himself and exited the dorm room. Jonathan, the only other Hufflepuff to stay at Hogwarts during the holidays was already in the common room when Albus strolled into it. He was tearing into his presents.
"Morning, sleep well?" Jonathan asked. He was munching on some unfortunate chocolate frog that he had received from an admirer.
"Merry Christmas," Albus said nodding. The boy shrugged and repeated the holiday greetings in a bored and practiced sort of way. Albus almost frowned. How could one be so gloomy on such a celebration as Christmas? Christmas was meant to be celebrated with family, with music and sweets, with love!
He quickly turned to his own presents, eager not to have to concentrate on the paradox of his own situation… he was not home for Christmas! In a selfish move, he had decided to allow himself to simply roam Hogwarts without having to go to classes and coming and going when he wished.
His eyes however, dropped onto the discarded Chocolate Frog Card. His own image stared back at him.
"Oh yeah, I got Dumbledore. Again. I have at least seven of him. Do you want him?" Jonathan said as he stuffed the last limb of the frog into his mouth.
"Ah, I would be delighted to have him," Albus said, accepting the card. His own reflection stared back at him with narrowed eyes, before finally giving a smile. He remembered very well the day he had been photographed for this card. Composing the text for the back of the card had been the proudest day of his life.
Pocketing his card, he dove into the presents.
Petunia and Dudley had chipped in together to get him a collection of selected plays by Oscar Wilde with incredible illustrations that rivalled etchings of the likes of Rembrandt or Dürer. He set that aside to read for later. Next was a present from Neville and Hermione, with whom had become fast friends over the last few weeks. They had gifted him a thick book on transfiguration in the Middle Ages.
The rest were mainly chocolates and sweets from the various people he had managed to befriend in the last three months. Even Draco sent him a card! From Hagrid he received a small, round cake that both Jonathan and Albus didn't dare try (eventually, he did nibble on it a little). They had breakfast in the common room and eventually established a rapport: Jonathan was quite interested in transfiguration.
At some point, the elves had (unnoticed) turned on the radio and it was playing something christmassy, with quidditch updates alternating with the music. Jonathan was elated when he heard that the Chudley Cannons had managed to get to the quarter finals — something that happened only every few centuries.
It had just stopped snowing and hours had passed, when Albus rose and excused himself. He was so deeply immersed in his thoughts that he hardly noticed his feet taking him to the Headmaster's - Headmistress's - office. He sighed, preparing himself. This was going to be an emotionally turbulent afternoon, but he had promised Nicolas he would resolve it all today. He glanced down at the present in his hands. It was poorly packaged, and yet, he felt that Minerva would appreciate it.
Coughing, Albus called out to the gargoyle.
"May I go up?" the gargoyle stared stonily ahead (pun fully intended). He sighed.
"I would like to talk to Headmistress McGonagall."
Minerva must have had some sort of microphone spell on the gargoyle and could probably hear Albus because she seemed to tell him to jump aside, because he did so and allowed Albus to pass. He ascended the staircase in silence and took another preparatory breath. Then he pushed open the double doors.
Minerva sat behind her desk, looking down at a stack of papers. If there was one thing that Albus didn't miss about being Headmaster, then it was the paperwork.
"Ah, Mr. Potter, Merry Christmas," she said in her usual levelled way. However, there was a small smile pulling at her lips.
Albus approached her desk and sat down in one of the two proffered armchairs.
"Merry Christmas, professor." Albus paused. He had actually rehearsed his speech, but now that he sat before her, he found himself lost for words.
"Yes, Mr. Potter?" She prompted kindly.
"Ah, I brought you a gift," he said, placing the wrapped package on her desk. She blinked at him in surprise.
"How kind," she said without moving. Then seeing that he was going to wait until she unwrapped it, she reached forwards and grasped it. Unwrapping the paper, she turned the frame around and gasped when she saw the photograph within.
Inside lay a photograph of her and Albus — as Albus Dumbledore — in the 1950s when she was in her 20s and already a professor at Hogwarts, and he, the recently named Headmaster of Hogwarts. That night, Minerva, Nicolas, and he had all been at the Ministry Annual Summer Solstice party, when Minerva had called it dull, prompting Nicolas to usher them out into the unknown world of muggle parties. All three of them had danced all night long. Nicolas had bought a muggle camera somewhere on the way and had spent the next few drunken hours delighting over muggle technology and how far it had come.
That night, she had told him she fancied him and he had been forced to tell her that he had and would only ever love one person in all his life and that person now sat in Nurmengard. She had been stupefied for a while and had then accepted it without a fight. That had symbolised the beginning of their fast and long-lasting friendship.
The photograph was blurry, partially because of Nicolas' drunkenness and their movement whilst dancing the fox-trot: their faces weren't exactly focused, but they were obviously smiling.
Her hair was down and she was wearing an elegant dress. He was dressed in a muggle tuxedo, but had untied his bow tie, now that formality was no longer required. It was a bittersweet, warm photograph, that caused Minerva's chest explode with a pang of sorrow and melancholy.
"Dear Merlin," she gasped. Then composed herself. "However did you get this, Mr. Potter?!"
His cloak used that moment to shower his shoulders with a small shower of fireworks which then sunk back into the fabric of the cloth. He almost cracked a smile. She did not.
"On the 22nd of November 1986, Albus Dumbledore died," Albus began. Her eyebrows drew together and she leaned back in her chair, evidently realising that this explanation would take some time. "The Albus Dumbledore of this world died. I, however, woke up at that exact date, that exact time, in the body of Harry Potter. It took some time for my magical core to develop and my mind to adjust, but unkowning of what had happened or how I could revert it, I decided to make most of the situation. I saved the Dursleys from Vernon — a vile man, rightly predicted by you. And I tutored Dudley to become an upstanding, young man. I have attempted to stay away from friends in my past life, but this has become impossible. I cannot bare a second longer of seeing you, Minerva, in pain."
Minerva seemed, too, lost for words. She blinked at him. He could see emotions, ranging from anger to hatred to love, racing behind her eyes. Her mind was racing a mile a minute, making the connections between his pattern of speech, the present, the characteristics, etc.
"Albus…" she finally whispered, squinting at him. Albus inclined his head and smiled kindly, eyes twinkling.
"Nicolas told me my first order of business should be to apologise: so dear Minerva, I apologise. I have been harsh, and misleading. And so, so selfish. "
The portrait of Dumbledore behind Minerva was staring at Albus with wide eyes, evidently not having expected the confession. And were he fifteen years younger, Albus probably wouldn't have. But that night on the Astronomy Tower with Severus, Harry, and the Death-Eaters, had given him some perspective.
The portraits hanging on the walls were all exchanging incredulous glances and even Phineas Black, who usually always had some sort of comeback ready at his lips, seemed stupefied in his frame: the colour had drained from his face, pun fully intended.
"You have hurt many of us," she told him in that controlled voice that told Albus she was anything but. "You have begotten much pain." She folded her hands upon the desk, and stared him down. Albus' eyes instantly dropped in shame. He stared at his lap.
"I have no excuse, Minerva."
He heard some shuffling, and when he looked up again, she was standing before him. In one swift movement, she drew him into a hug, gripping him so tightly that he almost forgot to breathe.
"You are forgiven," Minerva said softly. Albus kept a tight hold on her. When they finally separated, he noticed that she looked at peace. She stared down at him with an unreadable expression; and yet the corners of her lips were turned upwards and her serious eyebrows were more relaxed than was usual for her. The lines of old-age suddenly didn't seem so deep.
"Please sit, Albus," she murmured and sat down in the armchair next to his, not her usual place behind her desk.
He dropped to his plush chair and turned to her.
"Now Albus, tell me everything."
And he did; he omitted a few things from his childhood as Harry Potter, and left out some of his more nihilistic conversations with Nicolas. When he told her that Voldemort was most probably back, she closed her eyes and briefly tilted her head up to the heavens as though to give a small prayer. Then she composed herself and folded her hands on the table.
"We must reinstate the Order of the Phoenix," she said quietly. Albus nodded somewhat solemnly.
"Kingsley and Alastor must be informed immediately, they were among the founding members and will know how to direct the rest."
"You will not attempt to regain your position as—"
"Minerva, to the world I am an eleven year-old Harry Potter: a gifted student, but a student nonetheless. I do not have the power or authority to lead the Order. I'm afraid it must be you, after all, you were my most trusted and gifted student." He smiled at her and her lips faintly quirked upwards.
"So you do not wish to inform the others," she said. Minerva rested her chin on her hands.
"Aberforth and Elphias will be told in due course, but no, my identity must remain a secret. It is best if the knowledge of my true person is not brought back to Voldemort for he… oh, he will do such despicable things, Minerva."
"There is the matter of your appearance as a student—"
"Ah, Minerva, it is Christmas, must we talk of such tedious topics? Shall we visit the kitchens? I think the elves will be delighted to serve us some hot cocoa." There was a long pause and he considered her, she looked as pale as the snowflakes that fell behind the window and her nostrils were flaring. Her hands gripped her armchair with such force that her knuckles were white. The shock, he supposed. His gaze shifted to the liquor cabinet a few paces away. "Ah, or perhaps something stronger."
.
Albus drew his winter coat closer to himself, the material scratched against his chin. It was cold outside, various degrees below the freezing point of water certainly, but he barely felt any of it. A permanent smile seemed to be etched into his face this day. Minerva's face kept swimming to the forefront of his mind; how relieved he had felt when he had confessed everything, everything, to her. Even the horcruxes. And in any case, it was Christmas!
Ducking into a café — the very same that Minerva had picked him up at when shopping for supplies — he instantly began sweating from the heat. Alas, there were almost three fireplaces roaring with fire!
A hand at the very back waved him over and he rapidly made his way to it.
"Merry Christmas!" Neville exclaimed as Albus sat down across him.
"Hello Harry, merry Christmas," Hermione said shyly, cheeks blushing as she glanced up at her. He winced, he would have to tell her at some point that he fancied the other sort.
"Merry Christmas, all," Albus called. He received various calls from the others sitting at the table: a colourful mixture of Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, Gryffindors, and Slytherins.
"We weren't sure McGonagall would let you come today," Seamus said with a shrug. "So most of us sent you your present by owl."
Indeed, the table was covered with gifts. They had probably just been in the process of exchanging them.
"Thanks for the Mimbulus mimbletonia, Harry!" Neville exclaimed. "I've already planted her!"
"You're very welcome, dear friend."
"Oh, look, Draco's arrived!" Hermione was looking over Albus' shoulder and when he turned he saw Draco Malfoy standing uncertainly at the door of the café. His gaze awkwardly swept the crowd until it latched on the first year group.
"Happy Yuletide," Draco said in a very refined tone when he had stopped in front of their table. Albus pulled up a chair for him. The boy sat down and stared at them. Chatter between the first years continued as though nothing at all had happened. They had gotten used to Draco's presence amongst them in the past few weeks.
They had a very pleasant Christmas lunch; even Draco had loosened up by the end of it, having seen his two housemates Blaise and Theodore joke around with students from all houses, without a care in the world.
Albus had wanted to go to Knockturn Alley for some time now and discover the more obscure bookstores there. He hadn't quite had a chance yet. So nodding politely to everyone, he put on his coat and decided to excuse himself.
"Where are you going?" Draco asked. Albus was putting on his mittens (self-knitted!) when he turned his attention to the Malfoy boy.
"Ah, in search of books. Alas, Hogwarts has an extensive collection, yet not enough for my thirst for knowledge."
"Do you mind if I come with you?"
Albus considered him for a moment. Knockturn Alley wasn't the safest of places, but the boy certainly knew the place better than Albus. He'd only entered it a handful of times when in dire need of some object that the Ministry considered to be in the 'dark' spectrum and he more or less in the 'grey'.
"Of course not, come along then!"
They exited the cafe, red cheeks a stark contrast against the cold and snowy exterior. He considered charming his breath purple; actually that would bring a whole set of problems, where magical theory was concerned - he was knocked out from his trail of thought when a sudden crashing sound ricocheted down the narrow alleyway.
"Oh my Gods," Draco cried, pulling Albus back by his cloak. Oh my Gods, indeed, thought Albus. Horror infused him as his vision was engulfed with flames; blasts went off all around him so deafening that he very literally lost his hearing for a few moments. When he finally came to reason, he spun, dragging Draco with him into the nearest alcove.
A battle. A battle right in the middle of Diagon Alley. Albus leaned against the wall of the alcove and briefly closed his eyes, preparing himself for what was to come. When he opened them, Draco was staring at him with panic. There was indescribable fear staring back at him and for a moment Albus was sure that his own face mirrored the Malfoy's countenance.
"Potter, Potter? Harry?" Draco sounded lost. Albus gathered himself together and mentally brought up his occlumency walls. He had to protect the boy that stood before him. The innocent, ignorant boy.
"We do not have much time, Draco. You must promise me you will stay in this alcove."
"You're not going out there?" the boy gestured at the battlefield that almost drowned out their conversation. "There are a-aurors for this!"
"Draco, do you see any aurors?"
Indeed, just as he said that, there came a loud scream; Draco instantly looked for the source and Albus forcibly used his magic to make Draco look away.
"Look at me — do you swear to do exactly as I tell you?"
He knew the moment that Draco's eyes widened with intimidation, and not from the slaughter that was occurring in the Alley, but from Albus' expression and tone, that he had inadvertently exposed a portion of his true identity. Nevertheless, the boy gulped and nodded. Albus had a sudden flashback to the last time he had said those exact words, just before he and Harry had left for the cave on the island. He had died shortly thereafter.
A sudden shadow dimmed the already lacklustre lighting in the alcove. Both Albus and Draco looked up: standing in front of them was an intimidating figure, dressed completely in black flowing robes, darker than the night. A hood disguised the shape of the head and covering the face was a metal mask.
It was almost instinctual for Albus to cast a banishing spell. The man was thrown into the other side of the alleyway, crashing into the building opposite. He fell to the ground like rag doll and didn't move again.
This seemed to draw the attention of the other combating Death Eaters, who had pushed further into the alley, resulting in a dilemma: Albus and Draco now stood directly behind them, in their rear flank, and more of them were turning around to face Albus.
Albus wasn't prone to cursing and yet—
"Bollocks."
"Potter, what the hell are you do-"
Albus used a violent bit of magic to press Draco back into the alcove. He wouldn't be able to stand against the five or six Death-Eaters who had just raised their wands to battle him, if he was simultaneously trying to protect Draco.
He saw now, that the last three months he had spent at Hogwarts, practicing his magic and expanding his knowledge daily, relearning all the spells he had known at some point, had paid off. Because as the first three spells were sent his way, he was able to cast a massive protego, effectively protecting the crowd of people behind him, all attempting to either flee the Alley or hide away in the numerous shops, most of which were already packed full with people, or simply due to the activated magical wards, completely closed off.
Albus felt sweat break out on his forehead as he held his wand with both hands.
"Protego Maxima. Fianto Duri. Repello Inimicum," he kept whispering over and over again, point his wand directly at the Death-Eaters. It was straining his magical core and he was feeling the negative effects of it.
Spells clashed against this shield, each and every one of them dissipating. As more and more Death-Eaters got frustrated with not being able to cross or defeat the shield that was currently allowing so many patrons of the Alley to flee to safety, more and more joined the few that had begun to attack him.
Soon, it was a whole hoard of them.
Albus felt himself beginning to waver. Had he been in his old body, at the height of power, he could have easily defeated all twenty or thirty of them and yet, his eleven-year old body and core were still underdeveloped to handle this sort of massive amount of energy.
He saw Draco peeking out from the alcove and then staring at him with wide, reverent eyes. Albus sent a burst of magic at him, pushing him back into the alcove. This time, the boy stayed there.
It was well into the seventh minute of keeping this up, when Albus felt all anti-apparition wards in this part of the alley drop. In an instant, several men and women dressed in brown robes apparated right at his side. Aurors. Among them were a few scarlet-robed and hooded figures, signifying that the unspeakables had decided to chip in as well.
It was just as well, because in the very next moment, Albus felt his magical core give out. His vision gained more and more black spots, until he surrendered to the blackness completely. He was aware just enough to feel himself be caught by someone and then—
Dun... Dun... Dun...
(Thank you so much to the anonymous reviewers or people who didn't sign in - you are incredible!)